Latter End

by Patricia Wentworth

  His eye travelled to Ellie sitting by herself in the corner. He wondered what she was thinking about. It would not have comforted him very much if he had known. She was going over and over what had happened at the hospital that afternoon. Well, what had happened? She kept on saying to herself, “Nothing-nothing-nothing.” But it wasn’t any use saying that when you felt sick with misery. Nothing had happened-nothing at all. You had to keep on saying it. It was like being in a boat with the water coming in through a hole you couldn’t see-you had to keep on baling. But if the hole was too big, it wasn’t any use, the water would swamp you.

  She saw Ronnie’s face, all pleased and lighted up as she had seen it when she got to the hospital. The pleased look wasn’t for her. She had a bare half-minute of thinking it was, and then he was telling her about Nurse Blackwell being transferred to Brighton, to the home he was going to. Nurse Blackwell was the pretty girl who laughed. She always looked as fresh as if she hadn’t anything to do except look like that. Ronnie said, “Isn’t it marvellous?” Ellie said, “Marvellous- ” Her voice sounded like a tired echo. She felt like that, too- just an echo fading out. Something cold touched her heart.

  Julia struck a chord or two and began to sing. She had what Antony had once called a voice of cream and honey-sweet and rich without being very large. Contraltos are apt to be ponderous. Julia’s voice flowed easily in the old, country songs which Jimmy demanded-“Barbara Allen”-“The Bailiff’s Daughter.” Lois’ drawled “Rather infant school, don’t you think?” was taken no notice of.

  Jimmy was asking for “the jolly tune you used to sing- the one with all the animals. You know-we used to call it the ‘Zoo.’ ”

  Julia’s laugh rang out quite naturally.

  “ ‘Love will find out the way’? All right.”

  She began a spirited prelude, and sang to an old and charming tune:

  Over the mountains,

  And under the waves;

  Under the fountains,

  And under the graves;

  Under floods that are deepest;

  Which Neptune obey;

  Over rocks that are steepest,

  Love will find out the way.

  Some think to lose him,

  By having him confined;

  And some do suppose him,

  Poor thing, to be blind;

  But if ne’er so close ye wall him,

  Do the best that you may,

  Blind love, if so ye call him,

  Will find out the way.

  You may train the eagle

  To stoop to your fist;

  Or you may inveigle

  The phoenix of the east;

  The lioness, ye may move her

  To give o’er her prey;

  But you’ll ne’er stop a lover:

  He will find out his way.

  On the last word Lois stood up, throwing her cigarette-end out of the window. Her voice cut clearly across Julia’s closing chords.

  “Well, we’re going to leave you to wallow in folk song. It isn’t my line. Antony and I are going into the garden.”

  This was one of the times he thought about afterwards. If he had stayed where he was, imitating her frankness with a cool and quite truthful declaration that he liked the old songs and liked to hear Julia sing them, would it have made any difference? Lois would probably have stayed too, fidgeting with the things from the bag she always carried-cigarette case, lighter, compact; talking without taking the trouble to lower her voice; rasping Jimmy’s temper. It really seemed better to go off with her into the garden, leaving Julia to minister to Jimmy’s mood.

  He stepped out over the low sill and gave Lois his hand. The swish of her dress knocked her coffee cup over. It fell and rolled, but did not break.

  Minnie came out of her corner to retrieve it. She stood looking at it for a moment before she set it down with its saucer upon the tray.

  “It’s not broken,” she said-“just the tiniest chip by the handle. Marcia was so fond of these cups, and there aren’t a great many of them left. I’m glad it isn’t broken.”

  She spoke as if she were talking to herself-as if she were alone in the room, or alone in that dream of hers. Then she picked up the tray and went away.

  In the garden, Antony laid himself out to entertain his hostess. That, at least, was the part he had cast himself for, the entertaining guest. Unfortunately, it takes two to play a scene. Lois had her own idea of the scene she meant to play. A fine sunny evening; still, warm air; a bird or two calling; a glow of colour from the autumn border-these were the setting. And for characters, what could be more promising than a pretty woman who is bored, and the man who used to ask nothing better than to make love to her?

  She began to show him that it would not be disagreeable to her if he were to do it again. If that had been all, it would not have been too bad. Antony could hold his own in a verbal cut-and-thrust. But with every passing moment he was made aware of something underneath the play. Some current, dangerously alive-ready to give off sparks.

  He began to wish very heartily that he had remained in the bosom of the family. And then quite suddenly she changed her tone. The lightness went out of it. She said in a voice which sounded perfectly human and sincere,

  “ Antony, I’m bored to death.”

  Relief brought a smile to his lips.

  “What do I say?-‘Thank you for the compliment.’ ”

  It was her turn to frown.

  “I can’t live here. I was a fool to try.”

  He said, “Why you’re only just beginning. A week or two ago you were full of all the things you were going to do.”

  She said in a curiously sombre manner,

  “The bottom’s dropped out of it. I can’t live in the country. I shall take a flat in town.”

  “I don’t think you’ll get Jimmy to live in town.”

  “I could if I tried, but-I don’t intend to try.”

  He gave her a keen glance. This was a Lois he did not know. Her face seemed to have grown heavier. Her eyes looked past him with something fixed in their expression, pupils narrowing against the light. He said casually,

  “And what do you mean by that? Or do you mean anything at all?”

  She said in a low, obstinate tone,

  “Yes, I mean something. I think you know what I mean.”

  “I hope I don’t.”

  “It’s no good hoping. I’m not going on like this.”

  He kept the casual note.

  “Because you and Jimmy have had a row?”

  She said, “No,” left time for that to sink in, and then went on with a warm change of expression, manner, everything. “ Antony, don’t you see that I can’t go on?”

  “Frankly, I don’t.”

  “Don’t you? Then try! Antony, won’t you just try? I was a fool two years ago. There-I’ve said it! If I’d known that those Doubleday relations would settle out of court… I can’t do without money, you know-it’s no use pretending that I can. I’ve always been quite honest about that, haven’t I?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “I can’t do without money, and I can’t do without people. I’ve got to get back to town.”

  He said quite seriously,

  “Lois, I think you’re being stupid. What have you been making all these changes for if you’re not going to be here? You’re clearing the house, you’ve got a new staff coming in. You’re planning to entertain-to have people down here. Jimmy won’t stop you-he likes having the house full.”

  She laughed.

  “No-Jimmy won’t stop me.”

  He would rather she had remained sullen, but he laughed too.

  “Well then, what do you want?”

  She turned her head and looked past him again, but this time she was smiling.

  “I’ll tell you if you like. Or perhaps you can guess. And when I want things I generally get them.”

  “Do you?”

  Their eyes met for a moment. Hers were full of a sparkling vitality. The
current was dangerous again. Then she laughed.

  “I shall have my flat in town. You’ll come and see me there, won’t you? We can have week-end parties down here, just to keep the staff up to the mark and give the village something to talk about.”

  “It sounds marvellous. And now don’t you think we’d better go in?”

  “And join the community singing?” She dropped her voice a note. “Afraid of being alone with me, darling?”

  She got a black frown.

  “Look here, Lois-”

  “Saint Anthony?”

  Under the frowning brows his look was cold.

  “I suppose you know what you’re playing at.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Oh, certainly. You’ve had a row with Jimmy, and you think it’s a bright idea to annoy him by flirting with me. And I’m telling you quite seriously and frankly that there’s nothing doing, and that you’d better watch your step! I won’t be used to annoy Jimmy!”

  She looked up at him with a provoking smile.

  “You’d make an awfully good-looking parson. Have you ever thought of taking orders?”

  “Lois, listen a moment! You’re bored. You’re angry with Jimmy-”

  “And you’ve turned my head. Darling, do go on-this is thrilling!”

  “Yes, I’m going on. I said you’d better watch your step, and I meant it. I’ve seen Jimmy in this mood before-not very often-perhaps three or four times. Well, there’s no knowing what he might do. He got up against his father once-Marcia told me about it-when he was about twenty. And he just walked out of the house and off the map. They didn’t know whether he was alive or dead for a year. Then he turned up again-walked in full of bonhomie as if nothing had happened. But he never told them where he had been, or what he had been doing. That’s a new light on Jimmy, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, quite-very intriguing. Are you trying to warn me that Jimmy will vanish out of my life if I walk in the garden with you for half an hour in broad daylight? I’ve got a feeling I might be able to bear it, you know.”

  He gave her a dark, hard look.

  “I’m trying to warn you. You’re getting what you want all along the line. The girls are clearing out-Minnie will be clearing out. We’ll all be off on our own business, and you’ll get the place to yourself. Well, that’s all right-that’s what you want. But Jimmy doesn’t like it. He’s clannish-he doesn’t see any reason why the family shouldn’t continue to lead the tribal life at Latter End. Quite out of date, and flat in the face of human nature-families don’t do that sort of thing any more. Well, just ride him easy whilst you’re changing over. Most men hate changes. Jimmy loathes them. He’s got you on a pedestal about a mile high. Don’t choose this moment to come unstuck. It’s a damned long way to fall.”

  He had not cared whether she was angry or not. She showed no sign of anger, but stood there, her face lifted to his, her smiling eyes intent upon him.

  “You say I’m getting what I want. I told you I generally did.”

  “You’ll be getting rid of us, won’t you?”

  “And you think I want to get rid of you?”

  The final word was undoubtedly stressed. She made a movement which brought her very near. Not near enough to touch him, but there was a sense of being touched-a most disquieting sense.

  Antony had often been glad to see Julia, but never so glad as he was at this moment when she came round the corner of the yew hedge a dozen feet away. She came directly up to them and said in an uncompromising tone,

  “Jimmy wants to play bridge. Will you come in and make up a four?”

  CHAPTER 15

  It was not a comfortable game of bridge, but at least it afforded no opportunity for a tête-à-tête. Jimmy was fuddled, touchy-the word suspicion presented itself and was rejected-but he was, most undoubtedly, in every way the opposite of his usual self. He held magnificent cards, and played them with a lavish disregard for everything except the whim of the moment. Julia, who partnered him, had the air of being somewhere else. Her features seemed to have closed down over her thoughts. From start to finish she did not utter an unnecessary word. Lois looked merely bored. If she did not speak, it was because, very plainly, it wasn’t worth the trouble. No, not a comfortable game, but vastly preferable to being alone with Lois.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to be off rather early in the morning.” Antony addressed Jimmy. “There’s a man I want to catch. He’s only passing through London -coming down on the night train from Scotland. It’s rather important for me to see him. I think I’d better try and catch him at breakfast-he’s not going to have much spare time.”

  Jimmy gave a sort of grunt.

  “Rather sudden, isn’t it?”

  “Well, no-not really. It was my coming down here that was sudden. I had to fit it in, as you wanted to see me on business.”

  Lois raised her eyebrows.

  “Business?”

  “My business,” said Jimmy Latter.

  Julia looked suddenly and directly at Antony. Her face had come awake. She said nothing, and almost immediately took up the cards and began to deal.

  Lois laughed.

  “I hope you don’t expect any of us to get up and see you off!”

  At half past ten everyone was ready to say goodnight.

  Antony went up to the room which had been his since he was ten years old. It was on the first floor, but separated from the principal bedrooms by a door giving upon the back stairs. The stairs went down steeply from a landing with, on the left, a small sewing-room where Marcia Vane’s maid used to work in the days when people had maids to sew for them, and, on the right, the room which was still called “ Antony ’s room.” There was also a bathroom.

  As he was going along to have a bath, a girl came up the back stairs. He slowed down to let her go to wherever it was she was going, and saw her pass along the passage to the old sewing-room. Just before she got to it she looked back at him over her shoulder. He saw extravagantly waved fair hair, extravagantly darkened lashes, a mouth like a scarlet gash, and peeping pale blue eyes.

  He went into the bathroom and shut the door. If this was Gladys Marsh, he was not surprised that she didn’t go down well with Julia and Ellie. As he turned on the taps and blessed Manny for having the water piping hot, he reflected that if Joe Marsh had been lacking in filial piety, he would probably not go unrequited.

  He lingered in the hot water. The worst was over. He would take the road before seven, and wild horses wouldn’t get him back to Latter End until-he had a feeling that it might be the Greek kalends. Whether Lois was serious or not, it was extremely evident that she meant to precipitate a scene. Just why, he wondered then and was to wonder more in the horrible days to come-and never to be quite sure that he had found the answer.

  He put it away and switched his thoughts with determination to his business with Latimer. His book was extraordinarily good-there was no doubt about that. The firm took exception to the handling of certain incidents. They were getting him to tackle Latimer, who was notoriously touchy. Antony had served with him in the early part of the war. There was some degree of friendship. The middle-aged partners had patted the new boy on the back and told him to go to it. “You’ll have to exercise tact. We don’t want to lose him, but we can’t publish those chapters as they stand.” He wondered how prickly Latimer was going to be, and then found himself thinking that he owed him something for providing such a good excuse for an early start. Nobody but Julia was to know that Latimer and he were to have lunched together. For that matter, they would probably do so still. Breakfast after a night in the train wasn’t perhaps the moment when a tactful approach would be appreciated, but as an excuse it served a useful turn.

  He came back to his room, and to the realization that it was probably the last night he would ever spend there. His books still filled the shelves of a huge ramshackle book-case, the sort that runs up to the ceiling and down to the floor- the bottom shelf crammed with bound volumes of the Boys’ Own Paper; scho
ol prizes in the next, the kind you never read; and so on through the idols of his teens to long rows of small leather-bound editions at the top. Some of them he would want to take. For the rest, what did one do with the relics of one’s youth? They ought to have gone in salvage during the war, but he could just see Jimmy with his foot down and a peremptory “None of Mr. Antony ’s things!” If he couldn’t think what to do with the books, the pictures were much worse-an endless collection of school groups, college groups-rows and rows of faces, blazers, jerseys. A bonfire was really the only solution. The years of the war made an impassable gulf between himself and the face, the blazer, the jersey, which had been his on the farther side of it.

  He stood looking at one or two of the later groups, and found it melancholy work. Bill Rogers, killed at Alamein- Jervis at Hellfire Corner-Mapleton in the blitz-Anstey in Burma – Danvers in France -Macdonald just gone, nobody knew where. No use looking back. Good fellows with whom he had had a good time, but you have to go on… He reflected that there was another side to it. Thompson was a Brigadier. Amusing in its way, because Thompson hadn’t really cut much ice with the crowd. Well, Antony Latter who had cut quite a lot of ice in his day was only a captain. It all depended on what you pulled out of the bag. He was lucky to be alive and sound after Alamein and the wound which had kept him on the shelf for two years. The thing he really resented was breaking his leg in France because he’d been given a lift in a jeep by a chap who had never driven one before and who had got off himself without a scratch.

  He switched on to a plan for asking Julia to clear up his room, and then thought perhaps better not, because it might hurt Jimmy’s feelings. He had reached this point, when a very slight sound made him turn.

  Besides the ordinary door of this room there was another. It wasn’t one you would notice unless you happened to know it was there, because it was papered to match the rest of the room and there was no handle on this side. This room had once been a double room, and the slip beyond the papered door its attendant dressing-room, but ever since he could remember, the dressing-room had been Marcia’s dress-cupboard. It was strictly forbidden to use it when they played hide-and-seek, but they always did. It was too tempting. The cupboard had its own door on to the main landing. It didn’t communicate with Marcia’s room, which lay on its farther side, but you could nip out of her door into the cupboard, and so into this room, and on to the back-stair landing, with a choice of going either up or down, or through the swing-door back to the main landing again. Very strategic.