Chapters 13-15 | Rebecca | Bedtime Story

Relax and unwind as you continue listening to Chapters 13-15 of Rebecca, a 1938 Gothic novel written by English author Daphne du Maurier. Widely considered a classic, it is a psychological thriller about a young woman who becomes obsessed with her husband’s first wife.

Transcript

Chapter 13 Maxim had to go up to London at the end of June to some public dinner,

A man's dinner,

Something to do with the county.

He was away for two days,

And I was left alone.

I dreaded his going.

When I saw the car disappear around the sweep and the drive,

I felt exactly as though it were to be a final parting,

And I should never see him again.

There would be an accident,

Of course,

And later on in the afternoon,

When I came back from my walk,

I should find Frith,

White and frightened,

Waiting for me with a message.

The doctor would have rung up from some cottage hospital.

You must be very brave,

He would say.

I'm afraid you must be prepared for a great shock.

And Frank would come,

And we would go to the hospital together.

Maxim would not recognize me.

I went through the whole thing,

As I was sitting at lunch,

I could see the crowd of local people,

Clustering round the churchyard at the funeral,

And myself leaning on Frank's arm.

It was so real to me that I could scarcely eat any lunch,

And I kept straining my ears to hear the telephone should it ring.

I sat out in the garden under the chestnut tree in the afternoon,

With a book on my lap,

But I scarcely read at all.

When I saw Robert come across the lawn,

I knew it was the telephone,

And I felt physically sick.

A message from the club,

Madam,

To say Mr.

De Winter arrived ten minutes ago.

I shut up my book.

Thank you,

Robert.

How quickly he got up.

Yes,

Madam,

A very good run.

Did he ask to speak to me,

Or leave any special message?

No,

Madam,

Just that he arrived safely.

It was the porter speaking.

All right,

Robert,

Thanks very much.

The relief was tremendous.

I did not feel sick anymore.

The pain had gone.

It was like coming ashore after a channel crossing.

I began to feel rather hungry,

And when Robert had gone back into the house,

I crept into the dining room,

Through the long window,

And stole some biscuits from the sideboard.

I had six of them,

Bath olivers,

And then an apple as well.

I had no idea I was so empty.

I went and ate them in the woods,

In case one of the servants should see me on the lawn from the windows,

And tell the cook that they did not think Mrs.

De Winter cared for the food prepared in the kitchen,

As they had just seen her filling herself up with fruit and biscuits.

The cook would be offended,

And perhaps go to Mrs.

Danvers.

Now that Maxim was safe in London,

And I had eaten my biscuits,

I felt very well and curiously happy.

I was aware of a sense of freedom,

As though I had no responsibilities at all.

It was rather like a Saturday,

When one was a child.

No lessons,

And no prep.

One could do as one liked.

One put on an old skirt,

And a pair of sand shoes,

And played hares and hounds on the common,

With the children who lived next door.

I had just the same feeling.

I had not felt like this all the time I had been at Manderley.

It must be because Maxim had gone to London.

I was rather shocked at myself.

I could not understand it at all.

I had not wanted him to go.

And now,

This lightness of heart,

This spring in my step,

This childish feeling that I wanted to run across the lawn and roll down the bank.

I wiped the biscuit crumbs from my mouth and called to Jasper.

Perhaps I was just feeling like this because it was a lovely day.

We went through the Happy Valley to the Little Cove.

The azaleas were finished now.

The petals lay brown and crinkled on the moss.

The bluebells had not faded yet.

They made a solid carpet in the woods above the valley.

And the young bracken was shooting up,

Curling and green.

The moss smelt rich and deep.

And the bluebells were earthly,

Bitter.

I lay down in the long grass,

Beside the bluebells,

With my hands behind my head and Jasper at my side.

He looked down at me panting,

His face foolish,

Saliva dripping from his tongue and his heavy jowl.

There were pigeons somewhere in the trees above.

It was very peaceful and quiet.

I wondered why it was that places are so much lovelier when one is alone.

How commonplace and stupid it would be if I had a friend now,

Sitting beside me,

Someone I had known at school,

Who would say,

By the way,

I saw old Hilda the other day.

You remember her?

The one who was so good at tennis.

She's married,

With two children.

And the bluebells beside us unnoticed,

And the pigeons overhead unheard.

I did not want anyone with me,

Not even Maxim.

If Maxim had been there,

I should not be lying as I was now,

Chewing a piece of grass,

My eyes shut.

I should have been watching him,

Watching his eyes,

His expression.

Wondering if he liked it,

If he was bored.

Wondering what he was thinking.

Now,

I could relax.

None of these mattered.

Maxim was in London.

How lovely it was to be alone again.

No,

I did not mean that.

It was disloyal,

Wicked.

It's not what I meant.

Maxim was my life and my world.

I got up from the bluebells and called sharply to Jasper.

We set off together,

Down the valley to the beach.

The tide was out,

The sea very calm and remote.

It looked like a great placid lake out there in the bay.

I could not imagine it rough now,

Any more than I could imagine winter and summer.

There was no wind,

And the sun shone on the lapping water,

Where it ran into the little pools in the rocks.

Jasper scrambled up the rocks immediately,

Glancing back at me,

One ear blown back against his head,

Giving him an odd,

Rakish appearance.

Not that way,

Jasper,

I said.

He cared nothing for me,

Of course.

He loped off,

Deliberately disobedient.

What a nuisance he is,

I said aloud.

And I scrambled up the rocks after him,

Pretending to myself I did not want to go to the other beach.

Oh well,

I thought.

It can't be helped.

After all,

Maxim is not with me.

It's nothing to do with me.

I splashed through the pools on the rocks,

Humming a tune.

The cove looked different when the tide was out.

Less formidable.

There was only about three foot of water in the tiny harbor.

A boat would just float there comfortably,

I supposed,

At dead low water.

The buoy was still there.

It was painted white and green.

I had not noticed that before.

Perhaps because it had been raining,

The coloring was indistinct.

There was no one on the beach.

I walked across the shingle to the other side of the cove and climbed the low stone wall of the jetty arm.

Jasper ran on ahead,

As though it was his custom.

There was a ring in the wall and an iron ladder descending to the water.

That's where the dinghy would be tied,

I supposed,

And one would climb to it from the ladder.

The buoy was just opposite,

About thirty feet away.

There was something written on it.

I craned my neck sideways to read the lettering.

Je Reviens.

What a funny name.

Not like a boat.

Perhaps it had been a French boat,

Though.

A fishing boat.

Fishing boats sometimes had names like that.

Happy Return,

Or I'm Here.

Those sort of names.

Je Reviens.

I Come Back.

Yes,

I suppose it was quite a good name for a boat.

Only,

It had not been right for that particular boat,

Which would never come back again.

It must be cold,

Sailing out there in the bay,

Beyond the beacon,

Away from the headland.

The sea was calm in the bay,

But even today,

When it was so still,

Out there around the headland,

There was a ripple of white foam on the surface of the water where the tide was racing.

A small boat would heel to the wind when she rounded the headland and came out of the landlocked bay.

The sea would splash inboard,

Perhaps,

Run down the deck.

The person at the tiller would wipe spray out of her eyes and hair,

Glance up at the straining mast.

I wondered what color the boat had been.

Green and white,

Perhaps,

Like the buoy.

Not very big,

Frank had said,

With a little cabin.

Jasper was sniffing at the iron ladder.

Come away,

I said.

I don't want to go in after you.

I went back along the harbor wall to the beach.

The cottage did not seem so remote and sinister at the edge of the wood as it had done before.

The sun made such a difference.

No rain today,

Pattering on the roof.

I walked slowly up the beach towards it.

After all,

It was only a cottage,

With nobody living in it.

There was nothing to be frightened of.

Nothing at all.

Any place seemed damp and sinister when it had been uninhabited for a certain time.

Even new bungalows and places.

Besides,

They had moonlight picnics and things here.

Weekend visitors probably used to come and bathe,

And then go for a sail in the boat.

I stood looking into the neglected garden,

Choked with nettles.

Someone ought to come and tidy it up.

One of the gardeners.

There was no need to leave it like this.

I pushed the little gate and went to the door of the cottage.

It was not entirely closed.

I was certain I had closed it the last time.

Jasper began growling,

Sniffing under the door.

Don't,

Jasper,

I said.

He went on,

Sniffing deeply.

His nose thrust to the crack.

I pushed the door open and looked inside.

It was very dark,

Like it had been before.

Nothing was changed.

The cobwebs still clung to the rigging of the model boats.

The door into the boat store at the end of the room was open,

Though.

Jasper growled again,

And there was a sound of something falling.

Jasper barked furiously,

And darting between my legs into the room,

He tore to the open door of the store.

I followed him,

Heart beating,

And then stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

Jasper,

Come back,

Don't be a fool,

I said.

He stood in the doorway,

Still barking furiously.

An hysterical note in his voice.

Something was there then,

Inside the store.

Not a rat.

He would have gone for a rat.

Jasper,

Jasper,

Come here,

I said.

He would not come.

I went slowly to the door of the store.

Is there anybody there?

I said.

No one answered.

I bent down to Jasper,

Putting my hand on his collar,

And looked round the edge of the door.

Someone was sitting in the corner against the wall.

Someone who,

From his crouching position,

Was even more frightened than me.

It was Ben.

He was trying to hide behind one of the sails.

What is the matter?

Do you want something?

I said.

He blinked at me stupidly,

His mouth slightly open.

I'm not doing nothing,

He said.

Quiet,

Jasper,

I scolded,

Putting my hand over his muzzle,

And I took my belt off and ran it through his collar as a leash.

What do you want,

Ben?

I said,

A little bolder this time.

He did not answer.

He watched me with his sly idiot's eyes.

I think you had better come out,

I said.

Mr.

DeWinter doesn't like people walking in and out of here.

He shambled to his feet,

Grinning furtively,

Wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

The other hand he kept behind his back.

What have you got,

Ben?

I said.

He obeyed me like a child,

Showing me the other hand.

There was a fishing line in it.

I'm not doing anything,

He repeated.

Does that line belong here?

I asked.

Eh?

He said.

Listen,

Ben,

I said.

You can take that line if you want to,

But you mustn't do it again.

It's not honest,

Taking people's things.

He said nothing.

He blinked at me and wriggled.

Come along,

I said firmly.

I went into the main room and he followed me.

Jasper had stopped barking and was now sniffing at Ben's heels.

I did not want to stop any longer in the cottage.

I walked quickly out into the sunshine,

Ben shuffling behind me.

Then I shut the door.

You had better go home,

I said to Ben.

He held the fishing line,

Clutched to his heart,

Like a treasure.

You won't put me to the asylum,

Will you?

He said.

I saw then that he was trembling with fright.

His hands were shaking and his eyes were fixed on mine in supplication,

Like a dumb thing.

Of course not,

I said gently.

I done nothing,

He repeated.

I never told no one.

I don't want to be put to the asylum.

A tear rolled down his dirty face.

That's all right,

Ben,

I said.

No one will put you away,

But you must not go to the cottage again.

I turned away and he came after me,

Pawing at my hand.

Here,

He said.

Here,

I got something for you.

He smiled foolishly.

He beckoned with his finger and turned towards the beach.

I went with him and he bent down and picked up a flat stone by a rock.

There was a little heap of shells under the stone.

He chose one and presented it to me.

That's yorn,

He said.

Thank you.

It's very pretty,

I said.

He grinned again,

Rubbing his ear,

His fright forgotten.

You've got angel's eyes,

He said.

I glanced down at the shell again,

Rather taken aback.

I did not know what to say.

You're not like the other one,

He said.

Who do you mean?

I said.

What other one?

He shook his head.

His eyes were sly again.

He laid his finger against his nose.

Tall and dark she was,

He said.

She gave you the feeling of a snake.

I seen her here,

With my own eyes.

Be night she'd come.

I seen her.

He paused,

Watching me intently.

I did not say anything.

I looked in on her once,

He said,

And she turned on me,

She did.

You don't know me,

Do you?

She said.

You've never seen me here and you won't again.

If I catch you looking at me through the windows here,

I'll have you put to the asylum,

She said.

You wouldn't like that,

Would you?

They're cruel to people in the asylum,

She said.

I won't say nothing,

Ma'am,

I said.

And I touched me cap,

Like this here.

He pulled at his sou'wester.

He's gone now,

Ain't she?

He said,

Anxiously.

I don't know who you mean,

I said slowly.

No one is going to put you in the asylum.

Good afternoon,

Ben.

I turned away and walked up the beach to the path,

Dragging Jasper by his belt.

Poor wretch.

He was insane,

Of course.

He did not know what he was talking about.

It was hardly likely that anyone would threaten him with the asylum.

Maxim had said he was quite harmless.

And so had Frank.

Perhaps he had heard himself discussed once,

Amongst his own people,

And the memory of it lingered,

Like an ugly picture in the mind of a child.

He would have a child's mentality,

Too,

Regarding likes and dislikes.

He would take a fancy to a person for no reason,

And be friendly one day,

Perhaps,

And sullen the next.

He had been friendly with me because I had said he could keep the fishing line.

Tomorrow,

If I met him,

He might not know me.

It was absurd to notice anything said by an idiot.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the cove.

The tide had begun to run,

And was swirling slowly round the arm of the harbor wall.

Ben had disappeared over the rocks.

The beach was deserted again.

I could just see the stone chimney of the cottage through a gap in the dark trees.

I had a sudden,

Unaccountable desire to run.

I pulled at Jasper's leash and panted up the steep,

Narrow path through the woods,

Not looking back anymore.

Had I been offered all the treasures in the world,

I could not have turned and gone down to the cottage or the beach again.

It was as though someone waited down there,

In the little garden where the nettles grew,

Someone who watched and listened.

Jasper barked as we ran together.

He thought it was some kind of new game.

He kept trying to bite the belt and worry it.

I had not realized how closely the trees grew together here,

Their roots stretching across the path like tendrils ready to trip one.

They had to clear all this,

I thought,

As I ran,

Catching my breath.

Maxim should get the men onto it.

There is no sense or beauty in this undergrowth.

That tangle of shrubs,

There,

Should be cut down,

To bring light to the path.

It was dark,

Much too dark.

That naked eucalyptus tree,

Stifled by brambles,

Looked like the white,

Bleached limb of a skeleton.

And there was a black,

Earthy stream running beneath it,

Choked with the muddied rains of years,

Trickling silently to the beach below.

The birds did not sing here,

As they did in the valley.

It was quite different in a way,

And even as I ran and panted up the path,

I could hear the wash of the sea,

As the tide crept into the cove.

I understood why Maxim disliked the path and the cove.

I disliked it,

Too.

I had been a fool to come this way.

I should have stayed on the other beach,

On the white shingle,

And come home by the happy valley.

I was glad to come out onto the lawn and see the house there in the hollow,

Solid and secure.

The woods were behind me.

I would ask Robert to bring me my tea under the chestnut tree.

I glanced at my watch.

It was earlier than I thought,

Not yet four.

I would have to wait a bit.

It was not the routine at Manderley to have tea before half past.

I was glad Frith was out.

Robert would not make such a performance of bringing the tea into the garden.

As I wandered across the lawn to the terrace,

My eye was caught by a gleam of sunshine on something metal,

Showing through the green of the rhododendron leaves at the turn in the drive.

I shaded my eyes with my hand to see what it was.

It looked like the radiator of a car.

I wondered if someone had called.

If they had,

Though,

They would have driven up to the house,

Not left their car concealed like that from the house at the turn of the drive by the shrubs.

I went a little closer.

Yes,

It was a car all right.

I could see the wings now and the hood.

What a funny thing.

Visitors never did that as a rule,

And the tradesmen went round the back way by the old stables at the garage.

It was not Frank's Morris.

I knew that well.

This was a long,

Low car,

A sports car.

I wondered what I had better do.

If it was a caller,

Robert would have shown them into the library or the drawing room.

In the drawing room,

They would be able to see me as I came across the lawn.

I did not want to face a caller dressed like this.

I should have to ask them to stay to tea.

I hesitated at the edge of the lawn.

For no reason,

Perhaps because the sunlight flickered a moment on the glass,

I looked up at the house,

And as I did so,

I noticed with surprise that the shutters of one of the windows in the west wing had been opened up.

Somebody stood by the window.

A man.

And then,

He must have caught sight of me,

Because he drew back abruptly,

And a figure behind him put up an arm and closed the shutters.

The arm belonged to Mrs.

Danvers.

I recognized the black sleeve.

I wondered for a minute if it was a public day,

And she was showing the rooms.

It could not be so,

Though,

Because Frith always did that,

And Frith was out.

Besides,

The rooms in the west wing were not shown to the public.

I had not even been into them myself yet.

No,

I knew it was not a public day.

The public never came on a Tuesday.

Perhaps it was something to do with a repair in one of the rooms.

It was odd,

Though,

The way the man had been looking out,

And directly he saw me,

He whipped back into the room,

And the shutters were closed.

And the car,

Too,

Drawn up behind the rhododendrons,

So that it could not be seen from the house.

Still,

That was up to Mrs.

Danvers.

It was nothing to do with me.

If she had friends she took to the west wing,

It was not exactly my affair.

I had never known it happened before,

Though.

Odd that it should occur on the only day Maxim was from home.

I strolled,

Rather self-consciously,

Across the lawn to the house,

Aware that they might be watching me still from a chink in the shutters.

I went up the steps and through the big front door to the hall.

There was no sign of a strange cap or stick,

And no card on the salver.

Evidently,

This was not an official visitor.

Well,

It was not my affair.

I went into the flower room and washed my hands in the basin to save going upstairs.

It would be awkward if I met them face to face on the stairs or somewhere.

I remembered I had left my knitting in the morning room before lunch,

And I went along through the drawing room to fetch it,

The faithful jasper at my heels.

The morning room door was open,

And I noticed that my bag of knitting had been moved.

I had left it on the duvan,

And it had been picked up and pushed behind a cushion.

There was the imprint of a person on the fabric of the duvan where my knitting had been before.

Someone had sat down there recently and picked up my knitting because it had been in the way.

The chair by the desk had also been moved.

It looked as though Mrs.

Danvers entertained her visitors in the morning room when Maxim and I were out of the way.

I felt rather uncomfortable.

I would rather not know.

Jasper was sniffing under the duvan and wagging his tail.

He was not suspicious of the visitor anyway.

I took my bag of knitting and went out.

As I did so,

The door in the large drawing room that led to the stone passage and the back premises opened,

And I heard voices.

I darted back into the morning room again,

Just in time.

I had not been seen.

I waited behind the door,

Frowning at Jasper,

Who stood in the doorway looking at me,

His tongue hanging out,

Wagging his tail.

The little wretch would give me away.

I stood very still,

Holding my breath.

Then I heard Mrs.

Danvers speak.

I expect she has gone to the library,

She said.

She has come home early for some reason.

If she has gone to the library,

You will be able to go through the hall without her seeing you.

Wait here while I go and see.

I knew they were talking about me.

I began to feel more uncomfortable than ever.

It was so furtive,

The whole business,

And I did not want to catch Mrs.

Danvers in the wrong.

Then Jasper turned his head sharply towards the drawing room.

He trotted out,

Wagging his tail.

Hello,

You little tyke,

I heard the man say.

Jasper began to bark excitedly.

I looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

Hopeless,

Of course.

And then I heard a footstep quite close to my ear,

And the man came into the room.

He did not see me at first because I was behind the door,

But Jasper made a dive at me,

Still barking with delight.

The man wheeled around suddenly and saw me.

I have never seen anyone look more astonished.

I might have been the burglar,

And he the master of the house.

I beg your pardon,

He said,

Looking me up and down.

He was a big hefty fellow,

Good looking in a rather flashy,

Sunburnt way.

He had the hot,

Blue eyes,

Usually associated with heavy drinking and loose living.

His hair was reddish like his skin.

In a few years,

He would run to fat,

His neck bulging over the back of his collar.

His mouth gave him away.

It was too soft,

Too pink.

I could smell the whiskey in his breath from where I stood.

He began to smile,

The sort of smile he would give to every woman.

I hope I haven't startled you,

He said.

I came out from behind the door,

Looking no doubt as big a fool as I felt.

No,

Of course not,

I said.

I heard voices.

I was not quite sure who it was.

I did not expect any callers this afternoon.

What a shame,

He said heartily.

It's too bad of me to butt in on you like this.

I hope you'll forgive me.

The fact is,

I just popped in to see old Danny.

She's a very old friend of mine.

Oh,

Of course,

It's quite all right,

I said.

Dear old Danny,

He said.

She's so anxious,

Bless her,

Not to disturb anyone.

She didn't want to worry you.

Oh,

It doesn't matter at all,

I said.

I was watching Jasper,

Who was jumping up and pawing at the man in delight.

This little beggar hasn't forgotten me,

Has he?

He said,

Grown into a jolly little beast.

He was quite a youngster when I saw him last.

He's too fat,

Though.

He needs exercise.

I've just taken him for a long walk,

I said.

Have you really?

How sporting of you,

He said.

He went on patting Jasper and smiling at me in a familiar way.

Then he pulled out his cigarette case.

Have one,

He said.

I don't smoke,

I told him.

Don't you really?

He took one himself and lighted it.

I never minded those things,

But it seemed odd to me in somebody else's room.

It was surely rather bad manners.

Not polite to me.

How's old Max,

He said.

I was surprised at his tone.

It sounded as though he knew him well.

It was queer to hear Maxim talked of as Max.

No one called him that.

He's very well,

Thank you,

I said.

He's gone up to London.

And left the bride all alone?

Why,

That's too bad.

Isn't he afraid someone will come and carry you off?

He laughed,

Opening his mouth.

I did not like his laugh.

There was something offensive about it.

I did not like him,

Either.

Just then,

Mrs.

Danvers came into the room.

She turned her eyes upon me,

And I felt quite cold.

Oh God,

I thought,

How she must hate me.

Hello,

Danny,

There you are,

Said the man.

All your precautions were in vain.

The mistress of the house was hiding behind the door.

And he laughed again.

Mrs.

Danvers did not say anything.

She just went on looking at me.

Well,

Aren't you going to introduce me?

He said.

After all,

It's a usual thing to do,

Isn't it?

To pay one's respect to a bride?

This is Mr.

Favell,

Madam,

Said Mrs.

Danvers.

She spoke quietly,

Rather unwillingly.

I don't think she wanted to introduce him to me.

How do you do,

I said,

And then,

With an effort to be polite,

Won't you stay to tea?

He looked very amused.

He turned to Mrs.

Danvers.

Now,

Isn't that a charming invitation?

He said.

I've been asked to stay to tea.

By heaven,

Danny,

I've a good mind to.

I saw her flash a look of warning at him.

I felt very uneasy.

It was all wrong,

The situation.

It ought not to be happening at all.

Well,

Perhaps you're right,

He said.

It would have been a lot of fun.

All the same,

I suppose I had better be going,

Hadn't I?

Come and have a look at my car.

He still spoke in a familiar,

Rather offensive way.

I did not want to go and look at his car.

I felt very awkward and embarrassed.

Come on,

He said.

It's a jolly good little car.

Much faster than anything poor old Max ever has.

I could not think of an excuse.

The whole business was so forced and stupid.

I did not like it.

And why did Mrs.

Danvers have to stand there,

Looking at me,

With that smoldering look in her eyes?

Where's the car?

I said,

Feebly.

Round the bend in the drive.

I didn't drive to the door.

I was afraid of disturbing you.

I had some idea you probably rested in the afternoon.

I said nothing.

The lie was too obvious.

We all walked out,

Through the drawing room and into the hall.

I saw him glance over his shoulder and wink at Mrs.

Danvers.

She did not wink in return.

I hardly expected she would.

She looked very hard and grim.

Jasper frolicked out onto the drive.

He seemed delighted with the sudden appearance of this visitor,

Whom he appeared to know so well.

I left my cap in the car,

I believe,

Said the man,

Pretending to glance round the hall.

As a matter of fact,

I didn't come in this way.

I slipped around and bearded Danny in her den.

Coming out to see the car,

Too?

He looked inquiringly at Mrs.

Danvers.

She hesitated,

Watching me out of the tail of her eye.

No,

She said.

No,

I don't think I'll come out now.

Goodbye,

Mr.

Jack.

He seized her hand and shook it heartily.

Goodbye,

Danny.

Take care of yourself.

You know where to get in touch with me,

Always.

It's done me a power of good to see you again.

He walked out onto the drive,

Jasper dancing at his heels.

Then I followed him slowly,

Feeling very uncomfortable still.

Dear old Manderly,

He said,

Looking up at the windows.

The place hasn't changed much,

I suppose Danny sees to that.

What a wonderful woman she is,

Eh?

Yes,

She's very efficient,

I said.

And what do you think of it all?

Like being buried down here?

I'm very fond of Manderly,

I said stiffly.

Weren't you living somewhere down in the south of France when Max met you?

Monty,

Wasn't it?

I used to know Monty well.

Yes,

I was in Monte Carlo,

I said.

We had come to his car now.

A green sports thing,

Typical of its owner.

What do you think of it?

Very nice,

I said politely.

Come for a run to the lodge gates,

He said.

No,

I don't think I will,

I said.

I'm rather tired.

What,

You don't think it would look too good for the mistress of Manderly to be seen driving with someone like me,

Is that it?

He said,

And he laughed,

Shaking his head at me.

Oh,

No,

I said,

Turning rather red.

No,

Really.

He went on,

Looking me up and down,

In his amused way,

With those familiar,

Unpleasant blue eyes.

I felt like a barmaid.

Oh,

Well,

He said.

We mustn't lead the bride astray,

Must we,

Jasper?

It wouldn't do at all.

He reached for his cap and an enormous pair of motoring gloves.

He threw a cigarette away on the drive.

Goodbye,

He said,

Holding out his hand.

It's been a lot of fun meeting you.

Goodbye,

I said.

By the way,

He said carelessly,

It would be very sporting and grand of you if you did not mention this little visit of mine to Max.

He doesn't exactly approve of me,

I'm afraid.

I don't know why,

And it might get poor old Danny into trouble.

No,

I said awkwardly.

No,

All right.

That's very sporting of you.

Sure you won't change your mind,

Come for a run?

No,

I don't think I will,

If you don't mind.

Bye-bye,

Then.

Perhaps I'll come and look you up one day.

Get down,

Jasper,

You devil.

You'll scratch my paint.

I say,

I call it a damn shame,

Max going up to London and leaving you alone like this.

I don't mind.

I like being alone,

I said.

Do you,

By Jove?

What an extraordinary thing.

It's all wrong,

You know,

Against nature.

How long have you been married?

Three months,

Isn't it?

Yes,

About that,

I said.

I say,

I wish I'd got a bride of three months waiting for me at home.

I'm a poor,

Lonesome bachelor.

He laughed again and pulled his cap down over his eyes.

Fare you well,

He said,

Starting up the engine,

And the car shot down the drive,

Snorting explosive fury from the exhaust.

While Jasper stood looking after it,

His ears drooping,

His tail between his legs.

Oh,

Come on,

Jasper,

I said.

Don't be so idiotic.

I walked slowly back to the house.

Mrs.

Danvers had disappeared.

I stood in the hall and rang the bell.

Nothing happened for about five minutes.

I rang again.

Presently,

Alice appeared,

Her face rather aggrieved.

Yes,

Madam,

She said.

Oh,

Alice,

I said.

Isn't Robert there?

I rather fancied my tea under the chestnut tree.

Robert went to the post this afternoon and isn't back yet,

Madam,

Said Alice.

Mrs.

Danvers gave him to understand you would be late for tea.

Frith is out too,

Of course.

If you want your tea now,

I can get it for you.

I don't think it's quite half past four yet.

Oh,

It doesn't matter,

Alice.

I'll wait till Robert comes back,

I said.

I supposed when Maxim was away,

Things automatically became slack.

I had never known Frith and Robert to be out at the same time.

It was Frith's day,

Of course,

And Mrs.

Danvers had sent Robert to the post.

And I myself was understood to have gone for a long walk.

That man,

Favell,

Had chosen his time well to pay his call on Mrs.

Danvers.

It was almost too well chosen.

There was something not right about it,

I was certain of that.

And then,

He had asked me not to say anything to Maxim.

It was all very awkward.

I did not want to get Mrs.

Danvers into trouble or make any sort of scene.

More important,

Still,

I did not want to worry Maxim.

I wondered who he was,

This man,

Favell.

He had called Maxim Max.

No one ever called him Max.

I had seen it written,

Once,

On the flyleaf of a book,

The letters thin and slanting,

Curiously pointed,

The tail of the M,

Very definite,

Very long.

I thought there was only one person who had ever called him Max.

As I stood there in the hall,

Undecided about my tea,

Wondering what to do,

The thought suddenly came to me that perhaps Mrs.

Danvers was dishonest.

That all this time she was engaged in some business behind Maxim's back.

And coming back early,

As I had today,

I had discovered her in this man,

An accomplice,

Who had then bluffed his way out by pretending to be familiar with the house and with Maxim.

I wondered what they had been doing in the West Wing.

Why they had closed the shutters when they saw me on the lawn.

I was filled with vague disquiet.

Frith and Robert had been away.

The maids were generally in their bedrooms,

Changing during the afternoon.

Mrs.

Danvers would have the run of the place.

Supposing this man was a thief,

And Mrs.

Danvers was in his pay.

There were valuable things in the West Wing.

I had a sudden rather terrifying impulse to creep upstairs now to the West Wing and go into those rooms and see for myself.

Robert was not yet back.

I would just have time before tea.

I hesitated,

Glancing at the gallery.

The house seemed very still and quiet.

The servants were all in their own quarters beyond the kitchen.

Jasper lapped noisily at his drinking bowl below the stairs,

The sound echoing in the great stone hall.

I began to walk upstairs.

My heart was beating in a queer,

Excited way.

Chapter 14 I found myself in the corridor where I had stood that first morning.

I had not been there since,

Nor had I wished to go.

The sun streamed in from the window in the alcove and made gold patterns on the dark paneling.

There was no sound at all.

I was aware of the same musty,

Unused smell that had been before.

I was uncertain which way to go.

The plan of the rooms was not familiar to me.

I remembered then that last time,

Mrs.

Danvers had come out of a door here,

Just behind me,

And it seemed to me that the position of the room would make it the one I wanted,

Whose windows looked out upon the lawns to the sea.

I turned the handle of the door and went inside.

It was dark,

Of course,

Because of the shutters.

I felt for the electric light switch on the wall and turned it on.

I was standing in a little ante-room,

A dressing room I judged,

With big wardrobes round the wall,

And at the end of this room was another door,

Open,

Leading to a larger room.

I went through to this room and turned on the light.

My first impression was one of shock,

Because the room was fully furnished as though in use.

I had expected to see chairs and tables swathed in dust sheets,

And dust sheets,

Too,

Over the great double bed against the wall.

Nothing was covered up.

There were brushes and combs on the dressing table,

Scent and powder.

The bed was made up.

I saw the gleam of white linen on the pillowcase and the tip of a blanket beneath a quilted coverlet.

There were flowers on the dressing table and on the table beside the bed.

Flowers,

Too,

On the carved mantelpiece.

A satin dressing gown lay on a chair and a pair of bedroom slippers beneath.

For one desperate moment,

I thought that something had happened to my brain,

That I was seeing back into time and looking upon the room as it used to be,

Before she died.

In a minute,

Rebecca herself would come back into the room,

Sit down before the looking-glass at her dressing table,

Humming a tune,

Reach for her comb,

And run it through her hair.

If she sat there,

I should see her reflection in the glass,

And she would see me,

Too,

Standing like this by the door.

Nothing happened.

I went on standing there,

Waiting for something to happen.

It was the clock ticking on the wall that brought me to reality again.

The hands stood at twenty-five past four.

My watch said the same.

There was something sane and comforting about the ticking of the clock.

It reminded me of the present,

And that tea would soon be ready for me on the lawn.

I walked slowly into the middle of the room.

No,

It was not used.

It was not lived in anymore.

Even the flowers could not destroy the musty smell.

The curtains were drawn,

And the shutters were closed.

Rebecca would never come back to the room again.

Even if Mrs.

Danvers did put the flowers on the mantelpiece and the sheets upon the bed,

They would not bring her back.

She was dead.

She had been dead now for a year.

She lay buried in the crypt of the church with all the other dead dewinters.

I could hear the sound of the sea very plainly.

I went to the window and swung back the shutter.

Yes,

I was standing at the same window where Favell and Mrs.

Danvers had stood half an hour ago.

The long shaft of daylight made the electric light look false and yellow.

I opened the shutter a little more.

The daylight cast a white beam upon the bed.

It shone upon the nightdress case lying on the pillow.

It shone on the glass top of the dressing table,

On the brushes,

And on the scent bottles.

The daylight gave an even greater air of reality to the room.

When the shutter was closed and it had been lit by electricity,

The room had more the appearance of a setting on the stage,

The scene set between performances,

The curtain having fallen for the night,

The evening over,

And the first act set for tomorrow's matinee.

But the daylight made the room vivid and alive.

I forgot the musty smell and the drawn curtains of the other windows.

I was a guest again,

An uninvited guest.

I had strolled into my hostess's bedroom by mistake.

Those were her brushes on the dressing table.

That was her dressing gown and slippers laid out upon the chair.

I realized for the first time since I had come into the room that my legs were trembling,

Weak as straw.

I sat down on the stool by the dressing table.

My heart no longer beat in a strange,

Excited way.

It felt as heavy as lead.

I looked about me in the room,

With a sort of dumb stupidity.

Yes,

It was a beautiful room.

Mrs.

Danvers had not exaggerated that first evening.

It was the most beautiful room in the house.

That exquisite mantelpiece,

The ceiling,

The carved bedstead,

And the curtain hangings,

Even the clock on the wall and the candlesticks upon the dressing table beside me.

All were things I would have loved and almost worshipped had they been mine.

They were not mine,

Though.

They belonged to somebody else.

I put out my hand and touched the brushes.

One was more worn than its fellow.

I understood it well.

There was always one brush that had the greater use.

Often you forgot to use the other,

And when they were taken to be washed,

There was one that was still quite clean and untouched.

Oh,

How white and thin my face looked in the glass.

My hair,

Hanging lank and straight.

Did I always look like this?

Surely I had more color as a rule.

The reflection stared back at me,

Sallow and plain.

I got up from the stool and went and touched the dressing gown on the chair.

I picked up the slippers and held them in my hand.

I was aware of a growing sense of horror,

Of horror turning to despair.

I touched the quilt on the bed,

Traced with my fingers the monogram on the nightdress case,

R.

D.

E.

W.

,

Interwoven and interlaced.

The letters were corded and strong against the golden satin material.

The nightdress was inside the case,

Thin as gossamer,

Apricot in color.

I touched it,

Drew it out from the case,

Put it against my face.

It was cold,

Quite cold,

But there was a dim mustiness about it still,

Where the scent had been,

The scent of the white azaleas.

I folded it and put it back into the case,

And as I did so I noticed,

With a sick dull aching in my heart,

That there were creases in the nightdress.

The texture was ruffled.

It had not been touched or laundered since it was last worn.

On a sudden impulse,

I moved away from the bed and went back to the little ante-room where I had seen the wardrobes.

I opened one of them.

It was as I thought.

The wardrobe was full of clothes.

There were evening dresses here.

I caught the shimmer of silver over the top of the white bags that enfolded them.

There was a piece of gold brocade.

There,

Next to it,

Was velvet,

Wine-colored and soft.

There was a tane of white satin dripping on the floor of the wardrobe.

Peeping out from a piece of tissue paper on a shelf above was an ostrich feather fan.

The wardrobe smelt stuffy,

Queer.

The azalea scent,

So fragrant and delicate in the air,

Had turned stale inside the wardrobe,

Tarnishing the silver dresses and the brocade.

The breath of it wafted towards me now from the open doors.

Faded and old,

I shut the doors.

I went back into the bedroom once again.

The gleam of light from the shutter still shone white and clear on the golden coverlet of the bed,

Picking out clearly and distinctly the tall sloping R of the monogram.

Then I heard a step behind me,

And turning round,

I saw Mrs.

Danvers.

I shall never forget the expression on her face.

Triumphant,

Gloating,

Excited in a strange,

Unhealthy way,

I felt very frightened.

Is anything the matter,

Madam?

She said.

I tried to smile at her,

And could not.

I tried to speak.

Are you feeling unwell?

She said,

Coming nearer to me,

Speaking very softly.

I backed away from her.

I believe,

If she had come any closer to me,

I should have fainted.

I felt her breath on my face.

I'm all right,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I said,

After a moment.

I did not expect to see you.

The fact is,

I was looking up at the windows from the lawn.

I noticed one of the shutters was not quite closed.

I came up to see if I could fasten it.

I will fasten it,

She said,

And she went silently across the room and clamped back the shutter.

The daylight had gone.

The room looked unreal again in the false yellow light.

Unreal and ghastly.

Mrs.

Danvers came back and stood beside me.

She smiled,

And her manner,

Instead of being still and unbending as it usually was,

Became startlingly familiar,

Fawning even.

Why did you tell me the shutter was open?

She asked.

I closed it before I left the room.

You opened it yourself,

Didn't you now?

You wanted to see the room.

Why have you never asked me to show it to you before?

I was ready to show it to you every day.

You had only to ask me.

I wanted to run away,

But I could not move.

I went on watching her eyes.

Now you are here,

Let me show you everything,

She said,

Her voice ingratiating and sweet as honey,

Horrible,

False.

I know you want to see it all.

You've wanted to for a long time.

You were too shy to ask.

It's a lovely room,

Isn't it?

The loveliest room you have ever seen.

She took hold of my arm and walked me towards the bed.

I could not resist her.

I was like a dumb thing.

The touch of her hand made me shudder,

And her voice was low and intimate,

A voice I hated and feared.

That was her bed.

It's a beautiful bed,

Isn't it?

I keep the golden coverlet on it always.

It was her favorite.

Here is her nightdress inside the case.

You've been touching it,

Haven't you?

This was the nightdress she was wearing for the last time before she died.

Would you like to touch it again?

She took the nightdress from the case and held it before me.

Feel it.

Hold it,

She said.

How soft and light it is,

Isn't it?

I haven't washed it since she wore it for the last time.

I put it out like this,

And the dressing gown and slippers.

Just as I put them out for her the night she never came back,

The night she was drowned.

She folded up the nightgown and put it back in the case.

I did everything for her,

You know,

She said,

Taking my arm again,

Leading me to the dressing gown and slippers.

We tried maid after maid,

But not one of them suited.

You made me better than anyone,

Dani,

She used to say.

I won't have anyone but you.

Look,

This is her dressing gown.

She was much taller than you.

You can see by the length.

Put it up against you.

It comes down to your ankles.

She had a beautiful figure.

These are her slippers.

Throw me my slips,

Dani,

She used to say.

She had little feet for her height.

Put your hands inside the slippers.

They are quite small and narrow,

Aren't they?

She forced the slippers over my hands,

Smiling all the while,

Watching my eyes.

You never would have thought she was so tall,

Would you?

She said.

These slippers would fit a tiny foot.

She was so slim,

Too.

You would forget her height until she stood beside you.

She was every bit as tall as me,

But lying there in bed,

She looked quite a slip of a thing,

With her mass of dark hair standing out from her face like a halo.

She put the slippers back on the floor and laid the dressing gown on the chair.

You've seen her brushes,

Haven't you?

She said,

Taking me to the dressing table.

There they are,

Just as she used them,

Unwashed and untouched.

I used to brush her hair for her every evening.

Come on,

Dani,

Hair drill,

She would say.

And I'd stand behind her,

By the stool here,

And brush away,

For twenty minutes at a time.

She only wore it short the last few years,

You know.

It came down below her waist.

When she was first married,

Mr.

De Winter used to brush it for her then.

I've come into this room time and time again and seen him,

In his shirt sleeves,

With the two brushes in his hand.

Harder,

Max,

Harder,

She would say,

Laughing up at him.

And he would do as she told him.

They would be dressing for dinner,

You see,

And the house filled with guests.

Here I shall be late,

He would say,

Throwing the brushes at me and laughing back at her.

He was always laughing and gay then.

She paused,

Her hand resting on my arm.

Everyone was so angry with her when she cut her hair,

She said,

But she did not care.

It's nothing to do with anyone but myself,

She would say.

And of course,

Short hair was much easier for riding and sailing.

She was painted on horseback,

You know.

A famous artist did it.

The picture hung in the academy.

Did you ever see it?

I shook my head.

No,

I said,

No.

I understood it was a picture of the year,

She went on.

But Mr.

De Winter did not care for it and would not have it at Manderley.

I don't think he considered it did her justice.

You would like to see her clothes,

Wouldn't you?

She did not wait for my answer.

She led me to the little auntie room and opened the wardrobes one by one.

I keep her furs in here,

She said.

The moths have not got to them yet.

And I doubt if they ever will.

I'm too careful.

Feel that sable wrap.

That was a Christmas present from Mr.

De Winter.

She told me the cost once,

But I've forgotten it now.

This chinchilla she wore in the evenings mostly,

Round her shoulders,

Very often when the evenings were cold.

This wardrobe here is full of her evening clothes.

You opened it,

Didn't you?

The latch is not quite closed.

I believe Mr.

De Winter liked her to wear silver mostly.

But of course,

She could wear anything,

Stand any color.

She looked beautiful in this velvet.

Put it against your face.

It's soft,

Isn't it?

You can feel it,

Can't you?

The scent is still fresh.

Isn't it?

You could almost imagine she had only just taken it off.

I would always know when she had been before me in a room.

There would be a little whiff of her scent in the room.

These are her underclothes in this drawer.

This pink set here she had never worn.

She was wearing slacks,

Of course,

And a shirt when she died.

They were torn from her body in the water,

Though.

There was nothing on the body when it was found,

All those weeks afterwards.

Her fingers tightened on my arm.

She bent down to me,

Her skull's face close,

Her dark eyes searching mine.

The rocks had battered her to bits,

You know,

She whispered.

Her beautiful face,

Unrecognizable,

Both arms gone.

Mr.

De Winter identified her.

He went up to Edgecombe to do it.

He went quite alone.

He was very ill at the time,

But he would go.

No one could stop him,

Not even Mr.

Crawley.

She paused,

Her eyes never leaving my face.

I shall always blame myself for the accident,

She said.

It was my fault for being out that evening.

I had gone into Carroth for the afternoon and stayed there late,

As Mrs.

De Winter was up in London,

And not expected back until much later.

That's why I did not hurry back.

When I came in,

About half past nine,

I heard she had returned just before seven,

Had her dinner,

And then went out again.

Down to the beach,

Of course.

I felt worried then.

It was blowing from the southwest.

She would never have gone if I'd been in.

She always listened to me.

I wouldn't go out this evening,

It's not fit,

I should have said,

And she would have answered me.

All right,

Danny,

You old fusspot.

And we would have sat up here talking,

No doubt.

She telling me all she had done in London,

Like she always did.

My arm was bruised and numb from the pressure of her fingers.

I could see how tightly the skin was stretched across her face,

Showing the cheekbones.

There were little patches of yellow beneath her ears.

Mr.

De Winter had been dining with Mr.

Crawley down at his house.

She went on.

I don't know what time he got back,

I dare say it was after eleven,

But it had begun to blow quite hard just before midnight,

And she had not come back.

I went downstairs,

But there were no lights under the library door.

I came upstairs again and knocked on the dressing room door.

Mr.

De Winter answered at once.

Who is it,

What do you want?

He said.

I told him I was worried about Mrs.

De Winter not being back.

He waited a moment,

And then he came and opened the door in his dressing room.

She's spending the night down at the cottage,

I expect,

He said.

I should go to bed if I were you,

She won't come back here to sleep if it goes on like this.

He looked tired,

And I did not like to disturb him.

After all,

She spent many nights at the cottage,

And had sailed in every sort of weather.

She might not even have gone for a sail,

But just wanted the night at the cottage as a change after London.

I said goodnight to Mr.

De Winter and went back to my room.

I did not sleep,

Though.

I kept wondering what she was doing.

She paused again.

I did not want to hear any more.

I wanted to get away from her,

Away from the room.

I sat on my bed until half past five,

She said.

Then I couldn't wait there any longer.

I got up and put on my coat and went down through the woods to the beach.

It was getting light,

But there was still a misty sort of rain falling,

Although the wind had dropped.

When I got to the beach,

I saw the buoy there and the water and the dinghy,

But the boat had gone.

As she spoke,

It seemed to me that I could see the cove in the gray morning light,

Feel the thin drizzle on my face,

And peering through the mist could make out,

Shadowy and indistinct,

The low dark outline of the buoy.

Mrs.

Danvers loosened the pressure on my arm.

Her hand fell back again to her side.

Her voice lost all expression,

Became the hard mechanical voice of every day.

One of the life buoys was washed up at Carroth in the afternoon,

She said,

And another was found the next day by some crabbers on the rocks below the headland.

Bits and pieces of rigging,

Too,

Would come in with the tide.

She turned away from me and closed the chest of drawers.

She straightened one of the pictures on the wall.

She picked up a piece of fluff from the carpet.

I stood watching her,

Not knowing what to do.

You now know,

She said,

Why Mr.

De Winter does not use these rooms anymore.

Listen to the sea.

Even with the windows closed and the shutters fastened,

I could hear it,

A low,

Sullen murmur as the waves broke on the white shingle in the cove.

The tide would be coming in fast now and running up the beach,

Nearly to the stone cottage.

He has not used these rooms since the night she was drowned,

She said.

He had his things moved out from the dressing room.

We made up one of the rooms at the end of the corridor.

I don't think he slept much even there.

He used to sit in the armchair.

There would be cigarette ash all rounded in the morning,

And in the daytime Frith would hear him in the library,

Pacing up and down,

Up and down,

Up and down.

I,

Too,

Could see the ash on the floor beside the chair.

I,

Too,

Could hear his footsteps,

One-two,

One-two,

Backwards and forwards,

Across the library.

Mrs.

Danvers closed the door softly between the bedroom and the ante-room,

Where we were standing,

And put out the light.

I could not see the bed anymore,

Nor the night-dress case upon the pillow,

Nor the dressing table,

Nor the slippers by the chair.

She crossed the ante-room and put her hand on the knob of the door,

And stood,

Waiting for me to follow her.

I come to the rooms and dust them myself every day,

She said.

If you want to come again,

You have only to tell me.

Ring me on the house telephone.

I shall understand.

I don't allow the maids up here.

No one ever comes but me.

Her manner was fawning again,

Intimate and unpleasant.

The smile on her face was a false,

Unnatural thing.

Sometimes when Mr.

De Winter is away,

And you feel lonely,

You might like to come up to these rooms and sit here.

You have only to tell me.

They are such beautiful rooms.

You would not think she had gone now for so long,

Would you?

Not by the way the rooms are kept.

You would think she had just gone out for a little while,

And would be back in the evening.

I forced a smile.

I could not speak.

My throat felt dry and tight.

It's not only this room,

She said.

It's in many rooms in the house.

In the morning room,

In the hall,

Even in the little flower room.

I feel her everywhere.

You do too,

Don't you?

She stared at me curiously.

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Sometimes,

When I walk along the corridor here,

I fancy I hear her just behind me.

That quick,

Light footstep.

I could not mistake it anywhere.

And in the minstrel's gallery,

Above the hall,

I've seen her leaning there.

In the evenings,

In the old days,

Looking down at the hall below,

And calling to the dogs.

I can fancy her there now,

From time to time.

It's almost as though I catch the sound of her dress sweeping the stairs as she comes down to dinner.

She paused.

She went on looking at me.

Watching my eyes.

Do you think she can see us?

Talking to one another now?

She said slowly.

Do you think the dead come back and watch the living?

I swallowed.

I dug my nails into my hands.

I don't know,

I said.

I don't know.

My voice sounded high-pitched and unnatural.

Not my voice at all.

Sometimes I wonder,

She whispered.

Sometimes I wonder if she comes back here,

To Manderley,

And watches you and Mr.

De Winter together.

We stood there by the door,

Staring at one another.

I could not take my eyes away from hers.

How dark and somber they were in the white skull's face of hers.

How malevolent.

How full of hatred.

Then she opened the door into the corridor.

Robert is back now,

She said.

He came back a quarter of an hour ago.

He has orders to take your tea out under the chestnut tree.

She stepped aside for me to pass.

I stumbled out onto the corridor,

Not looking where I was going.

I did not speak to her.

I went down the stairs blindly,

And turned the corner and pushed through the door that led to my own rooms in the east wing.

I shut the door of my room and turned the key,

And put the key in my pocket.

Then I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes.

I felt deadly sick.

Chapter 15 Maxim rang up the next morning to say he would be back about seven.

Frith took the message.

Maxim did not ask to speak to me himself.

I heard the telephone ring while I was at breakfast,

And I thought perhaps Frith would come into the dining room and say,

Mr.

DeWinter on the telephone,

Madam.

I had put down my napkin and had risen to my feet,

And then Frith came back into the dining room and gave me the message.

He saw me push back my chair and go to the door.

Mr.

DeWinter has rung off,

Madam,

He said.

There was no message,

Just that he would be back about seven.

I sat down in my chair again and picked up my napkin.

Frith must have thought me eager and stupid rushing across the dining room.

All right,

Frith,

Thank you,

I said.

I went on,

Eating my eggs and bacon,

Jasper at my feet,

The old dog in her basket in the corner.

I wondered what I should do with my day.

I had slept badly,

Perhaps because I was alone in the room.

I had been restless,

Waking up often,

And when I glanced at my clock,

I saw the hands had scarcely moved.

When I did fall asleep,

I had varied,

Wandering dreams.

We were walking through woods,

Maxim and I,

And he was always just a little ahead of me.

I could not keep up with him,

Nor could I see his face,

Just his figure striding away in front of me all the time.

I must have cried while I slept,

For when I woke in the morning,

The pillow was damp.

My eyes were heavy,

Too,

When I looked in the glass.

I looked plain,

Unattractive.

I rubbed a little rouge on my cheeks in a wretched attempt to give myself color.

But it made me worse.

It gave me a false clown look.

Perhaps I did not know the best way to put it on.

I noticed Robert staring at me as I crossed the hall and went into breakfast.

About ten o'clock,

As I was crumbling some pieces for the birds on the terrace,

The telephone rang again.

This time it was for me.

Frith came,

And Mrs.

Lacey wanted to speak to me.

Good morning,

Patrice,

I said.

Well,

My dear,

How are you?

She said,

Her telephone voice typical of herself,

Brisk,

Rather masculine,

Standing no nonsense,

And then not waiting for my answer.

I thought of motoring over this afternoon and looking up Grand.

I'm lunching with people about twenty miles from you.

Shall I come and pick you up and we'll go together?

It's time you met the old lady,

You know.

I liked you very much,

Patrice,

I said.

Splendid,

Very well then.

I'll come along for you about half past three.

Giles saw Maxim at the dinner.

Poor food,

He said,

But excellent wine.

All right,

My dear,

See you later.

The click of the receiver and she was gone.

I wandered back into the garden.

I was glad she had rung up and suggested the plan of going over to see the grandmother.

It made something to look forward to and broke the monotony of the day.

The hours had seemed so long until seven o'clock.

I did not feel in my holiday mood today,

And I had no wish to go off with Jasper to the Happy Valley and come to the cove and throw stones in the water.

The sense of freedom had departed,

And the childish desire to run across the lawns in sand shoes.

I went and sat down with a book and the times and my knitting in the rose garden,

Domestic as a matron,

Yawning in the warm sun while the bees hummed amongst the flowers.

I tried to concentrate on the bald newspaper columns,

And later to lose myself in the racy plot of the novel in my hands.

I did not want to think of yesterday afternoon and Mrs.

Danvers.

I tried to forget that she was in the house at this moment,

Perhaps looking down on me from one of the windows.

And now and again,

When I looked up from my book or glanced across the garden,

I had the feeling I was not alone.

There were so many windows in Manderley,

So many rooms that were never used by Maxim and myself,

That were empty now,

Dust-sheeted,

Silent,

Rooms that had been occupied in the old days when his father and his grandfather had been alive,

When there had been much entertaining,

Many servants.

It would be easy for Mrs.

Danvers to open those doors softly and close them again,

And then still quietly across the shrouded room and look down upon me from behind the drawn curtains.

I should not know.

Even if I turned in my chair and looked up at the windows,

I would not see her.

I remembered a game I had played as a child,

That my friends next door had called Grandmother Steps,

And myself Old Witch.

You had to stand at the end of the garden,

With your back turned to the rest,

And one by one they crept nearer to you,

Advancing in short,

Furtive fashion.

Every few minutes you turned to look at them,

And if you saw one of them moving,

The offender had to retire to the back line and begin again.

There was always one a little bolder than the rest,

Who came up very close,

Whose movement was impossible to detect,

And as you waited there,

Your back turned,

Counting the regulation ten,

You knew,

With a fatal,

Terrifying certainty,

That before long,

Before even the ten was counted,

This bold player would pounce upon you from behind,

Unheralded,

Unseen,

With a scream of triumph.

I felt as tense and expectant as I did then.

I was playing Old Witch with Mrs.

Danvers.

Lunch was a welcome break to the long morning.

The calm efficiency of Frith,

And Robert's rather foolish face,

Helped me more than my book and my newspaper had done.

And,

At half-past three,

Punctual to the moment,

I heard the sound of Patrice's car round the sweep of the drive and pull up at the steps before the house.

I ran out to meet her,

Ready-dressed,

My gloves in my hand.

Well,

My dear,

Here I am,

What a splendid day,

Isn't it?

She slammed the door of the car and came up the steps to meet me.

She gave me a hard,

Swift kiss,

Brushing me somewhere near the ear.

You don't look well,

She said immediately,

Looking me up and down.

Much too thin in the face,

And no color.

What's wrong with you?

Nothing,

I said humbly,

Knowing the fault of my face too well.

I'm not a person who ever has much color.

Oh,

Bosch,

She replied,

You looked quite different when I saw you before.

I expect the brown of Italy has worn off,

I said,

Getting into the car.

Hmm,

She said shortly,

You're as bad as Maxim.

Can't stand any criticism about your health.

Slam the door hard,

Or it doesn't shut.

We started off down the drive,

Swerving at the corner.

Going rather too fast.

You're not by any chance starting an infant,

Are you?

She said,

Turning her hawk-brown eyes upon me.

No,

I said awkwardly.

No,

I don't think so.

No morning sickness or anything like that?

No?

Oh,

Well,

Of course,

It doesn't always follow.

I never turned a hair when Roger was born.

Felt as fit as a fiddle the whole nine months.

I played golf the day before he arrived.

There's nothing to be embarrassed about in the facts of nature,

You know.

If you have any suspicions,

You had better tell me.

No,

Really,

Patrice,

I said,

There's nothing to tell.

I must say,

I do hope you will produce a son and heir before long.

It would be so terribly good for Maxim.

I hope you are doing nothing to prevent it.

Of course not,

I said.

What an extraordinary conversation,

I thought.

Oh,

Don't be shocked,

She said.

You must never mind what I say.

After all,

Brides of today are up to everything.

It's a damn nuisance if you want to hunt,

And you land yourself with an infant your first season.

Quite enough to break a marriage up if you are both keen.

Wouldn't matter in your case.

Babies needn't interfere with sketching.

How is the sketching,

By the way?

I'm afraid I don't seem to do much,

I said.

Oh,

Really?

Nice weather,

Too,

For sitting out of doors.

You only need a camp stool and a box of pencils,

Don't you?

Tell me,

Were you interested in those books I sent you?

Yes,

Of course,

I said.

It was a lovely present,

Patrice.

She looked pleased.

Glad you like them,

She said.

The car sped along.

She kept her foot permanently on the accelerator and took every corner at an acute angle.

Two motorists we passed looked out of their windows outraged as she swept by,

And one pedestrian in a lane waved his stick at her.

I felt rather hot for her.

She did not seem to notice,

Though.

I crouched lower in my seat.

Roger goes up to Oxford next term,

She said.

Heaven knows what he'll do with himself.

Awful waste of time,

I think.

And so does Giles.

But we couldn't think what else to do with him.

Of course,

He's just like Giles and myself.

Thinks of nothing but horses.

What on earth does this car in front think it's doing?

Why don't you put out your hand,

My good man?

Really,

Some of these people on the road today ought to be shot.

We swerved into a main road,

Narrowly avoiding the car ahead of us.

Had any people down to stay?

She asked.

No,

We've been very quiet,

I said.

Much better,

Too,

She said.

Awful bore,

I always think,

Those big parties.

You won't find it alarming if you come stay with us.

Very nice lot of people all round,

And we all know one another frightfully well.

We dine in one another's houses and have our bridge,

And don't bother with outsiders.

You do play bridge,

Don't you?

I'm not very good,

Patrice.

Oh,

We shan't mind that.

As long as you can play.

I've no patience with people who won't learn.

What on earth can one do with them between tea and dinner in the winter?

And after dinner,

One can't just sit and talk.

I wondered why.

However,

It was simpler not to say anything.

It's quite amusing now Roger is a reasonable age,

She went on,

Because he brings his friends to stay,

And we have really good fun.

You ought to have been with us last Christmas.

We had charades.

My dear,

It was the greatest fun.

Giles was in his element.

He adores dressing up,

You know.

And after a glass or two of champagne,

He's the funniest thing you've ever seen.

We often say he's missed his vocation and ought to have been on the stage.

I thought of Giles and his large moon face,

His horn spectacles.

I felt the sight of him being funny after champagne would embarrass me.

He and another man,

A great friend of ours,

Dickey Marsh,

Dressed up as women and sang a duet.

What exactly it had to do with the word and the charade,

Nobody knew.

But it did not matter,

We all roared.

I smiled politely.

Fancy,

How funny,

I said.

I saw them all rocking from side to side in Patrice's drawing room.

All these friends who knew one another so well.

Roger would look like Giles.

Patrice was laughing again at the memory.

Poor Giles,

She said.

I shall never forget his face when Dick squirted the soda siphon down his back.

We were all in fits.

I had an uneasy feeling we might be asked to spend the approaching Christmas with Patrice.

Perhaps I could have influenza.

Of course,

Our acting was never very ambitious,

She said.

It was just a lot of fun amongst ourselves.

At Manderley now,

There is scope for a really fine show.

I remember a pageant they had there some years ago.

People from London came down to it.

Of course,

That type of thing needs terrific organization.

Yes,

I said.

She was silent for a while and drove without speaking.

How is Maxim,

She said after a moment.

Very well,

Thanks,

I said.

Quite cheerful and happy?

Oh yes,

Yes,

Rather.

A narrow village street engaged her attention.

I wondered whether I should tell her about Mrs.

Danvers,

About the man Favell.

I did not want her to make a blunder,

Though,

And perhaps tell Maxim.

Patrice,

I said,

Deciding upon it.

Have you ever heard of someone called Favell?

Jack Favell?

Jack Favell,

She repeated.

Yes,

I do know the name.

Wait a minute.

Jack Favell?

Of course.

An awful bounder.

I met him once,

Ages ago.

He came to Manderley yesterday to see Mrs.

Danvers,

I said.

Really?

Oh,

Well,

Perhaps he would.

Why?

I said.

I rather think he was Rebecca's cousin,

She said.

I was very surprised.

That man,

Her relation?

It was not my idea of the sort of cousin Rebecca would have.

Jack Favell,

Her cousin?

Oh,

I said.

Oh,

I hadn't realized that.

He probably used to go to Manderley a lot.

I don't know,

I couldn't tell you.

I was very seldom there,

Said Patrice.

Her manner was abrupt.

It gave me the impression she did not want to pursue the subject.

I did not take to him much,

I said.

No,

Said Patrice.

I don't blame you.

I waited,

But she did not say any more.

I thought it wiser not to tell her how Favell had asked me to keep the visit a secret.

It might lead to some complication.

Besides,

We were just coming to our destination.

A pair of white gates and a smooth gravel drive.

Don't forget,

The old lady is nearly blind,

Said Patrice.

And she's not very bright these days.

I telephoned to the nurse that we were coming,

So everything will be all right.

The house was large,

Red-bricked and gabled.

Late Victorian,

I supposed.

Not an attractive house.

I could tell in a glance it was the sort of house that was aggressively well-kept by a big staff.

And all that for one old lady who was nearly blind.

A trim parlor maid opened the door.

Good afternoon,

Nora.

How are you?

Said Patrice.

Very well,

Thank you,

Madam.

I hope you are keeping well?

Oh,

Yes,

We are all flourishing.

How has the old lady been,

Nora?

Rather mixed,

Madam.

She has one good day,

And then a bad.

She's not too bad in herself,

You know.

She will be pleased to see you,

I'm sure.

She glanced curiously at me.

This is Mrs.

Maxim,

Said Patrice.

Yes,

Madam.

How do you do?

Said Nora.

We went through a narrow hall and a drawing room crowded with furniture to a veranda facing a square-clipped lawn.

There were many bright geraniums and stone vases on the steps of the veranda,

And the corner was a bath chair.

Patrice's grandmother was sitting there,

Propped up with pillows and surrounded by shawls.

When we came close to her,

I saw that she had a strong,

Rather uncanny,

Resemblance to Maxim.

That was what Maxim would look like if he was very old,

If he was blind.

The nurse by her side got up from her chair and put a mark in the book she was reading aloud.

She smiled at Patrice.

How are you,

Mrs.

Lacey?

She said.

Patrice shook hands with her and introduced me.

The old lady looks all right,

She said.

I don't know how she does it at 86.

Here we are,

Gran,

She said,

Raising her voice.

Arrived safe and sound.

The grandmother looked in our direction.

Dear Bea,

She said.

How sweet of you to come and visit me.

We're so dull here.

Nothing for you to do.

Patrice leant over her and kissed her.

I've brought Maxim's wife over to see you,

She said.

She wanted to come and see you before,

But she and Maxim have been so busy.

Patrice prodded me in the back.

Kiss her,

She murmured.

I too bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

The grandmother touched my face with her fingers.

You nice thing,

She said.

So good of you to come.

I'm very pleased to see you,

Dear.

You ought to have brought Maxim with you.

Maxim is in London,

I said.

He's coming back tonight.

You might bring him next time,

She said.

Sit down,

Dear,

In this chair,

Where I can see you.

And Bea,

Come the other side.

How is dear Roger?

He's a naughty boy.

He doesn't come and see me.

He shall come during August,

Shouted Patrice.

He's leaving Eton,

You know.

He's going up to Oxford.

Oh dear,

He'll be quite a young man.

I shan't know him.

He's taller than Giles now,

Said Patrice.

She went on,

Telling her about Giles,

And Roger,

And the horses and the dogs.

The nurse brought out some knitting,

And clicked her needle sharply.

She turned to me,

Very bright,

Very cheerful.

How are you liking Manderley,

Mrs.

De Winter?

Very much,

Thank you,

I said.

It's a beautiful spot,

Isn't it?

She said,

The needles jabbing one another.

Of course we don't get over there now.

She's not up to it.

I am sorry,

I used to love our days at Manderley.

You must come over yourself sometime,

I said.

Thank you,

I should love to.

Mr.

De Winter as well,

I suppose?

Yes,

Very well.

You spent your honeymoon in Italy,

Didn't you?

We were so pleased with the picture postcard Mr.

De Winter sent.

I wondered whether she used we in the royal sense,

Or if she meant that Maxim's grandmother and herself were one.

Did he send one?

I can't remember.

Oh yes,

It was quite an excitement.

We love anything like that.

We keep a scrapbook,

You know,

And paste anything to do with the family inside it.

Anything pleasant,

That is.

How nice,

I said.

I caught snatches of Patrice's conversation on the other side.

We had to put old Marksman down,

She was saying.

You remember old Marksman?

The best hunter I ever had.

Oh dear,

Not old Marksman,

Said her grandmother.

Yes,

Poor old man,

Got blind in both eyes,

You know.

Poor Marksman,

Echoed the old lady.

I thought perhaps it was not very tactful to talk about blindness,

And I glanced at the nurse.

She was still busy clicking her needles.

Do you hunt,

Mrs.

De Winter,

She said.

No,

I'm afraid I don't,

I said.

Perhaps you will come to it.

We are all very fond of hunting in this part of the world.

Yes,

Mrs.

De Winter is very keen on art,

Said Patrice to the nurse.

I tell her there are heaps of spots in Manderley that would make very jolly pictures.

Oh rather,

Agreed the nurse.

Pausing a moment from the fury of knitting.

What a nice hobby,

I had a friend who was a wonder with her pencil.

We went to province together one Easter,

And she did such pretty sketches.

How nice,

I said.

We're talking about sketching,

Shouted Patrice to her grandmother.

You did not know we had an artist in the family,

Did you?

Who's an artist,

Said the old lady.

I don't know any.

Your new granddaughter,

Said Patrice.

You ask her what I gave her for a wedding present.

I smiled,

Waiting to be asked.

The old lady turned her head in my direction.

What's Bea talking about,

She said.

I did not know you were an artist.

We've never had any artists in the family.

Patrice was joking,

I said.

Of course,

I'm not an artist really.

I like drawing as a hobby.

I've never had any lessons.

Patrice gave me some lovely books as a present.

Oh,

She said,

Rather bewildered.

Patrice gave you some books,

Did she?

Rather like taking coals to Newcastle,

Wasn't it?

There are so many books in the library at Manderley.

She laughed heartily.

We all joined in her joke.

I hoped the subject would be left at that,

But Patrice had to harp on it.

You don't understand,

Gran,

She said.

They weren't ordinary books.

They were volumes on art,

Four of them.

The nurse leant forward to add her tribute.

Mrs.

Lacey is trying to explain that Mrs.

De Winter is very fond of sketching as a hobby,

So she gave her four fine volumes all about painting as a wedding present.

What a funny thing to do,

Said the grandmother.

I don't think much of books for a wedding present.

Nobody ever gave me any books when I was married.

I should never have read them if they had.

She laughed again.

Patrice looked rather offended.

I smiled at her to show my sympathy.

I don't think she saw.

The nurse resumed her knitting.

I want my tea,

Said the old lady,

Querulously.

Isn't it half past four yet?

Why doesn't Nora bring the tea?

What?

Hungry again after a big lunch?

Said the nurse,

Rising to her feet and smiling brightly at her charge.

I felt rather exhausted and wondered,

Rather shocked at my callous thought,

Why old people were sometimes such a strain.

Worse than young children or puppies because one had to be polite.

I sat with my hands in my lap,

Ready to agree with what anybody said.

The nurse was thumping the pillows and arranging the shawls.

Maxim's grandmother suffered her impatience.

She closed her eyes as though she too were tired.

She looked more like Maxim than ever.

I knew how she must have looked when she was young,

Tall and handsome,

Going round to the stables at Manderley with sugar in her pockets,

Holding her trailing skirt out of the mud.

I pictured the nipped-in waist,

The high collar.

I heard her ordering the carriage for two o'clock.

That was all finished now for her,

All gone.

Her husband had been dead for forty years,

Her son for fifteen.

She had to live in this bright,

Red-gabled house with the nurse until it was time for her to die.

I thought how little we know about the feelings of old people.

Children we understand,

Their fears and hopes and make-believe.

I was a child yesterday,

I had not forgotten.

But Maxim's grandmother,

Sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes,

What did she feel?

What was she thinking?

Did she know that Patrice was yawning and glancing at her watch?

Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it was right,

It was a duty,

So that when she got home afterwards Patrice would be able to say,

Well,

That clears my conscience for three months.

Did she ever think about Manderly?

Did she remember sitting at the dining-room table where I sat?

Did she,

Too,

Have tea under the chestnut tree?

Or was it all forgotten and laid aside?

And was there nothing left behind that calm,

Pale face of hers but little aches and little strange discomforts?

A blurred thankfulness when the sun shone,

A tremor when the wind blew cold.

I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away.

I wished I could see her young as she once was,

With color in her cheeks and chestnut hair,

Alert and active as Patrice by her side,

Talking as she did about hunting,

Hounds and horses.

Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head.

We've got a treat today,

You know,

Said the nurse.

Watercress sandwiches for tea.

We love watercress,

Don't we?

Is it watercress day?

Said Maxim's grandmother,

Raising her head from the pillows and looking towards the door.

You did not tell me that.

Why does not Nora bring in the tea?

I wouldn't have your job,

Sister,

For a thousand a day,

Said Patrice,

Sado voce to the nurse.

Oh,

I'm used to it,

Mrs.

Lacey,

Smiled the nurse.

It's very comfortable here,

You know.

Of course,

We have our bad days,

But they might be a great deal worse.

She's very easy,

Not like some patients.

The staff are obliging,

Too.

That's really the main thing.

Here comes Nora.

The parlor maid brought out a little,

Gait-legged table and a snowy cloth.

What a time you've been,

Nora,

Grumbled the old lady.

It's only just turned the half hour,

Madam,

Said Nora in a special voice,

Bright and cheerful like the nurse.

I wondered if Maxim's grandmother realized that people spoke to her in this way.

I wondered when they had done so for the first time,

And if she had noticed then.

Perhaps she had said to herself,

They think I'm getting old,

How very ridiculous.

And then little by little,

She had become accustomed to it,

And now it was as though they had always done so.

It was part of her background.

But the young woman with the chestnut hair and the narrow waist who gave sugar to the horses,

Where was she?

We drew our chairs to the gait-legged table and began to eat the watercress sandwiches.

The nurse prepared special ones for the old lady.

There now,

Isn't that a treat,

She said.

I saw a slow smile pass over the calm,

Placid face.

I like watercress day,

She said.

The tea was scalding,

Much too hot to drink.

The nurse drank hers in tiny sips.

Boiling water today,

She said,

Nodding at Patrice.

I have such trouble about it.

They will let the tea stew.

I've told them time and time again about it.

They will not listen.

Oh,

They're all the same,

Said Patrice.

I've given it up as a bad job.

The old lady stirred hers with a spoon,

Her eyes very far and distant.

I wished I knew what she was thinking about.

Did you have fine weather in Italy?

Said the nurse.

Yes,

It was very warm,

I said.

Patrice turned to her grandmother.

They had lovely weather in Italy for their honeymoon,

She says.

Maxim got quite sunburnt.

Why isn't Maxim here today?

Said the old lady.

We told you,

Darling,

Maxim had to go to London,

Said Patrice,

Impatiently.

Some dinner,

You know.

Giles went too.

Oh,

I see.

Why did you say Maxim was in Italy?

He was in Italy,

Gran,

In April.

They're back at Manderley now.

She glanced at the nurse,

Shrugging her shoulders.

Mr.

And Mrs.

De Winter are in Manderley now,

Repeated the nurse.

It's been lovely here this month,

I said,

Drawing nearer to Maxim's grandmother.

The roses are in bloom now.

I wish I had brought you some.

Yes,

I like roses,

She said vaguely,

And then peering closer at me with her dim blue eyes.

Are you staying at Manderley too?

I swallowed.

There was a slight pause.

Then Patrice broke in with her loud,

Impatient voice.

Gran,

Darling,

You know perfectly well she lives there now.

She and Maxim are married.

I noticed the nurse put down her cup of tea and glanced swiftly at the old lady.

She had relaxed against the pillows,

Plucking at her shawl,

And her mouth began to tremble.

You talk too much,

All of you.

I don't understand.

Then she looked across at me,

A frown on her face,

And began shaking her head.

Who are you,

My dear?

I haven't seen you before.

I don't know your face.

I don't remember you at Manderley.

Bee,

Who is this child?

Why did not Maxim bring Rebecca?

I'm so fond of Rebecca.

Where is dear Rebecca?

There was a long pause,

A moment of agony.

I felt my cheeks grow scarlet.

The nurse got to her feet very quickly and went to the bath chair.

I want Rebecca,

Repeated the old lady.

What have you done with Rebecca?

Patrice rose clumsily from the table,

Shaking the cups and saucers.

She,

Too,

Had turned very red and her mouth twitched.

I think you'd better go,

Mrs.

Lacey,

Said the nurse,

Rather pink and flustered.

She's looking a little tired,

And when she wanders like this,

It sometimes lasts a few hours.

She does get excited like this from time to time.

It's very unfortunate it should happen today.

I'm sure you will understand,

Mrs.

DeWinter.

She turned apologetically to me.

Of course,

I said quickly.

It's much better we should go.

Patrice and I groped for our bags and gloves.

The nurse had turned to her patient again.

Now,

What's this all about?

Do you want your nice watercress sandwich that I've cut for you?

Where is Rebecca?

Why did not Maxim come and bring Rebecca?

Replied the thin,

Queerless voice.

We went through the drawing room to the hall and let ourselves out of the front door.

Patrice started up the car without a word.

We drove down the smooth gravel drive and out of the white gates.

I stared straight in front of me down the road.

I did not mind for myself.

I should not have cared if I had been alone.

I minded for Patrice.

The whole thing had been so wretched and awkward for Patrice.

She spoke to me when we turned out of the village.

My dear,

She began,

I'm so dreadfully sorry.

I don't know what to say.

Don't be absurd,

Patrice,

I said hurriedly.

It doesn't matter a bit.

It's absolutely all right.

I had no idea she would do that,

Said Patrice.

I would never have dreamt of taking you to see her.

I'm so frightfully sorry.

There's nothing to be sorry about.

Please don't say any more.

I can't make it out.

She knew all about you.

I wrote and told her,

And so did Maxim.

She was so interested in the wedding abroad.

You forget how old she is,

I said.

Why should she remember that?

She doesn't connect me with Maxim.

She only connects him with Rebecca.

We went on,

Driving in silence.

It was a relief to be in the car again.

I did not mind the jerky motion and the swaying corners.

I'd forgotten she was so fond of Rebecca,

Said Patrice slowly.

I was a fool not to expect something like this.

I don't believe she ever took in properly about the accident.

Oh,

Lord,

What a ghastly afternoon.

What on earth will you think of me?

Please,

Patrice,

Don't.

I tell you I don't mind.

Rebecca made a great fuss of her always,

And she used to have the old lady over to Manderley.

Poor darling Gran was much more alert then.

She used to rock with laughter at whatever Rebecca said.

Of course,

She was always very amusing,

And the old lady loved that.

She had an amazing gift,

Rebecca I mean,

Of being attractive to people,

Men,

Women,

Children,

Dogs.

I suppose the old lady has never forgotten her.

My dear,

You won't thank me for this afternoon.

I don't mind,

I don't mind,

I repeated mechanically.

If only Patrice could leave the subject alone.

It did not interest me.

What did it matter after all?

What did anything matter?

Giles would be very upset,

Said Patrice.

He will blame me for taking you over.

What an idiotic thing to do,

Bea.

I can hear him saying it.

I shall get into a fine row.

Don't say anything about it,

I said.

I would much rather it was forgotten.

The story will only get repeated and exaggerated.

Giles will know something is wrong from my face.

I never have been able to hide anything from him.

I was silent.

I knew how the story would be tossed about in their immediate circle of friends.

I could imagine the little crowd at Sunday lunch,

The round eyes,

The eager ears,

And the gasps and exclamations.

My lord,

How awful,

What on earth did you do?

And then,

How did she take it?

How terribly embarrassing for everyone.

The only thing that mattered to me was that Maxim should never come to hear of it.

One day,

I might tell Frank Crawley,

But not yet,

Not for quite a while.

It was not long before we came to the high road at the top of the hill.

In the distance,

I could see the first grey roofs of Carith,

While to the right,

In a hollow,

Lay the deep woods of Manderley and the sea beyond.

Are you in a frightful hurry to get home?

Said Beatrice.

No,

I said.

I don't think so,

Why?

Would you think me a perfect pig if I dropped you at the lodge gates?

If I drive like hell now,

I shall just be in time to meet Giles by the London train,

And it will save him taking the station taxi.

Of course,

I said.

I can walk down the drive.

Thanks awfully,

She said gratefully.

I felt the afternoon had been too much for her.

She wanted to be alone again,

And she did not want to face another belated tea at Manderley.

I got out of the car at the lodge gates,

And we kissed goodbye.

Put on some weight next time I see you,

She said.

It doesn't suit you to be so thin.

Give Maxim my love,

And forgive me for today.

She vanished in a cloud of dust,

And I turned in down the drive.

I wondered if it had altered much since Maxim's grandmother had driven down it in her carriage.

She had ridden here as a young woman.

She had smiled at the woman at the lodge,

As I did now.

And in her day,

The lodgekeeper's wife had curtsied,

Sweeping the path with her full,

Wide skirt.

This woman nodded to me briefly,

And then called to her little boy,

Who sat grubbing with some kittens at the back.

Maxim's grandmother had bowed her head to avoid the sweeping branches of the trees,

And the horse had trotted down the twisting drive,

Where I now walked.

The drive had been wider then,

And smoother too,

Better kept.

The woods did not encroach upon it.

I did not think of her as she was now,

Lying against those pillows,

With that shawl around her.

I saw her when she was young,

And when Manderley was her home.

I saw her wandering in the gardens with a small boy,

Maxim's father,

Clattering behind her on his hobby horse.

He would wear a stiff Norfolk jacket,

And a round white collar.

Picnics to the cove would be an expedition,

A treat that was not indulged in very often.

There would be a photograph somewhere,

In an old album,

All the family sitting very straight and rigid,

Round a tablecloth set upon the beach.

The servants in the background,

Beside a huge lunch basket.

And I saw Maxim's grandmother,

When she was older too,

A few years ago,

Walking on the terrace at Manderley,

Leaning on a stick.

And someone walked beside her,

Laughing,

Holding her arm.

Someone tall and slim,

And very beautiful,

Who had a gift,

Patrice said,

Of being attractive to people.

Easy to like,

I supposed.

Easy to love.

When I came to the end of the long drive,

At last,

I saw that Maxim's car was standing in front of the house.

My heart lifted.

I ran quickly into the hall.

His hat and gloves were lying on the table.

I went towards the library,

And as I came near,

I heard the sound of voices,

One raised louder than the other.

Maxim's voice.

The door was shut.

I hesitated a moment before going in.

You can write and tell him,

From me,

To keep away from Manderley in the future,

Do you hear?

Never mind who told me.

That's of no importance.

I happen to know his car was seen here yesterday afternoon.

If you want to meet him,

You can meet him,

Outside Manderley.

I won't have him inside the gates,

Do you understand?

Remember,

I'm warning you for the last time.

I slipped away from the door to the stairs.

I heard the door of the library open.

I ran swiftly up the stairs and hid in the gallery.

Mrs.

Danvers came out of the library,

Shutting the door behind her.

I crouched against the wall of the gallery,

So that I should not be seen.

I had caught one glimpse of her face,

It was grey with anger,

Distorted,

Horrible.

She passed up the stairs swiftly and silently,

And disappeared through the door leading to the west wing.

I waited a moment,

Then I went slowly downstairs to the library.

I opened the door and went in.

Maxim was standing by the window,

Some letters in his hand.

His back was turned to me.

For a moment,

I thought of creeping out again,

And going upstairs to my room and sitting there.

He must have heard me though,

For he swung round impatiently.

Who is it now?

He said.

I smiled,

Holding up my hands.

Hello?

I said.

Oh,

It's you.

I could tell in a glance that something had made him very angry.

His mouth was hard,

His nostrils white and pinched.

What have you been doing with yourself?

He said.

He kissed the top of my head,

And put his arm round my shoulder.

I felt as if a very long time had passed since he had left me yesterday.

I've been to see your grandmother.

I said.

Patrice drove me over this afternoon.

How was the old lady?

Alright.

What's happened to Bea?

She had to get back to meet Giles.

We sat down together on the window seat.

I took his hand in mine.

I hated you being away.

I've missed you terribly.

I said.

Have you?

He said.

We did not say anything for a bit.

I just held his hand.

Was it hot up in London?

I said.

Yes.

Pretty awful.

I always hate the place.

I wondered if he would tell me what had happened just now in the library with Mrs.

Danvers.

I wondered who had told him about Favell.

Are you worried about something?

I asked.

I've had a long day.

He said.

That drive,

Twice in 24 hours,

Is too much for anyone.

He got up and wandered away,

Lighting a cigarette.

I knew then that he was not going to tell me about Mrs.

Danvers.

I'm tired too.

I said slowly.

It's been a funny sort of day.