him in bed with the curtains again closed and the bedroom, thus
darkened, smelling close and dank, as if it were the haunt of
blackbeetles. When the curtains were drawn the whole room faded to a
uniformity of grey-brown, and the pictures and ornaments became dim
shadows, and the mirror upon the dressing-table took upon itself a
mysterious air, as though in its depths one might read something of the
hidden future. All was sunk in a sorrowful gloom, and the
barely-outlined recumbent figure of Gaga might have been that of a dead
man. Upon tiptoe, Sally stole quietly from the room. For a little while
she sat alone over a fire which had been lighted in the drawing-room;
but the evening was beginning to cast darkness over everything; and in
the west the last hot reflections of the sun were cast upon two or
three casual clouds. Sally therefore rose, and took her hat and coat,
which were lying near the piano. As it was the middle of the week, and
in autumn, the hotel was almost empty, and would not be occupied with
any visitors for two or three more days. It was a dull place once the
sun had set. For a moment Sally hesitated in putting on her hat; but at
last she ventured forth, and was out in the greying street, and upon the
bridge across the river. The water, as she hurried by, ran silently
below, blackened and threatening, and as there would be no moon the
night was coming with great darkness. Over the bridge Sally noticed the
early lights in the post office, and a few street lamps. One road ran a
little way up the hill and was immediately checked by houses. Another
turned off to the north-west, and it was here that she would find a shop
at which she could leave the prescription for Gaga's medicine. Once she
had performed her task Sally walked briskly on until she came to the end
of the houses and into a road to the edges of which trees grew and grass
came irregularly running. Beneath the trees darkness already obliterated
all shape, and the fringes of the wood were so bare of leafage that she
could already look up to the grey sky between the boughs and their filmy
branches. No vehicles passed. She was alone upon this broad road, with
nothing upon either hand but unexplored depths of shadow and silence.
Every now and then a stationary light spotted the dusk. She was appalled
by her loneliness.
Quickly as she had walked away from Penterby, Sally returned to the town
with even greater speed, warmed by the exercise, but chilled by her
thoughts and perplexities. When she was alone, and so hemmed in by
sinister darkness, Sally was brought quickly back to her forebodings.
She remembered the solitary figure which she had left, and thought of
Gaga was shrinking. Of Toby she could only find herself thinking with
anger. Yet it was not wholly anger, for she was also afraid and filled
with longing. Her anger was even obliterated by her love, so much did
she adore Toby's strength. His cruelty, his brutal indifference, were
spurs to her unreasoning affection. Whatever Toby might do, Sally loved
him. The love which she had believed herself indignantly to have cast
out was still paramount. Finally, in all her fleeting considerations of
the moment and the future, she could not ignore the baby which was
coming. She had no thought of it other than fear and loathing. Not yet
had desire for a child created in her mind a new longing. If she could
have killed it she would have done so; and she was prevented from
contemplating this possibility only by the ignorance which inexperience
and friendlessness imposed upon her. Sally was awed and terrified by the
gloom which gathered in her heart and about her. She sped onwards until
she reached the bridge, and here for several minutes she uncontrollably
paused. All was now black, and the tide had turned. Already the water
was flowing to the sea, and she could imagine the coagulated masses
vaguely swirling beneath her, borne unresisting upon the outgoing tide.
The hotel was in darkness, excepting for the room beneath the balcony
where the walls descended straight to the water and the mud. Here there
was a dim light. All above was sombre until she reached in her steady
upward glance the sky's faint background and saw its unfathomable arch
of grey.
The bar of the hotel was empty. Unperceived, Sally went upstairs and
into the bedroom where Gaga lay. She closed the door behind her and
switched on the electric light. To her surprise Gaga was lying on his
side, and his face was turned towards her.
"You awake?" she whispered. At his soft sound of greeting she went
forward and sat upon the bed. "It's half-past-four," Sally continued.
"Like some tea? Going to get up again?"
"I.... I'm so tired," murmured Gaga. He had taken her hand, and held it
to his cheek, so that Sally had to lean forward. In this mood he was so
like a child that Sally's heart softened. She found him pathetic, and
her own strength was emphasised by his weakness.
"Better stay in bed," she said.
"But you? Aren't you ... aren't you lonely?"
"Mm. Nobody here. Nothing to do. I been for a walk and got frightened."
"I'll get up. Yes, I will. After tea we'll walk along that av ...
avenue. In the moonlight. Like your song."
"There's no moon up yet," Sally told him, not moving. "You stay where
you are. Stay nice and warm in bed. I shall be all right. I'll go for a
walk along the avenue by myself."
"And be f ... frightened again."
"Shan't wait to be frightened," Sally said. "See me dart back!"
Gaga fondled her hand and reached for the other one, which she patiently
yielded.
"You ... you're so nice," he murmured. "So good to me."
"I? Good?" Sally's shoulders were hoisted. She almost withdrew her
hands.
"Yes. But Sally.... I...." He was overcome, and could not proceed. Tears
had started to his eyes. "I haven't been sleeping. I've been thinking.
Last night...."
"Last night!" Sally convulsively jerked her hands away, and as quickly
restored them.
"You thought I'd ... I'd ... been ... been spying."
"Of course you weren't. I was ill. I was a beast."
"Sally, I never did. You ... you have a lot.... I've been thinking ... a
lot to put up with. Marrying a ... a sick man; and you...."
Sally could not bear him to talk thus. She freed herself, and rose.
"Here's a lot of talk!" she protested. "You get well, old son. Then
we'll see."
Gaga did not say anything for a moment. At last he spoke again.
"Sally, would you ... would you mind very much if I did ... didn't get
well?" he asked.
"Course I should!" But Sally was filled with alarm at this conversation.
She turned upon Gaga, but she could not meet his soft eyes. "Here,
you're talking silly!"
"Sally.... I.... I wasn't spying," said Gaga, slowly. "But I.... I _did_
see a man at the gate last night."
Sally clutched the back of a chair. For a moment she thought she must be
going to faint. Then, with a tremendous effort, she controlled herself.
"What d'you mean?" she demanded.
"Behind you. _With_ you."
"Never!"
Gaga continued to regard her. His smile was no longer visible. She only
noticed that he was paler, that his nostrils were pinched and his eyes
dark.
"I wish you'd tell me the truth," he said.
"I tell you there was nobody _with_ me," lied Sally. "Nobody. There may
have been a man behind me. I _did_ get a bit of a start. Somebody came
out of a gate. I didn't notice."
"Sally.... I.... I heard him call you 'Sally.'"
She was stricken with terror at his quietness.
"Nobody called me Sally!" she cried. "I don't _know_ anybody."
Gaga sighed, and his head fell sideways, so that he no longer looked at
her. They spoke no more. She believed that he knew she had been lying;
but she had been caught unawares, and could not retract her assertions.
Without a further word she began to prepare a basin of water, and washed
herself. Then she went to ask that tea might be brought to the bedroom.
They drank the tea in silence, both very grave. When they had finished,
Sally took the tray to the end of the passage, where there was a
projecting ledge, and then returned to the room.
"Shall I go and sing to you?" she asked.
"Not ... not now. Go for your wa ... walk. I shan't have any dinner.
I'll just have a cup of cocoa."
Cocoa! Sally was transfixed.
"Oh, not _cocoa_!" she cried. "Not _cocoa_!" It was a desperate appeal.
It came from the depths of her heart. She had been alarmed at his
speech. She had been afraid of what he might do. But more than all she
was afraid of the horrible voice that had followed fear with its
imaginings of the means to her own salvation. At his further silence,
she went quickly out of the room and out of the hotel. She walked at a
rapid pace along the avenue, where others also were walking, as it was a
favourite promenade; and she found herself shaking with emotion as the
result of the disclosure which Gaga had made. He knew. He _knew_. What
did he know? And what would he do? Sally laughed hysterically. Oh, let
him do it _soon_! It was suspense that she could not bear. It was the
ghastly sense of muddle and falsehood that was oppressing her now.
Death--punishment--these were things of indifference. It was the fear of
either that made her torture. To know the worst, to face it, to suffer
for all she had done that was wrong, would satisfy her. But to be kept
in this horrible suspense much longer would send her mad. Why had she
not told Gaga the truth? She began hysterically to condemn herself. She
should have told him the truth. She should have said that Toby was an
old lover, jealous, angry, threatening. Now she could not tell any such
tale, because she had denied that a man had used her name. To confess
would make him disbelieve anything she ever said. Sally shrugged. He did
not believe her now. He would never believe her. Once he was well he
would find out everything. He would suspect her. He would persecute her
with suspicions. He would suspect that she was going to have a baby. He
would suspect ... he would _know_....
Creeping, creeping into Sally's mind came temptation. She walked more
swiftly until she reached a part of the road which bordered the river.
The water was less muddy here. The river looked in this aspect like a
big pool of liquid lead. It was less sinister. It carried to her heart
no sense of horror. She turned and began to walk back, meeting every now
and then a couple of pedestrians, or little knots of people, or solitary
individuals like herself, who strolled to and fro along the broad
avenue. But it was very dark, and she could not well see the faces of
those who passed, except when they were in the neighbourhood of a light.
She did not recognise anybody; and when she came once more to the bridge
she did not tarry, but walked straight across it. Upon the face of the
river were reflected the lights of the hotel, for the balcony was now
faintly illumined, and she could see that the curtains had been drawn at
the corner windows, although not elsewhere. Again unperceived, she made
her way upstairs and into the drawing-room, where she removed her coat
and hat and seated herself at the piano.
xxi
But Sally did not stay at the piano. She was restless and apprehensive.
She did not dare to strike a note, in case Gaga should be asleep. And
she could not go into the bedroom. She tried to do so, but she so shrank
from meeting Gaga after their talk that every impulse held her faltering
here. Instead, Sally went through the door which led from the
drawing-room to the balcony. Only one light was burning, at the farther
end, and this cast such a tiny ray that it threw up the shadows of no
more than a single enamelled iron table and wicker chair. For the rest,
everything was in a monotonous grey twilight, bereft of all incidental
colourings and of all significance. The electric bulb was grimed with
age and the action of the air, and the light was quite yellow, as that
from an oil lamp would have been. The matting with which the floor of
the balcony was covered was in shadow. Through the windows Sally could
see only a blackness in which the water and the opposite bank and the
buildings farther away were all obscured. She went towards the light,
and sat here in an armchair, staring straight before her, and thinking
the one word ... poison ... poison ... poison.
She must have been sitting upon the balcony for several minutes in this
state approaching stupor, when she heard a faint sound. It was like the
brushing of leaves against a passing body. Her heart quickened, and she
looked quickly towards the darker end of the balcony, near the door
leading to the drawing-room. She could see nothing at all, but her
nerves did not relax their tenseness. She could see nothing; but she
felt that something--somebody was there, watching her. Somebody--whom
could it be? Sally knew how deserted the bar was, how easy it would be
for a man to slip up the stairs without being seen. She was
defenceless. If she had been well, she would have gone straight along
the balcony, to discover the cause of her alarm; but she was ill, and
she shrank back in her chair, watching the pulsing dimness.
Sally knew that there were only two people who could wish her harm--Gaga
and Toby. If Gaga had gone out of his bedroom by the inner door he might
have come round through the drawing-room, and might be standing there in
the darkness. He might have gone away again. He might have found the
poison. In a passion of fear, she rose. If it was Gaga, she would soon
confront him. She would satisfy herself of his presence in the bedroom.
She took two steps, and then stopped, her heart frantically beating.
There _was_ somebody there.
"Sally," came a sharp whisper. "Sally. Don't be afraid."
It was Toby, hidden still from sight, but waiting there at the dark end
of the balcony.
xxii
Sally's eyes flew instantly to the window of the bedroom. All there was
dark. She could not tell if the blinds were drawn or not. She no longer
dreaded Toby: she too violently desired to see him, to be in his arms
and saved from her nightmare thoughts by a moment's oblivion.
"Hush!" she whispered, and went silently along the balcony. "What d'you
want?"
"I want you." Toby's voice came hissing into her ear, and she saw him at
last. He was standing, a burly figure, in the shadow of a screen, and
remained quite still, hidden.
"What did you come for? How did you get here?"
"Went to your house. Frightened 'em." Toby laughed grimly. "Thought
you'd got away, didn't you? Well, here I am." His tone became suddenly
ferocious. "See?"
"You can't ... we can't talk. My husband's there--in that room. He'll
hear. He saw you last night."
"I got to see you," Toby whispered, obstinately. "See? I mean to say, I
got to know what you're going to do."
Sally gave a contemptuous laugh. So he had followed her for that!
"Well, I'm well rid of _you_," she answered. "I see what _you_ are."
"Oh, you do, do you...." said Toby. He gripped her arm. "Not so much of
that, Sal. D'you see? I won't have it. You belong to me."
"I don't!" But Sally was only waiting for his fierce embrace, and
longing for it. "I don't like you. I don't want you. I've had enough.
You let me down."
Toby started. His voice became thick with anger.
"My Christ! Who let anybody down? What did you do to me? Eh? You married
this chap. You did it for yourself. Let you down, do I? Oh, I'm a good
mind to kill you, Sal."
Sally shivered. She knew he might do it. He _could_ do it. It was his
nature. But she answered him defiantly, sneeringly.
"Yes, if you want to be hung for it."
Toby was holding her so that her arms were being bruised. He pulled her
towards him, and kissed her again and again. He was crushing her.
"See?" he said. "That's how you belong to me."
"Well, what about it?" panted Sally. "Let me go.... Just because you're
strong."
"You're coming off with me. See? Now."
"I'm not." She was equally determined.
"Now. Can you get your hat?"
"I'm not," repeated Sally.
Toby swung her off her feet with one arm.
"See?" he announced again. "That's what."
"Go on, that's all you can do," answered Sally, savagely. "You clear
off. I've had enough of it." She dived suddenly, and escaped from him.
She was a few steps away, and Toby was in pursuit. As he followed, he
kicked against one of the little iron tables, which he had not seen in
the half-light, and sent it crashing to the floor. Amid their silence it
made a hideous noise. Sally drew herself upright, terrified into
rigidity. This was the finish--the finish. It was all over now. She was
beaten. She.... And as she stared she saw that the French window of the
bedroom was open--had been open, perhaps, all the time,--and that Gaga
was standing there, as if he had overheard all that they had said.
"Sally!" he cried in a sharp voice of alarm. "Oh, my God! Oh, my _God_!"
Gaga came leaping out upon the balcony as Toby stumbled on towards
Sally. The two men were sharply in conflict, and Gaga's arm was raised.
She could see it even in the shadow--the raised arm, and the impact of
the two bodies. Gaga was in his sleeping-suit, spectral in his gauntness
and his pallor. Maddened, Toby swept his enemy aside with one violent
blow that would have killed the strongest man. Gaga went down, his head
and body thrown with great force against the brick wall of the hotel,
and sliding to the ground with such momentum that there was a further
concussion.
"Toby!" shrieked Sally. "Toby! You've killed him!"
Gaga lay in the shadow, quite motionless, a horrible twisted body
without life. And the two others stood panting in the twilight, staring
down at his ghastly upturned face. Toby was as if paralysed by the
sight, his hand sleepily raised to his brow.
A voice sounded from downstairs.
"Did you call, Mrs. Merrick?" And then ascending steps followed.
Sally made a frantic gesture.
"Get out!" she cried. "Quick. They're coming. They'll find you. He's
dead. Get out!" She waved to the windows.
With one glance round, and with fear at his heels, Toby ran to the side
of the balcony, pulled aside one of the windows, and climbed out into
the darkness. Sally saw him no more. She was only aware that something
terrible happened, and that he missed his footing and plunged downwards
towards the running water and the sickening mud. Then, as she
convulsively jerked the window close again, she was overcome with deadly
faintness, and herself fell upon the matting, striking her head as she
fell, and losing consciousness.