Chapter 3
When I heard the sound of the car in the drive I got up in sudden panic, glancing at the clock, for I knew that it meant Beatrice and her husband had arrived. It was only just gone twelve, they were much earlier than I expected. And Maxim was not yet back. I wondered if it would be possible to hide, to get out of the window into the garden, so that Frith, bringing them to the morning-room, would say “Madam must have gone out,” and it would seem quite natural, they would take it as a matter of course.
The dogs looked up enquiringly as I ran to the window, and Jasper followed me, wagging his tail. The window opened out on to the terrace and the little grass clearing beyond, but as I prepared to brush past the rhododendrons the sound of voices came close, and I backed again into the room. They were coming to the house by way of the garden, Frith having told them doubtless that I was in the morning-room. I went quickly into the big drawing-room, and made for a door near me on the left. It led into a long stone passage, and I ran along it, fully aware of my stupidity, despising myself for this sudden attack of nerves, but I knew I could not face these people, not for a moment anyway.
The passage seemed to be taking me to the back regions, and as I turned a corner, coming upon another staircase, I met a servant I had not seen before, a scullery-maid perhaps; she carried a mop and a pail in her hands. She stared at me in wonder, as though I were a vision, unexpected in this part of the house, and “Good-morning,” I said, in great confusion, making for the stairway, and “Good-morning, Madam,” she returned, her mouth open, and her round eyes inquisitive as I climbed the stairs.
They would lead me, I supposed, to the bedrooms, and I could find my suite in the east wing, and sit up there a little while, until I judged it nearly time for lunch, when good manners would compel me to come down again. I must have lost my bearings, for passing through a door at the head of the stairs I came to a long corridor that I had not seen before, similar in some ways to the one in the east wing, but broader and darker—dark owing to the panelling of the walls. I hesitated, and then turned left, coming upon a broad landing and another staircase. It was very quiet and dark. No one was about. If there had been housemaids here, during the morning, they had finished their work by now and gone downstairs.
There was no trace of their presence, no lingering dust smell of carpets lately swept, and I thought, as I stood there, wondering which way to turn, that the silence was unusual, holding something of the same oppression as an empty house does, when the owners have gone away. I opened a door at hazard, and found a room in total darkness, no chink of light coming through the closed shutters, while I could see dimly, in the centre of the room, the outline of furniture swathed in white dust-sheets.
The room smelt close and stale, the smell of a room seldom if ever used, whose ornaments are herded together in the centre of a bed and left there, covered with a sheet. It might be too that the curtains had not been drawn from the window since some preceding summer, and if one crossed there now and pulled them aside, opening the creaking shutters, a dead moth who had been imprisoned behind them for many months would fall to the carpet and lie there, beside a forgotten pin, and a dried leaf blown there before the windows were closed for the last time.
I shut the door softly, and went uncertainly along the corridor, flanked on either side by doors, all of them closed, until I came to a little alcove, set in an outside wall, where a broad window gave me light at last I looked out, and I saw below me the smooth grass lawns stretching to the sea, and the sea itself, bright green with white-topped crests, whipped by a westerly wind and scudding from the shore.
It was closer than I had thought, much closer; it ran surely, beneath that little knot of trees below the lawns, barely five minutes away, and if I listened now, my ear to the window, I could hear the surf breaking on the shores of some little bay I could not see. I knew then I had made the circuit of the house, and was standing in the corridor of the west wing. Yes, Mrs. Danvers was right you could hear the sea from here. You might imagine, in the winter, it would creep up on to those green lawns and threaten the house itself, for even now, because of the high wind, there was a mist upon the window-glass, as though someone had breathed upon it. A mist salt-laden, borne upwards from the sea.
A hurrying cloud hid the sun for a moment as I watched, and the sea changed color instantly, becoming black, and the white crests with them very pitiless suddenly, and cruel, not the gay sparkling sea I had looked on first. Somehow I was glad my rooms were in the east wing. I preferred the rose-garden, after all, to the sound of the sea. I went back to the landing then, at the head of the stairs, and as I prepared to go down, one hand upon the banister, I heard the door behind me open, and it was Mrs. Danvers. We stared at one another for a moment without speaking, and I could not be certain whether it was anger I read in her eyes or curiosity, for her face became a mask directly she saw me.
Although she said nothing I felt guilty and ashamed, as though I had been caught trespassing, and I felt the tell-tale color come up into my face. “I lost my way,” I said, “I was trying to find my room.”
“You have come to the opposite side of the house,” she said, “This is the west wing.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Did you go into any of the rooms?” she asked me. “No,” I said.
“No, I just opened a door; I did not go in. Everything was dark, covered up in dust-sheets. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb anything. I expect you like to keep all this shut up.”
“If you wish to open up the rooms I will have it done,” she said, “you have only to tell me. The rooms are all furnished, and can be used.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “No, I did not mean you to think that.”
“Perhaps you would like me to show you all over the west wing?” she said. I shook my head. “No, rather not,” I said.
“No, I must go downstairs.” I began to walk down the stairs, and she came with me, by my side, as though she were a warden and I in custody.
“Any time, when you have nothing to do, you have only to ask me, and I will show the rooms in the west wing,” she persisted, making me vaguely uncomfortable, I knew not why. Her insistence struck a chord in my memory, reminding me of a visit to a friend’s house, as a child, when the daughter of the house, older than I, took my arm and whispered in my ear.
“I know where there is a book, locked in a cupboard, in my mother’s bedroom. Shall we go and look at it?”
I remembered her white, excited face, and her small, beady eyes, and the way she kept pinching my arm.
“I will have the dust sheets removed, and then you can see the rooms as they looked when they were used,” said Mrs. Danvers.
“I would have shown you this morning, but I believed you to be writing letters in the morning-room. You have only to telephone through to my room, you know, when you want me. It would only take a short while to have the rooms in readiness.”
We had come down the short flight of stairs, and she opened another door, standing aside for me to pass through, her dark eyes questing my face. “It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Danvers,” I said.
“I will let you know sometime.” We passed out together on to the landing beyond, and I saw we were at the head of the main staircase now, behind the minstrels’ gallery. “I wonder how you came to miss your way?” she said, “the door through to the west wing is very different to this.”
“I did not come this way,” I said; “Then you must have come up the back way, from the stone passage?” she said. “Yes,” I said, not meeting her eyes, “Yes, I came through a stone passage.
She went on looking at me, as though she expected me to tell her why I left the morning-room in sudden panic, going through the back regions, and I felt suddenly that she knew, that she must have watched me, that she had seen me wandering perhaps in that west wing from the first, her eye to a crack in the door. “Mrs. Lacy, and Major Lacy, have been here some time,” she said, “I heard their car drive up shortly after twelve.”
“Oh!” I said, “I had not realized that.”
“Frith will have taken them to the morning-room,” she said, “it must be getting on for half-past twelve. You know your way now, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Danvers,” I said. And I went down the big stairway into the hall, knowing she was standing there above me, her eyes watching me. I knew I must go back now, to the morning-room, and meet Maxim’s sister and her husband. I could not hide in my bedroom now. As I went into the drawing-room I glanced back, over my shoulder, and I saw Mrs. Danvers still standing there at the head of the stairs, like a black sentinel. I stood for a moment outside the morning-room, with my hand on the door, listening to the hum of voices.
Maxim had returned then, while I had been upstairs, bringing his agent with him I supposed, for it sounded to me as if the room was full of people. I was aware of the same feeling of sick uncertainty I had experienced so often as a child, when summoned to shake hands with visitors, and turning the handle of the door I blundered in, to be met at once, it seemed, with a sea of faces and general silence.
“Here she is at last,” said Maxim.
“Where have you been hiding? We were thinking of sending out a search party. Here is Beatrice, and this is Giles, and this is Frank Crawley. Look out; you nearly trod on the dog.” Beatrice was tall, broad-shouldered, very handsome, very much like Maxim about the eyes and jaw, but not as smart as I had expected, much tweedier; the sort of person who would nurse dogs through distemper, know about horses, shoot well. She did not kiss me. She shook hands very firmly, looking me straight in the eyes, and then she turned to Maxim, “Quite different from what I expected. Doesn’t answer to your description at all.”
Everyone laughed, and I joined in, not quite certain if the laugh was against me or not, wondering secretly what it was she had expected, and what had been Maxim’s description. And “This is Giles,” said Maxim, prodding my arm, and Giles stretched out an enormous paw and wrung my hand, squeezing the fingers limp, genial eyes smiling from behind horn-rimmed glasses.
“Frank Crawley,” said Maxim, and I turned to the agent, a colourless, rather thin man with a prominent Adam’s apple, in whose eyes I read relief as he looked upon me. I wondered why, but I had no time to think of that, because Frith had come in, and was offering me sherry, and Beatrice was talking to me again.
“Maxim tells me you only got back last night. I had not realized that, or of course we would never have thrust ourselves upon you so soon. Well, what do you think of Manderley?”
“I’ve scarcely seen anything of it yet,” I answered, “it’s beautiful, of course.” She was looking me up and down, as I had expected, but in a direct, straightf orward fashion, not maliciously like Mrs. Danvers, not with unfriendliness. She had a right to judge me, she was Maxim’s sister, and Maxim himself came to my side now, putting his arm through mine, giving me confidence.
“You’re looking better, old man,” she said to him, her head on one side, considering him, “you’ve lost that fine-drawn look, thank goodness. I suppose we’ve got you to thank for that?” nodding at me.
“I’m always very fit,” said Maxim shortly, “never had anything wrong with me in my life. You imagine everyone ill who doesn’t look as fat as Giles.”
“Bosh,” said Beatrice, “you know perfectly well you were a perfect wreck six months ago. Gave me the fright of my life when I came and saw you. I thought you were in for a breakdown. Giles, bear me out Didn’t Maxim look perfectly ghastly last time we came over, and didn’t I say he was heading for a breakdown?”
“Well, I must say, old chap, you’re looking a different person,” said Giles, “Very good thing you went away. Doesn’t he look well, Crawley?”
I could tell by the tightening of Maxim’s muscles under my arm that he was trying to keep his temper. For some reason this talk about his health was not welcome to him, angered him even, and I thought it tactless of Beatrice to harp upon it in this way, making so big a point of it “Maxim’s very sun burnt,” I said shyly, “it hides a multitude of sins. You should have seen him in Venice, having breakfast on the balcony, trying to get brown on purpose. He thinks it makes him better-looking.”
Everyone laughed, and Mr. Crawley said, “It must have been wonderful in Venice, Mrs. de Winter, this time of the year.”
“Yes,” I said, “we had really wonderful weather. Only one bad day, wasn’t it Maxim?”
The conversation drawing away happily from his health, and so to Italy, safest of subjects, and the blessed topic of fine weather. Conversation was easy now, no longer an effort Maxim and Giles and Beatrice were discussing the running of Maxim’s car, and Mr. Crawley was asking if it was true there were no more gondolas in the canals now, only motor-boats. I don’t think he would have cared at all had there been steamers at anchor in the Grand Canal, he was saying this to help me, it was his contribution to the little effort of steering the talk away from Maxim’s health, and I was grateful to him, feeling him anally, for all his dull appearance. “Jasper wants exercise,” said Beatrice, stirring the dog with her foot, “he’s getting much too fat, and he’s barely two years old. What do you feed him on, Maxim?”
“My dear Beatrice, he has exactly the same routine as your dogs,” said Maxim, “Don’t show off and make out you know more about animals than I do.”
“Dear old boy, how can you pretend to know what Jasper has been fed on when you’ve been away for a couple of months? Don’t tell me Frith walks to the lodge gates with him twice a day. This dog hasn’t had a run for weeks, I can tell by the condition of his coat.”
“I’d rather; he looked colossal than half-starved like that half-wit dog of yours,” said Maxim.
“Not a very intelligent remark when Lion won two firsts at Crafts’ last February,” said Beatrice.
The atmosphere was becoming rather strained again. I could tell by the narrow line of Maxim’s mouth, and I wondered if brothers and sisters always sparred like this, making it uncomfortable for those who listened. I wished that Frith would come in and announce lunch. Or would we be summoned by a booming gong? I did not know what happened at Manderley.
“How far away from us are you?” I asked, sitting down by Beatrice, “Did you have to make a very early start?”
“We’re fifty miles away, my dear, in the next county, the other side of Trow chester, the hunting is so much better with us. You must come over and stay, when Maxim can spare you. Giles will mount you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t hunt.” I confessed, “I learnt to ride, as a child, but very feebly, I don’t remember much about it.”
“You must take it up again,” she said, “you can’t possibly live in the country and not ride. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. Maxim says you paint That’s very nice, of course, but there’s no exercise in it is there? All very well on a wet day when there’s nothing better to do.”
“My dear Beatrice, we are not all such fresh-air fiends as you,” said Maxim. “I wasn’t talking to you, old boy. We all know you are perfectly happy slopping about the Manderley gardens and never breaking out of a slow walk.”
“I’m very fond of walking too,” I said swiftly, “I’m sure I shall never get tired of rambling about Manderley. And I can bathe too, when it’s warmer.”
“My dear, you are an optimist,” said Beatrice, “I can hardly ever remember bathing here. The water is far too cold, and the beach is shingle.”
“I don’t mind that,” I said, “I love bathing. As long as the currents are not too strong. Is the bathing safe in the bay?”
Nobody answered, and I realized suddenly what I had said. My heart thumped, and I felt my cheeks go flaming red. I bent down to stroke Jasper’s ear, in an agony of confusion.
“Jasper could do with a swim, and get some of that fat off,” said Beatrice, breaking the pause, “but he’d find it a bit too much for him in the bay, wouldn’t you Jasper? Good old Jasper. Nice old man.”
We patted the dog together, not looking atone another. “I say, I’m getting infernally hungry, what on earth is happening to lunch?” said Maxim. “It’s only just on one now,” said Mr. Crawley, “according to the clock on the mantelpiece.”
“That clock was always fast,” said Beatrice. “It’s kept perfect time now for months,” said Maxim. At that moment the door opened and Frith announced that luncheon was served. “I say, I must have a wash,” said Giles, looking at his hands. We all got up and wandered through the drawing-room to the hall in great relief, Beatrice and I a little ahead of the men, she taking my arm. “Dear old Frith,” she said, “he always looks exactly the same, and makes me feel like a girl again. You know, don’t mind me saying so, but you are even younger than I expected. Maxim told me your age, but you’re an absolute child. Tell me; are you very much in love with him?”
I was not prepared for this question, and she must have seen the surprise in my face for she laughed lightly, and squeezed my arm. “Don’t answer,” she said, “I can see what you feel. I’m an interfering bore, aren’t I? You mustn’t mind me. I’m devoted to Maxim, you know, though we always bicker like cat and dog when we meet. I congratulate you again on his looks. We were all very worried about him this time last year, but of course you know the whole story.”
We had come to the dining-room by now, and she said no more, for the servants were there and the others had joined us, but as I sat down, and unfolded my napkin, I wondered what Beatrice would say did she realize that I knew nothing of that preceding year, no details of the tragedy that had happened down there, in the bay, that Maxim kept these things to himself, that I questioned him never.
Lunch passed off better than I had dared to hope. There were few arguments, or perhaps Beatrice was exercising tact at last, at any rate she and Maxim chatted about matters concerning Manderley, her horses, the garden, mutual friends, and Frank Crawley, on my left, kept up an easy patter with me for which I was grateful, as it required no effort Giles was more concerned with food than with the conversation, though now and again he remembered my existence and flung me are mark at hazard.
“The same cook I suppose, Maxim?” he said, when Robert had offered him the cold souffle for the second time. “I always tell Bee, Mandalay’s the only place left in England where one can get decent cooking. I remember this souffle of old.”
“I think we change cooks periodically,” said Maxim, “but the standard of cooking remains the same. Mrs. Danvers has all the recipes, she tells them what to do.”
“Amazing woman, that Mrs. Danvers,” said Giles, turning to me, “don’t you think so?”
“Oh, yes,” I said, “Mrs. Danvers seems to be a wonderful person.”
“She’s no oil painting though, is she?” said Giles, and he roared with laughter. Frank Crawley said nothing, and looking up I saw Beatrice was watching me. She turned away then, and began talking to Maxim.
“Do you play golf at all, Mrs. de Winter?” said Mr. Crawley. “No, I’m afraid I don’t,” I answered, glad that the subject had been changed again, that Mrs. Danvers was forgotten, and even though I was no player, knew nothing of the game, I was prepared to listen to him as long as he pleased; there was something solid and safe and dull about golf, it could not bring us into any difficulties. We had cheese, and coffee, and I wondered whether I was supposed to make a move.
I kept looking at Maxim, but he gave no sign, and then Giles embarked upon a story, rather difficult to follow, about digging a car out of a snow-drift—what had started the train of thought I could not tell—and I listened to him politely, nodding my head now and again and smiling, aware of Maxim becoming restive at his end of the table. At last he paused, and I caught Maxim’s eye. He frowned very slightly, and jerked his head toward the door. I got up at once, shaking the table clumsily as I moved my chair, and upsetting Giles’s glass of port.
“Oh, dear,” I said, hovering, wondering what to do, reaching ineffectively for my napkin.
“All right, Frith will deal with it,” said Maxim, “don’t add to the confusion. Beatrice, take her out in the garden; she’s scarcely seen the place yet.”
❒
