I got up from the stool and went and touched the dressing-gown on the chair.
I picked up the slippers and held them in my hand.
I was aware of a growing sense of horror, of horror turning to despair.
I touched the quilt on the bed, traced with my fingers the monogram on the nightdress case, R de W, interwoven and interlaced.
The letters were corded and strong against the golden satin material.
The nightdress was inside the case, thin as gossamer, apricot in colour.
I touched it, drew it out from the case, put it against my face.
It was cold, quite cold.
But there was a dim mustiness about it still where the scent had been. The scent of the white azaleas.
I folded it, and put it back into the case, and as I did so I noticed with a sick dull aching in my heart that there were creases in the nightdress, the texture was ruffled, it had not been touched or laundered since it was last worn.
On a sudden impulse I moved away from the bed and went back to the little ante-room where I had seen the wardrobes.
I opened one of them.
It was as I thought.
The wardrobe was full of clothes.
There were evening dresses here, I caught the shimmer of silver over the top of the white bags that enfolded them.
There was a piece of gold brocade. There, next to it, was velvet, wine-coloured and soft.
There was attain of white satin, dripping on the floor of the wardrobe.
Peeping out from a piece of tissue paper on a shelf above was an ostrich feather fan.
The wardrobe smelt stuffy, queer.
The azalea scent, so fragrant and delicate in the air, had turned stale inside the wardrobe, tarnishing the silver dresses and the brocade, and the breath of it wafted towards me now from the open doors, faded and old.
I shut the doors.
I went back into the bedroom once again.
The gleam of light from the shutter still shone white and clear on the golden coverlet of the bed, picking out clearly and distinctly the tall sloping R of the monogram.
Then I heard a step behind me and turning round I saw Mrs Danvers.
I shall never forget the expression on her face.
Triumphant, gloating, excited in a strange unhealthy way.
I felt very frightened.
'Is anything the matter, Madam?' she said.
I tried to smile at her, and could not.
I tried to speak.
'Are you feeling unwell?' she said, coming nearer to me, speaking very softly.
I backed away from her.
I believe if she had come any closer to me I should have fainted.
I felt her breath on my face.
'I'm all right, Mrs Danvers,' I said, after a moment,
'I did not expect to see you.
The fact is, I was looking up at the windows from the lawn. I noticed one of the shutters was not quite closed.
I came up to see if I could fasten it.'
'I will fasten it,' she said, and she went silently across the room and clamped back the shutter.
The daylight had gone.
The room looked unreal again in the false yellow light.
Unreal and ghastly.
Mrs Danvers came back and stood beside me.
She smiled, and her manner, instead of being still and unbending as it usually was, became startlingly familiar, fawning even.
'Why did you tell me the shutter was open?' she asked.
'I closed it before I left the room.
You opened it yourself, didn't you, now?
You wanted to see the room.
Why have you never asked me to show it to you before?
I was ready to show it to you every day.