“Come on, Jasper,” I shouted, “run, run with me, come on, can’t you?” and I tore across the grass, savagely, angrily, the bitter tears behind my eyes, with Jasper leaping at my heels and barking hysterically.
The news soon spread about the fancy dress ball. My little maid Clarice, her eyes shining with excitement, talked of nothing else. I gathered from her that the servants in general were delighted. “Mr. Frith says it will be like old times,” said Clarice eagerly. “I heard him saying so to Alice in the passage this morning. What will you wear, Madam?”
“I don’t know, Clarice, I can’t think,” I said.
“Mother said I was to be sure and tell her,” said Clarice. “She remembers the last ball they gave at Manderley, and she has never forgotten it. Will you be hiring a costume from London, do you think?”
“I haven’t made up my mind, Clarice,” I said. “But I tell you what. When I do decide, I shall tell you and nobody else. It will be a dead secret between us both.”
“Oh, Madam, how exciting,” breathed Clarice. “I don’t know how I am going to wait for the day.”
I was curious to know Mrs. Danvers’ reaction to the news. Since that afternoon I dreaded even the sound of her voice down the house telephone, and by using Robert as mediator between us I was spared this last ordeal. I could not forget the expression of her face when she left the library after that interview with Maxim. I thanked God she had not seen me crouching in the gallery. And I wondered too, if she thought that it was I who had told Maxim about Favell’s visit to the house. If so, she would hate me more than ever. I shuddered now when I remembered the touch of her hand on my arm, and that dreadful soft, intimate pitch of her voice close to my ear. I did not want to remember anything about that afternoon. That was why I did not speak to her, not even on the house telephone.
The preparations went on for the ball. Everything seemed to be done down at the estate office. Maxim and Frank were down there every morning. As Frank had said, I did not have to bother my head about anything. I don’t think I licked one stamp. I began to get in a panic about my costume. It seemed so feeble not to be able to think of anything, and I kept remembering all the people who would come, from Kerrith and round about, the bishop’s wife who had enjoyed herself so much, the last time, Beatrice and Giles, that tiresome Lady Crowan, and many more people I did not know and who had never seen me, they would every one of them have some criticism to offer, some curiosity to know what sort of effort I should make. At last, in desperation, I remembered the books that Beatrice had given me for a wedding-present, and I sat down in the library one morning turning over the pages as a last hope, passing from illustration to illustration in a sort of frenzy. Nothing seemed suitable, they were all so elaborate and pretentious, those gorgeous costumes of velvet and silk in the reproductions given of Rubens, Rembrandt and others. I got hold of a piece of paper and a pencil and copied one or two of them, but they did not please me, and I threw the sketches into the wastepaper basket in disgust, thinking no more about them.
In the evening, when I was changing for dinner, there was a knock at my bedroom door. I called “Come in,” thinking it was Clarice. The door opened and it was not Clarice. It was Mrs. Danvers. She held a piece of paper in her hand. “I hope you will forgive me disturbing you,” she said, “but I was not sure whether you meant to throw these drawings away. All the wastepaper baskets are always brought to me to check, at the end of the day, in case of mislaying anything of value. Robert told me this was thrown into the library basket.”
I had turned quite cold all over at the sight of her, and at first I could not find my voice. She held out the paper for me to see. It was the rough drawing I had done during the morning.
“No, Mrs. Danvers,” I said, after a moment, “it doesn’t matter throwing that away. It was only a rough sketch. I don’t want it.”
“Very good,” she said, “I thought it better to inquire from you personally to save any misunderstanding.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I thought she would turn and go, but she went on standing there by the door.
“So you have not decided yet what you will wear?” she said. There was a hint of derision in her voice, a trace of odd satisfaction. I supposed she had heard of my efforts through Clarice in some way.
“No,” I said. “No, I haven’t decided.”
She continued watching me, her hand on the handle of the door.