Chapter 46

FROM the withdrawing of the tide until sundown the pool had reflected and absorbed the light and heat of the day. The water was still warm. It had not seemed so to Lisle, but she became aware of it now when the new cold water brought by the rising tide came eddying in against her breast, against her shoulders, rocking her from her unsteady footing. She held to the belt with one hand and steadied herself against the rocky wall with the other.

The new cold ripple ebbed, came again, rocking, chilling, lifting her – ebb and flow, and ebb and flow again – a tide within a tide, but each flow stronger and colder than the last.

The time came when Rafe’s hand, reaching downwards, closed on her wrist. For Lisle the worst was over then. For Rafe all the hardest part was yet to come. The rock on which he lay was slimy with weed. There was nothing to hold to. He had perforce to wait until the water was within three feet of the brink before he could get Lisle over it. She was numb and exhausted. He would have to get her out between the rocks to the sandy ridge, then round the point and in, between the rocks on the other side – just the one possible channel in either case, where the shingle spit ran in on this side and the tongue of sand upon the other. Both were deep under the water now, since the tide, which had been held up by the ridge, was by this time well over it, flooding all the lower levels.

If he had not known every rock on the beach, every twist of the channel, it would have been a very forlorn hope indeed. Even in daylight no one in his senses would have attempted to find his way amongst these formidable and jagged rocks with no real depth of water over them. The worst of them were upon this side of the Shepstone Wall. If he could reach the ridge with Lisle he could bring her in. But he had to reach the ridge. At all times a poor swimmer, she was in no case to help herself or him.

He made her float, and sliding down into the water, began to pilot her towards the ridge, swimming slowly and with extreme caution, one arm about her, his eyes straining to find each landmark.

The summer sky is never quite dark. On a clear July night there is always a faint, mysterious light under which shapes and masses appear without detail but with varying degrees of solidity. To Rafe these vague shapes possessed their unseen contours. There was not one of them which he could not call from its obscurity and see it in his mind as he had seen it unnumbered times under the light of day.

He moved slowly but with the certainty which comes of custom and practice. Lisle lay passive in the water. She might have been unconscious. He wondered if she were. He could see her face as a pale oval.

Lisle was not unconscious, but her consciousness was of a curious kind. It had limits. Within these limits she could think, but beyond them all was as vague, as dimmed as the sea in which she floated. She was not afraid any more. She was quite safe. Rafe said so. She was safe, but she was cold and very tired. She wanted above all things in the world to lie down and sleep. She felt the movement of the water. She felt Rafe’s arm. She did not know how time passed. She knew that they moved, but she did not know when they turned the point and began to head towards their own beach. She hardly knew when they reached it.

Rafe’s voice calling her – Rafe’s hands pulling her up, setting her on her feet – his arm hard about her-

“Can you walk? Better for you if you can. Can you get to the steps? I can’t leave you here with the tide coming in. Put your arm round my neck and try.”

They got to the steps. They got up them. He was taking most of her weight. At each stage of that journey it seemed as if there was no strength left for the next, yet each stage was accomplished. From the water’s edge to the sea wall. From the wall up the long ride, so green by day, so dark and shadowy now. On, and on, and on among the statues and cypresses of the Italian garden. Across the terrace, and at long last to the house.

There was still a light in the hall. To come into it was like coming back from the other side of another world than this. Lisle roused enough to know how cold she was. And then William was there, and Rafe was telling him that she had had an accident and he must get Lizzie and one of the other maids at once.

The things that happened after that slid vaguely across the dulled surface of her consciousness – Lizzie and Mary being kind – a hot bath – something hot to drink – her own bed. These things slid past like a succession of dreams. They were not so much happiness as impressions. Then, striking through them, something that penetrated the numbness – Rafe’s hand on hers – Rafe’s voice-

“You’re quite safe, Lisle. Lizzie will stay with you. Can you hear me? You’re quite safe.”

She said, “Yes.”

The sense of safety came in like a flood. She sank through it into the deepest waters of sleep.

Chapter 47

RAFE JERNINGHAM came into the study and shut the door. It was a few minutes short of midnight. He sat down at Dale’s table, took the receiver from the telephone, and called the Tanfield aerodrome. The voice which answered was a familiar one.

“Hullo!”

“Hullo, Mac! Rafe Jerningham speaking. Has my cousin taken his plane up?”

Mac’s voice came back to him with its Scottish burr.

“Well, I’m not sure. There was a bit of a hold-up. Johnson was working on the plane, and I’m not just sure if he got off or not. Are you wanting him?”

“Yes. Look here, Mac, if he hasn’t gone, get hold of him. There’s been an accident up here – will you tell him that. Ask him to come and speak to me.”

“I hope it’s nothing bad-”

Rafe said, “Bad enough.”

He heard Mac’s footsteps go away, sounding unnaturally loud in the empty, echoing place. They went over the edge of sound and were gone. He waited for those other footsteps – Dale’s footsteps – hurrying to hear that Lisle was dead. The room was very still.

The footsteps came at last – the quick, impatient steps of a man who is in no mind to be kept waiting. Then the sound of the receiver being snatched up, and Dale’s voice.

“That you, Rafe? What is it?”

“There’s been an accident.”

“Who?”

“Lisle. I found her.”

“Where?”

“In one of those pools beyond the Shepstone Rocks.”

“Dead?”

“No – alive.”

There was a smashing silence. Not the faintest sound from all those things which that one word must have sent down in ruin. Then, after what seemed a long time, Dale’s voice:

“Is she – hurt?”

“No.”

“Conscious?”

“Perfectly.”

“Has she been talking?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Then Dale Jerningham said,

“I see.” And then, “What happens next?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Meaning there’s no compromise?”

“How can there be?”

There was another pause. Dale laughed.

“Bit of a meddler – aren’t you! Why couldn’t you leave well alone? Just out of curiosity I’d like to know how you found her.”

“Footprints on the sand – two lots going, and only one coming back.”

“I see – the odd chance. You can’t fight your luck. It’s been against me all along. Well? Do you import March into this?”

“Bound to. There’s Pell-”

“All right, carry on. There’s a letter on my dressing-table in a blank envelope – you might retrieve it. Well, that’s all – I’m just going up. You’ll hear me come over in a minute. So long!” The receiver clicked. The line was dead.

Rafe hung up at his end and got to his feet. He stood there for a moment under the light, looking up at the picture over the hearth. Giles Jerningham, sometime Lord Chief Justice of England, looked sternly back at him.

Presently he turned and went out of the room, switching off the light as he went.