Vanishing Point

CHAPTER 32

Jenny had absolutely no intention of going to sleep. Her mind was in an extremely quick and lively state. Ever since Rosamond had come in from the wood she had been quite sure that something was going on. It was very stupid not to tell her what it was. She could, of course, have got it out of Rosamond by being cut to the heart and allowing a few effective tears to trickle down the cheek, but on the whole she considered that she would get more amusement out of playing a guessing game and trying to catch Rosamond out. She might have had her back to the chest of drawers, but she was perfectly well aware that certain things had been carried away. Her thoughts, conditioned by the romantic novels of Gloria Gilmore, leapt to something very near the truth. They were going to elope with Craig Lester, and that would mean they wouldn’t have to live with Aunt Lydia any more. The prospect was far too dazzling for her to waste a single minute in going to sleep. Rosamond could have half an hour after she had stopped moving about next door, and then Jenny meant to see to her own treasures. She wasn’t going to leave her manuscripts to anyone else, or her books. The very things which you would die rather than leave behind, and she just wasn’t going to have them left.

She heard eleven strike, and then the quarter, and the half hour. Sometimes the church clock sounded quite loud, sometimes you couldn’t hear at it at all. It just depended on which way the wind was blowing. When there hadn’t been sounds from Rosamond’s room for quite a long time, she got up and put on her warm blue dressing gown. She had grown so much that it was nearly up to her knees, but it still met across the chest. She tied the cord round her waist and began to put all her manuscripts together in the top long drawer. There oughtn’t to have been room for them there, but there was, because Rosamond had taken such a lot of things out.

When she had got all the papers together she started on the right-hand drawer at the top. It had her pencils in it, and some peppermint creams which gave the whole drawer a lovely smell, a pair of gloves with a hole which she had forgotten to mend, a compass, a ruler, a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, a brown hair ribbon, a warm scarf, a Chinese box, and a lot of odds and ends of the kind which other people have a most unfair way of describing as rubbish. Jenny didn’t care what anyone said, everything in this drawer was precious and she was going to take it with her. The Chinese box was the most precious of all. There was a secret way of opening it. If you didn’t know the trick, it just stayed shut. She opened it now. There was the pearl brooch which her godmother had bestowed on her at her baptism, after which she departed to Australia and never took any more notice. There was a pin with a blue glass bird on it, and a string of beads made out of bright red seeds with a black spot at one end. There was a silver thimble that had belonged to her grandmother, and a coin with a peacock on it. There was a blue Venetian bead.

She didn’t want to look at it, but her eyes became fixed. She hadn’t forgotten about it, but she had locked it away. Now it was there in front of her with the gold and silver flakes catching the light. She put out a finger and touched it. There it was, quite solid and real. Why hadn’t she left it lying on the grass verge in Vicarage Lane? Why hadn’t she thrown it away in the fields, or on the road? Why had she brought it home? She had a dreadful feeling that none of these things could be escaped from. There was something about the bead that fascinated her. Slowly, reluctantly she picked it up and set it on the palm of her hand. As she turned to get the light upon it she saw that the door was open, and that Lydia Crewe stood on the threshold looking in.

There hadn’t been any sound at all. The door had been shut, and now it was open. There hadn’t been anyone there. Now there was Lydia Crewe, all tall and black, with a black scarf over her head and a cloak that came down to her feet. It was a quite dreadful moment, like something out of the worst kind of dream. Jenny stiffened herself against it. There are people who collapse when they are frightened, and there are people who get angry. Jenny was of the people who get angry. Under Miss Crewe’s cold stare her colour flamed and her eyes blazed. Words were jerked out of her.

“What do you want?”

Lydia Crewe came into the room and shut the door.

“What are you doing out of bed like this?”

“I got up.”

“So I see.” Lydia ’s tone was cold and measured. The look was dark. “Where did you get that bead?”

“I found it.”

“Where?”

Jenny went back a step. She closed her hand upon the bead and put it behind her.

“I just found it.”

“And I asked you where.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why do you not want to tell me? Shall I tell you? Because you have been getting out of the house at night and running about, you don’t care to say where.”

Jenny’s eyes met hers and wouldn’t give way. She was made of harder stuff than Rosamond. When people tried to bully her it got her back up and she didn’t care. There was defiance between them, and for a faint faraway moment there was something in Lydia Crewe which felt a spark of pride. Jenny had the Crewe blood, if she hadn’t the name. Something stirred and was gone again. She went on harshly.

“You must be quite aware that this sort of thing can’t continue. I don’t intend it to continue. I have made all the arrangements, and you will have to go to school. Rosamond will take you there immediately.”

“I don’t believe it!”

Miss Crewe said coldly,

“Rosamond should have told you. But of course she thinks she knows best. I advise you to be sensible and to make the most of the advantages I shall be giving you. Since you will have your living to earn, it is very important to make up for all the time you have lost. And now give me that bead!”

As the dark figure advanced, Jenny could go back no farther. The chest of drawers was behind her, and the wall upon her right. What she could do she did. With her hand clenched on the bead she dodged an outstretched arm and ran towards the window. When she was a yard away from it her hand came up and the bead went flying. It was all over in a moment. The blinding anger that was in Lydia Crewe was like lightning in the room.

But there was no thunder. That formidable will could hold it back, and did. There was a terrible silence. Jenny leaned on the window-sill, the cold night air about her. Her heart knocked at her side. Lydia Crewe went to the door and took the key. Then she went out, and the door was shut without sound or haste. The sound came afterwards-the little sound of the key turning in the lock and shutting Jenny in.