Aeons later Betty gradually became conscious.
A general feeling of discomfort slowly clarified itself into aching limbs and head and a feeling of lassitude amounting almost to pain. She endured this for some time, then as her consciousness returned more fully, she opened her eyes.
She was lying in her bed at the gate lodge. It was day, for light was behind the drawn blind, though whether morning or afternoon she could not tell. No one seemed to be about: at least the house was very still. After some more aeons she began dreamily to consider what might have happened.
An accident presumably? No broken bones, she hoped. Experimenting, she tried gingerly to move her legs and arms, and was gratified to find she could do so. Then it must have been some illness, though she couldn’t remember getting ill. No doubt she—
Suddenly recollection flashed across her. Ah, now she had it! The fire! Forde Manor; burnt down! She shivered with horror as she recalled the dreadful scene, the fierce leaping flames, the lurid glare, the terrifying crackling. Oh, ghastly, hideous! When she thought of it she felt physically sick.
But try as she would, she could not recall how it had all ended. She remembered the pictures. They were trying to save them. But had they succeeded? She didn’t know.
Then a wave of thankfulness swept over her. What an overwhelming mercy it was that the house had been empty! The fire had spread so rapidly that the servants’ bedrooms might have been cut off before the alarm was given. How unthinkably awful that would have been. Indeed she might have been in danger herself. She might not have wakened till the staircase had become impassable! Again she grew sick and faint at the idea.
Presently she heard a stealthy footstep in the next room. So she was not alone. More faintly than she knew, she called out. The steps became louder and in a moment Mrs Relf appeared. She smiled at Betty.
‘Oh, mem, that looks better,’ she declared, advancing into the room. ‘I’m glad to see you’re yourself again.’
‘The fire?’ Betty gasped. ‘What happened?’
‘Burnt out,’ Mrs Relf returned solemnly. ‘A terrible sight. The whole place gutted. Not a room or a roof left bar the garage.’
‘The pictures?’
‘All destroyed except about two dozen from the ballroom. A terrible loss!’
Betty groaned, staring helplessly at her landlady. Then her thoughts took another turn. ‘What day is this?’ she asked in a puzzled tone.
‘Tuesday. You haven’t been ill long, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Tuesday. Then the fire was—last night?’
‘Early this morning. But they didn’t get it out till midday.’
It was now after three o’clock, as Betty with raised head could see from the clock on the chimneypiece. She moved more energetically.
‘I don’t remember the end of it. Tell me, was I ill? How did I get here?’
‘You fainted, and no wonder. You didn’t ought to have got up at all, mem, and that’s a fact.’
‘I remember nothing after seeing the hall roof go down. What happened then?’
‘That was when you fainted. They saw you fall and some of them picked you up, and then I told them to bring you here and we got you to bed and Relf went for the doctor.’
‘Gracious,’ Betty grimaced, ‘was I all that trouble? Well, go on about the fire. Did the engines come from Town?’
It appeared that just as Betty had fallen in her faint, the local brigade had turned up. They had a stretcher as part of their equipment, and while she was being lifted on it, the brigade had got their hoses going. But it was like playing on a haystack with a penny squirt. The fire was much too fierce for their efforts to make any difference, and it was only when the engines arrived from London that adequate measures could be taken.
But it was then too late. By that time the whole roof of the ‘spine’ had gone and both wings were blazing furiously.
The policeman and his helpers had had, Mrs Relf explained, bad luck. They could only find a long ladder and precious minutes were lost looking for a tool to cut it in two. When it was at last in position and the gallery window was broken, a rush of thick smoke poured out. No one could have lived in it, and the attempt to save the pictures had to be abandoned. Only twenty-five had been saved, all from the ballroom.
To Betty this seemed an absolute calamity. The destruction of the house was bad enough, but at least it could be rebuilt. But the pictures were irreplaceable. The loss was not only that of Sir Geoffrey’s or his insurance company; the whole world was the poorer. What a confirmation it all was of Charles Barke’s oft expressed opinion that such works of art should not be left in private hands, but should be kept in national homes properly secured against fire!
The thought of her employer raised a new question. ‘By the way, has anyone wired to Sir Geoffrey?’ she asked.
Mrs Relf showed some slight embarrassment. ‘Yes, mem,’ she said, moving uneasily. ‘Relf and Mr Carson thought that should be done and I—er—took the liberty of looking among your letters on the table there to see if I could find the address. I thought you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course not. That was quite right. Did you find it?’
‘Yes, mem. I found it and Mr Carson wrote the message and Relf took it to the post office. Italy, it was.’
‘Yes, Capri. That’s all right. There’s been no reply?’
‘No, mem; not yet.’
Some two hours later a message was received. It read: ‘Distressed at news. Arriving tomorrow. Buller.’
He must be coming by air, Betty thought, as she rather painfully racked her brains as to whether any other step should be taken before he arrived. Eventually she concluded that there was nothing which could not wait. It certainly was a relief that he was coming so soon.
That evening the doctor called again.
‘You’ve been fortunate,’ he told Betty, when he had made his examination. ‘You might well have got pneumonia running about like that when you had a temperature. But you’re none the worse. You’ve got ’flu, but it’s a mild attack and you’ll probably be about again in a day or two.’
Betty didn’t really feel so badly and that night she slept reasonably well, awaking almost normal in the morning.
Now at last she began to think of how the fire would affect herself. For one thing her job was gone. Sir Geoffrey couldn’t retain her to look after a non-existent house. Here again she had been fortunate. The book was all but finished. Only three chapters had still to be revised and more than half of the final typing was done. This work Betty had given to a girl in Ockham and she was making a neat job of it. It warmed Betty’s heart to see the pile of typescript grow, and the adding to it of each completed chapter as it came in gave her a thrill of real delight.
But these pleasures were now coming to an end. In a week the typing would be finished and the book would start off on its adventures. Then would begin the nerve-racking period of waiting to learn its fate, of which she had heard so much. She had already selected the publisher to whom she would first send it, and from frequent rehearsing knew by heart the covering letter she would write.
Indeed, as soon as the book had gone, life would deteriorate from every point of view. That dreadful hunt for a job would begin again, for she daren’t bank her future on the chance of her writing being a success. If a miracle happened and it became a best seller: well, that would be all joy and she could give up housekeeping for other people and start a second book. But could so great a miracle really happen?
Her thoughts strayed back to Sir Geoffrey. What a calamity this was for him! He had hoped to sell, and now not only was the house destroyed, but the place was rendered practically valueless. Fortunately the insurance had been put right; at least she presumed the new policy had been completed. But even if he got a substantial sum, it wouldn’t be the same thing. The place would be left on his hands as a continual drag.
After lunch Mrs Relf appeared, labouring under excitement. Sir Geoffrey, it seemed, had arrived and was below, asking whether she would see him.
‘Of course,’ said Betty. ‘Show him up.’
Mrs Relf, apparently slightly scandalized, vanished, and presently Sir Geoffrey knocked and entered. He was not looking his best. To Betty he seemed more furtive and ill at ease than ever.
Surely, she thought, he was not embarrassed by seeing her in bed? And when he spoke, his high-pitched squeaky voice with its American twang seemed to grate on her more than ever. But his words were pleasant enough.
‘Well,’ he greeted her with a crooked smile, ‘this is an unexpected meeting.’
She held out her hand. ‘You got back quickly. How did you manage it?’ She pointed to a chair. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘Thanks.’ He moved the chair, as if casually, but she noted that he turned it with its back to the light. ‘I flew. By a stroke of luck the message came in time to let me catch the boat to Naples, and the boat just caught the plane, so I hadn’t to waste any time.’
‘You came right through?’
‘I couldn’t. I slept in Paris last night and came on by the first plane this morning. And how are you? I was sorry to hear you weren’t too fit.’
‘It’s nothing; just a touch of ’flu. By the way, are you afraid of it? If so, you’d better not stay.’
He smiled. ‘I’m not afraid. Besides, it’s all over the country. In Italy too; all over Europe, I believe.’
She nodded. ‘I’m so distressed about this business,’ she assured him. ‘I just can’t say how sorry I am.’
‘Yes, it’s a bit of a knock. But before we go any further there’s something I can’t say either: I can’t say how grateful to you I am for all you did. I’ve been hearing about it.’
‘It was nothing, and in any case you surely wouldn’t expect me to lie here in bed and not see what was going on.’
‘But you did much more than see what was going on. Your decision to call the London brigades and your attempt to save the pictures! It was just splendid.’
‘It didn’t do much good, I’m afraid.’
‘That wasn’t your fault. It was just bad luck that the thing wasn’t seen earlier. An hour earlier and the wings might have been saved.’
‘The pictures!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s what’s so dreadful—all those gorgeous pictures being lost.’
‘That’s so,’ he agreed. ‘And yet it might have been a deal worse. Have you thought what might have happened if the house hadn’t been empty?’
She shivered. ‘I know. That’s one thing we can’t be too thankful for. Tell me, what does the place look like? Can you go into the ruins yet?’
‘No, they’re still smouldering and there are a couple of firemen in charge. But I don’t think it’s necessary. There’s nothing left to burn.’
‘Dreadful! Is it really as bad as that?’
He made a gesture as if of horror. ‘It’s the worst case I’ve ever seen. Completely gutted. Nothing left but the walls and some heaps of smouldering debris.’
‘The roof?’
‘All gone. And the stonework round the doors and windows cracked and chipped. It’s really a rather horrible sight.’
‘The pictures that were saved?’
‘They’re all right: stored in my workshop. Twenty-five—out of a hundred and eighty-nine.’
‘It’s just too horrible.’ She paused, then went on. ‘There’s only one redeeming feature in the whole thing: that you had amended that insurance. The policy was complete, I suppose?’
‘Oh yes, six months ago and more. Yes, that part of it’s all right. And arising out of that, there’s another thing I’m thankful for: that I wasn’t here when it happened.’
Betty stared. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked more sharply.
He shrugged. ‘Well, it might have looked badly, mightn’t it? Just note the sequence: I inherit; I don’t like the place; I reinsure; it’s burnt down. Uncharitable people might think they were clever in putting two and two together.’
She felt rather horrified that such an idea could have occurred to him. ‘Oh, I think that’s dreadful,’ she exclaimed. ‘You mean that people might have thought that you set it on fire for the insurance? I’m sure no one would have imagined such a thing.’
‘People are ready enough to imagine things like that.’
‘Oh no! Besides your sequence is wrong. You inherited; you reinsured,’ you found you didn’t like the life here; and—the house was burnt. A slight change, but one which makes all the difference.’
He seemed relieved. ‘Good of you putting it like that. Not that the question arises, for I could have scarcely set it on fire from Capri.’
She smiled. ‘Then why talk nonsense? All the same, is there any theory of what did happen?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, so far. It seems that it started in the central block somewhere near the service rooms. At least, the man who wakened Carson says so. He saw it from his house and ran down. If so, it suggests the central heating. There may have been some timber too near the flue.’
‘Surely if so, the house would have gone up before this?’
‘So one would say, but I understand fires have occurred from this cause years after the houses were built. Then it might have been an electrical short. Do you happen to know if the current was on or off?’
‘Switched off at the main switches. I saw to it myself when we closed the house and I was looking round only last week, Thursday or Friday, I think, and I particularly noticed the switches were off.’
‘Then that settles that. We needn’t worry about the cause because the insurance company will make an inquiry into it.’
‘Oh. Will that be soon?’
‘I imagine so. They wouldn’t want to wait till all the facts were forgotten.’
‘Of course. Then I’d better make a note of everything I did in the house during the last few days.’
‘Yes, if you will. In fact, I’m asking everyone concerned to do so. Well, let’s talk of something else. I’m afraid this will make a difference to your plans. By the way, it’s rather late to ask, but how is your book?’
‘Finished!’ she declared, and she could scarcely keep a ring of pride out of her voice. ‘Or just finished. Another week and it will be out of my hands.’
He seemed interested and asked for details, which under the circumstances Betty thought considerate. Then he reverted to her plans.
‘I’m afraid, you know, there’s no more to be done here. I don’t yet know what I’ll do, but,’ he smiled grimly, ‘it won’t be necessary to look after the house any longer.’
‘Of course I understand that,’ she assured him. ‘In any case, I was going to begin looking for a job directly I got the book off.’
‘Well, you mustn’t be in a hurry. Legally you’re due proper notice and I don’t mind the present arrangement running on for a few weeks more if it’s a convenience to you.’
It was kind of him. Indeed he had always been kind to her and she wished she did not feel that barrier of—was it merely indifference? No, she had to admit to herself that it was actual dislike. Though she had never seen his ugly side, she could not but feel that he had one.
But he was chatting on. ‘Seen your friend Mr Barke lately?’ he asked. ‘I always look back with pleasure to his visit here.’
‘Not very recently,’ she answered. ‘But he’s been here; as a matter of fact on Monday, the day before the fire. He was coming to tea and I put him off because I wasn’t well, but he didn’t get the message.’
‘Oh, he was here, was he? Then you didn’t see him?’
‘No. I was so cross with Mrs Relf. He came here to the door, but I happened to be asleep and she didn’t wake me.’
‘Good for her. Pity all the same that he had his journey for nothing.’
Betty smiled. ‘Well, he didn’t quite. Feeling sure that you wouldn’t mind, he asked Relf to let him have another look at the pictures. He does love them so much, you know.’
Sir Geoffrey took out his cigarette case and in opening it fumbled suddenly and dropped it. The cigarettes fell out in a little cascade.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he apologized, ‘that was stupid of me. I took out the case automatically, for of course I didn’t intend to smoke here.’ He stooped and began picking up the cigarettes. ‘So Mr Barke had another look at the pictures? I’m delighted. He was very welcome.’
‘Thank you, I knew you’d feel like that and I was going to suggest a visit to them before tea. He knew that too, otherwise he would never have asked Relf.’
‘You were both absolutely right. Unhappily it doesn’t matter now, but if this disaster hadn’t occurred, I should have much liked to hear his opinion of the cleaning of some of them. We discussed it, you remember?’
‘I’m sure he would have liked a chat about it. As you know, he has taken up rather a decided line on the subject. When I mentioned that you had had some cleanings done he was interested. I know he wanted to see how far the results supported his theories.’
‘And you don’t know his opinion?’
‘No, and I don’t expect to till I see him. He is a pleasant visitor, but a terrible correspondent. I’m expecting him down again shortly. He told Mrs Relf he’d come with his wife as soon as I was all right. She’s also got ’flu at present.’
‘Not badly, I hope?’
‘I’m afraid she has rather. Not serious, I expect, but worse than the average.’
‘I’m sorry. Well now, let’s see. Is there anything else we ought to discuss?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Betty answered slowly. ‘I found that testimonial, by the way. I sent it off on Monday.’
‘Oh, thank you. That was good of you. It was a company that some Americans I met in Rome were thinking of starting, to run oil from the States to Italy. I thought it would interest me to be on the board, if I decided to live in Rome. Now I don’t know what I shall do.’
He chatted for a little longer, then after urging Betty to stay where she was till she felt perfectly well, he rose.
‘I shall be in London,’ he said as he opened the door, ‘at the Brooklyn, near Marble Arch. If you want me, you’ll find me there.’
He was taking it well, Betty decided, as after he had gone she thought over the interview. Of course the loss of the house was not nearly so heavy a blow as it would have been had he always lived there and got to love the place. And the destruction of the pictures wouldn’t affect him as it would a connoisseur. His distress was probably nothing like so keen as his predecessor’s would have been under similar circumstances.
Betty’s attack of ’flu proved milder even than the doctor had forecast and on the next afternoon she insisted on getting up, and in spite of the protests of Mrs Relf, going out to see what was left of Forde Manor.
It was indeed a horrifying sight. The walls alone stood, bare and gaunt and blackened, with cracked and split stone dressings and gaps where the cornice had been dragged away when the roof collapsed. Within were heaps of wreckage, mostly brick and stone from internal walls which had fallen, but with occasional objects of twisted metal and quantities of broken glass. In one place Betty saw the remains of the study safe and in another three sticklike objects which she eventually identified as the barrels of shot guns. Even after so much time had passed, faint traces of smoke still hung about the larger heaps.
Late that afternoon she received a reply-paid telegram: ‘Unexpectedly crossing Paris tomorrow. Have wired Roland. If you desire will advance him money if satisfied with scheme. You refund me later. Charles.’
Without hesitating Betty replied: ‘Please do as you suggest. Immensely grateful. Betty.’
A warm sense of pleasure flowed into Betty’s mind as she contemplated the bestowal of her gift. How surprised and delighted Roland would be! What a vista of hope it would open up to him! And how good of Charles to undertake the task! He certainly was kind.
She longed to write to Roland, a letter overflowing with good will and affection, expressing the hope that the gift was opportune and that the venture would be a huge success. But of course she could not, lest Charles should decide to withhold the money.
On the following morning a brief confirmatory letter came from Charles. It was dated Thursday night and he said he had received her telegram and would carry out the money business as best he could. Then he went on: ‘I wonder if you could possibly come up tomorrow and stay with Agatha till I get back? Of course if you are well enough. I am not very happy about her. She is still far from well and it would be a great ease to my mind if I knew that you were in the house. Don’t trouble to telephone, but if you can manage it just turn up. Having had ’flu yourself, you won’t be afraid of infection.’
For once, Betty thought, duty and inclination pointed in the same direction. She enjoyed staying at the Green House and she was glad to be able to oblige Charles. Having rung up Sir Geoffrey she went up to Town after lunch.
When she reached Chelsea she was more glad than ever that she had come. Agatha was worse. She was lying half asleep and took very little notice of Betty. Kate, the Barkes’ elderly retainer, was obviously frightened and seized on Betty with relief.
‘Has the doctor been here today?’ Betty asked.
‘Yes, m’m, early this morning.’
‘I think he should see her again. Let me have his name and I’ll ring him up, and if she’s not better, I’ll ask him to send a nurse.’
The doctor’s report was reassuring. Though Agatha’s attack was sharp and there was some fear of pulmonary complications, she was otherwise fit and he didn’t think these would materialize. In the meantime she would be the better of professional aid and he would send a nurse. An hour later a pleasant looking middle-aged woman arrived and took charge.
Betty was thankful to be there and able to help with the nursing, but as she sat staring into the fire after dinner that evening, her thoughts were not with Agatha. In Paris, Charles and Roland would by now, she felt sure, have had their meeting. How she wished she knew what had taken place! She hoped against hope that one or other would ring her up, though she knew it was unlikely. If not, there might be a wire in the morning, or at least a letter in the evening. At all events she longed before anything else that the events which had taken place in Paris that day might be the beginning of a period of real happiness and prosperity for Roland.
How maliciously Fate must have smiled at her innocence!