The Rose in Winter Read online

  Barbara had missed dancing. She took the floor with Gerry, with Ed, with a local fellow named Maurice. She shimmied, she glided, she kicked her legs and whirled her arms. For a while she became the centre of attention and positively revelled in it. After a few records, she took a breather. Molly materialised next to her and offered her a cigarette from a mother-of-pearl case.

  ‘No?’ She took one herself and lit it with a tiny, sparkly lighter. ‘I thought you might need one after all that.’

  ‘I’ll have a drink though …’

  ‘Hear that?’ Molly tapped the attendant Maurice on the arm. ‘Your partner needs a drink.’

  ‘Then she shall have one!’

  ‘And another, if you can manage it.’

  ‘Forthwith!’

  ‘My, oh my.’ Molly raised her eyebrows. ‘You were a positive whirling dervish.’

  ‘I enjoy dancing and haven’t had the chance for ages.’

  ‘Really? That won’t do. Whatever have you been up to?’

  Barbara suspected that Molly had heard something from someone and was picking up on the scent.

  ‘Nothing much. I’ve been at home, making plans.’

  ‘Plans, good for you!’ The rasping laugh rang out. ‘Is it all right to ask what they are?’

  ‘Quite all right, but they’re rather fuzzy at the moment.’

  ‘Ah … Thanks.’ Molly took a drink from the returned Maurice. ‘Plans are like that, I find. They hang about in the background, preying on one’s mind, demanding attention and generally being a nuisance until one gives them the heave-ho. Aren’t I right?’

  She addressed this last question to Maurice, who appeared startled to have his opinion sought.

  ‘Very probably – yes, I’d say so.’

  ‘So here’s to fuzziness …!’

  ‘Do you have any yourself?’ Barbara asked.

  ‘Perish the thought. I’m a great believer in Something coming up.’

  ‘Me too!’ Maurice put his oar in, nodding fervently. ‘Extraordinary how it always does.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Molly, her eyes still on Barbara. ‘Doesn’t it just?’

  It was Julian’s suggestion that they play Sardines. Mixed reactions only fuelled his enthusiasm.

  ‘This is the perfect house!’

  ‘It’s enormous,’ said Gerry, ‘we’ll be sending out search parties.’

  ‘All the better. Bags I hide.’

  Molly laughed. ‘What happens if you get lost?’

  ‘I was a boy scout.’

  ‘Also,’ went on Gerry, as if confiding information that might surprise them, ‘it’s pretty damn chilly away from the main rooms.’

  In spite of the laughter, Julian was now into his stride. ‘Once we find each other we can huddle together for warmth.’

  ‘And the lighting’s not all it might be.’

  ‘Come on Gerry, where’s your spirit of adventure?’

  ‘I don’t need one,’ Gerry pointed out. ‘Remember, I live here.’

  ‘Then you hide! You’ll know all the best places.’

  ‘If we’re going to play, I need to be on patrol with a torch, mopping up the stragglers.’

  ‘No torch!’ Molly said, ‘that’d be cheating.’

  This comment, coming from her, seemed to give the group’s imprimatur to the project. Faces turned to look at her expectantly.

  ‘Oh? Shall I? Right you are.’ She stubbed out her cigarette and put down her glass. ‘I shall hide, but I want a clear ten minutes before you come looking.’

  ‘Righty-ho,’ said Gerry. ‘Would you like some instructions on where not to go?’

  ‘Of course not. I shan’t go outside, far too cold. Nowhere beyond the front door, but anywhere inside is fair game and there’s to be no turning lights on.’

  ‘You’re a hard woman, Mol.’ Gerry consulted his watch. ‘Your time starts … Now!’

  Barbara watched Molly swish from the room. Her stride was long, her feet narrow and pointed in kingfisher-blue shoes. She was like some haughty creature, a giraffe or a unicorn, a law unto herself

  Ed hove alongside. ‘Want to team up?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Barbara. ‘I’d be lost in two seconds.’

  ‘You can get lost in four seconds, with me.’

  Ten minutes later Gerry flourished his torch.

  ‘Go! Seek! Give a good scream if you fall down any stairs and I’ll come and rescue you!’

  There was much shrieking and giggling as people rushed off, but Ed held on to Barbara’s wrist.

  ‘Hold your horses. I’ve got a theory.’

  Lucia wandered over to the gramophone and began sifting through records.

  ‘Well I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to play sweet music to guide people back to base.’

  Gerry stood out in the hall, shamelessly moving the proscribed torch in wide arcs, high and low. The soft beam swept over: stony-eyed portraits; an antelope’s head with twisted horns; a couple fleeing hand in hand up the stairs; the balustrade of a high gallery; an open door on the opposite side of the hall and a closed one at the back; a huge mirror that caught the flitting beam like a will o’ the wisp. Catching Ed and Barbara’s reflection in the lighted drawing room, Gerry swung round.

  ‘Come on you two, what are you hanging about there for?’

  ‘All right, all right!’ Ed put his arm round Barbara and raised a defensive hand. ‘We’re going!’

  ‘But I’m not …’ cooed Lucia over the strains of ‘What’ll I do …?’ ‘… And you can’t make me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ Gerry passed them in the doorway. ‘Go on, what are you waiting for? Care to dance, Lucy …?’

  He pulled the door to behind him. In the chilly darkness, Barbara tried to remember where the landmarks were: the stairs to their left, with the gallery far above … the tall, wide door opposite, like the mouth of a cave … beyond the foot of the stairs, at the end of a short corridor, the backstairs door, firmly closed. Was that, perhaps, a forbidden area …? The muffled music from the drawing room, the distant whispers, hoots and pattering of the other seekers, emphasised the stillness down here.

  ‘Where shall we go?’ she asked.

  ‘Want to hear my theory?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, you know Molly, crafty as a sack of weasels. My guess is that she won’t have gone far. She could be listening to us right now.’ He cocked his head. ‘Molly …? Mol, are you there …?’

  The record ended and, for a long moment, there was no sound from elsewhere. A fog of silence enveloped them. Barbara’s scalp crawled. For some reason she didn’t care for the idea of Molly lurking close by – crouched and contained in her hiding-place – probably smiling to herself.

  Ed’s fingers folded about her wrist. ‘I know how her mind works.’

  He began to lead her across the hall in the direction of the servants’ door. Behind the sweeping curve of the stairs was a recess, they bumped into velvet curtains which yielded with a soft rattle of rings. Where the curtain brushed Barbara’s face it gave off a pungent smell – smoke, old clothing and something fetid and animal. She exclaimed and flapped her hands, beating it off.

  ‘Ssh!’

  ‘Why do we have to be quiet?’

  ‘Because we want to surprise her.,’ Ed leaned in; she could feel his breath on her ear. ‘Because she’s too clever by half.’

  There was a shriek and giggling from some far-off part of the house, above their heads. Music started up again in the drawing room, ‘If you knew Suzie …’

  ‘You have a look in here,’ whispered Ed.

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘In that case, I will. Why don’t you take a look through the little door, see where it goes.’

  ‘I’m sure that’ll be out of bounds.’

  ‘Other door, then, use your initiative, scout around. I’ll do the same, back here in a sec. And—’ now his face was close enough to see the glimmering holes of his eyes and his fingers were pressed
on her mouth ‘—Sssh.’

  Like a pantomime villain, he stepped behind the curtain and disappeared.

  I hate this, she thought. I don’t want to be here. These thoughts surprised her. She entertained a sudden, unbidden mental picture of Stanley and was shocked to find her eyes stinging with childish tears. What was the matter with her? This was only a game, after all, and only a few yards away a narrow ribbon of light showed where Gerry and Lucia were happily dancing to the jaunty music. She could go straight back in there now if she wanted.

  But some deeply ingrained notion of correctness – from home, from school, or simply bred in the bone – told her not to be pathetic. She must not wilt, but be a good sport and get on with it. The temperature out here was as Gerry had predicted. Her feet were frozen, as was every inch of bare skin. Rubbing her arms vigorously she headed for the large open door which led into the library – there had been a fire in the room on their arrival, and a sumptuous tea laid out. Now the fire was no more than a pile of crimson-veined rubble in the grate. The room was huge, far bigger than the drawing room, the tall bookcases marching away on either side, away from the small, dusty light of the embers into blackness. She remembered something her father would say, ‘Escape from the light and the dark will be your friend.’

  Long windows to her right, at the front of the house, overlooked the broad drive and wooded park. There was a little moonlight and, with her back to the dying fire, she could make out lighter chinks between the curtains. Wind nudged an ill-fitting window. A pattering and hissing, like something being dragged, made her jump and hold her breath, until she realised that it had started to rain.

  Drawing the curtains would surely not breach the no lights rule. She went to the window nearest the door and reaching high with both hands, parted the curtains. Torrential rain sizzled down on the gravel and sailed in fluid columns across the park. The branches of the trees churned, but what caught Barbara’s eye was a movement to her right. Outside the front door of the house, the Gorringes had adapted their portico into a huge outer porch. The lower half of the porch was stone-work that blended with the frontage of the house and the outer columns. The upper half was glass, divided into long panes which were now, like the rest of the house, dark, and streaming with water. But she could see three pale shapes fanned out against the glass – two high up, another some three feet lower down. She could make no sense of them until one of the higher shapes moved, lifting away from the glass and repositioning itself. At the same time she detected another, more solid black shape, also move and now she realised what she was looking at: hands.

  Hands, palms planted against the glass side of the porch, two braced above someone’s head, the other, fingers spread downwards, supporting a second person. And in between, behind the racing raindrops, a creased and flattened pad of material slithering against the smooth surface in a jerky rhythm.

  Nowhere beyond the front door.

  Shocked, she took a step back, and reached for the curtains. As she did so she glimpsed, between the raised hands, a bone-white disc of face with dark smears of mouth and eyes. Dropping the curtains she stumbled backwards and out of the room, her arms out in front of her like a sleepwalker. When she found the banister she clutched it and lowered herself on to the stairs. Her heart was racing and the blood had drained from her head. She felt faint and a little sick.

  ‘Barbara …? Is that you? You here?’

  Ed placed a fumbling hand on her shoulder, patting her cheek and hair. ‘There you are. Any joy?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘No one has.’ He sidestepped round and sat down next to her. ‘They’re all still crashing about up there.’

  Cold and nauseous she laid her head on her knees and he touched the back of her neck again, this time solicitously.

  ‘You all right Bar?’ She shook her head. ‘Perhaps you should go somewhere more comfortable.’ A couple were coming down the stairs behind them. ‘Hang on, don’t trip over us, got a casualty here.’

  By the time Ed had parked her in an armchair by the drawing-room fire the others – chilled to the bone and, now the excitement had worn off, bored and impatient with the search – were returning in dribs and drabs. Ed found someone more amusing to talk to and Marjory brought her a cup of tea and pulled up a stool next to her.

  ‘Here we are. Strong and sweet – thought it might help.’

  ‘Thank you so much. This isn’t like me.’

  ‘Or anyone,’ said Marjory in her no-nonsense way. ‘No one ever expects to feel faint, but it happens to the best of us.’

  In the room behind them, people were chattering over the clink of refreshed glasses, the click and sigh of cigarettes being lit. No music, they were discussing the game and the distinct possibility that Molly had cheated. Gerry came over.

  ‘I’m taking a straw poll,’ he said. ‘Leave her to stew, wherever she is, or turn on every light in the place and flush her out?’

  Barbara closed her eyes. ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Leave her to stew,’ said Marjory. ‘She’s perfectly capable of finding her own way back.’

  ‘What if she’s had an accident?’

  ‘She’ll yell. She’s got a loud enough voice.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Five minutes later, the result of the straw poll apparently accorded with Marjory’s view, because someone put on ‘Someone to watch over me’ and Ed and Julian were singing along, doing their double act. Molly’s whereabouts were forgotten.

  Barbara finished her tea and got up. She no longer felt light-headed, but she wanted more than anything to be on her own, beneath the covers. Marjory stood up too, politely affecting a stifled yawn.

  ‘Up the wooden hill …?’

  ‘I think I shall, if it’s all the same to you.’ She added, ‘I want to be on form tomorrow, for the treasure hunt.’

  ‘Fox and hounds, actually, slight change of plan. Still a prize though!’

  Lucia met her by the door.

  ‘Are you recovered? Ed said you had a funny turn.’

  ‘I’m fine now, but I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Night-night then.’ Lucia proffered a cool, pale cheek. ‘Sleep tight.’

  ‘I shall.’

  One or two others carolled goodnight and Gerry called, ‘Watch out for Molly …!’

  Barbara closed the door after her. There was now some light in the hall from two standard lamps on either side of the door and from a great spherical brass table lamp by the balustrade on the first floor landing. She was leaden with tiredness. She slipped off her shoes, and pulled the gardenia from her hair as she trudged up the stairs. When she reached the gallery she paused, alerted by a movement down in the hall. The front door opened and through it came a man, who headed swiftly and quietly for the servants’ entrance below where Barbara was standing, then Molly. She surveyed herself for a second in the mirror, dabbing at her hair with pointed fingers and smoothing her dress, before heading for the drawing room. A riotous burst of complaint and laughter greeted her entrance but her rasping voice overrode it.

  ‘Now then everyone, don’t let’s be bad losers …!’

  The mattress on Barbara’s bed had a trough in it and the sheets were cold, but there were down pillows, a comforting pile of blankets and a fat eiderdown. She snuggled down like a dormouse, with one strand of her hair wrapped round her forefinger. What she had seen was nothing to do with her … it was none of her business.

  But just before falling asleep, a tiny mouse of memory scratched at her consciousness, trying to get in. Something she had missed.

  Six

  The arrangement for the next day was that breakfast would be between eight and nine, and that, breakfasted or not, they should all meet in the hall, dressed in warm and weather-proof clothes, at nine thirty.

  About half the company met over the bacon and eggs and it was pretty clear that Barbara, having ‘retired hurt last night’ as Gerry put it, was now feeling a good better than the rest. They h
ad stayed up till the small hours and drunk the cabinet dry. Tomato juice, Worcester sauce and a basket of eggs, along with cut-glass tumblers, had been thoughtfully placed at the end of the sideboard by the butler, Streetly. The initial silence was broken only by the clink and swallow of medicinal prairie oysters.

  Conversation round the table was desultory. It was warmer, they noted, and it had stopped raining. Just as well, because Marjory poured scorn on their clothing.

  ‘We’ve got a fiendish fox, he’s going to lead you thorough bush, thorough brier!’ she announced with steely brightness. ‘I suggest you all go and have a rummage in the boot room and under the stairs, there are masses of old coats and whatnot.’

  ‘Dear God,’ said Molly, black coffee poised en route to her perfectly painted carmine lips, ‘if it’s going to be that hearty, I’m giving it a miss.’

  ‘It’s meant to be a challenge,’ Gerry told her. ‘Damn it all, we all came looking for you last night.’

  ‘And failed miserably.’

  ‘We tried our best. Poor Bar had a funny turn in the process.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Molly turned raised eyebrows to Barbara. ‘I was sorry to hear about that.’

  ‘I’m fine now thanks.’

  ‘So,’ Ed leaned back in his chair, ‘are you going to tell us where you were?’

  ‘Certainly not, that’s my secret.’ And mine, thought Barbara. ‘And I shall take it to the grave.’

  Gerry looked round the assembled pallid faces. ‘Time to ‘fess up, anyone know where she was?’ There were mumbles and shaken heads. ‘But we’re not all here, anyway – I bet someone does.’