'Twixt the Dark and Daylight
The night had gone, the morning was well advanced, the day would soon
break, the countess had long since gone, and still Miss Forster had not
gone to bed. There was something which kept her from placing herself
between the sheets; and now that at last she was beginning to have
thoughts in that direction, something occurred which banished sleep
still farther from her eyes.
She was just about to remove her dressing-gown, and really make herself
ready for bed, when the silence of the night was broken by a sound.
"What was that? Wasn't it in my passage?"
She stood in an attitude of listening.
"There it is again. Isn't it just outside my door? I wonder if there's
anyone there at this hour of the morning? I believe there is."
Altering her intention, she suffered her dressing-gown to remain where
it was. Rapidly crossing the room, she stood close up to the door and
listened.
"There is someone. Who can it be, at this hour of the morning? Whoever
it is, is running away."
She suddenly opened the door and looked out. There was no one there.
She went into the passage. Although the lights were out, she was still
able to make out dimly that a figure, but whether of a man or a woman
she could not be sure, was moving rapidly along the passage, to vanish
round the corner.
"I wonder who that was?"
She hesitated, returned into her room, and shut the door.
"It might have been anyone. It certainly might not be any business of
mine; people can move about the house at any hour they please without
consulting me. What was that? It sounded as if someone was calling.
There it is again. And there is someone running past my door again. I'm
going to see what this means."
Reopening the door, she returned into the passage.
"There's someone running down the stairs as if in a very great hurry.
What's that? That's a queer noise. Someone calling again; someone
calling for help. There's something queer going on downstairs. Someone
is quarrelling. I'm going to find out what it is. I don't care if it is
no business of mine; people shouldn't make a noise like that at this
time of night. It's everybody's business when they do."
She went a few steps down the darkened passage. When she got out of
range of the electric light shining through her open door, it was not
easy to find her way; she had to touch the wall with her outstretched
fingers and feel it.
"I ought to have brought some matches, or something; the place is as
dark as pitch. Shall I go back and fetch them? Whatever was that?
There's a light downstairs; someone is still up. That's a man's voice.
I seem to know it. Whose can it be? I know it quite well. And that's
another man's voice. They're quarrelling. I believe they're fighting.
What are they doing? They're making noise enough. Surely, I'm not the
only person in the place who hears them--a noise like that; it sounds
as if they were fighting like two mad dogs."
She had reached what she realised to be the head of the great
staircase. A faint light streamed in through the stained-glass window.
She hesitated; she might have been frightened by the noise that was
going on below. A strange sound was coming through the darkness, as if
furniture was being upset in all directions by persons who were chasing
each other round the room; then--surely they were blows. Then a voice
exclaimed, in a tone which suggested that the speaker, stricken with
sudden, dreadful fear, was fighting for his life. The words which, in
his agony, he uttered were destined to keep ringing in her ears:
"Beaton! My God!"
The sound of a blow, heavier than any of the others; the noise of a
heavy body falling to the ground, and bringing articles of furniture
down crashing with it. Silence, except for the light footsteps of the
girl who was flying down the staircase as if for life. Beaton!--that
was what he had said. Someone had called upon her lover's name in that
terrible voice. What did it mean? She was rushing down to see. As she
neared the bottom she caught her heel in her dressing-gown; striving to
disentangle it in her haste, in the darkness she missed her footing,
stumbled, went bungling to the foot of the staircase. Luckily, she had
only a short distance to fall, but it was far enough; the thing was so
unlooked for. She had fallen clumsily, heavily; the shock had nearly
stunned her. For some moments she lay in doubt as to what really had
befallen her; then, rising, not without difficulty, to her feet, she
found that she was trembling, that her whole frame seemed to ache, that
her right ankle pained her so that she could scarcely stand on it.
But it was no time to consider her bruises, what had happened to her;
there was something else for her to do. She listened, but all was
still; there was no sound of voices, of struggling, of falling
furniture, or blows--no sound of anything. The silence, after what she
had heard, in itself was ominous. Something terrible had happened.
She went limping across the hall, wincing each time her right foot
touched the ground. All sorts of unseen things were in her way. The
hall was used as a sitting-room; the household had its tea there. It
was crowded with all kinds of impedimenta; it was not easy, by mere
instinct, to find her way among them. She did not know until she had
come in sometimes painful contact with them that the things were there.
Presently she tripped, with her bad foot, over what doubtless was a
footstool; she would have gone headlong to the ground had not an
arm-chair saved her. It was an arm-chair; she was in doubt as to what
it was at first, but when she perched herself upon its friendly arm she
knew. She had been unable to keep back a cry of pain; the jerk to her
twisted ankle had sent a shock all over her, as if red-hot needles were
being driven into her limbs.
How it hurt her as she sat there; it really was excruciating agony. The
foot was dangling in the air. How much worse it would be when, putting
it back upon the ground, she would have to use it to stand and walk
upon. She essayed a little experiment: putting it gingerly down,
resting her weight upon it as lightly as she could. She flattered
herself on her capacity to bear pain, but that was too much even for
her. A sound, which was half wail, half sob, came from between her
lips.
She had a feeling as, back again upon the arm of the chair, with an
effort she held her breath, that someone had heard the cry which came
from her lips. She peered about her; it was impossible to make things
out, to see what was there and what wasn't. She might have been
surrounded by a dozen people without her eyes even hinting that a soul
was there. There was something which did her better service than her
eyes--perhaps it was her ears--some subtle sense which she would have
been unable to define. She felt sure that she had been overheard
by--she did not know by whom or by what--by someone, something. It
might have been a man, or a woman, or an animal--a dog. It could
scarcely have been the latter; it is not the canine habit to preserve
such silence when the sense of hearing is assailed. It was something
human. She was not alone; someone else was with her in the hall.
She adopted the simplest way of finding out. She asked:
"Who's there?"
No answer. She had a feeling that her question had put the unseen
person on his--or her--guard; that someone had withdrawn farther from
her, and was awaiting a chance to effect a safe retreat. She was
persuaded that there had been a just audible movement, that someone had
been quite close to her, and had drawn away. While she waited, with
straining ears and bated breath, uncertain whether to speak again or
what to do--her foot was causing her such pain that walking was beyond
her strength--there came what was undoubtedly a sound of an
unmistakable kind. Someone had come hastening into the hall from the
direction of the suite of rooms which was on the other side, someone
who was pressed for time. Although he moved with a curious
noiselessness, as if his feet had been shod with velvet, she felt sure
that it was a man. She doubted if he was able to see any better than
she could; the fashion of his progress suggested it. He seemed to be
making for the side of the hall on which she was, and to be following
her example by coming into contact with most of the objects which he
met upon his way. She heard him mutter something beneath his breath
which might have been an oath. She was sure it was a man. Plainly he
was as blind as a bat; he was floundering closer and closer; he was
nearly on her, came into actual contact with the chair on which she was
perched. That was too much. She had to speak.
"Who are you? Take care--oh!"
This last was a cry of pain wrung from her much against her will. The
chair on which she was resting had received a sudden push; she was
precipitated forward, on to the bad foot. The result was anguish; her
feelings escaped her in spite of herself. Whoever had done it was
evidently as much taken by surprise as she was. There was a muttered,
distinctly masculine ejaculation. Then, as she continued to wail--there
can be few things more painful than a twisted ankle, and the pain of
that was really unendurable--all at once a light was shining in her
face. Her unintentional assailant was carrying a dark lantern; turning
the shutter, he flashed it on her. For a second or two the effect it
had on her was to make her blinder still; then the hand of the person
who was holding it swerved, a pencil of light passed across his face so
that she caught a glimpse of it--only one glimpse, but that was enough.
"Sydney!" she cried. "My darling! Thank God, it's you."
In the first wild rapture of the recognition she forgot everything--her
foot, the singularity of the fact that her lover should be there at
all; all she thought of was to reach him. Even while she was speaking
she moved quickly towards him. That same instant the light was
darkened, her foot gave way beneath her. As she sank to the floor she
was conscious that the bearer of the lantern, instead of sharing her
rapture, of coming to her assistance, of rushing to take her in his
arms, was retreating with so much expedition that things were being
overturned in all directions in his haste to get away. She had been
aware that, as he started back instead of forward, something had fallen
from his hand on to the seat of the chair on whose arm she had been
resting. He had not stopped to retrieve it, whatever it was. Her hand
came into contact with it as she tried to raise herself. It was a
leather bag of some sort, so much she learnt from the sense of touch.
She found the handle, tried to lift it; it was oddly heavy.
As she was still trying to lift it she became conscious that someone
else was coming down the stairs. Her heart was heavy as lead within
her. She was filled with a great fear; the presence of that bag had
frightened her more than anything else. A cushion was on the ground
beside her; she picked it up, using it to cover the bag to the best of
her ability so that its presence on the chair need not be at once
detected.
The person who had descended the stairs had paused at the bottom. A
match was struck. If she had only brought a box of matches with her,
how much might have been avoided! The holder of the match moved forward
towards an electric switch; immediately a light was shining down at
her. A voice addressed her:
"Miss Forster! What on earth are you doing here?"
She looked up at the kindly, friendly face which was bending over her.
"Major Reith!"
Then something came to her. All at once the world was whirling round;
for the first time in her life she had fainted.