On the table there, polished now and plain, an ugly case would stand containing butterflies and moths, and another one with birds’ eggs, wrapped in cotton wool. “Not all this junk in here,” I would say, “take them to the schoolroom, darlings,” and they would run off, shouting, calling to one another, but the little one staying behind, pottering on his own, quieter than the others.
My vision was disturbed by the opening of the door, and Frith came in with the footman to clear the tea. “Mrs. Danvers wondered, Madam, whether you would like to see your room,” he said to me, when the tea had been taken away.
Maxim glanced up from his letters. “What sort of job have they made of the east wing?” he said.
“Very nice indeed, sir, it seems to me; the men made a mess when they were working, of course, and for a time Mrs. Danvers was rather afraid it would not be finished by your return. But they cleared out last Monday. I should imagine you would be very comfortable there, sir; it’s a lot lighter of course on that side of the house.”
“Have you been making alterations?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing much,” said Maxim briefly, “only redecorating and painting the suite in the east wing, which I thought we would use for ours. As Frith says, it’s much more cheerful on that side of the house, and it has a lovely view of the rose garden. It was the visitors’ wing when my mother was alive. I’ll just finish these letters and then I’ll come up and join you. Run along and make friends with Mrs. Danvers; it’s a good opportunity.”
I got up slowly, my old nervousness returning, and went out into the hall. I wished I could have waited for him, and then, taking his arm, seen the rooms together. I did not want to go alone, with Mrs. Danvers. How vast the great hall looked now that it was empty. My feet rang on the flagged stones, echoing to the ceiling, and I felt guilty at the sound, as one does in church, self-conscious, aware of the same constraint. My feet made a stupid pitter-patter as I walked, and I thought that Frith, with his felt soles, must have thought me foolish.
“It’s very big, isn’t it?” I said, too brightly, too forced, a schoolgirl still, but he answered me in all solemnity.
“Yes, Madam, Manderley is a big place. Not so big as some, of course, but big enough. This was the old banqueting hall, in old days. It is used still on great occasions, such as a big dinner, or a ball. And the public are admitted here, you know, once a week.”
“Yes,” I said, still aware of my loud footsteps, feeling, as I followed him, that he considered me as he would one of the public visitors, and I behaved like a visitor too, glancing politely to right and left, taking in the weapons on the wall, and the pictures, touching the carved staircase with my hands.
A black figure stood waiting for me at the head of the stairs, the hollow eyes watching me intently from the white skull’s face. I looked round for the solid Frith, but he had passed along the hall and into the further corridor.
I was alone now with Mrs. Danvers. I went up the great stairs towards her, and she waited motionless, her hands folded before her, her eyes never leaving my face. I summoned a smile, which was not returned, nor did I blame her, for there was no purpose to the smile, it was a silly thing, bright and artificial. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” I said.
“It’s for you to make your own time, Madam,” she answered, “I’m here to carry out your orders,” and then she turned, through the archway of the gallery, to the corridor beyond. We went along a broad, carpeted passage, and then turned left, through an oak door, and down a narrow flight of stairs and up a corresponding flight, and so to another door. This she flung open, standing aside to let me pass, and I came to a little anteroom, or boudoir, furnished with a sofa, chairs, and writing desk, which opened out to a large double bedroom with wide windows and a bathroom beyond. I went at once to the window, and looked out. The rose garden lay below, and the eastern part of the terrace, while beyond the rose garden rose a smooth grass bank, stretching to the near woods.
“You can’t see the sea from here, then,” I said, turning to Mrs. Danvers.
“No, not from this wing,” she answered; “you can’t even hear it, either. You would not know the sea was anywhere near, from this wing.”
She spoke in a peculiar way, as though something lay behind her words, and she laid an emphasis on the words “this wing,” as if suggesting that the suite where we stood now held some inferiority.
“I’m sorry about that; I like the sea,” I said.