Victoria Holt Read online

  ***

  In fifteen minutes, having washed in the powder room and unpacked my belongings, I was ready for the summons; I walked about my room examining the details. The cloth which lined the walls was of yellow brocade and must have been there for years for it was a little faded in places; the arched alcove, the rugs on the parquet floor, the sconces in the wall in which stood candles. Then I went to the window and looked out across the gardens to the copse and the sea. I looked for the masts of those sunken ships and could not see them.

  I had nearly three quarters of an hour to wait so I decided I would have a look at the gardens. I was sure to be back in my room within the hour.

  I put on a coat and found my way down to the hall and out into the upper courtyard. Passing under an archway I descended a flight of stone steps and before me was a terrace leading to lawns bordered with flowers which I guessed would be glorious in the late spring and summer. Rock plants grew in the stone-clumps of white arabis and blue aubrietia. The effect was charming.

  There were no trees except stubby yews which looked as though they had stood where they did for centuries; but the shrubs were numerous. At the moment the only blooms were the yellow forsythia flowers, the color of sunshine, I thought—but this was because it was early spring, and again I imagined the riot of color there would be later.

  I made my way through the shrubs and came to a stone archway over which a green plant was creeping. I passed under the arch and was in a walled garden—a quadrangle—cobbled, with two wooden seats facing each other across a water lily pond. It was charming and I pictured myself coming here during the hot summer weather in between lessons. I imagined I should have some spare time for I was beginning to plan a curriculum for the girls and although I intended to have each one at the piano every day, it seemed I should still have time to spare. But there was that suggestion that I was to play for Sir William. What could that entail? All sorts of possibilities presented themselves. I saw myself in that hall, playing on the dais…to a large assembly.

  I wandered out of the walled garden and made my way back across a terrace, past the powerful buttresses; and as I looked up at those gray walls at the corbelled oriels and more of those hideous gargoyles, I thought how easy it would be to lose my way.

  Trying to find my way back to the courtyards, I came to the stables. As I was passing by the mounting block, which must have been used by the ladies of the house for centuries because the stone was very worn, Napier Stacy came out of the stables leading a horse. I felt embarrassed to be caught wandering about and would have liked to avoid him; but I was too late, he had seen me.

  He stood still, looking at me in a puzzled manner, wondering, it seemed, who dared trespass on his domain. Tall, lean, legs apart, bellicose, arrogant. I immediately thought of fragile Edith married to such a man. Poor child, I thought. Poor, poor child. I disliked him. The heavy dark brows were frowning above those startlingly blue eyes. They had no right to be blue, I thought illogically, in such a dark face. His nose was long, slightly prominent; his mouth too thin, as though he were sneering at the world. Oh, certainly I disliked him.

  “Good afternoon,” I said defiantly—it was a natural attitude with which to face such a man.

  “I don’t think I have the pleasure…” He spoke the last word cynically to imply that he meant the opposite—or perhaps that was my imagination.

  “I’m the music teacher. I’ve just arrived.”

  “Music teacher?” He raised those black eyebrows. “Oh, I remember now. I’ve heard some talk of this. So…you have come to inspect the stables?”

  I felt annoyed. “I had no fixed intention of doing so,” I said sharply. “I came here unintentionally.”

  He rocked a little on his heels and his attitude had changed. I was not quite sure whether for the worse or the better.

  I added: “I saw no harm in walking through the grounds.”

  “Did anyone suggest there might be harm in such an innocent action?”

  “I thought perhaps you…” I floundered. He was waiting expectantly, enjoying—yes, enjoying my discomfiture. I went on boldly: “I thought perhaps you objected.”

  “I don’t remember saying so.”

  “Well, since you don’t object I’ll continue with my walk.”

  I moved away; as I did so I passed the back of the horse. In a second Napier Stacy was beside me; he had roughly caught my arm and dragged me violently to one side as the horse kicked out. His blue eyes blazed hotly; his face was tight with contempt. “Good God, don’t you know better than that?”

  I looked at him indignantly; he was still gripping my arm and his face was so close to mine that I could see the clear whites of his eyes, the flash of his large white teeth.

  “What are you…” I began.

  But he silenced me curtly. “My good woman, don’t you know that you should never walk close behind a horse. You could have been kicked to death…or at least badly injured…in a second.”

  “I…I had no idea…”

  He released his grip on my arm and patted the horse’s head. His expression changed. How gentle he was! How much more attractive he found a horse than an inquisitive music teacher!

  Then he turned to me again; “I shouldn’t come to the stables alone if I were you, Miss er…”

  “Mrs.,” I said with dignity. “Mrs. Verlaine.” I waited to see the effect my married status would have on him; it was, however, perfectly clear that the fact was of no significance to him whatsoever.

  “Well, don’t come to the stables if you’re going to be such a fool, for God’s sake. A horse hears a movement behind him, naturally he kicks out in self-preservation. Never do such a thing again.”

  “I suppose,” I said coolly, “you are reminding me that I should thank you.”

  “I’m reminding you to show a little common sense in future.”

  “You are most kind. Thank you for preserving my life…however ungraciously.”

  A slow smile spread across his features but I did not wait for more. I started to walk away, horrified that I was trembling.

  I could still feel his grip on my arm and I guessed I should have bruises for days to come to remind me of him. It was most disturbing. How was I to have known his wretched horse was going to kick out. Common sense, he would say. Well there were some of us who were more interested in our fellow human beings than in horses. The expression on the man’s face when he had turned to the horse—and how it had changed for me! I didn’t like him. I kept thinking of Edith at the wedding, coming down the aisle on his arm. She was frightened of him. What sort of man was he to frighten a young girl? I could guess and I hoped I should not have to see very much of Mr. Napier Stacy. I would put him out of my mind. Pietro would have despised him on sight. That complete…what was it…virility, masculinity…would have irritated him. A Philistine, would have been Pietro’s comment—a creature with no music in his soul.

  I could not banish him from my mind, however.

  I found my way back to my room and there I sat on the window seat looking out, not seeing the gray-green water but the contempt in those startlingly blue eyes.

  And then Mrs. Lincroft came to my room and told me that Sir William would see me.

  ***

  As soon as I was presented to Sir William I saw the resemblance between him and Napier. The same blue penetrating eyes, the long nose somewhat hawklike, the thin lips and—something more subtle—that arrogant look of defiance against the world.

  Mrs. Lincroft had explained to me on the way that Sir William was half-paralyzed due to a stroke he had suffered a year before. This meant that he could only move with great difficulty. I was beginning to fit things into some sort of shape and I realized that the stroke was probably another reason why Napier had been called home.

  He sat in a leather wing chair, within his reach a cane whose handle was inlaid with what I
believed to be lapis lazuli; and he wore a dressing gown of cloth with dark blue velvet collar and cuffs; he was obviously very tall and it seemed to me infinitely pathetic that such a man should be incapacitated, for he had clearly once been as strong and virile as his son. Heavy velour curtains were half drawn across the windows and he sat with his back to the light as though he were determined to avoid what little there was. The carpet was thick and it deadened the sound of my footsteps as I approached. The furniture—the great ormolu clock, the Buhl bureau, the tables and chairs, everything was heavy, and the effect was oppressive.

  Mrs. Lincroft said in her quiet but authoritative voice: “Sir William, this is Mrs. Verlaine.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Verlaine.” There was a slight slurring and hesitancy in the speech which I found moving. I suppose I was conscious—perhaps because of my recent encounter with his son—of the great change that illness had brought about in this man. “Pray be seated.”

  Mrs. Lincroft put a chair immediately in front of Sir William, so close that I gathered his eyesight was failing too.

  I sat down and he said: “You have good qualifications, Mrs. Verlaine. I am glad. I think Mrs. Stacy has some talent. I should like it to be developed. You have not yet had time to discover, I suppose…”

  “No,” I answered. “But I have talked with the young ladies.”

  He nodded. “When I realized who you were I was immediately interested.”

  My heartbeats quickened. If he knew that I was Roma’s sister he might guess why I had come.

  “I never had the pleasure of hearing your husband perform,” he went on, “but I have read of his great talent.”

  Of course, he was referring to Pietro. How nervous I was! I should have known.

  “He was a great musician,” I said, trying to hide the emotion I felt when speaking of him.

  “You will find Mrs. Stacy something less.”

  “There are very few people living who can be compared with him,” I said with dignity; and he inclined his head in a brief respect to Pietro.

  “I shall require you to play for me from time to time,” he went on. “It will be part of your duties. And perhaps on occasions for our guests.”

  “I see.”

  “I should like to hear you play now.” Mrs. Lincroft was suddenly beside me.

  “There’s a piano in the next room,” she said. “You will find the piece which Sir William wishes you to play there.”

  Mrs. Lincroft drew back a heavy curtain and opened the door behind it as I followed her into the room. The first thing I noticed was the grand piano. It was open and a piece of music was set up on it. The room was furnished in the same colors as the one I had just left; and there was the same indication that the owner wished to shut out the light.

  I went to the piano and glanced at the music. I knew every note by heart. It was Beethoven’s Für Elise, in my mind one of the most beautiful pieces ever written.

  Mrs. Lincroft nodded to me and I sat down at the piano and played. I was deeply moved, for the piece brought back memories of the house in Paris and of Pietro. He had said of this piece: “Romantic…haunting…mysterious. You couldn’t go wrong with a piece like that. With that you can hypnotize yourself into thinking you’re a great pianist.”

  So I played and I was soothed and I forgot the sad old man in the next room and the discourteous younger one whom I had met in the stables. Music has this effect on me. I am two people—the musician and the woman. The latter is practical, a little gauche in her defiance of the world because she has been hurt and doesn’t intend to be again, muzzling her emotions and her feelings, pretending they don’t exist because she is afraid of them.

  But the musician is all emotion, all feeling; when I play I can imagine that I am carried away from the world, that I have a special sense, that I am in possession of some subtle understanding which is denied to ordinary people. And I felt as I played that this room which had been dark and sad for a long time was suddenly alive again; that I had brought back something for which it had long yearned. Fanciful yes. But music is not of this mundane world. Great musicians draw their inspiration from the divine influence…and although I am not great, I am at least a musician.

  I finished playing and the room returned to normal, for the magic had disappeared. I felt I had never done better justice to Für Elise, and that had the master overcome his deafness and heard my rendering he would not have been displeased.

  There was silence. I sat at the piano waiting. Then as nothing happened I rose and went through the door holding aside the curtain, which was not completely drawn over it. Sir William was lying back in his chair, his eyes closed. Mrs. Lincroft, who had been standing by him, came swiftly to my side.

  “It was very good,” she whispered. “He was greatly touched by it. Can you find your way back to your room alone, do you think?”

  I said I could and I went out wondering whether the music had so moved Sir William that it had made him ill. At least Mrs. Lincroft felt she must stay with him. What comfort she must be to him—far more than an ordinary housekeeper! No wonder he wanted to repay her by giving her daughter Alice every advantage of education and upbringing.

  Thinking of Sir William, Mrs. Lincroft, and of course the encounter with Napier Stacy, I did not find my way back to my room as easily as I had imagined I would. The house was enormous; there were so many corridors and pairs of stairs which looked so much alike; therefore it was quite understandable that I should take the wrong turning.

  I came to a door and wondering whether it would lead me back to that part of the house in which I had my room, I opened it. The first thing I noticed about this room was the bell rope and it occurred to me that I should ring this and ask a servant to conduct me to my own room.

  As soon as I stepped into this room I was aware that there was something strange about it. It had what I can only call an air of studied naturalness, the impression being that its occupier had a moment before left it. A book was open on a table. I went over and saw that it was a stamp collection; a riding whip lay on a chair, and on the wall were pictures of soldiers in various uniforms. Over the fireplace hung a painting of a young man. I went to it and stood looking at it for it was a fascinating study. His hair was chestnut brown, his eyes vivid blue; the nose was long and slightly hawk-like and the mouth was curved into a smile. It was one of the most handsome faces I had ever seen. I knew of course who it was. It was the beautiful brother who had died and I had come into the room which had once been his. I was startled for I knew I had no right to be in this holy of holies; yet I found it difficult to take my attention from that face on the canvas up there. The picture was painted so that the eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you were; and as I stepped backwards keeping my gaze on the picture the blue eyes watched me, seeming sad one moment, smiling the next.

  “Ha. Ha.” I heard a high-pitched titter which sent a shiver down my spine. “Are you looking for Beau?”

  I turned round and for a moment I thought it was a little girl standing behind me. Then I saw that she was by no means young. She must have been in her seventies. But she was wearing a pale blue dress of cambric and about her waist was a blue satin sash. Her hair was white but in it she wore two little blue bows, one on either side of her head, the same color as the sash; the frilled skirt would have been more suited to Edith than to this woman.

  “Yes,” she said almost coyly, “you are looking for Beau. I know you are…so don’t deny it.”

  “I am the new music teacher,” I said.

  “I know it. I know everything that goes on in this house. But that doesn’t prove, does it, that you weren’t looking for Beau?”

  I studied her closely; she had a small heart-shaped face and in her youth must have been extremely pretty. She was certainly very feminine and determined to retain that quality; the dress and the bows gave evidence of that. She had light blue eyes that spark
led from her wrinkles with a kind of mischief, and a flat little nose like a kitten’s.

  “I have only just arrived,” I explained. “I was trying to…”

  “Look for Beau,” she finished. “I know you have only just arrived and I wanted to meet you. But you’d heard of Beau, of course. Everybody has heard of Beau.”

  “I wonder whether you would be good enough to introduce yourself.”

  “Of course, of course. How remiss of me.” She giggled. “I thought you might have heard of me…as you’d heard of Beau. I’m Miss Sybil Stacy—William’s sister, and I’ve lived in this house all my life so I’ve seen it all and I know exactly what it’s all about.”

  “That must be very gratifying for you.”

  She looked at me sharply. “You’re a widow,” she said. “So you’re a woman of experience. You were married to that famous man, weren’t you? And he died. That was sad. Death is sad. We have had deaths in this house…”

  Her lips quivered and I thought she was going to weep. She brightened suddenly, as a child will. “But now Napier is back; he is married to Edith; there will be little children. Then it will begin to be better. The children will put everything right.” She looked up at the picture. “Perhaps Beau will go away then.”

  Her face puckered.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” I said gently.

  “The dead don’t always go, do they? Sometimes they decide to stay. They can’t tear themselves from those they’ve lived with. Sometimes it’s love that keeps them…sometimes it’s hate. Beau’s still here. He can’t rest, poor Beau. It was so lovely for him, you see. He had everything. He had beauty, charm, and he was brilliantly clever; he used to play the piano to make the tears run down your cheeks. Beau had everything. So he wouldn’t want to leave a life which was perfect would he?”

  “Perhaps he found greater perfection.”

  She shook her head and stamped her foot in a childish gesture. “It wasn’t possible,” she said angrily. “Beau couldn’t have been happier anywhere…neither on Earth nor in Heaven. Why did Beau have to die, do you think?”