The second collection of 3 great novels by Mary Burchell

by Burchell, Mary

  "She—went to her room soon after tea.**

  "Isn *t she very well? '* He glanced up quickly.

  "Oh—no. She*s quite all right. She was a bit—a bit upset.'*

  "Oh, you mean about Roddy's departure? Yes, of course she would be.** His tone was entirely sympathetic. "I'll go up and see her.'*

  He stood up, and, in desperation, Harriet exclaimed: "No. Wait a moment—"

  He looked down at her in surprise. And she knew that this was the moment. That there was really no way of leading up to these things. Mrs. Mayhew had been right. You couldn 't prepare anyone for a thunderbolt.

  "What's the matter, Harriet? You look upset."

  "Mr. Mayhew, I have some—some rather bad news for you." Did one always use silly forms of understatement to express disaster? she wondered.

  "Bad news? About mother, do you mean?**

  "Oh, no! ** she said again, and even gave a small, dreary laugh, at the thought of her being involved.

  "Well, then, please tell me at once.** His tone was peremptory. "There's no kindness in keeping me guessing, you know.**

  "No, of course not. Tm sorry. It*s about Dilys and—and Roddy. They-'*

  . "Dilys and Roddy!" he interrupted in astonishment. "What on earth have they to do with each other?**

  "Rather a lot, Tm afraid. It seems that they—they have been growing terribly fond of each other—that her feelings have changed and—**

  "But good God! ** He was rather white suddenly and just a little haughty. "Why can*t she tell me this herself? It has nothing to do with you. **

  "She isn't here to tell it herself, Mr. Mayhew. She has gone,** Harriet said steadily.

  '*Gone?" He sat down slowly again and stared at her. "Gone where?"

  *'To London, I suppose. With Roddy. They were married this morning."

  He didn 't repeat her words this time. She saw the line of his cheek harden and, although he scarcely moved, she remembered suddenly some reference of Roddy's to his violent temper. She thought, for a frightened moment, that it was rising now.

  But when at last he spoke, he only said, "I see. Why did they leave you to tell me about it?' *

  "Oh, they didn't!" Harriet explained eagerly. "Roddy wrote to your mother asking her to break the news to you. She—she wouldn't. She w^s unspeakably shocked and angry, and she didn't want to do anything which could suggest she had suspected the least thing, or condoned it in any way. That—that left only me to tell you."

  "Oh—poor child!" He gave a.short, disgusted laugh. "Whatarottenjobforyou."

  "I didn't—like it very much."

  "You did it rather nicely, though." He got up restlessly, to go over to the window, and as he passed to her he briefly touched her dark, bent head. "Thanks."

  She couldn't say anything. That he should consider he owed her any thanks was the worst of all. And, for a minute or two, there was silence in the room.

  At last she looked up. He was standing by the window, gazing out into the darkness, not seeing much, she supposed.

  "I'm most awfully sorry," she said softly. She meant that she was sorry anything had to cause him so much pain. "I'm afraid it must be a fearful shock."

  "Um-hm. It is rather."

  "You—you hadn't the faintest suspicion of anything wrong?"

  "No, of course not. How should I? Until a few weeks ago, Roddy was crazy about some other girl."

  "On, no. It has always been Dilys."

  "What?" He swung round and stared at her. "What are you talkine about?"

  She felt herself go white. "I thought—" she groped wildly for an explanation of her incomprehensible slip "—I

  thought Mrs. Mayhew spoke as though—from the wording of his letter—it was not a sudden infatuation,'*

  "But it was,*' he retorted impatiently. "It couldn't have been anything else. I know perfectly well there was some other girl. He told me as much. She brought him home one night when—"

  Oh, no—that was me! I ... I mean—"

  "Harriet—" he came forward to where she was sitting and stared down at her in angry puzzlement "—am I going crazy, or are you? I'm talking of something that happened in London."

  "Yes, I know. So am I." She had decided to allow herself at least the indulgence of being truthful over this at last. "It was I who brought Roddy home from Jo's party that night. I'd never seen him before—I didn't even know his surname—but he was ill and distressed. I thought, to tell the truth, that he was a little drunk, too. But, anyway, it was obvious that he would be better at home. So I went with him in the taxi."

  "But I saw the girl who brought him home." Lin passed his hand over his torehead perplexedly. "She was—"

  "Yes, I know." A faint smile flitted over her pale face. "She was dark and aggressive, according to you. Well, I am dark, it's true, but I wasn't aggressive. I was just mad at being taken for *that sort of girl' as you called me, if I remembered rightly, and—"

  "Harriet, I'm most frightfully sorry! I really hardly looked at you. I simply thought—'

  "It's all right. You don^t have to explain. Only I felt dreadfully embarrassed when I arrived here, anxious to make a good impression, and found you were the man who'd ticked me off on the doorstep!"

  In spite of his preoccupation with his own affairs, he laughed a little at tnat. And then he said again, "I'm really sorry."

  "You don't need to be. I'm only glad that I can explain about it at last."

  "But then—" Another thought had evidently struck him. "What happened when Roddy turned up? He must have recognizee! you."

  "Yes. He did. But I explained how embarrassed I'd felt about it all, and we agreea just not to refer to it again."

  'But—" he was frowning slightly, as he brought forward a further objection *'— you knew he'd gone to the extent of saying you were someone important to him. You were there, surely, when I told the others about his saying you were the girl in the case? Wasn't it on your first evening here?"

  She passed her tongue over rather dry lips. "Yes. Yes, I did know about that.''

  "Well—didn't you tax him with it? Ask what the devil he meant by it?"

  "Yes. Yes, I did. It—it was as I had supposed. He identified me as the girl, just so as to stop further questions, and— and divert attention from the real girl."

  "Then you knew there was another girl, of course? I mean, apart from what you'd heard me say."

  "Oh, yes."

  "Did you know it was Dilys?"

  The abrupt question—fraught with immeasurable danger—followed so quickly on the other questions, which had not mattered much, that for a moment Harriet was stunned into silence.

  Only one word was required in answer. "Yes" or "No." But if she said "Yes" that would lead to other, more and more dangerous questions. She would be hopelessly implicated. He would begin to suspect—to deduce—

  She said, "No." And she was astonished to hear how cool and positive she sounded.

  "No, of course you couldn't know that," he agreed almost impatiently.

  And immediately she was overwhelmed by the horrible realization that she had lied to Lin, and that he had unhesitatingly believed her. It hadn't been an evasion, or even a distortion of the truth. It had been a plain, unequivocal lie. And she wished the ground would open and swallow her up.

  It remained ruthlessly solid and secure, however. And presently he said: "I'll go and have a word with Mother. §he mustn't upset herself too much over this."

  When he had gone, Harriet lay back in her chair, feeling limp and exhausted.

  It was over. She had told him, and the worst part of it all was over. If only she hadn't had to tell him that lie! But

  then, what else could she have done? Perhaps, if she had said, *'Well, I did have my suspicions/* or, the idea did just pass through my mind," she wouldn't feel such an unutterable cheat now. But—would he have been satisfied with that?

  Not if she knew Lin. He would have wanted to know what first roused her suspicions—whether Roddy had hinted anythi
ng—whether Dilys had seemed unhappy.

  No. There was only one thing that would have stopped further question and speculation. And that was the plain and simple denial she had given. But, oh, if there had been any—any—other way!

  An abnormally discreet tap at the door momentarily distracted her attention. And, on her calling "Come in, ' Priscilla sidled rather mysteriously into the room.

  "Whatisit,Priscilla?"

  "It's Mr. Penrose, miss. He wants to see you."

  Brent! She had forgotten all about him until this moment. And, in recalling him, she experienced an unpleasant little thrill of apprehension.

  "Do you mean—to see me, personally?''

  "Oh, yes, miss. It's very special. He said to make sure you were alone," Priscilla explamed. "He came in the back way, and he's been keeping me company in the kitchen, miss, until you should be alone.''

  At that point, Harriet noticed how bright were Priscilla's eyes and how pink her cheeks, and reflected annoyedly on the extreme unsuitability of Brent Penrose "keeping her company" in the kitchen. But it was not the moment to deal with that. Brent could want to see her about only one thing. And that he insisted on seeing her alone had a disagreeable sound about it. The sooner she dealt with him, the better.

  "You had better show him in, then, Priscilla," she said calmly. And, pickine up her neglected sewing, she went on with it, trying at the same time to maintain an air of dignified tranquility.

  A moment later, an adoring Priscilla showed Brent into the room. But, though he came forward to where Harriet was sitting, he said nothing until the door had been closed behind him. Then, looking down at her, he smiled, showing his excellent teeth, and said with a familiar air, which she greatly resented:

  "Well, my little mischief maker—thinking over the pleasing results of your interference?"

  Harriet looked him coolly in the eye.

  "Did you really have to see me alone, in order to make that rather feeble joke? "she asked.

  "Would you have hked me to make it in front of Lin?" he retorted pleasantly.

  And her needle was suddenly suspended in midair.

  She longed most desperately to ask him what he meant— what he knew—what he was threatening. But some inner: instinct told her to wait, and to let him do the talking for the i moment.

  "Not even interested?" He laughed, and sat down in the chair that Lin had recently vacated. "You're not going to tell me you know nothing of the fact that my sweet sister has run off with her devoted Roddy?"

  "No," Harriet said composedly, "I'm not going to tell you that. I do know about it. Roddy wrote and told Mrs. Mayhew."

  "But no one wrote to tell Lin?" His voice was mocking.

  *' Lin already knows.''

  "Someone told him?"

  "Yes."

  "Who?"

  "If you must know—I did."

  He gave a long, amused whistle.

  "My God! You're a cool customer, Harriet. Persuade his girl to run off with someone else, and then tell him about it yourself"

  "I did not persuade Dilys!" she exclaimed sharply.

  "Dilys's testimony doesn't seem to bear that out, my dear."

  "Dilys's—what?" Her mouth had suddenly gone terribly dry.

  "You don't really suppose that so devoted a sister would leave so well loved a brother in the lurch, without at least explaining what moved her to do it, do you? Just as Roddy wrote to his dear mamma, so Dilys wrote to me."

  "Dilys-wrote?"

  "Oh, yes. A long and affectionate letter of explanation. She owed me that at least, you'll surely agree? She says—" He took a letter from his pocket and appeared to search for

  a particular passage, while Harriet watched him, in horrified fascination. "Ah, yes-here it is. She says, 'In the end, it was Harriet who made me see it all quite clearly,' et cetera, et cetera. Rather difficult to pretend, m the face of that, that you had nothing to do with it, isn 't it?''

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Harriet went on composedly with her sewing. Her heart was thumping so heavily that she thought Brent must surely hear it, but, by a tremendous effort of will, she remained outwardly calm.

  Don't panic, she was telling herself silently. DonXfor a moment, let him see how sick and terrified you are. He*s trying to stampede you into some damaging admission. Go carefully—and slowly.

  After a few more moments of heavy silence, he asked, almost amusedly, "Have you really nothing to say? Or have I struck you dumb with the weight of evidence?'*

  '* Neither. I was trying to recall anything I ever said that could have made Dilys write such a thing. As you know, we weren't exactly intimate. I can't think that any casual observation of mine would have carried so much weight."

  "No.No casual observation would have carried so much weight, as you truly say," he agreed mockingly. "Therefore there really must have been a heart-to-heart talk some time. And—as you once more truly say—you were not sufficiently intimate to have held many of those, so that I find it hard to believe you have forgotten the occasion."

  She was silent.

  "Shall I refresh your memory with a little more of the letter?" He began to glance through the sheets again, and she steeled herself for whatever further shocks were coming.

  But, just at that moment, there was the sound of a door closing overhead, and Lin's footsteps started down the stairs.

  "No!" Harriet's nerve broke suddenly. "No—put that letter away."

  Brent looked up, his smile the most extraordinary mixture of charm and malice.

  "So you don't want Lin to hear of your part in this?" he said pleasantly.

  "It's—it*s not that. But she seems to have said such ambiguous things—statements that could be misinterpreted. Especially when he—I mean, when anyone was overwrought or upset. He wouldn't understand—"

  "On the contrary, I feel sure he would. And Dilys is anything but ambiguous, I assure you. Just listen to this—"

  "Put that letter away! " Harriet spoke in a violent whisper.

  Smiling still, he folded it and put it in his breast pocket.

  "But we can't leave it at that, you know," he explained regretfully. "It's much too interesting to be left undiscussed. You and I shall really have to have a talk about it."

  "Yes, yes. But another time."

  "When?"

  "I don't know when. We'll arrange something."

  "Yes. We must certainly arrange somethmg," Brent agreed, in a tone of most unwelcome intimacy, as Lin came into the room, looking tired and grim and in no mood for visitors.

  "Oh, hello, Brent." His tone was unenthusiastic.

  "Hello. I'm not sure which of us commiserates with the other." Brent turned to Lin with a certain air of sympathy, though his tone was light. "But I thought I should come around and say something."

  "Thanks." Lin was not conspicuously grateful. "How did you know about it?"

  "Oh, Dilys left me a letter of course. Quite in the tradition, I assure you. Propped up on her bedroom mantelpiece, where I couldn't fail to find it when I began to question her long absence."

  Lin said nothmg for a moment. He had winced, Harriet noticed, over the fact that someone else had Dilys's letter of explanation, though he had not.

  ^'Whatdidshesay?"

  It hurt his pride to ask that of anyone else—more particularly of Dilys s brother. But it had to be said.

  "Oh, the usual stuff, you know." Brent spoke airily. "How she knew it would be a great shock for all, and she felt a beast, and hoped I would forgive her—"

  "You would forgive her?**

  "And you, too, naturally. But the letter was addressed to me, and therefore dealt more with my reactions,'* Brent explained smoothly.

  Of course." The line of Lin*s cheek hardened again, and Harriet guessed how bitterly he resented this scene, and the position in which Dilys had put him. "I take it, it was a great shock to you, as she says?"

  "It certainly was. *' Brent spoke with feeling.

  "I mean—you had ho idea that
she contemplated such a thing?**

  "My dear Lin, had I done so, I should have thrown all the weight I have on the other side, '* explained Brent.

  "Of course.*' Lin smiled coldly, and Harriet thought he was not unaware of Brent's personal stake in the game, and his reason for wishing his sister to marry the elder son. "I only thought—you are so close to each other—that you must have had some inkling of what was in her mind. **

  "She didn't make a confidant of me over this.*'

  "Nor of anyone else, it seems," Lin said, half to himself

  "Well-" Brent hesitated, and Harriet felt the short hairs at the back of her neck rise "—I have some idea that she confided to a certain extent in a woman friend."

  "A woman friend?" Lin was plainly astonished. "I didn't know she was on such intimate terms with any woman."

  "Oh—I daresay it wasn't anyone with whom she was especially intimate. Girls are like that, you know. They take down their back hair to each other, just when the mood comes over them. Then they give each other ill-judged advice—and the mischief's done." Brent smiled, and made an airy little gesture with his hand to indicate the trifles on which these things depended.

  Lin chewed his underlip rather savagely.

  "What makes you think Dilys did such a thing?"

  "Oh, something she said in her letter."

  Harriet felt very sick. She had bent over her sewing again, but her eyes were closed, and she was not moving her needle.

  "Do you mind if I see that letter?"

  It seemed to Harriet that the silence was of incredible and unnatural length, before Brent said, apologetically, "It is

  really rather a private letter between Dilys and me. If you don t mind, Td rather not show you."

  "I do mind," returned Lin curtly, **considering that until twelve hours ago she was my fiancee. But naturally, the decision is yours."

  Brent made a deprecating gesture.

  *'If I find out anything about this fool of a girl, who apparently mopped up Dilys's confidences and shoveled a whole lot of gratuitous advice into her, then of course 1*11 let you know."