House of Storm, page 13
Already, at lunch, in the familiar dining room, there was a sense of groping through nebulous and unfamiliar shapes and shadows.
It was not, properly speaking, lunch; it was not dinner; it was food eaten in a darkening world, with candles lighted and flickering, with the great hurricane shutters closed, with a twilight that was not twilight but a strange untimely dusk over everything. They ate hurriedly, yet again there was a feeling of time being untethered from its usual rules. It seemed to Nonie as if they sat for hours, with Jebe passing platters of cold food, cold meats, great cold artichokes, a heaped plate of gold and red and purple fruits whose names still she did not know. Yet the talk was so rapid, so tersely concerned with the storm and the things to be done that to Nonie, unaccustomed to the island exigencies, it was elliptical to the point of being unintelligible. But in a very real way the storm usurped the premier place just then over the problems of Hermione’s murder, just as Hermione’s murder had done over other sheerly personal problems.
Nevertheless it remained and would remain when the storm had passed, and every affectionate word of Aurelia’s, every look of Roy’s was exactly as it had been and reminded Nonie of her position in that household—a false position now. What would they say, what would they do when they knew how false it had been? When they knew how she intended to return their kindness, their warm and welcoming hospitality, their indulgent care and love?
Jim sat at Aurelia’s left and said little. Roy sat at the head of the table, looking in that flickering light like one of his own ancestors stepped from the gilt frame on the wall and into a planter’s khaki shirt. Dr. Riordan, she realized suddenly, was talking in a philosophical mood about the weather.
“ … the damnedest thing,” he said. “Man makes rules, man makes plans and counterplans, and then some bit of wind away off somewhere kicks itself up and whirls and whirls, faster and faster and all at once gets out of bounds and sweeps across everything, taking all before it, and we’re still helpless. Still creatures of our environment. Still earth-bound, in spite of all the hundreds of years we call civilization. I’ve got to get along. Thank you, Aurelia, I did need some food.”
Roy rose too. “It’s pretty bad already.”
“Oh, I’ll make it.”
“If it’s more convenient to stop here overnight when you come back, be sure to do it. That coast road just before you get to Beadon Rock can be dangerous …”
“I know, I know. Thanks, Roy, I will.”
Aurelia said: “The storm can’t last long, not this time of the year. Surely it will blow itself out soon. Don’t you think so, Roy? I do want it to be a clear and sunny day Wednesday.”
Roy, moving to the door hospitably with Dr. Riordan, did not hear. Jim, rising, sent a swift glance at Nonie which said: now is the time to tell him.
She rose, too, quickly. Girding herself for it, her heart in her throat; yet in a queer way she was relieved too. In a moment or two the worst of it, the hardest part, the saying of those difficult and irrevocable words would be over. Aurelia, still preoccupied with the plans that seemed to Aurelia real and permanent, that had nothing to do with the storm, with murder, said worriedly: “I telephoned the village, Nonie. The mail boat didn’t come in this morning; they were afraid of the storm. So your package didn’t come.”
Package. She look at her blankly, and Aurelia said, shaking her head and smiling: “Nonie, dear, your jewels. Your mother’s pearls for you to wear. They ought to have been here long ago.”
Her mother’s pearls, of course, to wear with the white dress and the softly veiled hat that waited now in Aurelia’s great wardrobe. Contrition must have deepened her look of stillness and blankness, for Aurelia’s rallying little smile changed to one of great kindness and affection. “Dear, you mustn’t think of the terrible thing that happened last night. We’ll go on as if it hadn’t happened. And as for the storm, we’re used to them here. Of course it’s all strange to you now and perhaps frightening but we’ve weathered much worse storms than this one is likely to be. And so will you, my dear. It’s simply a part of the island, something we are all accustomed to. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She patted her arm comfortingly and turned to give Jebe some direction about the house. Nonie followed Jim into the hall. Lights were on now everywhere, yet they did not dispel the gloom and dimness of the house with all the great shutters closed and bolted, and the unnaturalness of lights at that hour added to the feeling of strangeness the whole island had taken on. The lustered chandelier was glittering dimly, its crystal drops dull; the old maroon wallpaper looked darker. The crash of the sea against the rocks and amid the mangroves below was louder there. And it was still not the time to tell Roy. Dick Fenby stood in the hall, struggling out of oilskins, panting and breathless, standing aside as Dr. Riordan picked up his bag from the long table and took a long breath himself before opening the great door and disappearing into the clamor and wild wind outside.
As the door banged behind him, Lydia Bassett, patting her hair into shape, came from the library where she had apparently left her raincoat. Her red hair was wildly blown, her green dress looked extraordinarily vivid.
“Lydia!” Roy cried. “How did you get here?”
“I brought her,” Dick said. “No rain yet. When it comes it’ll be a deluge. We’re only on the outer circle of the thing now. My guess is that it’s going to pass directly over the island.”
Lydia pushed and patted the deep thick waves of her red hair and shrugged her green belt into place. “I do hope I’m welcome, Roy. I tried to get you by phone a moment ago, but then Dick came by and I saw him and hailed him. Do you mind if I stay here until the storm is over? Would Aurelia mind …?”
“Delighted,” Roy said, “delighted. I’d have told you to come if I had thought of it. You shouldn’t be alone in your house just now. The storm may be a bad one, no way of guessing these out-of-season gales. And until we round up the fellow that shot Hermione no one on the island is safe. Much better that you came here.”
Lydia shot a smiling glance at Nonie. “You’re sure you don’t mind? I mean, well, just before the wedding, you know. Unless you’ve changed your plans?”
“Why should the plans be changed?” Roy asked shortly. A surge of wind fell upon the house so hungrily somehow, so avidly and strongly that the sturdy old walls seemed to shake. Roy listened, all of them listened. Roy said: “It’s going to be a bad one. I’ve got to see Smithson.…”
Jim said quickly: “I’ll go with you.…”
Aurelia at the dining-room door cried: “Lydia!” in a tone of surprise.
Lydia’s green eyes were lambent. “Roy asked me to stay, Aurelia. I do hope it’s convenient. Frankly, I felt uneasy alone, after what happened last night.”
“Oh.” Aurelia’s voice was flat and toneless, yet Nonie felt disapproval and chill. “Of course since you are here you must stay.”
The light in Lydia’s eyes flashed brighter. She opened her red lips to speak and Roy said briskly: “Well, well, come along then, Jim.”
They didn’t pause for oilskins but hurried out, Jim holding the door against the hot buffet of the wind and the surge and crash of the sea—louder again, sweeping through the house, shaking and threatening it. Jim did not look at Nonie; as he went out the wind flattened his shirt against his shoulders and rattled the lusters of the chandelier. Lydia’s hands went to her hair again. She said, “It’s so awfully kind of you, Aurelia. I really was afraid to stay alone.”
“Have you a bag with you?” Aurelia asked.
“It’s here.” Dick went to the library door and picked up a brown calfskin bag. Lydia said, smiling, her eyes very bright: “You see, I came prepared to stay.”
“I’ll show you your room,” Aurelia said stiffly. “This way …”
She started up the stairs and Lydia waited an instant, a half smile on her lips but her eyes lighted and, somehow, angry. Then she shrugged and followed. Dick glanced toward the dining room.
“I’m hungry,” he said, and sighed. “Nonie, I want to say it now. I’m sorry about last night.”
“That’s all right, Dick. Forget it. There’s still food on the table. You’d better eat something …”
“I was an oaf. Hermy was right.”
“Jebe!” The houseman’s white coat was disappearing into the pantry and she called him back. “Get a plate for Major Fenby, please …”
Again time seemed to have no meaning; again she sat in the dining room that ought to be familiar but wasn’t, waiting, listening to the wild clash of the palm trees and the creak of the shutters. Dick ate slowly and wearily, as if every motion was an effort, and said nothing. And he was finishing when Roy and Jim came back. Roy came to the dining-room door and Jim had not yet told him.
Nonie knew it at a glance. Roy looked blown and buffeted by the wind; his vigorous gray hair disheveled, his glasses in his hand, but his look of kindness and affection was the same. He said approvingly: “Glad you’re getting some food into you, Dick. It’s been a tough day. But if it had to storm, frankly I’m glad it came just now and we got rid of Wells. I’d rather we’d settle our own affairs. It’s our island.”
Dick nodded. And Nonie took a long breath and rose and went to Roy. It was as if someone told her what to do, where to go, how to move and speak. She said: “Can we go to your study, Roy?”
He glanced down at her quickly as if he sensed something in her look or words. “Of course,” he said at once, and led the way to the book-lined room across the hall. Jim was there, waiting.
Roy’s eyes were puzzled; his face serious. He looked at Jim and looked at her. “What’s wrong? You’ve got something to tell me. Something …” His eyes sharpened. “So you did see something last night. Evidence—clues …”
Nonie took a long breath. “Roy, I’ve got to tell you. I’m sorry.… When I promised to marry you, I didn’t know—I didn’t realize—I discovered only yesterday …” She was doing it badly, fumbling for words.
Roy said: “What’s wrong, Nonie? Have you had bad news from home? What …?”
“No, no—Roy, it’s about our marriage.”
“Our marriage! What are you trying to say?” He glanced suddenly at Jim and said: “What has Jim to do with that?”
Jim came forward, his face grave. He put his hand on Roy’s desk. “Roy, I love her. I want her to marry me.”
After a long moment Roy said slowly: “So that’s why you came back. Major Wells said there must be a girl.”
“Roy, listen—let us tell you.…”
“Wait,” Roy said. He took off his eyeglasses and rubbed his forehead. “So that’s why you came back,” he said again.
14
THE RUSH OF WIND and sea tore at the island, shook the house, but within the library there was a small area of silence. It was an old room, dark, with its panels of teakwood, its shelves of old leather-bound books, its mahogany writing table, its green-shaded lamp.
After a long moment Roy went to the swivel chair and sat down, leaning his elbows on the worn black-leather cushions on its arms. He didn’t look at Jim. He didn’t look at Nonie, but only sat there, staring at the desk, leaning forward a little.
Jim said: “We didn’t mean it to happen. Believe me, Roy. I intended to leave; that’s one of the reasons. I didn’t intend to come back. But when I knew that Nonie loved me everything was different.”
Wind pushed at the shutters behind him as if it wanted to get into the room, into the house; as if it resented man-made barriers and was determined to do away with them.
Roy said at last, heavily, staring at the desk: “I’ll not make Nonie marry me if she doesn’t want to.”
“I know exactly what my position is now,” Jim said. “But I’ll be cleared, I’ve got to be. And then …”
Roy said: “They hang people for murder.”
“I didn’t kill Hermione.”
As if he had not heard him, staring at the desk, Roy said gravely: “Our legal machinery for law enforcement works slowly. It works on our island, though—well, first through Dick and Seabury because they are officials and in a way through me because I’ve got a certain influence here. But in the end there’s got to be a trial and a verdict. I’m not trying to frighten you, Jim. I don’t want you hanged for Hermione’s murder. Even if you shot her, I don’t want that. She’s dead and she can’t be brought back, and God knows you had provocation …”
“I didn’t kill her,” Jim said doggedly again.
“All right, I believe you. But—Nonie—this has been a blow. We’ll not talk of that now—I do not believe that either of you meant it to happen. But—we’ve got to think.”
Jim moistened his lips, and with a rather desperate glance at Nonie, he said: “But the wedding …”
Aurelia, behind them, said: “The wedding will take place as arranged, of course.”
None of them had known she was there until she spoke. Nonie whirled to look and Aurelia stood, tall and imposing, just inside the door. The shadows were thick there, the rim of light from the lamp fell far short of that end of the room and Aurelia, with her beige shantung and her pale face, looked ghostly standing there. Her eyes were blazing. She said to Jim: “I believed you, Jim. I said I’d known you since you were a boy—I said you couldn’t have killed Hermione. But if you can do this thing to Roy, your best friend, you could do anything. For Nonie’s sake, for my brother’s, I insist on the marriage taking place!”
Jim started toward her but she repulsed him with a gesture of something like hatred. “You’re no friend of mine, Jim. No friend of Roy’s. He’s tried to help you. I’ve tried to help you. You’ve taken a mean advantage of our friendliness to you and of the welcome you’ve always had in my brother’s house. You’ve taken advantage of Nonie’s youth and strangeness. You’ve done an unforgivable thing, Jim, and I’ll never forgive you. That is,” she amended her own words swiftly, “you’ve tried to break off Roy and Nonie’s wedding, you’ve tried to take your friend’s wife from him. But I won’t let you do it.”
Jim said slowly: “You can’t make Nonie marry anybody she is not willing to marry. I may deserve everything you say of me, Aurelia. But we love each other.…”
“Love each other!” Aurelia cried scornfully. “Love each other! You don’t know the meaning of love if you can do a treacherous thing like this!” She turned to Nonie, her eyes blazing again with demand and anger. “Tell him, Nonie. Tell him you’re going to marry Roy. Tell him you’re going to be a happy wife here in this house. Tell him you never want to see him again—him,” Aurelia cried, “a man under suspicion for murder! A false friend! A liar, a cheat—a murderer!”
“No, Aurelia,” began Jim, but Aurelia turned upon him, interrupting him in an angry burst. “You threatened to kill her! I heard everything you said the night you came here, to this house, to take refuge after Hermione’s murder. You had threatened to kill Hermione. Nonie and Roy heard you say you’d kill her. I’m going to tell the police.”
The police! Major Wells who had said there must be a girl; who had said if Jim wanted to marry, the fact would strengthen the case against him. Nonie cried: “No, no, Aurelia! You can’t do that! Oh, Aurelia, I’m sorry! I …”
“Sorry!” Aurelia cried. “Being sorry doesn’t mend matters.” But she paused for a moment and seemed to think, before she said more quietly: “Roy, you must stop this. You can’t let a childish notion on Nonie’s part, a moment’s emotion, a thing without any real basis, affect your own life and Nonie’s. She’ll get over this. She’ll be safe in your care.” She shot a dark glance at Jim and cried: “If you really loved Nonie you’d be grateful for that. How dare you ask her to marry you when you’re in the very shadow of the gallows!” She took an unsteady, rasping breath and cried: “You threatened Hermione! You said you’d kill her. You came back and …”
Roy thrust back his chair and stood up. “Stop that, Aurelia! Stop it!” His voice was uneven. They stared at each other for an instant, brother and sister, alike in their anger. Then Roy said more gently: “I know that you mean well, Aurelia. I’m not going to let you tell the police anything. We can’t work things out this way.”
“What are you going to do?” Aurelia demanded. “Stand there and do nothing? Let your marriage be broken off? Let Nonie pine her heart out for a man who is as good as on trial for murder? Let the island laugh at you—you, Roy Beadon? Only a day before your wedding …”
Roy said: “I don’t know what to do. It’s unexpected—but I’ve got to do what’s best for Nonie, and if that means to try to save Jim from the gallows then I’ll have to do that, too.”
“Roy, you fool,” Aurelia cried furiously.
Nonie went to him quickly. She put her hand upon his and he stared down at it—her left hand with a winking blue sapphire upon it.
Aurelia took an unsteady breath and cried: “What does that mean? What are you going to do?”
Roy looked at her again, his look quelling her angry words. “I don’t know yet. We’ve got to think. And right now we’ve got to investigate a murder.”
Aurelia flung out her hands angrily: “I’ll never give in. Everything is arranged. Nonie is the same as your wife right now. And Jim is the same as on trial for murder …”
“That,” Roy said, “is what we’ve got to prevent. Now then …” He paused and listened. All of them listened, suddenly aware that the storm was raging so dangerously, with such great and growing power that it seemed to choose to remind them that they were helpless in its hold.
Aurelia said, as if quelled by the storm, more quietly: “Dick wants to talk to you. That’s what I came to tell you. And Seabury Jenkins is here. He’s been going over Hermione’s records and papers.”
