I was marrying Philip to escape—and that was not really a good reason for marriage, I knew, yet how was it possible to back out now? But it's not too late. It was almost as though the house was telling me that. You could stop it now, negotiations are not complete and there has been no signing on the dotted line. You could escape now.
Escape? Where to? To Mrs. Oman Lemming?
Maybe. But to escape from her is no reason for marriage.
Then, I reproached myself, why didn't you think of this before? Why do you have to start plaguing yourself with it now?
It was just because I was afraid of the future. Mrs. Oman Lemming was looming up before me and there seemed no escape from the dreary life which I knew I was going to hate. And then Philip's proposal had been so unexpected and promised such fun; it was only at this eleventh hour that I realized I was plunging into marriage without much experience of life.
What nonsense! What experience of life do girls have? What has Esmeralda had? What does she know of life? She was once lost in a market. That was the nearest she came to knowing there was a world outside her tight little circle.
Yet there was this strange feeling creeping over me. The house was rejecting me. We don't want you here, it seemed to be saying.
These rooms are not for you. We will never accept you. That was the message of the house.
I clenched my fists. Metaphorically I shook them at the house. If I want to live here, I will. It is my life and how could I possibly be a governess to that old tyrant and her loathsome brood now? Philip would never allow it.
It was comforting to think of Philip, his gaiety, his comradeship, his kindness. I did love him—in a way.
Then I heard it—or perhaps sensed it—the sudden awareness that I was not alone in the house.
The house was so quiet. One could imagine anything else. Then it was there again. The step on the stairs. The creak of feet on wood. Now it was distinct. Footsteps were coming up the stairs. I immediately thought of that other occasion when Rollo had come into the house. It's Rollo again, I reassured myself. As he is making the arrangements, he has naturally come to have another look at it.
The door opened slowly. I almost cried out: "Rollo!" Then my flesh started to creep, for it was not Rollo. It was a man who stood there smiling at me in an odd sort of way. I put my hands behind my back for fear he should see that they were trembling.
I knew this man. He was the tall dark one who had spoken to me at the Chopin recital.
I stammered: "How... how did you get in?"
He held up a door key.
"Where did you get it?" I demanded.
He laughed and answered: "The house is for sale, I believe."
"No, it's sold. I can't understand. I suppose the agent gave it to you. He shouldn't have done so. The house is sold ... or all but sold."
"Oh, they can never be sure until everything is signed and sealed. They must go on trying to sell it."
As he spoke he kept his eyes fixed on me and I felt an uneasiness creeping over me. The fact that the house was empty and I was alone in it with this man struck me forcibly.
"So," I went on, feeling the need to say something even though it was obvious, "you came to look at the house."
He nodded and advanced into the room. I desperately wanted to get out through the door but I did not see how I could without passing him.
"This house is definitely off the market," I added.
"That's a pity because I quite like it."
"So you are wasting your time."
His hooded eyes regarded me intently. I wished I knew what he was thinking because I was sure there was something more in this than what he would have it appear.
"Perhaps," he said. "But while I am here I shall look round. You never know ... if the sale fell through and I liked it particularly well, I could then jump into the breach."
I was nearly at the door but he had taken a step towards me. I said hurriedly: "I'll leave you to look round."
"Couldn't we look together? I know so little about houses. I should welcome your comments."
"I must remind you again that it is sold."
I thought cunningly that I would pretend to go round with him and when I reached the ground floor I would remember an appointment and before he had time to stop me I would open the front door and walk out.
"All the same," I went on, "if you want to look round, do. Let's start at the bottom."
"You are kind." He stood aside for me to pass and as I started to walk downstairs I was aware of him very close behind me. Why did I feel so scared? What was it about him? He seemed so large, so powerfully built that he made me feel helpless. Moreover, somehow I didn't quite believe he had come to see the house, and why should the house agent have given him the key when he knew the Carringtons were buying the house? It was all rather mystifying.
"A pleasant house," he was saying.
"My fiance thinks so," I replied.
"And you don't?"
"I think it's adequate."
"Just look at this banister. It's rather elegant, don't you think?"
"Yes, it's well carved."
I took a few steps down. I had rarely been so frightened in my life.
Is he mad? I asked myself. Why is he here? I know it is not to see the house. Why did he follow me upstairs?
I prayed as I stood there on the stairs. Oh God, let me get away.
I'll never want to come to this house again. But let me get away from this man.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
"Pleasant carving," I repeated.
"Oh yes, yes. And you are appreciative of that. Like you, I am appreciative of beautiful things."
I wondered whether I would dash down the stairs now. If I did he would follow me. Perhaps I could make it sound normal, something like: "Good gracious, look at the time. I had no idea. I have to hurry away. To meet my fiance."
Why had he come here? He must have seen me come in. Had he been lurking in the square? The agent had no right to give him a key. He had some motive for coming here and I could not think what.
Get down the stairs, I told myself. When you are in the hall make a dash for it. They say that when you are in danger you conjure up extra powers. You can run faster than you ever did before. It's nature's provision.
Could I open the door quickly enough? I tried to remember what the catch was like. Some doors were difficult... they had their little idiosyncrasies.
How frightened I was, and he sensed my fear I was sure. It amused him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the curl of his lips, the glitter of his eyes.
I prayed again: Oh God, please help me.
And then my prayer was answered. We were on the stairs looking down onto the hall when I saw a dark shadow before the glass panel of the door. He saw it too. I heard his quick intake of breath as the door opened and Rollo stepped into the hall.
He could not have been more surprised to see us than we were to see him. He gazed at us in astonishment; then I saw his expression change as his eyes went from me to the dark man.
I had stood as though rooted to the stair. I heard myself explaining: "There's been a misunderstanding. This gentleman didn't know the house was sold. He came to look over it."
Rollo frowned. "Didn't the agent explain?"
"I think he wasn't completely sure," said the dark man. "There didn't seem to be any reason why I shouldn't look it over."
"He had no right to give you a false impression," said Rollo.
The dark man smiled. "I suppose he thought there was no harm in having a second string to his bow in case the first one broke. I shall have a word withhim. I didn't realize negotiations had gone so far. There seems to be no point in my continuing my investigations."