“Where are you going, Joan?” he asked suspiciously. “Surely you are never thinking of running away, are you? Because I tell you, you won’t do that; so don’t you try it, my dear. If I’m to be a widower again, it shall be a real one next time.” And he lifted the gun towards her and grinned.
Then, the man John having vanished with the cart, Joan saw that her only chance was to appear unconcerned and watch for an opportunity to escape later.
“Run away!” she said, “what are you thinking of? I only wanted to see if the horse was safe,” and she turned and walked through the deserted garden to the front door of the house, which she entered.
Rock followed her, locking the door behind her as he had done when Mrs. Gillingwater came to visit him, and with much ceremonious politeness ushered her into the sitting-room. This chamber had been re-decorated with a flaring paper, that only served to make it even more incongruous and unfit to be lived in by any sane person than before; and noting its gloom, which by contrast with the brilliant June sunshine without was almost startling, and the devilish faces of carved stone that grinned down upon her from the walls, Joan crossed its threshold with a shiver of fear.
“Here we are at last!” said Samuel. “Welcome to your home, Joan Rock!” And he made a movement as though to embrace her, which she avoided by walking straight past him to the farther side of the table.
“You’ll be wanting something to eat, Joan,” he went on. “There’s plenty in the house if you don’t mind cooking it. You see I haven’t got any servants here at present,” he added apologetically, “as you weren’t expected so soon; and the old woman who comes in to do for me is away sick.”
“Certainly I will cook the food,” Joan answered.
“That’s right, dear—I was afraid that you might be too grand but perhaps you would like to wash your hands first while I light the fire in the kitchen stove. Come here,” and he led the way through the door near the fireplace to the foot of an oaken stair. “There,” he said, “that’s our room, on the right. It’s no use trying any of the others, because they’re all locked up. I shall be just here in the kitchen, so you will see me when you come down.”
Joan went upstairs to the room, which was large and well furnished, though, like that downstairs, badly lighted by one window only, and secured with iron bars, as though the place had been used as a prison at some former time. Clearly it was Samuel’s own room, for his clothes and hats were hung upon some pegs near the door, and other of his possessions were arranged in cupboards and on the shelves.
Almost mechanically she washed her hands and tidied her hair with a brush from her handbag. Then she sat down and tried to think, to find only that her mind had become incapable, so numbed was it by all that she had undergone, and with the terrors mental and bodily of her present position. Nor indeed was much time allowed her for thought, since presently she heard the hateful voice of her husband calling to her that the fire was ready. At first she made no answer, whereon Samuel spoke again from the foot of the stairs, saying,—