This Rough Magic by Mary Stewart
And the trail was already drying. I was calling myself names that I hadn’t even known I knew, as I shone the yellow and flickering torchlight over the boards of the platform.
Yes, there they were, the footprints in the snow; the two faint, irregular trails, interweaving like the track of bicycle wheels, leading in through the door, along the platform, over the edge …
But not into the water after all. They went in over the side of the Aleister and across her deck and straight in through the cabin door.
I was in after them in a flash. Down the steps, to the table … I had never even glanced at the bare table top, but now I saw on the Formica surface the still damp square where he had laid the packages down.
And there the trail stopped. But this time there was only one answer. The trail had stopped simply because all Godfrey had had to do from there was to open the trap-door under the table, and lift the things straight down.
I had the trap open again in seconds. I laid it aside. The square hole gaped.
I ran back to the steps and peered up at the window. No light showed. I dropped on my knees beside the trap, clicked on the torch and sent the small yellow eye which was all it had left skidding over the greasy water in the Aleister’s bilges.
Nothing. No sign. But now I knew they had to be there …
And they were there. I had gone flat down on the floor, and was hanging half inside the trap-door before I saw them, but they were there; not in the bottom, but tucked, as neatly as could be, right up under the floorboards, in what were obviously racks made specially to carry them. They were clear of the water, and well back from the edges of the hatch, so that you would have had – like me – to be half in the bilges yourself before you saw them.
I ducked back, checked on the window again, then dived once more into the bilges.
Two sweating minutes, and I had it, a big, heavy square package wrapped in polythene. I heaved it out on deck, spreading the skirts of my coat for it so that I in my turn would leave no trail, then turned the light on it.
The torch was shaking now in my hand. The yellow glowworm crawled and prodded over the surface of the package, but the glossy wrapping almost defeated the miserable light, and all I got, in the three seconds’ look I allowed myself, was the impression of a jumble of faint colours, something looking like a picture, a badge, even (Miranda had been right) a couple of words … LEKE, I read, and in front of this something that could be – but surely wasn’t – NJEMIJE.
Somewhere something slammed, nearly frightening me out of what wits I still had. The torch dropped with a rattle, rolling in a wide semicircle that missed the trap by millimetres. I grabbed it back again, and whirled to look. There was nothing there. Only darkness.
Which was just as well, I thought, recovering my senses rather wryly. Even if I had reacted properly, and grabbed for the gun instead of the torch, I couldn’t have got it. Prospero’s damned book, or whatever the package was, was sitting right on top of it, on the skirts of my coat. I had a long way to go, I reflected bitterly, before I got into the James Bond class.
The wind must be rising fast. The big seaward doors shook again, as if someone was pulling at the padlock, and the other door bumped and rattled. The water ran hissing and lapping along the walls, and shadows, thrown by some faint reflection of starlight, shivered up into the rafters.
The window was still dark, but I had had my warning, and enough was enough. The trap-door went snugly back into place, my torch dropped into my other pocket, and, clasping the package to me with both hands, I clambered carefully out of the Aleister.
At the same instant as I gained the platform, I saw the movement on the path outside the window. Only a shadow, but as before there was no mistaking the way he moved. No light, no nothing, but here he was, just above the boat-house, and coming fast.
And here was I, stuck with my arms full of his precious package for which he had almost certainly tried to do double murder. And I couldn’t get out of the place if I tried.
The first thing was to get rid of the package.
I crouched and let the thing slide down between the platform and the boat. The boat was moored close, and for a panic-stricken moment I thought there wasn’t enough room there; the package was tangled in my coat, then it jammed in the gap, and I couldn’t move it either way, and when I tried to grab it back I couldn’t, it was slippery and I couldn’t get a grip on it again …
I flung myself down, got a shoulder to the Aleister, and shoved. She moved the inch or so I needed, and with a brief, sharp struggle I managed to ram the package through and down.
It vanished with a faint splash. And then, like an echo, came the fainter but quite final splash of Leo’s gun slipping from the pocket of my coat, to vanish in its turn under the water.
For one wild, crazy moment of fear I thought of swinging myself down to follow gun and package and hide under the platform, but I couldn’t get down here, and there was no time to run the length of the boat. In any case he would have heard me. He was at the door. His key scraped the lock.
There was only one place big enough to hide, and that was right bang in the target area. The boat itself. It did cross my mind that I could stand still and try to bluff it out, but even had the Aleister been innocent, and Godfrey found me here at this hour, inside a locked door, no bluff would have worked. With the boat literally loaded, I hadn’t a hope. It was the cabin or nothing.
I was already over the side, and letting myself as quietly as a ghost into the cabin, as his key went home in the lock and turned with a click. I didn’t hear the door open. I was already, like a hunted mouse, holed up in the covered end of the quarter berth, with the pile of blankets pulled up as best I could to hide me.
The blankets smelt of dust, and carbolic soap. They covered me with a thick, stuffy darkness that at least felt a bit like security. The trouble was that they deprived me of my hearing, the only sense that was left to tell what Godfrey was up to. Strain as I might through the thudding of my own heart-beats, I could only get the vaguest impression of where he was and what he was doing. All I could do was lie still and pray he wouldn’t come into the cabin.
The boat rocked sharply, and for a moment I thought he was already in her, but again it was only the wind. This seemed to be rising still, in sharper gusts which sent little waves slapping hard along the hull, and sucking up and down the piles on which the platform stood. I could feel the jerking motion as the Aleister tugged at her rope, then she bucked, sharply and unmistakably; Godfrey had jumped into her.
Minutes passed, filled with the muffled night-noises, but I could feel, rather than hear, his weight moving about the boat, and strained my senses, trying to judge where he was and what he was doing. The boat was steadier now, swaying gently to the small ripples passing under her keel. A draught moved through the cabin, smelling freshly of the sea-wind, so that I guessed he must have left the boat-house door open, and this might mean he didn’t mean to stay long …
The wind must be quite strong now. The boat swayed under me, and a hissing wave ran right along beside my head. The Aleister lifted to it with a creak of timber, and I heard the unmistakable sound of straining rope and the rattle of metal.
Then I knew what had happened. There was no mistaking it, rope and metal and timber active and moving – the boat was alive, and out in the living sea. He must have swung the big doors open without my hearing him, then poled her gently out, and now she was alive, under sail, slipping silently along shore, away from the bay.
I couldn’t move. I simply lay there, shivering under my load of blankets, every muscle knotted and tense with the effort of keeping my head, and trying to think …
Max would surely be back by now; and even if he was still in Corfu, Adoni was probably already on his way home … and he would have left Miranda’s message for Max, so Max wouldn’t linger in Corfu, but would come straight here, and probably bring the police. When they got down to the boat-house and found the boat gone, and me with it, they would
Or so I hoped. I knew that if he discovered about the missing package he would probably search the sloop, and find me. But since there was nothing I could do about that, my only course was to stay hidden there, and pray for a choppy sea that would keep him on deck looking after the Aleister. Why, he might not even come below at all …
Just three minutes later, he opened the cabin door.
18
What shall I do? say what? what shall I do?
I. 2.
I heard the click, and felt the sudden swirl of fresh air, cut off as the door shut again.
There was the rasp of a match; the sharp tang of it pierced right up into my hidden corner, and with it the first smoke of a newly-lighted cigarette. He must have come in out of the wind for this, and now he would go …
But he didn’t. No movement followed. He must be very near me; I could feel, like an animal in the presence of danger, the hair brushing up along my skin. Now I was thankful for the chop and hiss of water, and for the hundred creaking, straining noises of the Aleister scudding on her way through the darkness. Without them, I thought he would have heard my heartbeats.
He can only have stood there for a few seconds, though for me it was a pause prolonged almost to screaming-point. But it seemed he had only waited to get his cigarette properly alight: he struck another match, dropped it and the box after it on the table, and then went out and shut the door behind him.
Relief left me weak and sweating. The closed end of the berth seemed like an oven, so I pushed the blanket folds back a little, to let the air in, and cautiously peered over them, out into the cabin.
A weapon; that was the first thing … I had the torch, but it was not a heavy one, and would hardly count as adequate armament against a murderer. Not that it was easy in the circumstances to think of anything (short of Leo’s gun) that would have been ‘adequate’, though I would have settled for a good, loaded bottle, if only the damned cupboard had been open. But bottles there were none. I cast my mind furiously back over the cabin’s contents … The galley? Surely the galley must be packed with implements? Pans were too clumsy; it must be something I could conceal … a knife? I hadn’t opened the shallow drawers during my search, but one of them was bound to hold a knife. Or there was the starting handle for the engine, if I could get the engine hatch opened silently, and then station myself on the galley side, behind the door, and wait for him …
Cautiously, one eye on the door, I reached down to push the blanket aside, ready to slide out of the quarter berth.
Then froze, staring with horror at the foot of the berth.
Even in the almost-darkness. I could see it, and Godfrey, in the matchlight, must have seen it quite clearly – my toe, clad in a light yellow canvas shoe, protruding from the huddle of blankets. I was about as well hidden as an ostrich beak deep in sand.
Now I knew what had happened. He had come in quickly out of the wind to light his cigarette, had seen what he thought was a foot, had struck another match to make sure – and, having made sure, had done what?
I was answered immediately. The boat had levelled and steadied, as if she were losing way. Now, seemingly just beside me, the engine fired with a jerk and a brief, coughing roar that nearly sent me straight through the bulkhead; then it was throttled quickly back to a murmur, the merest throb and quiver of the boards, as the Aleister moved sedately forward on an even keel. He had merely turned the boat head to wind without taking in the mainsail, and started the engine, so that she would hold herself steady without attention. I didn’t have to guess why. His quick step was already at the cabin door.
I whisked off the berth, dropped my wet coat, and straightened my dress. There wasn’t even time to dive across the cabin and open the knife-drawer. As Godfrey opened the door I was heading for the table and the box of matches, apparently intent on nothing more deadly than lighting the lamp.
I threw a gay greeting at him over my shoulder.
‘Hullo, there. I hope you don’t mind a stowaway?’
The wick caught, and the light spread. I got the globe fitted back at the third try, but perhaps he hadn’t noticed my shaking hands. He had moved to draw the curtains.
‘Naturally I’m delighted. How did you know I’d decided to come out after all?’
‘Oh, I didn’t, but I was hoping!’ I added, with what I’m sure was a ghastly archness: ‘You saw me, didn’t you? You were coming in to unmask me. What’s the penalty for stowing away in these seas?’
‘We’ll arrange that later,’ said Godfrey.
His voice and manner were pleasant as ever, but after that first bright glance I didn’t dare let him see my eyes; not yet. There was a mirror set in a cupboard door: I turned to this and made the gestures of tidying my hair.
‘What brought you down?’ he asked.
‘Well, I wanted a walk after supper, and – have you a comb, Godfrey? I look like a mouses’s nest!’
Without a word he took one from a pocket and handed it to me. I began, rather elaborately, to fuss with my hair.
‘I went down to the beach; I had a sort of vague idea the dolphin might come back – they do, I believe. Anyway, I went to look, but it wasn’t there. I walked along the path a bit, listening to the sea, and wishing you had been going out. Then I heard you – I knew it must be you – over at the boat-house, so I hurried … You know, just hoping.’
He had moved so that he was directly behind me. He stood very close, watching my face in the glass. I smiled at him, but got no response; the light eyes were like stones.
‘You heard me at the boat-house?’
‘Yes. I heard the door.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, goodness knows, half an hour ago? Less? I’m no good over times. I’d have called out, but you seemed to be in a hurry, so—’
‘You saw me?’
His breath on the back of my neck brought panic, just a flash of it, like a heart-spasm. I turned away quickly, handed him his comb, and sat down on the settee berth, curling my legs up under me with an assumption of ease.
‘I did. You were just coming out of the boat-house, and you went rushing off up the path to the house.’
I saw the slightest relaxation as he registered that I hadn’t seen him coming down from the cave with the packages. He drew on his cigarette, blowing out a long jet of grey smoke into a haze round the lamp. ‘And then?’
I smiled up at him – I hoped provocatively. ‘Oh, I was going to call after you, but then I saw you had a sweater and things on, so you probably were going out after all. I thought if I just stuck around you’d be back, and I could ask you.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Why didn’t I what?’
‘Ask me.’
I looked embarrassed and fidgeted with a bit of blanket. ‘Well, I’m sorry, I know I should have, but you were quite a time, and I got bored and tried the door, and it was open, so—’
‘The door was open?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s not possible. I locked it.’
I nodded. ‘I know. I heard you. But it hadn’t quite caught, or something, you know how those spring locks are. I’d only tried it for something to do – you know how one fidgets about – and when it opened I was quite surprised.’
There was no way of knowing whether he believed me or not, but according to Spiro the catch had been stiff, and Godfrey had no idea I could have known that. I didn’t think he could have changed the lock as he had threatened, for I had heard him myself wrestling with it on Monday; but that was a chance I had to take.
He tapped ash into a bowl on the liquor cupboard, and waited. He looked very tall; the slightly swaying lamp was on a level with his eyes. I toyed with the idea of giving it a sudden sh
‘I – I’m sorry. I suppose it was awful of me, and I should have waited, but I was sure you wouldn’t mind my looking at the boat—’
‘Then why did you hide when I came down?’
‘I don’t know!’ The note of exasperated honesty came out exactly right. ‘I honestly don’t know! But I was in the boat, you see, in here, actually, poking about in the cupboards and the ga – kitchen and everything—’
‘What for?’
‘What for?’ Every bit of technique. I’d ever had went into it. ‘Well, what does a woman usually poke around in other people’s houses for? And a boat’s so much more fun than a house; I wanted to see how it was fitted, and the cooking arrangements, and – well, everything!’ I laughed, wooing him back to good temper with all I had, playing the ignorant; it might be as well not to let him know how much I knew about the sloop’s lay-out. ‘And it really is smashing, Godfrey! I’d no idea!’ I faltered then, biting my lip. ‘You’re annoyed with me. You do mind. I – I suppose it was the hell of a nerve … In fact, I knew it was, and I suppose that’s why I hid when I heard you at the door … I suddenly thought how it must look, and you might be furious, so I got in a panic and hid. I had a vague idea that if you weren’t going sailing after all I could slip out after you had gone. That’s all.’
I sat back, wondering if tears at this point would be too much, and deciding that they probably would. Instead, I looked at him meltingly through my lashes – at least, that’s what I tried to do, but I shall never believe the romantic novelists again; it’s a physical impossibility. Godfrey, at any rate, remained un-melted, so I abandoned the attempt, and made do with a quivering little smile, and a hand, genuinely none too steady, brushing my eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I truly am. Please don’t be angry.’