I was glad to find that the senior partner agreed with my findings. After some thought he said that “under the circumstances” we must insist on a banker’s order for four pounds a week.
To cut a long story short we put our heads together and drafted a letter to Mr. Glen Siddons. It was a little difficult because the senior partner was annoyed with the man! I was obliged to repeat several times that you wanted the letter to be “polite” and you did not want it to be “nasty.” Having got this understood we proceeded with the task, endeavouring to steer a course between the Scylla of weakness and the Charybdis of nastiness . . . and I think we succeeded none too badly.
So much for business, Elfrida Jane. Now I must answer the personal side of your letter. It is kind of you to be anxious about my health. I admit I was feeling rather jaded when I wrote to you but I am better now. I told Uncle Bob about the tiresome parties and he spoke to Mother and said it was essential for me to have “plenty of sleep.” I do not know what else he said, but he put the wind up properly, so now Mother chases me off to bed at ten o’clock and goes out to parties with some other escort. I read for a bit—do you enjoy reading in bed, Elfrida Jane?—and then go peacefully to sleep. It is extremely kind of you to suggest that I should come to Mountain Cross for a little holiday and there is nothing I should like better. Perhaps I might ask Uncle Bob for a few days off . . . but I shall have to be tactful about it. You see I am the junior partner and very unimportant; even Peter Riggs, “that egregious ass” (Uncle Bob’s latest name for him), is senior to me. If I can possibly manage to wangle a few days off I will certainly let you know . . . but it will not be until after next week.
No more at present as I must type the letter to Mr. Glen Siddons. This is somewhat beneath my dignity as a partner but Uncle Bob is unwilling to disclose its contents to his secretary. As I told you before Glen Siddons is news . . . so the letter might cause an undesirable flutter in the dove-cotes!
Please write again soon, Elfrida Jane.
Yours,
Ronnie
p.s. I was hard at work typing the aforesaid letter to the aforesaid G.S. when the senior partner came in and said “you had better go and see her and show it to her before sending it.” So, if that’s all right, I shall be with you for dinner on Saturday night. Hurrah!
Great haste,
R.M.L.
“To-morrow!” exclaimed Elfrida joyfully.
“What’s to-morrow?” asked Patrick, pausing in the middle of a large plateful of bacon and egg.
“A friend of mine is coming to stay.”
“Is it a girl?”
“A girl? Oh, I see! No, it’s—it’s a man.”
“What sort of a man?”
“A very nice man; you’ll like him,” said Elfrida. She crammed the letter into the pocket of her cardigan and hurried away to find Emma and speak to her about food for the prospective guest.
*
When Elfrida awoke the following morning she was dismayed to find everything shrouded in thick mist; however Emma assured her that it would clear later and Mr. Cobley, who came in at ten-thirty to have his “elevenses” with the Chownes, endorsed her opinion.
They were right of course. By twelve o’clock the mist had lifted and the sun was shining brightly in a cloudless sky . . . so Ronnie would have a good day for his run after all.
As he was not expected to arrive until dinner-time Elfrida took Patrick to spend the afternoon on the beach and have a picnic tea. They had not been to the beach since the accident but had spent most of their time in the copse, which had now been tidied up and was beginning to look less battle-scarred. Elfrida and Patrick had been busy planting bulbs and blue-bells and lily of the valley; Patrick was happy when he was doing something useful. He had been told that his father was acting in a film in America and had taken the news remarkably well. He had never mentioned the accident—either to Elfrida or to the Chownes—so they felt certain that he did not remember anything about it.
Elfrida had avoided the beach, partly for her own sake and partly because she was afraid it might awaken Patrick’s memory, but now the horrible experience had begun to fade from her mind and she decided she must be sensible about it.
Fortunately the incident seemed to be fading from other people’s minds as well, it had been a “nine days’ wonder” and a very uncomfortable time for Elfrida; the news of the rescue had spread like a prairie fire and Lucius had been the first of a string of visitors. All Elfrida’s neighbours were anxious to know the truth of the matter, to inquire whether she had survived her ghastly experience without serious injury and to congratulate her upon her courage and presence of mind. When they heard she was planting in the little wood they deluged her with every kind of plant which would thrive beneath trees.
Emma Chowne enjoyed the coming and going; it was she who was left to answer the inquiries and she answered them at length, explaining that she had seen it all happen with her own eyes and had never been so frightened in her life.
Perhaps it was a little unwise of Elfrida to give Emma Chowne a free rein but what else could she do? She certainly did not want to see the visitors herself . . . she escaped to the wood with Patrick whenever possible but she was unable to escape from Colonel Ferrier. He caught her on the doorstep just as she was going out and shook her by the hand, telling her that it was “a damned good show—by Jove, it was!” and he was proud to know her.
“It was nothing,” murmured Elfrida. “I mean anyone would have done it . . . what else could I do?”
This was bad enough, but Mr. Cobley was even more difficult to cope with. Mr. Cobley was determined to write to The Royal Life-Saving Society and “put up the case” so that she would be awarded a medal. It took all Elfrida’s powers of persuasion to convince her champion that this was the last thing she desired.
The fuss was inconvenient in other ways as well: Elfrida was obliged to avoid the village; it was impossible to go to church and when she heard a car drive up to the front door she hid herself in the cellar. She felt as if she were living in a beleaguered garrison.
Elfrida thought of all this as she went down the cliff path with Patrick, and rejoiced in the idea that it was over now . . . or nearly over.
The sea was calm this afternoon and the tide was rising, but all the same she did not go near the water and she forbade Patrick to paddle. They spent the afternoon digging an immense sand-castle and then sat down in the usual corner to have tea.
“Miss Ware,” said Patrick. “Tom Parkins says you rescued me from the jaws of death.”
“Tom Parkins is a very silly man.”
“He doesn’t look silly,” objected Patrick. “He says you ought to get a medal.”
“He’s a very silly man,” Elfrida repeated. “You fell into the water and I pulled you out, that’s all. We both got rather wet, of course, but you aren’t given a medal for that.”
“You’re given a medal for being brave. Are you brave, Miss Ware?”
“No, I’m often terribly frightened.”
“You said I fell into the water, but I don’t remember anything about it. Why don’t I remember?” asked Patrick, looking at her with the anxious expression very much in evidence.
“I expect you bumped your head on a rock,” replied Elfrida in a matter-of-fact tone. “Sometimes when people bump their heads it makes them forget things. Why don’t you go and finish the castle?”
“It’s finished.”
“No, it isn’t. You must decorate it all over with little shells and pieces of coloured seaweed.”
“Yes, that’s a gorgeous idea!” cried Patrick, jumping up. “I’ll do it now and you mustn’t look till it’s ready!”
He stood, smiling at her happily, and then ran off to complete the job.
“Thank you, God!” whispered Elfrida, for this was the answer to her prayer that she might be helped to understand the poor little waif who had come to her in such an unceremonious manner. She had been dreading this moment; it had seemed to her t
hat sooner or later some foolish person would be certain to speak to Patrick about the accident and he would be frightened. Now the moment was past; she had been given the right words to say and Patrick had accepted the explanation . . . so she could breathe freely.
*
31
As Elfrida sat on the shore, taking care not to look in the direction of the sand-castle, she realised that she was very fortunate. She had so much to make her happy: Ronnie was coming, he was her friend and it would be delightful to see him again; the “nine days’ wonder” was nearly over and she would be able to go about and meet people without embarrassment; last but not least she would be able to keep Patrick. She had come to love Patrick dearly and was extremely anxious to keep him but it might have been difficult to make ends meet without financial assistance.
She was thinking about all this when she heard a rattle of stones falling and looked up to see Ronnie coming down the cliff. He hastened towards her across the beach and flung himself down beside her on the rug.
“Ronnie!” she exclaimed. “How lovely! I wasn’t expecting you so early!”
“I drove ‘too fast’,” he explained.
“Wicked!” said Elfrida, smiling at him.
“I wanted to see you frightfully much, Elfrida Jane. Goodness, how lovely it is to be here! It seems years since I saw you . . . and you’re looking simply splendid. This life seems to suit you.”
“It suits me down to the ground. Fresh air and good plain food, lots of exercise and early to bed!”
“You’re looking simply splendid,” he repeated, gazing at her in delight.
“Have you had tea, Ronnie?”
“Yes, Mrs. Chowne insisted on giving me tea. I had it with her in the kitchen. She seemed quite pleased to see me.”
“I’m pleased, too. I was very excited when I got your letter saying you could come . . . and I’m glad Mr. Sandford thinks I shall be able to get the money from Glen Siddons, but four pounds a week seems too much.”
“Uncle Bob says it isn’t a bit too much. He’s sure we can get it for you quite easily. I told you that we’re insisting on a banker’s order, didn’t I?”
“What if he refuses?”
“He won’t,” declared Ronnie. “We’re in a strong position so we can twist his tail. I’ll show you the letter, composed very carefully by the senior partner and myself. It’s a pretty good letter and——”
“I hope it’s polite!”
“Oh, quite polite,” Ronnie assured her.
“How long can you stay, Ronnie? I hope this isn’t just a flying visit.”
“I can stay till Tuesday,” he replied. “The senior partner was decent about it. He said I deserved a few days’ holiday; I had ‘become good value.’ That means quite a lot.”
“It means an awful lot—from him.”
“That’s what I think. He doesn’t exactly gush, does he? Listen, Elfrida Jane; Mrs. Chowne told me a most amazing story. It isn’t true, is it?”
“How do I know unless you tell me what she said?”
“She said a lot, but the main thing was that the boy fell into the sea and you saved his life and were very nearly drowned.”
“Emma exaggerates.”
“Exaggerates!” exclaimed Ronnie, sitting bolt upright and gazing at her in alarm. “You mean there’s some truth in the story? You mean you were nearly drowned? Good heavens, how frightful!”
Elfrida hesitated. Since telling her tale to Lucius she had told it so often that it rolled off her tongue with the greatest of ease—it was like a gramophone record! But somehow she could not tell it to Ronnie who was sitting up and looking at her with real anxiety in his honest blue eyes.
“Yes, it was frightful,” said Elfrida. “I never was so terrified in all my life. I saw the wave break over the child’s head and knock him down; the back-wash swept him away and he disappeared completely. I rushed down the beach and into the sea and managed to get hold of his ankle. Then . . . well, then I was hurled about by the waves and dashed down on to the pebbles. I felt myself being sucked backwards by the pull of the tide, the gravel was rattling in my ears . . . I thought we were both done for! If I hadn’t happened to find a ledge of solid rock to hold on to we’d both have been swept out to sea!”
“How ghastly!” exclaimed Ronnie. “Goodness, what a dreadful experience! What a narrow escape!” He looked at the peaceful waters of the bay and added, “It seems so calm . . . but you must never bathe there any more. Promise me, Elfrida Jane! I can’t bear to think of it.”
“Don’t think of it, Ronnie. I’ve told you the truth about what happened because . . . well, because I wanted to. It’s over now, so don’t worry about it.”
“Not worry about you being nearly drowned!”
Elfrida smiled. “But I wasn’t drowned and neither of us is any the worse of the accident.”
“Was it an accident?”
“Yes, of course! I don’t know what you mean——”
“Mrs. Chowne said it wasn’t an accident; Siddons was throwing sticks into the water and making the child fetch them. She said he knew the current in the bay was dangerous.”
“Yes, that’s true,” admitted Elfrida.
“Was he trying to drown his child?”
“No, of course not!”
“What do you mean?” asked Ronnie with a puzzled frown. “Either the man tried to drown his child or else he didn’t.”
“It’s difficult to explain to you because you’re a different sort of person. I’m quite certain that Glen did not mean to drown Patrick—I’m absolutely sure of it, Ronnie—he was just having fun, that’s all. He was pleasurably excited by the spice of danger.”
“Danger to his child!” exclaimed Ronnie in horrified tones.
“Perhaps he didn’t realise . . .” began Elfrida.
“I don’t understand,” declared Ronnie. He added thoughtfully, “I can understand being excited by danger to myself—risking my own skin—but I can’t imagine anyone being ‘pleasurably excited’ by risking a child’s life.”
“He enjoyed seeing Patrick dodging the waves. It was a game—they were both enjoying it. Then a bigger wave broke over the child’s head and he was gone in a moment.”
“My God! And you went after him!”
“What else could I do?”
“You couldn’t do anything else.”
Elfrida smiled at him. He was the only person who had said she couldn’t have done anything else. Other people seemed to think she could have stood on the beach and screamed or wrung her hands—or something equally futile—while Patrick was being swept out to sea.
“But what was Siddons doing?” asked Ronnie. “He was there, wasn’t he? Why didn’t he go in after the child himself?”
“He can’t swim,” she explained.
“Can’t swim,” growled Ronnie. “I wish I had him here. First I’d beat him to a jelly and then I’d throw him into the sea and watch him drowning.”
Elfrida laughed. “And then you’d jump in after him and save his life!”
“No, I wouldn’t!”
“Yes, you would, Ronnie.”
“Well . . . perhaps,” said Ronnie, thoughtfully. “But not until he had come up for the third time. He must be an awful swine.”
“You wouldn’t like him,” said Elfrida, with conviction.
“How could anyone like him!”
She did not answer. Fortunately it was not really a question.
Ronnie was silent for some time; he was thinking. At last he said, “Elfrida Jane, you were—sort of—standing up for the fellow, but I can’t see any excuse for him at all. He deliberately put his child into danger and——”
“Not deliberately,” objected Elfrida. She hesitated and then added, “I’m just trying to be fair. You see it’s difficult for me to be fair to Glen, because . . . because at one time I was silly about him.”
Ronnie glanced at her and was astonished to see that her face had become very flushed and she was scraping a hole in
the sand.
“You don’t mean you were in love with him?” asked Ronnie incredulously.
“I thought I was.”
“I suppose . . . I suppose lots of girls admire him?”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”
“You were very young, weren’t you?” said Ronnie, trying to make excuses. “I mean . . . I mean young girls often get starry-eyed about popular actors.”
“I think the right word is ‘infatuated’,” murmured Elfrida, scraping away at her hole. “It isn’t a nice word, is it? I thought he was wonderful. I used to hang about in the passage outside the door of his dressing-room, hoping he would come out and say ‘good night’ to me before he rushed off to a party.”
Ronnie was dumb.
“It was Miss Martineau who brought me to my senses,” continued Elfrida. “She made me look at myself and I saw I was being frightfully silly. That was the reason I walked out of The Motor Car. You thought I was mad to give up a good part, didn’t you? Well, I was running away—running away from Glen. I was determined to get over my silliness—and I did. Mountain Cross cured me. Then he appeared here suddenly, without any warning, and asked if he could stay for a few days . . . and he was so nice, so kind and friendly and charming that it happened all over again. Glen can be delightful when he likes. He’s a spellbinder, if you know what I mean. Everyone——”
“But it’s over?” interrupted Ronnie, looking at her anxiously. “You said it was over.”
“Oh, yes, it was over before the—the accident, or whatever you like to call it.”
Ronnie would have liked to call it the attempted murder but he refrained.
“I saw through him,” added Elfrida. “I saw he was a sham. After that I couldn’t be fair to him.”
“What made you see through him?”
“Several things.” She hesitated, searching for something that Ronnie would understand; the postcard scene was too dreadful to relate.
“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” said Ronnie, who was watching her face.
The House on the Cliff Page 20