XI

My gaze darted to the beginning of the note and I read it through. Then read it again.

Eve:

I must talk to you alone. We’d better meet away from the house. I can’t find you, so I’ll leave this note and hope that you’ll look for me out near the ruins where there’s a bit of shelter. You often go there, so no one will give it a thought. But—and this is important—don’t tell Marc you’re meeting me. In fact, it’s better if you don’t tell anyone.

Dacia

I had not found the note in time. I had not met her after all, and now I might never know what she had to tell me. Don’t tell Marc, she had written. If she had not made that whimsical switch to a dryer coat than her own, she might still be unhurt and as lively as ever, while I—going out to her rendezvous—might be dead.

Could it be that the note was a trap and that Marc had persuaded her to write it? There was never any telling when Dacia spoke the truth, or when she would turn facts to her own advantage. But I could not condemn her now, no matter what she might have done. The memory of her white face streaked with a scarlet that washed away in the rain was too clear.

A sudden knock at my door made me fold the note and slip it into a drawer before I called, “Come in.”

Maggie walked into the room and closed the door behind her, stood with her back against it. For a strange, arrested moment we regarded each other in wary suspicion. The smell of doubt, of distrust, was in the air. This was the hostile woman I had known before I’d left Athmore that other time. It was not the Maggie who had counseled me as Justin’s wife, or who had wanted me to stay when I met her in the topiary garden on my arrival this time.

She wore her roughest country clothes. Her leather jacket was rubbed and old, the trousers worn at the knees where she had knelt at her gardening. Even her shirt had a button missing. It was as though she had snatched at whatever she could find to put on, uncaring.

“What do you hear from the hospital?” I asked.

She raised her shoulders slightly. “They’re giving out no information and I couldn’t get hold of Marc.”

“Dacia’s a fighter,” I said. “If she has a chance, she’ll pull through.”

“She must pull through!” Maggie’s concern was real, but it seemed more for Justin and Marc than for Dacia. “It’s bad enough the way things are,” she went on. “But if Dacia dies—”

I found my old resentment rising against Maggie’s blind devotion.

“Nothing is worth Dacia’s life,” I said. “Or mine, for that matter. You know about the switch in coats, don’t you?”

She moved away from the door and crossed to the blue chaise longue, dropping into it as though her legs were as uncertain as mine.

“Sit down, do!” she said impatiently. “Whether we like it or not, there’s something we need to have out between us.”

So she would not talk about the coat. I seated myself on the padded bench before the dressing table and clasped my hands together tightly.

“The matter of Marc?” I asked.

She nodded fiercely. “Yes! I’m grateful at least that you did no foolish blurting out to the police about that affair on the roof last night. And that you attempted no further accusations against Marc today.”

“Why did you think I might?”

“Why wouldn’t I? The beastly way you feel about him is written in your face for anyone to see.”

“It would be dreadful, wouldn’t it, if he caused Dacia’s death, when it was mine he intended?”

“Stop that!” She spoke so sharply that I stared at her.

“You really are worried about Marc, aren’t you?” I said.

“Stop it, stop it,” she repeated. “Oh, you don’t know Marc. You’ve never known him. He’s capable of pranks, but not of murder.” She sprang to her feet and went to a side window, flung it open upon the clatter of rain on thick vines.

“Haven’t you always deceived yourself about him?” I pressed her quietly. “Isn’t it time for you to face the facts about your cousin Marc?”

For a few moments she was silent, her face lifted to the spatter of rain that came through the window, as though she needed its cooling touch. When she spoke it was without turning to look at me.

“The facts, as you call them, are something I faced long ago. This makes no difference in the way I feel about him. I’m only a few years older than Justin, but I’m more than ten years older than Marc. When I used to come here on visits as a young girl he was the baby I adored. And he liked me better than any nurse or governess. I was the one who taught him games to play, and got him onto his first pony. A good thing it was I taught him to ride, as it developed, even though he never really cared for riding. When he was fourteen, he saved me from serious injury. I’ve not often had a horse run away with me, but we had a bad-tempered filly in those days—a proper rogue. She got out of my control and headed for the woods one morning, where she’d certainly have smashed me against the close-set trees. Marc saw us go and he came after me on his own mare and made a dramatic rescue, scooping me onto his own horse. It wasn’t very gracefully managed, because in the end we both fell off and sat on the grass hugging each other and laughing, just to be alive and unhurt. He was too old to be my son, but truly he’s the only son I’ve ever had. Or wanted.”

Her story touched me, warmed me. Warmed me toward Maggie, if not toward Marc. He had never lacked courage or the ability to perform spectacular acts. But this did not make him trustworthy. I put my hand to the bruise on my temple, touching the hurt of it gingerly. I had that to remind me of what Marc was really like.

“He changed as he grew up,” Maggie said sorrowfully, as if in answer to my thoughts. “Justin was always too impatient with him, too intolerant. He needed a father’s hand, instead of a young cousin’s. I failed him, Eve. I know I failed him. I owe him my life, yet I haven’t been able to help him as I always wanted to. Whatever I try to do for him fails.”

She was silent for a moment, reaching her hands into the rain, placing their cool wetness against her cheeks. There was nothing I could say. She was either trying to make me understand something, or she was trying to becloud the issue.

“Marc needs me,” she went on. “He has always needed me. Perhaps that’s the greatest hold he’s had on me. There was no one else who did. I’d lost my husband, and I had no children. Even as a boy Justin was independent and never one to lean. Marc is the only person I’ve ever known who has needed me so desperately—and still does. More, perhaps, than he realizes.”

“What about Nigel?” I said. “Haven’t you someone new to need you now?”

Her laugh was a little too careless for my liking. “In a different way perhaps. Not that Nigel and I don’t have a need and affection for each other. And we’re wonderfully good friends. After all, we’ve known each other for a long time and we’ve both been lonely. Besides, he can help Marc.”

Always the twisted force of her love for this only “son” she would ever have came sharply through. This was a primary drive with her. She could not help herself. I knew now that she would sacrifice Justin, and Athmore too, in order to assure her darling’s safety. In this respect she could not be trusted at all. Of the words she had spoken about her relationship with Nigel, only the last had an honest ring. Nigel would be able to rescue Marc—that was what mattered. Perhaps not even Nigel, for all his quiet awareness, truly understood how she would use him to help Marc.

She went on again quite brightly, unaware of how thoroughly she betrayed her single-minded obsession. “Of course Nigel would help us now, if Justin would let him. But Justin won’t have that. Once we’re married, this will change. Nigel will settle enough in my name and I have my ways of making it easier for Justin to use some of what will then be my money. There will be no need for him to marry Alicia. He can’t do that—he can’t! It would be horrible if she came here to live. If she were mistress of Athmore, I would have to move away, and I couldn’t bear that. This is my home, too. I’ve earned the right to live here for the rest of my life, and I won’t have Alicia spoiling everything!”

Her outburst was so impassioned that I felt increasingly disturbed. Her antipathy toward Alicia seemed neurotically extreme, and the discovery that the poised, usually self-possessed Maggie Graham hid a volcano beneath that controlled exterior, made me feel a little ill. I did not need to look far for the reason.

“Alicia is using Marc!” Maggie blurted out. “She means to bludgeon Justin through him if it becomes necessary. She’ll stop at nothing.”

“Do you think Justin would be easily bludgeoned?” I asked.

She shrugged my words aside and turned on me. “What a fool I was to welcome your return! It was stupid of Nigel to think you might help. He believed that you could turn Justin your way as you did once before. But all you’ve done is stir up dreadful trouble. You’ve enraged Justin and you’ve tried to injure Marc. We were wrong about you—altogether wrong!”

She rushed across the room toward me with a suddenness that startled me, and caught up both my hands, turning them palm up so that she could pore over them. Her grasp was that of a woman who could hold a spirited horse in check, and I did not try to twist away.

“Justin hates palm reading,” she said. “He would never let me look at your hands in the old days. So let me see them now. Come here to the light where I can look at them.”

She frightened me a little, but I went with her to the window, rather than struggle, and held out my hands reluctantly, so that she could study the palms. I remembered this as an amusing party trick she had sometimes produced in the year I had lived at Athmore. Now she seemed in deadly earnest.

Whatever she saw she did not like. She told me to flex my fingers, relax my right hand. Then, cradling it lightly in one of hers, she traced a line with a finger, pointed to a mark across it.

“This comes while you are still young. I don’t like it at all. It spells something dreadful, something—destructive. Either to you or to someone close by because of you.” She looked at me intently. “Do you know what you are to Athmore? You’re a lighted fuse. That mark is the explosion. Perhaps it won’t happen if you go somewhere else. Consider that, Eve. How much harm are you willing to bring down on our heads? How much risk for yourself are you willing to run?”

She dropped my hand and I put it behind my back. “Palm reading doesn’t convince me,” I said. “But what happened last night on the roof, and what nearly happened to me today, tells me a great deal. Who else but Marc can be behind these attempts on my life?”

“Attempts on your life!” The words were scathing, but the tide of bright color that rushed to her face alarmed me further. It was fortunate that Nellie appeared in the doorway just then and caused her to check herself.

Mr. Marc was ringing from the hospital. Nellie said.

Maggie hurried off to take the call and left me alone with Nellie.

“I fetched your negative into town,” the girl told me. “Enlargements take longer, but you should have it in a week. I’ll pick it up when it’s ready.” She studied me anxiously. “You’re all right, Miss Eve?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “We’ve had a shock over what has happened to Miss Dacia.”

Nellie nodded vigorously. “A hit-and-run! It’s plain horrible. And right on our own premises. Of course we don’t believe anyone in this house would do such a thing.”

I wished I could take comfort from her words, but there was no comfort for me anywhere, except in the knowledge of Justin’s love.

During the following days it was this I clung to. No matter how guarded he was with me, the truth was there to warm me and I could not be wholly despondent. There had to be a way out.

Marc was in London much of the time and he did not return for the sad occasion of Old Daniel’s funeral. The rest of us went to the cemetery in a small group, and the funeral brought back to me vivid reminders of the beginning of this time of terror. Fear walked with me night and day, and was all the greater because Justin still did not believe in any real cause for the way I felt. I knew now that it had begun when I met Old Daniel in the woods. The accidental falling of a wall no longer convinced me. The old man had been hunted too.

Every night I slept with Deirdre beside my bed, and during the day I hurried through my empty wing with the dog always near me. She was my guardian and protector, my friend.

What the police believed by this time was evident. They thought that someone at Athmore had struck Dacia down by accident and panicked, and that the family had closed its ranks to protect the driver of the car. If Dacia died there would be an inquest and further investigation, but as things stood, pursuit of an answer seemed futile, and no charges were being brought. Thus we were not harassed to the extent we might have been. Should have been!

Dacia was moved to a London hospital at her mother’s insistence, and Marc had gone to the city to stay as near her as possible. The time of her mending was uncertain, but as the days slipped by, her condition improved and we all breathed more easily. I could not believe that anyone at Athmore meant to harm Dacia.

Since her talk with me, Maggie seemed to have had second thoughts. But even as she made more friendly overtures toward me, she did not seem herself, and I had the growing feeling that something was happening beneath the surface as far as Maggie was concerned. Something not even Justin was aware of. I was paying her enough attention to note her plotting look.

As reports of Dacia’s improvement came through, I began a plot of my own. I knew that I must get to London and pay her a visit. There was still the matter of her note to be considered—as soon as she was well enough to talk to me. Justin himself played into my hands. He had to go up to London himself on business, and on the morning he planned to leave, I packed my suitcase with overnight things and put it in the back of his car. Then I got into the front seat and waited for him. I said nothing to anyone. Later I would phone, but for the moment I wanted no one alerted.

When Justin came out and discovered me he put his own bag into the car and started to take mine out.

“Please!” I begged him. “I need to go to London to shop. Maggie has loaned me a coat, but I must buy one of my own. I can’t go on wearing that orange thing of Dacia’s. Besides, I’d like to look in on her at the hospital.”

My purpose must have seemed innocent and reasonable enough. He put back my bag and got behind the wheel, wearing his most unattractive scowl. I said nothing more until we were on our way, with Athmore well behind us. I took care to sit close to the door and I kept my eyes ahead upon the road. We drove for a half hour of scowling silence on his part before I spoke.

“I do need to talk to you,” I said. “Some other time, if not now. Because of what happened to Dacia, you’ll have to hear me out eventually. But can’t we call a truce for today and pretend we’re friends instead of enemies? We can always go back to being angry with each other later.”

His scowl did not fade at once, but it smoothed out gradually. The day was beautiful and I watched the hawthorn hedges run by, and delighted in glimpses of hill and meadow country, all abloom with that wonderful lushness of springtime in England. On a sunny day the green had a touch of gold to it and was never oppressive.

By the time we stopped for lunch at a wayside inn which had several hundred years of history behind its wavering floors and low, beamed ceilings, Justin’s mood had turned almost agreeable. I tried not to irritate him. I stayed away from all dangerous subjects. He had the matter of his work very close to him and he was ready enough to talk about that. A breakthrough had come, he felt sure. Because of this, he must see some of the men in his company and talk over his progress. Even though he was now working for himself, the company would be behind him when it came to final production. Several of the safety features of his car were ready to be tested, and there must be no more delay.

When he spoke of his work his interest was electric and I listened with my mind, as I had never listened before. What Justin did, what he cared about, meant everything to me now.

We talked at leisure over English roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, unimaginative, but good. I ate the savory and did not turn my nose up at trifle, as once I had done. I found that this time around I was neither idealizing all that was English, nor flying to the opposite extreme of decrying it vigorously, as I had when I left. I could live with England more comfortably now, and perhaps the English could live more comfortably with me—if ever I had the chance to try again.

After lunch we did not return to the car at once. Justin knew this inn and wanted to show me about. A stream meandered pleasantly out behind, with a rustic bridge that took us across to a garden abounding in trellises and leafy arbors. The azaleas were in bloom and it was a lovely place, empty at the moment except for us. We walked in the sun and I needed no coat in this welcome warmth. I lived for the moment only, hoping that this unexpected gift would not end and drop me into emptiness again. Somehow, briefly, we were friends, if not lovers, and while this was hardly enough, I accepted the gift of the moment. In the past we had loved too recklessly without being friends.

We found smooth grass to sit upon near the edge of the stream. A great lilac bush, heavy with purple blooms, shielded us from view of the inn and shed its sweetness around us. We tossed pebbles and twigs absently into the water, and for a long while we said nothing and were strangely content. Then Justin broke the quiet spell with words which once more brought pain.

“The other day,” he said, “when I saw Dacia lying on the road in your green coat, I thought it was you. I thought you were dead.”

“I know,” I told him.

“I felt as though half of myself had been cut away.” He spoke almost wonderingly.

“You called me your darling,” I reminded him.

He did not scowl or turn away from me. “And so you were to me—my very dear, lost darling.”

“Yet not if I’m alive? Not at any other time?”

“Too often you are still my darling,” he said gently. “Come here to me, Eve.”

The way he put his arms about me told me all the truth. Yet his kiss frightened me. He did not kiss me angrily, but with tenderness, almost sadly. As if he were saying farewell.

“How can we ever work this out?” he murmured against my hair. “How can I love you, knowing how hopelessly we failed at marriage? How can I want you near me when I know what I must do to save us all—you and me and Alicia? I am to blame for the harm that has been done to both of you. I must not worsen everything now.”

“But you love me and I love you!” I cried, close to tears at his gentleness. “So why must we pretend anything else?”

“Unfortunately, everything in life can’t be divided as easily between the true and the false as you want it to be, my darling. There’s a good deal of shading in between.”

“Is it still what happened with Marc before I left Athmore that you hold against me? There were shadings there, too.”

“I know,” he said.

“You mean Marc told you what he did?” I asked in surprise.

Justin shook his head. “No one has told me anything. I’m past needing to be told. I know you better now. You may behave badly, foolishly, when you’re angry, but I think you’d never let me down. If the outcome rested only on what you are to me, I’d have no worry. But it doesn’t.”

“Because you had an affair with Alicia? But that’s in the past? Why must it matter now, if—”

He almost smiled as he interrupted me. “I seem to remember that Alicia mattered a great deal to you once.”

“She still does,” I said. “I won’t pretend she doesn’t. But I can live with what’s past if I know it isn’t the present.”

“She will always matter to me,” he said more gravely. “She doesn’t deserve unkindness from me, and I can’t shrug her off brutally.”

I was growing impatient again. “While you try to decide what you must do, how am I to stay alive? That may be more difficult than anything else.”

He turned to stare at me. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about something you’ve closed your eyes to because it concerns your brother,” I said. “I’m talking about what nearly happened to me the other night on the roof, and again when Alicia’s car struck Dacia. I’m not supposed to be alive. Can’t you see the truth of that? Next time it may be the end of me.”

Still he would not accept what I claimed. “Maggie has told me about these notions of yours. I’m sure you believe in them. This second thing coming so fast on the heels of your nightmare experience on the roof must seem to you indisputable proof. But Eve, darling, this sort of terror isn’t real. Why would anyone at Athmore mean you harm?”

“Because someone is afraid I know who killed Old Daniel,” I said bluntly. “How can you be sure he was killed by an accidentally falling wall? What if he was struck unconscious and then dragged over to where the wall could be pushed down on him?”

I had his full, serious attention now, though I knew I had not convinced him. Such a statement, made so abruptly, must seem altogether wild to him.

“Is it because you can’t bear the thought of what Marc might be trying to do that you won’t believe me?” I demanded.

“Marc saved your life that night on the roof. You could thank him for that.”

We were back on the old treadmill. Our pleasant day was slipping hopelessly away while hostility and disbelief grew between us. I took Dacia’s letter from my handbag and gave it to him.

“This was left in my room. I found it after Dacia went off to the hospital. I didn’t read it in time to meet her as she wished. My going out there was pure chance. Someone saw her through the rain and thought it was me because she was wearing my coat. If not Marc—who? Alicia perhaps? She is the one who most wants me gone, and she knew the car was there, waiting. When she joined us she was outdoors and wet from the rain she’d been running about in. Do you believe her story?”

He must have questioned it, because he did not fly at once to her defense. Nor did he dismiss my words with his usual anger.

“I don’t know,” he said at length. “Something is troubling Alicia. She has been hurt by your coming, and frightened, I think. Now I must hurt her more.”

I held my breath in an effort to bite back the words that wanted to pour out. If he meant what I hoped he meant, then life might begin all over again for me—for us. And this time I must deal with it more wisely. Yet what I had told Justin was true—my first purpose now was to stay alive until we could live as husband and wife again. If only I could be in Justin’s arms for good, nothing could touch me.

He cast his last pebble into the stream and sprang up to pull me to my feet. Then he put both hands on my shoulders and looked at me long and quite lovingly. I let him read my eyes. I had nothing to hide from him any more. He would work this out somehow. I did not think he would let me go again.

Nevertheless, we walked to the car without touching each other, and the specter of Alicia Daven walked between us.

Once we were on our way, he said, “I’ll take you to the hospital first, so you can see Dacia. You mean to ask her about the note, of course?”

I nodded. “If I can see her alone, and if she’s strong enough to talk to me.”

“I’ll wait for you,” he said shortly. “I’ll want to know what she says.”

For the rest of the drive to London I relaxed almost completely. For the moment I was safe. Danger had remained behind at Athmore, and I had a feeling that the burden was being taken from me. There was nothing to fear on this sunny day. Not even London traffic appalled me, as it had once done. There was no fear in me as we walked through the hospital door together and Justin spoke with authority to the woman at the reception desk.

At the door of Dacia’s private room we met Marc coming out. He glanced at Justin and then regarded me in open dislike.

“What a surprise,” he said. “Do you plan to go in there, Eve, and tell Dacia that I rode her down thinking it was you?”

“I’m not going to tell her anything,” I said. “There are some things she wants to tell me.”

He hesitated as though he would have liked to prevent me from entering, but realized there was nothing he could do to stop me. Not with Justin there. He would have gone past us down the hall without another word if Justin had not stopped him.

“Eve’s staying overnight in London,” he said. “I’ll be at my club. Will you join us for dinner, Marc?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’ve an engagement of my own tonight. At the Club Casella. If you like, I can tell Alicia that you two are in town—together.”

Justin’s jaw tightened. Marc had always been able to flick him on the raw, but he did not lose his temper.

“Perhaps we’ll look in and tell her ourselves,” he said.

Marc went off down the hall and I spoke my alarm. “You don’t really mean that!”

“Perhaps I do,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

A nurse came out of Dacia’s room, and stopped to speak to us. When she stepped aside, I went in and Justin entered with me long enough to speak to the girl in the bed and give her the flowers we had picked up at a nearby stall.

The room was already bright with blooms. In London Dacia had no lack of friends and admirers, and they had evidently rallied to bring her as much cheer as they could. Her face looked strange against the white pillow. Beneath yellowing bruises it seemed paler than usual, and her eyes, without all the artificial enhancement she painted around them, looked round and dark and very young. A bandage hid most of her head and one arm was encased to the shoulder. Yet her smile was as bright and brave as ever.

I bent to kiss her cheek, and she gave a small cockney yelp and grinned at me.

“Aren’t I a fright? They still won’t give me a mirror, and that’s probably a good thing. When I look cross-eyed I can see that my nose is changing from blue to yellow. Do you suppose blue and yellow noses could be trendy?”

“You could start a trend for anything you choose,” Justin told her. He leaned to pat her hand on the coverlet, said he would wait for me downstairs and went off.

“The nose will fade,” I said to Dacia. “How do you feel otherwise?”

She gave me a knowing look. “Up to talking. If they don’t rush in to stick a thermometer in my mouth, or stab me with a needle. Pull up that chair, Eve. You found my note, didn’t you?”

There was something so conspiratorial about her tone that I found myself lowering my own voice, as though eavesdroppers might hover outside the door.

“I found the note,” I admitted, “but too late to meet you. It was only by chance that I went through the woods in that direction and stumbled over you lying in the road.”

“And thanks for that! If I hadn’t snatched up that coat of yours perhaps I’d still be all right. But then where would you be?”

“So you know that what happened was intended for me?”

She tried to nod, said, “Ow!” and closed her eyes for a moment against the pain. Then she opened them and went on. “Marc says you think it was him driving that car. But I don’t. He’s got his bad points, but he’d not do that. He’s a layabout sometimes and he likes to play. But believe me, Evie, he’s not up to murder—oh, he’s not!”

I hoped for her sake that she was right, but she seemed to protest a little too fervently and I said nothing.

“Funny how I decided it was a good joke on you to leave you my grotty old coat and come out all nice and dry in yours,” she mused. “While still making you curious enough so that you’d have to wear mine and come after me. I’ve been too full of plots, haven’t I? Fun and games! But I got what was coming to me for that, didn’t I?”

I inched my chair nearer to the bed. “You didn’t see who was driving the car—not even a glimpse?”

“Not a thing!” Dacia was emphatic. “I heard a car earlier, far off, but what with the rain I didn’t know it was near till the last minute. I can’t even remember being hit. The next I knew I woke up in the hospital with a nurse jabbing something in my arm. But let’s not waste time, Evie. It’s other things I wanted to tell you. I thought they might be useful in some way. Marc’s no good at holding out on me. I wangled everything out of him that I could. About that awful Leo Casella and the tricks he’s been playing around Justin’s workshop. It’s true that Leo could get in through the back door and he hid on the roof, or in the towers, or whatever tower room was empty. You almost caught him once, I guess. He would come down at night, and then go straight back up before anyone was onto him. From the roof he could watch his chance. Though Old Daniel nearly caught him too.”

“If Marc knows this and hasn’t told Justin, that’s pretty awful, isn’t it?”

“Marc didn’t know for sure. He suspected somebody was using the roof, because of the smoking in the tower rooms and all. He was trying to catch him on his own. Then when Nigel found those things up there and Leo was seen around, Marc went off to talk to Alicia. She wouldn’t tell him a thing, and she made him shut up about it besides.”

“But what was Leo trying to do?” I pressed her. “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”

“He was paid to upset things as much as he could, and Marc knows Alicia was behind what happened. Maybe that’s why Justin hasn’t had Leo picked up by the police—because of what might come out in any sort of investigation.”

I could only shake my head in bewilderment. “Whatever Alicia wants, it’s surely not interference with Justin’s work.”

“Why not?” Dacia’s brown eyes were unblinking, knowledgeable. “Couldn’t it be this is the way to make Justin need her money even more? After all, it was only mischief—no real harm done. Not even with that fire. And now Leo’s been sent back to London, so there’ll be no more trouble.”

“Marc ought to go to Justin with this whole story.”

Dacia tried to shake her head and winced again. “Not when all Alicia has to do is point a finger and ask payment of the money that’s dribbled through Marc’s hands at her gambling tables. She’s let him have his head, you know, and he’s used no sense at all. He’s got gambler’s fever. Alicia has it too, but in a different way. It’s like dope. He always believes the next time round will bring him a winner, and he’ll get everything back. If ever I marry him—which isn’t likely—I’ll not let him keep a farthing in his pocket. Of course if Justin’s experiments work out, then Justin might make enough money so that he could pick up the ticket without any trouble. And then Alicia’d have no more hold over Marc, or over Justin either. But if Marc tries anything now, his house of cards will tumble around his ears, and he knows it. He’s running scared, Evie. I’m worried about him. It might be better if he’d tell Justin everything, but neither he nor Maggie wants to do that. Maggie especially—she wants to protect Marc at all costs, and goodness knows what Justin might do. So Alicia has Marc just where she wants him.”

“She’d never have that sort of hold over Justin,” I said. “It’s not Alicia’s money he’d marry her for.”

Dacia wriggled about to the accompaniment of a few more “Ows,” and gave me a long stare. Then she changed the subject abruptly.

“Justin brought you to London today, didn’t he? How are you doing with him, Evie?”

This was not what I could talk about, and I shook my head in warning.

“Is this everything you wanted to tell me?” I asked.

“It’s all I have to tell. What I wanted was to have you say what I’d better do with it. Go to Justin, or what? But that doesn’t matter any more. Not with what’s happened to me. All that matters to me now is getting well, getting back to my job. I’ve had it at Athmore. That’s no life for me—or for Marc either.”

Somehow I had to give Marc his due. “I think he’s genuinely in love with you,” I said. “What happened to you has upset him badly.”

“Sure, I know. But he’ll get over it. He’s got a roving eye. I know that too. I guess it was the idea of me—Dacia Keane!—visiting at Athmore, running around with Marc North and all his swell friends that went to my silly head.”

“It’s not such a silly head,” I told her. “But you’d better keep it quiet for a while and stay out of trouble. After I found you I kept remembering what you said about tomorrow never coming. It was an especially awful feeling—being to blame for what happened to you.”

She held out her good hand. “I like you, Evie. I hope your tomorrow will be a fine one. But take care, do you hear? It’s better if you don’t go back to Athmore. There’s something desperate going on.”

Desperate or not, I knew very well that Athmore would call me back until, in one way or another, everything was settled between Justin and me. Nothing would make me give up now.

A nurse came in, and I left Dacia and went downstairs where Justin waited for me. We said nothing until we were in his car, moving into the stream of London traffic.

“Can you tell me about it?” he asked.

On the way down from Dacia’s room I had decided what to do. There had been too much holding back of the truth from Justin. He must be told about Marc, and about Maggie’s notions and strange behavior. Even about Alicia—though it might set him against me again if I went into that.

“Let’s go where we can talk,” I said.

He left his car at a garage and we walked across busy London streets toward the river. The Victoria Embankment looked all too familiar. Justin and I had walked there before. The tall iron lampposts cast shadows across the cobblestones and the plane trees fluttered their leaves above us. We sat on the low wall and watched the barge traffic on the river. Justin waited, not prodding me, but I found it hard to begin. Across the bend of the Thames the Houses of Parliament and the tower that housed Big Ben stood out bold and warm in the afternoon sun. I let my eyes and my thoughts be distracted.

“You’d better tell me,” Justin said at last.

There was no way in which to put any of this gently. Besides, it was all hearsay, as I tried to make clear to him. Perhaps he could sort truth from lies, reality from Dacia’s imaginative approach. I mentioned Marc’s grave debts and how Alicia had apparently been carrying him for a long while. I told him what I knew of Maggie’s concerns and fears, and her conviction that she could save everything by marrying Nigel.

Passersby gave us hardly a glance as they hurried along the embankment. London was like New York in that. Strangers were no curiosity here, and though Americans could usually be picked out with ease, no one troubled to stare at me. I talked and Justin listened, making only a slight movement of impatience or disbelief now and then. I had so few facts to give him, but adding up the words of other people still presented a thoroughly disturbing picture. He said nothing, even when I was through.

My story done, we walked toward Piccadilly and Half Moon Street. Justin took me to the same small hotel where we’d stayed after we were married, and checked me in. He had appointments this afternoon, he told me, and he would be busy at dinnertime. But this evening he would call for me, and I would go with him to the Club Casella.

We stood in the dim lobby of the hotel, while an elderly bellboy waited to take me to my room.

“Why?” I asked him. “Why do you want me to go with you to the club?”

The look in his eyes gave me new hope. “Perhaps there’s something to be smoked out,” he said. “If Marc is to be there tonight, I want to be there too. And you with me. After all, you’ve made some serious accusations.”

“But Alicia—” I began.

He said curtly, “I’ll call for you at ten o’clock. The casino doesn’t open till then,” and went off across the lobby.

I signaled the waiting bellboy and took the lift upstairs to my room.

The time before ten o’clock seemed to stretch ahead endlessly, though not because I dreaded to see the hour come. In fact, I was eager for it now. I was no longer afraid of Alicia.

During the afternoon I mapped my campaign of feminine strategy. I cashed some traveler’s checks and went shopping. First I bought a lightweight coat—popcorn, stitched with black wool, and as smart as today’s London. Then I hunted for a dress to wear to the Club Casella. It took me awhile, but I found what I wanted at last in a little shop in Knights-bridge.

When I had made my purchases, from sandals to evening pouch, I brought the packages back to my room and scattered them across the bed. These were my armor for whatever lay ahead. That anything might defeat me tonight was a possibility I would not accept.

Since I did not want to dine out alone in London, I had a tray sent to my room. Afterward I could only wait while the minutes ticked along toward ten o’clock. Of course I started dressing long before then, and took my time.

When I was ready I studied myself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and found the dress right for me. The soft, light crepe draped to a cowl neckline, with a deep V at the back. In front it went winging out from a high inverted pleat that fell to the toes of my sandals. There were no sleeves and the color was a marvelous lime. Without being strident, it was a dress of the moment—not for Dacia, not for Alicia, but for me. When I moved before the mirror the gown stirred sweetly about me, soft as springtime music. I felt like moonlight in it—an enchanted, singing moonlight!

There was no need to pile my hair on top of my head. I brushed it to a sable gloss and let it fall to my shoulders in the fashion Justin liked best. I had brought no jewelry with me and I wore none. The dress and I complemented each other, were meant to be. Only another woman could understand that feeling of being armed in beauty, and know how important it was for any encounter.

In the mirror my very face seemed different. I wore only a touch of lipstick, but my look was bright, unshadowed by self-doubting. I knew my direction now and I did not mean to be stopped from my course. Tonight I too must be a gambler—for the highest of stakes.

When the telephone rang I lifted the receiver and heard Dacia’s voice. She was calling from the hospital, and there was relief in her tone as I answered.

“Evie! It’s jolly lucky I caught you! Marc says you may be going to the club with Justin tonight.”

“I am going,” I told her. “He’s picking me up in a little while.”

“That’s fine! But I’ve just learned something from Marc and I think you ought to know before you go there tonight—that Alicia has lost the Club Casella.”

Her words were hard to believe. “What do you mean—lost?”

“It’s been taken away from her. Apparently her management has been bad in a business sense and her share of it is gone. There’s a new owner. Not only that, but she may be in a bad way all around. Marc is scared, Evie. He doesn’t know who has taken over the club, or what will happen if his debts are called in.”

“I’ve told Justin everything,” I said. “He knows about Marc’s debts and whatever else I could tell him.”

She was silent for a moment. “I expect that’s for the best. All this had to tumble down for Marc sometime. But Justin doesn’t know about this change of hands at the club. He’ll go there tonight believing that Alicia is still in charge. She hasn’t had time to move out yet, you know. She’ll be there, Marc says. Had you better warn Justin?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll have to think about this.”

I could almost see Dacia nodding her bandaged head and wincing at the movement “Yes. It’s best to take one step at a time. And—Evie—”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Evie—maybe this is big game you’ll be trying for tonight. I just wanted you to know that I’m betting on you to win out.”

I smiled at the telephone. “If you’re going to bet, bet high, Dacia. You should see my new dress!”

She laughed softly. “Good for you! But take care, Evie.”

She rang off and I stood with my hand on the telephone, thinking of what she had told me. If Alicia no longer owned the Club Casella, and Justin did not yet know about this, there were ramifications that had alarming possibilities. I couldn’t know what effect this might have upon Justin, and the fact made me uneasier than ever. A strong enemy might be fought boldly and the matter of mercy need not enter in. But how would Justin react to an Alicia who was going down to destruction—if matters had indeed gone that far?

The phone rang again, startling me, and as I picked up the receiver, I knew what I must do. Justin must of course be warned about what had happened. He must have time to think about his own course of action, whatever it might be. I spoke into the receiver.

Justin was waiting for me downstairs. I put on my coat and picked up my purse, gave myself a last look in the mirror before I walked toward the lift—not hurrying, not flying toward a love I needed to support me, but accepting with a new assurance that he was indeed my love and that whatever happened I must support him. Knowing as well that I had no other hand to play except that which I dealt myself.