The Shadow of the Lynx - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Виктория Холт (NORA) #5

NORA

One

I shall never forget that journey back to the Mercer’s House and the thoughts which crowded into my mind. Stirling was trying to murder his wife. That was what he had meant when he had said he would find a way.

Why had I not gone back to Australia months before? I should have gone as soon as he had married her.

Half my mind rejected the thought and then I kept thinking of that terrible day which was engraved indelibly on my memory when Jagger had caught me and fought with me and Lynx had come and shot him dead. He had killed a man because he had dared touch what he thought of as his; it was not because of attempted rape. I would never forget the poor little maid Mary who had suffered through Jagger. That had been shrugged aside as of little importance. Stirling was the son of Lynx.

They were ruthless, both of them. They held life cheaply—that was, other people’s lives. Stirling had been determined to get Whiteladies and now that he regretted the great sacrifice he wanted to start again. He could only do this by ridding himself of Minta. No, Stirling, I thought. And Lynx, this is where your revenge has led us!

I had made Minta mount my horse and I walked beside it, leading it.

The poor girl looked as though she would collapse at any moment. No wonder! She had miraculously escaped death—and not only once, for I was sure that the crumbling parapet had been a trap for her.

I called one of the stable boys to look after the horse and took her into the house. We went into the drawing-room with its rosewood furniture and Regency striped wallpaper and sat looking at each other helplessly.

“Nora,” she asked me, ‘what do you think of it? “

I couldn’t bear to talk of my suspicions, so I said that the cats might have died of some strange disease. There were mysterious illnesses among animals of which we knew very little. She started to talk about animals she had had when a child and some of the things which had happened to them.

But we were not in inKing of what we were saying. I said I would make some tea and she said she would help. It gave us something to do and all the time we were trying to work out some plan. She must stay with me, I said. I couldn’t bear her to be out of my sight. I was terrified of what might happen to her.

There was about her a surprising indifference. She had been greatly shocked by what had happened so perhaps that was why she gave that impression of not caring. I was desperately sorry for her. She was going to bear Stirling’s child and I had been envious of that, but I was overcome by a desire to protect her.

We drank the tea. It was now past midday. At Whiteladies they would be wondering where she was, although one of the maids had seen us leave and I had murmured something about Mrs. Herrick’s coming over to the Mercer’s House with me.

It was one o’clock when Lucie arrived. Her hair was disordered by the wind; she had evidently come out hastily when she had discovered that Minta was not in her room and she had learned where she was.

As she came into the drawing-room and saw Minta her expression was one of relief.

“Oh Minta, my dear, I wondered what had happened.”

They embraced and Lucie said: “Why didn’t you say you were going out?

I thought you were in your room. “

“Nora came to see me and I came over with her.”

“But you’ve had no breakfast. You’ve …”

“We were rather disturbed,” I said.

“We found the cats dead.”

“The cats … what cats?”

“Bella and the kitten,” said Minta.

“They were lying on the floor near the window … their bodies stiff and odd-looking.” Her lips trembled.

“It was horrible.”

“Cats!” repeated Lucie, bewildered.

“Dr. Hunter took them away,” I explained.

“Do please tell me what all this is about.”

I didn’t want her to know. I thought: There’ll be an enquiry and they’ll find out. Oh Stirling, how could you! As if I could love you after that!

Minta said simply: “I don’t think the doctor wanted us to talk about it yet.” She turned to me.

“But it will be all right to tell Lucie.

Lucie, the milk which was in my room , . I didn’t drink it. “

“What milk?” said Lucie.

“There was some milk sent up. You told Lizzie to bring it, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes. I remember ” I didn’t drink it. I knocked it over and the cats drank it. Now they’re dead. “

“But what has this to do with the milk?”

She spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that my fears abated a little and relief came to me. I thought: We’re imagining things . both of us. Of course the cats’ death had nothing to do with the milk!

“So the cats are dead,” went on Lucie, ‘and that has upset you. I did hear that some of the farmers were putting down poison for a fox that’s raiding the fowl houses. Bella’s constantly roaming about. “

I looked at Minta and saw the relief in her face too. ” Lucie went on to stress the point: ” What did you think the milk had to do with it?”

“We thought there was something wrong with the milk,” I said, ‘and that because they had drunk it . “

Lucie looked puzzled.

“You thought the milk was poisoned But who on earth … Really, what’s happened to both of you?”

“Of course that’s the answer,” I said.

“The cats were poisoned by something on the farms. It stands to reason.”

“Is that tea you have in that pot?” said Lucie.

“I could do with a cup.”

“It’s cold, but’ ll send for some more.”

“Thanks. Then I think we should go back, Minta. You want to take greater care of yourself. What odd fancies you get I’ I rang for tea and when it came and I was pouring out we heard the sound of carriage wheels and Mabel came in to announce that Dr. Hunter had called.

“Dr. Hunter!” said Lucie.

“What’s he doing here?”

I told Mabel to show him in. To my astonishment, Stirling was with him. Lucie rose in her chair and said: “What is this?”

The doctor said: “I’ve come to talk to you and what I have to say should be heard by all. I should have witnesses. I should have said it all before this happened.”

“Is it about the cats?” demanded Lucie.

I looked at Stirling but I couldn’t read his expression.

“The cats were poisoned, said the doctor.

“Something they picked up at a farm?” I asked, and there was a terrible fear in my heart.

The doctor said: “I think I’d better begin at the beginning. This goes back a long way.” He drew a deep breath.

“I am to blame for a good deal.”

“Don’t you think you ought to consider very carefully what you are saying?” asked Lucie gently.

“I have considered for a long time. This makes it necessary. I am going to tell the truth. I am going to tell what I should have told long ago. It was when Lady Cardew died that it started.”

“I don’t think you should say this, doctor,” said Lucie in a very quiet voice.

“I think you may regret it.”

“I can only regret not having confessed before.” He did not look at Lucie.

“Lady Cardew was not really ill. She had had a disappointment in her life and brooded on it. She came to terms with life by practising a kind of invalidism. It is not unusual with some people. I gave her placebos from time to time. She would take her doses and believe herself to be helped by them. They were in fact nothing but coloured water. Then she died. I should have told the truth then. She died of taking^n overdose of a strong sleeping draught. This particular drug was missing from my dispensary, and I believed I had given it to her in mistake for her placebo. I should have admitted this, but instead I wrote on her death certificate that she had died of a heart attack. She had always thought that she had a diseased heart. Her heart was in fact strong. What I did was unpardonable. I was ambitious. In those days I dreamed of specializing. To have admitted that I had mistakenly given a dangerous drug in mistake for a placebo would have ruined my career. I might never have been able to practise again.”

“You are a fool,” said Lucie sadly.

“You are right.” He looked at her mournfully.

“I would advise you to stop this silly tirade which will only bring you to disaster,” she went on.

“At least it will bring me peace of mind. Because did not give her the wrong drug. It was someone else who gave it to her … someone who came to my house when I was absent, bringing wine for my housekeeper and drinking with her until she was insensible and then going to my dispensary and taking the drugs.”p>

I think the doctor has lost his senses,” said Lucie.

“I had,” he replied, ‘but I’ve regained them now. “

Can’t you see that he is mad? ” she demanded of Stirling.

“It doesn’t seem so to me,” said Stirling.

“I refuse to listen to any more,” said Lucie. That’s if you’re going on, Dr. Hunter. “

“I am going on to tell everything, right to the end, right till today when I discovered that two cats died of the same drug which killed Lady Cardew.”

Lucie stood up.

“You are mad, you know,” she said.

“I know how the drug was obtained,” said the doctor.

“It was in exactly the same way. Mrs. Devlin has admitted that you came with whisky this time. A little gift for her? Should we try a little tot?

And she sat there drinking until she dozed and then you took the keys and went to the dispensary, just exactly as you did on another occasion. She has told me that she remembers it happening before. “

“I won’t stay to listen to such nonsense,” said Lucie.

“I shall call another doctor. I shall tell him to get a strait-jacket and bring it here right away.”

She stood at the door looking at us. Minta stared at her incredulously. The doctor’s expression was unfathomable. I fancied there was a certain tenderness in it “Lucie,” he said, ^you need care. ”

She had gone. We heard her running down the stairs and the slamming of the door.

The doctor went on: “It’s not a pleasant story, but I have to tell it.

It’s the end of everything for us both . but at least another murder must be prevented. ” He was looking at Minta.

“Thank God it didn’t happen this time. You see, I was strongly attracted by Lucie and asked her to marry me. If she had … I believe all would have been well. But she had an obsession. It was the great house, the title. She had known great poverty as a child. She feared poverty and longed for security. She was educated by an aunt who was stern and showed her no affection, and she became a teacher. It was a precarious living; she was always in danger of losing her post and being thrown on to an overcrowded market. She was overawed and impressed by the grandeur of Whiteladies.”

I looked at Stirling and I knew he was thinking of Lynx.

“I think she was fond of me in the beginning. I believe she would have married me, but she was helping Sir Hilary a good deal and she realized how much he had come to depend on her. She saw the possibilities and was excited by them, and so this obsession was born. Lucie is a woman of great determination but the desire to possess Whiteladies unbalanced her mind—and she was tempted. Once she had taken one fatal step she was set on her path. In murdering Lady Cardew she had become a criminal and there was no limit to what she was prepared to do. “

“She murdered my mother,” said Minta.

“And she would have murdered me.

Why? “

“She was Lady Cardew but that was not enough. Minta would inherit the house. When Sir Hilary died she would be merely a dependant having no control. She could not endure that. If she could have a son it would be different. But Sir Hilary was old. I was fascinated by Lucie and I did not know that she had committed murder. Druscilla is my daughter.”

There was a short silence before he went on: “She longed for a son.

Her rage when Druscilla was born was great. But she would not give up.

She was determined to have a son who would inherit Whiteladies and prevent its passing to Minta. But Minta married and Sir Hilary died.

There was no hope then except through Druscilla, who was believed to be Sir Hilary’s daughter. If Minta were out of the way . ” He lifted his bands helplessly.

“You see it all now. The whole sordid story. I swear I did not realize all that had happened until I saw those cats today. I knew that she had wanted a son so that she could rule the house through him. I did not know that she had committed murder and planned another. Only today did I see the complete picture.

Mrs. Devlin admitted that Lucie came yesterday and brought whisky and that she, Mrs. Devlin, drank too much. She was asleep the whole afternoon and when I went into my dispensary I found the drug missing as it had been on that other occasion. That is the story. “

I was conscous of a great relief. Stirling was looking at Minta with fear and horror and I thought: He is fond of her after all. Who could help being fond of Minta?

I said: “What are we going to do?”

Nobody answered, but the matter was decided for us.

Minta’s face creased in sudden agony, and she said: “I think my pains are starting.”

It seemed then that reality was forcing fantasy aside, for this , story of what had happened was like a fantasy to us all. It is disconcerting to discover that someone whom one has regarded as a friend, a normal human being, is a murderer. Yet I could believe this of Stirling! I excused myself. I had after all seen his father shoot a man.

There was not time to do anything then but think of Minta and we all became practical. Fortunately Dr. Hunter was with us. I said: “I don’t think Minta should go back to Whiteladies. She should stay here. I can look after her.”

Dr. Hunter, no longer a man with a terrible secret on his conscience, became the efficient doctor. I ordered servants to put a warming-pan and hot-water bottles in the bed in the spare bedroom next to my own; and we took Minta to it. We were all very anxious because the baby was not due for another four weeks.

The child was born late that day—a perfect child, though premature.

It would need very special care and the doctor had summoned a nurse who would come to the Mercer’s House solely to care for it. He himself would be in constant attendance. Minta herself was very weak. The shocks of the last weeks culminating in the so recent one were responsible, said Dr. Hunter. We must take very special care of Minta.

I promised I would do this and I was determined to. I believed that if I could help bring Minta back to health I should in some way expiate my guilt in loving her husband.

I shall never forget Stirling’s face when he heard that he had a son.

I knew he would be called Charles after his grandfather and that he must live so that Lynx’s dream could be realized—a child of his own name to play on the lawns of Whiteladies.

What a strange, unreal kind of day! Looking back on it, it seems like a dream, too fantastic for reality; but there had been other days like that in my life and perhaps there would be more.

Lucie could not be found anywhere. We thought she had run away. She was in the tower and in the morning they found her body on the flagstones below the bartizan. The wall above, which had been boarded up since that occasion when Minta and I had been up there together, was broken away.

The servants said: “It was a terrible accident. The wall gave way and Lady Cardew was thrown to the ground.”

Two

I was proud of Stirling. He took on the role of country squire as though it had always been his. Lady Cardew was dead—it was an accident, was the verdict. It was explained by all the work that was being done in Whiteladies which had shaken the old house to its foundations. That, said Stirling, was the best explanation.

He asked me to talk to the doctor to make him see reason. Stirling’s idea was that the entire matter should be forgotten. There was no need for anyone—who did not already know. it-to know the truth. The danger was removed. Lucie was dead; she could do no more harm. Dr. Hunter insisted that he had been guilty of grave indiscretion and was a disgrace to his profession. He didn’t think he could allow matters to stand as they were. So the day after little Charles was born Stirling and I talked to him together.

I said: “You have your skill. You have brought this child into the world and you know how difficult that was. If you hadn’t been here Minta would have died and the child with her. Are you going to throw away that skill?”

“There are other doctors,” he said.

“But you belong here.”

“Another doctor would come and there would be no need of me.”

“And what of Maud?” I asked.

“You’re fond of her. She’s fond of you.”

“It’s impossible,” said the doctor.

“It’s not!” I cried indignantly.

“You must stop dramatizing yourself and think of Maud. Are you going to make her unhappy?”

He protested but I saw that I had made my point.

The days passed; the baby was two weeks old, still fragile, still in the care of his nurse, still needing the doctor’s constant attention. They were two strange weeks. I looked after Minta. Motherhood had changed her. She seemed older and more I beautiful—her features finely drawn, but there was a brooding sadness in her eyes.

Franklyn often called at Mercer’s. He would sit and talk to Minta about the estate and the old days and ask questions about the baby. I thought how much more suitable than Stirling he would have been as a husband for Minta. They were of a kind, just as Stirling and I were.

Stirling came too. He would sit in Minta’s room but there was an embarrassment between them. I wondered whether he knew that she had suspected him of attempting to kill her.

Once he and Franklyn came to the house at the same time so I left Stirling with Minta and Franklyn and I went to the drawing-room to play a game of chess.

As I sat there I thought of Lynx’s hand stretched out to move the pieces, the ring on his finger. I treasured that ring. It brought back so many poignant memories.

And then before the game was over Franklyn said suddenly:

“Nora, will you marry me?”

I drew away from the table.

“No, Franklyn,” I said firmly.

“I wish you would,” he said quietly.

I smiled and he asked me why.

“It seems a strange way to offer marriage—almost as though you were inviting me to take a glass of sherry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said .

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should always say what’s in your mind to me. I know I’m rather inadequate at expressing my feelings.”

I like that. “

“I’m glad. I’m very fond of you and I hoped you might like me … a little.”

“Much more than a little but …”

“Not enough to marry me?”

“We are different kinds of people, Franklyn.”

“Does that make marriage impossible?”

“We shouldn’t be compatible. You are good, precise, your life is well ordered …”

“My dear Nora, you overrate me.”

“I believe you would never do anything that wasn’t reasonable and conventional. You are in control of your life.”

“Shouldn’t one be?”

“Oh yes. It’s very admirable. But hard to live up to. I can only say that we are different and I can’t marry you.”

I looked into his face, but I was not really seeing him. I saw another face—a strong face that could be cruel and passionate. the face of a man who could dominate me as Franklyn never could. Even now it was impossible to analyse my feelings for Lynx. To marry him had been a compulsion. Yet I knew that now I yearned for Stirling because I had known ever since we met that we belonged together. Yet how could I reconcile this with my marriage to And Franklyn and myself! Minta and Stirling! We were star-crossed.

Lynx like a mischievous god had made us dance to his tune and we had ended up with the wrong partners.

“No, Franklyn,” I said firmly.

“I can’t marry you.”

The child was flourishing but Minta was not. Each day she seemed more wan, a little more fragile.

“She’s not picking up,” said the doctor.

“She’s listless.”

None of Mrs. Glee’s special dishes could tempt her. Mrs. Glee was almost in tears when they came back untouched to the kitchen. Maud came to visit Minta bringing some of her own honey and black currant jelly. A radiant Maud, this; she told me that the doctor had proposed.

“And been accepted, of course,” I said.

She nodded.

“He has told me everything and we’re going to adopt Druscilla. Isn't that wonderful? And it’s only right. Mr. Herrick agrees.”

I told Minta about it.

“Everything is working out well,” I said.

“Now you must eat what’s brought to you and try to show some interest in life. What about your son, eh?”

“You can take him.”

“I! When you are well I shall be off to Australia."

” Are you still determined to go? “

I assured her I was. She looked very sad and I told her that I should come back in a few years and then there would perhaps be a brother or sister for our little Charles. She shook her head.

I was really worried about her and it dawned on me that there was something on her mind.

My guilty conscience set me brooding. I thought constantly of Minta.

One night I was so disturbed about her that I couldn’t sleep. I rose and went to. her room. The lamp there was kept burning all night and as I went in I was horrified to find how cold it was; then I saw that the window was wide open letting in the chilly night air. Minta had thrown off all the bedclothes and lay there in her nightdress only.

I went quickly to the bedside. I touched the sheets and found they were damp. I noticed the empty water jug on the bedside table.

First I shut the window; then I went back to the bed.

“Who did this?” I demanded. I lifted her from the bed and seizing a blanket wrapped it round her. I made her sit in a chair, while I took off the sheets and put on fresh ones. I boiled water on the spirit lamp and filled the hot-water bottles; when I got her into bed she was still shivering. She seemed dazed and she was certainly delirious; I am sure I should never have discovered what was in her mind if she had not been.

I sat by her bed listening to her rambling. It was about Stirling, herself, myself. So she knew. She talked of the child who would play on the lawns of Whiteladies. That phrase which had haunted me! I would be there for she herself would be dead. It was the only way to make Stirling happy.

“It’s so hard to die,” she said.

“I have to die, though, because that’s the only way.”

Piece “by piece I fitted it together. And during that hour of delirium she showed me what was in her mind as she never would had her mind been clear. I was appalled and ashamed by the extent of her love for Stirling since she was ready to die for him.

A great determination came to me. I was going to nurse her back to health; I was going to make her live. Stirling must love her in time if I were not there. If we could grow away from this absurd obsession that we were meant for each other (for if it were true would we ever have allowed anything to stand in our way? ) he would learn to be happy with Minta. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the intoxicating passion which for a while I had known with Lynx, but it could be a good life; and Stirling would have the gratification of knowing that he had fulfilled his father’s wishes.

Within a week Minta began to improve. I spoke to her severely. I knew what she had done, I told her; and it must not occur again. It was cowardly to take one’s life.

“For others?” she asked.

“For any reason,” I replied firmly.

“Life is meant to be lived.”

She told me then how she had discovered that Stirling and I loved each other, for she had been secreted in the minstrels’ gallery. I tried to remember what we had said and I knew it must be damning.

“And you love Stirling,” she said.

“You were meant for each other. You are alike in so many ways. You are strong, adventurous people. “

“Who knows what love is?” I asked.

“It takes a lifetime to discover. I believe that love at its best is not the passion of a moment. It is something that one builds over the years. You can build it with Stirling.”

“But Stirling loves you. I heard him speak to you as he never did to me.”

“One day he will. Then he will have forgotten what I looked like.”

“It’s not true, Nora.”

“It is something you can prove to be true in time.”

I half convinced her. Her health was improving rapidly and the baby was getting stronger. I’ll never forget the first day she was able to hold him in her arms. I knew then that she had something to live for and so did she.

I knew, too, that it was time for me to leave.

I was going within the next three weeks. I had told Stirling that nothing would induce me to stay. He had his son; he had his wife; it was his duty to make up to Minta for all the anxiety he had caused her.

He realized this. He knew that Minta had suspected him of trying to kill her. That had shaken him considerably and made him feel tender and protective towards her. It was a beginning and I told him that in time he might become worthy of her.

Franklyn came to play a game of chess.

He said: “I’ve decided to go to Australia.”

“You! You’d hate it.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s not… England. It’s a new country. It’s vigorous, perhaps rough, and things are done differently over there from the way they are here.”

“Why shouldn’t I be different for a change?”

“Why are you going?”

He looked at me intently and said: “You know why.”

“Oh no,” I protested.

“You couldn’t. Not because of … me!”

“You are determined to go. It seems the only thing I can do is to come too. I can’t lose you, you know.”

“There is your estate. What about Wakefield Park?”

“I can put a manager in. That’s simple. In fact I’ve already settled that little detail.”

“But you love Wakefield Park.”

There is something I love more. “

I could not meet his eyes. I felt ashamed.

" Me, for instance? ” I asked.

“But of course.”

I stood on the deck of the Brandon Star and watched the shores of England recede. I was going back. Once I had stood on the deck of a ship bound for the same destination and Stirling had stood beside me.

Now Stirling was in England and I had said goodbye to him, to Minta, to the baby, to Whiteladies; and another man stood beside me.

Stirling and I were two of a kind. We had often said it. But Franklyn was with me now and Minta was with Stirling. We had despised them, mocked them because they were not like us.

No, I thought. They had a power to love which we lacked. Minta had been ready to die for Stirling; Franklyn had given up his beloved lands to come to me. What was love? Had Stirling and I understood love such as that?

“Very soon you’ll see the last of England,” said Franklyn.

“Does that make you sad?”

I turned to look at him, seeing him afresh.

“Not as I thought it would,” I admitted.

“We’re going to a great country, a land of endless opportunities.”

We smiled at each other; and the love I saw in his eyes was a glow that warmed me. I knew then that I wanted to learn more of his sort of love—and Minta’s—that love which does not look for sensation or continual excitement, the love that is built not on the shifting sands of violent passion but on the steady rock of deep and abiding affection.

As the land slid away below the horizon, I believed that I might find it.