CHAPTER IX
Mrs. Crofton was walking restlessly about her new home--the house thatwas so new to her, and yet, if local tradition could be trusted, one ofthe oldest inhabited dwellings in that part of England.
She had felt so sure that Godfrey Radmore would manage to get away fromOld Place, and call on her this afternoon, for Jack Tosswill had told herthat he was arriving before tea--she felt depressed and disappointedthough she had not yet given up hope.
She wondered if he would come alone the first time, or if one ofthe girls would accompany him. She felt just a little afraid ofRosamund--Rosamund was so very pretty with all the added, evanescentcharm of extreme youth. She told herself that it was lucky that she,Enid, and Godfrey Radmore were already friends, and good friends too.
Twice she went up into her bedroom and gave a long, searching, anxiouslook at herself in the narrow panel mirror which she had fixed on to oneof the cupboard doors. That there is no truer critic of herself, and ofher appearance, than a very pretty woman, is generally true even of thevainest and most self-confident of her sex.
Enid Crofton had put on a white serge skirt, and a white woolen jumper,the only concession to her new widowhood being that the white jumper wasbordered in pale grey of a shade that matched her shoes and stockings.Though her anxious surveys of herself had been reassuring, she feltnervous, and a trifle despondent. She did not like the country--thestillness even of village life got on her nerves. Still, Beechfield wasvery different from the horribly lonely house in Essex to which shenever returned willingly in her thoughts--though sometimes certainmemories of all that had happened there would thrust themselves upon her,refusing to be denied.
Fortunately for the new occupant of The Trellis House, a certain type ofprettiness gives its lucky possessor an extraordinary sense of assuranceand tranquillity when dealing with the average man. Enid Crofton wasn'tquite sure, however, if Godfrey Radmore was an average man. He had nevermade love to her in those pleasant, now far-away days in Egypt, whenevery other unattached man did so. That surely proved him to be somewhatpeculiar.
During the whole of her not very long life she had been petted andspoilt, admired and sheltered, by almost everyone with whom fate hadbrought her in contact.
Enid Crofton's father had been a paymaster in the Royal Navy namedJoseph Catlin. After his death she and her mother had lived on inSouthsea till the girl was sixteen, when her mother had pronouncedher quite old enough to be "out." Mrs. Catlin was still too attractiveherself to feel her daughter a rival, and the two years which hadfollowed had been delightful years to them both. Then something whichthey regarded as most romantic occurred. On the day Enid was eighteen,and her mother thirty-seven, there had been a double wedding, Mrs. Catlinbecoming the wife of a prosperous medical man, while Enid married a youngsoldier who had just come in for L4,000, which he and his girl-wifeat once proceeded to spend.
To-day, in spite of herself, her mind went back insistently to her firstmarriage--that marriage of which she never spoke, but of which she wasafraid she would have to tell Godfrey Radmore some day. She was shrewdenough to know that many a man in love with a widow would be surprisedand taken aback were he suddenly told that she had been married before,not once, but twice.
Unknowingly to them both, the young, generous, devoted, lover-husband, towhom even now she sometimes threw a retrospective, kindly thought, haddone her an irreparable injury. He had opened to her the gates of amaterial paradise--the kind of paradise in which a young woman enjoys aconstant flow of ready money. Though she was quite unaware of it, it wasthose fifteen weeks spent on the Riviera, for the most part at MonteCarlo, which had gradually caused Enid to argue herself into the beliefthat she was justified in doing anything--_anything_ which mightcontribute to the renewal of that delicious kind of existence--the onlylife, from her point of view, worth living.
Her first husband's death in a motor accident had left her practicallypenniless, as well as frightened and bewildered, and so she had committedthe mistake of marrying, almost at once, clever, saturnine ColonelCrofton, a man over thirty years older than herself. His mad passion haddied down like a straw-fed flame, and when there had come, like a boltfrom their already grey sky, the outbreak of War, it had been a godsendto them both.
Colonel Crofton had at once stepped into what had seemed to them botha good income, with all sorts of delightful extras, and allowances,attached to it. And while he was in France, at the back of the Front,absorbed in his job, though resentful of the fact that he was not inthe trenches, Enid had shared a small flat in London with another youngand lonely wife. The two had enjoyed every moment of war-time London,dancing, flirting, taking part, by way of doing their bit, in everyform of the lighter kind of war charities, their ideal existence onlybroken by the occasional boredom of having to entertain their respectivehusbands when the latter were home on leave.
Then had come the short interval in Egypt during which the Croftons hadmet Godfrey Radmore, and, after that for Enid, another delightful stretchof London life.
She had felt it intolerable to go back to the old, dull life, on anincome which seemed smaller than ever with rising prices, and everythingsacrificed, or so it had seemed to her, to Colonel Crofton's new,dog-breeding hobby. She resented too, perhaps, more bitterly than sheknew herself, her husband's altered attitude to herself. From having beenpassionately, foolishly in love, he had become critical, and, what to herwas especially intolerable, jealous. For a time she had kept up with someof her war-time acquaintances, but there was a strain of curious timidityin her nature, and she grew afraid of Colonel Crofton. Even now, whenEnid Crofton, free at last, remembered those dreary months in the shabbylittle manor-house which Colonel Crofton had taken after the Armistice,she told herself, with a quickened pulse, that flesh and blood cannotstand more than a certain amount of dulness and discomfort. But sheseldom went back in thought to that hateful time. She had wanted toobliterate, as far as was possible, all recollection of the place whereshe had spent such unhappy months, and where had occurred the tragedyof her husband's death. And it would have been difficult to find twodwelling-houses more different than the lonely, austere-looking, FildyFe Manor, which stood surrounded by water-clogged fields, some twomiles from an unattractive, suburban Essex town, and the delightful,picturesque, cheerful-looking Trellis House which formed an integral partof a prosperous-looking and picturesque Surrey village.
* * * * *
At last Mrs. Crofton settled herself down into her low-ceilinged, squarelittle sitting-room, and, looking round at her new possessions, she toldherself that outwardly her new home was perfect.
The Trellis House had been for a short time in the possession of aclever, modern architect who had done his best to restore the building towhat it must have been before it had been transformed, early in the 19thcentury, from a farm into a so-called gentleman's house. He had uncoveredthe old oak beams, stripped five layers of paper off the walls of theliving rooms, and laid bare what panelling there was--in fact he hadrestored the interior of the old building, while leaving the rose andclematis covered trellis which was on the portion of the house standingat right angles to the village street, and which gave it its name.
In a sense it was too much like a stage picture to please a really finetaste. But to Enid Crofton it formed an ideal background for herattractive self. She had sold for very high prices the sound, solid,fine, 18th century furniture, which her husband had inherited, and withthe proceeds she had bought the less comfortable but to the taste of themoment, more attractive oak furnishings of The Trellis House.
Enid Crofton was the kind of woman who acquires helpful admirers in everyprofession. The junior partner of the big firm of house-agents who haddisposed of the lease of Fildy Fe Manor had helped her in every waypossible, though he had been rather surprised and puzzled, consideringthat she knew no one there, at her determination to find a house in, ornear, the village of Beechfield.
It was also an admirer, the only one who had
survived from her warsojourn in Egypt--a cheery, happy, good-looking soldier, called Tremaine,now at home on leave from India--who had helped her in the actual task ofsettling in. Not that there had been much settling in to do--for thehouse had been left in perfect order by its last tenant. But CaptainTremaine had fetched her from the hotel where she had stayed in London;he had bought her first-class ticket (Enid always liked someone to payfor her); they had shared a delightful picnic lunch which he providedin the train; and then, finally, reluctantly, he had left The TrellisHouse--after a rather silly, tiresome, little scene, during which he hadvowed that she should marry him, even if it came to his kidnapping herby force!
While hoping and waiting, in nervous suspense, for Godfrey Radmore, shecast a tender thought to Bob Tremaine. Nothing, so she told herself witha certain vehemence, would induce her to marry him, for he had only L200a year beside his pay, and that, even in India, she believed would meanpoverty. Also she had been told that no woman remained really pretty inIndia for very long. But she was fond of Tremaine--he was "her sort," andfar, far more her ideal of what a man should be than was the rich man shehad deliberately made up her mind to marry; but bitter experience hadconvinced Enid Crofton that money--plenty of money--was as necessary toher as the air she breathed.
* * * * *
Suddenly there broke on her ear the peal of an old-fashioned bell,followed by a short, sharp knock on the toy knocker of her front door.Enid started up, her face full of eagerness and pleasure; somethingseemed to tell her that it was--it must be--Radmore!
While the maid was going to the door, her mind worked quickly. Surely itwas very late for a call? He must have been wishing to see her as soon ashe possibly could, or he would never have managed to get away from OldPlace, and its many tiresome inmates. There came a mischievous smile overher face. Of one of those inmates, the rather priggish Jack Tosswill, shehad made a real conquest. Under some flimsy excuse he had come every day,always staying for a considerable time. This very morning he had not gonetill she had told him frankly that she only had lunch enough for one!
The door opened slowly, and her smile died away, giving place to atouching, pathetic expression. And then, instead of the tall, darkman she expected to see walk in, there advanced towards her a small,freckled-faced, fair-haired little boy--Timmy Tosswill, the child whomshe was already beginning to regard with something akin to real distaste.
But Enid Crofton was never unpleasant in manner to anybody, and she evenforced herself to smile, as she exclaimed:--"I was not expecting avisitor so late, but I'm very pleased to see you all the same, MasterTimmy! How wonderful that you should have been able to reach my knocker.It's placed so very high up on the door--I think I must get it altered."
"I didn't knock," said Timmy shortly, "it was my godfather who knocked,Mrs. Crofton."
And when Radmore followed his godson into the room he was surprised, evena little touched, at the warmth of Mrs. Crofton's greeting.
She put out both her hands, "I _am_ glad to see you"--and then she added,characteristically, for truth was not in her, "I was afraid you wouldn'thave time to look me up for ever so long!"
But though Radmore was pleased by her evident joy in seeing him, helooked at her with a curiously critical eye. He was surprised to find herin a white frock--inclined, even, to be just a little bit shocked.
And there was something else. Enid Crofton had enjoyed the War--she hadadmitted this just a little shamefacedly a week ago, when they two werehaving dinner together at the Savoy Grill, where she had been easily theprettiest woman in the room. At the time he had felt indulgently that itwas a good thing that someone should have gone through that awful timeuntouched by the pains and scars of war. But now everything seemeddifferent, somehow. Beechfield was a place of mourning, and in a placeof mourning this smiling, beautifully dressed, almost too pretty youngcreature looked out of place. Still that wasn't her fault, after all.
As the three sat down, Timmy upset the narrow oak stool on which he hadplaced himself with a great clatter, and Radmore suddenly realised thathe had made a mistake in bringing the boy. For the first time since hisreturn to England he saw something like a frown gather on Mrs. Crofton'sface. Perhaps, unlike most nice women, she didn't like children?
"I'm awfully grateful to you for having told me about Beechfield," sheexclaimed. "Although I've hardly been here a week, I do feel what adelightful place it is! Everybody is so kind and friendly. Why the veryfirst day I was here I was asked to supper at Old Place--and severalpeople have left cards on me already. What sort of a woman is Miss--" shehesitated, "Pendarth?"
Timmy and Radmore looked at one another, but neither spoke for a moment.Then Radmore answered, rather drily:--"In my time, Miss Pendarth was thegreatest gossip and busy-body within a radius of thirty miles. She mustbe an old woman now."
"Oh, I don't think she would like you to call her that!" exclaimed Timmy,and both his grown-up auditors laughed. But Enid Crofton felt a littledisappointed, for on Miss Pendarth's card had been written the words:--"Ilook forward to making your acquaintance. I think I must have knownColonel Crofton many years ago. There was a Cecil Crofton who was a greatfriend of my brother's--they joined the Ninetieth on the same day." Shehad rather hoped to find a kindly friend and ally in the still unknowncaller.
And then, as if answering her secret thought, Radmore observedcarelessly:--"It's wrong to prejudice you against Miss Pendarth; I'veknown her do most awfully kind things. But she had what the Scotch calla 'scunner' against me when I was a boy. She's the sort of woman who'sa good friend and a bad enemy."
"I must hope," said his hostess softly, "that she'll be a good friend tome. At any rate, it was nice of her to come and call almost at once,wasn't it?"
"You've delightful quarters here," observed Radmore. "The Trellis Housewas a very different place to this in my time; I can remember a hideous,cold and white wallpaper in this room--it looks twice as large as it didthen."
"I found the things I sold made it possible for me to buy almosteverything in The Trellis House. Tappin & Edge say that I got a greatbargain."
"Yes," said Radmore hesitatingly, "I expect you did."
But all the same he felt that his pretty friend had made a mistake, forhe remembered some of Colonel Crofton's furniture as having been verygood. In the bedroom in which he had slept at Fildy Fe Manor there hadbeen a walnut-wood tallboy of the best Jacobean period. That one piecemust certainly have been worth more than all the furniture in thisparticular room put together.
Poor Enid Crofton! The call to which she had been looking forward sogreatly was not turning out a success. Godfrey Radmore seemed a verydifferent man here, in Beechfield, from what he had seemed in London.They talked in a desultory way, with none of the pleasant, cosy, intimacyto which she had insensibly accustomed him; and though Timmy remainedabsolutely quiet and silent after that unfortunate accident with thestool, his presence in some way affected the atmosphere.
All at once Radmore asked:--"And where's Boo-boo? It's odd I neverthought of asking you in London, but somehow one expects to see a dog inthe country, even as highly civilised and smart a little dog as Boo-boo!"
"I sold her," answered Mrs. Crofton, in a low, pained tone. "I got L40for her, and a most awfully good home. Still," she sighed, "of course Imiss my darling little Boo--" and then a sharp tremor ran through her,for there suddenly fell on her ears the sound of a dog, howling.
Now Enid Crofton did not believe that what she heard so clearly were realhowls, proceeding from a flesh-and-blood dog. She thought that her nerveswere betraying her, as they had a way of doing since her husband's death.Often when she fell asleep, there would come to her a strange andhorrible nightmare. It was such a queer, uncanny kind of dream for agrown-up woman to have! She used to dream that she was a rat--and thatColonel Crofton's own terrier, a fierce brute called Dandy, was afterher.
"That's Flick! Perhaps I'd better go and let him out?" Timmy jumped upas he spoke. "I thought you didn't like dog
s, Mrs. Crofton, and so I shutFlick up in your stable-yard. I expect he's got bored, being in thereall by himself, in the dark!"
The boy's words brought delicious relief, and then, all at once, shefelt unreasonably angry. How stupid of this odious little fellow to havebrought his horrid, savage dog with him--after what had happened theother night!
Timmy shot out of the room and so through the front door, and Radmore gotup too. "I'm afraid we ought to be going," he said.
His white-clad hostess came up close to him:--"It's so good of you tohave come to see me so soon," she murmured. "Though I do like Beechfield,and the people here are awfully kind, I feel very forlorn, Mr. Radmore.Seeing you has cheered me up very much. I hope you'll come again soon."
There fell on the still air the voice of Timmy talking to his dogoutside. Mrs. Crofton went quickly past Radmore into the tiny hall; sheshut the front door, which had been left ajar; and then she came back.
"It's quite true that I don't like dogs!" she exclaimed. "Poor Cecil'sterriers got thoroughly on my nerves last winter. I sometimes dream ofthem even now."
He looked at her, surprised, and rather concerned. Poor little woman!There were actually tears in her eyes.
"Yes," she went on, as if she could not help the words coming out,"that's the real reason I sold Boo-boo. I even felt as if my poor littleBoo-boo had turned against me." There was a touch of excitement, almostof defiance, in her low voice, and Radmore felt exceedingly taken abackand puzzled. This was an Enid Crofton he had never met. "Come, come--youmustn't feel like that"--he took her hand in his and held it closely.
She looked up at him and her eyes filled with tears, and then, suddenly,her heart began beating deliciously. She saw flash into his dark face alook she had seen flash into many men's faces, but never in his, tillnow--the excited, tender look that she had longed to see there. Sheswayed a little towards him; dropping her hand, he put out his arms--inanother moment, what she felt sure such a man as Radmore would haveregarded as irreparable would have happened, had not the door just behindthem burst open.
They fell apart quickly, and Radmore, with a sudden revulsion offeeling--a sensation that he had been saved from doing a very foolishthing--turned to see his godson, Timmy Tosswill.
Enid Crofton looked at Timmy, too, and if evil thoughts could kill, thechild would have fallen dead. But evil thoughts do not kill, and so allthat happened was that Timmy had a sudden, instinctive feeling that hemust account for his presence.
Looking up into his godfather's face, he said breathlessly:--"The frontdoor was shut, so I came in, through the kitchen. It's ever so late,Godfrey--after half past seven. Dad _will_ be upset if you're not back tospeak to him before dinner!"
* * * * *
As the two, the tall man and the short boy, walked away into thedarkness, Radmore was possessed by an extraordinary mixture of feelings."You've had an escape! You've got well out of what would have been notonly a dangerous but an absurd situation," so whispered a secret, innervoice. And yet there was a side of him which felt not only balked anddisappointed, but exasperated...
"Do you ever think of people's faces when they're not there?" asked Timmysuddenly, and then, without waiting for an answer, he went on:--"When Ishut my eyes, before I go quite off to sleep, you know, I see a row offaces. Sometimes they're people I've never seen at all; but last night Ikept seeing Mrs. Crofton's face, looking just as it looked when Flick ranin and growled at her the other night. It was such an awful look--I don'tthink I shall ever forget it."
As Radmore said nothing, the little boy asked another question: "Do youthink Mrs. Crofton pretty?" This time Timmy waited for an answer.
"Yes, I think she's very pretty. But gentlemen don't discuss ladies andtheir looks, old boy."
"Don't they? How stupid of them!" said Timmy. He added a little shyly, "Isuppose a gentleman may talk of his sister?"
Radmore turned hot in the darkness. Was Timmy going to say something ofBetty, and of that old, painful, now he hoped forgotten, episode? ButTimmy only observed musingly:--"You haven't seen Rosamund yet. Of coursewe never say so to her, because it might make her vain, but I do think,Godfrey, that she's very, _very_ pretty."
And then, rather to his companion's discomfiture, his queer littlemind swung back to the woman to whose house they had just been. "Mrs.Crofton," he observed, with an air of finality, "may be pretty, but she'sgot what I call a blotting-paper face."
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