“That’s what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said Lancreste thoughtfully.
Chapter Twenty-One
Colonel Melton’s Problems
Colonel Melton was worried. He did not know how to tackle the problem that had suddenly presented itself to his notice. The last three evenings when he had returned to the cottage about six, after his day’s work, he had found a young man sitting with Melanie in front of the fire—an odd sort of young fellow with sleek hair and a horrid little moustache—and the moment Colonel Melton had appeared this odd young fellow had risen and said he must go—and had gone with unseemly haste, scarcely waiting to reply to Colonel Melton’s civil conversation. It was bad enough to have a young fellow hanging about Melanie—thought Colonel Melton ruefully—but the mere fact that the fellow went tearing off like a lunatic and would not stay and talk showed that he was up to no good. Colonel Melton had not seen much of him, of course. He had exchanged a few brief words with him on his way to the door—that was all—but what he had seen of the fellow he didn’t much care for. It was most worrying. Perhaps he should not have brought Melanie here. Perhaps he ought to send her back to her aunt, where she would be properly looked after. He was away all day and could not keep an eye on Melanie—she was too much alone—she was very young and innocent and absolutely defenseless. If Colonel Melton had found one of his own officers with Melanie he would not have minded—or at least he would not have minded nearly so much—for he knew them, and knew what they were like, but this strange fellow…
He was in the Air Force, too, and this fact added to the colonel’s uneasiness, for, although Colonel Melton respected the R. A. F. and gave its members their due for the skill and gallantry with which they performed their duties, he was aware that fellows in the Air Force were apt to be a bit reckless and hot-headed, a bit irresponsible…and Mell was so young.
I shall have to speak to Mell, thought Colonel Melton as he tried, for the third time, to read and understand an account of a brilliant bomber raid upon one of Germany’s most important industrial towns.
“Anything interesting in the paper, Daddy?” asked Melanie as she began to lay the supper table.
“No, nothing,” replied her father.
“I thought you seemed very intent on it,” she continued. “I meant to listen to the news at six but of course I couldn’t.”
Colonel Melton cleared his throat. “Er—Melanie—” he began, but he did not get any further for she put down the knives and forks and came and sat on the arm of his chair and leaned against him.
He put his arm around her.
“Daddy,” said Melanie. “I want to ask you something.”
His heart seemed to miss a beat. “What is it?” he inquired.
“I’m afraid you won’t like it. I’m afraid it’s going to be rather a nuisance for you, darling.”
He was thoroughly frightened now. “Mell,” he began.
“I know,” said Melanie, stroking his hair. “I know you don’t want to be worried and bothered when you come home tired and try to read the paper—but it really is important. In fact I should have told you before. I’ve been putting it off and putting it off because I do hate worrying you.”
He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t find breath enough to ask her what was the matter. Why couldn’t she tell him quickly, so that he would know the worst?
“It’s the pans, Daddy,” said Melanie, regretfully.
“The pans!”
Melanie nodded. “They’re old and they haven’t been properly looked after. I’m afraid the woman who was here before wasn’t very—very careful. Miss Marks told me she wasn’t, as a matter of fact.”
“Pans,” repeated Colonel Melton.
“They’re all singed, Daddy—every one of them and of course once a pan has been singed it’s so apt to burn the food. We could ask Mrs. Abbott for new ones, I suppose, but I don’t like to do that because she has been so kind to us, hasn’t she?”
“Why did you frighten me, Mell?”
“Frighten you?” she asked.
“I thought it was something to do with that young fellow that was here.”
“Lancreste!”
“Is that his name?”
“He can’t help it,” Melanie pointed out. “He didn’t choose it, darling.”
“I don’t like him,” said Colonel Melton frankly.
“No,” said Melanie. “No, I didn’t think you would. That’s why I told him to go away when you came home.”
“What?”
“I told him,” explained Melanie. “I said he could come to tea but he must go away whenever you came in.”
“You told him that!”
“Yes, darling, I had to, really. He’s rather the type that stays on and on and doesn’t know when to go away. You didn’t want him to stay, did you?”
Colonel Melton was dumb.
“Did you?” asked Melanie, looking at him in surprise.
“No-o,” replied her father doubtfully. “Not exactly—but I like to—to know your friends.”
“You wouldn’t like him,” repeated Melanie, rising from her perch and walking toward the door.
“Do you like him?” asked Colonel Melton.
She hesitated at the door with a thoughtful look. “Part of me does,” said Melanie slowly.
Colonel Melton looked at her across the room. I wish she had a mother, he thought. Aloud he said, “How much, Mell?”
“Quite a lot,” she replied. “You see I’m so sorry for him and I’m trying to help him. You can’t help a person without liking them.”
“You don’t—love him, do you?”
“Oh no,” cried Melanie. “No, of course not. Lancreste is in love with someone else…and she’s a beast,” added Melanie. “She’s an absolute beast. I haven’t seen her but I know she must be.”
“I don’t like it,” said Colonel Melton. “It isn’t a good thing to encourage the fellow to come and talk to you, Mell.”
“Oh Daddy, how funny you are!”
“Funny?”
“Yes, you’re afraid I shall fall in love with him, I suppose. As if I should ever fall in love with poor Lancreste!”
“No chance of it?”
“None,” declared Melanie, shaking her head violently.
Colonel Melton smiled. He said, “I’m glad to hear he isn’t your idea of a suitable husband.”
“Poor Lancreste!” said Melanie again—and said it with such a pitying smile that every trace of anxiety vanished from Colonel Melton’s mind. If Melanie could speak of him in that kindly, but somewhat disparaging, manner there was no need to worry; Melanie was safe.
Colonel Melton was so pleased at his discovery that he felt like teasing his daughter a little. “Well, well,” he said. “Perhaps you could give me some idea what sort of a son-in-law I may expect.”
“Oh!” cried Melanie. “That’s easy, really. Someone much older than me and much cleverer: someone big and handsome and strong; someone who would have jokes with me and laugh at the same things: someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“Just like you…but really and truly I don’t want to marry anyone—not for years and years.”
“You’re quite happy,” he asked.
“Very happy.”
“All you want is pans.”
She ran across the room and hugged him. “Two,” she said. “Just two, Daddy. It will make such a lot of difference to have them—but I’m afraid they’ll be terribly difficult to get.”
“I’ll send Fraser into Wandlebury tomorrow. If anyone can get them he will.”
They were very happy together all the evening.
It was half-past ten and the Meltons were getting ready for bed when there was a knock on the front door. The colonel went downstairs in his d
ressing gown and found Bobby Appleyard on the step.
“I’m awfully sorry to bother you, sir,” said Bobby. “The fact is we’ve caught the fellow that’s been hanging about the place.”
“Well, what of that?” said Colonel Melton.
“Major Cray sent me to tell you about it, sir.”
“What’s he like? Where did you catch him?” asked the colonel.
Bobby realized that the colonel was not pleased. “I’m awfully sorry,” repeated Bobby. “The fellow’s making rather a fuss. We’ve got him in the guard room, of course. He’s small and rather dirty, dressed in a dark-blue suit—Major Cray thought you should see him.”
“What, now?” asked the colonel. “Surely it would do if I saw him in the morning.”
“I don’t know,” replied Bobby. “Major Cray said…and the fellow is making rather a fuss…Major Cray doesn’t know what to do with him.”
Colonel Melton went upstairs and dressed. As he laced his boots he murmured uncomplimentary things about Major Cray. Cray was afraid of taking an ounce of responsibility; he was too fond of “passing the buck.” This was not the first time Colonel Melton had thought hard things about his senior major; it was merely the last straw. He decided that he was not going to take Cray on active service…Cray wasn’t the sort of fellow…too windy…no use having a fellow like that…
The night was dark and wet (a fact that helped to seal the fate of Major Cray). Colonel Melton and Bobby groped their way down to the guard room with the aid of an electric torch. Major Cray was there, waiting for them, so also was the guard—three large red-faced men in battledress—so also was a small, white-faced man in a navy-blue suit.
“Where was he found?” asked the colonel.
“In the lines, sir,” replied Major Cray. “He was—”
“I worn’t,” said the man huskily. “I worn’t in no lions. I wor lookin’ in at the ’ut where the suppers wor cookin’. I wor ’ungry that’s wot. I’ve as much roight ter be there as you.”
“Have you taken down a statement?” asked the colonel.
“He won’t make a statement,” said Major Cray in anxious tones.
“What’s your name?” asked the colonel, looking at the man as he spoke.
“No bisniss of yours,” replied the man.
“He won’t say anything,” declared Major Cray.
“Come now,” said Colonel Melton. “What’s the use of going on like this. You’re only making things harder for yourself. You’ve been hanging about the place for days—what’s the meaning of it?”
“I ’aven’t,” replied the man. “I ’aven’t bin ’anging about. I got ’ere this arternoon—come down in the bus—I got bisniss ’ere.”
“What sort of business?”
“It’s Mrs. Abbott I wants ter see.”
“He can’t see Mrs. Abbott tonight,” said Bobby hastily.
“Of course not,” agreed the colonel. “He can spend the night in the guard room. Give him something to eat; I’ll see him again in the morning.”
“’ere!” cried the man. “’ere, I say! Wotter you gettin’ at? You ain’t got no roight ter keep me locked up. You’ll get inter trouble fer this. Wot ’ave I done! You carn’t keep people locked up when they ain’t done nothin’.”
“I can,” replied Colonel Melton, smiling at the little man’s indignation. “You were in the lines without authority and you refuse to give an account of yourself.”
“I’m in a aircraff factory,” said the man. “That’s goverment service jus’ as much as a soldier. I came down ’ere on private bisniss, ter see Mrs. Abbott. I ain’t sayin’ a word maw—not ter you, any’ow.”
“He ought to be shackled,” said Major Cray in an undertone. “He’s a desperate character—a spy—we were warned about him, sir.”
“Nonsense,” said the colonel. “The guard will look after him. I suppose you’ve disarmed him.”
“He wasn’t armed,” said Bobby quickly.
The colonel hesitated at the door. “Come on,” he said (not unkindly, for the man had plenty of spunk and spunk was an attribute that appealed to the colonel). “Come on. Why not make a clean breast of it? What have you been doing here?”
“I ain’t bin doin’ nothing. I tol’ you I come down ’ere this arternoon. They give me two days off fer privit bisniss—strike me pink if it ain’t the trooth.”
Somehow or other Colonel Melton felt that it was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Where Did You See Your Father?”
Early the following morning Wilhelmina was washing the doorstep at Ganthorne Lodge when suddenly she heard footsteps behind her and saw Colonel Melton coming up the path. She was very pleased to see him, for she liked the colonel; their acquaintance had started when Wilhelmina was merely Elmie Boles. Several times when Elmie was on her way home from school the colonel had stopped her and talked to her kindly and given her a sixpence—one did not forget things like that.
“Good morning, Wilhelmina,” said Colonel Melton, smiling. He knew her history, of course, and, although he was of the opinion that it was exceedingly wrong—in fact positively criminal—to keep the child at Ganthorne without telling her parents, he was obliged to admit that good had come out of evil. Most extraordinary, thought the colonel, looking at her. Almost incredible, the change in the girl.
The girl had been a miserable, wispy, furtive little creature with tousled hair and a peaky face—now she looked healthy and happy and she wore an air of importance that sat quaintly upon her childish shoulders.
“You look very pleased with yourself,” said Colonel Melton in a friendly manner.
Wilhelmina nodded. “I got my wages,” she replied. “I’ve earned them, too. Miss Marks said that.”
“Good work. What are you going to buy?”
“A skirt,” said Wilhelmina. “And a jumper—a green one like Mrs. Abbott has.”
“You couldn’t do better,” said the colonel gravely. He hesitated and then asked, “Is Mrs. Abbott in?”
“No, sir,” replied Wilhelmina, straightening herself and assuming an official air. “Mrs. Abbott’s out exercising the ’orses—the horses, I mean. May I take a message, sir?”
Colonel Melton decided she was quite capable of delivering a message, as indeed she was. “Yes,” he said. “You might tell Mrs. Abbott that the sentries caught a man in the lines last night. He was brought into the guard room but he refused to give any account of himself beyond saying that he has business with Mrs. Abbott. I think perhaps Mrs. Abbott had better see him and, if she doesn’t mind, I’ll bring him up to the house after lunch—say about two. Can you remember that?”
Wilhelmina was staring at him wide-eyed. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “Yes, I’ll tell her.”
He turned to go, but she ran after him and caught him by the sleeve. “Please, what’s ’e like?” she said.
Colonel Melton noticed the slip and he could not help smiling. “Oh, he’s a very harmless sort of fellow,” said the colonel. “Small and ferrety-looking, dressed in a dark-blue suit. You needn’t be alarmed…”
Wilhelmina did not wait to hear any more. She turned and ran back to the house and dashed into the pantry, where Miss Marks was engaged in cleaning the silver.
“Miss Marks!” she cried. “Miss Marks, ’e’s come!”
“He…has…come,” said Miss Marks firmly, taking up another spoon and polishing it industriously. “And, please Wilhelmina, do not caper about like that. You nearly upset the table.”
“He has come!” said Wilhelmina, her eyes starting out of her head. “He has come, Miss Marks—Oh, Miss Marks wotever shall I do?”
“Who has come?” asked Miss Marks, dropping the spoon and gazing at her protégée in alarm.
“It’s ’im—it’s Dad—’e’s come to fetch me ’ome,” cried Wilhelmina, her aitches flying in all d
irections unheeded. “It’s ’im, I know it’s ’im—small an’ ferrety—that’s wot ’e sed—in a blue soot—that’s ’is best.”
“Wilhelmina.”
“Ow dear, ow dear!” cried Wilhelmina, squeezing her hands together. “Ow, Miss Marks! I won’t gow—I won’t leave you nor Mrs. Abbott neither. You sed I needn’t—an’ she sed I needn’t—an’ I won’t.”
“Compose yourself, Wilhelmina,” said Miss Marks, patting her on the back.
“’Ow can I?” she wailed. “’Ow can I? ’E’ll take me—I’ll have ter gow—I’ll never be ’appy agen. I’ll throw myself in the river—that’s wot—”
“Come now,” said Miss Marks. “I told you that you were never to say such a wicked thing again.”
“But I’ll ’ave ter gow—”
“You need not stay,” said Miss Marks in significant tones.
Wilhelmina was no fool—and she and Markie understood each other pretty well by this time—so she stopped crying at once and looked at Miss Marks.
Miss Marks nodded. “There now,” she said. “Be a sensible girl. There is nothing to be gained by tears and lamentations.”
“You’ll ’ide me!” exclaimed Wilhelmina with dawning hope.
“I shall not hide you,” replied Miss Marks. “It would be foolish—for you would probably be found and a great deal of trouble might result. Tell me exactly what happened. Where did you see your father?”(Markie paused for a moment. She had a feeling that these words were familiar, they had a familiar ring, but there was no time to pin down the quotation now. ) “Where did you see your father,” repeated Miss Marks. “What did he say? Pull yourself together and explain the matter clearly.”
Wilhelmina did as she was told and Miss Marks was soon in possession of the facts of the case.
“You are sure it is your father?” asked Miss Marks.
“Small and ferrety-looking.”
“I know,” said Miss Marks hastily, “but there might be others answering to the same somewhat vague description.”
The Two Mrs. Abbotts Page 18