Will O’ the Wisp by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online

fur-lined cloak from the tall mahogany wardrobe. That little idiot Folly! Who could have imagined that she really meant to go out? Of course, it might be one of the maids. No, that wasn’t likely. She slipped out of the room and felt her way noiselessly down the stairs and through the hall.
    The room immediately below her bedroom was Betty Lester’s sitting-room. Eleanor felt her way across it until her hands touched the chintz curtains. They were cold and shiny, and as she pulled them back, the draught that came from behind them was colder still. The window was a French window, opening to the ground, and it stood a hand’s breadth ajar.
    â€œLittle idiot!” said Eleanor to herself. Then she pulled her cloak round her and ran to the corner of the house.
    The steps were at her foot, very black; they went down to a path which wound back along the slope and then lost itself in the darkness of the woods. Eleanor stood on the top step and called softly:
    â€œFolly—Folly!”
    She waited a moment, and then called again:
    â€œFolly! Folly! Are you there?”
    An owl hooted in the wood. Eleanor hated owls. She shivered a little; and the owl cried again, on an unearthly, floating note that sounded nearer. She decided that it would be ridiculous for her to follow the little wretch; besides, she might quite easily miss her in the wood. The sensible thing to do was to go back into Betty’s room and wait for her there.
    She drew back from the steps and walked to the edge of the terrace. It was such a lovely night—so still, so clear, with the moon coming up over the edge of the little hill away on the left—a golden moon very nearly full. It was just clear of the tree-tops, and half the lake below the terrace shone in a light between gold and silver; the other half lay black in the shadow of the wooded hill.
    Eleanor looked at the water and moved along the terrace until she came to the head of the stone steps which led down to it. They were bathed in the soft light. She went down a little way, and then stood for a while letting the beauty in upon her troubled thought.
    Folly—what had possessed her? How lovely the tracery of bare boughs against the moon-flushed sky! Why had Folly kept to the dark path instead of coming this way?
    Her hand moved on the wall that followed the steps. There were little dry stalks and withered leaves on it. In a month or two there would be arabis, and aubretia, and alyssum, in sheets of white, and lilac, and violet, and yellow.
    â€œPerhaps I ought to have gone after Folly. The wood’s so dark—and I do hate owls. Why did she go into the wood? It’s dark. I ought to have gone after her. Why on earth did she go into the wood? I’m a coward. I ought to have gone after her.”
    She took her hand off the wall, and, as she turned, something moved where the wood ran down to the lake.
    It wasn’t Folly; it was a man.
    Eleanor’s heart thumped, and then quieted. It was David. It was only David. She ran down the steps to meet him; her “Have you seen her?” was a little breathless.
    â€œHer?”
    â€œFolly—have you seen Folly?”
    â€œNo—why should I? It’s a topping night—isn’t it?”
    She nodded.
    â€œYes. Folly—Folly’s gone for a walk.”
    â€œNonsense!”
    â€œBut she has. She said something about it, and I thought she was joking. But I heard the morning-room window open, and I saw someone go down the steps.”
    â€œThese steps?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow do you know it was Folly?”
    â€œWell, I can’t think of anyone else who’d be so idiotic.”
    David laughed unexpectedly.
    â€œWell, I’m out, and you’re out. As a matter of fact, I often go for a walk before I turn in. I shouldn’t bother about that little image if I were you.”
    â€œDavid, she oughtn’t to.”
    He laughed again.
    â€œDo you think you or anyone