Читать книгу The Third Eye - Ethel Lina White - Страница 5

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EVERYONE knew that Caroline was desperately eager to get a job; but no one knew that she nearly turned back at the gates of the Abbey School.

She always regarded herself as the family failure because of her inability to pass examinations. When her mother's death disclosed a financial crisis and her relatives had no option but to capitalise her skill at games, she writhed in secret humiliation. Her brother-in-law's enforced hospitality was another thorn in her flesh, since she was quite unaware of his admiration for his Beloved Fool.

He grew quite dejected in anticipation of her loss, for there was a clear daylight quality about her nature which appealed to him as much as the charm of youth and her vivid, attractive face. But he was also worried about her character, for her own sake.

Impulsive, warm-hearted and imprudent, she also possessed unusually rigid principles harnessed to an incapacity to accept compromise which he feared might send her crashing into disaster.

He tried to put her on her guard when they were having tea together in a dark, smoky café before she caught the local bus out to the Abbey School. Against her wish, he had insisted on coming with her to Plume—the old west-country cathedral town which was as far as she could travel by rail; but, now that their parting was near, she was only too glad of his company.

"I don't wish to quack," he told her, "but there is something I must say. It's this: Keep clear of every one your first term. Don't make friends—and, above all, don't make enemies. Steer clear of any quarrel. Don't be curious about other people's business, or you may find yourself drawn into an intrigue which will spin you round like the drum which shuffles the counterfoils in the Irish Sweep, and land you up somewhere where you least want to be."

"I promise," said Caroline soberly.

They were the sole patrons of the tea-room, and she was vaguely depressed by the drizzling rain on the window-panes and the empty clutter of chairs. As though he read her thoughts, the Professor tried to tempt her.

"Still time to change your mind," he said, "Come back to London with me."

"Quack, quack," she murmured mechanically as she looked at her watch. "It's time to go, darling Donald Duck."

She felt an actual pang, after she had climbed into the bus, to see him standing below her on the pavement.

"Shall I promise not to change my shirt until you come back?" he asked.

"No—promise not to change your tailor."

Pleased with the compliment to his new suit, the Professor grinned bashfully; but his smile faded as the bus began to move. Her face, too, was serious as she rolled through dingy utilitarian quarters of the ancient town, which smelt of petrol—over a stagnant green river—past the last villa—and then out into the twilit country, where owls hooted dismally in the woods and the white scuts of rabbits were dimly visible as they scampered amid clumps of bracken.

Her luggage had been sent out by the local carrier, so that the driver was able to drop her almost outside the gates of the school. As she covered the short distance to the lodge, something happened which filled her with horror.

As a rule she walked quickly, with her head erect and looking before her, as though she saw some one she loved standing at the end of a long, straight road. This special characteristic was to prove of vital importance at a future crisis of her life, but it was absent that night.

While she moved slowly and unwillingly, dragging her feet and with her eyes fixed upon the road, a dark object writhed across her path and disappeared into the long grass which bordered the ditch.

"A snake—and I nearly trod on it," she shuddered.

She was so unnerved by the incident that she was almost on the point of waiting for the first bus back to Plume, lest it should prove an omen of ill-fortune. But while she waited in the greenish gloom common-sense prevailed, reminding her that the reptile was probably but a harmless grass-snake and prodding her through the lodge gates and up the drive.

The Abbey was now represented only by a pile of ruins in the grounds, while the house was one of the stately homes of England, whose owner could afford the cost of its maintenance no longer. It was a huge biscuit-stucco erection, with a pillared portico and a double flight of stone steps leading up to an imposing entrance.

Caroline had to wait some time before her ring was answered. She stood forlornly gazing at beds of waterlogged dahlias and dripping laurels until the door was opened by a pleasant-faced young man-servant in a striped linen coat.

"I'm Miss Watts," she told him. "Mrs. Nash is expecting me."

As she spoke, she got the uneasy impression of the birth of a smile behind the man's eyes.

"This way, please," he said.

He conducted her across a vast hall with a slippery parquet floor and into an immense drawing-room. It was a handsome apartment, but faintly suggestive of board meetings—for although most of the family furniture had been bought with the house, the place had already acquired an institutional air.

"If you will take a seat I'll tell Miss Melody you are here," offered the man.

"No," corrected Caroline firmly. "I wish to see Mrs. Nash."

She could not tell whether she were super-sensitive, but again she had the uncomfortable suspicion that the man was suppressing some secret amusement.

"Mrs. Nash is never disturbed in the evening," he said. "I'll send Miss Melody."

Feeling chilled by her reception, Caroline sat waiting until a little elderly woman hustled into the room with the air of having just caught a train. She had a small frost-bitten face, wispy grey hair and sunken brown eyes, under a straight fringe. Somehow she reminded Caroline of an irritable old dog who would snap at strangers, yet be faithful to its owner till the last whistle.

She shook hands in a nervous manner, and spoke abruptly, without looking at Caroline.

"As it is so late, I expect you would like to have your meal at once and then go straight to your room."

While Caroline tried to assure her of her success as a mind-reader, Miss Melody bustled her into the dining-room, which was blazing with electric clusters, as though lit for a banquet. It was also large and handsomely furnished, but it had a vaguely stripped appearance, due to unfaded crimson patches on the olive-brown wall, where family portraits had formerly hung.

One place was laid in the middle of a long, bare table. Miss Melody led Caroline towards it, only stopping at the door to switch off all the lights, with the exception of a single pendant.

"When you've finished," she said, "ring for Parker, and he will show you to your bedroom."

Stranded in the midst of a vast gloom, Caroline did not enjoy her first meal, which consisted of cold meat and salad for her first course, and tinned apricots and custard for her sweet.

When she had rung the bell, the manservant—Parker—appeared after a long interval. Their footsteps alone breaking the silence, she followed him up a wide branching staircase to a gallery—now denuded of its portraits—through a door at one end, and along the corridor of the east wing.

As she was sleeping at its extreme limit, he led her through a confusion of narrow passages, with uneven boards, to her room, which was small and reminded her of a single apartment in a popular hotel. Every inch of space was utilised to make room for the fumed-oak suite. There was a brown and buff Wilton carpet, beige casement-cloth curtains, and sheets of glass over the table and toilet-chest. All the surfaces were sticky with moisture, while the air held the smell of damp fabric.

She was looking around her with a forlorn expression when Miss Melody bustled in with a coffee-tray.

"I thought you would like a hot drink," she said nervously. "May I have a cup with you? Do you smoke?"

She opened her cigarette-case and began to pour out coffee with shaky haste. As she inhaled her first mouthful of smoke, Caroline's spirits began to rise.

"It's frightfully decent of you," she said. "I feel normal again. But I wish I could see Mrs. Nash and be formally approved. You see, I didn't have a personal interview."

Miss Melody bit her cigarette as though she wanted to hurt it. "You've nothing to worry about," she said. "You're young—and you haven't reached a vulnerable salary-point."

"But where is Mrs. Nash?"

Miss Melody crossed the room and pointed to a large lighted window in the opposite wing. It was curtained with some light silk which glowed whitely giving the effect of transparency.

"That is Mrs. Nash's private suite," she told Caroline. "She is with Miss Yaxley-Moore. So she must not be disturbed."

The peculiar note in her voice corresponded with the man-servant's flickering smile. It created an atmosphere of insinuation which was distasteful to Caroline.

"Who is Miss Yaxley-Moore?" she asked.

"The matron."

"And you?"

"Housekeeper. I'm Mrs. Nash's oldest friend and I've been here from the beginning. I may not have certificates, but I work all round the clock and do my best to stop leakage."

"Yes, I noticed you turned out the lights in the dining-room... What is the school like?"

"Its main line is social. To quote from an advertisement, we train the girls 'to become beautiful ladies.' But they can enter for all the examinations. No obstacles—and all the facilities."

"I see." Caroline frowned slightly. "This is going to be a change to me after a public school."

To her surprise Miss Melody burst into a vehement defence of the school.

"Girls must have the proper preparation for the life they are to lead," she declared. "Our pupils are society girls. Never a term without a title. Besides, this place is a real achievement. Mrs. Nash built it up from nothing...Look at it now. This magnificent building. Every mortgage cleared. And nothing foreign—not even a cooking-egg."

"Well, the charges are stiff," hinted Caroline.

"So are the overheads. Mrs. Nash's sons are still a heavy drain. One is at Oxford and the other at Marlborough. So she's not been able to accumulate any reserve. A few bad terms would break her."

As she listened to the confidence, Caroline suddenly remembered the Professor's advice to ignore other people's business. It was an uncomfortable reminder that already she had asked a number of questions. To change the subject, she crossed to the window, from whence she could trace the outlines of a huddle of broken pillars and arches beyond the opposite wing.

"I suppose those are the Abbey ruins," she remarked. "They look quite creepy."

"Nervous?" asked Miss Melody sharply.

"No."

"Good job. We've had one nervous mistress, and one is more than enough." Miss Melody laid her cup down on the table and cleared her throat. "I've come here specially to talk to you, because you're a newcomer. I want to tell you what a wonderful woman Mrs. Nash is. Her husband was killed in the War and she was left with two sons to bring up...This school is her answer. And I do most earnestly wish to impress on you the need of absolute loyalty to her interests."

"But all that's taken for granted," said Caroline uneasily.

Miss Melody continued to stare at her as she lowered her voice to a husky whisper.

"No. I don't believe in gossip, but before you've been here long you'll know what I mean. One can't explain things to a fool—and if you're not a fool you won't need any explanation...Good-night."

When she was alone Caroline stood at the open window, listening to the sigh of the rain rustling through the ivy on the walls. A heavy wet scent of drenched heliotrope rose from the garden-beds below, while across the gulf of darkness Mrs. Nash's room glowed like a lighted Chinese lantern.

She gazed at it with troubled eyes as she remembered the omen of the snake.

"I wish I hadn't come," she thought. "I'm only here because the other mistress died...I wonder if this is her room?"

She slept badly on her first night. Besides being homesick, she was full of nervous fancies which made her shrink from occupying a bed where some one might have died recently. For some time she lay awake, starting at every creaking board before she drifted into a semi-unconscious state in which she could still hear the rustle of the rain while her brain played the strange pranks of dreams.

She thought that she was awake, but was unable to stir, because of a heavy fear of something stirring inside the bed, which paralysed every muscle and locked every joint. She did not know how long it endured, but at last her fingers flexed again and she switched on the light.

As she sat up, she realised that she was really awake, and in a strange but commonplace room. In spite of her relief, she could not shake off the impression of her dream immediately. That sudden drainage of power in the moment of peril appeared to her the more horrible because of her own confidence in her strength and agility.

"Is it a warning dream?" she wondered with a flicker of prescience.

Ashamed of her folly, she doubled her arm and felt her muscle before she snapped off the light again.

The illuminated square still glowed in the opposite wing. As she gazed across at it one of the women in the room must have moved closer to the window, for the blurred silhouette of a gigantic black head was thrown upon the curtain.