Ladies’ Bane

by Patricia Wentworth

  “How tactless of me not to come by a later train and give you time to put things right. But I don’t see how I was to know.”

  He laughed cheerfully.

  “No need to worry. Our quarrels never last very long.”

  He was locking the little dark stairway as he spoke.

  “I think it’s better to keep it shut up-don’t you? It’s of no real use, and it’s so near this other one that anyone might make a mistake and perhaps get a nasty fall. Now, you see, this one isn’t nearly so steep.”

  Like the other it was closed in by its own door and ran down between dark walls. It was certainly less precipitous, and perhaps-but she was not entirely sure upon this point-it did not smell quite so strongly of mould. It came into her mind that a medieval house might be terribly interesting to visit, but she could think of nothing she would dislike more than to have to live in one. As she followed Geoffrey up and down staircases and along narrow and most bewildering passages, the impression deepened, and she found herself dwelling passionately upon the mental picture of a perfectly modern house full of windows and without a dark corner in it anywhere.

  “Now,” said Geoffrey, “this is the real gem of the place.” He opened a door, not this time upon one of those horrid enclosed stairways, but upon a flight of stone steps going down, a long way down, into a tiny banqueting hall. Barely twenty feet long, it had the height of two floors and a beautiful arched roof, the windows just glass slits in stone walls which were covered in panelling.

  The first opening of the door took Ione by surprise. It was like standing on a cliff and looking down. And the place was full of shadows.

  And then Geoffrey lifted his hand to a switch and all the lights came on, ten down each side of the hall, candles held in iron sconces set against the panelling, and above them in the middle of the right-hand wall, shining in red, and blue, and gold, the crest and coat-of-arms of the Falconers. The colours were bright and fresh without being garish. Geoffrey was explaining how carefully they had been restored.

  “That American knew quite a lot about it. He didn’t mind how much trouble he took, or what he spent. What he kept saying was that he’d got to get everything just dead right.”

  The stone steps had no railing. Ione came down them carefully. She waited until she had reached the bottom before she said,

  “How do you know? About the American, I mean.”

  He laughed.

  “Nothing mysterious about it-Miss Falconer told me. The last survivor, you know-the one I’m trying to buy the house from. She lives here in the village in one of the cottages. Rather a come-down after this place, poor old thing, but she says she prefers it.” Ione had a warm feeling for Miss Falconer. As an alternative to living in the Middle Ages on practically nothing a year, one of the cottages which she had seen as she drove through the village sounded rather cosy. There would at any rate not be a torture chamber under the kitchen floor. As she was quite determined to be tactful, she kept these thoughts to herself, admired the old fireplace-“in its original state”-the massive stone slabs which formed the floor, and the long refectory table which with its dozen massive chairs had, so Geoffrey assured her, been here at least since Tudor times.

  “We must give a dinner-party whilst you are here, and let you see it in all its glory. There’s a serving-hatch in that corner, so the food does get here hot, but those steps down from the second floor are the only way in and out unless the great doors at the end are opened, and apparently there’s a heavy tradition that that is only done for the marriage of the heir or at his funeral feast. As I told you, the last poor chap was killed in France and buried there. But Miss Falconer kept to the old custom. She had a memorial service for him in the village church, and after it the big doors were opened and all the villagers came trooping up for bread and ale, just as they had always done when the lord of the manor died.” Ione felt a shiver go over her. The place was as cold as a well. But the rest of the house was warm.

  “Doesn’t the central heating get as far as this?”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t. Miss Falconer absolutely refused to let anyone touch this room, and I must say I think she was right. It’s the perfect fourteenth-century banqueting hall in miniature, and it would be sacrilege to lay a finger on it. It’s a case of piling up the old Yule log on that enormous stone hearth when we throw a party. We must get some people in whilst you are with us. But I needn’t keep you here if you’re cold. Come along up the steps again, and we’ll just go down one of our many staircases and have a look at the cellars.”

  The cellars were really not so bad. The American had had them whitewashed, a triumph of common sense over the historical variety, and as the furnace which supplied the hot water system was right in the middle of them, they were neither cold nor damp. Doors stood open to allow the warm air to circulate, and there was plenty of bright electric light.

  But with the opening of an arched door at the extreme end of the last cellar cheerfulness vanished from the scene. The door itself was immensely old, immensely thick, and in addition to a portentous lock there still hung from rusted staples the two iron bars with which it could be made secure. Geoffrey lifted one of them and showed her how it fitted into the slot on the other side. When the door swung back a breath of appalling cold and damp came up out of the darkness. And then, with a click, there was light striking up from below, making odd shadows on the worn stone steps. They must have been very old, or they must have been very much used.

  Ione descended them with reluctance. If she hadn’t made up her mind to be tactful at all costs, she would have seen Geoffrey at Jericho or in one of his own dungeons before she would have abandoned the American’s warm and whitewashed cellars. If it hadn’t been for Allegra, she would just have stamped on one of the stone flags and said no. As it was, she went down, and it was quite the horridest place she had ever been in. Walls and floor were of stone, and they ran with a cold sweat. There were slimy trails on the stone. There was air to breathe, but it was heavy and unwholesome. Two doors stood open to the space into which the steps came down. Prison and torture chamber, as Geoffrey informed her in a robustly cheerful voice. But when he proposed to conduct her into these revolting apartments her tact gave out and she assured him with some warmth that she would take his word for what they were, and that she absolutely refused to set foot in either of them. As this appeared to amuse him, there was no harm done, and she consented to let him show her the well.

  And then wished she hadn’t.

  It was at the far end, and the mouth of it was covered by a heavy oak lid, but when Geoffrey drew this aside, there was no parapet, no defence against a sheer black drop. It just went straight down to its own deep hidden spring.

  Geoffrey was telling her how deep it was.

  “A hundred and eighty feet, and it never runs dry. That would be why Robert the Falconer built his house over it. Nobody knew when they might have to stand a siege in those days, and if you hadn’t got an unfailing spring inside your defences, you just couldn’t stay the course. Here-listen!”

  He pushed a hand into his pocket, came up with a penny, and leaned forward over the middle of the well to drop it in. It was a long, dizzy time before Ione heard the faint, the very faint, sound it made when it touched the water. She said with conviction,

  “Horrible! Geoffrey, I’m sorry, but I can’t do any more wells or cellars. I’ve never liked underground places, and you make it all much too vivid. So if you don’t want me to begin to scream for help-”

  “Nobody would hear you if you did, my dear girl,” he said. But he was laughing and he looked pleased, so she hadn’t put her foot in it. And whether she did, or whether she didn’t, she couldn’t have endured another five minutes in this frightful place.

  From half way up the steps she looked back to see Geoffrey pushing the heavy oak cover into position. She was glad to know that she need not think of the well with its black mouth gaping in the darkness when they were gone.

  Geoffrey stood
up, took out a handkerchief, and rubbed his hands. He came running after her, still with that laughing look on his face.

  CHAPTER 8

  So you think I make a good guide?”

  “Much too good. You made me feel as if I was back in the fourteenth century.”

  “And you didn’t like it?”

  His tone was light and teasing. She let her own answer it.

  “Not a bit.”

  They came up into the daylight, and she exclaimed.

  “I’ve got some of that horrible slime on my hands. I must wash!”

  He held up his own, which were a good deal worse.

  “I ought to have warned you not to touch anything. Look here, I’ll get clean, and then I’ll go along and see if Allegra is dressed. She ought to be by now.”

  When Ione had washed and been thankful that the water was just as hot this morning as it had been last night, she went to her room. It had been done and left in perfect order, but to her annoyed surprise it was not empty. Margot Trent was there, standing just inside the door and looking down at the damp patch on the carpet. She giggled as Ione came in.

  “Did you get the sponge on your head?”

  “I did.”

  “It’s a gorgeous big one, isn’t it? The place on the carpet shows quite a lot! Looks like a bloodstain! I say, it would be a joke if someone thought it really was one! It would have been better if I had filled the sponge with red ink, wouldn’t it? Oh, what a pity I didn’t-then it would never have come out!”

  “The carpet would have been spoilt, to say nothing of anything I happened to have been wearing. But I suppose that wouldn’t matter.”

  It was obvious that sarcasm meant nothing to Margot. She stared at Ione out of the bright blue eyes which were rather like Geoffrey Trent’s and said,

  “Oh, well, I could have got them another carpet if they were stuffy enough to want to bother about it. I’ve got plenty of money.”

  “Have you?”

  “Oodles! I dare say I could buy a hundred carpets if I wanted to, only I don’t suppose Geoffrey would let me. He is supposed to look after my money until I’m twenty-one. And he really is the limit! He knows perfectly well that I’ve simply set my heart on having a racing car! There’s some stupid fuss about not getting a licence until you’re seventeen, but I’m going to be soon and I’ve got it all planned. And Geoffrey says he won’t give me a single penny of my own money to buy one! What’s spoiling a carpet or two to that?” Ione had an inward shudder at the thought of Margot at the wheel of a racing car. She said,

  “Well, you know, if you had an accident, they might take away your licence for years, and you wouldn’t like that.”

  “No, I shouldn’t, should I?”

  The creature was as open and transparent as a child. The angry frown of a moment ago was gone. She beamed and said,

  “But he can’t expect me not to have any fun at all-now, can he?”

  “So you will go on spoiling carpets?”

  She got a vigorous shake of the head.

  “Oh, no-that would be dull. I’ll have to think up something else. As a matter of fact-” She broke off, laughing and shaking her head. “No-no-I’m not going to tell you. I’m not going to tell anyone. People can’t keep anything to themselves, and it’s a lot too good to be spoiled!” She began to laugh immoderately. “You just-wait-and see!” She caught her breath, choked, went off into a fresh paroxysm, and finally, stuffing a not very clean handkerchief into her mouth, ran out of the room. She very nearly collided with Jacqueline Delauny, and ran away still hooting with laughter.

  Miss Delauny hesitated for a moment, and then knocked on the half open door.

  “Miss Muir-may I come in? I do hope Margot hasn’t been doing anything foolish. I am afraid she laid a booby-trap for you last night.”

  “And I walked into it! Fortunately I had on a bath-cap and a towelling-robe, so there was no harm done except to the carpet. But Margot has just been lamenting over the fact that she didn’t think of filling the sponge with red ink until it was too late.”

  Miss Delauny made a small vexed sound.

  “Miss Muir, I do apologize. I thought she was safely in bed and asleep by the time you went to your bath. We are doing our best to break her of these tricks. And they are not malicious. She is the most good-tempered girl. It is just that she thinks this sort of thing amusing. It is her idea of fun, and she just can’t see why other people are not amused by it.” Ione sat down on the edge of her bed.

  “Of course she wants fun. Every girl does. She is a healthy creature and simply bursting with vitality. Why on earth doesn’t Geoffrey send her to school? She wants gym, and games, and dancing. Hockey or lacrosse a couple of times a week would do more to stop her practical joking than any amount of scolding.”

  Jacqueline Delauny looked offended.

  “Margot is never scolded. The appeal is always to her reason.”

  “Has she got any reason to appeal to? I shouldn’t have thought she had. Of course it’s not my business, except in so far as it affects Allegra-and I don’t think anyone would say that she is in a fit state of health for rough practical joking. But to come back to where I started-why doesn’t Geoffrey send her to school?”

  Jacqueline Delauny had gone over to the window. Standing there with her back to Ione, she said in an expressionless voice,

  “They won’t keep her.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Geoffrey Trent came whistling along the passage.

  “Are you ready? Allegra has just gone down, and there’s a fire in the drawing-room. I hope you won’t find it too warm, but she feels the cold a good deal.”

  Allegra had been like any other country girl, in and out of the house all day and healthily impervious to the weather, Ione had the thought in her mind as she followed Geoffrey to the drawing-room where some winter sunshine straggled in and quite a large wood fire smouldered upon the hearth.

  At the first glance Ione found herself convicted of worrying about nothing. Allegra had colour in her cheeks and brightness in her eyes. She ran to kiss Ione, and keeping hold of her hand, took her to the big sofa beside the fire, talking all the time.

  “You slept all right? I was simply dead, or I’d have come to see you. I get so tired at night. Not always, you know, but just sometimes, and then there’s nothing for it but to go to bed and sleep. The beds themselves are all terribly old, but those Americans who were here had the most lovely spring mattresses put in everywhere. After all, you couldn’t expect mattresses to go for hundreds of years, even if they were made from the best goose feathers like Miss Falconer says they were. Did Geoffrey tell you about her? He wants to buy the house, you know, but she won’t make up her mind. And nor will Mr. Sanderson-I can’t think why. Anyone would imagine that it wasn’t my own money. And it’s quite insulting the way he goes on making difficulties-as if I was a perfect fool and Geoffrey couldn’t be trusted to look after my interests!” She took a quick shallow breath, and Ione managed to say,

  “Lawyers are like that. They don’t mean to be insulting-it’s just their way.”

  Allegra was off again. Nothing could be less like the silent shadowy girl of yesterday. But Ione’s initial relief was passing into an even more acute anxiety. The colour in the thin cheeks was too bright. Allegra’s tongue had never raced at this unnatural speed. And those glances going here and there, but never resting, never meeting Ione’s-

  Then quite suddenly their eyes did meet, accidentally as it seemed, and so briefly that for the moment Ione merely knew that she had received a tingling shock. There was no time for thought before the lashes came down and the head was turned. The realization of what she had seen came unwillingly and slowly. The pupils in those over-bright eyes were too small. They were much, much, much too small.

  Allegra went on with that rapid talk. Ione was grateful for it-there was no need for her to say anything. She had disturbing thoughts. The sofa on which they were sitting stood with its back to the windows through whic
h those gleams of sunlight brightened only to fade again. There was a fire-screen between Allegra and the not very brightly burning logs upon the hearth. There was, in fact, no natural cause for those contracted pupils. But there was an unnatural and most frightening one. One of Ione’s impulses came surging up, and no matter what she said to herself about it afterwards, you don’t begin to be tactful with your own only sister just because she has got married and you haven’t seen her for the best part of two years-at least not all in a moment, and when you have just had a most horrid shock. The impulse took charge. She leaned forward, caught both Allegra’s hands in hers, and said in her most arresting voice,

  “Ally, what have you been taking?”

  The hands were cold. They tugged feebly to get away, and were held in a strong, warm clasp. The eyelashes fluttered and came down over the telltale eyes. When the question had been repeated even more firmly, Allegra moved her head in protest.

  “Taking?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Io, you’re hurting me!”

  “No, I’m not! I said, ‘What have you been taking?’ and you are going to tell me! When I got here last night you were like a dead fish. Now you’re like someone in a fever, and the pupils of your eyes have gone away to practically nothing at all. One of the things that does that is morphia. Why are you taking morphia?”

  Allegra shook back her hair and gave a little tinkling laugh.

  “Io, how funny you are! That’s just my medicine. I went up to see a doctor in London, and he said I needed a tonic. I feel marvellous after it. But Geoffrey doesn’t like me taking it. That is why I was so flat last night-he took away the bottle and locked it up. We had quite a quarrel about it, and of course that upset me too. I just can’t bear it when Geoffrey is angry. And he very seldom is-except just about my medicine. And you know, I do think that is unreasonable-don’t you? Because I feel wonderful after I’ve taken it, and you’d think he’d be pleased about that, wouldn’t you?”