Beggar’s Choice

by Patricia Wentworth

  She screamed again and let the candle fall with a clatter. I think some of the hot wax must have got her on the instep, because her third scream was much louder.

  “For the Lord’s sake-” I said, but before I could say any more, the light went on in the passage and an amazing fat old thing in yards and yards of white night-gown rushed up to Fanny and caught her by the arm.

  “Where is he, the nasty toad?” she cried, and began to let off screams like a steam siren.

  I got out on the sill, banged down the window, and dropped.

  The yard was one of the sort that has given up pretending to be a garden. I ran into a dust-bin and a clothes-line before I got to the wall at the bottom. I shinned up it, ran along as far as I dared, and dropped into the garden of one of the houses facing on Ely Road. They are rather better houses than the ones in our street. Some of them really have gardens. This one had. There were trees against the wall, and I’m afraid I trod right in the middle of a bed of geraniums; there was an aromatic smell from the plants I broke.

  My idea was to lurk in the bushes until I saw what was going to happen. I couldn’t hear Ellen screaming any longer, but that probably only meant that she was using her breath to call in the police and tell them all about it.

  There were some lilac bushes close up against the house. Lilac makes a very good screen. When I got to the bushes, I wasn’t more than a couple of yards from the house. There was a window on the ground floor. I couldn’t help thinking how convenient it would be if I could walk through the house and out into Ely Road. I suppose this made me go up to the window to have a look at it.

  I wasn’t expecting anything-it was just an idle impulse; but, to my extreme surprise, the bottom part of the window was open. It seemed an impossible bit of luck. I thought I must be mistaken. I put out my hand to feel, and touched thick curtains drawn together behind the open sash.

  Well, I wasn’t wasting any luck. This was a lot better than lurking in a lilac bush, so I pulled myself up over the sill and stepped down into the room.

  I was still straightening myself up and wondering who on earth had left the window open, when the curtains were parted and some one said “Darling” and threw both arms round my neck. It was so frightfully sudden I couldn’t possibly have stopped her. The voice sounded quite young, and the arms were soft. I didn’t know if I said anything, or whether she just found out when she kissed me. Anyhow, she gave a sort of stifled shriek, began to push me away, and then slipped right down on the floor in a faint.

  It was simply frightfully embarrassing, I couldn’t very well go off and leave her fainting, but I certainly couldn’t afford to dally. I picked her up, felt round for a chair, put her into it, and then hunted about until I found the electric light switch.

  The light went on and showed the room. It was the little third room you sometimes get on the ground floor in a London house. It looked like a girl’s sitting-room, rather pretty-pretty, with lots of photographs and nick-nacks. The girl was beginning to catch her breath and open her eyes. They were the large, rolling, pale-blue sort, and she had fair fluffy hair and rather good ankles. She was dressed for going out, all except her hat, which was on the floor. I don’t know why girls always throw their hats on the floor, but they do. There were two suit-cases next to the hat.

  I thought it would be perfectly awful if she began to scream, so I weighed in at once:

  “Please don’t be frightened-I’m not a burglar.”

  “I thought you were Tom,” she said.

  “Did you?”

  “Of c-course I did. And you’re n-not!” She sounded as if she thought it was my fault that I wasn’t Tom.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” I said.

  She put her head on one side and listened, and she said “Ssh!” though I wasn’t making any noise. After she’d listened again for a minute she whispered,

  “Did you hear anything?”

  I shook my head.

  She was sitting up and quivering with fright. She said,

  “Are you’s-sure?”

  I nodded.

  “If he w-wakes, we’re d-done for.”

  I really never have seen a girl look so frightened. It wasn’t about me, which was something to the good. I was only some one she could shiver at and say “Ssh!” to. I said,

  “Who is he?”

  She said “Ssh!” again; and then, “My f-father. T-Tom and I are running away.”

  “Well-why don’t you run?” I asked.

  She said “Ssh!” every time I spoke, though I didn’t make a bit more noise than she did. It was most awfully annoying, and I could have shaken her. I thought I had better go before I lost my temper, so I said in a frightfully polite whisper,

  “Can I get out of the front door-or would a window be better?”

  She said “Ssh!” and made reproachful eyes.

  “You’re not g-going to leave me?”

  I thought that was the limit. I said,

  “Suppose your father wakes up and finds me here?”

  “I’d rather he f-found you than T-Tom.”

  “Where is Tom?” I asked.

  And just as I said it, there was a scrambling noise at the window and Tom fell into the room. He made about twice as much noise as I had done, but she didn’t say “Ssh!” to him. She jumped up and said “Darling!” and flung her arms around his neck just like she had done to me. I thought she might have managed to think out something different, but she was evidently a creature of routine. I felt sorry for Tom, because I could see he’d got years and years of being called “Darling” stretching before him, and I thought that after the first few thousand times he’d get bored, especially if she always said it in exactly the same way. The time she said it to me and the time she said it to him were as much alike as if you’d been playing the same gramophone record over twice.

  She said it again, and Tom glared at me over her shoulder. He was a dark, stocky fellow about my own age. He looked at me as if I’d been murdering her.

  “Who’s this?” he growled.

  “I d-don’t know,” said the girl.

  “I want to get out into Ely Road,” said I.

  Tom unhooked his young woman and put her behind him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Wasting my time,” I said.

  “He came in through the w-window,” said the girl. “He f-flightened me d-dreadfully, and I c-couldn’t scream because of F-father.”

  I thought I’d never heard anything so mean in my life.

  “Did he hurt you?” said Tom.

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “Don’t be a fool! I want to get into Ely Road. And you want to elope-don’t you? She said you did. Hadn’t we better all get on with it, instead of doing our best to wake the house?”

  That fetched her, and she said “Ssh!” again. And just as she said it, there was a loud thud overhead. It might have been a piece of furniture falling, or it might have been a heavy man getting out of bed in a hurry. I didn’t wait to see, nor did Tom. I had started for the door, and as I went through it, he shoved a suit-case at me and I clamped on to it.

  The hall door was not bolted-I suppose the girl had seen to that. I got it open, and Tom and the girl and I all went tumbling down the steps. I don’t know which of us banged the door. It made an awful noise, and through the noise I could hear a military voice of the first magnitude roaring for “Maisie!”

  Tom had a suit-case and I had a suit-case, and Tom had Maisie as well. She was simply dithering with fright, and we hadn’t gone half a dozen yards before she wonked and said she was going to faint. She was the sort of girl who’d have done it too.

  “My car’s at the corner,” said Tom. “Maisie-darling!”

  The door we had banged behind us had been violently wrenched open. I looked over my shoulder and saw a large man in purple and yellow pyjamas come hurtling down the steps. He had red hair and a red face, and a considerable command of language.

  Tom and I each put an arm round Maisie�
�s waist and ran her along. He had left his engine running like a sensible fellow, so we didn’t have to waste time at the corner. He put Maisie on the front seat beside him, and the suit-cases and myself at the back. The car was a Morris saloon. I looked out through the back window and saw the red-haired man in the loud pyjamas getting small by degrees and beautifully less. I couldn’t imagine why he should be upset about losing Maisie. It was Tom I was sorry for, poor chap.

  I don’t think he knew I was there until I poked him in the back. He was steering with one hand and cuddling that limp rabbit of a girl with the other. I suppose he looked at the road sometimes, but I didn’t see him do it, and the sort of baby language he kept talking to her was an eye-opener to me. I thought if he was going to smash up the car, I would rather get out, so I spoke to him.

  He jumped about a foot into the air and just missed the last tram from Tooting, or somewhere like that. He ran on out of range of what the conductor had to say about it, and then pulled up.

  “Oh, it’s you?” he said.

  I said, “Yes. Thanks awfully for the lift,” and I opened the door and got out.

  “One minute,” he said. “You-er-helped us get off- so I won’t ask you what you were doing in the house.”

  I laughed.

  “Just passing through,” I said. “Here to-day and gone to-morrow.”

  “I’m not asking what you were doing-I only want to say that I’m taking Maisie-Miss Sharpe-I’m taking her straight to my grandmother. I’ve had a license ready for a fortnight, and we’re going to be married to-morrow.” He was a decent sort, so I didn’t laugh. I said, “All the best to you both-and thanks again for the lift.” Then I stood and watched his tail light dwindle to a red spark, whilst I made up my mind what I was going to do next.

  XXXVIII

  I set out to walk to Putney. It took the best part of an hour, so I had plenty of time to think. I hadn’t any plan when I got out of Tom’s car, but one came to me as I stood and watched him drive away. The more I thought about it, the more I felt sure that I must go back to Olding Crescent and recover the package I had thrown over the wall. For all I knew, the thing might have my name on it somewhere, or some one might turn up who had seen it in Isobel’s possession. I simply couldn’t afford to leave it lying about.

  Some one was taking a good deal of trouble to compromise me. There was the Queen Anne bow, and those beastly little packets of white powder… Whoever it was believed in having two strings to her bow. I said “her bow” to myself, because I hadn’t the slightest doubt that I was up against some of Anna’s work-Fay had as good as told me so. I couldn’t think why she should hate me enough to play that sort of game, and I couldn’t imagine how she had got in touch with Fay. She had met her at Corinna’s party; but you don’t go up to just any stray girl you’ve met once in a restaurant and say “Look here, come and join me in a criminal conspiracy,” or words to that effect. Of course Anna’s got a mind like a Surrey-side melodrama, but even she would draw the line at that.

  Olding Crescent was darker than ever when I got back to it. The darkness was full of Isobel. I went to the place where we had stood together, and I could almost feel her in my arms again. It came over me that she was mine and I was hers, and there wasn’t anything in the world that was strong enough to keep us apart. I knew that just as certainly as I knew black from white, and light from darkness. There was nothing emotional about the feeling; it was comfortable, and steady, and immensely strong. It made everything quite easy.

  The first thing that I had to do was to get over on to the other side of the wall. It was too high to climb. I tried the door, just as a chance, but it was locked. There was nothing for it but to go round by the drive. The difficulty would be to locate the right place. I had to remember just what I had done. I had gone over to the lamp to examine the package, and when I had decided that it wasn’t the sort of thing to carry around, I had walked across the road and chucked it over the wall.

  I went back to the lamp, repeated my actions as nearly as I could, and threw over a white handkerchief. It had my name on it, so I tore the corner out first. Then I went down to the end of the crescent and in at the gate.

  I struck off to the left at once, keeping along the wall. I had counted my own paces, so I thought I ought to be able to hit off the right place without much trouble. I was counting again as I groped my way along. I hadn’t much attention to spare, but what I had kept worrying round the open gate through which I had just come. It seemed so incongruous to have a ten-foot wall all round your garden, and a chevaux de frise on top of that, and then leave your gate open all night. It had been open the first time I came, but that wasn’t so late. It was well past midnight now.

  The bit of my mind that was counting paces stopped, because it had reached the number which it had set out to reach. The other bit gave a sort of jump. The gate had been open before to let a car drive in and out. Perhaps it was open now for the same reason-perhaps for the same car.

  I put that away to think about presently and started to look for my handkerchief. I realized at once that I wasn’t going to be able to find anything without a light. The trees grew just inside the wall, and there was a double line of them, and a bank of evergreens beyond that again. Even at midday it must have been dark; and now, on a cloudy midnight, the place was as black as the inside of a coal mine. I only knew that the trees and bushes were there because I kept on running into them.

  I got out Mrs. Stubbs’ match-box and struck a light. The spurt of the match sounded horribly loud. It was like hearing it through a megaphone. I felt as if the people in the dead houses on the other side of the Crescent must hear it too. The little yellow flame burned straight up in the still air. I saw the underside of branches, black hummocks of bushes, and the wall, like the side of a house. The match burnt my finger and went out. I lit another, sheltering it with my hand. I couldn’t see my handkerchief anywhere. I struck six matches before I saw it, caught up on a low, thin branch just over my head.

  It took me ten minutes to find the package, because it had pitched a good deal farther in and lay between two evergreen bushes. I had just picked it up, when I heard some one coming through the bushes, moving slowly and cautiously.

  I moved too. I don’t know if he heard me, but I couldn’t just stand there and let him walk into me. I got about half a dozen paces and dived as noiselessly as I could into the shrubbery. The ground was soft and newly forked. The shrubs grew close together, and were well above my head.

  I stood still, with an aromatic smell of bruised cypress all round me, and waited to see what was going to happen next.

  What did happen was rather startling. The beam of an electric torch cut the dark. It was as sudden as a lightning flash. The beam moved rapidly, up, down, sideways, and came to rest in a bar of light right across the bushes where I was standing. It was on a level with my shoulders. I could see a black tracery of cypress against it like seaweed.

  There as a gap by my head. I bent a little, looked back along the beam, and saw the black bulk of a biggish man. He was holding the torch up. I could just see his white shirt-front. I guessed it was Arbuthnot Markham.

  I’d got as far as that, when he turned the light and it went straight into my eyes. I had just time to shut them. Eyes catch the light worse than anything. If I’d had them open, he’d have spotted me for certain. As it was, I hoped for the best. The gap was a very little one.

  The light flickered away again and turned in the opposite direction. I opened my eyes, and saw it pick out the bricks and moss on the wall. At that moment I heard some one call Arbuthnot Markham’s name:

  “Arbuthnot! Arbuthnot!” And then again, “Arbuthnot!”

  It was Anna’s voice.

  I wasn’t really surprised. I had come back here to get the package, but I think I had had an idea all the time that I might run across Arbuthnot and Anna. There was the business of the telegrams. Isobel had had a bogus telegram asking her to meet me, and I had had another asking me to me
et her, in Olding Crescent. In the back of my mind I was pretty sure that Anna had sent both of them; and if she had, it seemed likely that she would be somewhere around. The only thing was, it was now getting on for four hours since I had met Isobel. It seemed a bit late for Anna to be wandering round Arbuthnot’s garden with him. However, that was her affair; it certainly wasn’t mine.

  Arbuthnot turned with the torch in his hand.

  “I told you not to come.”

  I liked the way he said it. I’d often wanted to put Anna in her place. It did me good to hear the rasp in his voice.

  She came rustling through the bushes.

  “I didn’t come till you turned the torch on. Did you see anything?”

  “No.”

  “This is where I saw the light.”

  “Imagination!” said Arbuthnot.

  “It wasn’t. Some one struck a match.”

  I was glad to hear her say “a match,” because I suppose first and last I had struck about three dozen. I gave myself marks for not having chucked them about. If she’d only seen one match struck-

  He was speaking:

  “You’ve got too much imagination. There’s no one here.”

  “Some one struck a match.” She sounded positive and obstinate.

  He began to flick the light to and fro. Then he walked past me. I could hear him moving towards the drive, and after a moment coming back again.

  “There’s no one about. You’ve got the jumps.” Then, in a different tone, “Well, if you’re going, you ought to go.”

  “I’m going,” said Anna.

  “Damned nonsense, I call it,” said Arbuthnot Markham. “Why can’t you stay here and have done with it?”

  “Because I haven’t finished my work.”

  He threw back his head and laughed.

  “You’re damn funny when you talk in that high-falutin’ way! Come off it, my dear!”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Anna had the pathetic stop out.