The Girl in the Cellar

CHAPTER 17

It seemed no time at all until he was gone. The day went by and the night came. She went up to bed early. There was a kind of hush upon her spirits. Looking back on it afterwards, it seemed strange to her. It was as if everything waited, she didn’t know for what. She only knew that there was nothing she could do about it-nothing except wait. Deep in her mind the question asked itself, ‘What am I waiting for?’ and every time that happened something moved quickly in those under places and shut it away.

By the time that coffee had been drunk and the tray removed she was so tired that sleeping and waking seemed to be part of a pattern in which she moved uncertainly, with now one side of her awake and on the point of knowing what there was to be known about herself, about the dead girl, about the man who had threatened her; and now another side, not seen but dimly felt, pressing in, just not realized, but certain, sure, and inevitable. Except momentarily, there was no fear. She was able to talk.

There was a long period during which Lilian talked interminably about Christmas cards-how they must be certain to go over the list thoroughly and cut them down as much as possible.

‘Because really they are at least three times as expensive as they used to be, and though I don’t grudge anything to anyone, I must say it does seem a waste, because anything that is worthwhile spending on at all is such a price that I’m sure I don’t know where people get the money from.’

Harriet looked up and said, ‘If nobody sent any cards, we shouldn’t have them for the hospital. It’s dreadful to think of people throwing them away, when you think what has been spent on them.’

Lilian gave a sharp little glance at Anne.

‘I suppose you won’t have any cards to send,’ she said.

Anne wondered what she was to say to that. Then she found herself saying, ‘No.’

‘It gets worse and worse,’ said Lilian. ‘Every year.’

Harriet put down her coffee-cup.

‘Well, we needn’t think about it yet,’ she said.

For some reason the phrase went in and out of Anne’s shifting thought. No need to think or plan for Christmas or any other future day. Take things as they come. Take things as they are. What does it matter? There’s one end to everything.

Then suddenly she was broad awake. The soothing, loving tides, the half-consciousness, slid away and she was broad awake-broad awake and just about to see what it all meant. It was something she didn’t want to see. It was something horrible and frightening. And then suddenly, just as she was going to see what it was, it was gone again and the mists closed down. Her mind was full of mist. The room seemed to swirl. She didn’t know where she was for a moment. She didn’t know that all the color had left her face, and that she was staring blankly. And then after a moment the room cleared again. She saw the heavy old-fashioned curtains drawn across the windows, the clutter of furniture, the brass tray with the coffee-cups which someone had brought from India fifty or sixty years ago, the tall cupboards full of china, the sofa and the chairs, the carpet with its wreaths of flowers all gone away to a dull drab, and Lilian, sitting there looking at her.

Harriet was reading a heavy book. She wasn’t watching them. But Lilian, Lilian was looking at her with the strangest expression. A little picture came up in Anne’s mind-the picture of a cat waiting by a mouse-hole. Lilian was looking at her like that. She made a very great effort and pushed the picture away. Her thoughts cleared.

Lilian said, ‘Are you tired?’

‘Yes, I’m tired-I don’t know why.’

‘You had better go off to bed early. Harriet often goes early. I sit up to all hours, so don’t wait for me.’

She waited till Thomasina came for the tray, and then said good-night and went upstairs to bed.

Sleep came down on her like a rushing black cloud. Afterwards, when she thought about it, she was to wonder about that sleep. Was it just that she was tired, that she had been under a strain? Or was there another reason for that rushing down of the curtain of darkness? She was never to be quite sure, but her movements grew slower and slower, and the last thing she remembered was blowing out the candle by her bed. Nothing after that at all-nothing but the direct and distinct sensation of seeing the candle-flame very large and bright, a large bright flame to be blown at. She could remember blowing at it, and then darkness succeeded light and she couldn’t remember anything more at all, only a black unconsciousness that pressed in upon her and contained no living thought. It wasn’t like sleep. Sleep was natural and refreshing. This unconsciousness was like being drowned fathoms deep. When you were asleep you rested. Now she didn’t rest at all. There was a struggle going on. She struggled to come back out of the darkness, out of the horrible pit, and she couldn’t-she couldn’t. The darkness came in waves; it rose against her and flowed in. Then she would struggle against the blackness, against suffocation, against the imminent deadly knowledge which lay behind the blackness. Every time she got to that, to the fact that there was some knowledge which eluded her, she went down again into the blackness and the confusion.

And then suddenly the dream broke and she was free. She lay on her back with her arms stretched out, and she was panting and sobbing, ‘No-no-no-!’ And all the time the blessed waking world came in on her thought and became the real.

She sat up in bed panting. She had had a horrible dream. She didn’t know what it was, but it had been there and it was gone again. Thank God it was gone. She got out of bed. No watch or clock in the room, and she had no idea of the time.

She went to the window and opened it. She never slept with her window shut. That was it of course. She hadn’t opened the window. She had been too sleepy to open it. She had had a horrible nightmare. She leaned right out and let the cool air flow over her. Her throat was dry and her head felt hot. It was a still, calm night. She thought of water, running and bubbling and very, very cold, and from there her thoughts turned to a long cool drink.

She drew back from the window, and the room felt very dark. Outside the night was clear. You could see the curve of the drive, the trees, the black tracery, and the clear depths of the sky. To turn from them was like turning from sight to blindness. Fear touched her again, a light shiver went over her. And then she was wide awake, tingling with a sudden imminent thought. If it was so late, if so much time had gone by, why was there light on the other side of her door? She didn’t know why the question frightened her so much. She only knew that it did frighten her. And then quite suddenly as she looked at it the streak of light under her door disappeared. It went out and left her looking at darkness.

After a little the faint, pale outdoor shine was free again. She remained standing quite still for some minutes. Then she began to count steadily and monotonously. When she had got up to five hundred she stopped and listened again. There was no sound. There was no sound at all. She drew a long breath. Two voices warred in her. One of them said, ‘What nonsense! You wake up and there’s a light in the passage-what about it? You don’t even know what time it is.’ The other voice said, ‘I could find out.’ Then the first voice again, ‘You daren’t. You daren’t put on a light to look. Suppose there’s someone waiting in the dark just to see if you do anything at all.’

A deep sharp pang of terror went through her. It was true what the voice said-she didn’t dare. And she knew with a dreadful passionate certainty that what she did now in the next few minutes would have power over her for the rest of her life. She thought of Jim. He wouldn’t let anything hurt her. He didn’t believe that there was anything to hurt her here, or he wouldn’t have gone away and left her to it. And then she knew that it was no use thinking of Jim, because he wasn’t here. She had to depend on herself. She went to the door and opened it.

The darkness outside was absolute. She stood there listening. There was no sound. Her room opened upon a cross passage. At the end of the passage there was a landing, and the stair going down. She went barefoot along the passage to the landing and leaned over the rail that ran along it.

A small light burned in the hall below. She tried to think whether it burned there all night. Perhaps it did. Perhaps she had imagined the light she had seen under the door in her room. Perhaps she had dreamed about it. Perhaps she was dreaming now. She shuddered violently and turned back.

It was quite dark in the passage. She felt her way along it to the open door of her room. Her coat-she must put on her coat. She went to the wardrobe and opened it. It felt like a black cavern, and it was empty except for her coat, and her shirt and skirt. At that moment, curiously and blindingly, she remembered that she had a red dress-dark red. It was her best dress. She wondered where it was now. She wondered if she would ever see it again. And then her groping hands were on the collar of a coat and she unhooked it and slipped it on.

It was warm. She had not known that she was cold until she put it on. Nothing made you so cold as fear. She was very much afraid. She turned round from the wardrobe and made her way across the room to the door. And out of the door into the length of dark passage and along it to the landing.

On the landing itself she stopped. Darkness covered you. Darkness was safe. She couldn’t come out of its protection into the light and down the stairs and across the hall. She couldn’t-she couldn’t. The very thought of it made her limbs shake and brought the taste of fear up into her throat.

And then suddenly she thought about the back stairs. That was it. She would only have to cross this wide shadowy passage to the other side of the house, and the quicker she did it the better. Every moment that she stood and waited, the little courage that she had would be draining away. She mustn’t wait-she mustn’t wait at all. It was quite easy, there was no danger. Her heart banged against her side and she did it. Now she was across the dimly lighted space, and now the black mouth of the passage was ppen before her.

Every step she took away from the light made her safer. In her dark coat she couldn’t really be seen now. No one would look this way. The back stair went down two-thirds of the way along the passage. It was screened by a door. Sometimes the door stood open. Mattie was careless about leaving it. If Thomasina had come up last, it would be shut. It was open. Walking in the dark with what light there was getting fainter and fainter behind her, she came upon it, her fingers feeling along the wall. And then quite suddenly the edge of the door, and then nothing. The door was open, and there was no light-no light at all.

She slipped into the darkness, shut the door, and took a long breath. She did not know how frightened she had been until it was over. Now she stood for a moment, pulling herself together.

It was quite, quite dark. After a moment or two she began to move her foot half a step at a time. She thought there was a sort of landing there, taps and a sink on one side, and steps going down on the other. She had to be very careful. If she made a false step, anyone might hear her. She took two steps-three, with her hand before her-four-five-and then there was the stair-rail, and her foot poised over nothingness. Her hand touched the rail just in time to prevent a loss of balance. She gripped hard on the rail and went down. She wasn’t quite sure where the stair came out.

When she had reached the last of the steps she had to feel about her. There was another door, shut this time. She opened it and found herself in a dark passage. At that moment there came over her a desperate longing to be back in her room warm in her bed. It came and it went again. Afterwards she thought that was the last moment at which she could have drawn back. It was her opportunity, and she refused it. From then on she had no choice.