Yet, she was still sleepy.
She swung over the edge of the bed, looked down and saw that the floor appeared to be a hundred miles away, impossibly distant, quite out of reach. Her stomach churned at this confused perspective; she felt as if she were going to be physically ill. She fought down that urge, aware that her body was merely seeking another excuse for her to remain in bed. Putting her feet down on the thick carpet, she pushed against the mattress and stood up, swaying like a drunkard. She grasped the headboard of the bed to steady herself, regained her balance, let go and stood entirely on her own power, feeble as an old woman, but up and around nonetheless.
She decided she would shower, change into shorts and a blouse, then go for a walk, perhaps even down to the beach to take in the last of the day's best sunshine and the cool breezes which would be coming in across the choppy water. She should always, she reminded herself, return to the scene of any trouble, rather than flee from it; flight was escape, just as sleep was, and she couldn't afford to be cowardly.
Certainly, sleep was not the answer; and rest was the wrong solution: indeed, these were clearly only parts of the problem.
She went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, worked the twin faucets until the spray was just stingingly hot enough. She let the water stream over her, until she was beet red, then finished the ordeal with a bracing explosion of the cold water, a galvanizing experience which brought her more fully to her senses than she had been all day.
She dressed casually and went to the window where she could look out at the sea, as if challenging it and all the associations that it had lately come to have. A few minutes later, still weary but ready, she left her room and went downstairs.
FOURTEEN
William Barnaby responded to his wife's summons, followed her quickly down the long front hall and joined her by the largest of the front windows, half-hidden by thick draperies, where they had an unobstructed view of the lawn. Out there, Gwyn stood by a small fountain, intent upon the four marble cherubs that poured real water out of marble vases into a small but lovely reflecting pool.
“Christ!” Barnaby said, punching the palm of his left hand with his right fist. “She's supposed to be kept in bed.”
Elaine said, “I couldn't stop her.”
“Why couldn't you?”
“I caught her when she was here at the door, ready to go out, and she was adamant. She said the worst thing she could do was sleep away the rest of the day.”
“She's right — but that's wrong for us.” Without taking his eyes off his niece, he said, “Why weren't you upstairs in her room, watching over her?”
“I can't be there twenty-four hours a day,” Elaine said.
“But you're supposed to be there when she wakes up,” he said. “That's a chore you said you'd be able to handle the best.”
“Normally—”
“We can't afford excuses,” he said. “We have to be right in the first place.”
“I was not trying to shirk my responsibility; I did not intend to give you any excuses,” she said, a hint of anger tinting her voice. “All I meant to do was give you the facts of the situation.” When he did not respond to her, when his eyes did not drift away from Gwyn for a moment, Elaine went on: “The facts are that she was given a powdered sedative in her orange juice at breakfast, and should have slept nearly until supper-time. I'm sure she woke, on and off, but she shouldn't have had the desire or the energy to get out of bed.”
“But she did.”
“Obviously.”
“Are you certain she was given enough of the sedative?”
“Positive”
“Next time, increase the dosage.”
“But we don't want her totally unconscious,” Elaine said. “We want her to wake up, on and off, so she can realize what's happening to her — so she'll think the old sickness is coming back.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. “But we don't want her out of the house again. If she should stumble upon something—”
“Like what?”
He had no answer.
“We've planned this well,” she said. “Gwyn's not going to stumble across anything, because we've not left any loose ends lying around.”
“She's heading for the steps,” he said.
Elaine looked out in time to see Gwyn started down for the beach, soon out of sight.
Will turned away from the window, a scowl on his face that made him look ten years older than he was. He walked swiftly toward the front door and pulled it open.
“Wait!”
He looked back at her.
She said, “Where are you going?”
“To follow her.”
“Is that wise?”
“I want to know what she's up to,” he said.
“She's just going for a walk on the beach.”
“That's what she told you, but she may have been lying,” he said.
“Will, she doesn't suspect that we're involved in this, that it's all a put-up job. She thinks that she's losing her sanity. You've talked to her; you know. She hasn't any reason to be suspicious of us, of anyone in the manor.”
He hesitated.
She said, “Let her go. She'll be back soon enough, all worn out and even more of a candidate for the sleep treatment.”
“What if she meets that Younger kid again?” he asked.
“So what if she does?”
“I don't like her talking with him.”
“What could happen?”
“She might tell him about the ghost.”
“And he'd think she was crazy. That couldn't hurt our plans any.”
He wiped a hand across his face, as if sloughing off his weariness, and he said, “Just the same, there's a chance, no matter how slight, that Younger will believe her, or part of what she says. Or perhaps he'll be able to convince her of the truth about Lamplight Cove. And, remember, she doesn't know what's happened at Jenkins' Niche just this morning. Any fragment of the truth might shatter the whole illusion.”
“Will, she simply won't take the word of someone like Younger — not against your word. Can't you see how much it means to her to have a family life again? She will swallow whatever you tell her.”
He frowned and said, “I wouldn't trust to that. After all, she's Younger's type, not mine, with a gutter heritage not unlike his. She and I are from different worlds; she and Younger are brother and sister below the surface, products of the same kind of parents. No, we have got to keep her away from everyone else, make sure her only contact is with the people in this house — until we've got her in the state we want.”
“Suppose she sees you following her.”
“She won't.”
“But suppose she does. Won't that do more to shatter the illusion of the loving uncle than anything Younger might be able to persuade her of?”
He hesitated.
