Grey Mask

by Patricia Wentworth

  He turned to Greta.

  “Your first dinner party? Now just think of that! I didn’t know I was to be so much honoured. And Margaret was late? That’s too bad! Well, I haven’t got to introduce anyone to you-have I? That’s splendid! And am I allowed to pay you a compliment on the very charming frock you have on?”

  Greta giggled.

  “It’s Margaret’s. I haven’t got any of my own things, you know.”

  “Haven’t you? Haven’t you really? That’s too bad!”

  Margaret slipped her hand inside Greta’s arm and pinched it.

  “Come and look at this bit of jade. Isn’t it pretty? I used to love it when I was a little girl. Look-you can see the light through the grapes if you hold it in front of the lamp.”

  Greta’s attention was diverted. As she went in to dinner on Freddy’s arm, she appeared to be occupied with the momentous question of whether green, “bright green like that funny bunch of grapes,” would really suit her. Did Freddy think it would? “Only I ought really to be in mourning for poor Papa.”

  Margaret saw Charles’ eyebrows go up. He made a valiant attempt to distract Greta from what was due to “poor Papa.”

  “You should always wear white. I’m all for the good old-fashioned heroine in white muslin and a blue sash. You know where you are then. If she’s got on white muslin and a blue sash, she’s the heroine, and you’re not kept all worked up wondering whether she’s the vamp in disguise.”

  “Very nice,” said Freddy-“very nice indeed. I always did like to see a pretty girl in a white frock. Now your mother”-he turned to Margaret-“your mother was wonderful in white. I remember her telling me she wanted to wear a coloured dress when she had her miniature painted, and the lady who did it wouldn’t hear of it. Bless my soul, I can’t remember her name! It was Tod-no, it wasn’t Tod. And it wasn’t Mackintosh. Now that’s really very stupid of me, for your mother used to talk about her quite a lot and say what a pity it was she married that cousin of hers and went out to British Columbia with him and never touched a brush again. Nina-yes, it was Nina-No, it wasn’t McLean. Dear me, it’s very stupid of me! She painted uncommonly well, and exhibited every year at the Scottish Academy. But I can’t remember her name.”

  “Wouldn’t it be on the miniature?” suggested Archie.

  “Yes, yes, of course. We’ll have to look at it afterwards. Now you must all have some of this entree, because it’s uncommonly good. Margaret you’re not eating anything. My dear, I must really insist. By the way, that old desk of your mother’s-dear me now, I’ve forgotten what I was going to say about it, but there was something I was going to say. Now what was it?”

  “When did Mother have it?” said Margaret.

  “I don’t know. It’s an old thing-not worth your taking away, my dear.”

  “Oh, but it was,” said Greta. “It was frightfully exciting when we found the little drawer.”

  “A drawer?” Freddy’s voice was vague and puzzled.

  “A little secret drawer just like my own had, underneath the place for the ink. And Margaret wouldn’t ever had found it for herself-would you, Margaret? And I shouldn’t have found it either, only my desk was just like this one and I dropped it carrying it down from the attic and a little bit got broken, so I could see there was a drawer there. And when I saw Margaret’s, I thought perhaps it would be the same. And it was.” Greta’s tone was triumphant.

  The white frock, which Margaret had had in the spring and only worn once, was extravagantly becoming to Greta. The shaded lights touched up the gold in her hair. She leaned bare elbows on the dark polished table and talked with a child’s excitement.

  “Wasn’t it funny Margaret’s desk being the same as mine? It was frightfully exciting when the little drawer came out and there was the envelope about the certificate.”

  The table was a round one. Freddy Pelham had Margaret on one side of him and Greta on the other, Archie next Margaret, and Charles next Greta. As Greta said the word certificate, a manly heel came down hard upon the toe of her satin shoe. She blinked and said “Oh!” blinked again, and turned indignantly on Charles.

  “You trod on me!”

  Charles smiled a charming smile.

  “My dear child, what do you mean? I never tread on people.”

  “Then it was Archie. I think the front bit of my foot’s broken. Archie, why did you tread on me?”

  Archie made an indignant denial. Freddy was full of fussy concern!

  “You’re not really hurt? I do trust you are not really hurt-and just as you were telling us such an exciting story too. Did you say you had a desk like Margaret’s, and that you actually found something in a secret drawer?”

  “All scrooged up,” said Greta, nodding her head. “It was frightfully exciting. But I don’t think I’d better tell you about it, because I’ve just remembered I promised I wouldn’t, so it’s no good your asking me really. And I expect that’s why Charles trod on me-only he needn’t have done it so hard-it hurt frightfully.”

  She turned reproachful eyes on Charles, who burst out laughing.

  “Greta, if you don’t stop being an enfant terrible, I shall do something worse than tread on you-I shall take you back to the flat and lock you in.”

  “How horrid of you! Freddy, isn’t he horrid?”

  “He’s a tyrant,” said Freddy. “He’s been travelling amongst savages, and he’s forgotten how to behave. Don’t take any notice of him. We were all getting most excited about your discovery. Don’t take any notice of Charles. Did you say you found a certificate? What sort of certificate?”

  Greta shook her head.

  “I did really promise I wouldn’t tell, so I won’t. I couldn’t when I’d really promised-could I? But I’ll tell you something I didn’t promise about, something simply frightfully exciting that only happened this evening, and that no one knows anything about but me.”

  “Bless my soul!” said Freddy.

  Charles leaned back in his chair. He looked at Margaret; but Margaret was looking at Greta with an air part startled, part weary. The weariness was uppermost. He thought she looked worn out, as if she were neither sleeping nor eating. The hastily put on black dress made her seem paler still. Why did she look like that? Her eyes had no fire left in them; they were tired-tired and hopeless.

  Greta had begun her story. He reflected that one might just as well try to stop running water.

  “It’s frightfully exciting-it really is. And even Charles doesn’t know about it, because it happened after he brought me home, and before Margaret came home.”

  “What happened?” It was Margaret who asked.

  “Well, Charles brought me home, and-Oh, Freddy, do you know, I really can drive!-Can’t I, Charles? I drove two miles, and Charles never touched the wheel once.”

  “What happened after you got home?” This was Archie.

  “Well, I thought I’d write to Stephanie and tell her I could drive. So I did. And then I thought I would go out and post it. So I went out, and there was a big car standing just opposite, and the chauffeur walking up and down. And I stopped under the lamp-post just to see if I had stuck my letter down properly, and then I went along to the letter-box. And when I got to the dark bit where the gardens are, I looked back because I heard something, and I saw the car coming along ever so slowly-just crawling, you know. And I thought it was going to stop at one of the houses, and it did. And I ran on to the pillar-box and put my letter in and started to come back. And it was still there.”

  Greta’s words came faster and faster, and her cheeks got pinker and pinker. She made Margaret look like a ghost.

  “Not very exciting so far,” said Charles drily.

  “It’s going to be. You wait. When I got up to the car I did get a fright. The chauffeur spoke to me. He had a sort of growly voice, and he said, ‘Get in quick, miss.’ And I said, ‘It’s not my car.’ And he came after me, and he said I must come quickly because Egbert wanted me to.”

  “Oh, Lord!” s
aid Charles to himself.

  Freddy said, “Egbert?” in a mild puzzled way.

  “Oh, I oughtn’t to have said that! But you won’t tell anyone-will you? And Archie won’t. And I really didn’t mean to say his name, but it’s so frightfully difficult to remember all the things I mustn’t say. You’ll be frightfully nice-won’t you, and forget about my saying Egbert-won’t you?”

  Freddy assured her that he had already forgotten.

  “The fellow spoke to you-dash his impudence! And then what happened?”

  “He said my cousin wanted me. It’ll be all right if I say my cousin, won’t it? I needn’t say his name.”

  “What happened?” said Archie.

  “I simply ran, and I gave a sort of scream. And he said, ‘Don’t make a noise.’ And I made a louder scream and simply ran like anything. And he caught my arm. Wasn’t it frightful? Only just then two cars came along out of that little crescent, and that frightened him, and he let go, and I never stopped running till I got home. Wasn’t it a frightful adventure?”

  CHAPTER XXIX

  Dinner was over at last. Charles had never endured forty minutes more crowded with indiscretions. He was reduced to a condition of exasperated resignation. After all, neither Freddy nor Archie mattered; but unless one locked the creature up, she would prattle in the same artless way to anyone she met. He thought of uninhabited islands with yearning, and of Margaret with rage. If it were not for Margaret he would not be mixed up in this damned affair at all.

  The girls went upstairs to put on their coats. Freddy fussed away to see if the car had come round. Archie turned a reproachful eye on Charles.

  “Why teach an innocent child to practise concealments?”

  Charles had no reply but a frown.

  “Why keep me out of it anyhow? Why pretend?”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “Well, she’s Margot Standing, isn’t she?”

  “You guessed when she said ‘Egbert’?”

  “I guessed the second time I saw her,” said Archie. “She wants a whole heap of practice before she can conceal anythin’. Does Freddy know?”

  “I expect he does by now. Egbert isn’t the sort of name most fellows would be seen dead in a ditch with. Look here, Archie, I want to talk to you. What about after the show? We can take the girls home, and then you come round to ‘The Luxe’ with me.”

  Archie nodded, and Freddy came, back into the room. Upstairs Greta clutched Margaret by the arm.

  “He never showed us the miniature. Margaret, I do want to see your mother’s miniature so badly.”

  “Why should you want to see it?” Her tone said plainly. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “I want to see it frightfully. When I saw Esther Brandon written on that bit of paper, it gave me a most frightfully excited sort of feeling. I simply must see her miniature. Where is it? Can’t you show it to me?”

  “It’s in Freddy’s study,” said Margaret in a slow, flat voice.

  “Show it to me quickly! Oh, do put on your coat and come and show it to me!”

  She fairly danced down the stairs, looking back over her shoulder and urging Margaret to hurry.

  The study was one of those built-out rooms half-way down the stair-a fussy, untidy place full of photographs, pipes, guns, fishing-rods, stamp-albums, old bound magazines, and a chaotic muddle of letters and bills.

  “Freddy’s hopeless,” said Margaret.

  “Where’s the miniature?”

  “On his writing-table.” She moved The Times and two picture papers as she spoke. Under the papers was a tall old-fashioned miniature case. It had folding doors that could be locked. The doors were shut.

  “Oh!” said Greta. She caught at the table and leaned on it. “Oh, it’s Papa’s! Oh, Margaret, it’s Papa’s!”

  Margaret just stood and looked at it.

  “Margaret, it is Papa’s! Oh, do open it!”

  “What are you talking about?” said Margaret very slowly.

  “Papa had a case just like this. It stood on his table. I told Mr. Hale about it. I only saw inside it once-just a peep. Oh, Margaret, do open it-do!”

  Margaret put her hand on the case.

  “It’s locked, Greta.”

  “Get him to open it. Oh, I do want to see what’s inside!”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Papa’s had diamonds all round it. Has this one got diamonds all round it?”

  “No, it’s quite plain-just a picture of my mother in a white dress.”

  “My mother had a white dress too. It must have been my mother. Don’t you think so? There were diamonds all round. They sparkled like anything.”

  “Greta! Margaret! Hurry up!” Freddy was fussing in the hall; his voice sounded querulous.

  Greta gave a little shriek of dismay:

  “Oh, we’ll be late! We mustn’t be late! We’re coming,” she cried, and ran out of the room.

  For a moment Margaret stayed behind. She put both hands on the case and opened the little doors. The case opened quite easily. Esther Brandon looked out at her. She wore a white dress. She smiled serenely. The world was at her feet.

  Margaret shut the case and went slowly out of the room.

  The show was a great success as far as Greta and Freddy were concerned. There was singing, there was dancing; there were coloured lights and gorgeous scenes quite unlike anything except a stage land of dreams.

  Greta was in the seventh heaven. She sat between Freddy and Archie, and at intervals she murmured, “How frightfully clever! How frightfully sweet!” and “Oh, isn’t he wonderful?”

  Archie’s comment, “Revoltin’ fellow,” was received with intense disfavour.

  “He’s lovely! His eyelashes are longer than Charles’. I think he’s simply sweet.”

  This was in the interval.

  Archie made a face and hummed just under his breath.

  “Oh, you do need

  Someone to watch over you-misquotation from Oh Kay.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong. It says,

  “ ‘Oh, I do need

  Someone to watch over me.’ ”

  “That’s what I said. Or, in the plain words of everyday life, you want someone to look after you.”

  “I don’t! I can look after myself. I’m eighteen, and I was leaving school at Christmas anyhow. Of course you’re older than me. But I’m grown up, and that’s what matters. How old are you, Archie? Are you frightfully old?”

  “Frightfully. Poor old Charles and I are just hangin’ on.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven,” said Archie. “But Charles was twenty-eight a week ago, so I’m one up on him.”

  “It must be simply frightful to be twenty-eight,” said Greta with conviction. She snuggled up to Archie and whispered, “Is Margaret awfully old too?”

  “Ssh! She’s twenty-four. Pretty bad-isn’t it?”

  Greta considered.

  “I shall be married years and years before I’m twenty-four. It’s rather old, but I do love Margaret all the same.”

  When the curtain had fallen for the last time, they came out into a windy night. It had been raining; the pavements were wet, and the wind was wet.

  Freddy shepherded his party briskly.

  “We’ll just go along to the corner and cross over. Archie can get us a taxi quite easily from there. Much better than waiting in this crush. Rather nice to get a breath of air- what? Lucky it’s not raining-isn’t it? Now I remember once-” he addressed himself to Greta; fragments of the anecdote that followed reached Charles as he walked a yard ahead…“and I said I’d give her a lift because it was so wet…too bad, wasn’t it?…me, of all people in the world…and I think her name was Gwendolen Jones, but I can’t be sure…”

  They crossed to an island in the middle of the road. Archie made a rapid dash and got to the farther side. Freddy was fussing over Margaret and Greta.

  “Now, my dear, take my arm. Margaret, perhaps you’d bette
r take Charles’ arm.”

  Charles heard Margaret say, “I don’t want anyone’s arm,” and at the same moment the people on the island began to flow across. He saw Margaret and Greta together, Freddy next Margaret; and then, when he was half-way over, he heard Greta scream. He turned. It was a scream of sharp and anguished fear. He looked, and could see only a crowd and a confusion. There was a bus standing still.

  He pushed through, and saw Greta just not under the bus. She was lying as she had fallen, her hands spread out, her fair hair splashed with mud, her face splashed with mud. Freddy and the bus-conductor were picking her up, and as Charles arrived she was beginning to cry. He looked round for Margaret, and saw her standing straight and still. The light from the arc-lamp was on her face.

  Charles felt his heart turn over. The whole thing had happened in a moment, and in a moment it was past. The driver of the bus was saying loudly and dogmatically, “She ain’t hurt, I tell you. She ain’t touched I tell you”; and this was mixed with Greta’s sobs and Freddy’s “Very careless- very careless indeed! The young lady might have been killed.”

  Charles said, “What happened?” and the sound of his own voice startled him. It seemed to startle Greta too. She gave a much louder sob and flung both arms round his neck with a wail of “Take me home! Oh, Charles, please take me home!”

  It was at this moment that the policeman arrived.

  Freddy was in his element at once.

  “Most unfortunate, constable-the young lady might have been killed. We were all going across together, my daughter and this young lady and I, and she slipped-Didn’t you, my dear? Dear me, we ought to be very thankful she isn’t hurt. She slipped and fell right in front of the bus. Now, my dear, you’re quite safe. No-don’t cry. You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “She wasn’t touched,” said the driver of the bus in the same loud aggressive voice.

  “Are you hurt, miss?” inquired the policeman.

  Charles had removed Greta’s arms from about his neck, but she still clung to his shoulder. In spite of the splashes of mud on her face she managed to look pretty and appealing.