I tapped on the glass and told the chauffeur to stop.
“I think I’ll get out and walk with Mr. Crawley,” I said.
He opened the door for me. “Been paying calls, Mrs. de Winter?” he said.
“Yes, Frank,” I said. I called him Frank because Maxim did, but he would always call me Mrs. de Winter. He was that sort of person. Even if we had been thrown on a desert island together and lived there in intimacy for the rest of our lives, I should have been Mrs. de Winter.
“I’ve been calling on the bishop,” I said, “and I found the bishop out, but the bishop’s lady was at home. She and the bishop are very fond of walking. Sometimes they do twenty miles a day, in the Pennines.”
“I don’t know that part of the world,” said Frank Crawley; “they say the country round is very fine. An uncle of mine used to live there.”
It was the sort of remark Frank Crawley always made. Safe, conventional, very correct.
“The bishop’s wife wants to know when we are going to give a Fancy Dress ball at Manderley,” I said, watching him out of the tail of my eye. “She came to the last one, she said, and enjoyed it very much. I did not know you have Fancy Dress dances here, Frank.”
He hesitated a moment before replying. He looked a little troubled. “Oh, yes,” he said after a moment, “the Manderley ball was generally an annual affair. Everyone in the county came. A lot of people from London too. Quite a big show.”
“It must have taken a lot of organization,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I suppose,” I said carelessly, “Rebecca did most of it?”
I looked straight ahead of me along the drive, but I could see his face was turned towards me, as though he wished to read my expression.
“We all of us worked pretty hard,” he said quietly.
There was a funny reserve in his manner as he said this, a certain shyness that reminded me of my own. I wondered suddenly if he had been in love with Rebecca. His voice was the sort of voice I should have used in his circumstances, had this been so. The idea opened up a new field of possibilities. Frank Crawley being so shy, so dull, he would never have told anyone, least of all Rebecca.
“I’m afraid I should not be much use if we have a dance,” I said, “I’m no earthly use at organizing anything.”
“There would be no need for you to do anything,” he said, “you would just be your self and look decorative.”
“That’s very polite of you, Frank,” I said, “but I’m afraid I should not be able to do that very well either.”
“I think you would do it excellently,” he said. Dear Frank Crawley, how tactful he was and considerate. I almost believed him. But he did not deceive me really.
“Will you ask Maxim about the ball?” I said.
“Why don’t you ask him?” he answered.
“No,” I said. “No, I don’t like to.”
We were silent then. We went on walking along the drive. Now that I had broken down my reluctance at saying Rebecca’s name, first with the bishop’s wife and now with Frank Crawley, the urge to continue was strong within me. It gave me a curious satisfaction, it acted upon me like a stimulant. I knew that in a moment or two I should have to say it again. “I was down on one of the beaches the other day,” I said, “the one with the breakwater. Jasper was being infuriating, he kept barking at the poor man with the idiot’s eyes.”
“You must mean Ben,” said Frank, his voice quite easy now; “he always potters about on the shore. He’s quite a nice fellow, you need never be frightened of him. He would not hurt a fly.”
“Oh, I wasn’t frightened,” I said. I waited a moment, humming a tune to give me confidence. “I’m afraid that cottage place is going to rack and ruin,” I said lightly. “I had to go in, to find a piece of string or something to tie up Jasper. The china is moldy and the books are being ruined. Why isn’t something done about it? It seems such a pity.”
I knew he would not answer at once. He bent down to tie up his shoe lace.
I pretended to examine a leaf on one of the shrubs. “I think if Maxim wanted anything done he would tell me,” he said, still fumbling with his shoe.
“Are they all Rebecca’s things?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I threw the leaf away and picked another, turning it over in my hands.
“What did she use the cottage for?” I asked; “it looked quite furnished. I thought from the outside it was just a boathouse.”