The Gazebo

by Patricia Wentworth

‘Oh, well, it was just a thought. I might think about cutting him out, or I mightn’t. What’s the odds so long as I get the house?’

  She said, ‘I don’t know what you want it for.’

  It was next day that Althea found Mr Worple at her elbow in the High Street. He said ‘Good-morning,’ and before she had any idea what he was going to do he took her shopping-bag out of her hand.

  ‘It’s much too heavy for you. I’ll carry it.’

  She stiffened.

  ‘Thank you, but I’d rather…’

  He didn’t give her time to finish her sentence. A smile was flashed at her.

  ‘Now, now, you just leave it to me. You do the shopping, and I’ll do the carrying. You don’t want a heavy bag like this pulling you all down on one side. Mustn’t spoil a figure like yours – wouldn’t do at all.’

  ‘Mr Worple, will you please give me back my bag.’

  No one could have called Fred Worple a sensitive plant, but it was borne in upon him that he had given offence. With no more than a murmured protest he gave her the bag, but he continued to walk beside her undeterred by the fact that she neither looked at him nor spoke.

  ‘You know, Miss Graham, I do hope you are thinking about my offer for your house.’

  After some unsuccessful small talk this obtained a reply. Althea said,

  ‘No, I am not thinking about it. We do not wish to sell.’

  She was becoming very angry, not only with Mr Worple himself, but with Mr Jones the house-agent who had no excuse for inflicting him upon her. The house was not on his books – it was not on anybody’s books – but whereas her mother had given Mr Martin a pretext for introducing the Blounts, nobody had given, or would give, Mr Jones any pretext at all. Her colour rose brightly and Mr Worple’s next remark incurred the snub direct.

  ‘I am really not prepared to discuss the matter, either now or at any other time. Good-morning!’ She turned as if to enter the post office and almost ran into Nicholas Carey, who was coming out.

  Mr Worple, observing the encounter, was not so much discouraged as annoyed. She would give him the brush-off, would she? Well, they would see about that. He had a comfortable theory that girls liked to play hard-to-get, and that rudeness was really an encouraging sign. They put it on to make you keener, and if they appeared to be friendly with somebody else it was just a stunt to play you up. He saw Nicholas Carey take over the shopping-bag which he himself had not been allowed to carry and watched them to the corner of Sefton Street, where they turned and went into the café.

  Nicholas said,

  ‘This is new since my time. Let’s get one of the green rabbit-hutches right at the back – the end one if there isn’t someone there already.’

  The alcoves really were rather like hutches – something about the way the green draperies were arranged. The end one was vacant and they took possession of it. When Nicholas had ordered coffee he said,

  ‘What was all the nice bright colour for, Allie? Was it for me – or had the character who looked as if he might be a spiv been annoying you?’

  Even in the pale greenish light of the alcove the return of the nice bright colour was discernible.

  ‘Nicky, he’s dreadful! And he’s the other person who wants to buy The Lodge – the one who says he will always go a hundred pounds better than Mr Blount. He doesn’t look as if he’s got a lot of money, does he?’

  ‘Millionaires have been known to go about in rags.’

  ‘But they’re not rags – that’s just it. They’re quite new and quite dreadful.’

  ‘He might have won a pile on the pools, or he might have put a possibly tattered shirt on a horse. Or he might be the enterprising type of footpad who rustles bullion on its way from post offices and banks – I gather there’s quite an opening in that direction for a bright young man. Those are the only three ways I can think of in which you can put away any money nowadays – the Chancellor sees to that. I think there should be an Association for making burglars pay income tax. At present the harder you work, the less you earn and the more you pay. It’s a fascinating topic, but as a matter of fact there’s something else I want to talk about.’

  A waitress brought their coffee and set it down on a shiny green table. When she had gone away again Nicholas Carey said,

  ‘What I want to talk about is our getting married. What about it, Allie?’

  She had known that it was coming. She hadn’t known just how it would make her feel. She didn’t know quite how she did feel, but you couldn’t take the most important step of your life unless you did know how you felt about it. She looked at him in a soft, distressed kind of way and said,

  ‘Oh, Nicky, I don’t know – don’t rush me…’

  Those narrow dark eyebrows of his went up.

  ‘Do you get the idea that we are rushing our affairs? After seven years? One can believe most things if one tries hard enough, but I can’t manage that one.’

  She went on looking at him without any change of expression.

  ‘I feel as if we were on a hill – and it’s steep. We’ve started to run down it and it keeps on getting steeper – we’re running faster and faster and we can’t see where we’re going – we can’t see the bottom of the hill.’

  He said,

  ‘Wake up, Allie! Don’t you see the way you’re feeling is just what everyone does feel when they’ve been bullied within an inch of their lives or in prison for years, and then quite suddenly there’s an open door in front of them and they are free to walk out? They have only got to take that one step and shut the door behind them, and they are afraid to do it. It’s the common reaction – they think it’s a trap – they think they’ll be caught and brought back again. And they’ve been conditioned to being at someone else’s orders – they can’t face having to take their own decisions and act on their own initiative. Wake up and realize that there’s nothing on earth to stop you from walking out and marrying me!’

  ‘Suppose I did, and suppose she died…’

  ‘Suppose she didn’t do anything of the sort.’

  ‘She might…’

  He said,

  ‘Look here, Allie, you can’t tell me anything about your mother that I don’t know. She was much younger than your father, and she was pretty and he spoiled her. Incidentally, he knew perfectly well what she was like. He tied up the money so that she couldn’t touch it and he left the house to you. Outside his job he let her have her own way. And when he died you took over, only you haven’t got a job to escape into. There isn’t one turn or twist in the game of getting her own way that she hasn’t got at her fingertips, and as long as she has anything to gain by it she’ll use them all.’ He said the last words over again with a heavy emphasis on them – ‘As long as she has anything to gain. But once we are married, Allie, the game will be out of her hands and she’ll know it. If she goes on and throws fits she will only be hurting herself, and as I’ve said before, she is a great deal too fond of herself to do that.’

  Althea listened. She hadn’t looked away. He could see right down into her eyes. The green hangings made them look very green indeed, and the colour had gone out of her face and left her pale. They ought to have run away together seven years ago. They ought never to have let Winifred Graham drive them apart. It wasn’t going to happen again. He laughed and said,

  ‘I’ve got a present for you, my sweet. Wait a minute – it’s in my wallet.’

  He produced the leather case, opened it, took out a paper, and spread it in front of her on the shiny green table.

  ‘Marriage licence.’ He dipped into his waistcoat pocket. A screw of tissue paper came up and was unwrapped. A plain gold ring dropped down upon the licence. ‘Wedding ring,’ he said. ‘Just try it on and see if it fits.’

  TWELVE

  MISS SILVER PUT down the letter which she had been reading and turned to the telephone. Since she was sitting at her writing-table, the receiver was conveniently to her hand. She lifted it and heard her own name spoken.

&nb
sp; ‘Is that Miss Maud Silver?’

  ‘Miss Silver speaking.’

  The voice said in rather a hesitating manner,

  ‘I wonder if I could come and see you. Perhaps you will remember talking to me at the Justices’ the other day. I am Sophy’s friend, Althea Graham. You gave me one of your cards…’

  ‘Oh, yes. What can I do to help you?’

  Althea said, ‘I don’t know.’ And then, ‘At least – I hope you don’t mind my troubling you, but would you let me come and see you?’

  Miss Silver said, ‘Certainly.’

  ‘At once – today? I – I’m in town – just round the corner. Would it be all right for me to came now?’

  ‘It would be quite all right.’

  Miss Silver resumed the letter which she had put down in order to answer the telephone. By one of those coincidences which really do happen, it was from her nephew Jim Silver’s wife Dorothy – the same Dorothy Silver whom Sophy Justice had befriended four years ago in Barbados. Jim Silver’s work as an engineer had taken him to the island, and his wife had accompanied him, taking with her what was then her only child, a little boy born after ten years of marriage. Her illness in Barbados had fortunately proved of short duration, and on her return a few months later a little girl was added to the family. Since then there had been twins, a boy and a girl, just as in Sophy’s case.

  Dorothy’s letter was full of what were to Miss Silver the most interesting particulars about all these children. Jamie was growing so very like his father. Jenny knew all her letters though she wouldn’t be four until after Christmas. Teddy and Tina were like a couple of puppies – under your feet all the time, but so sweet. It was really delightful to get such a happy letter. She placed it on the left of her blotting-pad to be answered at leisure and rose to greet Althea Graham.

  If she had not already committed herself on the telephone Althea might have reached Montague Mansions, but she would probably not have gone up in the small self-operated lift or have rung the bell of No. 15. Even as she stood with her finger on the button it was all she could do not to turn and run away down the stairs. That isn’t the sort of thing you do of course – not if you have been nicely brought up, so she didn’t do it.

  The door opened and Miss Silver’s invaluable Hannah Meadows stood there, a comfortable rosy person with a country air about her. Althea was not the first of Miss Silver’s clients to find reassurance in her aspect, and she would not be the last.

  Althea came into Miss Silver’s room with its workmanlike table, its carpet and curtains in the shade which used to be called peacock-blue and which is now rather oddly known as petrol. There were chairs with curly walnut frames and the spreading laps designed to accommodate skirts of the crinoline period and upholstered in the same material as the curtains. There was a yellow walnut bookcase, there were little tables. There was a perfect host of photographs on the tables, on the bookcase, on the mantelpiece, framed in leather, in silver, in silver filigree on plush. A great many of them were pictures of young men and girls, and of the children who might never have been born if Miss Silver had not stepped in to disentangle the net in which innocent feet had been caught. From three of the walls, framed in yellow maple, reproductions of famous Victorian pictures, Hope, The Black Brunswicker, and The Stag at Bay, looked down upon the scene.

  A small cheerful fire burned on the hearth. Althea sat down on one side of it. Miss Silver, taking the opposite chair, lifted a gaily flowered knitting-bag from the low table beside her and took out a pair of knitting-needles upon one of which some rows of ribbing stood up like a frill. The colour was a pleasing shade of pink, and the completed garment would be one of a set of vests for Dorothy Silver’s little Tina, about two years old. There was something very soothing about this domestic occupation. Althea watched whilst Miss Silver inserted the second needle and began to knit, her hands held low in her lap after the continental manner.

  Althea leaned forward and said,

  ‘I don’t know that way of knitting.’

  Miss Silver smiled.

  ‘It was taught me when I was at school by a foreign governess. It is much easier and better than the English way. You do not have to loop the wool over the needle, and it is practically impossible to drop a stitch.’

  ‘I see.’ There was a pause before she said, ‘I mustn’t take up your time – but I don’t know how to begin. You see, if I talk to people I know, they will either be on one side or the other. They will have known all about it for years and their minds will be made up.’

  The small nondescript coloured eyes out of which Miss Silver was regarding her were full of intelligence. She said,

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘But someone who hears about it for the first time…’ She broke off and her colour rose. ‘You do see what I mean, don’t you? It’s so difficult for anyone to be impartial when they have known you for years and years and years.’

  Miss Silver continued to knit. The needles moved with incredible speed, but her voice did not hurry as she said,

  ‘Perhaps if you will tell me what is troubling you…’

  Althea bit her lip.

  ‘Yes, I will. And I will try very hard to be fair. It isn’t easy when you are in a thing up to your neck, but I will try.’

  Althea Graham was twenty-seven, but for the moment Miss Silver was reminded of the child who says, ‘I will be good.’ She smiled her reassuring smile.

  ‘Do not think too much of what you are going to say and of how you are going to say it. I shall get a clearer impression of the facts if you will allow yourself to be natural.’

  Althea gripped the arms of her chair. They were not very comfortable to grip, because the yellow walnut of which they were made was carved with acanthus leaves. The edges of the leaves were quite sharp, and the one on the right cut into her palm and left a deep scored line there. She began to tell Miss Silver about Nicholas Carey.

  ‘He used to spend the holidays with an aunt who lived quite near. He is two years older than I am. I used to go round to their house a lot, and we went on bicycle rides together. It was like having a brother. Then we began to grow up. He had his military service to do, and he was abroad for two years. When he came back he got on to the staff of a weekly paper, the Janitor. He writes well, you know – differently. We went on going about together. He has some money of his own, and he had a car. We used to go out into the country – quite long runs. My mother was an invalid then, but she began not to like our going off together.’

  Miss Silver looked across her busy needles and said,

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It took me away. She has always liked to have someone to do things for her.’ It was said simply and without bitterness. ‘When Nicholas wanted us to be engaged it upset her dreadfully, but we thought she would come round.’ There was quite a long pause before she went on to say, ‘She didn’t.’

  Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’

  Althea’s colour, which had faded, came up momentarily. She kept her voice steady with an effort.

  ‘We planned a cottage in the country. There was an old cousin who would have been glad to come and keep my mother company, but she wouldn’t even listen to our plans. She just cried until she made herself ill, and Dr Barrington said to give her time and she would come round. He said her heart wasn’t strong and if she went on as she was doing it would be very bad for her. We waited six months, and then we tried again, but the same thing happened. We said then that we would get a flat in Grove Hill – Nicholas would go up and down to town. But it wasn’t any use. Every time we brought the subject up she had a heart attack. Nicholas asked Dr Barrington what would happen if we just went ahead and got married, and he said he couldn’t answer for the consequences. Well, after two years we got to the point where we offered to take over the top floor of the house. Of course it wouldn’t have answered, but we were desperate. We – we – both cared a great deal.’ She jerked her head back and bit her lip again hard. ‘Of course I can see how it looked to her. S
he had got used to my being there to do all the odd jobs, and even if I had still been in the house it wouldn’t have been the same thing – there would have been Nicky to think of. But in the end he said he couldn’t go on.’ The familiar name slipped out on a failing breath. It was some time before she said, ‘There were the sort of scenes that tear you to bits – I don’t wonder my mother was ill. I said I would try to be fair. I think she really did believe that she hadn’t got long to live. She kept on saying couldn’t I stay with her for just the very little time that she had left. She used to cry, and hold my hand, and beg me not to leave her. I told Nicky I couldn’t marry him, and he went away.’ She stopped there and drew a long breath.

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘And now he has come back again?’

  Althea looked at her with a heartbreak in her eyes.

  ‘After five years. He said he wouldn’t write, and he didn’t. He said I would have to choose between him and my mother, and I had chosen. He went to all sorts of wild places. I didn’t know where he was, or what he was doing. His aunt sold her house and went down to Devonshire to live with a sister. After that I didn’t even know whether he was alive or dead. Then one day I picked up a copy of the Janitor on the railway bookstall. There was an article in it signed “Rolling Stone”, and I was sure that it was Nicholas who had written it. There were more articles – at irregular intervals. They were about the sort of places that are right off the map. They were odd and exciting, and brilliant. People began to talk about them and look out for them. When I read one I did know at least that he was alive when it was written. And then after five years he came back.’

  Miss Silver’s gaze rested upon her compassionately. Althea said,

  ‘Five years is a long time. I didn’t know whether he would be the same person. I knew that I wasn’t. Being unhappy does things to you – it makes you dull. He never could do with people being dull. I didn’t feel as if there was anything left that he could possibly care about. But I did feel I had got to put up as good a show as I could.’ She took her hands off the arms of the chair. They were numb with the pressure that she had put on them. She folded them in her lap and felt the blood come tingling back. She said, ‘His aunt Emmy Lester had left a lot of his things in the attic of her house when she sold it to a cousin. Nicholas had to come down to sort them out. I didn’t think I should see him – I didn’t think he would want to see me. But he was at Mrs Justice’s cocktail party, and the minute we saw each other across the room it was just as if he hadn’t ever been away. I went out into the hall – I couldn’t trust myself. He came after me, and we went into Sophy’s little room and talked…’ Her voice stopped, her eyes remembered.