Beggar’s Choice

by Patricia Wentworth

  “Well,” said Miss Willy, “there’s something fascinating about guessing. I always think I should have made a good detective-you may have noticed that I am very observant. The other day, when I was visiting Mrs. Pratt, I knew at once that Lydia was leaving Mrs. Greenway. I didn’t wait for her to tell me. I walked in and sat down and said straight away, ‘Now what’s all this, Mrs. Pratt?’ And she couldn’t believe that some one hadn’t told me. And I said to her, ‘Well, they haven’t-but when I see a letter from Lydia lying open in your work-box with things like “lots of good places” and “home Thursday week” staring me in the face, I can put two and two together without requiring any one to tell me that they make four. And if I’m to say what I think, Mrs. Pratt,’ I said, ‘Lydia is a bad, ungrateful girl, and she wants a good scolding, and not to be spoilt and made much of the way you’ve always done, and I only hope you won’t live to regret it when it’s too late-and then perhaps you’ll remember that I warned you, Mrs. Pratt.’ ”

  “Won’t you open your parcel?” said Anna gently. The telegram might come at any minute now.

  The wrapping had slipped to the floor whilst Miss Willy discoursed. It lay against the table leg. Rollo regarded it with a cocked head and inquisitive eye.

  Miss Willy took up a small box in an inner wrapping of white paper. It was tied with string and sealed on either side with red sealing-wax. The impression on the wax had been made with a threepenny bit.

  “How extraordinary!” said Miss Willy. She stared at the white paper and the name that was written there. “Car! It’s addressed to Car-to Car Fairfax! How extraordinary!”

  Under the table, Rollo extended a cautious claw, closed it on the corner of the fallen wrapper, and began with the help of his beak to drag it away. With an eye on the shelter afforded by the coal-scuttle and a fire-screen, he emerged on Anna’s side of the table, saw her, squawked, and retreated, dropping the paper.

  Anna stooped, picked it up deftly, and slipped it into her bag before Miss Willy had finished exclaiming,

  “My dear Anna, isn’t it a most extraordinary thing that any one should send a parcel for Car Fairfax here-to me? Why, I don’t even know his address. Do you?”

  “No, I don’t. It’s-it’s been a complete separation.”

  Miss Willy looked up, brightly alert.

  “Why, my dear? Why? I’ve always wanted to ask you that. I did ask John-and very rude he was, I consider. Whilst we’re on the subject-what did Car do?”

  Anna looked away. The hand she put to her cheek did not hide her evident distress.

  “Don’t ask me-please, Miss Willy. We try to forget about it.”

  Miss Willy tossed her head.

  “If you ask me, John doesn’t have to try very hard. He wants Car back, doesn’t he? Well, I won’t ask any questions if I’m not to be told anything, though I must say such an old friend-” She tossed her head again, and Augustus backed away until he over-balanced and fell scrambling to the floor.

  Anna tucked her feet up on the rail of her chair. She had a horror of rats.

  “There, Gussy-there!” Miss Willy’s apology was rather perfunctory. She returned to the little white box. “What in the world am I to do with this, when I don’t know where he is?”

  “I thought you wrote to him the other day.”

  “Who told you that?” said Miss Willy sharply.

  “You told me yourself. You said you were asking him to stay.”

  Miss Willy’s florid color deepened unbecomingly. She was wearing a tight jumper of faded pink wool and an old red Cashmire skirt. Her hair was wild. At some time after getting up she had poked a pencil through it; it now stuck out at a rakish angle over her left ear. She wore about her neck a cerise ribbon tied in a bow, a thin steel chain holding a pair of scissors and small brass key, and another chain, of gold with an occasional pearl, from which depended a pair of tortoise shell-rimmed pince-nez. Her short, ugly fingers were covered to the knuckles with old-fashioned and very dirty rings.

  “Yes, I asked him,” she said angrily. “Isobel made me ask him. And all the thanks I got for it was a refusal.”

  “Then you’ve got his address?”

  “Isobel has it,” said Miss Willy-“or I suppose so. I never remember addresses myself.”

  Anna clenched her hand. How much longer was she to sit here and talk about Car? What was Bobby doing? Why didn’t that telegram come?

  “If John Carthew had taken my advice-” said Miss Willy.

  The telephone bell rang a yard away in the window.

  Miss Willy jerked around, took up the receiver, and stood with her back to the room. Over her head on the curtain pole Archibald imitated the bell and the click, and then proceeded to say “Hullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo!” The sound pleased him; he pursued it through various keys.

  “Ssh!” said Miss Willy. Then, to the telephone, “What did you say?… Yes, this is two-one-six… Yes, I said so before-Archibald, hush!… Yes, I keep telling you I am. If you’ve got a telegram for me, will you kindly let me have it!”

  Anna drew a breath of relief. Now that the telegram had come, there could be no going back. It was curious how this thought kept recurring. She listened with strained attention whilst Miss Willy bickered with the exchange.

  “My good woman, if you’ve got a telegram, let me have it!… No, I can’t hear you. Kindly remember that you’re three miles away and raise your voice a little-Archibald, will you be quiet!”

  She turned at last, looking red and determined.

  “Talk of the old gentleman! Here’s Car wiring to Isobel to meet him in town this evening!”

  Anna’s heart jumped. If the telegram had really been from Car, she would hardly have felt her jealously flame up more fiercely.

  Miss Willy had taken pencil and paper and was writing the message down, saying each word aloud as she wrote it:

  “Meet-me-Olding-Crescent-Putney-eight-thirty- to-night-very-urgent-indeed-Car.”

  She jabbed her pencil down on the stop at the end and broke the point.

  “Oh,” said Anna, “you won’t let her go?”

  “Let?” said Miss Willy in a loud offended voice. “Let?”

  “Isobel wouldn’t go if you didn’t want her to!” Anna was gently shocked. “Oh, Miss Willy-surely you won’t let her go!”

  “Isobel goes as she likes,” said Miss Willy.

  “Against your wishes?”

  Miss Willy achieved a masterly change of position.

  “And why should it be against my wishes?” she said. She came over to the dining-table and picked up the little white box. “As a matter of fact it will be very convenient. She can spend the night with Carrie, and she can give Car his packet. It will all fit in quite nicely, because Mrs. Messiter is coming down to stay with me for a couple of days, so I shan’t be alone and Isobel can match my violet ribbon and get several other things I forgot last time I was in town.” She turned the box this way and that. “Dear me, what an extraordinary thing! The writing is exactly like Isobel’s.”

  Anna stood up. She stood and looked at the packet, with its red seal and Car’s name on it in a hand carefully like Isobel’s.

  “Yes-isn’t it? I wonder-” She broke off. “No, of course it couldn’t be. You won’t tell her I said that-will you?”

  “Why should I?”

  “No-of course you wouldn’t. The whole thing’s so strange-isn’t it? I was just wondering-but it doesn’t do with Isobel-does it? I think your way’s much the best, really. Asking questions might just put her off telling you anything; but if you don’t ask or make anything of it, she’s sure to tell you all about it afterwards. I think it’s very clever of you-but then you are very clever with Isobel- and with every one else too. I often wonder how you do it.”

  As she said the last word, a slight hissing sound disturbed the pleasant consciousness of having done a difficult job really well. She turned her head and saw the macaw a foot away. He must have slipped down from his chair back and approached with the grea
test caution. He stood now on one leg, both wings extended, his head craned forward, his beak half open showing a horny tongue, and his round glittering eyes fixed maliciously upon her left ankle. A little more self-restraint and he would have achieved his object; but the hiss of triumph had escaped too soon.

  As Anna turned, Miss Willy screamed and clapped her hands.

  “Cyril! Cyril! Bad, wicked bird! Anna!”

  Anna was already at the door, and the baffled Cyril retreated to his chair back with a scream of rage.

  “I must go,” said Anna breathlessly. She blew a kiss and slipped through the door. “Dear Miss Willy, good-by! I’ll send Isobel back.”

  She shut the door.

  Miss Willy gazed at Cyril with fond reproach.

  “Mother’s very, very worst boy!” she said.

  Cyril screamed again.

  XXXIII

  Car Fairfax ’s Diary:

  (September 25th; but the Diary was not written up until later.)

  Nothing happened all day until the evening. That is to say, I met Fay on the doorstep. I can’t remember where I’d been, and it doesn’t matter. I’m afraid I rather barged past her, because she seemed to want to stop and speak, and I was still angry. She had said some perfectly beastly things about Isobel which I haven’t written down. I was trying to forget about them, but I hadn’t got as far as passing the time of day with her just as if nothing had happened. Afterwards I felt as if I’d been rather a beast, because she was looking most awfully ill-white as a sheet, with black saucers under her eyes, and her hat was crooked. I don’t think she was bothering about how she looked; and that’s not a bit like Fay. I didn’t think about any of this at the time, but it came back later on.

  I walked down to Putney, and got to Olding Crescent at about a quarter to eight, just in case Isobel was early. Ever since her telegram came I had been racking my brains to think of any possible reason that would make her ask me to meet her like this, but I couldn’t think of one. I was afraid she must be in trouble, but I couldn’t think what sort of trouble it could possibly be. I kept going over all sorts of things in my mind.

  It was a most awfully dark night. The whole sky was covered with the even darkness of clouds that are hanging so low that they seem to be a ceiling over your head. It wasn’t raining, and it didn’t rain; but there was the feeling of rain in the air. Every now and then the bushes, and the great sweeping branches of the trees overhead, moved and rustled in a sudden wind that was wet against one’s face. The street-lamps gave hardly any light, and the shadow under the wall was as black as coal.

  I walked up and down. I was going to see Isobel! Then I laughed, because I certainly shouldn’t be able to see her unless I marched her up to one of the lamps and stood her there with her head well up facing it. And then I stopped laughing, because, of course, when you love any one very much, you don’t just see them with your eyes.

  I walked up and down for about three-quarters of an hour, but the time didn’t seem at all long. Waiting for Isobel to come was like watching a wonderful tide of happiness rise. It seemed to come up all round me with bright, shining waves. I hadn’t been so happy for years, and I couldn’t help wondering whether she was happy too. I ought not to have let myself get into that state of mind. I thought of that afterwards, but at the time I just thought about Isobel.

  And then she came. I must have been waiting for three-quarters of an hour, and no one had passed at all either coming or going. Olding Crescent is the loneliest place I have ever been in. There are houses all along one side of it, but no one ever seems to go into them or come out, and the windows do not let out a single spark of light. So when I heard a footstep, I was quite sure that it was the footstep I was waiting for.

  She came from the direction of the main road, passed the lamp, and then stood hesitating. I could see her, and yet I couldn’t. What I saw was a coat and skirt, and shoes and stocking, and a scarf, and a little close hat, all dark like the shadows of clothes. But I couldn’t see Isobel herself, because she was a shadow too. I felt as if I should see her better if I didn’t have to look at the shadows.

  I came across the road, and she ran to me and slipped a hand through my arm.

  “Car-” she said in a sweet, breathless voice, and we went back across the road into the black dark where the trees hung over the wall. Then-I don’t know how it happened, but of course it must have been my fault-that shining tide of Isobel just carried me away. She was so near, and I could feel her trembling a little, and she pressed against me. And the thing I knew I had my arms round her and we were kissing each other.

  I didn’t feel as if it could be true. I never thought I should kiss Isobel really. I kissed her once in a dream, and it nearly killed me to wake up and know that it could never come true. I don’t know how long we stood there without speaking. I had nothing to say, because I felt as if Isobel must know every thought I had, or ever could have.

  She had put her arms round my neck, and after we had kissed she leaned her head against my shoulder and we stood like that, drowned fathoms deep in happiness. I didn’t think about the past, or the future, or what we were going to do, or even why we were there. I’ve heard people talk about the world standing still, but now I know what they mean. The world stood still for us, and time went by.

  I came very slowly back to realize what I had done. Then I said her name, and she said mine. I didn’t know that my name could sound like that. It carried me off my feet again, but I made myself come back. I said,

  “You mustn’t.”

  And Isobel said, “Why?” and then, “Oh, foolish Car, don’t you know-”

  “We mustn’t,” I said. “I-I’ve no right. I’m-a brute. I didn’t mean-”

  Isobel said things I can’t write down. She said she had been very unhappy. She said she wasn’t engaged to Giles Heron. She said she had cared for me always. It didn’t seem possible. I felt as if I had walked straight into a dream, and that presently I should wake up and find that it wasn’t true. I said this to Isobel, and she said,

  “Oh, Car darling, it’s my dream too, and I don’t think we shall ever wake up.”

  I don’t know how long it was before I realized that it must be getting late. She hadn’t told me why she had asked me to meet her, and it didn’t seem to matter much; it was just one of the things that had got left behind when we went into the dream together.

  I said, “It’s getting late.”

  And she said, “It doesn’t matter-I’m staying with Aunt Carrie.”

  And then she told me that they’d had a burglary at Linwood House, and that the Queen Anne bow had been taken. She said my uncle was dreadfully upset. And she went on to beg me to make up our quarrel. She said any one could see how much he wanted me back.

  I told her what I had told her before, that I couldn’t take the first step. I couldn’t get her to understand about that- but he sent me away, and I think it’s up to him to say if he wants me back…

  “There’s the little Manor House,” said Isobel. She put her head against my shoulder. “Car, I’ve always wanted to live there. It-it would be heavenly.”

  I came out of the dream and shut the door behind me.

  “My darling,” I said, “the only house we shall ever have is a castle in the air. You oughtn’t to have come here, and we ought not to have met-and the best thing you can do is to go back to Linwood and forget.”

  “After this?” said Isobel, and she kissed me.

  I put her away.

  “Yes, my darling,” I said.

  She laughed. She has such a pretty laugh, but it had a sad sound in it then.

  ‘’I’m not very clever at forgetting, Car.”

  “You must.”

  “I’ve tried for three years-no, that’s not true-I’ve never tried to forget you, and I never shall. I’d rather be unhappy-I’d rather break my heart. But it won’t break unless you forget me, or go away where I can’t come. You mustn’t do that again. My heart did nearly break three years ago wh
en you went away without a word. It ached so dreadfully. Oh, Car, you won’t make it ache that way again-will you?”

  She was crying, and I had to comfort her. It broke my heart to think of all the times she had cried without any comfort.

  In the end I had to promise not to disappear again. She said she could bear it if she knew where I was, and if we wrote to each other. When that was settled we both felt much happier, though I oughtn’t to have promised, and I was worried about it afterwards. At the time I just banged my conscience on the head and told it to shut up.

  And then I thought I’d better find out why she had asked me to meet her. I was just going to, when she said,

  “What did you want to see me about?”

  She would have seen how surprised I was if it hadn’t been so dark.

  I said, “I?” and then I laughed. “That’s funny-that’s what I was going to ask you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was going to ask why you wired me to meet you here. I’ve been racking my brains ever since I got the telegram, but I couldn’t think of a reason.”

  “Car-stop!” she shook my arm. “What do you mean? I didn’t wire to you-there wasn’t time. I just came.”

  I began to have an odd, excited feeling.

  “I think we’re at cross purposes,” I said. “Why did you come here?”

  “Because you asked me to,” she said.

  This was news to me of course.

  “Oh, I asked you? How did I ask you?”

  “Car-what is it? I don’t understand. You wired to me to meet you here. You said ‘Very urgent.’ I was spending the morning with Corinna, and I just got back in time to snatch some lunch and catch the two-forty at Bidwell. You know there’s nothing after that till six unless one goes into Ledlington, and I wanted to leave my bag at Aunt Carrie’s. It was such a rush. Anna was with Miss Willy when the telegram came, but she forgot to tell me about it, so I had to hurry like anything.”

  “You got a wire from me?” I said. I could hardly believe my ears.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And I got one from you,” I said. “Is that of course too?”