The Shadow In The House

by Maxwell March

  The light from a street lamp fell upon his face and showed for an instant the clean line of his jaw and the deep hollows of his eyes. Had Mrs de Liane seen him then she might well have had cause for disquietude, for there was conflict in his face—conflict and something like astonishment.

  CHAPTER XV

  The Companion

  “HERE YOU ARE, miss. That’s the house.”

  Mary stepped out of the taxicab, and there was some little delay while the taximan found change. While he was getting it the girl had leisure to observe another taxicab draw up some distance down the dark wet road, and afterwards, when she had paid the man and entered the iron gate of the big Georgian house, it was still there.

  It did not drive away until the door had opened and she had been swallowed up in the lighted hall beyond.

  During the ride and up to the moment when she stood shivering on the doorstep of 12, Bacon Gardens, Mary had been too bewildered to think about this new turn her adventures had taken. She was aware, of course, that some mistake had been made. Now that she thought about it clearly that much was evident. But what it was, what exactly had happened, and who the man at the City office had been, she could not imagine.

  Her heart was beating wildly when she pressed the bell of the large comfortable house in the quiet, fashionable street, and when the door opened and a manservant peered at her enquiringly it was with great difficulty that she restrained an inclination to run away. She knew that she must present a somewhat extraordinary appearance. Her new tweed suit was wringing wet, and she was clutching nine pound notes and a handful of silver, as well as a tiny scrap of paper.

  But to her relief the man smiled when she gave her name.

  “Oh yes,” he said. “Will you come in? Madam is expecting you.”

  Mary followed him into a brightly lit formal hall glistening with white panelling and enlivened by a great bowl of flowers despite the season. She was conducted into a little room at the back of the house. Here the white panelling was continued, and she found herself in a little feminine study furnished with gilt and hung with tapestry.

  The man motioned her to a chair in front of the fire and went out.

  She was warming herself before the blaze when the door opened and a woman came in. Mary was conscious of a sense of surprise. The newcomer was a plump, brisk person, exquisitely dressed and very young looking despite her forty or even fifty years. She was in full evening dress and carried a velvet wrap over her arm.

  She stood looking at the girl with a bright, birdlike glance which was inquisitive without being unfriendly. Then she held out her hand.

  “So you’re Mary Coleridge. Well, my dear, I understand everything’s been arranged. You’re to sail with me on Friday. Now don’t talk to me about yourself: I don’t want to know anything. That’s part of the arrangement, isn’t it?”

  She rattled on, interspersing her remarks with occasional bright smiles, and it occurred to Mary that she was being studiously noncommittal.

  She chatted for several minutes, and the girl realized that Mrs Mortimer was a very different person both from Mrs de Liane and from the mysterious Mr Jones. Mrs Mortimer not only had nothing to hide but did not wish to know anything which she might have to hide.

  She got the preliminaries over with all possible speed and steered away from the peculiar elements of the affair to the more practical side of the business with evident relief.

  “You have no clothes, have you? Oh well, that doesn’t matter. My daughter can lend you a nightdress and some toilet things for this evening. Then tomorrow one of us can take you shopping. Or perhaps you could go with Marie, my maid: I don’t know, I must see about that. Anyway you shall have some clothes.”

  She looked at Mary as she spoke and suddenly put out her hand to touch the girl’s shoulder.

  “You’re wet!” she said. “My dear child, you’ll get pneumonia. … Come upstairs at once. Evelyn, my daughter, can lend you something to put on and have your dinner in. Good gracious me, I don’t want you ill on my hands! Come along.”

  Mary followed the woman up the staircase to one of the big bedrooms on the second floor. Mrs Mortimer tapped and called to her daughter.

  “Evelyn, are you dressed? May we come in?”

  On receiving a reply in the affirmative they entered to find a magnificent L-shaped room, one portion of which was curtained off with fine chiffon hangings to make a bedroom, while the other formed a boudoir.

  A little sallow girl with dark hair and a petulant mouth was eyeing herself critically in a long mirror. Mary had never seen such a beautiful dress, and it occurred to her irrelevantly that the girl was not making the best of it.

  Mrs Mortimer performed the introductions perfunctorily.

  “This is Mary Coleridge, my new companion. She’s sailing to Canada with me on Friday. She’s wet through, hasn’t any clothes. Do lend her some things, dear. Anything warm will do. I must run down now in case they come.”

  She hurried out again, shutting the door behind her, and the two girls looked at one another. Evelyn Mortimer seemed as embarrassed and as anxious not to ask questions as her mother had been, but she was not unfriendly. She seemed to find Mary’s presence awkward but not unpleasant.

  She opened a wardrobe door.

  “Take anything you want out of here,” she said. “We’re about the same size.”

  Mary was uncomfortable.

  “It’s awfully good of you,” she began. “Really it doesn’t matter. If you could lend me a nightdress and a dressing gown perhaps I could have my food in my room? I don’t think your mother will need me tonight.”

  “Oh no, she’s going to the theatre. We’re all going.” Evelyn moved over to the bell pull. “Look here, I’ll have to go down, but I’ll ring for my maid and get her to look after you. You’d rather that, wouldn’t you? I’m sorry I can’t stay. Don’t think I’m rude, but my new fiancé’s coming, and I don’t want to be late.”

  She pulled the bell while Mary attempted to express her thanks.

  “You look terribly tired,” Evelyn began, and stopped abruptly. Someone had tapped upon the door, and the next moment a voice which both girls recognized demanded cheerfully, “May I come in?”

  “Darling!” said Evelyn, and ran towards the door.

  It opened, and over her shoulder Mary stared into a startled and horrified face which she recognized instantly.

  Evelyn seized his arm. “I’m coming down at once. You shouldn’t have come up. Oh—er—by the way, let me introduce you. This is Mother’s new companion, Miss Mary Coleridge—Sir Peter Muir-David.”

  There was complete silence in the big room. The man in the doorway did not move but remained perfectly still, staring out over Evelyn’s head at the bedraggled little figure who looked so pale and fragile amid the luxury of the gracious bedroom.

  Mary did not speak. She felt that her capacity for surprise had been exhausted. So many extraordinary things had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours that she was conscious only of a great weariness.

  That it was actually Peter himself who stood before her she had no doubt, in spite of the considerable difference in the name. She had recognized his voice, and his face was unmistakable, although it was paler and more finely drawn than it had been when she had known him at Merton House.

  It was Evelyn who spoke. Her glance travelled to the girl and back again to the man, and she laughed awkwardly, a little embarrassed sound which had a hint of annoyance in it.

  “Oh, I see. You—you know each other.”

  “No,” said Peter so violently that both women stared at him. “I mean,” he added awkwardly, “I thought I recognized this lady, but I don’t.”

  It was such a lame denial, and Mary could so easily have refuted it, but the expression on his face silenced her. He was looking at her imploringly; there was no other word for it. His blue eyes sought hers and held them with an earnestness of appeal that was irresistible.

  In spite of all the questions whi
ch rose to her lips, in spite of the momentary sense of relief and safety which had swept over her, only to be dashed aside a moment later, Mary was brave enough and feminine enough to rise to the occasion.

  “No, I’ve never seen you before,” she said with a little laugh, and although the lie did not sound convincing even to herself the sallow girl in the beautiful evening gown seemed satisfied.

  She was not pleased with Mary, however, and her dark eyes narrowed under her heavy brows, while the sulky expression upon her mouth was intensified.

  She linked her arm through the man’s own possessively.

  “Come, Peter, we must go downstairs. Mother’s waiting for you. Has Lord Tollesbury arrived?”

  The words had hardly left her mouth when an extraordinary thing happened. Peter swung round and placed his hand over her lips. It was an entirely involuntary gesture, and his eyes, which were frightened now, rested upon Mary’s face.

  “Come,” he said hastily to Evelyn as she gasped at him. He dragged her out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  It was a ridiculous departure—the essence of flight—and Mary was bewildered by it. The name that he had been so anxious to preserve stuck in her mind—Lord Tollesbury. It conveyed nothing to her except that she fancied she had heard it or read it in connection with some financial undertaking.

  Meanwhile she remained where she was. The room was warm, and as her chilled body reacted to the comfort she became aware again of her sodden clothes. She caught sight of herself in the long mirror before which Evelyn had been posing when she first came in. As she saw herself a faint smile passed over her lips. She could have forgiven Peter if he had not recognized her in her present condition. She had never seen such a forlorn object in her life. Her eyes were dark smudges in a white face, and the soaked tweed clung to her slender figure, making her look positively emaciated.

  But he had recognized her. She was sure of it. That first moment of mute appeal had been too obvious to be ignored. Slowly she realized what this new development meant. Peter, the person whom she had instinctively regarded as her only friend, was engaged to another woman, frightened of herself, and not prepared to recognize her.

  It was one of those moments of despair at which the very depth of misery seems to have been plumbed and when mind and body feel no greater wretchedness can be endured.

  Mary pulled herself together and found to her astonishment that she was able to do so. She reviewed her position calmly. She was alone with her back against the wall. There was no living soul to whom she could turn. And yet, by some mysterious trick of fortune, the man who had sent her to this house believed that she was worth getting out of the country and pensioning off. It was a chance, a life line, and she made up her mind to seize it and hang onto it.

  Meanwhile the practical side of her nature asserted itself. If she remained any longer in wet clothes the chances were that she would become seriously ill.

  She went over to the cupboard which Evelyn had indicated and found a thick, quilted silk dressing gown there. She changed and waited barefoot for the next development. The house seemed silent, and presently she moved quietly over to the door and, slipping out onto the landing beyond, peered over the white balustrade into the lighted hall below.

  The passage in which she stood was in darkness, and she looked down with the satisfaction of knowing that she could not be seen from the ground floor.

  From above the bright hall presented a picture of soft hangings, bright carpets and flowers. The low murmur of voices reached the girl, and, craning her neck, she saw Peter and the woman she knew as Mrs Mortimer deep in conversation outside the door of the room to which she had been taken on her first arrival.

  She could not hear what was being said. The two were speaking in a low tone, although there was a considerable amount of urgency in the timbre of their voices.

  As she looked down at the plump, businesslike little figure of the woman, Mary received once again the impression which she had formed of her before. Although friendly, she seemed loth to associate herself with the reality of the business in hand. She shrugged her shoulders, turned her head away, looked vague and noncommittal.

  It was Peter who seemed so intense. Mary caught the word “must” and again “recognized me.”

  The doorbell brought the conversation to a close. Peter stepped back into the shadow of the curtain as the manservant hurried down the hall to answer the door. Mary felt the current of cold air from the street as the door flung wide, and the next moment she saw Peter hurry forward with an exclamation which sounded like the single word “Tollesbury.”

  The actual doorway was hidden from her by the angle of the stairs, but although she could not see the newcomer she heard his voice raised pleasantly.

  “Hallo! Did she come safely?”

  And then, at what must have been a warning gesture from Peter, the voice was lowered, and only an indistinct rumble came to her from the hidden corner.

  Mary drew back. She had heard the voice and recognized it. This recognition made the whole business more incomprehensible even than before, for the man who had been addressed as Tollesbury was the mysterious Mr Jones who was so anxious to get her out of the country, and what possible danger her presence in England could be to that distinguished financial magnate was more than Mary could imagine.

  She was still hanging over the rail when a hand on her shoulder startled her, and she swung round to find herself looking into the face of a quietly dressed lady’s maid. The woman stared at her suspiciously.

  “Your dinner’s waiting for you in your room, miss,” she said. “I see you’ve found a dressing gown. Will you come this way, please? I’ll attend to your wet clothes afterwards.”

  Mary followed her up the staircase to a little room at the top of the house. It was quiet and comfortable, and there was a very welcome meal awaiting her, but afterwards, when she peeped out onto the upper landing, she found that although her door was unlocked there was another maid on guard at the head of the stairs. This, too, was an elderly woman, who stared at her inquisitively and asked her very pointedly if there was anything she wanted, and on being told that there was nothing suggested firmly that she should go to bed and try to sleep.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Money Talks

  “YOU’RE SURE she recognized you?”

  The man whom Mary knew as Mr Jones and who was in actual fact Lord Tollesbury, President of Cosmos Limited and many other big concerns, walked slowly up and down the library of his sister’s house. He paused to put the question, swinging round upon the younger man who sat before the desk in the centre of the room, his chin resting on his hands.

  Peter Muir-David looked up.

  “Oh yes,” he said quietly. “She recognized me. She recognized me then, and she recognized me this morning. How could she help it?”

  Lord Tollesbury shrugged his shoulders.

  “Oh well, it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ve fixed up everything most satisfactorily as far as she’s concerned. She’ll play her part. I think she’s very satisfied, but I never met anyone so cautious in my life. I meant to get here earlier, but I relied upon Edith to warn you, and of course she didn’t realize that you would go straight upstairs to see Evelyn. I went along to my club to change.”

  He brushed a speck of dust off the sleeve of his tail coat as he spoke.

  Peter nodded absently. He did not seem to have heard. There was an introspective expression in his eyes, and his face looked more drawn than ever. The older man stood regarding him contemplatively for some little time. At last his eyes twinkled, and an amused smile flickered for an instant over his cadaverous face.

  “Rather an awkward moment, I imagine,” he said. “Did you have any difficulty explaining to Evelyn?”

  “No,” said Peter slowly. “Mary pretended she didn’t know me.”

  “Really?” Lord Tollesbury raised his eyebrows. “That was rather odd, wasn’t it? She’s a much more conscientious young woman that I dream
ed, unless——I say, my boy, you are sure we’re not on a wild-goose chase, running away from a bogey which isn’t there? She does recognize you?”

  “Oh yes,” said Peter wearily. “I told you, she knew me all right, just as I knew her. Both of us look a little the worse for wear, but we knew each other.”

  Lord Tollesbury, who was in the act of lighting a cigarette, paused, the match half raised to his mouth. He let it burn down, threw it away and lit another one before he spoke, and all the time his sharp, dark eyes were fixed upon the younger man’s face.

  “Look here, Muir-David,” he said, “I know you’re your father’s son and I trust you, but young men do do ridiculous things where young women are concerned. Did you ever confide in that girl?”

  Peter sat up stiffly, his face pale and his eyes angry.

  “No,” he said. “No sir, I didn’t. Sometimes I wish I had. Sometimes I wish——”

  He broke off and relapsed into his original position, his head resting heavily on his hands.

  The older man sat down in one of the deep armchairs before the fire and smoked for some moments in thoughtful silence. He was evidently waiting for Peter to go on, but when the young man showed no signs of doing so Tollesbury began to speak.

  “Let me see,” he began, and his voice was studiously casual, “you have been engaged to my niece Evelyn ever since you were twenty-one. Not actually engaged,” he corrected himself as Peter looked up, “but there has been an understanding between your family and hers for the last seven years that a marriage would be advantageous. Isn’t that so? I’ve always understood it was to take place when Evelyn was twenty-four—this spring, in fact. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” said Peter heavily. “My father made the arrangement before he died.”

  Lord Tollesbury nodded. “I often wonder whether these arrangements are a good idea,” he said. “They certainly help to conserve family fortunes, and I know they’re very common among moneyed people. I think on the whole,” he went on judicially, “that I approve. You’d be throwing yourself away, my boy. Mary Coleridge is a nice girl, a shrewd girl—I shouldn’t mind having her working for me—but she’s penniless, and I really think you’d be well advised to maintain the present state of affairs. It’s much less expensive in the long run.”