“I wanted to see the garden so badly. I’ve always wanted to see it—and now she’s angry. I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Why did you come?” His voice was harsh, and she recoiled a little.
“I wanted to see the garden. I’ve always wanted to see it. I asked her this afternoon if she’d take me there. I wanted to see it so much. And I was looking out of my window, and—and I saw her come along the lower terrace, so of course I knew she was going to the garden, and—oh, I’ve never seen her quite like this!”
“You’d better go in,” said Laydon.
Lacy flared up.
“I think you’re frightfully unkind—and when I only wanted to help. Yes, I do. And I don’t care how angry Evelyn is, I do love her more than anyone else in the world except Monkey and Don. And if that doesn’t give you a right to be interested and to help, I don’t know what does. And I don’t care what Monkey says!”
Lacy’s fright was passing. She was not very brave in the dark, and nothing but the most urgent curiosity would have given her enough courage to follow Evelyn. But with Laydon at her side the beech walk ceased to be terrifying and became pleasantly romantic. A sense that here was Opportunity came upon her with irresistible force, and she turned to Laydon with an impulsive gesture.
“You won’t be angry—will you? It’s because I care, because I really care. Have you—have you made it up?”
Laydon felt a desire to shake Lacy as he had once shaken her when she was a little girl. He wondered if Monkey ever shook her. He restrained his impulse, and said drily,
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, why don’t you? I know you’re unhappy, Anyone can see you care. And as for Evelyn—it was always you she cared for—always, always, always.”
There was a short, intense silence. Then Laydon said,
“What exactly do you mean by that, Lacy?”
They had reached the end of the beech walk. Lacy turned so as to face him.
“I mean she cared—for you—that she’s never cared for anyone else. It’s always been you. Those three days that you were engaged—why, she was quite different—like another person. I don’t know what came between you, but whatever it was, it broke her heart. Why, there’s never been a time since then that there haven’t been any number of people who’d have been only too frightfully proud and happy if Evelyn would have looked at them. But she never would. I honestly believe she’s tried. I think she would have liked to have been able to care. I think she would have taken Chris Ellerslie if she could have brought herself to do it. But she couldn’t. I told Monkey all along that she’d never cared for anyone but you.”
“Me!” Laydon’s voice took an extraordinary inflection. It suggested a certain savage humour.
“Yes—you. It was always Jack with her, and never anyone else. And I knew—oh, I knew from the very beginning that you were Jack. Monkey may say what he likes, but I did know; and I told Evelyn the first time she came to Cologne.”
“You—told—Evelyn.” His voice was expressionless and slow.
“Yes, I told her. So you see there’s no need at all for either of you to go on being unhappy. She’s cared for you all along—she really has. So you see there’s nothing to prevent your both being perfectly happy.”
Laydon said “I see,” and then said nothing more. He stood aside for Lacy to climb the terrace steps, but when they had reached the top, he went on ahead of her to where the library window stood open. There was no sign of Evelyn. The room was dark. Lacy put her hand on the switch and flooded it with light.
When she turned, Laydon was gone. She heard his steps receding. She ran to the window and called him softly:
“Jack—Jack—aren’t you coming in?”
There was no answer.
XXX
Sir Cotterell turned from the library window. The Dutch garden was ablaze with tulips; each formal bed sunk in the grey stone paving was jewel-bright in the sunshine. The tulips were opening in the warmth—white, scarlet, orange, purple, and gold. The sky overhead was purest turquoise. No greater contrast could possibly have been imagined to that day of dark cloud and soaking rain in which Laydon had come home.
“Where is he?” said Sir Cotterell; he spoke with an angry impatience. “I haven’t set eyes on him this morning. He ought to be here. I want him here when Cotty comes. He ought to be here. If he isn’t, and I’ve to send for him, it’ll look——No, he ought to be here, and not give Cotty any handle.” He spoke to his brother-in-law, who sat half hidden by The Times; but it was Manning, just come into the room, who answered him:
“I’m afraid, sir,” he began.
Sir Cotterell swung round.
“Well, what’s up? Come, out with it, man, out with it! Can’t you find him? He’s not gone off, I take it.” He laughed angrily. Everything about him betrayed strain.
Manning grimaced.
“Did he know Cotty was coming?”
“Know? Why, of course he knew! Everybody in the house knew. I should think the scullery-maid and the boot-boy knew. No one’s got any private affairs nowadays—everybody knows everything—everybody’s got to know everything. That’s democracy—and a precious muddle it’ll make of things before it’s through.”
Sir Henry Prothero let his paper rustle down upon his knee. He caught Manning’s eye, and inquired placidly:
“Did you tell him Cotty was coming?”
“I?” said Sir Cotterell sharply. “I?—tell him? Well——”
“I just wondered whether you’d had the opportunity—Cotty rang up so late. But perhaps you had a talk after the Gaunts had gone.”
“Perhaps I’d nothing of the sort,” snapped Sir Cotterell. “Considering he made off almost before they were out of the house, I don’t quite see when I could have this ‘talk’ of yours. I suppose I might have sat up till all hours; but I didn’t. No doubt I ought to have done so; but I didn’t.”
“And you haven’t seen him this morning?”
“I’ve already told you I haven’t.”
“Well, sir,” said Manning, “if that’s the case, it’s pretty clear he didn’t know Cotty was coming, and he’s gone off somewhere. Lake says he’s taken a suit-case.”
Sir Cotterell’s face changed painfully. He put a hand on the back of the tall chair by which he stood.
“Treats my house like an hotel,” he muttered—“like a damned hotel. Goes off without a word—goes off when he knows that Cotty’s coming down.” There was a short, trying pause. “Cotty’ll say he funked meeting him—he’ll say he funked this new evidence—he’ll say——”
Sir Henry glanced at him with concern.
“I think we may take it that he didn’t know Cotty was coming.”
Sir Cotterell stared hack at him angrily:
“Tell Cotty that! Tell him—and go on telling him. Do you think he’ll believe you, Henry? Do you think he’ll believe any of us? I tell you he’ll believe the fact—and so would anybody else. And the fact is that he’s gone. Cotty’s coming down with fresh evidence—and he’s gone.”
The hand that rested on the chair pushed it so violently that it fell forward and struck the table. With a sharp oath Sir Cotterell went back to the window and stood there drumming on the pane. Presently he said,
“Where’s Evelyn?”
“I don’t know,” said Manning.
“Have you seen her? Has she vanished too?”
“She had breakfast and went out before any of us were down. Lacy went to look for her I’ll see if they’re back.”
Manning was glad enough of an excuse to leave the room. Scenes were abhorrent to him; and life at present appeared to be one long succession of scenes endured, just averted, or impending.
He met Evelyn coming up the garden, bareheaded in the sunlight. She looked pale, and young, and rather pitiful. He was reminded, without knowing why, of a child who has received an unjust punishment. She smiled at him, and he was aware of effort. The child was trying to be brave, and finding it hard
.
She said “Has Cotty come?” And when he shook his head the line of her lips relaxed a little, and she slipped a hand inside his arm.
“Monkey, I’m so nervous. Pinch me, or beat me, or something. I don’t want to disgrace myself before Sophy.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“I am. Buck up, old girl!”
They met Lacy in the hall. Evelyn walked past her into the library. Lacy stopped short, flushed scarlet, and met her husband’s searching look with an indignant,
“Monkey, she’s furious with me.”
“So I see, my child. Perhaps you’ll explain why.”
Lacy dabbed at her eyes, which were very bright and not at all wet.
“She’s furious.”
He nodded.
“You’ve said that already. Besides I can see it for myself. The question is, why is she angry? What have you been doing?”
“Of course it’s me.”
“Well, isn’t it? What have you been doing? Butting in?”
“I didn’t b-b-butt.”
“What did you do?”
“I only told him—I mean——”
Monkey’s hand shot out; his very strong, lean fingers took Lacy’s shoulder in a most compelling grip.
“You butted in after I told you you weren’t to.”
“I d-didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Out with it! What did you say to him?”
“I only s-said—Monkey, you’re hurting me dreadfully!”
“What did you say?”
“I s-said she’d always cared for him.”
“The dickens you did!” His grip relaxed a little. “Well, you’d no business to butt in; but I don’t know why that should make him stampede.”
“Monkey! He hasn’t!”
“He has. Packed up at dawn and trekked into the blue.”
“Monkey!” Lacy’s tone was frankly horrified.
He pulled her round to face the light.
“Look here! You haven’t told me everything. You must have said something to make him go off like that. What did you say?”
Lacy looked scared; her colour flickered.
“What did you say? What’s the good of not telling me? You know you’ll have to.”
He bent a horribly frowning gaze upon her, and all of a sudden she pressed nearer to him.
“Monkey—Monkey darling—I didn’t mean any harm—I only wanted to help—I can’t bear it when Evelyn looks unhappy.”
“What did you say?”
“I said—she’d always cared for Jack—and I knew he was Jack—and why didn’t they make it up—and be happy?”
Manning’s frown disappeared before a look of such cold anger that Lacy for once in her life really feared him. She said “Monkey!” with a little gasp, and then voice and face changed suddenly. “The Cottys!” she said, gave him a violent push, and turned to meet Sophy Abbott. Even in the midst of his anger, Manning felt a spasm of admiration for her presence of mind.
“What a lovely day for a drive! But, my dear Sophy”—Lacy’s voice was most sweetly flute-like—“my dear Sophy, aren’t you boiled? I’ve been turning out cotton dresses, and Monkey’s in a most frightful temper because he’s only brought winter things.” She shook hands smilingly with Cotty as she spoke, and ignored Sophy’s offended stare.
Both the Abbotts wore an air subtly blended of stiffness and triumph. Sophy was wrapped in the massive sable coat which formed part of every Mendip-ffollinton trousseau. It reached to her ankles and, perhaps mercifully, concealed them. As a concession to the May sunshine, she had assumed a small close toque composed entirely of Parma violets, and wore over it an ample dark green motor veil, which was tied in a very large bow under her second chin. Cotty carried a despatch case.
The whole party came into the library together. Sir Henry put down his paper and came round the table. His pleasant greeting was in contrast to Sir Cotterell’s irritable “How do, Sophy?” followed by “Well, Cotty? Another mare’s nest, eh?”
Evelyn was standing by the hearth, her back to the empty fire-place. She nodded, and smiled rather vaguely.
Sir Cotterell went to the head of the table, pushed back a chair, and sat down.
“Let’s get it over,” he said. “I take it from what you said on the telephone last night that you think you’ve got something definite to show me. All right, Cotty, let’s have it. Only I warn you now, as I warned you the last time you came down, that I won’t have the matter harped on and raked over continually, and nothing but suspicions and gossip and a lot of hearsay tales to show for it. I just want to make that quite clear to everyone. Sit down, Sophy, won’t you? Evelyn, my dear, have a chair. Sit down, everyone. Now, Cotty, whatever it is, get it off your chest and let’s have done with it.”
Sophy Abbott sat down stiffly. She unfastened her coat and let it trail a regal length upon the floor. Her cheeks were unwontedly flushed; her pale eyes bulged a little more than usual.
Lacy took a chair between her father and her husband. Every now and then she stole a look, half daring, half frightened, at Manning’s grim face. He was still angry, he was still dreadfully angry. But perhaps he was angry with Cotty, and not with her. She looked past him at Evelyn, who sat at the foot of the table leaning back in her chair. Evelyn was angry too. It was simply dreadful to have Evelyn and Monkey both angry at the same time.
Cotty Abbott opened his despatch case and took out a folded paper. He opened it, tapped it, took out a pair of pince-nez, cleared his throat, and tapped the paper again.
“Before I pass this paper round,” he began, “I would like—er—to protest against the manner in which my efforts to elucidate this case have—er—been received.” He cleared his throat again. “As everyone here is aware, I was not satisfied as to the identity of the person who has claimed to be one of my uncle’s grandsons. I was not at all satisfied. I said to Sophy that same evening—I mean the evening of the—er—day, the—er—last occasion that we all met—I said to Sophy on that very evening that I was not satisfied. Sophy was not satisfied either, and Tom Mendip-ffollinton, who was present, agreed with us that the evidence as to his identity was, in point of fact, not evidence at all. Those were, I may say, his very words. He gave it as his considered opinion that the evidence was not really evidence at all. Sophy and I agreed with him.”
Sir Cotterell leaned forward.
“If you’ve merely come here to repeat your brother-in-law’s opinions, Cotty,——”
“He hasn’t,” said Sophy Abbott, in an unpleasant voice. She opened her coat a little farther, and fanned herself with a fur-lined glove.
“Perhaps,” said Sir Henry Prothero, “perhaps we could cut out these preliminaries.” His tone was very urbane. “What’s this paper you’ve brought down, Cotty?”
Sir Cotterell flung himself back in his chair.
“Cut the cackle and come to the horses,” he muttered.
Cotty looked about the room, frowning.
“I imagined that the person most concerned would have been present. Is it not intended that he should be present?”
Sir Henry made a bland gesture.
“Laydon is, unfortunately, away,” he said.
“He was here yesterday.” Cotty’s little eyes stared at him suspiciously.
Sir Henry made no answer, and Sophy Abbott thrust in with:
“Most extraordinary! Why, it looks—it almost looks as if——” She paused, coughed meaningly, and added, “Well, perhaps we’d better not say what it looks like.”
“Suppose you tell us what’s in that paper, Cotty,” said Sir Henry rather sternly.
“It’s a statement.” Cotty rustled it with an air of triumph. They might say what they liked, but he had got the woman’s signature. His voice rose a little. “It’s a statement signed by the woman, Pearl Palliser.”
“A statement!” Sir Cotterell rapped out the words. His hand stiffened on the arm of the chair.
“A state
ment,” said Cotty Abbott, “signed by her in my own presence, and witnessed by Tom Mendip-ffollinton. It declares that she recognized this man as her husband, Jim Field. He went to see her the day after my uncle had accepted him as his heir, and she immediately recognized him to be her husband, James Field. Her exact words were, ‘I thought I’d seen a ghost.’” He paused and surveyed the circle of faces—Sir Henry very grave; Manning frowningly incredulous; Sir Cotterell with the look of a man struck hard and unawares. He saw Lacy, brilliantly flushed, her mouth open as if to speak; and Evelyn sitting back in her chair quite still and pale, one hand lightly clasped at her breast and a strange little smile on her lips.
Manning got up, came round to her, leaned over the back of her chair, spoke low and urgently in a tone meant only for her.
“Evelyn, it’s gone far enough.”
She turned her eyes on him with a slow wonder in them.
“How did you know?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s gone far enough. The old man can’t stand any more.”
Sir Cotterell was trying to speak. He looked at Cotty, put out a trembling hand, and said—
“Give me—the paper.”
Evelyn got up. She rested her left hand on the table and leaned a little forward. She did not quite know what she was going to say, and she found herself repeating Manning’s words:
“I think—this has gone far enough.”
A look of relief and satisfaction crossed Sir Henry’s face. He sat back in his chair. The Abbotts turned and stared at Evelyn. Sir Cotterell said again,
“Give me—the paper.”
“Sir Cotterell.” Evelyn’s voice rose and steadied. “Sir Cotterell, I’m so sorry.”
He looked at her then, rather vaguely.
“What is it, my dear? Cotty said——”
“I know. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” This very sharply from Sophy.
“No.” She turned to Cotty. “Pearl Pal-User told me all about it, you know. She said you worried her till she didn’t know what she was doing. She told me she’d signed something. She didn’t really seem to know what she had signed but she said she’d signed something. However none of that really matters, because I’ve got the identity disc.”
The Amazing Chance Page 22