"Miss Caroline de Winter," shouted the drummer.
I came forward to the head of the stairs and stood there, smiling, my hat in my hand, like the girl in the picture. I waited for the clapping and laughter that would follow as I walked slowly down the stairs. Nobody clapped, nobody moved.
They all stared at me like dumb things. Beatrice uttered a little cry and put her hand to her mouth. I went on smiling, I put one hand on the banister.
"How do you do, Mr de Winter," I said.
Maxim had not moved. He stared up at me, his glass in his hand. There was no colour in his face. It was ashen white. I saw Frank go to him as though he would speak, but Maxim shook him off. I hesitated, one foot already on the stairs. Something was wrong, they had not understood. Why was Maxim looking like that? Why did they all stand like dummies, like peaople in a trance?
Then Maxim moved forward to the stairs, his eyes never leaving my face.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?" he asked. His eyes blazed in anger. His face was still ashen white.
I could not move, I went on standing there, my hand on the banister.
"It's the picture," I said, terrified at his eyes, at his voice. "It's the picture, the one in the gallery."
There was a long silence. We went on staring at each other. Nobody moved in the hall. I swallowed, my hand moved to my throat. "What is it?" I said. "What have I done?"
If only they could not stare at me like that with dull blank faces. If only somebody would say something. When Maxim spoke again I did not recognize his voice. It was still and quiet, icy cold, not a voice I knew.
"Go and change," he said, "it does not matter what you put on. Find an ordinary evening frock, anything will do. Go now, before anybody comes."
I could not speak, I went on staring at him. Hiw eyes were the only living things in the white mask of his face.
"What are you standing there for?" he said, his voice harsh and queer. "Didn't you hear what I said?"
I turned and ran blindly through the archway to the corridors beyond. I caught a glimpse of the astonished face of the drummer who had announced me. I brushed past him, stumbling, not looking where I went. Tears blinded my eyes. I did not know what was happening. Clarice had gone. The corridor was deserted. I looked about me stunned and stupid like a haunted thing. THen I saw the door leading to the west wing was open wide, and that someone was standing there.
It was Mrs Danvers. I shall never forget the expression on her face, loathsome, triumphant. The face of an exulting evil. She stood there, smiling at me.
And then I ran from her, down the long narrow passage to my own room, tripping, stumbling over the flounces of my dress.
[ Daphne du Maurier ]
