But at first there was nothing she could do. The linen strip tautened and took her off her feet. A pause while she swung there, and then the bush scratching her face, her hands, as she was drawn up through it, a few inches at a time. Now the twigs were rasping against her stockings, and now she got a knee on a projecting tussock and eased the weight. Then on again, but less difficult now. The cliff sloped to the path, and she was dragged up, half leaning, half scrambling, until she reached the edge and Gale took her under the arms and pulled her up beside him.
They reeled back together across the whole width of the path to a place where there was rough grass under their feet. And stood so clasped they made one shadow there. And neither spoke. She could feel the laboring of his breath and the strong, measured beating of his heart, She had never been so close to another human being. The cold went out of her, and the fear.
And then all of a sudden he loosed her and sang out, “Who’s there?”
Rachel, holding to his arm, turned round and saw a lantern bobbing along the track, coming from Whincliff Edge. It spilled its circle of light about a long skirt and a pair of feet which she would have known anywhere. She said weakly, “It’s Louisa,” and sat down upon the grass.
And then there was Louisa, crying over her and fussing, and being told not to fuss with a good deal of energy by Gale. Most of it went over Rachel’s head, for she was really faint now, but neither Gale’s commands nor her own dizziness could entirely arrest the flow of Louisa’s lamentations.
“Oh, my dear Miss Rachel!” She said that several times. And, “I had to come-I was that anxious. Oh, my dear-that it should come to this! And I’d die for you- cheerful and willing-but I can’t stop them-”
“Will you be quiet!” said Gale Brandon. “I want to get your mistress home. Put that lantern down and help me to take the rope off her!”
She had not realized that it was partly the linen strip cutting in under her arms and across her chest that was making her faint, but when it was gone and she could take a deep, full breath again her senses cleared.
Gale lifted her up.
“Can you stand?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Walk?”
His arm was round her, the arm to whose strength she owned her life. It felt very strong.
She said, “Oh, yes,” again.
“That’s fine. Then we’ll be going. Louisa, you go on ahead with the lantern. No, not that way. I’ve got my car up at Nanny’s cottage. I don’t want her to walk farther than she need. Pick up that torch and come along!”
Actually, the movement did Rachel good. Her shoulders and arms had been numb, but the feeling came back to them. She was sore and bruised, but had no real hurt. She had not yet begun to think.
But when they came to the car and he had sent Louisa in to tell Nanny she was safe, she clung to his arm as if it was all she had to trust to.
“I’d like to sit in front with you.”
“I’d like to have you, but I thought you’d be more comfortable at the back-you can lean right into the corner.”
“No-I don’t want to-I want to stay with you.”
He frowned at the fear in her voice. He said,
“Why are you afraid? There’s nothing to be frightened of now.” He put his arm round her and said insistently, “Is there?”
Before she had time to answer Louisa came out of the cottage.
He was frowning in the dark beside her all the way to Whincliff Edge.
Chapter Sixteen
In her room Rachel reviewed the damage, and decided that it might have been much worse. She was bruised and she was scratched, but that was the worst of it.
“And you’ll go straight to your bed, Miss Rachel, and not see no one,” said Louisa tearfully.
Rachel considered. She could say that she had had a fall, and either go to bed or sit comfortably here by the fire. But she wondered if it would be humanly possible to keep Mabel out of her room, because if it meant a tête-à-tête with Mabel, she would rather confront the whole family and have done with it. Also she wanted to see Miss Silver.
She stood warm and relaxed from her bath and looked thoughtfully at Louisa.
“What I’d like to do, Louie, would be to have my dinner here quietly by the fire in my dressing-gown with Noisy. I don’t want to go to bed a bit, but I don’t feel like bothering to dress-or talk. That’s the thing-do you think you can keep the family out?”
Louisa nodded fiercely.
“Indeed I can, my dear, if I have to lock the door on you and take away the key.” She came close, picked up one of Rachel’s hands, and held it against her cheek. “Oh, my dear, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you-you know that.”
Rachel drew her hand away with a little shiver.
“I know, Louie.” She sank into the big chair and leaned back gratefully.
But Louisa stood her ground.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened, Miss Rachel?”
Rachel steeled herself. A scene with Louie now-oh, no!
“I had a fall,” she said. “I went over the edge of the cliff, and Mr. Brandon pulled me up. It was horrid, but it’s over. I’m not hurt, and I don’t want to go on talking about it.”
Louisa did not speak. She wasn’t crying any longer. She said harshly,
“You’re shutting yourself up from me. Do you think I don’t know the devil’s work when I see it? How did you get over the cliff-will you tell me that? You that know every foot of that path like this room! Mr. Brandon pulled you up. Did he push you over?”
Rachel laughed. It was lovely to be able to laugh.
“Don’t be stupid, Louie!”
“Oh, yes, I’m stupid, Miss Rachel-stupid to care like I do. But someone pushed you-you’d not have fallen else. And you think it couldn’t be Mr. Brandon, because he’s made you believe he’s fond of you.”
Rachel lifted her head.
“That will do, Louie. You had better not go too far. Now bring me my block and a pencil. I want to write a note.”
The note was to Miss Silver. It said:
“Make an excuse and come to my room as soon after dinner as you think wise. Louisa will show you where it is.”
Presently Caroline came tapping at the door. Rachel let her in for five minutes, and told her not to tell Mabel. She thought the girl looked pale and troubled.
“Is anything the matter, Caroline?”
Her hand was taken and kissed.
“Just you, darling. You mustn’t go falling about on the cliffs. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Rachel said suddenly, “What have you done with the green scarf Mabel gave you?”
Caroline drew back, startled.
“Darling-why?”
“Did you wear it yesterday? Yesterday afternoon-on the cliffs?”
Caroline stared.
“I walked up to meet Richard. I didn’t wear the scarf. I don’t like it very much-it’s too bright. Why, darling?”
“Someone saw a girl in a green scarf, and I wondered if it was you.”
Caroline looked puzzled.
“Anyone can have a green scarf.”
Miss Silver arrived at a little after nine o’clock. By the time she came Rachel was wishing that she need not see her until the morning. She had been sitting there by the fire in a curious atmosphere of safety and contentment, because she was quite sure now that Gale Brandon loved her. He loved her, Rachel Treherne, and no one else. And she loved him. Without a spoken word, with no more than a rough, insistent clasp, he had made her sure. Her heart was bright with a steady flame of happiness. No wonder the thought of talking to Miss Silver struck a jarring note.
But even as she crossed the room with Noisy frisking beside her and unlocked the door, her mood changed, because it was not just her life that was being attacked, it was this new happiness. And it was worth fighting for.
She meant to fight.
Miss Silver came into the room in the kind of garment affected by elderly ladies
who frequent boarding-houses. It was quite obviously a summer dress that had been dyed black. Some jet trimming now adorned the neck and wrists. A long, old-fashioned gold chain descended into her lap as she took the chair on the other side of the fire. Her neat, abundant hair was tightly controlled by an unusually firm net. She wore black Cashmere stockings and glacé shoes with beaded toes. A broad old-fashioned gold bracelet set with a carbuncle encircled her left wrist, and a formidable brooch with a design of Prince of Wales’ feathers carried out in hair and seed pearls and surrounded by a plaited border of black enamel also picked out with pearls hung like a targe upon her bosom. She carried a black satin work-bag turned back with bright rose-pink. Rachel felt it would be quite impossible that anyone should suspect her of being a detective. She had almost to close her eyes before she could believe it herself.
Such politenesses passed as would be usual between any hostess and guest. Then Miss Silver said briskly,
“I see you have a good deal to tell me, but before you begin-are we perfectly private here? Those two doors?”
“One leads to my bathroom, the other to my own sitting-room. There is no other way into the bathroom, but it might be best to lock the door leading from the sitting-room into the passage.”
She was about to rise, but was prevented. Miss Silver said, “Allow me,” and trotted over to the sitting-room door. Rachel heard her open the second door. Then the click of the key informed her that it was being locked.
Miss Silver came back, but she did not immediately sit down. She went first to the bathroom and looked in, after which she resumed her chair, opened the black satin bag, and drew out her knitting, a mass of pale blue wool which, unfolded, declared itself as one of those rambling wraps or scarves in which invalids are invited to entangle themselves. Miss Silver herself called it a cloud.
“For dear Hilary. Such a sweet girl, and the pale blue should be most becoming. And now, Miss Treherne, why did you ring me up in the middle of the night? And what has been happening today?”
Chapter Seventeen
Rachel answered both questions as briefly as possible. She told her about Neusel finding the adders in her bed, and thought how long ago it seemed. Then she told her about being pushed over the cliff.
Except for a single “My dear Miss Treherne!” Miss Silver listened in complete silence. She had ceased to knit. Her hands rested idle on the pale blue wool, and her eyes never left Rachel’s face. At the end she said quickly.
“You are not hurt?”
“No-only bruised.”
“You have been providentially preserved. May I ask you one or two questions? This visit to your old nurse-how many people knew of it?”
Rachel lifted the hand on her knee and let it fall again.
“Everyone. You see, I go every week.”
“And this Mr. Brandon-did he know?”
Rachel felt her color rise.
“Yes, he knew. Lately he has been walking back with me. I have found him waiting when I came out.”
“But he was not waiting for you this evening?”
“I think he came at the usual time. I had left early.”
“Yes? Why did you do that?” The small, nondescript eyes were very keen.
“Nanny said something which upset me.”
“Will you tell me what it was?”
Rachel hesitated. Then she told Miss Silver the story which Ellen had brought home about the woman in the green scarf who bought two live adders in a shrimping-net. But she could not bring herself to repeat all the nonsense old Nanny had talked about Cosmo Frith.
“I see. And what member of your household has a green scarf?”
All the color went out of Rachel’s face.
“My two young cousins, Cherry Wadlow and Caroline Ponsonby. That is what upset me-but it’s quite, quite impossible.”
“And they were both here at the time?”
“Cherry went away this morning.” The restraint she had put upon her voice broke suddenly. “Miss Silver-”
Miss Silver looked at her very kindly.
“My dear Miss Treherne, I do beg that you will not distress yourself. You are very fond of Miss Caroline, are you not?”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“It is quite, quite impossible,” she said in a tone of intense feeling.
Miss Silver picked up her knitting.
“Let us revert to the events of this afternoon. You did not take your clever little dog with you?”
“No. Nanny doesn’t like him, and I’m afraid he doesn’t like her. He sits on the other side of the room and growls. In fact they’re better apart.”
“Ah-a pity. And that would be known too, I suppose. A great pity. He would probably have given you some warning-but it cannot be helped. Miss Treherne, are you sure that you were pushed?”
Rachel lifted steady eyes.
“Quite sure, Miss Silver.”
“Was it a man or a woman who pushed you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try and think. A man’s hand is larger, harder-there would be more force. Try and remember what sort of a blow it was. Were you struck with a hard impact? Was there much weight behind it? Or was it more of a push? You said that you were pushed.”
A faint shudder passed over Rachel.
“It was a very hard push.”
“So that it might have been a man or a woman.”
“I think so.”
“It wasn’t the kind of blow that a very strong man would strike-Mr. Brandon for instance?”
Rachel began to laugh.
“How do you know that Mr. Brandon is so strong?”
“Only a very strong man could have pulled you up.”
Rachel went on laughing. It was a relief to laugh.
“My dear Miss Silver, if Mr. Brandon had knocked me over the cliff, I should never have had a chance to catch hold of my bush. I should have gone flying right out to sea.”
Miss Silver’s eyes twinkled pleasantly.
“And that is just what I wanted to know,” she said. “It comes to this, you see-the person who pushed you over did not use any very great force. You were taken unawares, and you were thrown off your balance. It may quite easily have been a woman.”
Rachel winced sharply. All the laughter went out of her.
Miss Silver leaned forward.
“I am sorry to pain you, but I am bound to ask these questions. However, for the present I have done. I spent quite a profitable time before coming up to you. I had some conversation with all your relatives. I find that the manner in which people behave to someone whom they consider quite unimportant is often highly illuminating.”
Rachel had no illusions about her family. She quailed a little. She hoped for the best as she said,
“And were you illuminated?”
Miss Silver stabbed her pale blue wool with a yellow needle like a long, thin stick of barley-sugar. She said in a dry little voice,
“Oh, considerably.”
Rachel said, “Well?”
“Each of them has something on his or her mind. With most of them it is, I think, money.”
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Wadlow talks very freely. It does not matter to her whether the person she talks to is a stranger or not. All that matters is that she should be able to talk about her dearest Maurice, and her fears for his health if he should go to Russia, and her hopes that you will make it possible for him to engage in some much safer enterprise in this country. She also talks, but with less feeling, about her daughter, whom she seems to suspect of being financially embarrassed and possibly on the brink of an elopement.”
“Mabel said all that?”
Miss Silver nodded.
“In about twenty minutes-on the sofa-after dinner. I had not much talk with Miss Caroline, but I observed her. She is deeply troubled, and uncertain what she ought to do. Mr. Richard is, of course, in love with her, and her trouble may merely be that the course of true love does not run quite smooth. Are there financial
obstacles to their marriage?”
Rachel said, “I don’t know. Richard won’t take anything from me. I helped him with his training, and he has paid me back. I don’t know whether he is in a position to marry or not. Caroline ought to have about three hundred a year, but I think she must have had losses. She’s been doing without things, and I know she sold a ring. I haven’t liked to say anything-she’s sensitive.”
Miss Silver’s needles clicked again.
“Mr. Wadlow has a worried manner. Small things appear important to him. This kind of character is confusing even to the trained observer. Trifles are so much in evidence that one is tempted to assume that there is nothing behind them. This may be the case-or not. I reserve judgment about Mr. Wadlow.”
“And Cosmo?”
“Mr. Frith is a very charming person. I was particularly struck with the fact that he took the trouble to be charming to me.”
Rachel’s heart warmed to Cosmo, all the more because she had felt a little nervous. He didn’t always take the trouble to make himself agreeable to a dull visitor. She said,
“I’m glad you like Cosmo. He’s a bit of a spoilt child, but he has the kindest heart in the world.”
Miss Silver smiled brightly.
“Kind hearts are indeed more than coronets, as dear Lord Tennyson says.”
Rachel felt a wild desire to finish the quotation, but she restrained herself.
“How did you get on with Ella Comperton?” she asked.
“She seems very much interested in slum clearance.”
Rachel laughed.
“She is always very much interested in something. It is never the same thing for very long. All very worthy objects, but she rather does them to death.”
Miss Silver looked up shrewdly.
“She collects for them?”
“Most zealously. Did she collect from you?”
“A mere half-crown. And from you?”
Rachel laughed again.
“I’m afraid I don’t get off with half-a-crown.”
Miss Silver laid down her knitting and produced notebook and pencil from the black satin bag.
“Forgive me, Miss Treherne, but I should be glad to have the name of any society or charitable institution to which you have contributed through Miss Comperton during the past year, together with the amount contributed.”
Lonesome Road Page 8
