Run!
Page 24
Half an hour later when Rere Place no longer blazed but merely smoked, a shapeless, blackened ruin, James took the Rolls down the drive and between the tall gate-posts into the road. He had Sally and Jock to direct him, so he took the right turning this time. Easy enough to take the wrong one at night.
They passed through Staling and found it asleep, and ran on by way of a steepish hill to the blind corner where the road forks for Letherington, and there, just on the bend, was a ditched lorry and the remains of a car. Another car was standing by, and a group of people—an A.A. scout, a policeman, and others.
James drew up.
“Looks like a bad smash. I’ll just see if they want any help,” he said.
He and Jock got out.
But Sally was looking at the car. She looked once, and then she looked away. When James came back she said,
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
James said, “Yes. They’re all dead.” And then, “How did you know?”
“The car,” said Sally in an odd, stiff voice—“Hildegarde’s new car.”
“She was driving. She ran full tilt into the lorry. It’s what they planned for us, you know.”
“He was mad,” said Sally. “Ambrose was mad. Oh, James, he was!”
James got into the car and put his arms round her.
“Sally, do you mind so much—about him?”
“I think I’m glad,” said Sally.
XLI
Sally looked at herself in the glass, because she wanted to see what Sally Elliot looked like. She thought she looked rather nice, veil thrown back, eyes soft and happy, mouth red and smiling. And a little bunch of orange-blossom on either side amongst the dark curls. She was very glad that she had dug in her toes and refused to have a halo.
She turned round with a sigh, but it was a deep breath of contentment. She was married to James. They had been married for just three-quarters of an hour. Bonzo and Daphne had lent their house, and Jocko had given her away. She had cut the cake and been kissed by all her friends. James had not kissed her—yet, but he had looked at her as she came up the aisle. “Oh, James, don’t ever stop loving me that way!” Deep in her own heart Sally knew that he never would. When you know a thing like that, it makes you feel quite, quite happy. Sally was quite, quite happy.
Daphne and three bridesmaids helped her out of her wedding-dress, all talking at once. Two of them were Daphne’s sisters, and the third was Elspeth Reid. Sally hadn’t the slightest idea what they were talking about. They all said “Darling” a great many times, and told her she was marvellous. The wedding was marvellous. The weather was marvellous—and April could be too icy. James was marvellous. Everything was marvellous.
Sally was going away in green, to match her eyes. Violet and Lilian said she looked marvellous and slipped out of the room.
“I’ve forbidden rice, but I’m sure they’ll get hold of some,” said Daphne in a distracted voice. “Elspeth, catch them! Tell them I definitely forbid it! But it won’t be the slightest use—they’re as wild as hawks.”
“Darling, I must have some too,” said Elspeth in her drawling voice. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Sally.” She went out, leaving the door open.
“Oh, Sally!” said Daphne. “I do hope you’re going to be very happy I always thought I should hate anyone who married James, because he used to be in love with me, you know. You don’t mind, do you?”
Sally kissed her.
“I don’t mind in the least. We’ll both love you.”
“Yes,” said Daphne. “Of course it’s not quite the same thing. But if he’d got to marry anyone, I’d rather it was you—I would really. Darling, you were marvellous!” Then, as James looked round the open door, “James, doesn’t she look marvellous?”
James didn’t say anything. He looked at Sally, and Sally looked at him. Then she laughed and said,
“Those horrible cousins of yours are loading up with rice. We shall get it down our necks and in our shoes, and it will fall out of our pockets and give us away for weeks and weeks. We must be as quick as lightning. Is everything ready?”
James nodded. He kissed Daphne.
“Thank you for our wedding, Daph. Thank Bonzo, will you?”
Sally kissed her too.
“I’ve loved every minute of it.”
Then she took James by the arm.
“Run!” she said.
About the Author
Patricia Wentworth (1878–1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1938 by J.B. Lippincott Company
Cover design by Maurcio Díaz
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3320-6
This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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