‘I don’t know,’ said the Baron,’ really why I continue to open my mind to you.’
At various times the Baron had described to Caroline the stages by which he had reached the conclusion that Mervyn Hogarth was a diabolist and magician. The first hint had come to him from Eleanor. ‘She told me he had previously been through a form of marriage with a witch. Eleanor had seen the witch, a repulsive woman. In fact, it was when she began to frequent the house in Ladle Sands that Eleanor left Hogarth.’
‘I shouldn’t take much account of what Eleanor says. She dramatizes a lot,’ said Caroline, and barely refrained from adding the information that Eleanor, in her college days, had been wont to send love-letters to herself. Caroline only refrained because she was not too sure if this were true.
‘My subsequent experience has borne out her allegations. My subsequent investigations have proved that Hogarth is the foremost diabolist in the kingdom. One must speak as one experiences and as one finds. You, Caroline, are no exception. Your peculiar experiences are less explicable than mine: I have the evidence. The broken plaster images: a well-known diabolic practice: the black dog. If you would only entertain the subject a little more you would see that I am right.’
So he attempted to extort sympathy from Caroline. He appeared to her more and more in the nature of a demanding creditor. ‘The result,’ she told herself, ‘of going to him with my troubles last autumn. He acted the old friend and now he wants me to do the same, which is impossible.—’
And she told him, ‘You are asking me to entertain impossible beliefs: what you claim may be true or not; I have doubts, I can’t give assent to them. For my own experiences, however, I don’t demand anyone’s belief. You may call them delusions for all I care. I have merely registered my findings.’
Caroline had been reflecting recently on the case of Laurence and his fantastic belief that his grandmother had for years been the leader of a gang of diamond-smugglers. She had considered, also, the case of the Baron and his fantastic belief in the magical powers of Mervyn Hogarth. The Baron was beginning to show a sickly resemblance to Eleanor. She thought of Eleanor with her habit of giving spontaneous utterance to stray and irresponsible accusations. Caroline found the true facts everywhere beclouded. She was aware that the book in which she was involved was still in progress. Now, when she speculated on the story, she did so privately, noting the facts as they accumulated. By now, she possessed a large number of notes, transcribed from the voices, and these she studied carefully. Her sense of being written into the novel was painful. Of her constant influence on its course she remained unaware and now she was impatient for the story to come to an end, knowing that the narrative could never become coherent to her until she was at last outside it, and at the same time consummately inside it.
Eventually she told the Baron that she simply wasn’t interested in black magic. She forbade the subject.
‘It gets on my nerves, Willi. I have no sympathy with your occult interests. Talk about something else in future.’
‘You are lost,’ he said sadly, ‘to the world of ideas. You had the makings of an inter-esting mind, I do assure you, Caroline. Ah, well!’
One morning Caroline had an unexpected caller. She had opened the door of her flat unguardedly, expecting the parcel post. For a second Caroline got the impression that nobody was there, but then immediately she saw the woman standing heavily in the doorway and recognized the indecent smile of Mrs Hogg just as she had last seen it at St Philumena’ s.
‘May I have a word with you, Miss Rose?’ Already the woman was in the small square hall, taking up most of it.
‘I’m busy,’ Caroline said. ‘I work in the mornings. Is it anything urgent?’
Mrs Hogg glared with her little eyes. ‘It’s important,’ she said.
‘Will you come inside, then?’
She seated herself in Caroline’s own chair and cast her eyes on the notebook in which Caroline had been writing. It was lying on a side table. Caroline leant forward and snapped the book shut.
‘There is a Baron Stock,’ said Mrs Hogg. ‘He was in your flat till after one o’clock this morning. He was in your flat till after two on Wednesday morning. You were in his flat till after midnight twice the week before last. If you think you are going to catch Laurence Manders with this carry-on —’
‘You are insolent,’ Caroline said. ‘You’ll have to leave.’
‘Till after two on Wednesday morning. Baron Stock is more attractive than Laurence Manders, I don’t doubt, but I think it low behaviour and so would everyone —’
‘Take yourself off,’ said Caroline.
She left, pathetic and lumpy as a public response. Caroline seized the phone angrily and rang Helena.
‘Would you mind calling off your Mrs Hogg. She’s just been round here making wild insinuations about my private life, citing Willi Stock. She must have been watching my flat for weeks. Haven’t you any control over the woman? I do think, Helena, you are far too soft with that woman. She’s a beast. If there’s any more trouble I shall simply call the police, tell her that.’
‘Dear me. I haven’t seen Mrs Hogg for months. I
‘You ought not to recommend Mrs Hogg for jobs. She’s quite vile.’
‘Oh, one tries to be charitable. I shall speak severely. Did she upset you seriously, Caroline?’
‘No, she did not. I mean, she did, yes. But it’s not what she says, it’s what she is.’
‘She’s not all there,’ said Helena.
Presently, Caroline sprayed the room with a preparation for eliminating germs and insects.
NINE
‘Wonderful to have a whole day unplanned,’ Caroline said. ‘It’s like a blank sheet of paper to be filled in according to inspiration.’
It was summer, on a day which Laurence described as absolutely perfect for a riverside picnic. They chose their spot and got the luncheon boxes out of the car. It was Laurence’s day off. Helena too had decided to have a day off.
