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‘He got into trouble. He was fixed. He wasn’t the kind of man to know about human nature and all its rottenness.’
‘A pity,’ said Gerald. ‘But perhaps, even so, this isn’t the best place for him?’
‘It’s the worst,’ said the Commandant, a dark flame in his eyes. ‘For him or anyone else.’
Again Phrynne shifted in her sleep: this time more convulsively, so that she nearly awoke. For some reason the two men remained speechless and motionless until she was again breathing steadily. Against the silence within, the bells sounded louder than ever. It was as if the tumult were tearing holes in the roof.
‘It’s certainly a very noisy place,’ said Gerald, still in an undertone.
‘Why did you have to come tonight of all nights?’ The Commandant spoke in the same undertone, but his vehemence was extreme.
‘This doesn’t happen often?’
‘Once every year.’
‘They should have told us.’
‘They don’t usually accept bookings. They’ve no right to accept them. When Pascoe was in charge they never did.’
‘I expect that Mrs Pascoe felt they were in no position to turn away business.’
‘It’s not a matter that should be left to a woman.’
‘Not much alternative surely?’
‘At heart women are creatures of darkness all the time.’
The Commandant’s seriousness and bitterness left Gerald without a reply.
‘My wife doesn’t mind the bells,’ he said after a moment. ‘In fact she rather likes them.’ The Commandant really was converting a nuisance, though an acute one, into a melodrama.
The Commandant turned and gazed at him. It struck Gerald that what he had just said in some way, for the Commandant, placed Phrynne also in a category of the lost.
‘Take her away, man,’ said the Commandant, with scornful ferocity.
‘In a day or two perhaps,’ said Gerald, patiently polite. ‘I admit that we are disappointed with Holihaven.’
‘Now. While there’s still time. This instant.’
There was an intensity of conviction about the Commandant which was alarming.
Gerald considered. Even the empty Lounge, with its dreary decorations and commonplace furniture, seemed inimical. ‘They can hardly go on practising all night,’ he said. But now it was fear that hushed his voice.
‘Practising!’ The Commandant’s scorn flickered coldly through the overheated room.
‘What else?’
‘They’re ringing to wake the dead.’
A tremor of wind in the flue momentarily drew on the already roaring fire. Gerald had turned very pale.
‘That’s a figure of speech,’ he said, hardly to be heard.
‘Not in Holihaven.’ The Commandant’s gaze had returned to the fire.
Gerald looked at Phrynne. She was breathing less heavily. His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘What happens?’
The Commandant also was nearly whispering. ‘No one can tell how long they have to go on ringing. It varies from year to year. I don’t know why. You should be all right up to midnight. Probably for some while after. In the end the dead awake. First one or two: then all of them. Tonight even the sea draws back. You have seen that for yourself. In a place like this there are always several drowned each year. This year there’ve been more than several. But even so that’s only a few. Most of them come not from the water but from the earth. It is not a pretty sight.’
