Corpse Path Cottage

by Margaret Scutt

  The stairs creaked to herald the approach of her landlady. Dinah scrambled to her feet, nailing a determined smile to her face. Mrs Hale was lachrymose enough at the moment without encouragement from her; already she could hear the mournful sniff which, she knew, foretold a lingering farewell.

  ‘Here I am, packed and ready,’ she observed brightly as the lean form of Mrs Hale appeared in the doorway.

  ‘And I be sorry enough to see the back of ’ee. Never did I think,’ said Mrs Hale with a rending sniff, ‘that the day should come for me to turn ’ee from my door.’

  ‘It couldn’t be helped, Mrs Hale. Your sister and her little boy must come first. You know I understand.’

  Mrs Hale’s eyes filled.

  ‘I couldn’t but let ’em come, could I? — and her a widder woman like myself.’

  ‘Of course not. I wish you wouldn’t worry over it.’

  ‘Ah, but I do. A nice, quiet young lady like yourself, and that there Freddy were a limb of Satan at three, and what he’ll be now at seven God only knows, and my sister wit no more sense to manage the young varmint than a louse, if you forgive me speaking the word, and my good meogony furniture as I’ve took such pride in . . .’

  She broke off to draw breath, dabbing at her eyes with a large handkerchief. Here we go, thought Dinah, patting her on the shoulder.

  ‘Cheer up, Mrs Hale — it’ll all come out in the wash.’

  ‘And plenty of that there’ll be, if I know our Freddy. Still, here I am, running on about my troubles, and never a word for yourn; but there, you know how I feel.’

  ‘I shall be OK. Of course I shall miss the way you’ve looked after me, but Miss Faraday seems a nice little person. Quiet, and very prim—’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Mrs Hale darkly.

  Dinah raised her brows, somewhat intrigued. Mrs Hale’s red-rimmed eyes met hers significantly. Mrs Hale nodded slowly thrice.

  ‘Don’t tell me the little lady has gone astray!’ said Dinah, laughing.

  ‘How far she may have went, miss, I do not know,’ said Mrs Hale with dignity. ‘But one thing I do know; she be a long sight too thick wit that neighbour o’ hers.’

  ‘Mr Endicott? Never in the world!’

  ‘I shouldn’t be too sure o’ that.’

  Dinah, with a vivid recollection of Mark Endicott’s countenance as she had last seen it reflected that if these extremes had come together, the lion did indeed lie down with the lamb. Why, Miss Faraday could not so much as speak two words at a Literary Society meeting without becoming covered in scarlet confusion, whereas Endicott, from what she had seen and heard, would be intimidated by none. Well, you never could tell, and good luck to Miss Faraday if there was anything in it, though this she doubted. A greeting exchanged with her neighbour over a hedge might well have started a train of highly inflammable gossip.

  ‘You know I bain’t and never was one to talk,’ declared Mrs Hale, with a complete lack of truth, ‘but when it comes to her in his bedroom, and that there cottage tucked away in the middle of a field wi’out no-one handy to see their goings-on . . .’

  ‘It seems,’ said Dinah, ‘that someone did.’

  She had abruptly ceased to feel amused. No prude, she was yet young enough to know a definite revulsion at the thought of one so unashamedly middle-aged as Miss Faraday moving furtively to an affair with the newcomer. She felt confusedly, as youth has felt so often, that what might be excusable to her own generation was disgusting when allied to wrinkles and greying hair. Besides, if one must sin, for heaven’s sake let it not be hidden by a cloak of mim-mouthed virtue. She became conscious that Mrs Hale was speaking again.

  ‘ . . . naught but chance that he were there. But so it happened, and so Jimmy Fairfax ’ud tell ’ee wi’ his own lips,’

  ‘Fairfax! Oh,’ said Dinah contemptuously, ‘if that old scandalmonger started the tale then you can divide it by ten and still not believe it. But I didn’t think there could be anything in it.’ She spoke with warmth, being somewhat ashamed of her previous feelings. Poor little Faraday, besmirched by the tongues of those who saw evil where none existed! No doubt the explanation would be of the simplest.

  ‘I only hope as you may be right, miss, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Hale with extreme distance. Her underlip protruded ominously.

  Oh Lord, now I’ve done it, thought Dinah.

  She said placatingly, ‘We all know what Mr Fairfax is, don’t we? The biggest old scandalmonger in God’s Blessing, and that’s saying something.’

  ‘No doubt,’ agreed Mrs Hale coldly.

  The grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs choked, cleared its throat and struck three.

  ‘Heavens!’ said Dinah thankfully. ‘Is it as late as that? I must be ready for the car. Goodbye, Mrs Hale, and thanks a million for all you’ve done for me. I shall be coming round from time to time — don’t think you’ve seen the last of me.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Mrs Hale, forgetting her grievance and weeping freely, ‘a welcome for you there will always be. Never doubt it.’

  A knock at the door broke into her sobs. The car from the inn had arrived to take Dinah and her belongings to her new home.

  * * *

  Mark and Amy received their letters on the same morning. Mark looked at his with surprise and a flush of anger, swore violently, and threw it into the fire. He was days behind with his work owing to his illness, and no anonymous filth should be allowed to hold him up now that he was himself again. But it was queer, all the same.

  Miss Faraday, unfortunately for herself, was unable to be so strong minded. Again and again she studied the straggling capitals which composed her letter, until the green ink blurred before her affronted gaze. The address was not printed but written in blue ink, the hand a round careful one which might have belonged to a child. But no child had printed the words of the letter itself.

  Amy went to her work that morning with the crude insults of her letter for company. Throughout her day’s work the words shouted themselves to her aching brain until it seemed they must be known to all the world. Through the turmoil, false notes pinged on her eardrum and went unchecked. Mistakes in time and fingering were alike disregarded. Her pupils, uncomprehending but glad to take what clemency the gods offered, went their way. Miss Faraday’s colleagues found her more dim than usual, if such a thing were possible. And, at last, the day passed.

  Dinah, who had been shopping, came in at half past six to find Amy sitting at the table in the dining room with a brimming cup of tea before her. She looked, thought Dinah, utterly vacant, and she knew a pang of nostalgia for her old abode and for Mrs Hale who, whatever her faults, was human.

  ‘Oh,’ said Amy, starting, ‘I was dreaming. I didn’t hear you come in. Would you like some tea? Though I’m afraid it’s cold by now.’

  ‘No, thanks. I had some at the Copper Jug. In Lake, you know. I had my book to change and one or two things to do so I went in after school.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ murmured Amy, staring glassily.

  Heaven help us all, thought Dinah. She tried again. ‘Are you coming to the meeting tonight?’

  ‘Meeting?’

  ‘The Literary Society.’

  ‘Oh dear. Is it tonight? I’m afraid I had forgotten.’

  ‘Well, tonight’s the night. If you are coming we could go together.’ (Must try to be friendly with this half-witted white rabbit of a woman if we intend to live together. But oh, what a prospect!)

  ‘Yes — yes, of course. I suppose I might as well come.’ (Anything rather than sit here with the words of that horrible letter for company.)

  ‘Good. We’d better be moving, hadn’t we? Can I help you to clear away?’

  ‘No, thanks. You would like a wash, I expect. I don’t know why I sat over my tea so long.’

  Dinah did not insist. Her skirt whisked around the door and Amy heard her running up the stairs. Her own feet felt leaden in contrast as she cleared the table and poured away her untouched tea. Going to the mee
ting would not help much, after all. The question would still be there to torment her. Who? — and for that matter, why? Why pick on one so meek and completely harmless as herself? Mr Fairfax had come upon her that day at the cottage, and Mr Fairfax was a scandalmonger unsurpassed, yet somehow she could not fit him into this picture. Without rhyme or reason, she was coldly convinced that a female hand had done this thing.

  She heard the door of Dinah’s room slam — an alien sound in the cloistered stillness of her home — and became conscious that she was holding a dripping dishmop with which she had performed nothing.

  ‘Ready?’ called Dinah’s casual young voice.

  ‘Just coming,’ said Amy, splashing feverishly.

  She dried her hands, scurried into the hall, and pulled on a depressed felt hat. Beneath its unbecoming brim, her nose shone brightly; her tired eyes looked out, Dinah thought, like those of a frightened rabbit from a thicket. Frightened — yes, that was the word. Though who or what she had to fear Dinah could not imagine. A quiet and lonely spinster, whom all the good things of life had passed by — for surely there were no grounds for the outrageous tale put about by Mr Fairfax! Looking at her companion, Dinah was assured of it. A touch of pity moved her. Too grim to be middle-aged, utterly without interest in life, and a complete frump! She herself, whatever happened, would never be like that. She vowed it to her immortal soul.

  ‘Would you like some powder?’ she offered, still stirred by pity. ‘Save you going upstairs.’

  Miss Faraday took the proffered compact and dabbed awkwardly at her nose. In the mirror she saw her own face, weary and drab, with for background the vivid and youthful features of the girl. A most feminine pang rent her breast. For a moment she hated Dinah, herself, and all the world. Most of all she hated her hat.

  ‘Thanks,’ she repeated, handing back the compact. ‘Now we shall have to hurry.’

  ‘Bags of time,’ said Dinah amiably.

  They went out together, Dinah swinging along with her head well up and the breeze tossing her dark hair, Miss Faraday trotting apologetically at her side. Her feet hurt, and she felt a hundred years old.

  ‘Lovely evening,’ said Dinah, sniffing the balmy air.

  ‘Lovely,’ agreed Miss Faraday drearily. She wished this girl were not so killingly hearty.

  Outside the hall, three cars formed an imposing array. From one of them Laura Grey was in the act of emerging, two admirable nylon-clad legs swinging out to be followed by the rest of her exotic person. She wore black, with a shoulder cape of silver fox; her white skin and pale blonde hair seemed even more dazzling than usual. Her husband, standing by the door and being addressed by Mrs Richards, looked tired and not too amiable.

  Laura glanced at the approaching figures, vouchsafed them a faint nod, and sauntered to the doorway. Here, for a moment, she stood, as if posing for a battery of cameras, then was gone.

  ‘Pippa passes!’ said Dinah.

  Amy looked up, faintly surprised at her tone. Dinah did not look hearty now; she did not even look young and vivid, as in the moment when Amy saw her reflection in the glass. It seemed that the sight of the beautiful Laura had brought no pleasure to her.

  ‘Hadn’t we better go in?’ enquired Amy.

  Dinah laughed, without mirth.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ she said.

  The hall, as the visiting speaker noted with pleasure, was more than half full. He was a man fortunate enough to be unfailingly delighted by the sound of his own voice, but he was nonetheless gratified to see the numbers about to share this satisfaction. He shuffled his notes and smiled happily. In the front row the poetess, a newborn work nestling in her handbag, flashed her large teeth in sympathy. Horse faced old cat, thought Laura Grey, glancing across the room. Would she be the one? How fortunate that she had taken up the letters before Ralph had seen them that morning. He had a damnable way of asking who her correspondents might be. With regard to this morning’s epistle, his guess would be as good as her own.

  Miss Faraday, deserted by Dinah who, by virtue of her office now took a seat at the table beside the chairman, found herself a chair at the end of a row next to the large Mr Heron, who nodded to her and continued a conversation with his neighbour on the other side. Amy reflected with faint satisfaction that she could not now be accused of reserving a space for Mr Endicott should that unpredictable gentleman be thinking of honouring the gathering with his presence. Fate, however, proved to be against her. Mr Heron, beckoned by a friend, lounged across the room to join him, the Chairman cleared his throat loudly and rose, and at the same moment Mark Endicott came in and took the vacant seat beside her.

  Miss Faraday murmured a vague greeting and stared at the Chairman. Mark leaned back as comfortably as was possible and stretched out his legs. His corduroy trousers creaked, and his broad shoulders seemed to invade the territory occupied by the shrinking form of his neighbour. He doth bestride this narrow world like a Colossus, thought Amy resentfully; why, why the devil couldn’t he sit somewhere else?

  Her determination not to look at Endicott caused her to be staring directly at the front row of chairs, where the bright head of Laura Grey seemed to draw all the light to itself. As Amy diligently glued her eyes to the same spot, as if conscious that she was attracting notice, Laura turned lazily and glanced behind her.

  For one moment Amy saw the beautiful face, insolent, faintly bored, as she had seen it many times before then amazingly, all was changed. The eyes widened and seemed to darken; the scarlet lips parted as if on a gasp of fear. Yes, fear, thought Amy, utter, unreasoning fear. Later she told herself that she was wrong and had imagined what did not exist. What cause had Laura Grey for fear?

  It was over in a moment. Laura had turned back, swaying slightly towards her husband. Ralph bent his head to speak to her, the look of concern plain on his lined face. They rose together, his hand under his wife’s elbow.

  ‘No, nothing — a touch of faintness,’ said Laura to Mrs Oliphant, who had sprung fluttering to her side.

  ‘Better in the air,’ said Ralph briefly. ‘No — please don’t bother.’

  The couple came slowly towards the door. Amy, watching with lively interest, thought that she had been mistaken. Pale, fragile and appealing, but surely not afraid. She passed so close that a faint breath of perfume came to Amy; her eyes were cast down, and she did not raise them as she went out of the hall.

  A faint buzz of sympathy or conjecture followed her exit. Mrs Richards bent towards Mrs Oliphant, and both ladies were seen to nod. Amy reflected with ungenerous satisfaction that her own affairs had been placed comfortably in the background and turned for the first time to her neighbour.

  ‘Aren’t you well, either?’ she asked involuntarily.

  ‘Quite, thanks,’ said Mark coldly.

  Amy flushed. Nobody asked him to plant his ugly self-beside me, she thought resentfully — on the contrary. And he needn’t be so rude, for he had looked queer. Not that it mattered.

  Colonel Stroud had been standing for the past minutes clucking like a sympathetic hen. He now decided that the show must go on and flashed his gold tooth at the gathering.

  ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, with perfect truth, ‘I am sure that you have not come tonight to hear a speech from me.’

  He paused, smiled again, and spoke for ten minutes, after which he glanced at his watch, laughed heartily, and introduced the speaker of the evening.

  Mr Wilberforce Browne, who had been drooping sadly over the table, uncoiled himself like a serpent and rose to a surprising height. He acknowledged the polite rattle of applause, waited for it to fade, smiled around him, and began to speak.

  His voice was extremely high-pitched and seemed by some ventriloquial quality to come from far away. Miss Faraday, tired and miserable, found her attention wandering almost at once. She looked around her, reflecting that all were there, the old familiar faces, some wearing expressions of bright interest, some apathetic, one or two militant and disapproving.
She did not look at Endicott again.

  ‘And now let us ring out the old, ring in the new,’ declaimed Mr Browne. ‘I am proud to bring before your notice a novel just published, How Does Your Garden Grow?’

  As if struck by electricity, every nerve in Amy’s body thrilled. Still seated in her chair, she was under the distinct impression that she had risen to the ceiling and come down again. A wave of burning heat swept her. She thought, I must get away, and moved. Endicott’s hand touched hers.

  ‘Steady,’ he said, out of the side of his mouth. ‘Don’t give the game away.’

  She looked at him wildly, showing the whites of her eyes. His hand gripped hers between the two chairs.

  ‘Listen, and don’t be a fool. This should be good,’ he said. Miss Faraday withdrew her hand and obeyed.

  ‘. . . I have a copy here,’ fluted Mr Browne, waving a volume in the air, ‘and I may say that unless I am greatly mistaken, I hold a book which will make literary history. How Does Your Garden Grow? I repeat a title which in itself is provocative as I’m sure you will agree is no ordinary novel. The author is unknown to me, and I imagine there is little doubt Tom Pinch is a nom de plume, but I venture to predict that he or she will not long blush unseen.’

  Endicott cocked an eye at his neighbour’s scarlet countenance and his lips twitched.