Trial and Error

by Anthony Berkeley

  “But why should Miss Norwood want to ruin the girl?” demanded Mr Todhunter.

  “Because,” replied Mr Budd succinctly, “she’s a bitch, that’s why. . .. Here, boy!”

  5

  So on the Sunday morning Mr Todhunter took a bus to the address in Maida Vale that Mrs Palmer had given him and in due course found himself interviewing a charming young woman with fair hair, blue eyes and a peachlike complexion, but none of the lack of character which so often goes with this combination, as if Nature, having worked pretty well skin deep, could not be bothered to go any further into the case. In this respect Felicity Farroway was as like her sister as both were unlike their father.

  She received Mr Todhunter in a minute sitting room which tried hard to be modern by containing as little furniture as possible, but which was so small as to appear crowded by the minimum required for practical purposes. Having examined Mr Todhunter’s invaluable card and dismissed to some retreat unspecified the rather stumpy stable companion who shared the flat with her, Miss Farroway settled Mr Todhunter and herself in the only two armchairs and prepared to be interviewed.

  Mr Todhunter used the same opening which he had found so successful before, but this time he added an unfortunate tail to it.

  “Miss Farroway, I am exceedingly worried about your father, and I feel sure that you must be too.”

  On this second occasion the result of his cunning made Mr Todhunter feel very uncomfortable; for Felicity Farroway first stared at him, then looked wildly round the room, then stared again and then burst straight into tears.

  “Oh, dear me,” observed Mr Todhunter, much distressed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Really, I apologise. . . I . . .”

  “But don’t you see?” sobbed Miss Farroway. “It’s me who’s responsible for the whole thing.”

  Mr Todhunter was so startled that he did not even notice this remarkable grammar. “You?” he said owlishly. “Responsible?”

  “Yes! I introduced them.”

  “Oh, I see. Dear me, yes. How very unfortunate. But surely . . .”

  “Yes!” repeated the girl vigorously. “I knew what she was like, and I knew Father. I ought to have been drowned for not foreseeing what would happen. Drowned!” She blew her nose unhappily into a piece of chiffon about the size of a rather small postcard.

  “Oh, come,” protested Mr Todhunter, feeling thoroughly guilty. “I don’t think you need blame yourself, you know. I’m sure you . . .”

  “You’re a friend of Father’s?”

  “Well, yes, I—”

  “You know everything of course?”

  “I think so, but . . . Ah!” said Mr Todhunter cunningly. “Yes, suppose you tell me everything from your point of view, Miss Farroway.”

  “I don’t know that the point of view matters much. It’s the facts. And goodness knows, they’re damnable enough. Well, Father came to see me at the theatre one day. Jean came into the dressing room I shared with another girl. I introduced Father. She was all over him of course; you know her smarmy way. She’d read all his books and thought they were just too marvellous; her favourite author; genius; when would he do her the honour of lunching with her? You know, all the usual gush. And Father simply lapped it up. He’s very simple, you know. He really believes what people say to him.

  “And the next thing was that I heard from Mother, very worried because Father was coming up to London from Yorkshire more and more often and she had an idea that he was seeing a good deal too much of Jean; did I know anything about it? Well, I thought that was a bit funny, because I hadn’t seen Father at all. I was sure he hadn’t been to the theatre, at any rate; so I said that what he had told her about the visits being on business was probably true. And the week after that he came up and never went back—nearly a year ago. And he hasn’t been back since.”

  “But I understand he hasn’t formally left your mother?”

  “Formally, no. But practically, he has. I simply can’t make it out. Jean’s got her hooks into him, of course, but I should never have thought Father could have fallen with quite such a thud. The rest of us simply don’t exist for him any more.”

  “Your sister—Mrs Palmer—thinks he is hardly responsible for his actions over the affair.”

  “Oh, you know Viola? Yes, temporary insanity, I suppose. But it’s pretty beastly to watch. I mean, when it’s your own father.”

  “Indeed yes.” Mr Todhunter wondered whether his companion knew anything about recent developments. He put out a feeler. “But I understand the lady is showing signs now of other intentions?”

  “You mean she’s chucking him? Well, thank goodness for that. I only wonder she hasn’t before. She must have sucked him pretty well dry by now. Who’s the new victim?”

  “Oh well,” hedged Mr Todhunter, regretting his rashness. “I don’t know, really. . . .”

  Mr Todhunter was not a good dissembler. Within two minutes the information had been dragged out of him.

  The girl was really shocked. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed quickly and shallowly; her eyes sparkled, more with anger than tears.

  “Mr Todhunter, something—something must be done!”

  “I agree,” said Mr Todhunter earnestly. “I do indeed.”

  “That woman must have wrecked dozens of lives in her time. She’s wrecked my career, I expect you’ve heard.”

  “Well, yes, I. . .”

  “I really can act, you know,” said the girl with complete simplicity. “But of course she had to get rid of me, once she’d got Father in tow. Anyhow that doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s not going to be allowed to wreck Viola’s life. Vincent’s a bit of an ass anyway, and I really believe that woman could get round the devil himself.”

  “Yes,” said Mr Todhunter. “But how do you propose to stop it?”

  “I don’t know. But I will. You see if I don’t. Mr. Todhunter, things are much worse than I let out to you just now. You see, I didn’t know how much you knew. Mother’s even having to sell the house and furniture because she can’t get a penny out of Father. And she won’t take him to court. I advised her to. I thought just the threat might bring him to his senses. But you know what Mother is.”

  “No—er—as a matter of fact I haven’t that pleasure.”

  “Oh well, she’s all stiff and proud and that sort of thing. She’d far sooner starve to death, in a thoroughly ladylike way, then do anything so vulgar as haul Father into any sort of court, even the divorce one. And of course he’s trading on it. In a way, I mean, because, poor darling of an idiot that he is, he doesn’t know what he is doing. I tried to get Mother to appeal to him on the grounds of Faith, but she won’t even do that.”

  “Faith?” repeated Mr Todhunter, puzzled.

  Miss Farroway seemed surprised. “Yes, you know. Faith. Oh, I see. You don’t know. Well, Faith’s my small sister. Thirteen. And Mother told me about a couple of months ago that our charming cook got drunk one day and blurted out to Faith the whole story. It’s been a bit of a shock to all of us, but just fancy what it must have been to a sensitive child of thirteen. Mother could hardly get her to go to school the next day, she was so ashamed. And of course she’s brooding over it and getting quite ill, Mother says. It’s damnable, Mr Todhunter—damnable! And all because of that damned woman’s vanity and greed.”

  Mr Todhunter was old fashioned enough still to feel mildly shocked at hearing oaths on the lips of pretty girls, but if ever there was an occasion on which such a thing was justified, it was this one.

  “Dear me! Tut, tut!” he muttered inadequately. “Yes indeed. Dear me, no. I had no idea things were so bad. And your career too . . .”

  “Oh, the career,” said the girl impatiently. “Yes, that’s annoying enough, but no real importance. What is maddening about that is the fact that as an actress I could have been earning just three times what I’m getting as a shop assistant, and so could have sent Mother about ten times what I’m able to send her now.”

  “Yes, that is
so. Of course. Dear me, a shop assistant . . . I—er—understand it’s very tiring work?” said Mr Todhunter vaguely. “Standing behind a counter. . .”

  “Oh well,” smiled the girl, “I don’t exactly have to do that. I’m one of those superior young ladies in black frocks who lurk languidly in our smaller dress shops; only we don’t call them ‘dress shops’ of course, we call them ‘modistes.’ Like this.” She jumped up and gave an imitation of one of the young ladies in question dealing with a plump matron from the provinces, so humorously lifelike that Mr Todhunter, who had never been in a modiste’s in his life, instantly felt that he knew all about them.

  “Why,” he exclaimed, “upon my word, you’re as good as Ruth Draper.” For Mr Todhunter, who went to see Miss Draper every time she was in London, this was almost extravagant praise.

  Laughing a little, the girl sat down. “Oh no; Ruth Draper’s unique. Though it’s sweet of you to say so.”

  “Anyhow, you can certainly act,” affirmed Mr Todhunter.

  “Oh yes,” agreed Felicity Farroway somewhat ruefully. “I can act, all right. And a fat lot of use that is to me—and to Mother.”

  “Yes,” said Mr Todhunter, a little embarrassed. “And—er—that reminds me. You must allow . . . old friend of your father’s . . . haven’t pleasure of her acquaintance, but would esteem it a privilege . . . er . . . yes . . .” Subsiding into incoherence, Mr Todhunter drew out his chequebook and fountain pen and, blushing till his ears glowed, wrote out a cheque for fifty pounds.

  “Oh!” gasped the girl, when Mr Todhunter handed it to her with a mumbled request that she send it on to her mother. “Oh, you angel! You sweet lamb! You perfect pet!” And, jumping out of her chair, she threw her lovely arms round Mr Todhunter’s stringy neck and kissed him with the utmost fervour.

  “Hey! Really! Well, dear me!” cackled Mr Todhunter in high glee.

  Soon afterwards he refused with regret a most pressing invitation to stay to lunch (being his own housekeeper, he knew the difficulties of an unexpected guest when the shops are closed) and took his leave, not a little pleased with himself and not a little perturbed too.

  CHAPTER VI

  It must be admitted that during these days Mr Todhunter was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  He was genuinely and quite altruistically worried about the Farroway situation, and the thought of that unhappy child in Yorkshire distressed him; but nevertheless the part he was playing gave him a good deal of pleasure. For one thing, it made him feel important. Mr Todhunter could not remember ever having been made to feel important before, and the sensation was by no means unpleasant. All these people—Viola Palmer, charming Felicity Farroway, even to some extent the gloomy Mr Budd—had all looked towards Mr Todhunter as though he could really do something. Mr Todhunter knew that in a mild and perhaps unconscious way he had encouraged this view. The knowledge made him feel slightly guilty but in no way spoilt his pleasure.

  For if (he thought) I really were going to do something, it would no doubt turn out all wrong and leave everyone much worse off than before. How admirable therefore to savour the situation, even to reap the kudos, and yet to do no one any harm.

  Such reflections made Mr Todhunter feel extremely detached and superior and still were able to leave him with the sneaking conviction that he could have done something very helpful had he liked. But of course he did not like. That had all been decided long ago. Much better to stand outside all these foolish imbroglios. A philosophic detachment combined with a sympathetic interest; that was the only correct attitude for a man in his position.

  It was therefore still with the outlook of a professor of entomology studying an ant heap, and with no intention at all of becoming an ant himself and burdening himself with huge eggs to be carried about wildly for no apparent purpose, that Mr Todhunter presented himself at the Norwood-cum-Farroway flat on Tuesday He was not exactly looking forward to the meeting, for Miss Jean Norwood was the kind of person who made him feel as if his skin were crinkling all down his back, but he anticipated a certain amount of sardonic amusement in observing her efforts to enslave him. That an attempt would be made to enslave him Mr Todhunter was convinced. The technique was apparently the same as had already been employed in Farroway’s case. Whether he was going to pretend to be enslaved or not Mr Todhunter was not certain, though he fancied that the role would be rather too difficult for him to sustain; it all depended how much his skin crinkled. But that he was going basely to deceive the lady and sustain the fiction of his great wealth Mr Todhunter was determined. He thought she deserved that at least.

  He therefore arrived for lunch, malignantly looking his very worst (and that was saying a good deal), in the same misshapen old suit that Miss Norwood had wrinkled her pretty nose at before, wearing a hat so dilapidated and ancient that even a real professor might have realised that something was a trifle wrong with it, and with the same identical egg stain (unaccountably not yet removed) still decorating his waistcoat. Wealthy eccentricity was Mr Todhunter’s theme, and he cackled maliciously to himself as he pressed the bell button and prepared to act the part as he conceived it.

  2

  Mr Todhunter had to admit afterwards that, whatever her shortcomings in other respects, Miss Norwood knew how to order a lunch. (It did not occur to him that Miss Norwood might never have ordered it at all but left everything to her thoroughly competent and extremely expensive cook.) The trouble was that, like the cocktails which preceded it, practically everything had to be refused by such a conscientious invalid as Mr Todhunter. When at last his hostess asked him in despair what he would really like, Mr Todhunter asked modestly whether he might be accommodated with a glass of milk and a rusk. That this was not a promising basis for attempted enslavement both hostess and guest could not but feel.

  If, however, Mr Todhunter had conceived any highly coloured visions of an exiguously clad Miss Norwood languishing at him from a leopard-skin rug, he was disappointed. Nothing could have exceeded the decorum with which the proceedings after lunch were conducted. Miss Norwood, sipping her coffee, entertained her guest with a really intelligent commentary on contemporary theatrical matters; and Mr Todhunter, regretting that he had had to refuse coffee which smelt as good as this did, listened happily. To his surprise, he found himself quite at his ease. To his greater surprise, he found Miss Norwood quite a different person from the idea he had formed of her on his first visit. Not a single allusion was made to his supposed riches; gone were all the small coquetries and affectations which had jarred on him so when Farroway was present; here, one would have said, was a perfectly simple, charming and intelligent woman who was enjoying his company and perhaps might be hoping that he was enjoying hers. Mr Todhunter’s caution, which had lasted all through lunch, slithered, slipped and melted. He relaxed; he unbent; he grew genial.

  She is charming, he thought. Those people were wrong. This is no devil, but as natural and pleasant a lady as ever I’ve met. With a little time I might even fall in love with her myself.

  He cackled.

  “What are you laughing at, Mr Todhunter?” politely enquired his hostess.

  “I was thinking that with a little time I might fall in love with you myself,” replied Mr Todhunter.

  The lady smiled. “Don’t do that. It would be such a bore for me. I should never fall in love with you, and you can’t imagine how deadly boring it is for a woman to have a man in love with her when she can’t feel that way about him.”

  “It must be indeed,” agreed Mr Todhunter earnestly.

  Miss Norwood lifted her arm in the air and allowed the sleeve to fall back from it. She contemplated the slender white column with an absent air.

  “Men are so odd when they’re in love,” she reflected. “They seem to think that the very act of being in love gives them certain proprietary rights; certainly the right to be jealous. At least they don’t actually think it, because they can’t think at all when they’re in that state, poor dears.”

  “Ha, ha,�
� cackled Mr Todhunter. “No, I suppose they can’t. Well, I’ve never been in that state myself, I’m glad to say.”

  “You’ve never been in love, Mr Todhunter?”

  “No, never.”

  Miss Norwood clapped her elegant hands. “But this is marvelous! I do believe you’re the person I’ve been looking for—oh, I don’t know how long. And I’d quite given up hope of ever finding him. Oh, do say it’s true, Mr Todhunter.”

  “What’s true?” asked Mr Todhunter affably.

  “Why, that you and I can be just simple, ordinary friends, without any boring complications. Will you be friends with me, Mr Todhunter?”

  “I sincerely hope I may be,” Mr Todhunter replied with something like fervour.

  “Good! Then that’s settled. Now, what shall we do to celebrate? I can give you a box for Fallen Petals of course, and I shall. But that’s so ordinary. Oh, I know! Let’s make a blind promise, shall we? We’ll each ask the other for a boon and promise to grant it, whatever it is. There, I call that a real thrill. Will you agree, if I do?”

  “Do you mean, no reservations of any kind?” asked Mr Todhunter, his caution popping up its head again.

  “Absolutely none. Have you the courage? I have.” Miss Norwood really seemed quite excited. She leaned forward in her chair, her enormous eyes (which Mr Todhunter remembered with shame that he had once thought naked and indecent) alight with a childlike pleasure. “Have you, Mr Todhunter?” she repeated.

  Mr Todhunter’s caution made a final grab for the side, lost its hold and disappeared under the water.

  “Yes,” he said with a smile which on anyone else he would have considered just fatuous. Mr. Todhunter really was behaving very foolishly.