When I was with Simon I could not help but trust him and I doubted my ability to resist him; I believed that if I told him what I had discovered and he gave me a plausible explanation, I should be only too glad to meet him half-way. Readily would I believe any story he could tell me if only it would exonerate him from the murder of Gabriel and from the attempted murder of me and my child.
I believed that night that I dared not listen to Simon. I had to remain aloof. For the first time I could not trust my own good sense.
I was at the mercy of my feelings for this man. It was humiliating, and yet in a way it was exhiliarating, because love must always be like that. And I learned that night, if I had not known it before, that I was in love with Simon.
The next day Simon and Hagar left Kirkland Revels. I said good-bye warmly to Hagar, coolly to Simon. He was aware of my changed attitude and it seemed to amuse him. I thought: Can he really be as cynical as that?
When they had left I went to my room. I wanted to be quiet and formulate some plan. I knew that I must act quickly, because it might be that already the robe had been missed.
The only person in whom I could confide was Mary Jane and what could she do to help me? Still, at such a time it was a comfort to confide in anybody. I thought of going to Sir Matthew, showing him what I had discovered, and asking him to make up a party to explore the passage between the house and the Abbey. Ruth? Could I tell Ruth? I was not sure of Ruth and it would not have surprised me to learn that she—although not the prime mover in the plot against me-was not unaware of what was going on. Sarah? What sense could one hope to get from Sarah? And Luke . I still clung to my belief that Luke was my real enemy.
I could not make up my mind.
I was in my room trying to come to some decision when I noticed an envelope lying on the floor by the door. I hurried to it and picked it up. There was nothing written on it. I opened my door, hoping to find someone hurrying away, but there was no one there; the letter might have been quietly pushed under my door some minutes before I had noticed it.
I shut my door and slit the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper inside; and on it was written in a shaky handwriting :
” Go back to your old horn without delay. You are in imminent danger.”
I stared at it. I did not know the handwriting and I wondered whether the shakiness was a method of disguising it, for the letter was unsigned and there was no address on the paper.
Who had pushed the letter under my door? And what did it mean? Was it yet another trick?
But there was something tangible about a piece of paper. No one could say I had imagined this.
I went to the window and looked out. Then my heart began to hammer wildly because I saw someone hurrying away from the house and I recognised her Damaris!
I suspected Damaris of working against me. How could I do otherwise when she had been with me and had seen the monk, and then had declared she had not?
I looked back at the paper. I would not let myself believe that she was working with Simon in this. And yet the position was desperate. I must look at the facts; I must face the truth. I had seen them together on Christmas night, and what had been implied by their words shocked me deeply. But I couldn’t believe this of Simon. My common sense might try to insist that I did, but my ridiculous feminine emotions refused to be convinced.
Someone had sent Damaris to put that note under my door. Was it Luke?
He could have done it himself. Dr. Smith? I looked again at the handwriting, and because I had seen his I decided that those words could not in any circumstances have been written by him.
Then I remembered that occasion when I had called at his house. I thought of the sick woman, me wife who was such a disappointment to him that he threw himself so whole heartedly into his work. The shaky handwriting might be that of a sick woman, a woman who was in some stress.
I put the paper into my pocket, wrapped myself in my heavy cloak and left my room. I paused on the stairs by the minstrels’ gallery; then I opened the door and looked inside, because I thought that someone might be biding there.
There was no one.
I went down through the hall and out of the house.
There was a bitterly cold wind blowing but I was impervious to the weather. I hurried away from the house, looking back only once to see if I was being followed. I could see no one, but I felt that from every window eyes might be watching me.
I went on until I came to the doctor’s house. It seemed more gloomy than it had on that other occasion The Venetian blinds were all drawn and the wind whistled through the firs.
I rang the bell and the maid let me in.
” The doctor is not at home, Mrs. Rockwell,” she said.
” I have come to see Mrs. Smith.”
She looked surprised. ” I will tell her you are here.”
” Please tell her that I am very eager to see her on a matter of importance.” ;
The maid went away almost reluctantly, while I wondered what I should do if Mrs. Smith refused to see me. I might ask for Damaris. I would insist on knowing whether it was she who had brought the note, why she had denied seeing the monk, what part she had played and was playing in this plot against me. I was determined to know the truth without delay.
In a few moments the maid returned;
” Mrs. Smith will see you,” she said; and I followed her up the stairs to the room which I had visited once before.
I was astonished to see Damaris with her mother. She was standing by Mrs. Smith’s chair, and it seemed as though she were clinging to her mother for protection. Mrs. Smith looked even more emaciated than when I had last seen her; her eyes were enormous and they seemed to bum with some deep purpose.
She said in a quiet voice: ” Good morning, Mrs. Rockwell It was good of you to call.”
I went forward and took the hand she extended; and then the door shut on the maid and we three were alone.
” Why did you come here?” she asked quickly. ” This is the last place you should come to.” , I took the sheet of paper from my pocket and held it out j to her. ‘/, “Have you shown this to anyone else?” she asked. | ” To no one.” i ” Why … do you come here?” i ” Because I believe you wrote that and sent it to me. I saw Damaris leaving the house.”
There was silence.
Then I cried: “You did write it, didn’t you?”
Damaris put her arm about her mother. ” You must not be disturbed,” she said. She looked at me almost defiantly ” You are making her ill.”
I answered: ” I think she can help me to find out who has been trying to make me ill.”
“You must not fret, my darling,” said Mrs. Smith to Damaris. ” She has come here, and it was very unwise of her. But she is here now and I must do what I can.”
” You already have …”
” If she would only take my advice!”
“What is your advice?” I demanded.
” Go away from here. Do not delay a moment. Return at once to your father’s house to-day. If you do not … it will be too late.”
” How do you know?”
” There is a great deal I know,” she said wearily.
“Will you tell me this: Did you write that note?”
She nodded. ” Because I know that you must get away if you wish to give birth to a child that will live?”
” How do I know that I can trust you?”
” What could I possibly gain by warning you?”
“Don’t you see that I’m in the dark?”
” Yes, I do. You are headstrong. You will not take my advice and go.
You want to solve mysteries. You are too bold, Mrs. Rockwell. “
” Tell me what you know,” I said. ” You owe that to me.”
“Mother!” gasped Damaris, and the mask dropped from her lovely face.
I knew that she was terrified.