Hue and Cry

by Patricia Wentworth

  The first door was on her right. This was the room from which the voice had spoken. She went past it, holding her candle with a steady hand. She was past caring about anything. She opened the next door an inch at a time and looked in. There was no one there; but the bed was turned down, with a crimson eiderdown lying folded at the foot of it.

  Mally made a step forward and saw a suit-case. It was a brown leather suit-case, and it had the initials E. M. stamped on it in black. She looked across at the dressing-table and saw a man’s brushes, a safety-razor. She made a snatch at the crimson eiderdown, whisked it over her arm, and fled noiselessly down the stairs.

  The E. M. stood for Ethan Messenger—and Ethan Messenger was the “dear boy” who hadn’t come in yet.

  “Ethan is the ‘dear boy’; but who in all the world am I?” said Mally as she came to a standstill in the hall. She put the key back under the mat, rolled up the things she had taken off, and brought them down from the bathroom so as to be handy in case she had to run away again—“But not tonight—nothing will induce me to run anywhere to-night.”

  She went into the room on the left of the hall door, and found a lamp turned low and the remnants of a fire. The room was a drawing-room, with prim, light chintzes on the chairs and a rose-patterned carpet on the floor. There was a piano. There was a glass-fronted cupboard with old china in it. There was a white woolly sheepskin mat on the hearth.

  Mally put two bits of coal on the fire without so much as a tremor of conscience. Then she curled herself up in the largest chair and went fast asleep under the comforting folds of the crimson eiderdown.

  CHAPTER XXX

  Ethan Messenger came home from Menden in a rather preoccupied mood. It was just on the hither side of midnight and as cold as the wind could make it. It had been a jolly evening—in some ways. He liked Mrs. Holmes and he liked Janet Elliot; but it was not of either Janet or Elizabeth that he was thinking as he drove through the icy lanes. His mind was entirely taken up with Candida Long, whom he had met for the first time that evening. Was it the first time? That was the question which he debated.

  The first sound of Candida’s voice had called up a vivid picture of the ballroom at Curston. He was sure, or he was almost sure, that it was Candida who had touched Mally on the arm just before the clock struck twelve. He tried very hard to piece his disjointed scraps of knowledge together.

  Item one:—Mally had disappeared.

  Item two:—Miss Long had meant to cross to France to-day, and had put off going because she said she couldn’t travel without a maid.

  Item three:—Some one—was it Janet?—had said that Candida’s maid had vanished into the blue whilst they were all at Curston.

  Item four:—Willie Elliot had begun to say something about Paul Craddock.

  Item five:—Elizabeth Holmes had said “Hush,” and changed the subject in an extremely masterful manner.

  It was all extremely disjointed. Candida Long—Mally Lee——Where was Mally Lee? He thought that he would like to see Candida Long again, and alone. Vague plans for doing so floated through his mind. They were still unformulated when he ran his car into a vacant stall in the Vicar’s stable and, having locked the door on it, came past the church to the house with the white gate.

  He took the key from under the mat, opened the door, and passed, as Mally had done, into the square lighted hall. On the chest to his right stood two bedroom candlesticks. But instead of being arranged neatly side by side, one of them stood on the very edge of the chest, and the candle in it had burned right down. On his left the drawing-room door stood ajar. He pushed it a little wider and saw, between the firelight and the turned-down lamp, Mally Lee lying very fast asleep in his Aunt Serena’s large armchair.

  Ethan stood on the threshold and experienced the most extraordinary sensations. He felt exactly as if some one had hit him. That was the first of it. Then, as he braced himself, there came incredulity, conviction, and an extraordinary feeling of pleasurable relief.

  The fire burned brighter than the lamp. Mally lay curled up with her head on her arm. Her short, tossed hair was still damp; it looked very dark against the light-colored chintz. She had pushed down the crimson eiderdown, and he saw that she was wearing the rose-red domino she had worn at Curston. His heart contracted. Good Lord! She hadn’t been wandering about like that ever since!

  He came a step inside the door, staring at her with horrified eyes. She was most awfully white; there were blue smudges under her eyes. She looked like a child.

  He came nearer, and as he moved, Mally began to dream. Her mind had been quite still, quite empty; but there came into it now the black picture of the house from which she had fled. She was upstairs again in the dead dark, groping her way to the ladder, whilst from below there came up to her the sound of heavy breathing and the sound of stumbling feet. A wave of the utmost terror broke on her. The men were coming—they would find her. They were coming up the ladder—and they would find her. She couldn’t get away. She gave a very little, piteous cry and began to whisper in her sleep.

  Ethan saw her shiver and start as the cold wave struck her. Her lips parted over stumbling, broken words: “Don’t let them. No—no—no!” She shuddered and threw out her hand. “No—no—don’t let them come! Don’t let them!” Her voice broke in a frightened sob.

  Ethan made a stride towards the lamp. His heart was wrung. If he turned up the light, it ought to wake her. She ought to be waked. He heard her cry out behind him, and turned vigorously at the screw of the lamp with instant, horrifying effect. The flame shot up, making everything look unnaturally large, and then died suddenly, utterly, completely, leaving the room in a darkness which seemed deeper than it really was. A coal had fallen in the fire, and the flame had died there too.

  Mally woke with a gasp to a black room and the sound of some one moving behind her in the blackness. The soft, smothering folds of the eiderdown were across her knees. She thought she was in a drift of snow. She thought it was holding her down. She thought she was in the dark house of her dreams. She cried out, choking, and sprang up, stumbling over the eiderdown. She put out her hands to save herself and pitched forward against Ethan.

  There was an awful, endless moment, in which he held her, and all the horror in the world seemed to come crashing down. Then he said, “Mally! Mally, darling! Oh, for the Lord’s sake, don’t! Mally—it’s only me.”

  Mally caught at him with both hands and began to be shaken with a flood of tears. She cried away the fear, the cold, and the loneliness. She cried away her courage and she cried away her pride. She was five years old again, crying in the dark and clinging to the strong, safe arms that held her tight.

  Ethan let her cry. At intervals he said, “Mally!” or, “Poor little kid!”

  She felt so small in his arms, so light, so shaken, such a little, frightened thing.

  “It’s only me. You’re quite safe. Mally, darling, it’s only Ethan. Don’t cry so!”

  “Ethan—Ethan—Ethan!” She said his name on a whisper of sobbing breath.

  “It’s all right, Mally, it’s all right.”

  “Don’t let them—don’t let them come! Oh, please don’t let them come!”

  “There’s no one here. I’ve got you. You’re quite safe.”

  He put his face down to hers, comforting her, very much as he would have comforted little Bunty Lennox; and for a moment Mally clung to him and let herself be comforted. Then, with extraordinary suddenness, she pushed him away and said in a choking voice:

  “Oh—oh—I hate you! Go away! I haven’t got a handkerchief!”

  Ethan was staggered.

  “I—I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not—you know you’re not!”

  “I’m frightfully sorry. I meant to turn the light up, but it went out. I—I must have given you an awful fright. Mally, don’t cry any more.”

  “I—I’m not c-crying.” The last word ended in a shuddering sob.

  “I’ll light the lamp. And—and—h
ere’s a handkerchief. Where have you got to?”

  The handkerchief was snatched from his extended hand, and by the time that he had lighted the lamp and turned the wick—the right way this time—Mally had made some progress towards recovering her self-control. She was sitting on the arm of the big chair, her domino clutched about her, Ethan’s handkerchief on her lap.

  “You frightened me dreadfully. You frightened me so that I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  She looked at him accusingly and dabbed her eyes very hard.

  “I’m most dreadfully sorry. I was a perfect fool.”

  “Yes, you were. I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought I was back in that horrible house. And the men—the men——” She put out her hand with a groping gesture and turned painfully white.

  Ethan took the hand very gently. The little cold fingers clung to his.

  “What men, Mally?”

  “Tramps.” Her teeth chattered. “Dreadful! I thought they’d got up.” She looked at him strangely. “You don’t know. It was a house—it wasn’t finished—I went in to get out of the wind.”

  He held her hand tight.

  “When?”

  “A long time ago. It was dark, and the wind was so cold. I found some sacks, and I went to sleep. And when I woke up, I thought it was morning. But it wasn’t. The sun was going down, and it got dark. And then the men came.”

  She had caught his wrist with her other hand and he could feel her shaking.

  “Mally! They didn’t hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  “They didn’t find me. There were no stairs in the house. There was a ladder—I went up it. Then the men came, and I couldn’t come down.”

  He bent and kissed her hands.

  “You’re quite safe. You’re quite, quite safe.”

  Mally caught her breath.

  “I dreamed that I was back in the house. And then I woke up, and I heard you, and—and of course I thought it was those horrible men.”

  “But, Mally, how did you get here? You haven’t been wandering about ever since night before last in those flimsy things?”

  Mally pulled her hands away.

  “Yes, I have. I had a coat and a j-jumper suit. I ran away.”

  “When the clock struck twelve. Mally, why did you?”

  “Because I had to. Candida Long helped me. She’s a brick. She told me I was going to be arrested in the morning, and she got me away from the ball.”

  “And then?”

  “I walked about, and I lost myself, and I came to that horrible house.”

  “And after that?”

  “I remembered about your aunts, and I crawled down the ladder when the men were asleep. And when I’d walked for weeks and weeks and weeks, I came here. And I knocked on the door, and some one put their head out of the window and said, ‘Lift up the latch and the bobbin will fall.’”

  The corner of Mally’s little pale mouth twitched very slightly; her eyes remained fixed on Ethan’s face in a mournfully accusing stare. He began to have a very proper feeling that in some unexplained way all these things that had happened to Mally were his fault.

  She gave a little nod.

  “So I came in and lit somebody else’s candle, and had somebody else’s supper and somebody else’s bath. They were lovely!”

  This time a quite definite dimple showed for an instant. Between the look in Mally’s eyes and the quiver of Mally’s lips something happened to Ethan. He said, “Oh, Mally!” and he kissed her.

  It was entirely indefensible; and if for an instant Mally did not draw back, it was, of course, only because she was so completely taken by surprise. She said “Oh!” and she would, no doubt, have said a great deal more if somebody else had not said “Oh!” too.

  This second “Oh!” was a very faint one, but at the sound of it Ethan swung round, and Mally slid down from the arm of the chair. They both looked at the door. It had been pushed wide open, and on the threshold stood Miss Angela Messenger in a pink flannel dressing-gown with a scalloped edge. The new gray curls bobbed unregarded on either side of her horrified little face. The tip of her nose was as pink as her dressing-gown. She said in a little dry voice.

  “My dear boy! My dear boy!”

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Sheer cold rage drove every vestige of color from Mally’s cheeks. She stiffened her neck, stuck her chin in the air, and looked at Ethan Messenger. If she had been angry a little sooner, she would not have been so angry now. She looked at him, and waited. If he failed now, she would never forgive him or herself.

  Ethan took his Aunt Angel by the pink flannel sleeve and thanked Heaven that she was not his Aunt Serena.

  “Aunt Angel—” His voice achieved a creditable firmness and loudness—“Aunt Angel, this is Miss Lee—Miss Mally Lee. She lost her way in the snow, and—and I’m afraid I frightened her.”

  “Idiot!” said Mally to herself. She looked at Miss Angela, because she felt that if she looked at Ethan any longer, she would begin to tell him exactly what she thought of the way in which he had behaved.

  “In the snow? My dear boy—my dear Miss Lee—how dreadful! Really lost?” She felt bewildered and as if she did not know what she was saying.

  “Absolutely,” said Ethan.

  “Oh, my dear!” She turned to Mally. “In those clothes? Are you frozen?”

  Mally’s chin came down a little. The concern in Miss Angela’s voice was nice. Miss Angela was nice; she was kind. A warm friendly feeling melted away the angry pride that had stiffened her. She took a step forward and put an impulsive hand on the other pink flannel sleeve.

  “You won’t be angry—will you? I was lost—really. And it was so dark and so cold. And when you said, ‘L-lift up the latch and the b-bobbin will fall,’ I just came in, and I took the egg, and the bread and butter, and the coffee, and—and thank you so very much for them. You won’t be angry—will you?”

  Miss Angela became more bewildered every moment. Ethan on one side of her, and this appealing creature on the other—and a latch—and a bobbin—and coffee, and egg, and bread and butter.

  “My dear, of course not—I mean of course—no, of course not—I mean——What was that about a bobbin and a latch, my dear? Did you say, ‘Lift up the latch and the bobbin will fall’? It—it sounds like a fairy tale.”

  Ethan had his arm about her. He tried to catch Mally’s eye, but she was looking down at the pink flannel sleeve and stroking it.

  “Yes—doesn’t it? Dear Miss Messenger, it was dreadful of me. But you’re too kind to be angry. The egg and the coffee were lovely. I’d forgotten what things to eat tasted like. And I haven’t told you the very worst. I did have a bath too, because you know you said, ‘There’s lots of hot water if you want a bath.’”

  A very faint light began to break upon Miss Angela. She turned to Ethan.

  “Where’s Serena? Oh dear! I thought it was Serena. Hasn’t she come at all?”

  “I don’t know. Has she, Mally?”

  “It was me,” said Mally. “It wasn’t any one else—it was only me. I—I couldn’t help it when she said about the coffee and the bath.” To her horror, the tears began to run down her cheeks again. “I—I—I——” She caught at Miss Angela’s arm with shaking hands. “Oh, make him go away! Do—do make him go away!”

  Here was something that Miss Angela could understand very well. “Poor child—quite overwrought,” she said to herself; and then, aloud, “Poor child! Dear boy, I think you’d better—Yes, yes, my dear, he’s going. Sit down and dry your eyes. There, there, now, it is really quite all right—you are just overdone. No, no one’s angry. And you shall have my sister’s room. And when you’ve had a good sleep, you’ll feel a great deal better, poor child.”

  Mally found herself crying on Miss Angela’s shoulder, quite gently and enjoyably. And presently Miss Angela was tucking her up in Miss Serena’s bed.

  “The sheets were clean this morning. And now, my dear, you must just go to sleep and fo
rget all about everything. And Grace shall bring you a nice cup of tea in the morning.”

  “’M,” said Mally, very, very sleepily. She snuggled her head down into the pillow, and felt Miss Angela’s hand just touch her hair. With a little drowsy movement she turned so as to rub her cheek against it; and almost as she did so, she fell asleep.

  Miss Angela looked over the banisters, saw that the light was still on in the hall, and went down. She was in a flutter of importance, interest, and romance. A much-indulged conscience strove to cast a cloud over this mood by a sharply pricking assertion that it was very wicked indeed to feel that dear Serena’s absence was a thing for which to be profoundly grateful.

  She found Ethan in the drawing-room.

  “Well, dear boy, she’s gone to sleep, and—and—you won’t think me inquisitive, but I’m afraid I don’t really understand how she came to lose her way or—or anything. And what made her think of coming here? Are you—my dear boy, are you engaged?” Miss Angela was plainly palpitating with curiosity.

  “Oh, Lord! She did see me kiss her!” thought Ethan. He groaned inwardly. In Miss Angela’s romantic world only engaged couples kissed one another.

  “We’re not engaged,” he said rather gruffly. Then he ran his fingers through his hair. “I’d no business to kiss her. She’ll probably never forgive me. I—she—well, I don’t suppose I could ever make you understand how it was.”

  Miss Angela put her head on one side. She looked like a brightly intelligent but rather timid bird.

  “My dear boy, but I think I do understand. I—I wanted to kiss her myself. I—I did kiss her. There’s something extraordinarily engaging about the way she looks at you. Don’t you think so?”

  Ethan thought there was; but he didn’t say so. He was wondering whether he had kissed Mally because she looked at him through her eyelashes, or because of the way in which the corners of her mouth turned up. He told his Aunt Angela that it was time they were both in bed.