Chapters 7-9 | Rebecca | Bedtime Story

Chapter 7 We came to Manderley in early May,

Arriving,

So Maxim said,

With the first swallows and the bluebells.

It would be the best moment before the full flush of summer,

And in the valley the azaleas would be prodigal of scent and the blood-red rhododendrons in bloom.

We motored,

I remember,

Leaving London in the morning in a heavy shower of rain,

Coming to Manderley about five o'clock in time for tea.

I can see myself now,

Unsuitably dressed as usual,

Although a bride of seven weeks,

In a tan-colored stockinette frock,

A small fur known as a stone marten round my neck,

And overall a shapeless Macintosh,

Far too big for me and dragging to my ankles.

It was,

I thought,

A gesture to the weather,

And the length added inches to my height.

I clutched a pair of gauntlet gloves in my hands and carried a large leather handbag.

"'This is London rain,

' said Maxim when we left.

"'You wait.

The sun will be shining for you when we come to Manderley.

' And he was right,

For the clouds left us at Exeter.

They rolled away behind us,

Leaving a great blue sky above our heads and a white road in front of us.

I was glad to see the sun,

For in superstitious fashion I looked upon rain as an omen of ill-will,

And the leaden skies of London had made me silent.

"'Feeling better?

' said Maxim,

And I smiled at him,

Taking his hand,

Thinking how easy it was for him,

Going to his own home,

Wandering into the hall,

Picking up letters,

Ringing a bell for tea,

And I wondered how much he guessed of my nervousness,

And whether his question,

Feeling better,

Meant that he understood.

"'Never mind.

We'll soon be there.

I expect you want your tea,

' he said,

And he let go of my hand,

Because we had reached a bend in the road and must slow down.

I knew then that he had mistaken my silence for fatigue,

And it had not occurred to him I dreaded this arrival at Manderley as much as I had longed for it in theory.

Now the moment was upon me,

I wished it delayed.

I wanted to draw up at some wayside inn and stay there in a coffee room by an impersonal fire.

I wanted to be a traveler on the road,

A bride in love with her husband,

Not myself coming to Manderley for the first time,

The wife of Maxim de Winter.

We passed many friendly villages where the cottage windows had a kindly air.

A woman,

Holding a baby in her arms,

Smiled at me from a doorway,

While a man clanked across a road to a well,

Carrying a pail.

I wished we could have been one with them,

Perhaps their neighbors,

And that Maxim could lean over a cottage gate in the evenings,

Smoking a pipe,

Proud of a very tall hollyhock he had grown himself,

While I bustled in my kitchen,

Clean as a pin,

Laying the table for supper.

There would be an alarm clock on the dresser,

Ticking loudly,

And a row of shining plates,

While after supper Maxim would read his paper,

Boots on the fender,

And I reach for a great pile of mending in the dresser drawer.

Surely it would be peaceful and steady,

That way of living,

And easier too,

Demanding no set standard.

Only two miles further,

Said Maxim,

You see that great belt of trees,

On the brow of the hill there,

Sloping to the valley,

With a scrap of sea beyond?

That's Manderley,

And there,

Those are the woods.

I forced a smile,

And did not answer him,

Aware now of a stab of panic,

An uneasy sickness that could not be controlled.

Gone was my glad excitement,

Vanished my happy pride.

I was like a child,

Brought to her first school,

Or a little untrained maid,

Who has never left home before,

Seeking a situation.

Any measure of self-possession I had gained hitherto,

During the brief seven weeks of marriage,

Was like a rag now,

Fluttering before the wind.

It seemed to me that even the most elementary knowledge of behavior was unknown to me now.

I should not know my right hand from my left,

Whether to stand or sit,

What spoons and forks to use at dinner.

I should shed that Macintosh,

He said,

Glancing down at me.

It is not rain down here at all,

And put your funny little fur straight.

Poor lamb,

I have bustled you down here like this,

And you probably ought to have bought a lot of clothes,

In London.

It doesn't matter to me,

As long as you don't mind,

I said.

Most women think of nothing but clothes,

He said absently,

And turning a corner,

We came to a crossroad and the beginning of a high wall.

Here we are,

He said,

A new note of excitement in his voice,

And I gripped the leather seat of the car with my two hands.

The road curved,

And before us,

On the left,

Were two high iron gates,

Beside a lodge,

Open wide to the long drive beyond.

As we drove through,

I saw faces peering through the dark window of the lodge,

And a child ran round from the back,

Staring curiously.

I shrank back against the seat,

My heart beating quickly,

Knowing why the faces were at the window,

And why the child stared.

They wanted to see what I was like,

I could imagine them now,

Talking excitedly,

Laughing in the little kitchen.

Only cut sight of the top of her hat,

They would say,

She wouldn't show her face,

Oh well,

We'll know by tomorrow,

Word will come from the house.

Perhaps he guessed something of my shyness at last,

For he took my hand and kissed it,

And laughed a little,

Even as he spoke.

You mustn't mind if there's a certain amount of curiosity,

He said,

Everyone will want to know what you are like,

They have probably talked of nothing else for weeks,

You've only got to be yourself,

And they will all adore you,

And you don't have to worry about the house,

Mrs.

Danvers does everything,

Just leave it all to her,

She'll be stiff with you at first,

I dare say,

She's an extraordinary character,

But you mustn't let it worry you,

It's just her manner,

See those shrubs,

It's like a blue wall along here,

When the hydrangeas are in bloom.

I did not answer him,

For I was thinking of that self,

Who long ago,

Bought a picture postcard in a village shop,

And came out into the bright sunlight,

Twisting it in her hands,

Pleased with her purchase,

Thinking,

This will do for my album,

Manderly,

What a lovely name.

And now,

I belonged here,

This was my home,

I would write letters to people saying,

We shall be down at manderly all the summer,

You must come and see us,

And I would walk along this drive,

Strange and unfamiliar to me now,

With perfect knowledge,

Conscious of every twist and turn,

Marking and approving where the shrubs,

There a lopping of a branch,

Calling at the lodge by the iron gates,

On some friendly errand,

Saying,

Well how's the leg today,

While the old woman,

Curious no longer,

Bade me welcome to her kitchen,

I envied Maxim,

Careless and at ease,

And the little smile on his lips,

Which meant he was happy to be coming home,

It seemed remote to me,

And far too distant,

The time when I too,

Should smile and be at ease,

And I wished it could come quickly,

That I could be old even,

With gray hair,

And slow of step,

Having lived here many years,

Anything but the timid,

Foolish creature,

I felt myself to be,

The gates,

Had shut to with a crash behind us,

The dusty high road,

Was out of sight,

And I became aware,

That this was not the drive,

I had imagined,

Would be manderlies,

This was not a broad and spacious thing,

Of gravel,

Flanked with neat turf,

At either side,

Kept smooth with rake and brush,

This drive twisted and turned,

As a serpent,

Scarce wider in places than a path,

And above our heads,

Was a great colonnade of trees,

Whose branches knotted and intermingled with one another,

Making an archway for us,

Like the roof of a church,

Even the midday sun,

Would not penetrate,

The interlacing of those green leaves,

They were too thickly entwined,

One with another,

And only little flickering patches,

Of warm light,

Would come in intermittent waves,

To dabble the drive with gold,

It was very silent,

Very still,

On the high road,

There had been a gay west wind,

Blowing in my face,

Making the grass on the hedges,

Dance in unison,

But here,

There was no wind,

Even the engine of the car,

Had taken a new note,

Throbbing low,

Quieter than before,

As the drive descended to the valley,

So the trees came in upon us,

Great beaches,

With lovely smooth white stems,

Lifting their myriad branches to one another,

And other trees,

Trees I could not name,

Coming close,

So close that I could touch them with my hands,

On we went,

Over a little bridge,

That spanned a narrow stream,

And still,

This drive,

That was no drive,

Twisted and turned,

Like an enchanted ribbon,

Through the dark and silent woods,

Penetrating even deeper,

To the very heart,

Surely,

Of the forest itself,

And still,

There was no clearing,

No space to hold a house,

The length of it,

Began to nag at my nerves,

It must be this turn,

I thought,

Around that further bend,

But as I went forward,

In my seat,

I was forever disappointed,

There was no house,

No field,

No broad and friendly garden,

Nothing but the silence,

And deep woods,

The lodge gates were a memory,

And the high road,

Something belonging to another time,

Another world,

Suddenly,

I saw a clearing in the dark drive ahead,

And a patch of sky,

And in a moment,

The dark trees had thinned,

The nameless shrubs had disappeared,

And on either side of us was a wall,

Of color,

Blood red,

Reaching far above our heads,

We were amongst the rhododendrons,

There was something bewildering,

Even shocking,

About the suddenness of their discovery,

The woods had not prepared me for them,

They startled me,

With their crimson faces,

Masked,

One upon the other,

In incredible profusion,

Showing no leaf,

No twig,

Nothing but the slaughterous red,

Luscious and fantastic,

Unlike any rhododendron plant I had seen before,

I glanced at Maxim,

He was smiling,

Like them?

He said,

I told him,

Yes,

A little breathlessly,

Uncertain whether I was speaking the truth,

Or not,

For to me,

A rhododendron was a homely domestic thing,

Strictly conventional,

Mauve or pink in color,

Standing one beside the other,

In a neat round bed,

And these were monsters,

Rearing to the sky,

Masked like a batillion,

Too beautiful,

I thought,

Too powerful,

They were not plants at all,

We were not far from the house now,

I saw the drive broaden to the sweep I had expected,

And with a blood red wall,

Still flanking us on either side,

We turned the last corner,

And so came to Manderley,

Yes,

There it was,

The Manderley I had expected,

The Manderley of my picture postcard long ago,

A thing of grace and beauty,

Exquisite and faultless,

Lovelier even than I had ever dreamed,

Built in its hollow of smooth grassland and mossy lawns,

The terraces sloping to the gardens,

And the gardens to the sea,

As we drove up to the wide stone steps and stopped before the open door,

I saw through one of the mullioned windows that the hall was full of people,

And I heard Maxim swear,

Under his breath,

Damn that woman,

He said,

She knows perfectly well I did not want this sort of thing,

And he put on the brakes with a jerk,

What's the matter,

I said,

Who are all those people,

I'm afraid you will have to face it now,

He said,

In irritation,

Mrs.

Danvers has collected the whole damn staff in the house,

And on the estate to welcome us,

It's all right,

You won't have to say anything,

I'll do it all,

I fumbled for the handle of the door,

Feeling slightly sick,

And cold now too from the long drive,

And as I fumbled with a catch,

The butler came down the steps,

Followed by a footman,

And he opened the door for me,

He was old,

He had a kind face,

And I smiled up at him,

Holding out my hand,

But I don't think he could have seen,

For he took the rug instead,

And my small dressing case,

And turned to Maxim,

Helping me from the car at the same time,

Well,

Here we are Frith,

Said Maxim,

Taking off his gloves,

It was raining when we left London,

You don't seem to have it here,

Everyone well,

Yes sir,

Thank you sir,

No,

We have had a dry month on the whole,

Glad to see you home,

And hope you have been keeping well,

And madam too,

Yes,

We are both well,

Thank you Frith,

Rather tired from the drive,

And wanting our tea,

I didn't expect this business,

He jerked his head to the hall,

Mrs.

Danvers orders sir,

Said the man,

His face expressionless,

I might have guessed it,

Said Maxim abruptly,

Come on,

He turned to me,

It won't take long,

And then you shall have your tea,

We went together,

Up the flight of steps,

Frith and the footman,

Following with the rug and my Macintosh,

And I was aware of a little pain at the pit of my stomach,

And a nervous contraction in my throat,

I can close my eyes now,

And look back on it,

And see myself,

As I must have been,

Standing on the threshold of the house,

A slim awkward figure,

In my stockinette dress,

Clutching in my sticky hands,

A pair of gauntlet gloves,

I can see the great stone hall,

The wide doors,

Open to the library,

The Peter Lely's,

And the Van Dyck's on the walls,

The exquisite staircase,

Leading to the menstrual's gallery,

And there,

Ranged one behind the other in the hall,

Overflowing to the stone passages beyond,

And to the dining room,

A sea of faces,

Open mouthed,

And curious,

Gazing at me,

As though they were watching the crowd about the block,

And I,

The victim,

With my hands behind my back,

Someone advanced from the sea of faces,

Someone tall and gaunt,

Dressed in deep black,

Whose prominent cheekbones,

And great hollow eyes,

Gave her a skull's face,

Parchment white,

Set on a skeleton's frame,

She came towards me,

And I held out my hand,

Envying her for her dignity and composure,

But when she took my hand,

Hers was limp and heavy,

Deathly cold,

And it lay in mine like a lifeless thing,

This is Mrs.

Danvers,

Said Maxim,

And she began to speak,

Still leaving that dead hand in mine,

Her hollow eyes,

Never leaving my eyes,

So that my own wavered,

And would not meet hers,

And as they did so,

Her hand moved in mine,

The life returned to it,

And I was aware of a sensation of discomfort,

And of shame,

I cannot remember her words now,

But I know that she bade me welcome to Manderley,

In the name of herself,

And the staff,

A stiff,

Conventional speech,

Rehearsed for the occasion,

Spoken in a voice as cold and lifeless as her hands had been,

When she had finished,

She waited,

As though for a reply,

And I remember blushing scarlet,

Stammering some sort of thanks in return,

And dropping both my gloves in my confusion,

She stooped to pick them up,

And as she handed them to me,

I saw a little smile of scorn upon her lips,

And I guessed at once,

She considered me ill-bred,

Something in the expression of her face,

Gave me a feeling of unrest,

And even when she had stepped back,

And taken her place amongst the rest,

I could see that black figure,

Standing out alone,

Individual and apart,

And for all her silence,

I knew her eye to be upon me,

Maxim took my arm,

And made a little speech of thanks,

Perfectly easy and free from embarrassment,

As though the making of it was no effort to him at all,

And then he bore me off,

To the library,

To tea,

Closing the doors behind us,

And we were alone again,

Two cocker spaniels came from the fireside to greet us,

They pawed at Maxim,

Their long silken ears,

Strained back with affection,

Their noses questing his hands,

And then they left him,

And came to me,

Sniffing at my heels,

Rather uncertain,

Rather suspicious,

One was the mother,

Blind in one eye,

And soon she had enough of me,

And took herself with a grunt to the fire again,

But Jasper,

The younger,

Put his nose into my hand,

And laid a chin upon my knee,

His eyes deep with meaning,

His tail a thump when I stroked his silken ears,

I felt better when I had taken my hat off,

And my wretched little fur,

And thrown them both beside my gloves and my bag,

Onto the window seat,

It was a deep,

Comfortable room,

With books lining the walls to the ceiling,

The sort of room a man would move from never,

Did he live alone,

Solid chairs beside a great open fireplace,

Baskets for the two dogs,

In which I felt they never sat,

For the hollows in the chairs had tell-tale marks,

The long windows looked out upon the lawns,

And beyond the lawns,

To the distant shimmer of the sea,

There was an old quiet smell about the room,

As though the air in it was little changed,

For all the sweet lilac scent,

And the roses brought to it,

Throughout the early summer,

Whatever air came to this room,

Whether from the garden,

Or from the sea,

Would lose its first freshness,

Becoming part of the unchanging room itself,

One with the books,

Musty and never read,

One with a scrawled ceiling,

The dark paneling,

The heavy curtains,

It was an ancient mossy smell,

The smell of a silent church,

Where services are seldom held,

Where rusty lichen grows upon the stones,

And ivy tendrils creep to the very windows,

A room for peace,

A room for meditation,

Soon tea was brought to us,

A stately little performance,

Enacted by Frith and the young footman,

In which I played no part until they had gone,

And while Maxim glanced through his great pile of letters,

I played with two dripping crumpets,

Crumbled cake with my hands,

And swallowed my scalding tea,

Now and again he looked up at me and smiled,

And then returned to his letters,

The accumulation of the last months I supposed,

And I thought,

How little I knew of his life,

Here at Manderley,

Of how it went day by day,

Of the people he knew,

Of his friends,

Men and women,

Of what bills he paid,

What orders he gave about his household,

The last weeks had gone so swiftly,

And I,

Driving by his side,

Through France and Italy,

Thought only of how I loved him,

Seeing Venice with his eyes,

Echoing his words,

Asking no questions of the past and future,

Content with a little glory of the living present,

For he was gayer than I thought,

More tender than I had dreamed,

Youthful and ardent in a hundred happy ways,

Not the Maxim I had first met,

Not the stranger who sat alone at the table in the restaurant,

Staring before him,

Wrapped in his secret self,

My Maxim laughed and sang,

Threw stones into the water,

Took my hand,

Wore no frown between his eyes,

Carried no burden on his shoulders,

I knew him as a lover,

As a friend,

And during those weeks I had forgotten that he had a life,

Orderly,

Methodical,

A life which must be taken up again,

Continued as before,

Making vanished weeks a brief,

Discarded holiday,

I watched him read his letters,

Saw him frown at one,

Smile at another,

Dismiss the next with no expression,

And but for the grace of God I thought,

My letter would be lying there,

Written from New York,

And he would read it in the same indifferent fashion,

Puzzled at first perhaps by the signature,

And then tossing it with a yawn to the pile of others in the basket,

Reaching for his cup of tea,

The knowledge of this chilled me,

How narrow a chance had stood between me and what might have been,

For he would have sat here to his tea as he sat now,

Continuing his home life as he would in any case,

And perhaps he would not have thought of me much,

Not with regret anyway,

While I,

In New York,

Playing bridge with Mrs.

Van Hopper,

Would wait day after day for a letter that never came,

I leant back in my chair,

Glancing about the room,

Trying to instill into myself some measure of confidence,

Some genuine realization that I was here,

At Manderley,

The house of the picture postcard,

The Manderley that was famous,

I had to teach myself that all this was mine now,

Mine as much as his,

The deep chair I was sitting in,

That mass of books stretching to the ceiling,

The pictures on the walls,

The gardens,

The woods,

The Manderley I had read about,

All of this was mine now,

Because I was married to Maxim,

We should grow old here together,

We should sit like this to our tea as old people,

Maxim and I,

With other dogs,

The successors of these,

And the library would wear the same ancient musty smell that it did now,

It would know a period of glorious shabbiness and wear when the boys were young,

Our boys,

For I saw them sprawling on the sofa with muddy boots,

Bringing with them always a litter of rods and cricket bats,

Great clasp knives,

Bows and arrows,

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 a 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 more cheerful on that side of the house,

And it has a lovely view of the Rose Garden,

It was the visitor's 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 souls,

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 ante room,

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,

She did not answer,

She just went on staring at me,

Her hands folded before her,

However,

It's a very charming room,

I said,

And I'm sure I shall be comfortable,

I understand that it's been done up for our return,

Yes,

She said,

What was it like before,

I asked,

It had mauve paper,

And different hangings,

Mr.

De Winter did not think it very cheerful,

It was never much used,

Except for occasional visitors,

But Mr.

De Winter gave special orders in his letters that you would have this room,

Then this was not his bedroom originally,

I said,

No,

Madam,

He's never used the room in this wing before,

Oh,

I said,

He didn't tell me that,

And I wandered to the dressing table,

And began combing my hair,

My things were already unpacked,

My brushes and comb upon the tray,

I was glad Maxim had given me a set of brushes,

And that they were laid out there,

Upon the dressing table,

For Mrs.

Danvers to see,

They were new,

They had cost money,

I need not be ashamed of them,

Alice has unpacked for you,

And will look after you until your maid arrives,

Said Mrs.

Danvers,

I smiled at her again,

I put down the brush upon the dressing table,

I don't have a maid,

I said awkwardly,

I'm sure Alice,

If she is a housemaid,

Will look after me all right,

She wore the same expression that she had done on our first meeting,

When I dropped my gloves,

So gauchely on the floor,

I'm afraid that would not do for very long,

She said,

It's usual,

You know,

For ladies in your position,

To have a personal maid,

I flushed,

And reached for my brush again,

There was a sting in her words,

I understood too well,

If you think it necessary,

Perhaps you would see about it for me,

I said,

Avoiding her eyes,

Some young girl perhaps,

Wanting to train,

If you wish,

She said,

It's for you to say,

There was silence between us,

I wished she would go away,

I wondered why she must go on standing there,

Watching me,

Her hands folded on her black dress,

I suppose you have been at Manderley for many years,

I said,

Making a fresh effort,

Longer than anyone else,

Not so long as Frith,

She said,

And I thought how lifeless her voice was,

And cold,

Like her hand,

When it had lain in mine,

Frith was here,

When the old gentleman was living,

When Mr.

De Winter was a boy,

I see,

I said,

So you did not come till after that,

No,

She said,

Not till after that,

Once more,

I glanced up at her,

And once more,

I met her eyes,

Dark and somber,

And that white face of hers,

Instilling into me,

I knew not why,

A strange feeling of disquiet,

Of foreboding,

I tried to smile,

And could not,

I found myself held by those eyes,

That had no light,

No flicker of sympathy towards me,

I came here,

When the first Mrs.

De Winter was a bride,

She said,

And her voice,

Which had hitherto,

As I said,

Been dull and toneless,

Was harsh now,

With unexpected animation,

With life and meaning,

And there was a spot of color on the gaunt cheekbones,

The change was so sudden,

That I was shocked,

And a little scared,

I did not know what to do,

Or what to say,

It was as though she had spoken words that were forbidden,

Words that she had hidden within herself for a long time,

And now would be repressed no longer,

Still,

Her eyes never left my face,

They looked upon me,

With a curious mixture of pity,

And of scorn,

Until I felt myself,

To be even younger,

And more untutored to the ways of life,

Than I had believed,

I could see,

She despised me,

Marking with all the snobbery of her class,

That I was no great lady,

That I was humble,

Shy,

And diffident,

Yet there was something besides scorn,

In those eyes of hers,

Something surely,

Of positive dislike,

Or actual malice,

I had to say something,

I could not go on sitting there,

Playing with my hairbrush,

Letting her see,

How much I feared,

And mistrusted her,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I heard myself saying,

I hope we shall be friends,

And come to understand one another,

You must have patience with me you know,

Because this sort of life is new to me,

I've lived rather differently,

And I do want to make a success of it,

And above all,

To make Mr.

De Winter happy,

I know I can leave all household arrangements to you,

Mr.

De Winter said so,

And you must just run things,

As they have always been run,

I shan't want to make any changes,

I stopped,

A little breathless,

Still uncertain of myself,

And whether I was saying the right thing,

And when I looked up again,

I saw,

That she had moved,

And was standing with her hand,

On the handle of the door,

Very good,

She said,

I hope I shall do everything to your satisfaction,

The house has been in my charge now for more than a year,

And Mr.

De Winter has never complained,

It was very different of course,

When the late Mrs.

De Winter was alive,

There was a lot of entertaining then,

A lot of parties,

And though I managed for her,

She liked to supervise things herself,

Once again,

I had the impression,

That she chose her words with care,

That she was feeling her way,

As it were,

Into my mind,

And watching for the effect upon my face,

I would rather leave it to you,

I repeated,

Much rather,

And into her face,

Came the same expression,

I had noticed before,

When first,

I had shaken hands with her in the hall,

A look,

Surely of derision,

Of definite contempt,

She knew,

That I would never withstand her,

And that I feared her too,

Can I do anything more for you,

She said,

And pretended to glance round the room,

No,

I said,

No,

I think I have everything,

I shall be very comfortable here,

You have made the room so charming,

This last,

A final crawling sop to win her approval,

She shrugged her shoulders,

And still,

She did not smile,

I only followed out Mr.

De Winter's instructions,

She said,

She hesitated by the doorway,

Her hand on the handle of the open door,

It was as though,

She still had something to say to me,

And could not decide upon the words,

Yet waited there,

For me to give her opportunity,

I wish she would go,

She was like a shadow standing there,

Watching me,

Appraising me with her hollow eyes,

Sat in that dead skull's face,

If you find anything not to your liking,

You will tell me at once,

She asked,

Yes,

I said,

Yes,

Of course,

Mrs.

Danvers,

But I knew,

This was not,

What she had meant to say,

And silence fell between us once again,

If Mr.

De Winter asked for his big wardrobe,

She said suddenly,

You must tell him,

It was impossible to move,

We tried,

But we could not get it through these narrow doorways,

These are smaller rooms,

Than those in the West Wing,

If he doesn't like the arrangement of a suite,

He must tell me,

It was difficult to know,

How to furnish these rooms,

Please don't worry Mrs.

Danvers,

I said,

I'm sure he will be pleased with everything,

But I'm sorry it's given you so much trouble,

I had no idea he was having rooms redecorated and furnished,

He shouldn't have bothered,

I'm sure I should have been just as happy and comfortable in the West Wing,

She looked at me curiously and began twisting the handle of the door,

Mr.

De Winter said you would prefer to be on this side,

She said,

The rooms in the West Wing are very old,

The bedroom in the big suite is twice as large as this,

A very beautiful room too,

With a scrolled ceiling,

The tapestry chairs are very valuable,

And so is the carved mantelpiece,

It's the most beautiful room in the house,

And the windows look down across the lawns to the sea,

I felt uncomfortable,

A little shy,

I did not know why she must speak,

With such an undercurrent of resentment,

Implying as she did at the same time that this room,

Where I found myself to be installed,

Was something inferior,

Not up to manderly standard,

A second-rate room,

As it were,

For a second-rate person,

I suppose Mr.

De Winter keeps the most beautiful room to show to the public,

I said,

She went on twisting the handle of the door,

And then looked up at me again,

Watching my eyes,

Hesitating before replying,

And when she spoke,

Her voice was quieter even,

And more toneless than it had been before,

The bedrooms are never shown to the public,

She said,

Only the hall,

And the gallery,

And the room below,

She paused an instant,

Feeling me with her eyes,

They used to live in the west wing,

And use those rooms when Mrs.

De Winter was alive,

That big room I was telling you about,

That looked down to the sea,

Was Mrs.

De Winter's bedroom,

Then I saw a shadow,

Flit across her face,

And she drew back against the wall,

Effacing herself,

As a step sounded outside,

And Maxim came into the room,

How is it,

He said to me,

Alright,

Do you think you'll like it,

He looked round with enthusiasm,

Pleased as a schoolboy,

I always thought this the most attractive room,

He said,

It was wasted all those years as a guest room,

But I always thought it had possibilities,

You've made a great success of it Mrs.

Danvers,

I give you full marks,

Thank you sir,

She said,

Her face expressionless,

And then she turned,

And went out of the room,

Closing the door softly behind her,

Maxim went,

And lent out of the window,

I love the rose garden,

He said,

One of the first things I remember,

Is walking after my mother,

On very small,

Unsteady legs,

While she picked off the dead heads of the roses,

There's something peaceful and happy about this room,

And it's quiet too,

You could never tell,

You were within five minutes of the sea,

From this room,

That's what Mrs.

Danvers said,

I told him,

He came away from the window,

He prowled about the room,

Touching things,

Looking at the pictures,

Opening wardrobes,

Fingering my clothes,

Already unpacked,

How did you get on with Mrs.

Old Danvers,

He said abruptly,

I turned away,

And began combing my hair again,

Before the looking glass,

She seems,

Just a little bit stiff,

I said,

After a moment or two,

Perhaps she thought I was going to interfere with the running of the house,

I don't think she would mind your doing that,

He said,

I looked up,

And saw him watching my reflection in the looking glass,

And then he turned away,

And went over to the window again,

Whistling quietly,

Under his breath,

Rocking backwards and forwards on his heels,

Don't mind her,

He said,

She's an extraordinary character in many ways,

And possibly not very easy for another woman to get on with,

You mustn't worry about it,

If she really makes herself a nuisance,

We'll get rid of her,

But she's efficient,

You know,

And will take all housekeeping worries off your hands,

I dare say,

She's a bit of a bully to the staff,

She doesn't dare bully me though,

I'd have given her the sack long ago,

If she had tried,

I expect we shall get on very well,

When she knows me better,

I said quickly,

After all,

It's natural enough,

That she should resent me a bit at first,

Resent you,

Why resent you,

What the devil do you mean,

He said,

He turned from the window,

Frowning,

An odd,

Half-angry expression on his face,

I wondered why he should mind,

And wished I had said something else,

I mean,

It must be much easier for a housekeeper to look after a man alone,

I said,

I dare say,

She had got into the way of doing it,

And perhaps she was afraid I should be overbearing,

Overbearing,

My God,

He began,

If you think,

And then he stopped,

And came across to me,

And kissed me on the top of my head,

Let's forget about Mrs.

Danvers,

He said,

She doesn't interest me very much,

I'm afraid,

Come along,

Let me show you something of Manderley,

I did not see Mrs.

Danvers again that evening,

And we did not talk about her anymore,

I felt happier when I had dismissed her from my thoughts,

Less of an interloper,

And as we wandered about the rooms upstairs and looked at the pictures,

And Maxim put his arm around my shoulder,

I began to feel more like the self I wanted to become,

The self I had pictured in my dreams,

Who made Manderley her home,

My footsteps no longer sounded foolish on the stone flags of the hall,

For Maxim's nailed shoes made far more noise than mine,

And the pattering feet of the two dogs was a comfortable,

Pleasing note,

I was glad too,

Because it was the first evening,

And we had only been back a little while,

And the showing of the pictures had taken time,

When Maxim,

Looking at the clock,

Said it was too late to change for dinner,

So that I was spared the embarrassment of Alice,

The maid,

Asking what I should wear,

And of her helping me to dress,

And myself walking down that long flight of stairs to the hall,

Cold,

With bare shoulders,

In a dress that Mrs.

Van Hopper had given me,

Because it did not suit her daughter,

I had dreaded the formality of dinner,

In that austere dining room,

And now,

Because of the little fact that we had not changed,

It was quite alright,

Quite easy,

Just the same as when we had dined together in restaurants,

I was comfortable in my stockinette dress,

I laughed,

And talked about things we had seen in Italy and France,

We even had the snapshots on the table,

And Frith,

And the footmen were impersonal people,

As the waiters had been,

They did not stare at me as Mrs.

Danvers had done,

We sat in the library after dinner,

And presently the curtains were drawn,

And more logs thrown on the fire,

It was cool for May,

I was thankful for the warmth that came from the steady burning logs,

It was new for us to sit together like this,

After dinner,

For in Italy we had wandered about,

Walked or driven,

Gone into little cafes,

Lent over bridges,

Maxim made instinctively now for the chair on the left of the open fireplace,

And stretched out his hand for the papers,

He settled one of the broad cushions behind his head,

And lit a cigarette,

This is his routine,

I thought,

This is what he always does,

This has been his custom now for years,

He did not look at me,

He went on reading his paper,

Contented,

Comfortable,

Having assumed his way of living,

The master of his house,

And as I sat there,

Brooding,

My chin in my hands,

Fondling the soft ears of one of the spaniels,

It came to me that I was not the first one to lounge there,

In possession of the chair,

Someone had been before me,

And surely left an imprint of her person on the cushions,

And on the arm where her hand had rested,

Another one had poured the coffee from that same silver coffee pot,

Had placed the cup to her lips,

Had bent down to the dog,

Even as I was doing,

Unconsciously I shivered,

As if someone had opened the door behind me,

And let a draft into the room,

I was sitting in Rebecca's chair,

I was leaning against Rebecca's cushion,

And the dog had come to me,

And laid his head upon my knee,

Because that had been his custom,

And he remembered in the past,

She had given sugar to him there.

Chapter 8 I had never realized,

Of course,

That life at Manderley would be so orderly and planned,

I remember now,

Looking back,

How on that first morning,

Maxim was up,

And dressed,

And writing letters,

Even before breakfast,

And when I got downstairs,

Rather after nine o'clock,

A little flurried,

By the blooming summons of the gong,

I found he had nearly finished,

He was already peeling his fruit,

He looked up at me and smiled,

You mustn't mind,

He said,

This is something you will have to get used to,

I have no time to hang about at this hour of the day,

Running a place like Manderley,

You know,

Is a full-time job,

The coffee and the hot dishes are on the sideboard,

We always help ourselves at breakfast,

I said something about my clock being slow,

About having been too long in the bath,

But he did not listen,

He was looking down at a letter,

Frowning at something,

How impressed I was,

I remember well,

Impressed and a little overawed,

By the magnificence of the breakfast offered to us,

There was tea,

In a great silver urn,

And coffee too,

And on the heater,

Piping hot,

Dishes of scrambled eggs,

Of bacon,

And another of fish,

There was a little clutch of boiled eggs as well,

In their own special heater,

And porridge,

In a silver porringer,

On another sideboard was a ham,

And a great piece of cold bacon,

There were scones too,

On the table,

And toast,

And various pots of jam,

Marmalade and honey,

While dessert dishes,

Piled high with fruit,

Stood at either end,

It seemed strange to me that Maxim,

Who in Italy and France,

Had eaten a croissant and fruit only,

And drunk a cup of coffee,

Should sit down to this breakfast at home,

Enough for a dozen people,

Day after day probably,

Year after year,

Seeing nothing ridiculous about it,

Nothing wasteful,

I noticed he had eaten a small piece of fish,

I took a boiled egg,

And I wondered,

What happened to the rest,

All those scrambled eggs,

That crisp bacon,

The porridge,

The remains of the fish,

Were there menials,

I wondered,

Whom I should never know,

Never see,

Waiting behind kitchen doors,

For the gift of our breakfast,

Or was it all thrown away,

Shoveled into dustbins,

I would never know,

Of course,

I would never dare to ask,

Thank the Lord,

I have in a great crowd of relatives to inflict upon you,

Said Maxim,

A sister,

I very rarely see,

And a grandmother,

Who is nearly blind,

Patrice,

By the way,

Asks herself over to lunch,

I half expected she would,

I suppose she wants to have a look at you,

Today,

I said,

My spirit sinking to zero,

Yes,

According to the letter I got this morning,

She won't stay long,

You'll like her,

I think,

She's very direct,

Believes in speaking her mind,

No humbug at all,

If she doesn't like you,

She'll tell you so,

To your face,

I found this hardly comforting,

And wondered,

If there was not some virtue in the quality of insincerity,

Maxim got up from his chair,

And lit a cigarette,

I have a mass of things to see to this morning,

Do you think you can amuse yourself,

He said,

I'd like to have taken you round the garden,

But I must see Crawley,

My agent,

I've been away from things too long,

He'll be in to lunch too,

By the way,

You don't mind,

Do you,

You will be all right,

Of course,

I said,

I shall be quite happy,

Then he picked up his letters,

And went out of the room,

And I remember thinking,

This was not how I imagined my first morning,

I had seen us walking together,

Arms linked,

To the sea,

Coming back rather late,

And tired and happy,

To a cold lunch,

Alone,

And sitting afterwards,

Under that chestnut tree,

I could see from the library window,

I lingered long over my first breakfast,

Spinning out the time,

And it was not until I saw Frith come in,

And look at me,

From behind the service screen,

That I realized it was after ten o'clock,

I sprang to my feet at once,

Feeling guilty,

And apologized for sitting there so late,

And he bowed,

Saying nothing,

Very polite,

Very correct,

And I caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes,

I wondered if I had said the wrong thing,

Perhaps it did not do to apologize,

Perhaps it lowered me in his estimation,

I wished I knew what to say,

What to do,

I wonder if he suspected,

As Mrs.

Danvers had done,

That poise,

And grace,

And assurance,

Were not qualities inbred in me,

But were things to be acquired,

Painfully perhaps,

And slowly,

Costing me many bitter moments,

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 they 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 around 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 ice house 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 then,

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 cannot 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 a wall,

And a couple of Macintoshes 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 mantle piece,

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 Chateau,

Sat in a chair beside the door,

I went through then,

And turned to the left,

And so on,

To the little morning room I had not seen before,

I was glad to see the dogs there,

Sitting before the fire,

And Jasper,

The younger,

Came over to me at once,

His tail wagging,

And thrust his nose into my hand,

The old one lifted her muzzle at my approach,

And gazed in my direction with her blind eyes,

But when she had sniffed the air a moment,

And found I was not the one she sought,

She turned her head away with a grunt,

And looked steadily into the fire again,

Then Jasper left me too,

And settled himself by the sight of his companion,

Licking his side,

This was their routine,

They knew,

Even as Frith had known,

That the library fire was not lit until the afternoon,

They came to the morning room from long custom,

Somehow I guessed,

Before going to the window,

That the room looked out upon the rhododendrons,

Yes,

There they were,

Blood red and luscious,

As I had seen them the evening before,

Great bushes of them,

Massed beneath the open window,

Encroaching onto the sweep of the drive itself,

There was a little clearing too,

Between the bushes,

Like a miniature lawn,

The grass a smooth carpet of moss,

And in the center of this,

A tiny statue of a naked fawn,

His pipes to his lips,

The crimson rhododendrons made his background,

And the clearing itself was like a little stage,

Where he would dance and play his part,

There was no musty smell about this room,

As there had been in the library,

There were no old well-worn chairs,

No tables littered with magazines and papers,

Seldom if ever read,

But left there from long custom,

Because Maxim's father,

Or even his grandfather perhaps,

Had wished it so,

This was a woman's room,

Graceful,

Fragile,

The room of someone who had chosen every particle of furniture with great care,

So that each chair,

Each vase,

Each small,

Infinitesimal thing,

Should be in harmony with one another,

And with her own personality,

It was as though she,

Who had arranged this room,

Had said,

This I will have,

And this,

And this,

Taking,

Piece by piece,

From the treasures in Manderley,

Each object that pleased her best,

Ignoring the second rate,

The mediocre,

Laying her hand,

With sure certain instinct,

Only upon the best,

There was no intermingling of style,

No confusing of period,

And the result was perfection,

In a strange and startling way,

Not coldly formal,

Like the drawing-room shown to the public,

But vividly alive,

Having something of the same glow and brilliance,

That the rhododendrons had,

Massed there,

Beneath the window,

And I noticed then,

That the rhododendrons,

Not content with forming their theater,

On the little lawn outside the window,

Had been permitted to the room itself,

Their great warm faces looked down upon me from the mantelpiece,

They floated in a bowl,

Upon the table,

By the sofa,

They stood,

Lean and graceful,

On the writing-desk,

Beside the golden candlesticks,

The room was filled with them,

Even the walls took color from them,

Becoming rich and glowing in the morning sun,

They were the only flowers in the room,

And I wondered,

If there was some purpose in it,

Whether the room had been arranged originally,

With this one end in view,

For nowhere else in the house,

Did the rhododendrons obtrude,

There were flowers in the dining-room,

Flowers in the library,

But orderly and trim,

Rather in the background,

Not like this,

Not in profusion,

I went and sat down at the writing-desk,

And I thought how strange it was that this room,

So lovely and so rich in color,

Should be,

At the same time,

So business-like and purposeful,

Somehow I should have expected that a room furnished as this was,

In such exquisite taste,

For all the exaggeration of the flowers,

Would be a place of decoration only,

Languorous and intimate,

But this writing-table,

Beautiful as it was,

Was no pretty toy,

Where a woman would scribble little notes,

Nibbling the end of a pen,

Leaving it,

Day after day,

In carelessness,

The blotter a little askew,

The pigeon-holes were docketed,

Letters unanswered,

Letters to keep,

Household,

Estate,

Menus,

Miscellaneous,

Addresses,

Each ticket written in that same scrawling-pointed hand that I knew already,

And it shocked me,

Even startled me,

To recognize it again,

For I had not seen it since I had destroyed the page from the book of poems,

And I had not thought to see it again,

I opened a drawer at hazard,

And there was the writing once more,

This time in an open leather book,

Whose heading,

Guests at Manderley,

Showed at once,

Divided into weeks and months,

What visitors had come and gone,

The rooms they had used,

The food they had eaten,

I turned over the pages,

And saw that the book was a complete record of a year,

So that the hostess,

Glancing back,

Would know to the day,

Almost to the hour,

What guest had passed what night under her roof,

And where he had slept,

And what she had given him to eat,

There was notepaper also in the drawer,

Thick white sheets,

For rough writing,

And the notepaper of the house,

With the crest,

And the address,

And visiting cards,

Ivory-white,

In little boxes,

I took one out and looked at it,

Unwrapped it from its thin tissue of paper,

Mrs.

M.

D.

Winter,

It said,

And in the corner,

Manderley,

I put it back in the box again,

And shut the drawer,

Feeling guilty suddenly,

And deceitful,

As though I were staying in somebody else's house,

And my hostess had said to me,

Yes,

Of course,

Write letters at my desk,

And I had,

Unforgivably,

In a stealthy manner,

Peeped at her correspondence,

At any moment she might come back into the room,

And she would see me there,

Sitting before her open drawer,

Which I had no right to touch,

And when the telephone rang,

Suddenly,

Alarmingly,

On the desk in front of me,

My heart leapt and I started up in terror,

Thinking I had been discovered,

I took the receiver off with trembling hands,

And,

Who is it,

I said,

What do you want,

There was a strange buzzing at the end of the line,

And then came a low and rather harsh,

Whether that of a woman or a man I could not tell,

And,

Mrs.

D.

Winter,

It said,

Mrs.

D.

Winter,

I'm afraid you have made a mistake,

I said,

Mrs.

D.

Winter has been dead for over a year,

I sat there waiting,

Staring stupidly into the mouthpiece,

And it was not until the name was repeated again,

The voice incredulous,

Slightly raised,

That I became aware,

With a rush of color to my face,

That I had blundered,

Irretrievably,

And could not take back my words,

It's Mrs.

Danvers,

Madam,

Said the voice,

I'm speaking to you on the house telephone,

My faux pas was so palpably obvious,

So idiotic and unpardonable,

That to ignore it would show me to be an even greater fool,

If possible,

Than I was already,

I'm sorry,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I said stammering,

My words tumbling over one another,

The telephone startled me,

I didn't know what I was saying,

I didn't realize the call was for me,

And I never noticed I was speaking on the house telephone,

I'm sorry to have disturbed you,

Madam,

She said,

And she knows,

I thought,

She guesses I have been looking through the desk,

I only wondered whether you wished to see me,

And whether you approved of the menus for today,

Oh,

I said,

Oh,

I'm sure I do,

That is,

I'm sure I approve of the menus,

Just order what you like,

Mrs.

Danvers,

You needn't bother to ask me,

It would be better,

I think,

If you read the list,

Continue the voice,

You will find the menu of the day on the blotter beside you,

I searched feverishly about me on the desk,

And found at last a sheet of paper I had not noticed before,

I glanced hurriedly through it,

Curried prawns,

Roast veal,

Asparagus,

Cold chocolate mousse,

Was this lunch or dinner,

I could not see,

Lunch,

I suppose,

Yes,

Mrs.

Danvers,

Very suitable,

Very nice,

Indeed,

If you wish anything changed,

Please say so,

She answered,

And I will give orders at once,

You will notice I have left a blank space beside the sauce,

For you to mark your preference,

I was not sure what sauce you are used to having served with the roast veal,

Mrs.

De Winter was most particular about her sauces,

And I always had to refer to her,

Oh,

I said,

Oh,

Well,

Let me see,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I hardly know,

I think we had better have what you usually have,

Whatever you think Mrs.

De Winter would have ordered,

You have no preference,

Madam,

No,

I said,

No,

Really,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I rather think Mrs.

De Winter would have ordered a wine sauce,

Madam,

We will have the same then,

Of course,

I said,

I'm very sorry I disturbed you while you were writing,

Madam,

You didn't disturb me at all,

I said,

Please don't apologize,

The post leaves at midday,

And Robert will come for your letters,

And stamp them himself,

She said,

All you have to do is ring through to him on the telephone,

If you have anything urgent to be sent,

And he will give orders for them to be taken into the post office immediately,

Thank you,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I said,

I listened for a moment,

But she said no more,

And then I heard a little click at the end of the telephone,

Which meant she had replaced the receiver,

I did the same,

Then I looked down again at the desk,

And the notepaper,

Ready for use,

Upon the blotter,

In front of me stared the ticketed pigeonholes,

And the words upon them,

Letters unanswered,

Estate,

Miscellaneous,

Were like a reproach to me for my idleness,

She who sat here before me had not wasted her time,

As I was doing,

She had reached out for the house telephone,

And given her orders for the day,

Swiftly,

Efficiently,

And run her pencil perhaps through an item in the menu,

That had not pleased her,

She had not said,

Yes,

Mrs.

Danvers,

And,

Of course,

Mrs.

Danvers,

As I had done,

And then,

When she had finished,

She began her letters,

Five,

Six,

Seven,

Perhaps to be answered,

All written in the same curious slanting hand,

I knew so well,

She would tear off sheet after sheet of that smooth white paper,

Using it extravagantly,

Because of the long strokes she made when she wrote,

And at the end of each of her personal letters,

She put her signature,

Rebecca,

That tall sloping R,

Dwarfing its fellows,

I drummed with my fingers on the desk,

The pigeonholes were empty now,

There were no letters unanswered,

Waiting to be dealt with,

No bills to pay that I knew anything about,

If I had anything urgent,

Mrs.

Danvers said,

I must telephone through to Robert,

And he would give orders for it to be taken to the post,

I wondered how many urgent letters Rebecca used to write,

And who they were written to,

Dressmakers perhaps,

I must have the white satin on Tuesday without fail,

Or to her hairdresser,

I shall be coming up next Friday and want an appointment at three o'clock,

With Monsieur Antoine himself,

Shampoo,

Massage,

Set,

And manicure,

No,

Letters of that type would be a waste of time,

She would have a call put through to London,

Frith would do it,

Frith would say,

I am speaking for Mrs.

De Winter,

I went on drumming with my fingers on the desk,

I could not think of nobody to write to,

Only Mrs.

Van Hopper,

And there was something foolish,

Rather ironical,

In the realization that here I was,

Sitting in my own desk,

In my own home,

With nothing better to do,

Than to write a letter to Mrs.

Van Hopper,

A woman I disliked,

Whom I should never see again,

I pulled a sheet of notepaper towards me,

I took up the narrow slender pen,

With a bright pointed nib,

Dear Mrs.

Van Hopper,

I began,

And as I wrote,

In halting labored fashion,

Saying I hope the voyage had been good,

That she had found her daughter better,

And the weather in New York was fine and warm,

I noticed for the first time how cramped and unformed was my own handwriting,

Without individuality,

Without style,

Uneducated even,

The writing of an indifferent pupil taught in a second-rate school.

Chapter 9 When I heard the sound of the car in the drive,

I got up in sudden panic,

Glancing at the clock,

For I knew it meant Patrice and her husband had arrived,

It was only just gone twelve,

They were much earlier than I expected,

And Maxim was not yet back,

I wondered if it would be possible to hide,

To get out of the window,

Into the garden,

So that Frith,

Bringing them to the morning room,

Would say,

Madam must have gone out,

And it would seem quite natural,

They would take it as a matter of course.

The dogs looked up,

Inquiringly,

As I ran to the window,

And Jasper followed me,

Wagging his tail.

The window opened out onto the terrace,

And the little grass clearing beyond,

But as I prepared to brush past the rhododendrons,

The sound of voices came close,

And I backed again into the room.

They were coming to the house by way of the garden,

Frith having told them doubtless that I was in the morning room.

I went quickly into the big drawing room,

And made for a door near me on the left,

It led into a long stone passage,

And I ran along it,

Fully aware of my stupidity,

Despising myself for the sudden attack of nerves,

But I knew I could not face these people,

Not for a moment anyway.

The passage seemed to be taking me to the back regions,

And as I turned a corner,

Coming upon another staircase,

I met a servant I had not seen before,

A scullery maid perhaps,

She carried a mop and pail in her hands,

She stared at me in wonder,

As though I were a vision,

Unexpected in this part of the house,

And,

Good morning,

I said,

In great confusion,

Making for the stairway,

And,

Good morning madam,

She returned,

Her mouth open,

Her round eyes inquisitive,

As I climbed the stairs,

They would lead me,

I supposed,

To the bedrooms,

And I could find my suite in the east wing,

And sit up there a little while,

Until I judged it nearly time for lunch,

When good manners would compel me to come down,

Again.

I must have lost my bearings,

For passing through a door,

At the head of the stairs,

I came to a long corridor,

That I had not seen before,

Similar in some ways to the one in the east wing,

But broader and darker,

Dark owing to the panelling of the walls,

I hesitated,

Then turned left,

Coming upon a broad landing,

And another staircase,

It was very quiet and dark,

No one was about,

If there had been housemaids here,

During the morning,

They had finished their work by now,

And gone downstairs,

There was no trace of their presence,

No lingering dust smell of carpets lately swept,

And I thought,

As I stood there,

Wondering which way to turn,

That the silence was unusual,

Holding something of the same oppression,

As an empty house does,

When the owners have gone away,

I opened a door at hazard,

And found a room in total darkness,

No chink of light,

Coming through the closed shutters,

Which I could see dimly,

In the centre of the room,

The outline of furniture,

Swathed,

In white dust sheets,

The room smelt close,

And stale,

The smell of a room,

Seldom,

If ever used,

Whose ornaments are herded together,

In the centre of a bed,

And left there,

Covered with a sheet,

It might be too,

That the curtain had not been drawn,

From the window,

Since some preceding summer,

And if one crossed there now,

And pulled them aside,

Opening the creaking shutters,

A dead moth,

Who had been imprisoned,

Behind them,

For many months,

Would fall to the carpet,

And lie there,

Beside a forgotten pin,

And a dried leaf,

Blown there,

Before the windows were closed,

For the last time,

I shut the door softly,

And went uncertainly,

Along the corridor,

Flanked on either side by doors,

All of them closed,

Until I came,

To a little alcove,

Set in an outside wall,

Where a broad window,

Gave me light at last,

I looked out,

And I saw below me,

The smooth grass lawns,

Stretching to the sea,

And the sea itself,

Bright green,

With white-tipped crests,

Whipped by a westerly wind,

And scudding from the shore,

It was closer than I had thought,

Much closer,

It ran,

Surely,

Beneath that little knot of trees,

Below the lawns,

Barely five minutes away,

And if I listened now,

My ear to the window,

I could hear the surf,

Breaking on the shores,

Of some little bay,

I could not see,

I knew then,

That I had made the circuit of the house,

And was standing in the corridor of the west wing,

Yes,

Mrs.

Danvers was right,

You could hear the sea from here,

You might imagine,

In the winter,

It would creep up,

Onto those green lawns,

And threaten the house itself,

For even now,

Because of the high wind,

There was a mist upon the window glass,

As though someone had breathed upon it,

A mist,

Salt-laden,

Borne upwards from the sea,

A hurrying cloud hid the sun for a moment,

As I watched,

And the sea changed color instantly,

Becoming black,

And the white crust with them,

Very pitiless suddenly,

And cruel,

Not the gay sparkling sea,

I had looked on first,

Somehow,

I was glad my rooms were in the east wing,

I preferred the rose garden after all,

To the sound of the sea,

I went back to the landing then,

At the head of the stairs,

And as I prepared to go down,

One hand upon the banister,

I heard the door behind me open,

And it was Mrs.

Danvers,

We stared at one another for a moment,

Without speaking,

And I could not be certain,

Whether it was anger I read in her eyes,

Or curiosity,

For her face became a mask,

Directly she saw me,

Although she said nothing,

I felt guilty and ashamed,

As though I had been caught trespassing,

And I felt the tell-tale color come up into my face,

I lost my way,

I said,

I was trying to find my room,

You have come to the opposite side of the house,

She said,

This is the west wing,

Yes,

I know,

I said,

Did you go into any of the rooms,

She asked me,

No,

I said,

No,

I just opened a door,

I did not go in,

Everything was dark,

Covered up in dust sheets,

I'm sorry,

I did not mean to disturb anything,

I expect you like to keep all this shut up,

If you wish to open up the rooms,

I will have it done,

She said,

You have only to tell me,

The rooms are all furnished,

And can be used,

Oh no,

I said,

No,

I did not mean you to think that,

Perhaps you would like me to show you all over the west wing,

She said,

I shook my head,

No,

I'd rather not,

I said,

No,

I must go downstairs,

I began to walk down the stairs,

And she came with me,

By my side,

As though she were a warder,

And I in custody,

Any time when you have nothing to do,

You have only to ask me,

And I will show you the rooms in the west wing,

She persisted,

Making me vaguely uncomfortable,

I knew not why,

Her insistence struck a chord in my memory,

Reminding me of a visit to a friend's house as a child,

When the daughter of the house,

Older than me,

Took my arm and whispered in my ear,

I know where there is a book,

Locked in a cupboard,

In my mother's bedroom,

Shall we go and look at it,

I remembered her white,

Excited face,

And her small beady eyes,

And the way she kept pinching my arm,

I will have the dust sheets removed,

And then you can see the rooms,

As they looked,

When they were used,

Said Mrs.

Danvers,

I would have shown you this morning,

But I believed you to be writing letters,

In the morning room,

You have only to telephone through to my room,

You know,

When you want me,

It would only take a short while,

To have the rooms in readiness,

We had come down the short flight of stairs,

And she opened another door,

Standing aside for me to pass through,

Her dark eyes,

Questing my face,

It's very kind of you,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I said,

I will let you know sometime,

We passed out together,

On to the landing beyond,

And I saw we were at the head of the main staircase now,

Behind the minstrel's gallery,

I wonder,

How you came to miss your way,

She said,

The door through the west wing is very different to this,

I did not come this way,

I said,

Then you must have come up the back way,

From the stone passage,

She said,

Yes,

I said,

Not meeting her eyes,

Yes,

I came through a stone passage,

She went on looking at me,

As though she expected me to tell her why,

I left the morning room,

In sudden panic,

Going through the back regions,

And I felt suddenly that she knew,

That she must have watched me,

That she had seen me wandering,

Perhaps in that west wing,

From the first,

Her eye to a crack in the door,

Mrs.

Lacey,

And Major Lacey,

Have been here sometime,

She said,

I heard their car,

Drive up shortly after twelve,

Oh,

I said,

I had not realized that,

Frith will have taken them to the morning room,

She said,

It must be getting on for half past twelve,

You know your way now,

Don't you,

Yes,

Mrs.

Danvers,

I said,

And I went down the big stairway,

Into the hall,

Knowing she was standing there above me,

Her eyes watching me,

I knew I must go back now,

To the morning room,

And meet Maxim's sister and her husband,

I could not hide in my bedroom now,

As I went into the drawing room,

I glanced back,

Over my shoulder,

And I saw Mrs.

Danvers,

Still standing there,

At the head of the stairs,

Like a black sentinel,

I stood for a moment,

Outside the morning room,

With my hand on the door,

Listening to the hum of voices,

Maxim had returned then,

While I had been upstairs,

Bringing his agent with him,

I supposed,

For it sounded to me,

As if the room was full of people,

I was aware of the same feeling of sick uncertainty,

I had experienced so often as a child,

When summoned to shake hands with visitors,

And turning the handle of the door,

I blundered in,

To be met at once,

It seemed,

With a sea of faces,

And a general silence,

Here she is at last,

Said Maxim,

Where have you been hiding,

We were thinking of sending out a search party,

Here is Patrice,

And this is Giles,

And this is Frank Crawley,

Look out,

You nearly trod on the dog,

Patrice was tall,

Broad-shouldered,

Very handsome,

Very much like Maxim about the eyes and jaw,

But not as smart as I had expected,

Much tweedier,

The sort of person who would nurse dogs through distemper,

Know about horses,

Shoot well,

She did not kiss me,

She shook hands very firmly,

Looking me straight in the eyes,

And then turned to Maxim,

Quite different from what I expected,

Doesn't answer to your description at all,

Everyone laughed,

And I joined in,

Not quite certain if the laugh was against me or not,

Wondering secretly,

What it was she had expected,

And what had been Maxim's description,

And then,

This is Giles,

Said Maxim,

Prodding my arm,

And Giles,

Stretched out an enormous paw,

And wrung my hand,

Squeezing the finger's limp,

Genial eyes,

Smiling from behind horn-rimmed glasses,

Frank Crawley,

Said Maxim,

And I turned to the agent,

A colorless,

Rather thin man,

With a prominent Adam's apple,

In whose eyes I read relief as he looked upon me,

I wondered why,

But I had no time to think of that,

Because Frith had come in,

And was offering me sherry,

And Patrice was talking to me again,

Maxim tells me you only got back last night,

I had not realized that,

Or of course,

We would never have thrust ourselves upon you so soon,

Well,

What do you think of Manderley?

I've scarcely seen anything of it yet,

I answered,

It's beautiful of course,

She was looking me up and down,

As I had expected,

But in a direct,

Straightforward fashion,

Not maliciously,

Like Mrs.

Danvers,

Not with unfriendliness,

She had a right to judge me,

She was Maxim's sister,

And Maxim himself came to my side now,

Putting his arm through mine,

Giving me confidence,

You're looking better old man,

She said to him,

Her head on one side,

Considering him,

You've lost that fine drawn look,

Thank goodness,

I suppose we've got you to thank for that,

Nodding at me,

I'm always very fit,

Said Maxim shortly,

Never had anything wrong with me in my life,

You imagine everyone ill,

Who doesn't look as fat as Giles,

Bosch,

Said Patrice,

You know perfectly well,

You were a perfect wreck,

Six months ago,

Gave me the fright of my life,

When I came to see you,

I thought you were in for a breakdown,

Giles,

Bear me out,

Didn't Maxim look perfectly ghastly last time we came over,

And didn't I say he was heading for a breakdown,

Well,

I must say old chap,

You're looking a different person,

Said Giles,

Very good thing you went away,

Doesn't he look well,

Crawley,

I could tell by the tightening of Maxim's muscles under my arm,

That he was trying to keep his temper,

For some reason,

This talk about his health,

Was not welcome to him,

Angered him even,

And I thought it tactless of Patrice,

To harp upon it in this way,

Making so big a point of it,

Maxim's very sunburnt,

I said Shiley,

It hides a multitude of sins,

You should have seen him in Venice,

Having breakfast on the balcony,

Trying to get brown on purpose,

He thinks it makes him better looking,

Everyone laughed,

And Mr.

Crawley said,

It must have been wonderful in Venice,

Mrs.

De Winter,

This time of year,

And,

Yes,

I said,

We had really wonderful weather,

Only one bad day,

Wasn't it Maxim,

The conversation drawing away happily from his health,

And so to Italy,

Safest of subjects,

And the blessed topic of fine weather,

Conversation was easy now,

No longer an effort,

Maxim and Giles and Patrice,

Were discussing the running of Maxim's car,

And Mr.

Crawley was asking,

If it were true,

That there were no more gondolas,

In the canals now,

Only motorboats,

I don't think he would have cared at all,

Had there been steamers at anchor in the Grand Canal,

He was saying this to help me,

It was his contribution,

To the little effort,

Of steering the talk away from Maxim's health,

And I was grateful to him,

Feeling him an ally,

For all his dull appearance,

Jasper wants exercise,

Said Patrice,

Stirring the dog with her foot,

He is getting much too fat,

And he's barely two years old,

What do you feed him on,

Maxim,

My dear Patrice,

He has exactly the same routine as your dogs,

Said Maxim,

Don't show off,

And make out you know more about animals than I do,

Dear old boy,

How can you pretend to know what Jasper has been fed on,

When you've been away for a couple of months,

Don't tell me Frith walks to the lodge gates with him twice a day,

This dog hasn't had a run for weeks,

I can tell by the condition of his coat,

I'd rather he looked colossal,

Than half starved,

Like that half-wit dog of yours,

Said Maxim,

Not a very intelligent remark,

When Lion won two firsts at Crufts,

Last February,

Said Patrice,

The atmosphere was becoming rather strained again,

I could tell by the narrow lines of Maxim's mouth,

And I wondered,

If brothers and sisters always sparred like this,

Making it uncomfortable for those who listened,

I wished that Frith would come in and announce lunch,

Or would we be summoned by a booming gong,

I did not know what happened at Manderley,

How far away from us are you,

I asked,

Sitting down by Patrice,

Did you have to make a very early start,

We're fifty miles away,

My dear,

In the next county,

The other side of Trochester,

The hunting is so much better with us,

You must come over and stay,

When Maxim can spare you,

Giles will mount you,

I'm afraid I don't hunt,

I confessed,

I learned to ride as a child,

But very feebly,

I don't remember much about it,

You must take it up again,

She said,

You can't possibly live in the country and not ride,

You wouldn't know what to do with yourself,

Maxim says you paint,

That's very nice of course,

But there's no exercise in it,

Is there,

All very well on a wet day,

When there's nothing better to do,

My dear Patrice,

We are not all such fresh air fiends as you,

Said Maxim,

I wasn't talking to you old boy,

We all know you are perfectly happy slopping about the Manderley Gardens and never breaking out of a slow walk,

I'm very fond of walking too,

I said swiftly,

I'm sure I shall never get tired of rambling about Manderley,

And I can bathe too when it's warmer,

My dear,

You are an optimist,

Said Patrice,

I can hardly ever remember bathing here,

The water is far too cold,

And the beach is shingle,

I don't mind that,

I said,

I love bathing,

As long as the currents are not too strong,

Is the bathing safe in the bay,

Nobody answered,

And I realized suddenly what I had said,

My heart thumped,

And I felt my cheeks go flaming red,

I bent down to stroke Jasper's ear,

In an agony of confusion,

Jasper could do with a swim,

Get some of that fat off,

Said Patrice,

Breaking the paws,

But he'd find it a bit too much for him in the bay,

Wouldn't you Jasper,

Good old Jasper,

Nice old man,

We patted the dog together,

Not looking at one another,

I say,

I'm getting infernally hungry,

What on earth is happening to lunch,

Said Maxim,

It's only just on one now,

Said Mr.

Crawley,

According to the clock on the mantelpiece,

That clock was always fast,

Said Patrice,

It's kept perfect time now for months,

Said Maxim,

At that moment the door opened,

And Frith announced that lunch was served,

I say,

I must have a wash,

Said Giles,

Looking at his hands,

We all got up,

And wandered through the drawing room,

To the hall,

In great relief,

Patrice and I,

A little ahead of the men,

She taking my arm,

Dear old Frith,

She said,

He always looks exactly the same,

And makes me feel like a girl again,

You know,

Don't mind me saying so,

But you are even younger than I expected,

Maxim told me your age,

But you're an absolute child,

Tell me,

Are you very much in love with him,

I was not prepared for this question,

And she must have seen the surprise in my face,

For she laughed lightly,

And squeezed my arm,

Don't answer,

She said,

I can see what you feel,

I'm an interfering bore,

Aren't I,

You mustn't mind me,

I'm devoted to Maxim,

You know,

Though we always bicker,

Like cat and dog,

When we meet,

I congratulate you again on his looks,

We were all very worried about him,

This time last year,

But of course,

You know the whole story,

We had come to the dining room by now,

And she said no more,

For the servants were there,

And the others had joined us,

But as I sat down,

And unfolded my napkin,

I wondered what Patrice would say,

Did she realize that I knew nothing of that preceding year,

No details of the tragedy,

That had happened down there in the bay,

That Maxim,

Kept these things to himself,

That I questioned him never,

Lunch passed off better than I had dared to hope,

There were few arguments,

Or perhaps Patrice was exercising tact at last,

At any rate,

She and Maxim chatted about matters concerning Manderley,

Her horses,

The garden,

Mutual friends,

And Frank Crawley on my left,

Kept up an easy patter with me,

For which I was grateful,

As it required no effort,

Giles was more concerned with food,

Than with conversation,

Though now and again,

He remembered my existence,

And flung me a remark at hazard,

Same cook I suppose Maxim,

He said,

When Robert had offered him the cold souffle,

For the second time,

I always tell Bea,

Manderley's the only place left in England,

Where one can get decent cooking,

I remember this souffle of old,

I think we change cooks periodically,

Said Maxim,

But the standard of cooking remains the same,

Mrs.

Danvers has all the recipes,

She tells them what to do,

Amazing woman that Mrs.

Danvers,

Said Giles,

Turning to me,

Don't you think so,

Oh yes,

I said,

Mrs.

Danvers seems to be a wonderful person,

She's no oil painting though is she,

Said Giles,

And he roared with laughter,

Frank Crawley said nothing,

And looking up,

I saw Patrice was watching me,

She turned away then,

And began talking to Maxim,

Do you play golf at all Mrs.

De Winter,

Said Mr.

Crawley,

No I'm afraid I don't,

I answered,

Glad that the subject had been changed,

That Mrs.

Danvers was forgotten,

And even though I was no player,

Knew nothing of the game,

I was prepared to listen to him,

As long as he pleased,

There was something solid and safe and dull about golf,

It could not bring us into any difficulties,

We had cheese and coffee,

And I wondered whether I was supposed to make a move,

I kept looking at Maxim,

But he gave no sign,

And then Giles embarked upon a story,

Rather difficult to follow,

About digging a car out of a snowdrift,

What had started the train of thought I could not tell,

And I listened to him politely,

Nodding my head,

Now and again,

And smiling,

Aware of Maxim,

Becoming restive,

At his end of the table,

At last he paused,

And I caught Maxim's eye,

He frowned very slightly,

And jerked his head towards the door,

I got up at once,

Shaking the table clumsily as I moved my chair,

And upsetting Giles's glass of port,

Oh dear,

I said,

Hovering,

Wondering what to do,

Reaching,

Ineffectively for my napkin,

But,

Alright,

Frith will deal with it,

Said Maxim,

Don't add to the confusion,

Patrice,

Take her out in the garden,

She's scarcely seen the place yet,

He looked tired,

Rather jaded,

I began to wish none of them had come,

They had spoiled our day anyway,

It was too much of an effort,

Just as we returned,

I felt tired too,

Tired and depressed,

Maxim had seemed almost irritable,

When he suggested we should go into the garden,

What a fool I had been,

Upsetting that glass of port,

We went out onto the terrace,

And walked down onto the smooth green lawns,

I think it's a pity you came back to Manderley so soon,

Said Patrice,

It would have been far better to potter about in Italy for three or four months and then come back in the middle of the summer,

Done Maxim a power of good too,

Besides being easier from your point of view,

I can't help feeling it's going to be rather a strain for you here at first,

Oh I don't think so,

I said,

I know I shall come to love Manderley,

She did not answer and we strolled backwards and forwards on the lawns,

Tell me a bit about yourself,

She said at last,

What was it you were doing in the south of France,

Living with some appalling American woman,

Maxim said,

I explained about Mrs.

Van Hopper and what had led to it,

And she seemed sympathetic but a little vague,

As though she was thinking of something else,

Yes,

She said when I paused,

It all happened very suddenly as you say,

But of course we were all delighted my dear,

And I do hope you will be happy,

Thank you Patrice,

I said,

Thank you very much,

I wondered why she had said she hoped we would be happy,

Instead of saying she knew we would be so,

She was kind,

She was sincere,

I liked her very much,

But there was a tiny doubt in her voice that made me afraid,

When Maxim wrote and told me,

She went on,

Taking my arm,

And said he had discovered you in the south of France,

And you were very young,

Very pretty,

I must admit it gave me a bit of a shock,

Of course we all expected a social butterfly,

Very modern and plastered with paint,

The sort of girl you expected to meet in those sort of places,

When you came into the morning room before lunch,

You could have knocked me down with a feather,

She laughed and I laughed with her,

But she did not say whether or not she was disappointed in my appearance or relieved,

Poor Maxim,

She said,

He went through a ghastly time,

And let's hope you have made him forget about it,

Of course he adores Manderley,

Part of me wanted her to continue her train of thought,

To tell me more of the past,

Naturally and easily like this,

And something else,

Way back in my mind,

Did not want to know,

Did not want to hear,

We are not a bit alike you know,

She said,

Our characters are poles apart,

I show everything on my face,

Whether I like people or not,

Whether I am angry or pleased,

There's no reserve about me,

Maxim is entirely different,

Very quiet,

Very reserved,

You never know what's going on in that funny mind of his,

I lose my temper on the slightest provocation,

Flare up,

And then it's all over,

Maxim loses his temper once or twice in a year,

And when he does,

My god,

He does lose it,

I don't suppose he ever will with you,

I should think you were a placid little thing,

She smiled,

And pinched my arm,

And I thought about being placid,

How quiet and comfortable it sounded,

Someone with a knitting on her lap,

With calm,

Unruffled brow,

Someone who was never anxious,

Never tortured by doubt and indecision,

Someone who never stood as I did,

Hopeful,

Eager,

Frightened,

Tearing at bitten nails,

Uncertain which way to go,

What star to follow,

You won't mind me saying so will you,

She went on,

But I think you ought to do something to your hair,

Why don't you have it waved,

It's so very lanky isn't it,

Like that,

Must look awful under a hat,

Why don't you sweep it back behind your ears,

I did so obediently,

And waited for her approval,

She looked at me critically,

Her head on one side,

No,

She said,

No,

I think that's worse,

It's too severe,

Doesn't suit you,

No,

All you need is a wave,

Just to pinch it up,

I never have cared for that Joan of Arc business,

Or whatever they call it,

What does Maxim say,

Does he think it suits you,

I don't know,

I said,

He's never mentioned it,

Oh well,

She said,

Perhaps he likes it,

Don't go by me,

Tell me,

Did you get any clothes in London or Paris,

No,

I said,

We had no time,

Maxim was anxious to get home,

And I can always send for catalogs,

I can tell by the way you dress,

That you don't care a hoot,

What you wear,

She said,

I glanced at my flannel skirt,

Apologetically,

I do,

I said,

I'm very fond of nice things,

I've never had much money to spend on clothes,

Up to now,

I wonder Maxim did not stay a week or so in London,

And get you something decent to wear,

She said,

I must say,

I think it's rather selfish of him,

So unlike him too,

He's generally so particular,

Is he,

I said,

He's never seemed particular to me,

I don't think he notices what I wear at all,

I don't think he minds,

Oh,

She said,

Oh,

Well,

He must have changed then,

She looked away from me,

And whistled to Jasper,

Her hands in her pockets,

And then stared up at the house above us,

You're not using the West Wing then,

She said,

No,

I said,

No,

We have the suite in the East Wing,

It's all been done up,

Has it,

She said,

I didn't know that,

I wonder why,

It was Maxim's idea,

I said,

He seems to prefer it,

She said nothing,

She went on looking at the windows,

And whistling,

How do you get on with Mrs.

Danvers,

She said suddenly,

I bent down,

And began patting Jasper's head,

And stroking his ears,

I have not seen very much of her,

I said,

She scares me a little,

I've never seen anyone quite like her before,

I don't suppose you have,

Said Patrice,

Jasper looked up at me with great eyes,

Humble,

Rather self-conscious,

I kissed the top of his silken head,

And put my hand over his black nose,

There's no need to be frightened of her,

Said Patrice,

And don't let her see it,

Whatever you do,

Of course,

I've never had anything to do with her,

And I don't think ever want to either,

However,

She's always been very civil to me,

I went on patting Jasper's head,

Did she seem friendly,

Said Patrice,

No,

I said,

No,

Not very,

Patrice began whistling again,

And she rubbed Jasper's head with her foot,

I shouldn't have more to do with her than you can help,

She said,

No,

I said,

She runs the house very efficiently,

There's no need for me to interfere,

Oh,

I don't suppose she'd mind that,

Said Patrice,

That was what Maxim had said,

The evening before,

And I thought it odd that they should both have the same opinion,

I should have imagined that interference was the one thing Mrs.

Danvers did not want,

I dare say she will get over it in time,

Said Patrice,

But it may make things rather unpleasant for you at first,

Of course,

She's insanely jealous,

I was afraid she would be,

Why,

I asked,

Looking up at her,

Why should she be jealous,

Maxim does not seem to be particularly fond of her,

My dear child,

It's not Maxim she's thinking of,

Said Patrice,

I think she respects him and all that,

But nothing more very much,

No,

You see,

She paused,

Frowning a little,

Looking at me uncertainly,

She resents your being here at all,

That's the trouble,

Why,

I said,

Why should she resent me,

I thought you knew,

Said Patrice,

I thought Maxim would have told you,

She simply adored Rebecca,

Oh,

I said,

Oh,

I see,

We both went on patting and stroking Jasper,

Who,

Unaccustomed to such attention,

Rolled over on his back in ecstasy,

Here are the men,

Said Patrice,

Let's have some chairs out and sit under the chestnut,

How fat Giles is getting,

He looks quite repulsive beside Maxim,

I suppose Frank will go back to the office,

What a dull creature he is,

Never has anything interesting to say,

Well,

All of you,

What have you been discussing,

Pulling the world to bits,

I suppose,

She laughed and the others strolled towards us and we stood about,

Giles threw a twig for Jasper to retrieve,

We all looked at Jasper,

Mr.

Crawley looked at his watch,

I must be off,

He said,

Thank you very much for lunch,

Mrs.

De Winter,

You must come often,

I said,

Shaking hands,

I wondered if the others would go too,

I was not sure,

Whether they had just come over for lunch or to spend the day,

I hoped they would go,

I wanted to be alone with Maxim again,

And that it would be like we were in Italy,

We all went and sat down under the chestnut tree,

Robert brought out chairs and rugs,

Giles laid down on his back and tipped his hat over his eyes,

After a while he began to snore,

His mouth open,

Shut up,

Giles,

Said,

Patrice,

I'm not asleep,

He muttered,

Opening his eyes and shutting them again,

I thought him unattractive,

I wondered why Patrice had married him,

She could never have been in love with him,

Perhaps that was what she was thinking about me,

I caught her eye upon me now and again,

Puzzled,

Reflective,

As though she was saying to herself,

What on earth does Maxim see in her,

But kind at the same time,

Not unfriendly,

They were talking about their grandmother,

We must go over and see the old lady,

Maxim was saying,

And,

She's getting gaga,

Said Patrice,

Drops food all down her chin,

Poor darling,

I listened to them both,

Leaning against Maxim's arm,

Rubbing my chin on his sleeve,

He stroked my hand absently,

Not thinking,

Talking to Patrice,

That's what I do to Jasper,

I thought,

I'm being like Jasper now,

Leaning against him,

He pats me now and again,

When he remembers,

And I'm pleased,

I get closer to him for a moment,

He likes me in the way I like Jasper,

The wind had dropped,

The afternoon was drowsy,

Peaceful,

The grass had been new mown,

It smelt,

Sweet and rich,

Like summer,

A bee droned above Giles's head,

And he flicked at it with his hat,

Jasper sloped in to join us,

Too warm in the sun,

His tongue lolling from his mouth,

He flopped beside me and began licking his side,

His large eyes apologetic,

The sun shone on the mullioned windows of the house,

And I could see the green lawns and the terrace reflected in them,

Smoke curled thinly from one of the near chimneys,

And I wondered if the library fire had been lit according to routine,

A thrush flew across the lawn to the magnolia tree outside the dining room window,

I could smell the faint,

Soft magnolia scent as I sat here on the lawn,

Everything was quiet and still,

Very distant now came the washing of the sea in the bay below,

The tide must have gone out,

The bee droned over us again,

Pausing to taste the chestnut blossom above our heads,

This is what I always imagined,

I thought,

This is how I hoped it would be living at Manderley,

I wanted to go on sitting there,

Not talking,

Not listening to the others,

Keeping the moment precious for all time,

Because we were peaceful,

All of us,

We were content and drowsy even,

As the bee who droned above our heads,

In a little while it would be different,

There would come tomorrow and the next day and another year,

And we would be changed perhaps,

Never sitting quite like this again,

Some of us would go away or suffer or die,

The future stretched away in front of us,

Unknown,

Unseen,

Not perhaps what we wanted,

Not what we planned,

This moment was safe though,

This could not be touched,

Here we sat together,

Maxim and I,

Hand in hand,

And the past and the future mattered not at all,

This was secure,

This funny fragment of time,

He would never remember,

Never think about again,

He would not hold it sacred,

He was talking about cutting away some of the undergrowth in the drive,

And Patrice agreed,

Interrupting with some suggestion of her own,

And throwing a piece of grass at Giles at the same time,

For them it was just after lunch,

Quarter past three,

On a haphazard afternoon,

Like any hour,

Like any day,

They did not want to hold it close,

Imprisoned and secure,

As I did,

They were not afraid,

Well I suppose we ought to be off,

Said Patrice,

Brushing the grass from her skirt,

I don't want to be late,

We've got the cartwrights dining,

How is old Vera?

Asked Maxim,

Oh same as ever,

Always talking about her health,

He's getting very old,

They're sure to ask all about you both,

Give them my love,

Said Maxim,

We got up,

Giles shook the dust off his hat,

Maxim yawned and stretched,

The sun went in,

I looked up at the sky,

It had changed already,

A mackerel sky,

Little clouds,

Scurrying in formation,

Line upon line,

Winds backing,

Said Maxim,

I hope we don't run into rain,

Said Giles,

I'm afraid we've had the best of the day,

Said Patrice,

We wandered slowly towards the drive,

And the waiting car,

You haven't seen what's been done to the east wing,

Said Maxim,

Come upstairs,

I suggested,

It won't take a minute,

We went into the hall and up the big staircase,

The men following behind,

It seemed strange that Patrice had lived here for so many years,

She had run down these same stairs as a little girl with her nurse,

She had been born here,

Bred here,

She knew it all,

She belonged here more than I should ever do,

She must have many memories locked inside her heart,

I wondered if she ever thought about the days that were gone,

Ever remembered the lanky,

Pigtailed child that she had once been,

So different from the woman she had become,

Forty-five now,

Vigorous and settled in her ways,

Another person,

We came to the rooms,

And Giles,

Stooping under the low doorway said,

How very jolly,

This is a great improvement,

Isn't it Bea,

And,

I say old boy,

You have spread yourself,

And then Patrice said,

New curtains,

New beds,

New everything,

You remember Giles,

We had this room that time you were laid up with your leg,

It was very dingy then,

Of course,

Mother never had much idea of comfort,

And then,

You never put people here did you Maxim,

Except when there was an overflow,

The bachelors were always dumped here,

Well it's charming I must say,

Looks over the rose garden too,

Which was always an advantage,

May I powder my nose,

The men went downstairs,

And Patrice peered in the mirror,

Did old Danvers do all this for you,

She said,

Yes,

I said,

I think she's done it very well,

So she should,

With her training,

Said Patrice,

I wonder what on earth it cost,

A pretty packet I bet,

Did you ask,

No,

I'm afraid I did not,

I said,

I don't suppose it worried Mrs.

Danvers,

Said Patrice,

Do you mind if I use your comb,

These are nice brushes,

Wedding present,

Maxim gave them to me,

Hmm,

I like them,

We must give you something of course,

What do you want,

Oh,

I don't really know,

You mustn't bother,

I said,

My dear,

Don't be absurd,

I'm not one to grudge you a present,

Even though we weren't asked to your wedding,

I hope you did not mind about that,

Maxim wanted it to be abroad,

Of course not,

Very sensible of you both,

After all,

It wasn't as though,

She stopped in the middle of her sentence and dropped her bag,

Damn,

Have I broken the catch,

No,

All is well,

What was I saying,

I can't remember,

Oh,

Yes,

Wedding presents,

We must think of something,

You probably don't care for jewelry,

I did not answer,

It's so different from the ordinary young couple,

She said,

The daughter of a friend of mine got married the other day,

And of course,

They were started off in the usual way,

With linen and coffee sets and dining room chairs and all that,

I gave rather a nice standard lamp,

Cost me a fiver at Harrods,

If you do go up to London to buy clothes,

Mind you go to my woman,

Madam Carot,

She has damn good taste,

And she doesn't rook you,

She got up from the dressing table and pulled at her skirt,

Do you suppose you will have a lot of people down,

She said,

I don't know,

Maxim hasn't said,

Funny old boy,

One never quite knows with him,

At one time,

One could not get a bed in the house,

The place would be chock-a-block,

I can't somehow see you,

She stopped abruptly and patted my arm,

Oh well,

She said,

We'll see,

It's a pity you don't ride or shoot,

You miss such a lot,

You don't sail by any chance,

Do you,

No,

I said,

Thank God for that,

She said,

She went to the door,

And I followed her down the corridor,

Come and see us if you feel like it,

She said,

I always expect people to ask themselves,

Life is too short to send out invitations,

Thank you very much,

I said,

We came to the head of the stairs,

Looking down upon the hall,

The men were standing on the steps outside,

Come on B,

Shouted Giles,

I felt a spot of rain,

So we've got to put on the cover,

Maxim says the glass is falling,

Patrice took my hand,

And bending down gave me a swift peck on my cheek,

Goodbye,

She said,

Forgive me if I've asked you a lot of rude questions,

My dear,

And said all sorts of things I shouldn't,

Tact was never my strong point,

As Maxim will tell you,

And,

As I told you before,

You're not a bit what I expected,

She looked at me direct,

Her lips pursed in a whistle,

And then took a cigarette from her bag and flashed her lighter,

You see,

She said,

Snapping the top,

And walking down the stairs,

You are so very different from Rebecca,

And we came out onto the steps,

And found the sun had gone behind a bank of cloud,

A little thin rain was falling,

And Robert was hurrying across the lawn to bring in the chairs,

And,

As I told you before,

You're not a bit what I expected,

She looked at me direct,

Her lips pursed in a whistle,

And then took a cigarette from her bag and flashed her lighter,