Текст книги "It Began in Vauxhall Gardens"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

"To a pleasure garden," she said.

"Let us go to Cremorne then."

"I have never been there. I should greatly like to go."

"Then that is sufficient reason."

Melisande never forgot those hours she spent with Thorold Randall. It seemed to her then an enchanted afternoon. Spring was in the air and she felt happier than she had for a long time. Perhaps she mistook relief for happiness. She was gay, wildly, hilariously gay, for Caroline was alive. Caroline had suffered but she was Fermor's wife, and Melisande could not be sorry for Caroline now.

Thorold Randall could not keep his eyes from her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her laughter was merry, her wit quick. It was as though he found in her another person, even more delightful than the charming girl he had known hitherto.

They went into the American Bowling Saloor; they sat and listened to the Chinese orchestra; they explored the crystal grotto and the hermit's cave.

"This is an enchanted place!" cried Melisande.

"I believe you are enchanted," he answered. "I believe you are not of this world. None was ever so beautiful, Melisande. I must talk to you. You must talk to me. There is so much we have to say to one another."

"But there is so much to see here ... so much to do."

"What has happened to you this afternoon?"

"I have found I like being alive."

"Has that anything to do with me?"

"Yes . . . with you and other things."

"I don't want to share with others."

"But you must. There is the sunshine and this delightful place, for one thing."

"J brought you here."

"But you did not bring the sunshine. You took me to the Park, but . . ."

"It was the lady in the chair who has made you happy."

She said seriously: "Yes. You see I thought she was dead, and it made me sad to think it. Now I know she is alive and is cherished, and I am happy because of that."

"There is so much mystery about you, Melisande. Clear it away for me."

"What does the past matter? We are here and the sun is shining, and I have found that I am liking life. I do not care about Mrs. Lavender any more. She may be rude to me, throw her hairbrush at me . . . but I do not care. I am finding that life, which I did not think could be good, is good again." Her eyes were enormous and brilliant. "And something else. I believe this: That however bad life became for me, however sad I felt, I should be able to make happiness for myself and those who shared it with me."

"Melisande," he said gripping her arm, "you are an enchantress, I believe. You are not of this world. You are not human."

"I should like to think so. What if I could work spells . . . turn men into swine! That was Circe, I believe. Although I would not wish to turn men into swine. Why should I? I do not like swine."

"But you could turn them into whatever you wished them to be."

"That would be more sensible."

278 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

"You might have turned the man they wished you to marry into someone more acceptable to you. Who were they, Melisande . . . your guardians ? Did you have a guardian ?"

"Yes, I had a guardian.'*

"I wish you would trust me. Anything you told me would be entirely between ourselves."

"I do trust you. But I cannot tell you who my father was. I have determined that I shall tell no one. I know now that he is a good man, that he has done much for me and that it is solely because of his position that he cannot acknowledge me."

He was silent for a while; then he took her hand and said: "Dear Melisande, you must not think me impertinently curious."

"No, I do not. I too am curious. I want to know so much about the people I meet. I should like to hear more of you."

"But your background is so fascinating; mine is so ordinary. There is no mystery about my origins. I told you I was orphaned early, and I lived with an aunt and uncle who had their own family to consider. That is not very exciting . . . neither to live nor to talk about."

"Life is always exciting," she said. "Everything we do goes on and on and affects what others do. Consider that. My father met my mother in a place like this . . . just by chance, and because of that I sit here in such a place with you. In between, certain people did certain things, and each thing fits into a big picture, and because of each little thing, I am what I am."

He said: "Will you marry me, Melisande?"

She was astonished. She had known that she was attractive to him, but she had not wished to consider marriage, and because of that she had shut her mind to the idea.

Now she realized that she was not yet free from her nightmares. The idea of marriage frightened her. To think of it was to bring back memories of those men: Leon who had a guilty secret; Andrew Beddoes who had a mercenary motive, and Fermor who had not offered marriage at all.

She said: "I do not wish for marriage . . . just yet. It is so hard to explain and seems so ungrateful. It is not that I am not fond of you. I am. I shall always remember your kindness at the whist party. But . . . things have happened. It is not very long since I ran away from marriage. You see, I thought he was in love with me, and it was really the dowry my father was giving me. I could not endure that. It was so mercenary . . . such hypocrisy. I do not wish to think of marriage for a long time."

"You will forgive my tactlessness?"

"But it is not tactlessness. It is kindness."

"May I ask you again?"

She smiled: "Will you?"

"I shall go on asking you until you consent. You will one day, won't you?"

"If I were sure of that, I should consent now. How can we be sure? So much has happened to me in such a short time, I think. There were years at the Convent when one day was very like another . . . and then suddenly he came for me . . . my father . . . and everything was different; and since then, although it is not two years, there has been a lifetime of experience, it seems to me. That is why I am bewildered. Too much in too short a time, you understand?"

"And you want a breathing space. I understand perfectly. Melisande, depend on me, rely on me. When that dreadful old woman bullies you, you can walk straight out if you wish to– straight out to me."

"It is a comfort. I begin to feel very comfortable. But what is the time?"

He drew out his watch and as she looked at it she exclaimed in horror. "I shall have overstayed my time!"

"What does it matter?"

"I may be sent packing right away."

"That is no longer a tragedy."

"But I am still unsure."

"Come on then. We'll make our way back with all speed. When you agree to marry me I want it to be simply because that is what you wish. I want you to be sure."

"I see how well you understand me," she said, "and I am grateful."

He took her arm and they hurried through the gardens and out to the streets.

Listening to the clop-clop of the horse's hoofs as the hansom carried them to the Lavenders' house, Melisande felt that it had been one of the most important afternoons of her life.

She mounted the steps to the house with trepidation. She was an hour late. There would be recriminations. She must keep her temper; she must not be forced to a decision now. If she were to marry Thorold she must be quite clear that it was what she wanted.

She went to the sitting-room, framing an apology. She knocked.

280 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

A voice said: "Come in!" and uneasily she entered, for it was not Mrs. Lavender, but Mr. Lavender who had spoken.

He was sitting in an armchair when she entered, smoking a cigar. His quiff of yellow hair fell over his forehead and he was smiling. She felt a tremor of fear. She would have preferred stern looks.

He said: "Ah, Miss Martin. You are looking for Mrs. Lavender?"

"Yes," she said hesitating at the door.

"Come in," he said. "Come in."

She shut the door behind her and advanced two paces. Then she stood there waiting.

He took the big gold watch from his pocket and looked at it. "Why," he said, "you are late."

"I am sorry. I came to say that I was delayed."

"Oh? Delayed? I can understand how such a charming young lady as yourself might be delayed."

"I will go to Mrs. Lavender's bedroom. I expect she will be needing me."

"She's resting. There's no reason why she need know you are late. No need at all . . . unless someone tells her."

"Oh ... I see."

"I wonder if you do?" he said. "But of course you do. You must have realized that I want to help you, to be your friend."

"That is good of you, but ..."

"But? You are too modest, Miss Martin. Too retiring. I have been wondering why you keep so aloof from me when you are prepared to be so very friendly with Thorold Randall."

"I have no wish to be other than friendly with anyone."

"Oh come now, deliberately misunderstanding! You're cleverer than that. I wish to be very friendly with you, Miss Martin. Very friendly indeed. That's why I want to help you ... on occasions like the present one. You ought to be grateful to me, you know."

She hated him. There was something in his demeanour which reminded her of Fermor. The peace of the afternoon was completely wrecked. She felt the colour rise to her cheeks as she said sharply: "You must do as you wish about telling Mrs. Lavender that I am late, Mr. Lavender."

"Does that mean that you are not a bit grateful for my kind suggestion?"

"I merely said that you must do as you please about telling her."

"She might decide to dismiss you."

"As you suggest, that is a matter for her to decide."

"It is very difficult, you know, to find posts without references. If you were wise you would not turn away from . . . friends. ..."

He had risen and was leering at her. She stepped back.

"Now, my dear," he said, "if you will be pleasant to me I will be pleasant to you."

Her fingers were on the door handle. She turned it and said quickly: "I must go."

And she went out.

In her attic she locked the door and leaned against it.

Her afternoon was spoiled. Mr. Lavender with his leers and insinuations had reminded her of the unpleasantness of the world.

Perhaps Mr. Lavender had something to do with her decision. He had not told Mrs. Lavender of her lateness; often she met his eyes and he would seem conspiratorial, as though there was a secret understanding between them. She was afraid of Mr. Lavender. Sometimes in the night she would awaken with a start. Had she remembered to lock her door ? She would get out of bed and with immense relief confirm that she had done so. There was really no need to fear that she had not done so. Never did she enter her room without thinking of him, without making sure that she was safe from him.

His eyes followed her; they would seem to say: "We're going to be friends . . . very special friends."

She was afraid of him as the nuns in the Convent had been afraid. She locked her door; they shut themselves away from the world.

During the day he worried her no more than a wasp would have done. If she kept out of his way, made sure that she was prepared against his stings, what trouble could there be! It was only at night that the uneasiness came, and it came in dreams.

Thorold was a frequent visitor at the house; he spent a good deal of time with Mr. Lavender. They went to the races together; sometimes they watched boxing matches; they were interested in all sport. Thorold said that he came to the house only to see her; it was a good thing, he said, that he knew how to interest Archibald Lavender. He was clever too with Mrs. Lavender, so that she was always ready to welcome him.

A few weeks after he had first asked Melisande to marry him he repeated his proposal.

Melisande realized suddenly how empty her life would be if she lost his friendship. Mrs. Chubb, in whom she had confided, thought it was the best thing that had happened to anyone since she herself

met Mr. Chubb. Mr. and Mrs. Gunter who saw 'the way the wind was blowing* were equally sure that it was a good thing.

"The fact is," said Mrs. Gunter, "you're not cut out to work for other people, my dear. You ought to be a lady with a maid of your own. That's my view and Gunter's."

It was folly to hesitate. There was tension now between herself and Mr. Lavender. His smile was less pleasant; there was in it a hint of impatience. He was so arrogant, she guessed, that he could not believe that she really disliked him. Her fears of the man were increasing with each day.

And so, when Thorold again asked her to marry him, she accepted the proposal.

His delight was so intense that it was infectious.

As they walked through the Park she felt gay, certain that the future would be good, sure that she had done the right thing.

"We must marry soon," he said.

Only then was she a little uneasy. "I think we should wait a little while."

"But why?"

"To ... to make sure that it is the right thing."

"I know it is the right thing."

"Yes, of course it is, but . . ."

They seemed to mock her, all the other men whom she had known. How can you be sure? they seemed to ask. Haven't you thought at other times that you were doing the right thing ? Fermor seemed to ask: "What do you want? To escape from the Lavenders? Think again, Melisande. / may be looking for you. / may be waiting for you."

Thorold said: "You don't trust me."

"Oh, but I do."

"It worries me. It alarms me. You don't, you know. You won't even tell me the name of your father."

"I have decided I must never tell that to anyone. You see, he cares so much that it should be kept secret."

"I understand how you feel. But to a man who is to be your husband ... it seems such a little thing to tell."

She said: "He is so proud. He wanted no one to know about my birth. I shall never forget when he discovered that the servants were talking."

"That was in the country-, wasn't it?"

"Yes . . . and it was then that I had to go away. You see, he is a good man, a respectable man, and his one lapse must have caused him so much pain and anxiety."

"Perhaps it caused your mother even greater pain and anxiety?"

"Perhaps. But he looked after her as he looked after me. My future was taken care of."

"It must have cost him a good deal; and then he would have given you a dowry."

"He is a rich man."

"And you won't trust me with his name?"

"Please understand me. I want no one to know it through me. Please, Thorold, don't ask me."

He kissed her hand. "Everything shall be as you wish. Now and for ever."

Mrs. Lavender said: "Mr. Lavender and I are going into the country for a few days, Martin."

"Oh yes, Madam."

"I thought of taking you, but I have decided against it. I shall manage without you for two or three nights." Mrs. Lavender looked sharply at Melisande. "Of course I don't expect you to be idle while I'm away. There is my lace dress which needs mending; there is a tear in the skirt. You'll need to be very careful with that. You might go through all my clothes while I'm away. Make sure that everything is in order. And you can wash those nightgowns and petticoats that need it. Oh ... and make me a flower of those pieces of velvet. .. mauve and green. It will go with my mauve gown."

"Yes, Madam. But I should like to make a black rose for the mauve dress."

"A black one!"

"I think so, Madam."

"Hideous!" said Mrs. Lavender. "Who ever heard of a black rose?"

"Perhaps it is just because one does not hear of them that they seem attractive. Besides, I was thinking how well the black would look on the mauve."

Mrs. Lavender clicked her tongue; but after a while she said: "Well, make the black flower. We can try it."

284 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

Melisande felt happy as she packed Mrs. Lavender's bag.

"No need to pack for Mr. Lavender," said Mrs. Lavender. "He'll do that himself."

"Yes, Madam."

She was so happy, she could have sung, but the only songs which came to her mind were those which she had heard Fermor sing. "Go lovely rose" and "The Banks of Allan Water"—and most poignant of all "O, wert thou in the cauld blast."

A feeling of relief swept through the house when the Lavenders left.

"Two days of peace and quiet," said Mrs. Gunter. "That will be nice. Let's drink to the next two days in a glass of my ginger."

Sarah came down and they were very merry.

And that afternoon Thorold called for Melisande, and they walked in the Park together. He looked a little sad, a little melancholy.

"Is something wrong, Thorold?" she asked.

"No . . . not if you love me."

"But I have said I will marry you."

"You told me about the young man your father wished you to marry, and how hurt you were because you realized your dowry had played a deciding factor. I have wondered whether, if you were in a happy home, your future assured, brothers and sisters and fond parents about you . . . you would marry me?"

"Oh, Thorold," she said impulsively, "I am so sorry."

"Forget I said it. If I can be the means of rescuing you from what is uncongenial, I shall be only too glad to do so."

"But ... I am fond of you. I am sure of it."

"You don't trust me, Melisande."

"But I do. I do."

"Not completely. You won't even tell me the name of your father."

"Oh, Thorold, so it is that! I understand how you feel. It is a hateful feeling. I will tell you my father's name. Of course I will. There shall be no secrets between us. He is Sir Charles Trevenning of Trevenning in Cornwall. He is a man of importance in his own county, and known in London too. You understand why I did not want to tell. Not because I did not trust you, but because I knew that he so ardently wished our relationship to be kept a secret."

"I understand. Of course I understand. You shouldn't have told me, Melisande. I shouldn't have put it like that. But I am glad, glad because you trust me now. We are going to be happy, my darling. Everything will be all right for us now."

That was the end of peace; the end of her brief dream. And now she could wonder at her own folly, at her own naivety which had led her into the trap. There was no excuse this time. It was not her first glimpse of the world. The world was full of evil and she could not, it seemed, learn her lesson.

They met in the Park next day.

Did she notice the difference in him as soon as they met? Was that tenderness, which had warmed and comforted her, replaced by hardness, cupidity, meanness . . . criminality?

"My dear," he said; and he took her hand and kissed it.

They walked arm in arm. She sensed that he was trying to tell her something.

"Melisande," he said at length, "I have a confession to make."

She was startled. She turned to him; he was smiling and she looked in vain for that gentleness which she had loved.

"I am in debt. Deeply in debt. In fact I'm in a bit of a mess."

"Oh, Thorold . . . money?"

"Money, of course. It's that fool Lavender's fault. He has so many tips to give away ... so many 'certainties'. He is all right. He has a rich wife, and he knows how to get round her. Melisande, I'm afraid that if I don't seitle up some of these debts I shall have to resign my commission."

"But surely it's not as bad as that."

"It's as bad as it can be."

"You have never mentioned these debts before."

"I didn't want to worry you. I was afraid you'd despise me. You see, life in the Brigade of Guards is expensive, and for a man with such a small income as I have ..." He shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose so . . . if you bet on horses."

"One has to be in the swim, you know."

"I am sorry, Thorold."

"I knew you would be. . . . That's why I'm sure you'll help me."

"I. . . help? But I have no money. If I had, gladly would I help."

He smiled at her. "Why, my dear, you can help. There's your dowry. That'll settle everything and set us up nicely."

"My dowry! I don't understand."

"But your father was ready to give you a dowry before. He'll do so now."

"But ... I do not see him. I ... I could not accept. I ... It is so different."

"It is not different at all. He chose someone for you to marry, and there was a dowry waiting for you. Now you've made your own choice, but the dowry will still be forthcoming."

"I do not think so."

"But why not, Melisande? Be reasonable."

"So you, too, are eager to marry me because I might have a dowry!"

"My dear girl, how did I know your father was a rich man? You only told me yesterday that he is Sir Charles Trevenning."

"Oh, what a fool I was to tell you that!"

"Listen to me, please, Melisande. I love you. I wanted to marry you the moment I first set eyes on you. I knew there would be difficulties about money. They worried me considerably, so I put off telling you the position. I didn't want to worry you too. And then . . . you tell me that you have a rich father who was ready to give you a dowry. Don't you see! It's like the answer to a prayer."

"How attractive that dowry is!"

"When I asked you to marry me I had no notion that there would be a dowry. You know that. I would be ready to marry you– as you must realize—if you hadn't a penny in the world. But . . . since it is not the case ... I am delighted. Who wouldn't be—and say so if he were an honest man?"

"I do not wish to talk of this any more."

"Let us be calm. You do believe that if you were penniless I would marry you just the same?"

"I am penniless."

"You need not be when you have a father whose conscience is crying out to be soothed."

"I feel I have met you for the first time to-day."

"Now listen, Melisande."

"I wish to listen no more."

"You must listen to me. You are going to marry me."

"You are wrong. I am not going to marry you."

"You change your mind quickly."

"You have changed it for me."

"Melisande, I understand how you feel. That man hurt your feelings. You have been disillusioned, I know. I understand. But I love you. I want to take you away from that impossible woman, but for God's sake let us be reasonable. I'm in low water. A little money could put me right. Your father is wealthy. A thousand or so would mean nothing to him. He ought to give you an income. He owes it to you. Why shouldn't he, and why shouldn't we accept it?"

"Goodbye," she said firmly.

Now he was angry. "You are a fool, Melisande. An adorable fool, it's true, but nevertheless a fool. You have such crazy notions. He will be glad . . . glad to do this."

"He will not be glad, and there shall be no question of his doing it. He shall never hear of it."

"My dear girl, don't you understand, he'll be relieved to hear of you. He's wondering what's happened to you."

"I despise you," she cried. "I see right through you. 'You don't trust me!' you said. 'Tell me his name.' And now, because I have been a fool, you know it... and you are threatening me ... and him."

"I? Threatening! My dear, you're becoming hysterical."

"I hate you. I hate all men. You are all evil . . . every one of you. I wish I had stayed in the Convent. I wish I had never met any of you."

"My dear, you are attracting attention. I beg of you, speak more quietly. Now . . . you are not looking at this clearly."

She allowed him to lead her to a seat and she sat down.

"I am looking at it clearly."

"But he owes it to you. He would, I am sure, be pleased to help you."

"I will not ask him for money."

"Think of our future, Melisande."

"You and I have no future together."

"You don't mean that. I love you and you love me. Now, listen. Meet me here in the Park to-morrow ... at this time ... at this spot. I am sure when you are calmer, when you have thought this out, you will see my point."

"I never shall. And I never want to see you again."

"Melisande, I beg of you, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable, and my reason tells me to despise you."

"But you and I are to marry. We are not rich and I have been foolish. You have a rich father ..."

"You will have to settle your affairs without my rich father."

"Now, Melisande, please ..."

"I shall never allow you to ask him for money."

There was a short silence, then he said slowly: "I could ask without your consent, you know."

She turned to look at him in astonishment. "You think he would give my dowry to a man whom I had decided not to marry!"

"No. But he might give the equivalent of the dowry to a man who knows that he has an illegitimate daughter."

She had turned pale. She stood up. She wanted to move away quickly, but her trembling legs would not allow her to do so.

"You . . . would never do that!"

"Of course, Melisande, of course I would not." He stood up beside her and gripped her arm.

"But . . . that is blackmail^

She wanted to throw him off, to run away, never to see his face again. But he was holding her fast.

She thought of Sir Charles at Trevenning receiving a threatening letter and thinking that she had had a hand in it. And she had! She had been foolish to trust this man with her father's name.

She was bewildered and frightened. She was as terrified of Thorold Randall as she was of Archibald Lavender. Here was another of those monsters to disturb her dreams.

Be calm! she admonished herself. This man is dangerous. He is worse than the hypocrite Andrew Beddoes was; he is more than the philanderer that Archibald Lavender is; he is a blackmailer as well. All men are liars; all men are cheats. Oh God, what have I done?

Thorold was now speaking in the gentle voice she knew so well.

"So you see, my darling, you are wrong to put ugly words to this. It is reasonable. It is natural. All fathers give their daughters dowries if they have the money. And think how useful yours will be to us! You meet me to-morrow and I will have the letter ready then. I will show it to you and you will copy it. Then we will send it. You shall sign it with loving assurances. And then . . . you will see how friendly he will be, how ready to help."

She did not answer him.

He went on to talk of their future, of the little house they would have, of how happy she would be when he had rescued her from servitude with the Lavenders.

He left her at the door of the house.

"Goodbye, my love, until to-morrow. Do not forget . . . the same place in the Park. Our seat, eh? And do not worry. I understand what a forthright soul you are. I know you did not mean all the hard things you said. I understand you . . . andyou understand now, don't you? Don't you, my love?"

"I understand," said Melisande.

What shall I do now? she asked herself. What can I do? Whose advice could she ask ? There was Mrs. Chubb. Now how could simple Mrs. Chubb deal with a situation like this? The Gunters? Sarah? How could they help ?

There was no one to whom she could go. She must act by herself. Between now and to-morrow she must find some means of preventing Thorold Randall from getting into touch with her father.

Perhaps she could appeal again to his sense of decency ? But had he any sense of decency ? She did not think so. She could hear the words he had spoken this afternoon; she could not forget them. Perhaps she could reply to his threats with threats of her own. How? What? There had been threats this afternoon, and there was one

thing which stood out among all others: If she would not write to her father, he would. That would be blackmail. . . simple blackmail. She would not endure it. She must think of a way.

Thoughts chased each other round and round in her head. She was subdued before the Gunters and Sarah. She did not want them to ask questions. She would have to take meals with them in the basement room as they had arranged, while the Lavenders were away. She was wondering whether she could go to Cornwall, see Sir Charles, explain to him what had happened, and beg him to advise her.

Perhaps she would do that if she could not make Thorold see reason to-morrow afternoon.

But to-morrow she would reason with him. There would still be time. He would do nothing until after their meeting. That thought made her feel calmer. There was a short breathing space.

After supper, eaten in the basement room where her lack of appetite gave rise to the Gunters' concern, she went up to Mrs. Lavender's room to make the black velvet flower. She was glad she had something definite to do. She tried to give all her attention to the black velvet petals. It was growing dark, so she lighted the lamp and drew the curtains.

While she was intent on her* work the door opened suddenly.

Without looking up, she said: "Oh, Sarah, I lighted the lamp. It was so dark I could scarcely see."

"It is getting dark," said Mr. Lavender.

She stood up in alarm. He was standing by the door, his hat and cane in his hand, and he was smiling at her.

"You look starded, my dear," he said; and he laid the hat and cane on the tab*-.

The throbbing pulse in her throat made it difficult for her to find words. She stammered: "Oh ... I had no idea that you would be back to-night. Mrs. Lavender ..."

"Has not come back to-night. I had business in town to attend to."

"Oh ... I see. I'll move these things."

"There's no need to be in such a hurry."

"You will be wanting ..."

"To have a little talk with you," he said blandly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lavender, but I have not the time. I must be getting . . ."

"Oh now," he said, "you don't want to run away. There's no need, is there, with Mrs. Lavender away."

She felt the waves of hysteria rising. Another time, she thought, I should know how to act. But it is too soon after this other matter. It's too incongruous ... too bewildering. I am going to laugh . . . or cry.

290 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS

She heard herself beginning to laugh.

"That's better," he said. "I flatter myself I arranged this very neatly."

"I have no doubt you arranged it neatly," she said on a rising note of laughter. "I must leave you now."

"Oh no. You must not be so stand-offish. You have been standoffish too long."

"Have I?" she said. "Have I?"

"Yes, far too long. Oh, I understand. You're a nice girl ... a very nice girl. But everything is safe, you see. Mrs. Lavender is in the country."

"I shall soon be safe in my room . . . and you in yours."

She saw the ugly light in his eyes a second before he turned swiftly and locked the door. He put the key in his pocket.

She said: "Unlock the door, Mr. Lavender."

"I certainly shall not," he said. "Not yet. . . at least."

"If you do not, I shall call for help."

"No one would hear. The Gunters and Sarah never would. They're right down in the basement."

"You must have gone mad, Mr. Lavender."

"Well, you have been somewhat maddening, you know."