Chapter XII: Book THREE: Consequences (4)

They parted with smiles. Sally made as if to re-enter the bedroom; but, instead, she went through the drawing-room and on to the balcony. The river was running swiftly up-stream, so that the thick mud was hidden. Back along its course came little floating masses of collected material, like miniature islands in progress up and down the river. Sally stood watching one of these masses, until it grew indistinct as the result of her intentness. The sun was making the houses beyond the river glitter anew, and the whole town was beautified in its light. A feeling of great misery seized Sally. She stared down at the discoloured stream, and her eyes filled with tears. She was again consumed with a sense of loneliness; and a faint horror of the returning tide caused her to break once again from her contemplation, to walk back through the drawing-room, and to rejoin Gaga. He was sitting upon the bed, regarding with a vacant expression the two dressing-cases which had been brought up to the room and which stood together against the wall. The room was cold and dark. Sally impulsively went to the French windows opening upon the balcony and drew back the curtains.

"There now," she said. "You're going to get better. You can see the sun."

Gaga smiled gently. Sally came back to him and stood with her hand ruffling his thin hair. She too smiled, but with abstraction. She was numbed by illness and horror and the journey and her vision of the dirty merciless water.

xx

When they had eaten their lunch, Sally helped Gaga to undress and left him in bed with the curtains again closed and the bedroom, thus darkened, smelling close and dank, as if it were the haunt of blackbeetles. When the curtains were drawn the whole room faded to a uniformity of grey-brown, and the pictures and ornaments became dim shadows, and the mirror upon the dressing-table took upon itself a mysterious air, as though in its depths one might read something of the hidden future. All was sunk in a sorrowful gloom, and the barely-outlined recumbent figure of Gaga might have been that of a dead man. Upon tiptoe, Sally stole quietly from the room. For a little while she sat alone over a fire which had been lighted in the drawing-room; but the evening was beginning to cast darkness over everything; and in the west the last hot reflections of the sun were cast upon two or three casual clouds. Sally therefore rose, and took her hat and coat, which were lying near the piano. As it was the middle of the week, and in autumn, the hotel was almost empty, and would not be occupied with any visitors for two or three more days. It was a dull place once the sun had set. For a moment Sally hesitated in putting on her hat; but at last she ventured forth, and was out in the greying street, and upon the bridge across the river. The water, as she hurried by, ran silently below, blackened and threatening, and as there would be no moon the night was coming with great darkness. Over the bridge Sally noticed the early lights in the post office, and a few street lamps. One road ran a little way up the hill and was immediately checked by houses. Another turned off to the north-west, and it was here that she would find a shop at which she could leave the prescription for Gaga's medicine. Once she had performed her task Sally walked briskly on until she came to the end of the houses and into a road to the edges of which trees grew and grass came irregularly running. Beneath the trees darkness already obliterated all shape, and the fringes of the wood were so bare of leafage that she could already look up to the grey sky between the boughs and their filmy branches. No vehicles passed. She was alone upon this broad road, with nothing upon either hand but unexplored depths of shadow and silence. Every now and then a stationary light spotted the dusk. She was appalled by her loneliness.

Quickly as she had walked away from Penterby, Sally returned to the town with even greater speed, warmed by the exercise, but chilled by her thoughts and perplexities. When she was alone, and so hemmed in by sinister darkness, Sally was brought quickly back to her forebodings. She remembered the solitary figure which she had left, and thought of Gaga was shrinking. Of Toby she could only find herself thinking with anger. Yet it was not wholly anger, for she was also afraid and filled with longing. Her anger was even obliterated by her love, so much did she adore Toby's strength. His cruelty, his brutal indifference, were spurs to her unreasoning affection. Whatever Toby might do, Sally loved him. The love which she had believed herself indignantly to have cast out was still paramount. Finally, in all her fleeting considerations of the moment and the future, she could not ignore the baby which was coming. She had no thought of it other than fear and loathing. Not yet had desire for a child created in her mind a new longing. If she could have killed it she would have done so; and she was prevented from contemplating this possibility only by the ignorance which inexperience and friendlessness imposed upon her. Sally was awed and terrified by the gloom which gathered in her heart and about her. She sped onwards until she reached the bridge, and here for several minutes she uncontrollably paused. All was now black, and the tide had turned. Already the water was flowing to the sea, and she could imagine the coagulated masses vaguely swirling beneath her, borne unresisting upon the outgoing tide. The hotel was in darkness, excepting for the room beneath the balcony where the walls descended straight to the water and the mud. Here there was a dim light. All above was sombre until she reached in her steady upward glance the sky's faint background and saw its unfathomable arch of grey.

The bar of the hotel was empty. Unperceived, Sally went upstairs and into the bedroom where Gaga lay. She closed the door behind her and switched on the electric light. To her surprise Gaga was lying on his side, and his face was turned towards her.

"You awake?" she whispered. At his soft sound of greeting she went forward and sat upon the bed. "It's half-past-four," Sally continued. "Like some tea? Going to get up again?"

"I.... I'm so tired," murmured Gaga. He had taken her hand, and held it to his cheek, so that Sally had to lean forward. In this mood he was so like a child that Sally's heart softened. She found him pathetic, and her own strength was emphasised by his weakness.

"Better stay in bed," she said.

"But you? Aren't you ... aren't you lonely?"

"Mm. Nobody here. Nothing to do. I been for a walk and got frightened."

"I'll get up. Yes, I will. After tea we'll walk along that av ... avenue. In the moonlight. Like your song."

"There's no moon up yet," Sally told him, not moving. "You stay where you are. Stay nice and warm in bed. I shall be all right. I'll go for a walk along the avenue by myself."

"And be f ... frightened again."

"Shan't wait to be frightened," Sally said. "See me dart back!"

Gaga fondled her hand and reached for the other one, which she patiently yielded.

"You ... you're so nice," he murmured. "So good to me."

"I? Good?" Sally's shoulders were hoisted. She almost withdrew her hands.

"Yes. But Sally.... I...." He was overcome, and could not proceed. Tears had started to his eyes. "I haven't been sleeping. I've been thinking. Last night...."

"Last night!" Sally convulsively jerked her hands away, and as quickly restored them.

"You thought I'd ... I'd ... been ... been spying."

"Of course you weren't. I was ill. I was a beast."

"Sally, I never did. You ... you have a lot.... I've been thinking ... a lot to put up with. Marrying a ... a sick man; and you...."

Sally could not bear him to talk thus. She freed herself, and rose.

"Here's a lot of talk!" she protested. "You get well, old son. Then we'll see."

Gaga did not say anything for a moment. At last he spoke again.

"Sally, would you ... would you mind very much if I did ... didn't get well?" he asked.

"Course I should!" But Sally was filled with alarm at this conversation. She turned upon Gaga, but she could not meet his soft eyes. "Here, you're talking silly!"

"Sally.... I.... I wasn't spying," said Gaga, slowly. "But I.... I _did_ see a man at the gate last night."

Sally clutched the back of a chair. For a moment she thought she must be going to faint. Then, with a tremendous effort, she controlled herself.

"What d'you mean?" she demanded.

"Behind you. _With_ you."

"Never!"

Gaga continued to regard her. His smile was no longer visible. She only noticed that he was paler, that his nostrils were pinched and his eyes dark.

"I wish you'd tell me the truth," he said.

"I tell you there was nobody _with_ me," lied Sally. "Nobody. There may have been a man behind me. I _did_ get a bit of a start. Somebody came out of a gate. I didn't notice."

"Sally.... I.... I heard him call you 'Sally.'"

She was stricken with terror at his quietness.

"Nobody called me Sally!" she cried. "I don't _know_ anybody."

Gaga sighed, and his head fell sideways, so that he no longer looked at her. They spoke no more. She believed that he knew she had been lying; but she had been caught unawares, and could not retract her assertions. Without a further word she began to prepare a basin of water, and washed herself. Then she went to ask that tea might be brought to the bedroom. They drank the tea in silence, both very grave. When they had finished, Sally took the tray to the end of the passage, where there was a projecting ledge, and then returned to the room.

"Shall I go and sing to you?" she asked.

"Not ... not now. Go for your wa ... walk. I shan't have any dinner. I'll just have a cup of cocoa."

Cocoa! Sally was transfixed.

"Oh, not _cocoa_!" she cried. "Not _cocoa_!" It was a desperate appeal. It came from the depths of her heart. She had been alarmed at his speech. She had been afraid of what he might do. But more than all she was afraid of the horrible voice that had followed fear with its imaginings of the means to her own salvation. At his further silence, she went quickly out of the room and out of the hotel. She walked at a rapid pace along the avenue, where others also were walking, as it was a favourite promenade; and she found herself shaking with emotion as the result of the disclosure which Gaga had made. He knew. He _knew_. What did he know? And what would he do? Sally laughed hysterically. Oh, let him do it _soon_! It was suspense that she could not bear. It was the ghastly sense of muddle and falsehood that was oppressing her now. Death--punishment--these were things of indifference. It was the fear of either that made her torture. To know the worst, to face it, to suffer for all she had done that was wrong, would satisfy her. But to be kept in this horrible suspense much longer would send her mad. Why had she not told Gaga the truth? She began hysterically to condemn herself. She should have told him the truth. She should have said that Toby was an old lover, jealous, angry, threatening. Now she could not tell any such tale, because she had denied that a man had used her name. To confess would make him disbelieve anything she ever said. Sally shrugged. He did not believe her now. He would never believe her. Once he was well he would find out everything. He would suspect her. He would persecute her with suspicions. He would suspect that she was going to have a baby. He would suspect ... he would _know_....

Creeping, creeping into Sally's mind came temptation. She walked more swiftly until she reached a part of the road which bordered the river. The water was less muddy here. The river looked in this aspect like a big pool of liquid lead. It was less sinister. It carried to her heart no sense of horror. She turned and began to walk back, meeting every now and then a couple of pedestrians, or little knots of people, or solitary individuals like herself, who strolled to and fro along the broad avenue. But it was very dark, and she could not well see the faces of those who passed, except when they were in the neighbourhood of a light. She did not recognise anybody; and when she came once more to the bridge she did not tarry, but walked straight across it. Upon the face of the river were reflected the lights of the hotel, for the balcony was now faintly illumined, and she could see that the curtains had been drawn at the corner windows, although not elsewhere. Again unperceived, she made her way upstairs and into the drawing-room, where she removed her coat and hat and seated herself at the piano.

xxi

But Sally did not stay at the piano. She was restless and apprehensive. She did not dare to strike a note, in case Gaga should be asleep. And she could not go into the bedroom. She tried to do so, but she so shrank from meeting Gaga after their talk that every impulse held her faltering here. Instead, Sally went through the door which led from the drawing-room to the balcony. Only one light was burning, at the farther end, and this cast such a tiny ray that it threw up the shadows of no more than a single enamelled iron table and wicker chair. For the rest, everything was in a monotonous grey twilight, bereft of all incidental colourings and of all significance. The electric bulb was grimed with age and the action of the air, and the light was quite yellow, as that from an oil lamp would have been. The matting with which the floor of the balcony was covered was in shadow. Through the windows Sally could see only a blackness in which the water and the opposite bank and the buildings farther away were all obscured. She went towards the light, and sat here in an armchair, staring straight before her, and thinking the one word ... poison ... poison ... poison.

She must have been sitting upon the balcony for several minutes in this state approaching stupor, when she heard a faint sound. It was like the brushing of leaves against a passing body. Her heart quickened, and she looked quickly towards the darker end of the balcony, near the door leading to the drawing-room. She could see nothing at all, but her nerves did not relax their tenseness. She could see nothing; but she felt that something--somebody was there, watching her. Somebody--whom could it be? Sally knew how deserted the bar was, how easy it would be for a man to slip up the stairs without being seen. She was defenceless. If she had been well, she would have gone straight along the balcony, to discover the cause of her alarm; but she was ill, and she shrank back in her chair, watching the pulsing dimness.

Sally knew that there were only two people who could wish her harm--Gaga and Toby. If Gaga had gone out of his bedroom by the inner door he might have come round through the drawing-room, and might be standing there in the darkness. He might have gone away again. He might have found the poison. In a passion of fear, she rose. If it was Gaga, she would soon confront him. She would satisfy herself of his presence in the bedroom. She took two steps, and then stopped, her heart frantically beating. There _was_ somebody there.

"Sally," came a sharp whisper. "Sally. Don't be afraid."

It was Toby, hidden still from sight, but waiting there at the dark end of the balcony.

xxii

Sally's eyes flew instantly to the window of the bedroom. All there was dark. She could not tell if the blinds were drawn or not. She no longer dreaded Toby: she too violently desired to see him, to be in his arms and saved from her nightmare thoughts by a moment's oblivion.

"Hush!" she whispered, and went silently along the balcony. "What d'you want?"

"I want you." Toby's voice came hissing into her ear, and she saw him at last. He was standing, a burly figure, in the shadow of a screen, and remained quite still, hidden.

"What did you come for? How did you get here?"

"Went to your house. Frightened 'em." Toby laughed grimly. "Thought you'd got away, didn't you? Well, here I am." His tone became suddenly ferocious. "See?"

"You can't ... we can't talk. My husband's there--in that room. He'll hear. He saw you last night."

"I got to see you," Toby whispered, obstinately. "See? I mean to say, I got to know what you're going to do."

Sally gave a contemptuous laugh. So he had followed her for that!

"Well, I'm well rid of _you_," she answered. "I see what _you_ are."

"Oh, you do, do you...." said Toby. He gripped her arm. "Not so much of that, Sal. D'you see? I won't have it. You belong to me."

"I don't!" But Sally was only waiting for his fierce embrace, and longing for it. "I don't like you. I don't want you. I've had enough. You let me down."

Toby started. His voice became thick with anger.

"My Christ! Who let anybody down? What did you do to me? Eh? You married this chap. You did it for yourself. Let you down, do I? Oh, I'm a good mind to kill you, Sal."

Sally shivered. She knew he might do it. He _could_ do it. It was his nature. But she answered him defiantly, sneeringly.

"Yes, if you want to be hung for it."

Toby was holding her so that her arms were being bruised. He pulled her towards him, and kissed her again and again. He was crushing her.

"See?" he said. "That's how you belong to me."

"Well, what about it?" panted Sally. "Let me go.... Just because you're strong."

"You're coming off with me. See? Now."

"I'm not." She was equally determined.

"Now. Can you get your hat?"

"I'm not," repeated Sally.

Toby swung her off her feet with one arm.

"See?" he announced again. "That's what."

"Go on, that's all you can do," answered Sally, savagely. "You clear off. I've had enough of it." She dived suddenly, and escaped from him. She was a few steps away, and Toby was in pursuit. As he followed, he kicked against one of the little iron tables, which he had not seen in the half-light, and sent it crashing to the floor. Amid their silence it made a hideous noise. Sally drew herself upright, terrified into rigidity. This was the finish--the finish. It was all over now. She was beaten. She.... And as she stared she saw that the French window of the bedroom was open--had been open, perhaps, all the time,--and that Gaga was standing there, as if he had overheard all that they had said.

"Sally!" he cried in a sharp voice of alarm. "Oh, my God! Oh, my _God_!"

Gaga came leaping out upon the balcony as Toby stumbled on towards Sally. The two men were sharply in conflict, and Gaga's arm was raised. She could see it even in the shadow--the raised arm, and the impact of the two bodies. Gaga was in his sleeping-suit, spectral in his gauntness and his pallor. Maddened, Toby swept his enemy aside with one violent blow that would have killed the strongest man. Gaga went down, his head and body thrown with great force against the brick wall of the hotel, and sliding to the ground with such momentum that there was a further concussion.

"Toby!" shrieked Sally. "Toby! You've killed him!"

Gaga lay in the shadow, quite motionless, a horrible twisted body without life. And the two others stood panting in the twilight, staring down at his ghastly upturned face. Toby was as if paralysed by the sight, his hand sleepily raised to his brow.

A voice sounded from downstairs.

"Did you call, Mrs. Merrick?" And then ascending steps followed.

Sally made a frantic gesture.

"Get out!" she cried. "Quick. They're coming. They'll find you. He's dead. Get out!" She waved to the windows.

With one glance round, and with fear at his heels, Toby ran to the side of the balcony, pulled aside one of the windows, and climbed out into the darkness. Sally saw him no more. She was only aware that something terrible happened, and that he missed his footing and plunged downwards towards the running water and the sickening mud. Then, as she convulsively jerked the window close again, she was overcome with deadly faintness, and herself fell upon the matting, striking her head as she fell, and losing consciousness.