Caroline looked back. Was the child really as unworldly as she seemed? It didn’t seem possible, not at this time of day. She said,
“He called her his wife? But-” she hesitated-“it may only have been that that was how he thought of her. That wouldn’t make a marriage.”
“No-I know it wouldn’t. I’d known about the letter when Garsty died. She told me about it, and I thought, like you said, it was just that he thought of her like that. But Mac said when I was behind the window curtain and he was talking to his mother and they thought they were alone-Mac said he’d been to Somerset House and he had seen the certificate. They had been married five months when my father was killed.”
“Oh, my dear child!”
Jenny went on looking at her.
“It’s a sad story isn’t it? My mother died the night after I was born. I’ve thought about it a lot, and it seems as if it was sad for me and for Garsty, but not really sad for them-for my father and mother. I think they loved one another very much, and they would be together again. So it wasn’t sad for them, was it? Do you think that Mac burned that letter?”
“I don’t know, my dear. I think he would do what was safest for himself.”
“Yes, I thought so too.” She gave a deep sigh and said, “It doesn’t really matter, does it? He wrote to her and she saw it, and that is all that really matters.”
There was a little stir at the door and Richard came in with a tray. There were large cups on it, and a big teapot, and a gold and white milk-jug. On a plate there were slices of plain cake and piled-up biscuits.
“I’m frightfully hungry,” he said.
Jenny suddenly felt hungry too. Her spirits rose. Everything was all right. She was quite, quite safe.
Chapter XIV
They were just finishing the plate of biscuits and the cake, and Richard was drinking his third cup of tea, when there came a tapping at the door.
“Oh, no!” said Richard. He finished his tea in a hurry and put down his cup. “Not at this hour! It’s not decent! Shall I tell her so?”
Caroline laughed. “It’s no use,” she said. Then she turned to Jenny. “It will be my next-door neighbour, Mrs. Merridew. I wonder what she’ll have thought up this time. I’d better go and see.”
The tapping continued-three taps and a pause-three more taps and another pause. It suggested what Caroline knew only too well was behind it, inquisitiveness and pertinacity. She opened the door, and was aware as she did so that it was being noted that this was not the first time it had been opened that day. Oh dear, no-Mr. Richard had been in and a girl. Now why a girl so early in the morning? The words, unspoken, floated almost visibly on the air.
Mrs. Merridew stood there with a jug in her hand. She was dressed. She had tidied her hair, and she had put on a hat. She was a small woman with little grey eyes which were sharply aware of everything in range and suspicious of everything beyond it. She held out the jug and began at once on what was obviously a prepared speech.
“Oh, my dear Miss Danesworth, do forgive me, but I am short of milk for my early morning tea, and you’ve always been so kind about obliging me. The fact is that Timmy has been a very naughty cat. You know, I told you how clever he was at knocking off the top of the milk-bottle when he wanted a drink-”
“Yes, you did.”
“He’s too clever about it-he really is. But this morning he knocked a little too hard, and the bottle fell down and all the milk was spilt. So if you could just let me have enough for his breakfast-and perhaps for my early tea-”
Caroline had not a suspicious nature, but the excuse had served before and she had her doubts-she had her very grave doubts about it.
Mrs. Merridew stepped over the threshold, jug in hand.
“Your nephew came back this morning? Very early, very early indeed?”
“Yes, he did. Come this way, Mrs. Merridew, if you will. I’ve got plenty of milk.”
“Was he alone?” said Mrs. Merridew, cocking her head on one side.
“Oh, no. He brought Jenny Forbes to stay with me.”
“Jenny Forbes? And who is she? It’s not a very usual name in these parts-Scotch, I believe. But of course it’s his name, too. How stupid of me! Really so very stupid! Is she a relation?”
Caroline said with a calm born of long practice, “I suppose you may call her that. She’s a connection at any rate.”
“Oh, that sounds quite exciting!”
They had reached the kitchen at the back of the house. Caroline said,
“I haven’t been able to get excited about it, but then I haven’t your imagination.”
Mrs. Merridew took this remark as a compliment, a little to Caroline’s relief. She didn’t want to give offence. She wanted peace. She remembered with a slightly guilty feeling that Richard was wont to accuse her of preferring peace at any price. She went rather quickly into the larder and fetched out a big jug of milk.
“How much do you want? I’ve got heaps.”
“Oh, you have! Did you know this girl was coming?”
“Jenny? Well, it was always possible.”
This was as far as Caroline could go in the direction of concealment. She argued against her own sense of guilt. Well, it wasn’t quite true, but it was very nearly true, Richard being what he was. Anything was possible.
And then Mrs. Merridew was saying, “They must have made a very early start-very early indeed. Why, you’re not dressed!”
She had been aware of that from the first moment when Caroline had opened the door. She herself was dressed. She had flung on her clothes in record time, and she had combed through her neat grey curls, so different from Caroline’s large untidy ones, and she had put on her shoes and stockings, and thought of the story about Timmy, and taken the milk-jug, all in less than a quarter of an hour. She had been very clever, she had been very clever indeed.
“No,” said Caroline. “I must have overslept. I’m not dressed, and I must get dressed.”
“Oh, yes, of course you must. I’m just going.”
But Mrs. Merridew didn’t go. She didn’t even pick up the jug of milk which she had borrowed. She came a step nearer, and she said in a confidential undertone,
“It’s a very early hour. They’re not-not engaged-”
There were two courses open to Caroline, she could laugh, or she could lose her temper. She chose to laugh.
“I haven’t the least idea,” she said, “and I shouldn’t dream of asking.”
Mrs. Merridew picked up the milk-jug, and then set it down again.
“Oh, no-no. Of course not. I didn’t mean-it’s just-so very early in the morning-I couldn’t help wondering-”
“I don’t think there is anything to wonder about. We can go in and ask them why they started so early if you’d really like to know.”
Mrs. Merridew picked up the jug again in a hurry.
“Oh, no-no, of course not. It’s so very good of you to oblige me with the milk. Timmy will be most grateful. I won’t keep you. So thoughtless of me-and you must be wanting to dress.”
Caroline saw her to the door and shut it after her. Then she came back to the sitting-room.
The two young people were standing at the window which looked out on the apple trees and the flowery border. They turned as she came in.
“That was Mrs. Merridew.”
“It would be!” Richard’s tone was exasperated.
“Yes, I know. She is very inquisitive, and I’d love to snub her, but it’s no use. If you live next door to someone you’ve just got to get on with them, and I don’t think she knows how inquisitive she is. Now I’ve got to go up and dress. I shan’t be long. Would Jenny like to come up with me? And you can put the car away, Richard.”
Chapter XV
Meg was the first of the children to wake at Alington House. It was only half past six, and she wasn’t supposed to wake Joyce until a quarter past seven. She wasn’t really supposed to wake her up then, especially when they had been out to tea the day before. Joyce
was not really supposed to be waked up before half past seven. A quarter past was as far as Meg would go, and if she was awake earlier-well, there were ways. You couldn’t say she was waking Joyce up if she got out of bed and pulled out a drawer and then shut it again with a good vigorous push. She tried this twice, and Joyce just lay there and slept. It was too aggravating.
Suddenly she thought about Jenny. She would open her own door very softly and creep across to Jenny’s door and open that, and there she would stay. She would get into Jenny’s bed, lovely and warm. And it would serve Joyce right if she woke up and found she was alone. She wouldn’t like that.
She got out and went tiptoe to the door and across the passage. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was inside Jenny’s room with the door shut. And she must go slowly, slowly. It was all she could do to restrain herself, especially when she got near the door to Jenny’s room, but she managed it.
She was well inside the room with the door shut behind her before she saw that Jenny wasn’t there. She stood just a yard inside the door. She had stopped to turn round and fasten the door very carefully. She had been so intent on what she was doing that she hadn’t noticed the bed. And it was empty. There was no Jenny. It was empty, and the bed was made. It was quite made. The eiderdown was on and a chintz coverlet over it. Meg came slowly forward and put her hand on the blue roses of the coverlet. They were quite, quite cold. There was no warmth left in the bed. Jenny must have been up a long, long time.
Meg was frightened, and she didn’t know why. If she had known why, it wouldn’t have been so frightening. She didn’t know she was frightened, but she was frightened. She stood quite still and thought. It was Sunday morning. Perhaps Jenny had gone to church. Then she remembered that she had asked Jenny if she was going to church early, and Jenny had said no. Perhaps she had changed her mind. Perhaps she had gone to church after all.
She hadn’t. She hadn’t gone to church. Meg knew it. And then her eyes fell on the clock which stood on the mantelpiece. It was an old-fashioned clock in a brown leather case, and it said half past six. The early morning service wasn’t till eight o’clock. She had waked up early, and Jenny had been earlier still. Where had she gone to? Where had Jenny gone?
Meg was shivering. She went to the dressing-table. Jenny’s comb and brush were gone. They had been her mother’s, and the brush had a little J.H. on the back. The comb had a silver ridge, but no initials. Meg looked in the drawers. She looked desperately, but she did not find anything. Jenny had gone. Her washing things were gone too-her toothbrush, her nailbrush, her nail-scissors. And her shoes.
It was no use looking any more. Jenny had gone away. She hadn’t said she was going, and she hadn’t said good-bye. She had just gone.
Meg crept back to her room.
Things you can’t understand are always the hardest to bear. To know why is the first step to consolation. Meg didn’t know anything at all except that Jenny had gone. It seemed like the end of the world. She lay and cried until she couldn’t cry any more.
The house woke slowly. Carter brought Mrs. Forbes her tea at half past seven. As she passed the little girls’ door on her way back she saw Meg standing there barefoot and trembling.
“What is it? Meg, what is it? What’s the matter? Is Joyce ill?”
Meg shook her head. The tears came rushing from her eyes again.
“No, not Joyce. She’s still asleep. How she can! It’s Jenny-she’s gone!”
It was a shock. Carter’s temper flared.
“What nonsense are you talking, Meg? And Jenny had better be more punctual in the mornings, or she’ll have your mother after her!”
Meg dissolved into helpless weeping.
“She’s gone! Oh, Carter, she’s gone! Oh, Carter!”
Carter ran across the landing and opened Jenny’s door. Its neatness, its silence, its emptiness, seemed to paralyse her. It looked as it had before Jenny came there to live. It just wasn’t Jenny’s room any more.
As they stood there together, Mrs. Forbes opened the door of her room. She wore an expensive dressing-gown, and her hair was as neat as if she had spent the preceding hours at a ball. She frowned, told Meg to go to her room, and asked Carter what she was looking for. Meg, with her door opened a chink, listened, ready to run and get into bed if her mother’s attention should turn her way. At the moment it was all taken up with Carter.
“Where’s Jenny?” she asked sharply.
“I don’t know.”
“What nonsense is this? Isn’t she with the children? She ought to be!”
Carter shook her head dumbly.
“She’s-she’s gone,” she said.
A cold fear sharpened Mrs. Forbes’ voice. She said quickly,
“What do you mean?”
“Her brush and comb’s gone, and her washing things. Oh, ma’am, I think she’s gone!”
“Nonsense!”
At the tone of her mother’s voice Meg trembled and ran for safety to her bed. Out on the landing Mrs. Forbes pushed past Carter, who was too dumbfounded to get out of her way, and herself made a quick and thorough search of the room. When she had finished she knew very well that Jenny was gone, and she knew what she had taken with her. That meant a case. Jenny had brought up a case with some of her things in it. It had been in the cupboard. It was not there now. Without a word she turned and went along the passage to Mac’s room.
He was awake, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. Mrs. Forbes shut the door and came to the foot of the bed.
“She’s gone!”
When she spoke the anger came up in her so strongly that she could have killed Jenny. For a moment she knew it and exulted in it. The next she commanded herself. She was even a little shocked. She must take care. Yes, she must take care.
Mac did not move. He said in a voice which he kept lazy with an effort,
“What did you say?”
“I said Jenny has gone.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I don’t think anything. It’s the plain fact.”
“I asked you what made you think that she had gone.”
His eyes were on her. He was the stronger of the two. She threw out her hands in a gesture and said,
“I don’t think anything about it. I know she has gone. She has taken the small case that she brought here with her night things in it. Her brush and comb have gone, and her washing things. Her bed has not been slept in, but the dress she wore last night is hanging in the cupboard. Her coat is gone. She has gone.”
There was a pause. Then he said,
“Why?”
Mrs. Forbes stared.
“How should I know?”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“You didn’t come into her room last night and say anything?”
“Of course I didn’t!”
Their eyes met. She sustained his look and was inwardly thankful that she had nothing to hide. Mac took his hands from behind his head and got up.
“I’d better get dressed,” he said. “She can’t have gone very far. What money has she got?”
“I don’t know. Not very much.”
“You don’t know how much?”
“No, I don’t.”
“All right, I’ll get dressed, and then we can decide what to do. We shall have to be careful. If she’s Jenny Hill, we have no control at all. But if she’s Jenny Forbes-”
Mrs. Forbes said, “Hush! Are you mad?”
He laughed.
“No, I’m not mad. It just wants thinking about, that’s all. Now go along and let me get dressed.”
She turned and went out of the room. There were things she wanted to say, but she did not say them. She was a strong highhanded woman, but there were times when her eldest son frightened her. This was one of those times. She turned and went.
Chapter XVI
All that was on Sunday morning, and no one heard anything until Tuesday. Mac and Alan went back to London on the Sun
day evening. It was a relief, though Mrs. Forbes would not have admitted it. It was not what Mac said, for he said very little, and it was not what he did, for there was nothing remarkable about that. She could have borne it better if he had been upset. He was not, so far as she could see, the least upset. And that frightened her. She didn’t know why, but it did.
And then on Tuesday morning she went into the village. She had been uncertain as to whether she would go, and then it came over her that it was important she should show herself-let people see her-see that she wasn’t upset-that Jenny’s going had made no difference to her. And why should it make a difference-could anyone tell her that?
She put on a new tweed coat and skirt. It was oatmeal-coloured, and it set off her golden hair and the smooth tints of her complexion. No one but herself knew just how much assistance the complexion and the hair required. No one ever saw her until that assistance had been applied. She put on a golden brown felt hat and a scarf and gloves that matched it and set out for the village.
It was no more than half a mile, but as she walked, the feeling of dread which had been upon her lifted. Mac had been sensible about it, and she hadn’t been sensible at all. There was no need to suppose that Jenny had found out about anything. How could she have? If she had ran away, it was probably for some ridiculous schoolgirl reason of her own. There had been some love affair, some quarrel, perhaps a row with Mary the house-parlour maid, and she had lost her head and run away. This last theory relieved her mind very much. It set Jenny where she belonged, on a level with Mary. She hoped very heartily that they had seen the last of her. Her spirits rose, and she turned into the main street of the village with a lighter heart than she had had for two days.
The Alington Inheritance Page 8
