Dr. Jennings would have considered Mr. Fossetter sadly wanting in gallantry. He did not speak at all, but put up his hand to meet Chloe’s. She felt a warm, strong clasp for a moment. Then she laughed and pulled her hand away rather quickly.
“If you were marooned on a desert island, I expect you’d be glad to see some one too,” she said. Martin Fossetter tapped the wall, smiling.
“Is this a desert island?”
“The whole of Danesborough’s a desert island,” said Chloe—“the sort where you never see a passing sail. That’s why I’m so pleased to see you.”
“I see. And what can I do for you now I’m here?”
Chloe hesitated.
“Why is Danesborough a desert island?”
“The cars have broken down; and the telephone is out of order; and we’re in quarantine—”
“Quarantine! What for?”
“I don’t know.”
Chloe found herself looking into a pair of very sympathetic brown eyes, and spoke what was in her heart.
“I don’t believe in the quarantine—not really.”
“What makes you say that?” said Martin Fossetter quickly. “Look here, you’re not serious, are you?”
“Yes, I am.” Chloe was rather pale.
He put up his hand again, and she laid hers in it just for an instant, and then withdrew it hastily because the friendly touch brought a rush of tears to her eyes.
Martin Fossetter looked at her with deep concern.
“Chloe, what is it? What’s the matter? Won’t you let me help you?”
She nodded.
“I want you to. I want to get away—to go back to Maxton.”
“But surely you’re free to go?”
“No cars; no telephone; the gates all locked; and this sham quarantine set up as a bug-bear—it isn’t very easy, is it? I mean to get away somehow though.”
“What makes you think it’s a sham?”
“I’m sure it’s a sham. I can’t tell you why I’m sure; but I am sure. I—I’ve got some papers that they don’t want me to have, and I think they’re trying to keep me here” She laughed a little shakily. “It sounds mad, doesn’t it?”
“Who’s they?” said Martin. “Is it that man Wroughton who’s annoying you? I never liked him.”
“Yes,” said Chloe. “He wants the papers. Mr. Dane didn’t mean him to have them; he—he gave them to me. But Mr. Wroughton is trying to get hold of them. He thinks they’re worth a lot of money, and he knows that I’m going to burn them.”
“Burn them! Why, what are they?”
Chloe shivered and looked away.
“They’re things that ought to be burnt,” she said in a low voice.
When she looked back again, it was to find Mr. Fossetter regarding her with a sort of tender bewilderment. She had already told him a great deal more than she had meant to tell anyone, and she had a feeling that if she went on talking to him, she would probably end by telling him all that she knew, or guessed, or feared.
“I must get away—I must get back to Maxton. Please, Mr. Fossetter, will you do two things for me?”
“Two hundred, if you like.”
“Two will do to begin with. Will you go to the Daneham exchange, and tell them to come at once and put our telephone right? And will you, at the same time, order a taxi to come and fetch me to the station?”
Martin looked down. An expression of doubt crossed his face. After a little pause he lifted serious eyes to Chloe’s.
“Has it occurred to you that if you’re really in quarantine—”
“We’re not—I’m sure we’re not!”
“It might be made an excuse. I mean the lodge-keeper might have orders not to let anyone in.”
“There isn’t any lodge-keeper,” said Chloe in a startled voice.
“What!”
“The lodge is empty. The people are gone. The gate is locked.”
Mr. Fossetter whistled.
“I say, that sounds bad.”
“I must get away—I must get back to Maxton.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But—look here, I’ll do anything to help you, but I want to make a good job of it. You see, there’s a lot to be thought of. I don’t believe it’s any use ordering a taxi, for instance—not if there’s anything in this quarantine stunt.”
“I’m sure there isn’t.”
“Will you trust me to make inquiries? I can easily find out what’s being said in the village. And at a pinch, you know, you can always drop over the wall and let me drive you anywhere you want to go. Would I do instead of a taxi, do you think?”
“You really mean it?”
“Of course I do. I only wish Chloe, how many times do you suppose I’ve thought of you since we danced together?”
“I shouldn’t think you’ve thought of me at all.”
For the first time Chloe remembered that she had just cause of offence against Martin Fossetter. He had asked for two dances at the County Ball, that is true; but whilst he danced with Chloe, he had looked at Monica Gresson—“Pouf!”
“You’re wrong,” said Martin; and he said it very nicely. He had the most charming smile that it is possible to imagine. It flashed at Chloe now, and was gone. His eyes said the rest. After a little pause he spoke again:
“You’ll leave it to me then?”
“But how shall I know?”
“Will you come back here and meet me this afternoon—say, at four o’clock?”
“I don’t know,” said Chloe. “I’ll try. Mr. Wroughton sticks like a burr.”
“Well, I’ll be here at four, anyhow; and I’ll just wait until you do come.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. Chloe—”
But Chloe had slipped down on her own side of the wall, and was gone.
Chapter XX
Mr. Fossetter got into his car and drove into Danesborough village. As he came slowly through the village street he saw, emerging from the post office, Miss Adderley, first cousin once removed to Sir James Adderley of Daneham Manor, and the most accomplished gossip in three counties. He stopped at once, got out, and was very warmly greeted.
“Good gracious, Martin, where did you come from? Where are you staying?—not at Danesborough this time, I suppose.” Miss Adderley had a very sharp nose and little, pale grey eyes that saw everything; her streaky hair floated in wisps under a magenta felt hat that was at least three sizes too large.
“Why not at Danesborough?” said Martin with his charming smile.
Miss Adderley laid her hand on his arm.
“I want to look at your car,” she said, and propelled him across the street.
“Why?”
“Nonsense!” said Miss Adderley. “I don’t really in the least—you know as well as I do that I don’t know one end of the murdering things from the other—but that post office woman can hear flies walking on the ceiling, and—”
“And you were going to be indiscreet.”
“How dare you, when you know I’m the soul of discretion? But if half one hears is true about Danesborough and the heiress,”—she dropped her voice to a stage whisper—“well, it naturally surprised me to hear you were staying there.”
“I’m not,” said Martin.
“Then why did you say you were? That’s the way things get about. One can’t be too careful. And goodness knows there are stories enough already.”
“How intriguing!” said Martin. “Do go on. What are the stories?”
“I never repeat gossip,” said Miss Adderley. “But of course everybody’s saying—by the way, have you met Miss Dane?”
“I have.”
“Have you really? Then you can tell me—is it very obvious?”
“Is what very obvious?”
Miss Adderley looked
all round her and dropped her voice a little more:
“Her being odd—queer in the head, you know. Did you notice anything?”
“I noticed that she was very pretty,” said Martin, laughing.
Miss Adderley tucked a long grey wisp behind one ear.
“That’s all a man would notice,” she said with biting scorn. “Poor thing, I’m sorry for her, with all that money and no sense.”
“No sense?” said Martin.
“No—really. It’s safe with you, I know, or I wouldn’t say a word. But she really is”—she shook her head expressively, and the magenta hat slipped forward over one eye—“quite touched; quite, if one may say so, peculiar.” She pushed back the hat and again took Martin by the arm. “The head housemaid is a friend of my Mrs. Jones, and she says the poor thing sits up all night, writing letters and burning them. There, what do you think of that?”
Martin detached himself, still laughing.
“Didn’t you ever write love-letters and burn them?” he asked impudently. “It’s much the safest thing to do with them, really.” He got into the car as he spoke, and started the engine. Miss Adderley was not in the least offended; she was much too full of her subject to take offence. She continued to talk, with one hand on the side of the car: “Temper too—outbreaks. And such queer ways. She’s sent all the cars away because she doesn’t like the smell of petrol, and discharged all the gardeners because she doesn’t like to see men about the place. Even poor Bucket at the lodge has had to turn out; and I do call that a shame, if you don’t. And the latest, the very latest,—what do you think the very latest?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. I’m afraid I must be getting on, Miss Adderley.”
The car began to move; but Miss Adderley was not to be done out of imparting her choicest bit of gossip. She kept her hand on the side, and actually ran with the car a yard or two, taking quick, trotting steps.
“The latest is—she’s had the telephone disconnected because the bell disturbs her! There, what do you think of that?” She let go on the last word, and fell back, panting, but triumphant.
“Dreadful!” said Martin over his shoulder. “See you later on.”
Miss Adderley clutched at her hat, which was now resting upon her left shoulder. She thrust it back on her head, and saw the car recede. Then she returned to the post office and told Mrs. Brent what a charming man Mr. Fossetter was and what a pity it was that there were so many stories about him, to which Mrs. Brent replied darkly that it wasn’t always the handsome one that was the worst. “There’s some that’s as ugly as sin, and not a good word to say for no one,” she continued, and met the little grey eyes with an innocent stare. Miss Adderley’ armour was of triple brass; she gave no sign.
Chloe ran up to her own room, looked in the glass and was grateful with all her heart that she had not met anyone as she came upstairs. This flushed, bright-eyed Chloe could not have escaped a very unwelcome notice. “You can pinch your cheeks to make them pink; but how on earth am I to get pale enough to pass muster with the Wroughtons? It’s dreadful—I look happy, and I’ve got no earthly business to look happy.” Then she laughed and tossed her head a little; “You needn’t think that it’s you, and be conceited about it.”— She was apostrophizing the absent Mr. Fossetter— “It isn’t you in the least, so there! It’s just the desert island feeling and seeing a sail on the horizon—that’s all it is.” If Chloe was right, the “all” still included a good deal. She had been so starved of common kindness and ordinary friendly ways since she came to Danesborough; and she was by nature the friendliest creature in the world. She had not known how lonely and starved she was until Martin Fossetter looked up from his car and said “Hullo!” The reaction was one which might carry her far, especially when stimulated by tender glances, a voice that said her name as no one else had ever said it, and the prospect of romantic deliverance. Martin Fossetter certainly had a good deal in his favour.
Quite suddenly, in the midst of her high spirits, Chloe remembered the letters. She had locked them last night in the black box; and this morning, before leaving her room, she had turned the key in the cupboard door. She locked the door of her room now, and went to the cupboard a little anxiously. The housemaids must lave been about, and surely even Wroughton would draw the line at forcing the cupboard door and the lock of her box.
She drew a breath of relief when she found the letters as she had left them. But the moment’s fright made her cast about for a better hiding place. After racking her brains she could think of only one that was at all likely to baffle a real search. She unpacked the letters and carried them into the bedroom. Then she rolled back the mattress and bedding from the foot of her bed and spread the letters on the spring mattress beneath.
When the bedding had been tidily replaced, Chloe packed the box with her clothes and locked it again. Then she went downstairs. The letters, she thought, would be quite safe now until she had seen Martin Fossetter. She must of course put them somewhere else before the housemaids did the room next morning; but in her heart Chloe hoped ardently that she had slept her last night at Danesborough, and that by next morning the letters would be out of harm’s way for ever.
Chapter XXI
Mr. Fossetter waited in Langton Lane from four to five with exemplary patience. The sky was dark with clouds, and the light failed rapidly. At five o’clock a rustle, a scramble, and a little gasp announced Chloe’s arrival. She became visible as a black shadow on the top of the black wall.
“Mr. Fossetter, are you there?”
Mr. Fossetter climbed the bank.
“Of course I’m here,” he said.
“I couldn’t get away before, and I simply daren’t stay. Emily’s been sticking like the worst sort of glue. Well?” The last word was breathlessly eager.
He hesitated, and Chloe beat her hands together.
“Have you done anything? What have you done? Did you go to the telephone exchange? Did you order my taxi?”
“Well, as a matter of fact—”
“Haven’t you been? Haven’t you ordered it?” Her voice was sharp with dismay. “You don’t know what it’s like, being cut off like this, and every minute is like the longest possible sort of hour.”
“Chloe, listen. I went to the exchange at once; and they’ll send up a man to-morrow.”
“Not to-day?”
“They’re short-handed. Then about the taxi— I thought I’d better just see you first. Have you any plans?”
“Yes,” said Chloe. “Yes, I’m going back to Maxton—I told you so this morning.”
“Chloe, don’t be vexed. The fact is—well, I was wondering whether Maxton was the best place for you to go to.”
“It’s the only place where I’ve got any friends,” said Chloe a little piteously. “I thought I would go and see the Gressons at once, and tell Sir Joseph what has been happening—he’s a kind old thing, and I thought he would advise me and be a sort of stand-by.”
“The Gressons are abroad,” said Martin Fossetter quickly.
“Are they? Are you sure? When did they go?”
“I met them a couple of days ago on their way through town. They’ve gone to Mentone.”
“Well, it can’t be helped,” she said. “Will you please order that taxi.”
“Yes, I’ll order it.” His tone was a dubious one. “But Chloe, have you thought? Supposing they play this quarantine stunt and won’t let it in?”
“It’s worth trying. Please, please order it, Mr. Fossetter.”
“And if it doesn’t come?”
“Then you’ll take me to the station, won’t you?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go—Maxton, London” He broke off, and then added rather vehemently: “I wish you’d make it London.”
“Why?” said Chloe in a very innocent voice.
“Guess!” said Martin. The word shook
a little.
Chloe thrilled; and the thought of Maxton became less attractive.
“I must get some work. And I don’t know anyone in London; I shouldn’t know where to go.”
“Work?” said Martin in a puzzled voice. “Why must you get work?” He was aware of Chloe leaning nearer to him. Her words came on a quick, whispering breath; they tumbled over one another a little.
“I can’t keep Mr. Dane’s money. I can’t take it, or keep it, or use it. And I’ve only got about two pounds of my own; so I must get some work at once, you see,—at once.”
“But, my dear girl—”
“There aren’t any ‘buts’—there aren’t really. It’s horrible money that I couldn’t touch if I were starving.”
“Chloe!”
“I can’t explain. But there it is—I can’t touch it. So you see, I must have some work at once.”
“I see.” He dropped his voice to a quietly meditative tone. “Now, if you were coming to London, I think I might be useful. My aunt, Lady Wenderby—you’ve heard of her—, well, she runs all sorts of hostels and girls’ clubs, and all that sort of thing, and she’d get you a job in no time. She knows all the ropes, and she could tell you where to go, and the right people see, and all that.”
Everybody in England knew Lady Wenderby’ social activities. Chloe was certainly allured.
“I didn’t know she was your aunt.”
“Well, as a matter of fact she’s cousin; but I’ve always called her Aunt. I wish you’d let me take you to her instead of going to Maxton. I wish—”
But Chloe drew back.
“No, I’ll go to Maxton first. But if you’ll give me an introduction to her later on, I’d be ever so grateful. Mr. Fossetter, please, please, will you order that taxi?”
“And if it doesn’t come?—you know, Chloe, I’m afraid it won’t come; they won’t let it in.” He heard her draw her breath in sharply. “Could you be here early, quite early in the morning?”
“Yes, of course. I could get out at six before anyone’s about. Could you be here at six?”
The Black Cabinet Page 12
