Dilly, who had overheard, looked after Paddy with disapproving eyes.
“Never thinks of asking you to go, Miss,” Dilly remarked. “And I expect you’re tired of fish, too!” and as Jessica did not reply, “Selfish, I call it,” she muttered.
Jessica laughed then. “Well, at any rate now we can give Miss Paddy’s room a good turn out,” she said cheerfully. “It’s dreadfully untidy.”
Worse than untidy!
“Looks as if there’s been a jumble sale,” Dilly remarked as she began to collect the discarded garments which Paddy had left lying about here, there and everywhere. “And look at all those torn-up papers, Miss Jess!…We’ll give them to the salvage man.”
“I’ll collect them,” Jessica said, and she went down on her knees to gather them together.
Old letters they appeared to be, most of them, and all in the same handwriting, which—with a little shock, she realised was Peter Phillips’. Why had Paddy kept them for so long if it was true she had never cared for him? And—yes—there was his photograph as well, torn across and across, though on one piece the words ‘Yours for ever’ were still plainly discernible.
Yours for ever!…and now he was engaged to marry another girl!…Did love always die so quickly even when it appeared to be real and lasting? A sad disillusionment, and yet—comforting, too, in a way, Jessica thought, as she gathered the torn scraps into her apron; comforting to think that perhaps, some day, her own foolish heartache would be healed, and Monty would mean no more to her than any other man!
“We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass;
That is the thing to weep for—not the dead.”
The words suddenly floated through Jessica’s mind, though she could not remember where she had heard or read them! Until Monty came, sentiment had played so small a part in her life.
“I’ll just get the broom,” Dilly announced, and once again Jessica came down to earth as she gathered up the last scraps of paper and carried them downstairs to the salvage box in the kitchen.
Salvage!…how many hundreds of sentimental memories had already been destroyed just as these had been, she wondered! Old love-letters—poems— keepsakes—photographs—.
Dilly’s urgent voice once again summoned her— in shrill agitation this time—
“Miss Jessica—Miss Jessica—come quick!…It’s the mistress—she’s ill—oh, come quick!”
Jessica let the torn scraps of paper fall unheeded to the floor in her sudden agitation as she turned and ran across the hall to the sitting-room.
“What is it? What is the matter?—Oh— Mother darling” she cried brokenly, for Mrs. Mansfield was lying back in a chair by the window, her face quite colourless and her eyes closed, though she opened them and tried to smile as she whispered faintly,
“It’s nothing—just my—silly—old heart again,” before she suddenly collapsed and fell forward into Jessica’s outstretched arms.
Chapter VI
Paddy’s Lunch at the Greyhound Was Not the success she had confidently anticipated.
For one thing the food wasn’t so good as usual and Monty was slightly abstracted—sometimes appearing to pay very little attention to her chatter.
Paddy looked at him with ill-disguised irritation. What was wrong, she wondered, perhaps it was the result of last night’s ‘hangover’, of which she herself was still faintly conscious. How boring life was! even though one tried to make the best of it. All very well for the poet—or whoever it was who wrote ‘The best is yet to be’—to profess such optimism, when something seemed to tell her that never again would she experience such complete happiness as she had known with Peter. No, not ‘complete’ happiness, she contradicted herself, for the ugly figure of poverty had always stood beside them, and had eventually forced them apart.
“My fault, I suppose,” she told herself with a sigh, for Peter had always been pathetically confident that some day the luck would change and all would be well.
Perhaps he was right, for now he was engaged to the daughter of well-to-do people and had got a job in their exceedingly prosperous firm. Some day no doubt he would be a partner, and he and Rose Gallon —she thrust the thought angrily aside. Why think of it!—the whole affair was definitely ended as far as she was concerned, and if Peter could so quickly replace her, when he had professed such undying love, why worry? There were as good fish in the sea as any that had been caught.
“Give me a cigarette, Monty,” she said a trifle impatiently, and then as he somewhat half-heartedly groped for his case, “You’re very quiet this morning!…Is someone walking over your grave?”
It was a moment before he answered, and then it seemed to be a question somewhat wide of the mark.
“Do you believe in premonition?”
“In—what?” Paddy laughed. “I don’t believe 1 could even spell the word, though I suppose it means —superstition, doesn’t it? or clairvoyance, or something of the sort. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve got an uncomfortable sort of feeling that”—he shrugged his shoulders—” that there’s something—unpleasant lurking round the corner.”
Paddy refused to take him seriously.
“You’re sure it’s not at this table!… meaning me?” she enquired ironically, but Monty did not even smile or contradict her.
“I had it once before,” he said. “This same feeling—about a friend who was killed out in Ceylon——”
“A girl friend? “Paddy asked lightly, and then as he frowned she patted his arm. “Cheer up!… You ought to have taken more water with it last night —that’s what’s the matter. Get the bill and we’ll be off.”
But even when they had left the inn and were driving away through the sunshine, Monty was still silent and preoccupied,
“Want to go home? “he enquired presently.
Paddy bit her lip in annoyance.
“Meaning you do, I suppose? All right—home sweet home—because we live there!… I can’t think of a more exciting reason for returning to the bosom of my family.”
“You’re lucky to have such a home—and such a family,” Monty told her stoically.
“Yes,” she reluctantly agreed after a moment. “Though sometimes it’s very boring”—and then as the car turned into the road which led to KIKLOU—” That’s John’s car at the gate——”
“Who’s John?”
“The Family Physician,” she explained. “I thought you knew. I suppose he’s called to see if I’m still in the land of the living—or to have a look at Jess.” Monty turned quickly towards her.
“At—Jess!… there’s nothing wrong with her, is there?”
“Not as far as I know, but I’ve always imagined that John has a decided weakness for my dear sister—premonition again, perhaps.”
Monty increased speed a little before he asked,
“You mean—the chap’s—keen on her?”
“Sometimes I’ve thought so, but I’m probably quite wrong. Well, here we are,” she added in a long-suffering voice. “Back to monotony. I’ll open the garage door for you—oh, it is open!…so I suppose I’d better go and let dear John inspect my, ankle, if that’s why he’s here! See you presently!”
And with a nod and a smile she left him to turn the car in at the gate.
“Ungrateful little devil,” Monty muttered. “A fat lot she’s got to complain about——” and having parked the car in the garage he slammed up the door with unusual violence just as Dilly came running from the house looking a little scared and breathless.
“Oh, Mr. Monty——”
He glanced at her unsmilingly.
“Well, what’s up now?”
“It’s the mistress—she’s been taken ill. The Doctor’s here—been here a long time, and they’ve phoned to the master to come home quick. He’s on the train now—the one that gets in at three, and Miss Jess says will you go to the station and meet him. She saw you coming up the road—and she says— please be quick—becaus
e the Mistress is very ill— very ill.”
“I’ll go at once—out of the way.” He turned to open the garage door again, but Dilly still lingered.
“I’ve got an aunt that tells fortunes, Mr. Monty,” she told him in a troubled voice, “and only last week she warned me that there was something bad lying in store for me—for us, she said! More than one thing, she said—and now this is the second. Do you believe in fortune-telling, Mr. Monty?”
“No—it’s rubbish,” Monty declared ruthlessly, and then as he swung the door back, “What do you mean—that this is the second bad thing?”
Dilly moved closer to him.
“I wouldn’t tell anyone but you, sir,” she said in a stage whisper, “but only last night—not that I was listening when I ought not to have been—but the sitting-room window was open and I was out in the garden picking some parsley, and the parsley grows just under the sitting-room window in that round bed —I expect you’ve seen it——”
Monty impatiently interrupted her. “Well, get on with it—what happened?”
Dilly drew nearer still, her eyes large and troubled.
“The Master was talking to Miss Jessica, and I heard him say “— her voice dropped to a whisper— “I heard him say that he was hard up—and that he’d have to sell this house. Sell this house, Mr. Monty.”
There was a poignant silence before he spoke sharply.
“Have you told anyone else what you heard?”
Dilly shook her head positively.
“Oh, no, sir, but now the mistress is so ill, I thought maybe it’s what’s worrying her and——”
Monty took her arm in a hard grip.
“Now listen to me,” he said masterfully. “You hold your tongue and forget that you ever heard a word—do you hear? If I catch you repeating it to anyone else—well, I’ll wring your neck———understand?”
There were sudden tears in Dilly’s eyes.
“Oh yes sir—I’ll never tell a soul—but it’s true— that’s what the master said, sell this bouse! …” Her voice broke.
Monty got into the car and started the engine.
“I expect you imagined half of it,” he said bluntly, and then as a final warning, “But all the same I mean what I say!… Let me catch you talking and— Well, you’re for it, my girl—” and he drove recklessly away.
Premonition!… was this the meaning of that vague foreboding which had haunted him all the morning? Monty had always considered KIRLOU to be such a happy, care-free abode, in spite of Kirby’s outbursts of short-lived rage, and Gordon’s foolish love of gambling, concerning which he had more than once—prompted by Jessica’s hesitating appeal— cheerfully remonstrated with him.
But now, if this Dilly-girl’s statement was correct, and he did not doubt that it was—coupled with Mrs. Mansfield’s sudden illness, the clouds seemed to be settling over them with ever-deepening tragedy.
And so that doctor-fellow—John something-or-other—whatever his confounded name was—fancied his luck with Jessica, did he? Not that Paddy could definitely be believed when she made such a statement.
“Oh—hell I” Monty muttered as he was forced to jam on the brakes to avoid running over a black cat which had suddenly decided to cross the road—and in so doing bumped his head against the wind-screen.
Still, fortunately, the cat was not injured and it was generally considered unlucky to kill a black cat! Premonition again!… Perhaps Paddy had been right when she said that last night he should have taken more water with it!—not that he had had an unusual amount to drink. Who was the bloke who declared—
“In trouble to be troubled
Is to have your trouble doubled——”
Not bad advice!… much wiser to grin and bear it, Monty decided, but he still felt gloomily apprehensive as he turned into the station yard and saw the London train steaming slowly in.
He was on the platform before it came to a standstill, and muttered a “Thank heaven” when he saw that Gordon had arrived with his father.
“My—wife? “Kirby asked hoarsely.
Monty touched his arm with a reassurance he was far from feeling. “All right—sir—much better— I’ve got the car——”
“Really—better? “Gordon questioned him in an undertone as Kirby hurried on ahead.
Monty shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know—Paddy and I lunched at the Greyhound, and when we got back the Dilly-girl ran out and asked me to meet this train——”
“It’s one damned thing after another,” Gordon muttered gloomily.
The drive back was painfully silent, and as soon as they arrived Kirby left them without a word.
“Poor old chap,” Monty said sympathetically.
“It’ll be the end of him if anything happens to the Mater,” Gordon agreed.
Monty gave him a vigorous slap on the back.
“Don’t be such a pessimist,” he said with forced cheerfulness, and then, after a moment, “What do you mean—that it’s one damned thing after another? Been up to your betting tricks again?”
Gordon glanced towards the house to make sure his father was out of sight, before he said even more gloomily,
“No, it’s the Guv’nor, so I hear, though of course he’d never tell me himself, but from all accounts he’s in a fine mess this time.”
“Sorry to hear that!… Stock Exchange?”
“Um. Chap named Winter—I can’t stand the man! Always thought he was a crook.”
Monty interrupted quickly—
“Winter!… Not—Paddy’s admirer?”
“No—his brother—but between you and me, I’ve always suspected that Gerard’s in with him—trading on gullible fools like the old man—not that I know
anything for certain, but——” He broke off. “Here
comes Jess—don’t let her know, will you?”
Don’t let her know! when—according to Dilly—Jess was the only one in whom Kirby had confided, Monty thought pityingly, as he turned to meet her.
“Mother’s better,” she said thankfully. “John says with care and rest, she’ll soon be herself again, but this attack was a terribly bad one. She wants to see you, Gordon——”
“I’m afraid you’ve had a rough time of it, my dear,” Monty said sympathetically when Gordon had left them.
“Yes,” Jessica flushed faintly as she met his eyes. “This was the worst attack she has had—it’s her heart, you know. Thank heaven, John was in when we sent for him—he is always so kind—more like an—understanding, sympathetic friend than just a doctor——” she added with an unconscious touch of warm enthusiasm.
There was a brief silence before Monty said with forced lightness, “But he is a great friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“Yes, we have known him nearly all our lives.” Jessica sighed before adding hesitatingly, “Today he told me he didn’t think father was looking too fit.”
“Worrying about your mother, I expect.”
“Yes, and——” she checked herself hurriedly. “Still, Mother’s really better, and that’s all that matters. I’ll tell Dilly to get some tea—I can do with a cup myself. You’d like one, too, I am sure. Paddy says the lunch at the Greyhound wasn’t so good as usual.”
“Did she? I thought it was all right.”
Because he was more interested in Paddy than in the food, Jessica thought quickly, as he followed her into the house where they found that Dilly had already made the tea and was bringing it into the sitting-room.
Paddy appeared in the doorway looking a little pale and scared.
“How is Mother?“she asked in a whisper. Paddy was terrified of all illness, and invariably kept as far away from it as possible.
“Much better,” Jessica assured her. “Come and have some tea.”
Paddy gave a profound sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness…” She looked at Monty and smiled. “Was this your premonition, do you think?” she enquired, and then without waiting for a reply as s
he saw a delivery van stopping at the gate, “Oh, that reminds me—can you lend me a pound, Jess? Take it out of the housekeeping if you haven’t got it—I’m broke till the end of the month! That’s Taylor’s man bringing the things I had cleaned, but he won’t leave them without the money—such cheek, I call it——”
Monty thrust a willing hand into his pocket.
“I can give it to you——”
But Jessica intervened firmly, “No—I will, thank you all the same. There’s a pound in the dresser drawer, Paddy—Dilly will give it to you—” and when her sister had gone, “Paddy is invariably ‘broke’ as she calls it,” she said with a smile.
“We must find her a wealthy husband,” Monty submitted drily.
Jessica laughed rather constrainedly.
“I believe she will do that without any assistance from us! She is always quoting that silly saying, ‘Marry for love where money is’. As if there is any happiness to be found that way!”
“Money doesn’t interest you, evidently?”
Jessica hesitated before admitting, “I have never thought much about it! But lately——” She stopped and turned to pour out the tea, as she realised wistfully how wonderful it would be at this moment to be rich, not only to help her father in his tragic difficulty, but to save KIRLOU!
“You don’t take sugar, do you? “she enquired, absently.
“No thanks, you may have my share—as I have told you before.”
“I don’t take it either.”
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common,” Monty remarked dryly. “And—by the way—I shall be going to Town this weekend, after all. Changed my mind again, you see!”
Jessica looked up quickly.
“I hope it’s not because you think you will be in the way now Mother is ill?”
He shook his head. “No—I can’t pretend to be so kindly considerate. It’s just that I have to see a man on a matter of business—and the sooner it’s settled, the better.”
“Will you be away—very long?”
Monty looked at her challengingly.
“How long can you bear to be without me? “he enquired ironically, but as Paddy came clattering back, Jessica was spared a reply.
The Man from Ceylon Page 9
