Dead of Night Page #5

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I am going mad.

Now I'll tell you what I see.

No four-poster,

no panelling and no log fires.

Just your ordinary room

with you and me in it.

Listen to me...

You're going to look in this mirror again

and see exactly the same as I do.

Come here. Come here.

- 'Can you see your own room? '

- No.

- 'Or me? '

- No.

- 'But you must! Make yourself.'

- I can't.

You can, darling, if you try.

- It's no good.

- You can.

Look, here I am, standing by you.

Yes...

Yes, there you are.

I can see you now.

You see? I told you so.

I can't make it out.

Come on, let's get out of here

and have a drink.

'So that seemed to be that.

'A fortnight later, we got married

and moved into the new house.

'In a way, I'd have been happier

to get rid of the mirror,

'but Peter seemed to have

lost his fear of it,

'so I decided to let things be.'

Mother says, can we come down

the weekend after next. It's her birthday.

I shan't be able to make it.

We're rushing that big audit through.

Oh, never mind. She'll be disappointed,

but we can go some other time.

Well, you can go, sweet, anyhow,

even if I can't.

I don't want to go without you.

I don't want you to. But your mother

would rather have you alone.

You know, getting her precious

daughter back for a few days.

Don't be an idiot. She doesn't feel she's

lost a daughter. She's gained a son.

What gift for a phrase you have!

Think it over, anyhow.

- Hello?

- 'Hello, Peter.'

Hello, darling.

Have a good journey?

- 'Yes. I wish you could've come.'

- So do I. Still, it can't be helped.

- 'Do you miss me? '

- Of course I do.

- Do you miss me?

- 'Yes. Gone to bed yet? '

No, I'm going to do another

half an hour's work first.

- 'Well, good night, darling.'

- Good night, darling. See you Monday.

- Give my love to your mother.

- 'Yes. Goodnight, darling.'

Goodnight, darling.

- 'Toll number, please? '

- Flaxman 6061.

Get me Chichester 2352.

Thank you.

- What is it, dear?

- Nothing.

I want to speak to Mr Rutherford.

Would you go to the library,

and walk back this way?

Very well, dear.

- Morning, Mr Rutherford.

- Good morning, Miss Walsh...

...I beg your pardon, Mrs Cortland.

Do you remember that Chippendale

mirror I bought here 3 months ago?

Indeed I do. I hope your husband

was satisfied with it.

Yes, very. Tell me...

- That bed, the four-poster...

- How odd you should mention it.

It so happens, I bought it

at the same sale that I got your mirror.

There's a curious history

attaching to them both.

- Curious?

- Well, tragic, perhaps I should say.

I trust, by the way,

you're not superstitious.

No... No, I don't think so.

Won't you sit down?

Some people retain a medieval attitude

of mind with regard to these matters.

Please, Mr Rutherford,

tell me the story, I'm very interested.

By all means.

The bed and the mirror form part of

the contents of the private apartments

of a Mr Francis Etherington,

who died at Marsden Lacy in 1836.

The apartments had remained unused

and locked from that time till the sale.

That is his portrait, by the way.

He was a man of dominating character.

Arrogant, reckless, handsome

and of a violent temper.

He married a very beautiful heiress,

a Miss Perry.

The couple retired to Marsden Lacy

where they lived contentedly for a time.

Then suddenly, disaster overtook them.

Out hunting one day,

Etherington was thrown by his horse,

which then rolled on him.

His spine was injured.

He was never again able to do more than

drag himself a few paces from this bed.

- How dreadful.

- Yes...

Unfortunately,

the effects of such constraint

on a man of his enormous energy

were more than his mind could endure.

He became morose, embittered,

suspicious, above all, of his wife.

Quite without reason, he began accusing

the poor lady of betraying him.

With his friends,

with strangers,

with his servants.

Had she not been so devoted to him,

she certainly would've left him,

and indeed it would've been

better for her had she done so.

For one day,

in an excess of jealous rage,

he strangled her, and then sat down

in front of the mirror...

...your mirror...

...and cut his throat.

What a horrible story.

Then the mirror hasn't been

used again until Peter...

...until I bought it for my husband.

Precisely.

Peter?

Peter?

Peter, darling? Oh, there you are!

Something gone wrong

with your plans for a weekend?

- Darling, what do you mean?

- You know what I mean.

I haven't the faintest idea

what you're talking about.

Of course you haven't.

You didn't think I suspected anything,

when you were so eager

to go away without me.

Well, I'm not a fool.

I knew what your game was.

Darling, stop, please.

Sit down and listen to me.

I will not sit down!

I know you'd like to have me chained

to this chair and chained to this room.

But I won't stand it,

not while I've strength to move at all.

Darling, sit down and listen to me.

You're not well.

And a good thing for you

and your precious lover that I'm not.

If I could move out of this room

and break him in pieces...

Peter, it's the mirror. I've found out

what's wrong with the mirror.

There's nothing wrong with the mirror.

I look in it often.

I sit here and look at these four walls.

Then for a change,

I look at them in the mirror.

You don't know what you're saying!

This isn't Marsden Lacy.

Your name isn't Etherington.

It's Cortland, Peter Cortland,

and I'm your wife!

Exactly, you're my wife,

but you sometimes choose to forget it.

Well? What's the matter?

Why have you come back?

No, let me guess.

You were enjoying a pleasant weekend

with Guy, but he was called away.

So you had to come back to me.

Peter, I haven't even seen Guy.

Anyhow, you know

we've always treated him as a joke.

Yes, I know we've always pretended to,

but I knew what was going on all the time.

Nothing's been going on,

you know that as well as I do!

I pretended not to notice,

day after day,

month after month,

while you were making

a public laughing stock of me.

But this time, I've had enough!

I'm going to punish you

as you deserve to be punished.

It's the mirror. Mr Rutherford told me

about it. That's why I came back.

It belonged to a cripple who accused

his wife, just as you're now accusing me.

Peter, you must listen to me!

Peter.

Peter, darling, are you all right?

- I seem to have cut myself.

- Sit down, let me have a look at it.

Look at the mirror.

How did that happen?

Never mind now, darling.

- But, darling, we could get it mended.

- No, we can't.

It's old and worm-eaten and rotten.

It should've been burned ages ago.

You poor darling!

Well, I think you could do with a drink

after that. I know I could.

Mother, what did you do with that bottle

of schnapps I got for Dr Van Straaten?

It's in the cupboard in the hall.

Well, how's the great debunker

going to debunk that?

Ever since Mr Craig arrived,

you've been asking me to produce

scientific explanations

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