The Shivering Sands by Victoria Holt Page A

face they show the world. That is the artist’s gift, don’t you think? To see what they are trying to hide.”
    “It makes the artist rather alarming.”
    “A person to be avoided.” Her laughter was pitched and girlish. She was looking at me with those childlike eyes and I felt uneasy. Was she trying to probe my secrets? Was she seeing my stormy life with Pietro? Would she attempt to probe also into my motives? What if she discovered that I was Roma’s sister?
    “It would all depend,” I said, “whether one had something to hide.”
    “All people have something to hide don’t they, Mrs. Verlaine? It could be only one little thing…but it’s something so very much one’s own. Older people are more interesting than the young. Nature is an artist. Nature draws all sorts of things on people’s faces which they would prefer to hide.”
    “Nature also draws the pleasanter things.”
    “You’re an optimist, Mrs. Verlaine. I can see that. You’re like the young woman who came here…digging.”
    My uneasiness increased. “Like…” I began.
    She went on: “William didn’t want the place disturbed, but she was so persistent. She wouldn’t let him rest so he said yes. And they came down looking for Roman remains. It hasn’t been the same since.”
    “You met this young woman?”
    “Oh yes. I like to know what’s going on.”
    “She would be the one who disappeared?”
    She nodded delightedly, her eyes almost lost among the wrinkles.
    “You know why?” she said.
    “No.”
    “Meddling. They didn’t like it.”
    “Who didn’t?”
    “Those who are dead and gone. They don’t go…altogether, you know. They come back.”
    “You mean the…Romans?”
    “The dead,” she said. “You can sense them all round you.” She came closer to me and whispered: “I don’t think Beau will like Napier’s coming back. In fact I know he doesn’t. He’s told me.”
    “Beau…has told you!”
    “In dreams. We were close…He was my little boy. The one I might have had. I’d pictured him…just like Beau. It was all right when Napier wasn’t here. It was right and proper that he should be sent away. Why should Beau be gone and Napier stay? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But now he’s back and that’s bad, I tell you. Just a moment.” She went to the stack of canvases and brought out a picture. She set it against the wall and I gasped with horror. It was a full length picture of a man. The face was wicked…the hawknose was accentuated; the eyes were narrowed, the mouth was curved into a repulsive snarl. I recognized it as Napier.
    “You recognize it?” she asked.
    “It’s not really like him,” I said.
    “I painted it after he’d murdered his brother.”
    I felt indignant. For the boy, I told myself fiercely once more. She was watching my face and she laughed.
    “I see you are going to take his side. You don’t know him. He’s wicked. He was jealous of his brother, of beautiful Beau. He wanted what Beau had…so he killed him. He’s like that. I know it. Others know it.”
    “I am sure there are some who…”
    She interrupted me. “How can you be sure, Mrs. Verlaine? What do you know? You think because William brought him back and married him to Edith…William is a hard man too, Mrs. Verlaine. The men of this house are all hard…except Beau. Beau was beautiful. Beau was good. And he had to die.” She turned away. “Forgive me. I feel it still. I shall never forget.”
    “I understand.” I turned my back on that portrait of the young Napier. “It is very kind of you to show me your pictures. I was trying to find my way to my room. I think I may be wanted.”
    She nodded. “I hope that one day you will see more of my pictures.”
    “I should like to,” I said.
    “Soon?” she pleaded like a child.
    “If you will be so good as to invite me.”
    She nodded happily and pulled a bell rope. A servant came and she asked the girl to conduct me to my apartments.

    When I reached my