Men and Angels

by Elizabeth Cadell

  “Lady?” enquired Judy..

  “Yes,” said the General, doubt only too apparent in his voice.

  Judy sat bolt upright and stared at her uncle.

  “Did she tell you her name?” she asked.

  “Yes. It was Lee. Miss Lee. Miss—I think it was Rosanna Lee.”

  There was a pause. Richard had sunk back into his lounging attitude against the sofa; Rae was moving pieces quietly; Judy was staring at her uncle with a frown on her brow. It did not need a more sensitive nature than the General’s to feel the tension in the air.

  “Well,” he asked, with a touch of irritation, isn t anybody going to answer it?”

  “We’re awfully settled at the moment, said Richard with lazy calm. “You go, Edward.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Say you’ve been all this time looking for me and I’m in my bath. Ask her to leave her number.”

  “But—”

  “Go on,” commanded Judy. “And then you d better put the car into shelter—it’s going to drown, standing out there.”

  Edward rose obediently and followed the General out of the room. Richard went back to his task with a careless air, but Judy remained sitting on the ground staring straight in front of her. After a few moments, she got up restlessly and stared out of the window.

  “The rain,” drawled Richard, without looking up, “won’t be over for hours.”

  Judy turned and addressed him thoughtfully.

  “Richard—you’re not going to ring her up, are you?”

  “If I want to,” said Richard evenly, “then of course I shall.”

  “Then I don’t understand you,” said Judy angrily. “I would have thought that that party would have shown you what she’s really after.”

  “You know what she’s really after?” asked Richard.

  His tone was lazy, but Rae saw that he was no longer moving the pieces into position, and she was suddenly aware of where Judy’s remarks were leading. The knowledge made her rise to her feet in an attempt to check matters before they went too far.

  “Richard’s teasing you, Judy,” she said. “He’s only trying to make you angry.”

  “He doesn’t have to try,” said Judy. “I only have to look at him to feel my hair standing up. He’s going to wait until everybody’s out of the way and then he’s going to telephone to Rosanna to find out whether she’s still having the success with Sir Fabian Hollis that she had at the party.”

  Richard, with great deliberation, fitted a green and blue shape into a tree outlined against a blue sky. This done, he got up slowly and dusted his trousers with care.

  “Have you seen Rosanna lately?” he enquired idly through the dusting.

  “I haven’t set eyes on her, thank goodness,” said Judy, “since I saw her at the theatre doing her ridiculous act.”

  “She was disappointed,” said Richard, “that you weren’t at the party.”

  “She knew quite well that I wasn’t going,” said Judy heatedly. “I wanted to leave a clear field for you and that… that superannuated Casanova. Oh!”—she turned to Rae impulsively—“I didn’t mean to—I’d forgotten…I’m sorry, Rae…”

  Richard looked from one to the other, and spoke with a new note in his voice.

  “You two,” he said slowly, “seem to keep up to date. I didn’t know Rae knew anybody of Sir Fabian Hollis’s type. Do you know him well?” he asked Rae.

  “Of course she does,” said Judy. “If she hadn’t told me all about him, I wouldn’t have sent him to Rosanna’s party.”

  Richard looked at her incredulously.

  “You… What is all this?” he enquired coldly. “Are you losing your mind?”

  “Please don’t let’s talk about it any more,” begged Rae.

  “It’s over and done with.”

  “It isn’t by any means over,” said Richard, and something in his voice drew her eyes to his face. He was staring at her with an expression in which astonishment and disbelief struggled for mastery, and she saw the suspicions that were slowly forming in his mind. His face whitened, and as they stared at one another, she felt her own cheeks redden with anger.

  “Look, Rae—” began Judy.

  “Wait a minute,” said Richard. He was still staring at Rae. “There’s something I’d like to know.”

  “There’s nothing to know,” said Judy. “I sent that invitation and—Rae, please let me do the talking—please!”

  Rae turned to her and spoke gently.

  “Judy—would you mind going away and leaving me with Richard, please?”

  “With Richard, alone?” Judy’s tone was one of stupefaction.

  “Please, Judy. Just for a few minutes.”

  “No, Rae. All he wants to do is to ask you about Sir Fabian Hollis, and it’s nothing—nothing at all—to do with him. I can explain—”

  “Please, Judy.”

  Without another word, Judy turned and went out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her. Rae faced Richard calmly.

  “You were saying—?” she said.

  “Why did you send Judy outside?”

  “You said there was something you wanted to know. If you want to know how Sir Fabian Hollis got to the party I can tell you.”

  “I don’t care a damn how or why he got to the party. I want to know how it is you know a man of his reputation.—You do know him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean, you know him well?”

  “Very well.”

  ‘‘Good God!” His voice was incredulous. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true. I know quite a lot of people that you haven’t heard about.”

  “A lot of people—perhaps. But not people like Hollis!”

  She made no reply. She was surprised at her feeling of cold anger. He had told her that love and trust should go hand in hand—and he was standing before her with horror in his eyes and questioning her about…

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Do you think you have any right to ask?”

  “If a man who considers himself engaged to you has any right to ask you what you know of a notorious rake like Hollis, then—yes, I have. How long have you known him?”

  “I first saw him when I was about eighteen.”

  “Did you—go out with him?”

  “Yes,” said Rae calmly. “He arranged to send me to Madame Soublin’s.”

  “S-send you to M-Madame—”

  “Yes. I was in an office when he first met me, and he thought I was too young and—unpolished.”

  “My God!” He looked at her keenly. “Rae, are you telling the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean that you actually took money—took money from—”

  “Not exactly. It was Madame Soublin who took the money—as long as he paid it. But he didn’t pay it for long.”

  “For—”

  “Sir Fabian is good-looking, charming—some people think he’s irresistible—but he has one great fault,” explained Rae. “He’s very mean where money is concerned. He promises, but he doesn’t perform. He was to pay my fees for two years, but he—didn’t. He was to pay part of the rent of the flat I share with Judy, but—”

  “Part of the—good God!”

  “—but he didn’t. He was to have given me a dress allowance, but it didn’t get paid more than two or three times.”

  “Dress. . . . You took money from that—that—you took money for dresses—rent—”

  “I’m trying to tell you. He promised, but he didn’t pay.”

  “Did you…?” Richard was unable to go on, and Rae, guessing at what he could not say, felt a surge of anger that she had not experienced since the uninhibited days of the nursery. Every desire left her but the one to hurt as much as she was being hurt.

  “I went out with him whenever he asked me,” she said with deadly calm, “but I never lived with him. He asked me to, but we—I refused. I didn’t think he’d honour his debts, and I wasn’t certain wh
ether I should be held liable for them or not. So I went to live with Judy.”

  Richard walked to the window and stood staring out at the rain.

  “Does Judy know this?”

  “Yes.”

  He swung round and stared at her incredulously.

  “Judy knew this! Judy!” He gave a short laugh. “I’ve been out of England too long,” he said. “I was told about the new rules, the new freedoms, the—the new women, but I—I” He stopped and put an abrupt question: “Do you ever see Hollis now?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “If I asked you not to go near him or to speak to him ever again, what would you say?”

  “I should refuse,” said Rae.

  “That’s all I want to know,” said Richard.

  He walked to the door, opened it and, passing Judy in the corridor without a word, went upstairs to his room.

  Twenty minutes later he came downstairs with his suit-case and, passing his mother on the stairs with a brief word of farewell, left the house.

  Chapter 16

  Dinner that night was far from cheerful. Miss Beckwith was the only one present whose mind was as easy as usual Lady Ashton had told her that Richard had been called back to Town, but had said nothing of her uneasiness as to what had called him back. She would have liked to hear Blanche’s comments on the situation, but was unable to decide whether there was a situation at all. Richard had said merely: “Good-bye, Mother, I’ve got to get back to Town.” He had brushed her cheek with his lips in the usual way, and had gone. He had come suddenly, as he had often come’ and he had gone without warning, as he had often gone:’ she could not in any way account for this feeling that all was not as it should be. If Judy looked tired, it was because all that driving was telling on her. Rae was pale, but it had been a wet day and she had had no exercise. It was absurd to feel uneasy. Lady Ashton, having come to this sensible conclusion, felt more uneasy than ever. Looking at Edward’s serious countenance, she knew that he was as anxious as she was.

  The General was in worse plight, for he knew that something was wrong. A girl of some sort had rung up and caused some kind of disagreement—the General was sure of it. Within half an hour of the call, Richard had flung himself out of the house and driven furiously away; Judy had undoubted traces of tears on her face, and Rae looked—the General swallowed a mouthful of spinach and came to the surprising conclusion that she looked like a drooping lily.

  He refused more potatoes, waited for the chocolate custard, and came slowly to a decision. He would get hold of Rae after dinner and have it out with her. He would do the thing with the utmost delicacy, of course—but he had tackled delicate situations before. What could have been more tricky than that time old Swaine went off with that dreadful woman from—was it Pretoria or Philadelphia. Anybody with a heavy touch could have botched up the thing and got the whole affair into the newspapers. It took cautious handling, but he had been on the spot to handle it. Here was another case: Richard flung off, the girl left here looking absolutely peaked. Peaked. Piqued. There was quite a play on words there. He would get hold of her after dinner..

  He had no difficulty in getting hold of Rae. Miss Beckwith went upstairs to tidy Richard’s room; Lady Ashton followed her to have a talk; Edward went outside gloomily and polished Judy’s car. The General, looking into the drawing-room, saw a desolate sight—Rae and Judy sitting staring out of the window in silent misery. He came into the room slowly, closed the door with care and cleared his throat.

  “Herr-um. Cooler to-night,” he ventured.

  There was no reply..

  “More rain to-morrow, I shouldn’t be surprised, said the General.

  “Rae’s going tomorrow,” said Judy, without turning round.

  “Eh?”

  “Rae’s going tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? You mean, you’re cutting your visit short?” asked the General, turning to Rae.

  She looked round and gave a little smile.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said. “I’ve got an awful lot to do, and—”

  “She hasn’t anything to do,” put in Judy wearily, “but she’s had enough, and I don’t blame her.”

  Rae rose slowly.

  “I wonder if you’d mind if I went up to bed?” she asked her host. “It’s been a—a heavy sort of day and—”

  “You run up, my dear,” said the General, putting out a huge hand and patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “You run up and get tucked in and have a good night’s sleep.”

  “Good night. Good night, Judy—will you be coming up before you go?”

  “I’ll look in,” said Judy. “You go on up.”

  Rae went out and the General looked at his niece.

  “Now, he said, “what’s all this about? I don’t pry into your business, as you know, but there’s something going on—there’s something wrong. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No,” said Judy shortly.

  “No what?” snapped the General.

  “No, Uncle. No, sir. No, nothing. And don’t expect me to be polite, because I don’t feel polite.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of the word,” said the General. “None of you. I’d like to see what would have happened in my young days if a young cub turned up without notice and without a by-your-leave or with-your-leave, and then flung off again when his dinner was almost on the table. I don’t look for politeness, young lady—I gave up looking for it a long time ago. Now what’s all this fuss about?” he demanded.

  “Rae’s uncle.”

  “Eh?”

  “I said Rae’s uncle, Uncle.”

  “If your father were alive,” said the General heavily, “I’d ask him to put you across his knee and keep you there till he’d got a little respect out of you. Who’s Rae’s uncle?”

  “Rae’s uncle, Uncle, is a gentleman called Sir Fabian Hollis.”

  “Good God!” exclaimed the General, causing Judy to sit up and look at him with the first sign of interest she had shown.

  “Do you know him?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t. Don’t want to. He’s a member of my Club, that’s all. Seen him, on and off, for years. Detestable feller.”

  “Yes. That’s why Richard’s pushed off.”

  “That’s why what?”

  “That’s why Richard’s gone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what you just said.”

  “Because of what I—”

  “Yes. You said he was a detestable feller. That’s why.”

  The General found his hand itching, and did his best to suppress his rising anger. He eyed his niece, who looked back with a defiance behind which he could sense an unusual loss of self-confidence. He swallowed once or twice and spoke with surprising mildness.

  “I wonder whether you’d have the goodness to tell me, he requested, “what the dooce Rae’s uncle has got to do with Richard’s departure.”

  “I can’t tell you,” said Judy wearily, “because I don t know. He’s gone and can’t explain, and Rae’s here and won’t explain. All I know is that he heard about Sir Fabian Hollis, and then they had some kind of argument, and then—well, he just went, that’s all.”

  The General took his time to consider all the possibilities behind this meagre statement.

  “Is there anything,” he asked at last, “between Rae and Richard?”

  “If there was,” said Judy, “then there isn’t now.”

  “Was there ever any—understanding?”

  “Never. Just one long, hopeless misunderstanding practically from the start—that’s all.”

  “Were they ever,” pursued the General, exercising the greatest self-control, “in love with one another?”

  “First she was, and he wasn’t; then she wasn’t and he was; now both of them aren’t. I wish,” said Judy, “that he’d stayed where he belonged, with naked savages, and left us to be happy without him.”

  She leaned back wearily and closed her eyes. There was silence, broken
only by the General’s breathing.

  “Judy.”

  “I’m tired,” said Judy.

  “Judy!”

  “I’m tired, Uncle. Sir, I mean.”

  “Judy!!!!” roared the General, in a voice that set the window curtains fluttering.

  The effect was astonishing. Judy opened her eyes, sat up and burst into bitter tears. The General, awkward and flustered, balanced himself on the edge of the sofa and stared at her in dismay.

  “Now, now, now,” he said huskily. “There’s no need to be frightened. You shouldn’t work a man into a passion like that. I was only trying to get some sense into this tangle about Richard.”

  “I’m sick of Richard,” sobbed Judy. “I’m sick, sick, sick of Richard. I hate Richard. I wish he was d-dead, the pig.”

  “Hush now, hush! There’s no point in being abusive. Dry your eyes and answer my question sensibly. Are they engaged?”

  “No. Another day—just one more day and they would have been. I saw it coming,” sobbed Judy. “And then this b-blasted uncle—”

  “We’re still at the wrong end,” said the General. “How did it begin?”

  “I began it. I b-began it and I f-finished it too,” said Judy. “Ever since I saw Rae; I wanted her to—to marry Richard, because I didn’t know what a pig he was. She says she doesn’t love him, but she does—I know she does. She loves him. She loves him, the pig, oh, Uncle Bertram, the pig, the pig!”

  “There now, there,” admonished the General. “So you brought them together in London. And then?”

  “And then Richard asked Rae down here, and she said she’d come.”

  “Why didn’t he come too?”

  “Because he went and met that Rosanna Lee.”

  “Do you know this woman?”

  “She isn’t a woman. She’s a girl—she was at Madame Soublin’s when we were, and now she’s on the stage. She got hold of Richard, and so he didn’t come down, and Rae was left high and dry without a soul down here to break the monotony or to make it bearable or anything.”

  “Quite so,” said the General dryly. “And what made him come down finally?”

  “Rosanna, met Rae’s uncle—he goes after actresses.”

  “I know.”