Out of the Past

CHAPTER 14

Pippa leaned on the newel. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Then all at once she made a sideways thrust like a swimmer pushing off and took her stumbling way across the red carpet to the door of her room. It was closed. Her hand came up groping and failed twice to find the knob. The third time it gave under the fumbling touch and she went forward into the dark and was lost.

Carmona had stood there frozen, her heart thudding against her side. Now, with a quick shiver, she came back to thought and action. Oddly enough, the first thing that came to her was that she had done well to let Pippa go by, because if she had touched her she might have screamed and waked the house. Even then Carmona had a horrid certainty that no one must wake and no one must know. Adela Castleton wouldn’t wake. Her room was the nearest, but she had taken her sleeping-tablets, and she wouldn’t wake.

She crossed the landing, opened the door, and went in. Darkness met her. As she shut the door again and felt for the switch, there was a quick shuddering intake of breath not more than a yard or two away. Her fingers found the catch, light flooded the room, and she saw Pippa standing there, her eyes wide with fear, her hand stretched out as if to ward a blow. Under the high-powered bulb overhead, so much brighter than the mere glimmer on the landing, everything was quite frightfully distinct-the vivid stain on the white dress, the smudged stain on the hands.

Carmona said in a voice which surprised her because it sounded so like her own,

“Don’t look like that. It’s only me.” And then, “What has happened?”

Pippa said, “He’s dead-” Her hands came slowly down.

Carmona reached behind her and locked the door. It wasn’t until she had done this that the thought of James came to her again, and dreadfully, because she didn’t know where he was, and Pippa hadn’t said who was dead. She said it now.

“Alan-Alan is dead-”

There was such a sense of relief that Carmona almost cried out. Just one word, a name, and the blood had turned back to her heart. She came across the little space between them and said quick and low,

“Get out of that dress! And hurry! You can tell me afterwards.”

Between them they got it off, bundling it up upon itself. The stain had soaked right through. Stockings were stripped and thrust into the bundle. It was like undressing a child. Pippa’s hands pushed feebly at the white chiffon of the dress, fumbled at the clips of the suspender-belt. Her hands-the stain on them was dry. It wouldn’t come off on anything else now, but it must be got rid of. The dress must be got rid of.

Why?

Carmona said, “You had better tell me. You said Alan was dead. Did you-kill him?”

Pippa gasped and shook her head.

“No-no!”

“You had better tell me.”

“I went-to meet him-”

“Why?”

“He was going to town-in the morning. He said-he would see Bill-so I went-”

“Where?”

“The beach hut.”

“But it was locked-we always lock it.”

“Key on the hall table. He put it-in his pocket.” A shiver went over her. “As simple as that.”

Carmona said, “Go on! Here, you’d better have something round you.”

A filmy black wrap hung over the foot of the bed. It had gold and silver stars on it. Over the inky folds Pippa’s small pointed face was chalky white, her scarlet lipstick standing out like the patches on the face of a clown. The mouth opened and said,

“I went. The door was open. There wasn’t any light. I stumbled over-something-and came down. I didn’t see the stain-on my dress-I just knew it was wet-and my hands-” She had begun to shake all over.

“You said Alan was dead? You did say that.”

“Yes-he was dead-”

“How do you know?”

“I had a torch. I put it on-to see.” Her tongue was suddenly loosed. She began to sob, and between the sobs there was a jumble of words. “He was there-just inside the door. He was dead-someone had stabbed him. I didn’t do it-I swear I didn’t! How could I-I hadn’t anything to stab him with! My dress was all wet-and my hands! Oh, Carmona!”

“Are you sure he was dead?”

“You wouldn’t ask-if you’d seen him-” Her voice stopped. She shuddered dreadfully.

Carmona said, “We ought to call the police.”

Pippa stared at her.

“They’d say I did it. No-no-we can’t! Carmona, we can’t! I’d have to say I went there to meet him in the middle of the night. I’d have to tell Bill, and he’d want to know why-the police would want to know why. Do you want me to tell them Alan was blackmailing me and I was giving him my pearls so that he shouldn’t tell Bill? How long do you think they would believe I hadn’t done it if I told them that? I’d rather kill myself! Carmona, don’t you see?”

Carmona saw. During the last few horrible minutes she had been becoming more and more conscious not only of Pippa’s position, but of other things as well. Where was James? It must be very late. Uncle Octavius had had a craze for clocks. There was one in every room, and they all kept very good time. The one on the mantelpiece in Pippa’s room was of green and gold china. A bulging cupid held up the clock face on either side. Between them the hands stood at twenty to one. She had been here with Pippa for how long? Five minutes-ten?

She asked quickly, “When were you to meet Alan?” And Pippa said, “Twenty past twelve.”

The time echoed in Carmona’s mind. At twenty past twelve she had been deeply and dreamlessly asleep. James had gone to his dressing-room. He hadn’t come to bed. Where was he then? Where was he now? If they were to call the police, it must be done without delay. She couldn’t bring herself to say that it must be done.

It was half an hour before she returned to her room. They had crept downstairs and burned Pippa’s stained dress and stockings in what remained of the kitchen fire. Pippa had scrubbed and washed at the scullery sink. The Beestons slept at the top of the house. Down in the old-fashioned half-basement it was safe enough to stir up dying embers and let water run.

They went up at last, sure that no stain was left. When she had seen Pippa into bed, Carmona went back to her own room. It was in darkness, as she had left it, but it was no longer empty. She had no sooner opened the door than she knew that James had come back. The sound of his deep, quiet breathing reached her. She went softly round to her own side of the bed and got in. Not until she lay down did she know how tired she was. Too tired to think or to remember. Too tired to be anyone, or to do anything except go down, and down, and down into the sleep that closed about her.