As it was, leaving the room, I stumbled, not looking where I was going, catching my foot on the step by the door, and Frith came forward to help me, picking up my handkerchief, while Robert, the young footman, who was standing behind the screen, turned away to hide his smile.
I heard the murmur of their voices as I crossed the hall, and one of them laughed—Robert, I supposed. Perhaps they were laughing about me. I went upstairs again, to the privacy of my bedroom, but when I opened the door I found the housemaids in there doing the room; one was sweeping the floor, the other dusting the dressing table. They looked at me in surprise. I quickly went out again. It could not be right, then, for me to go to my room at that hour in the morning. It was not expected of me. It broke the household routine. I crept downstairs once more, silently, thankful of my slippers that made no sound on the stone flags, and so into the library, which was chilly, the windows flung wide open, the fire laid but not lit.
I shut the windows, and looked round for a box of matches. I could not find one. I wondered what I should do. I did not like to ring. But the library, so snug and warm last night with the burning logs, was like an icehous now, in the early morning. There were matches upstairs in the bedroom, but I did not like to go for them because it would mean disturbing the housemaids at their work. I could not bear their moon faces staring at me again. I decided that when Frith and Robert had left the dining room I would fetch the matches from the sideboard. I tiptoed out into the hall and listened. They were still clearing, I could hear the sound of voices, and the movement of trays. Presently all was silent, they must have gone through the service doors into the kitchen quarters, so I went across the hall and into the dining room once more. Yes, there was a box of matches on the sideboard, as I expected. I crossed the room quickly and picked them up, and as I did so Frith came back into the room. I tried to cram the box furtively into my pocket, but I saw him glance at my hand in surprise.
“Did you require anything, Madam?” he said.
“Oh, Frith,” I said awkwardly, “I could not find any matches.” He at once proffered me another box, handing me the cigarettes too, at the same time. This was another embarrassment, for I did not smoke.
“No, the fact is,” I said, “I felt rather cool in the library, I suppose the weather seems chilly to me, after being abroad and I thought perhaps I would just put a match to the fire.”
“The fire in the library is not usually lit until the afternoon, Madam,” he said. “Mrs. de Winter always used the morning room. There is a good fire in there. Of course if you should wish to have the fire in the library as well I will give orders for it to be lit.”
“Oh, no,” I said, “I would not dream of it. I will go into the morning room. Thank you, Frith.”
“You will find writing paper, and pens, and ink, in there, Madam,” he said. “Mrs. de Winter always did all her correspondence and telephoning in the morning room, after breakfast. The house telephone is also there, should you wish to speak to Mrs. Danvers.”
“Thank you, Frith,” I said.
I turned away into the hall again, humming a little tune to give me an air of confidence. I could not tell him that I had never seen the morning room, that Maxim had not shown it to me the night before. I knew he was standing in the entrance to the dining room, watching me, as I went across the hall, and that I must make some show of knowing my way. There was a door to the left of the great staircase, and I went recklessly towards it, praying in my heart that it would take me to my goal, but when I came to it and opened it I saw that it was a garden room, a place for odds and ends: there was a table where flowers were done, there were basket chairs stacked against the wall, and a couple of mackintoshes too, hanging on a peg. I came out, a little defiantly, glancing across the hall, and saw Frith still standing there. I had not deceived him, though, not for a moment.
“You go through the drawing room to the morning room, Madam,” he said, “through the door there, on your right, this side of the staircase. You go straight through the double drawing room, and turn to your left.”
“Thank you, Frith,” I said humbly, pretending no longer.
I went through the long drawing room, as he had directed; a lovely room this, beautifully proportioned, looking out upon the lawns down to the sea. The public would see this room, I supposed, and Frith, if he showed them round, would know the history of the pictures on the wall, and the period of the furniture. It was beautiful of course, I knew that, and those chairs and tables probably without price, but for all that I had no wish to linger there; I could not see myself sitting ever in those chairs, standing before that carved mantelpiece, throwing books down onto the tables. It had all the formality of a room in a museum, where alcoves were roped off, and a guardian, in cloak and hat like the guides in the French chateaux, sat in a chair beside the door. I went through then, and turned to the left, and so onto the little morning room I had not seen before.