CHAPTER XXVII
It was after seven, on the evening of that same Sunday, that EnidCrofton, after having spent the whole day in her bedroom, came down toher pretty, cheerful, little sitting-room.
She had returned from London in an anxious, nervous, strung-up frame ofmind. For the first time in her life she did not know what it was shereally wanted, or rather she was uncertain as to what it would be bestfor her to do.
The thought of seeing Jack Tosswill, of having to fence and flirt withhim in her present disturbed state of mind, had been intolerable. Thatwas the real reason why she had stayed upstairs all to-day. He had calledthree times, and the third time he had brought with him a letter evenmore passionately loving, while also even more angry and hurt in tone,than the one which she had received from him the day before.
As she read this second epistle she had told herself, with something likerage, that it was not her fault that what she had intended should be aharmless flirtation had caused such havoc. Still, deep in her heart shewas well aware that but for the havoc she had caused, she could neverhave confided to him her urgent need of the five hundred pounds which hehad procured with such surprising ease.
Jack had been quite honest with the woman he loved. He had told her ofhis talk with Radmore, of Radmore's immediate, generous response, and thecheque he had given which he, Jack, handed to her as a free gift.
She had gone up to London fully intending to see the Pipers after she hadcashed the cheque. But when it came to the point she had shirked thesecond half of her programme, telling herself, with perhaps a certainamount of truth, that by waiting till the last day of grace allowed herby that terrible old-clothes woman she would get better terms. Perhapsthen they would be satisfied with three hundred pounds, or even less,and acting on that hope, she had expended a portion of the money inpurchasing a few of the pretty dress etceteras which are so costlynowadays.
Apart from the time occupied by those pleasant purchases, she had spentevery waking minute of the day with Harold Tremaine, lunching and diningat the big smart restaurants which both her soul and her body loved,going to the play, and listening in between to the most delightfullove-making....
Small wonder that during that long, dull Sunday, spent perforce in herbedroom, Enid Crofton's mind often took refuge in the thought of the onlyman now in her life with whom all her memories and all her relations hadbeen, and were, absolutely satisfactory. Captain Tremaine was a simple,happy, cheerful soul. Though he was always what he called "dashed short,"when with a woman he flung about his money right royally. Also he was anexpert, not a teasing, lover. He knew, so Enid reminded herselfgratefully, when to stop, as well as when to begin, making love. Howunlike inexpert, tiresome Jack Tosswill! And yet he also was in deadearnest. He knew exactly what he wanted, and more than once, in achaffing, yet serious, fashion, he had assured her that she had bestsubmit at once, as he always "got there in the end." What he wanted wasthat they should be married, by special license, within a week fromnow, so that they might go back to India, a happy, honeymooning couple,in a fortnight! And while he was with her, describing in eloquent, eagerlanguage what their life would be like and what a delightful, jolly timethey would have, Enid had been sorely, sorely tempted to say "yes."
And yet? Though Tremaine was Enid Crofton's ideal of what a lover, even ahusband, should be, and she had never liked any man as well, she knewwith a painful, practical knowledge the meaning of the words "genteelpoverty." Tremaine's regiment would not remain for ever in India, andthen would begin the enforced economies, the weary struggle with aninadequate income she had known with Colonel Crofton. No, no--it wasn'tgood enough!--or at any rate not good enough as long as there was a hopeof anything better. Even so, it was comfortable to know that HaroldTremaine would still be there, a second string to her bow, in six months'or a year's time.
It was of all this that she thought, a little despondently, as shesettled herself down in the easy chair close to the little wood fire.In a few moments her supper would be brought in by her pleasant-faced,rosy-cheeked parlourmaid. Enid Crofton was dainty and particular as toher food. The bad cooking she had had to endure during those miserablemonths she had spent in Essex, after her husband had been demobilised,had proved a very real addition to her other troubles.
She had brought a nice sweetbread with her from London yesterday, and shewas now looking forward to having it for her supper.
All at once there came a ring at the front door, and a feeling of keen,angry annoyance shot through her. Of course it was Jack--Jack again! Hewould ask tiresome, inconvenient questions about the mythical womanfriend, the almost sister, for whom she had required the money, and shewould have to make up tiresome, inconvenient lies. Also he would want tokiss her, and she did so want her dinner!
She stood up--and then the door opened and, instead of Jack, TimmyTosswill came through it. For the first time in their acquaintance shewas glad to see the boy, though she told herself that of course he hadbrought her a letter--another of those odious, reproachful letters fromJack.
"Good evening, Timmy," she spoke, as she always did speak, pleasantly."Have you brought me a message from Rosamund? I hope she hasn't thrown meover? I'm expecting her to lunch to-morrow, you know."
"I didn't know," he said gravely, "and I've not brought a message fromanyone, Mrs. Crofton. My coming is a secret."
"A secret?" Again she spoke easily, jokingly; but there came over her astrange, involuntary feeling of repulsion for the odd-looking child.
He came up close to her, and, putting his hands behind his back, began tostare fixedly beyond her, at the empty space between her chair and thewhite wall.
There crept over Enid Crofton a sensation of acute discomfort. Shestepped back, and sat down in her low, easy-chair. What was Timmy lookingat with that curious, fixed stare?
It was in vain that she reminded herself that no sensible person nowbelieves in ghosts, and that she had but to press the bell on the otherside of the fireplace to ensure the attendance of her cheerful servant.These comforting reflections availed her nothing, and a wave of fearadvanced and threatened to engulf her.
After what seemed to her an interminable pause, but which was really lessthan a minute, Timmy's eyes met hers, and he said abruptly, "Is it truethat someone has asked you to go to India? Rosamund says it is."
She gave a little gasp of relief. On her way home from the station in theOld Place pony-cart, she had told her companion that while in London shehad met a man who had fallen in love with her in Egypt, during the War.Further, that this handsome, brilliant, rich young soldier had urged herto marry him and go off to India with him at once. She was surprised aswell as dismayed by this quick betrayal of her confidence. What a gooseRosamund was!
"Yes, Timmy," she bent forward and smiled a little, "it is quite truethat I have been asked to go to India, but that doesn't mean that I'mgoing."
"I would, if I were you," said the child gravely.
"Would you?" Again she smiled. "But I've only just come to Beechfield.I hope you're not in a hurry to get rid of me?"
"No," he said, "I'm not in a hurry, exactly. It's you who ought to be ina hurry, Mrs. Crofton." He waited a moment and then added: "India is avery nice place."
"Yes, indeed. Full of tigers and leopards!" she said playfully.
"I should go as soon as you can if I were you."
She looked at him distrustfully. What exactly did he mean?
_"Someone we wot of got off very lightly at the inquest."_
His voice sank almost to a whisper, but Enid Crofton felt as if theterrible sentence was being shouted for all the world to hear.
Timmy's eyes were now fixed on the gay-looking blue rug spread out beforethe fender to his right. He was remembering something he had done ofwhich he was ashamed.
Then he lifted his head and began again staring at the space between Mrs.Crofton's chair and the wall.
Enid Crofton opened her mouth and then she shut it again. What did theboy know? What had he seen? What ha
d he been told? She remembered thatMr. Tosswill was a magistrate. Had the Pipers been down to see him?
"There were some people," went on the boy, and again he spoke in thatqueer, muffled whisper, almost as if the words were being dragged out ofhim against his will, "who thought"--he stopped--"who thought," herepeated, "that Colonel Crofton did not take that poison knowingly."
She told herself desperately that she must say something--somethingordinary, something of no account, before a power outside herself forcedher to utter words which would lead to horror incalculable.
Speaking in such a loud discordant voice that Timmy quickly moved back astep or two, she exclaimed: "I was not going to tell anybody yet--but asyou seem so anxious to know my plans, I will tell you a secret, Timmy.I _am_ going to India after all! A splendid strong man, an officer and agentleman who would have won the V.C. ten times over in any other war,and who would _kill_ anyone who ever said a word against me, has asked meto be his wife, and to go out to India very, very soon."
"And have you said you will?" he asked.
"Of course I have."
"And will you be married soon?" went on her inquisitor.
"Yes, very soon," she cried hysterically. "As soon as possible!"
"Then you will have to leave Beechfield."
She told herself with a kind of passionate rage that the child had noright to ask her such a silly, obvious question, and yet she answered atonce: "Of course I shall leave Beechfield."
"And you will never come back?"
"I shall never, _never_ come back." And then she added, almost as if inspite of herself, and with a kind of strange, bitter truthfulness veryforeign to her: "I don't like Beechfield--I don't agree that it's apretty place--I think it's a hideous little village."
There was a pause. She was seeking for a phrase in which to say"Good-bye," not so much to Timmy as to all the others.
"Will you go away to-morrow?" he asked, this time boldly. And sheanswered, "Yes, to-morrow."
"Perhaps I'd better not tell any of them at Old Place?" It was as if hewas speaking to himself.
She clutched at the words.
"I would far rather you did not tell them--I will write to them fromLondon. Can I trust you not to tell them, Timmy?"
He looked at her oddly. "Jack and Rosamund will be sorry," he saidslowly. And then he jerked his head--his usual way of signifying"Good-bye" when he did not care to shake hands.
Turning round he walked out of the room, and she heard the front doorbang after him, as also, after a moment or two, the outside door set inthe garden wall.
Enid Crofton got up. Though she was shaking--shaking all over--she walkedswiftly across her little hall into the dining-room. There she sat downat the writing-table, and took up the telephone receiver. "9846 Regent."
It was the number of Harold Tremaine's club. She thought he would almostcertainly be there just now.
She then hung up the receiver again, and, going to the door whichled into the kitchen, she opened it: "Don't bring in my supper yet.I'll ring, when I'm ready for it." She then went back to the littlewriting-table and waited impatiently.
At last the bell rang.
"I want to speak to Captain Tremaine. Is he in the Club? Can you findhim?"
She felt an intense thrill of almost superstitious relief when the answercame: "Yes, ma'am. He's in the Club. I'll go and fetch him."
She remembered with relief that Tremaine had told her that no one couldoverhear, at any rate at his end, what was being said or answered throughthe telephone--but she also remembered that it was not the same here, inThe Trellis House.
Judging others by herself, as most of us do in this strange world, shefelt sure that her two young servants were listening behind the door.Still, in a sense there was nothing Enid Crofton liked better thanpitting her wits against other wits. So when she heard the question,"Who is it?" she simply answered, "Darling! Can't you guess?"
In answer to his rapturous assent, she said quietly, "I've made up mymind to do what you wish."
And then she drank in with intense delight the flood of eager, exultantwords, uttered with such a rush of joy, and in so triumphant a tone, thatfor a moment she thought that they must be heard, if not here, thenthere, if not there, then here. But, after all, what did it matter? Shewould have left this hateful place for ever to-morrow!
And then came a rather difficult moment. She did not wish to tell herservants to-night that she was leaving The Trellis House to-morrow, andyet somehow she must convey that fact to Tremaine.
As if he could see into her mind, there came the eager question, "Can youcome up to-morrow, darling? The sooner, the better, you know--"
She answered, "I will if you like--at the usual time."
He said eagerly, "You mean that train arriving at 12.30--the one I metyou by the other day?"
And again she said, "Yes."
He asked a little anxiously, "How about money, my precious pet? Are youall right about money?"
For once her hard, selfish heart was touched and she answered truly: "Youneed not bother about that."
And then there came a whispered, "Call me darling again, darling."
And she just breathed the word "Darling" into the receiver, making avague resolution as she did so that she would be, as far as would bepossible to her, a good wife to this simple-hearted, big baby of a manwho loved her so dearly.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Timmy went straight home. He entered the house by one of the back waysand crept upstairs. Late that afternoon he had gratified Nanna by sharingher high tea, and so he was not expected in the dining-room.
He felt intensely excited--what perhaps an older person would have calleduplifted. He wandered about the corridors of the roomy old house, hishands clasped behind his back, thinking over and exulting in his greatachievement. He felt just a little bit uneasy as to the contents of theletter Mrs. Crofton had said she would write explaining her departure. Asto certain things, Timmy Tosswill was still very much of a child. Hewondered why their enemy, for so he regarded her, should think itnecessary to write to anyone, except perhaps to Rosamund, who, after all,had been her "pal." He was disagreeably aware that his mother would nothave approved of the method he had used to carry out what he knew to beher ardent wish, and he wondered uncomfortably if Mrs. Crofton would"give him away."
At last he opened the door of what was now his godfather's bedroom, andwalked across to the wide-open window. All at once there came over him afeeling of wondering joy. He seemed to see, as in a glass darkly, threefigures pacing slowly along the path which bounded the wide lawn below.They were Godfrey Radmore, Betty, and with them another whom he knew washis dear brother, George. George, whom Timmy had never seen since theday, which to the child now seemed so very long ago, when, rather to hissurprise, his eldest brother had lifted him up in his arms to kiss himbefore going out to France at the end of his last leave. And as he gazeddown, tears began to run down his queer little face.
At last he turned away from the window, and as he went towards the doorhe saw the outline of a paper pad on the writing table which in old daysGeorge and Godfrey had shared between them.
Blinking away his tears, he took up the pad, and carried it down thelighted passage to his own room. There he sat down, and with a pencilstump extracted from his waistcoat pocket, he wrote:
Dear Mum,
This is from Timmy. I hope you don't still feel the pierce.
Your affectionate son, Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill.
He put the bit of paper into a grubby envelope in which he had for sometime kept some used French stamps; then, licking down the flap, he lefthis room and went into his mother's, where he propped up the envelope onthe fat pin-cushion lying on her dressing-table, remembering the whilethat so had been propped an anonymous letter written many years beforeby a vengeful nursery maid, who had been dismissed at Nanna's wish.
* * * * *
Monday morning opened badly for more than one inmate
of Old Place. Dollyand her lover had discovered with extreme surprise that one hundredpounds would only achieve about a fifth of that which they consideredmust be done before his vicarage would be fit for even the mostreasonable of brides. With Dolly this had produced an extremelydisagreeable fit of bad temper--of temper indeed so bad that it had beennoticed by Godfrey Radmore, who had followed Janet into the drawing-roomafter breakfast to ask what was the matter.
Jack Tosswill had gone off as early as he felt he decently could go, toThe Trellis House, only to find its mistress gone--and gone, whichnaturally much increased his disappointment and anger, only ten minutesbefore his arrival! He had interviewed both servants, they only toowilling, for his infatuation was by now known to the whole village. Butwhat they had to say gave him no comfort--indeed, it was almost exactlywhat the house-parlourmaid had said last week, when Enid had gone off totown, leaving no address behind her. This time, however, she had said shewould telephone from town.
As he was turning away, feeling sick at heart, the cook suddenlyvouchsafed the information that her mistress had left a letter for Mrs.Tosswill, and that The Trellis House odd man, on his way back from thestation, where he had gone with Mrs. Crofton, for she had taken twolarge trunks this time, would deliver it at Old Place.
But when he reached home the letter had not yet been delivered, and Jack,half consciously desiring to visit his misery on someone else, hunted upTimmy in order to demand why Josephine and her kittens had not been sentback to Epsom ere now. There had followed a lively scrap, leaving themboth in a bad mood; but at last it was arranged that Godfrey, Betty andTimmy should motor to Epsom with the cat and her kittens after luncheon.
The morning wore itself slowly away. Only two of the younger people wereentirely happy--Betty, doing her usual work, and Godfrey Radmore. Even hewas more restless than usual, and kept wandering in and out of thekitchen in a way which Rosamund, who was helping Betty, thought verytiresome. As for Timmy, his mother could not make him out. He seemeduncomfortable, and, to her practised eye, appeared to have something onhis conscience.
Three times in one hour Jack came into the drawing-room and asked hisstep-mother whether she had not yet had a letter from The Trellis House.Now Jack Tosswill had always been reserved, absurdly sensitive to anykind of ridicule. Yet now he scarcely made an effort to conceal hisunease and suspense. Indeed, the third time he had actually exclaimed,"Janet! Are you concealing anything from me?" And she had answered,honestly surprised, "I don't know what you mean, Jack. I've had nocommunication from Mrs. Crofton of any kind. Are you sure she wroteme a letter?" And he had answered in a wretched tone: "Quite sure."
And then, about five minutes before luncheon, and luncheon had to be avery punctual meal at Old Place, for it was the one thing about which itsmaster was particular, Timmy came in with a letter in his hand, andsidling up to his mother, observed with rather elaborate unconcern: "Aletter for you, Mum."
She looked at him quite straight. "Has this letter only just been left,my dear?"
He answered rather hurriedly: "It came a little while ago, but I put itin my pocket and forgot it."
Janet broke the seal, for the letter was sealed, and then she called outto her son, who was making for the door: "Don't go away, Timmy. Bettywill ring the lunch bell in a moment."
Unwillingly he turned round and stood watching her while she read thefour pages of closely written handwriting. But, rather to his relief,she made no remark, and the bell rang just as she put the letter back inits envelope. Then she slipped it in her pocket, for Janet Tosswill wasone of the very few women in England who still had a pocket in her dress.
Giving him what he felt to be a condemnatory look, but in that he waswrong, for she was too surprised, relieved, and, yes, disturbed, tothink of him at all, she motioned the boy to go before her into thedining-room.
As the Sunday joint was always served cold on Monday, they were allthere, even Betty, but owing, as at any rate most of them believed, tothe unfortunate discovery made by Dolly that the pre-war pound was nowonly worth about seven and six, it was rather a mournful meal.
At last Rosamund went out to get the coffee, and then Janet addressedher son: "Timmy," she observed, "I have something I wish to say to theothers, so will you please go and have your orange with Nanna?"
Timmy obeyed his mother without a word, and then, after the coffee hadcome in and been poured out, Janet said slowly:
"I've had a letter from Mrs. Crofton, and as she asks me to tell you allwhat is in it, I think it will be simpler if I read it out now."
She waited a moment, gathering up her courage, wondering the whilewhether she was doing the best thing by Jack. On the whole she thought_yes_. There are blows which are far better borne among one's fellowsthan in solitude.
She wished to make her reading as colourless as possible, but she couldnot keep a certain touch of sarcasm out of her voice as she read aloudthe first two sentences:
"Dearest Mrs. Tosswill,
"You have always been so kind to me that I feel I must write and tell you why I am leaving the dear Trellis House and delightful Beechfield."
She looked up, but no one spoke; Jack was staring straight before him,and she went on:
"To my _utter_ surprise a very old friend of my late husband's and mine has asked me to be his wife. He is going back to India in a fortnight, and so, much as I shrink from the thought of all the bustle and hurry it will involve, I feel that as it must be now or never, it must be _now_, and the fact that I have a good offer for The Trellis House seemed to me a kind of sign-post.
"Though perhaps I ought not to say so, he is a splendid soldier and did extremely well in the war. He won a bar to his M.C., which my husband once told me would have won him a V.C. in any other war.
"He is anxious that I should not come down to Beechfield again. The time is so short, and there is so much to be done, that I fear I shall not see any of you before I leave for India. I would have liked Rosamund to come to my wedding, but we shall be married very quietly, and the day and hour will probably be fixed at the last minute.
"I am purposely not telling you where I am staying as I do not want to give you the bother of answering this rather unconventional letter. As for presents I have always hated them.
"All the business about The Trellis House is being done by a kind solicitor I know, who arranged about the lease for me.
"Might I ask you to remember me very kindly to everybody, and to give my special love to Rosamund and to sweet Miss Betty? I wish I had known her better.
"Again thanking you for your kindness, and assuring you I shall always look back to the happy days I spent at Beechfield,
"Believe me to remain, Yours very sincerely, Enid Crofton."
There was a long pause. Jack was now crumbling up his bread and thensmoothing out the crumbs with a kind of mechanical, steam-roller movementof his right-hand forefinger.
Rosamund was the first to speak. "Why, she hasn't even told us his name!"she exclaimed. "How very funny of her!"
And then Godfrey Radmore spoke, just a thought more sharply than usual:"I'm not at all surprised at that. She wants to start quite clear again."
Betty said quietly: "That's natural enough, isn't it?" But her heart wasfull of aching sympathy for her brother. She felt, rather than saw, hisrigid, mask-like face.
They all got up, and slowly began to disperse. After all, there was onlyone among them to whom this news was of any real moment.
Janet, feeling curiously tired, went into the drawing-room. The momentshe had finished Enid Crofton's letter she had begun to torment herselfas to whether she had done right or wrong after all?
To her relief Godfrey Radmore came into the drawing-room. "I want to putthose two unfortunate people out of their misery, Janet. Shall I tellDolly, or will you tell her, that I want to give her a thousand pounds asa wedding present?"
Janet had very strong ideas of what was right and wrong, or perhaps itwould be better to say of w
hat was meet and proper.
"I don't think they could take a present of that sort from you," she saidvery decidedly. "These are hard times, Godfrey, even for rich people. Butyou always talk as if you were made of money!"
"Do I?"
He looked taken aback, and even hurt.
"No, no," she said, "I don't mean that, but I'm upset to-day. What withone thing and another, I hardly know what I'm saying." She caught herselfup. "I'll tell you what I think would be reasonable. As you are so kind,give Dolly a hundred pounds. It will make a real difference."
"No," he said, "it's going to be a thousand."
"I'm quite sure that John would not allow Dolly to accept it."
Radmore knew that when Janet invoked John, it meant that she had made upher mind as to what must be.
He went to the door, opened it, and called out in what seemed to Janet avery imperious tone: "Betty?" And yet no glimmer of the truth came intoJanet's mind.
"It's no good sending for Betty," she said sharply. "There are thingsthat can be done, and things that can't be done."
As she uttered that very obvious remark, Betty appeared.
"Yes," she said a little breathlessly. "Yes, Godfrey, what is it? We havejust started washing up--"
He took her hand and led her in front of Janet. "We have got to tell her_now_," he said. "We must do it for Dolly's sake; I never saw anyonelooking so woe-begone as she has looked all the morning."
And then, at last, Janet began to understand.
"I don't think Mr. Tosswill will be able to object to Dolly's _brother_giving her a thousand pounds," he said, and then, very much to Janet'ssurprise, he suddenly threw his arms round her, and gave her a great hug.
* * * * *
By MRS. BELLOC LOWNDES
WHAT TIMMY DIDFROM OUT THE VASTY DEEPTHE LONELY HOUSEGOOD OLD ANNALOVE AND HATREDLILLA: A PART OF HER LIFETHE RED CROSS BARGE
What Timmy Did Page 27