CHAPTER XIII
There is nothing like a meal, especially a good meal, for inducingbetween two people an agreeable sense of intimacy. When Enid Crofton andher elderly sister-in-law passed from the dining-room of The TrellisHouse into the gay-looking little sitting-room, with its old-fashioned,brightly coloured chintz furnishings, and quaint reproductions ofeighteenth-century prints, the two ladies were far more at ease the onewith the other than before luncheon.
Enid, in the plain black woollen gown, with its white linen collar andcuffs, which she had discarded almost at once after her husband'sfuneral, felt that she was producing a pleasant impression. As they satdown, one on each side of the cheerful little wood fire, and begansipping the excellent coffee which the mistress of the house had alreadytaught her very plain cook to make as it should be made, she suddenlyexclaimed:--
"I do want to thank you again for the money you sent me when poor Cecildied! It was most awfully good of you, and very useful, too, for theinsurance people did not pay me for nearly a month."
These words gave her visitor an opening for which she had waited duringthe last hour: "I'm glad my present was so opportune," said Miss Croftonin her precise, old-fashioned way. "As we have mentioned money, I shouldlike to know, my dear, how you are situated? I was afraid from somethingCecil told me last time he and I met that you would be very poorly left."
She stopped speaking, and there followed a long pause. Enid Crofton wasinstinctively glad that she was seated with her back to the window. Shewas afraid lest her face should betray her surprise and discomfiture atthe question. And yet, what more natural than that her well-to-do,kind-hearted sister-in-law should wish to know how she, Enid, was nowsituated?
Cecil Crofton's widow was not what ordinary people would have called aclever woman, but during the whole of her short life she had studied howto please, cajole, and yes--deceive, the men and women about her.Unfortunately for her, Alice Crofton was a type of woman with whom shehad never before been brought in contact; and something deep within hertold her that she had better stick as close to the truth as wasreasonably possible with this shrewd spinster who was, in some ways, sodisconcertingly like what Enid Crofton's late husband had been, in thedays when he had been a forlorn girl-widow's protecting friend and ardentadmirer.
Yet, even so, she began with a lie: "When my mother died last year sheleft me a little money. I thought it wise to spend it in getting thishouse, and in settling down here." She said the words in a very lowvoice, and as Miss Crofton said nothing for a moment, she addedtimidly:--"I do hope that you think I did right? I know people thinkit wrong to use capital, but the War has changed everything, includingmoney, and one simply can't get along at all without paying out sumswhich before the War would have seemed dreadful."
"That's very true," said Miss Crofton finally.
Enid, feeling on sure ground now, went on: "Why, I had to pay a premiumof L200 for the lease of this little house. But I'm told I could get thatagain--even after living for a year or two in it."
Miss Crofton began looking about her with a doubtful air: "I suppose youmean to spend the winter here," she said musingly, "and then let thehouse each summer?"
"Yes," said Enid, "that is my idea."
As a matter of fact, she had never thought of doing such a thing, thoughshe saw the point of it, now that it was put by her sister-in-law. Shehoped, however, that long before next summer her future would be settledon most agreeable lines.
"Then I suppose the balance of what your mother left you forms a littleaddition to your pension, and to what poor Cecil was able to leave you?"
As the other hesitated, Miss Crofton went on, in a very friendlytone:--"I hope you won't think it interfering that I should speak as I amdoing? I expected to find you much less comfortably circumstanced, and Iwas going to propose that I should increase what I had feared would be avery small income, by two hundred a year."
Enid was as much touched by this unexpected generosity as it was inher to be, and it was with an accent of real sincerity that sheexclaimed:--"Oh, Alice, you _are_ kind! Of course two hundred a yearwould be a _great_ help. Nothing remains of what my mother left me. Butyou must not think that I'm extravagant. I sold a lot of things, and thatmade it possible for me to take over The Trellis House exactly as you seeit. But even during the very few days I have been here I have begun tofind how expensive life can be, even in a village like this."
"All right," said Miss Crofton. She got up from her easy chair with aquick movement, for she was still a vigorous woman. "Then that's settled!I'll give you a cheque for L100 to-day--and one every six months aslong that is, as you're a widow." Then she smiled a little satirically,for Enid had made a quick movement of recoil which Alice Crofton thoughtrather absurd.
"It's early to think of such a thing, no doubt," she said coolly. "Butstill, I shall be very much surprised, Enid, if you do not re-make yourlife. I myself have a dear young friend, very little older than you are,who has been married three times. The War has altered the views andprejudices even of old-fashioned people."
"I want to ask you something," said Enid, "d'you think I ought to tellpeople that I have already been married twice?"
Miss Crofton told herself quickly that such questions are always put witha definite reason, and that she probably would not be called upon to payher sister-in-law's allowance for very long.
"I don't think you are in the least bound to tell anyone such a factabout yourself, unless"--she hesitated,--"you were seriously thinking ofmarrying again. In such a case as that I think you would be well advised,Enid, to tell the man in question the fact before you become obliged toreveal it to him."
There was a pause, and then Miss Crofton abruptly changed the subject bysaying something which considerably disturbed her young sister-in-law.
"I should be much obliged, my dear, if you would tell me a few details asto my poor brother's death. Your letter contained no particulars at all,"and as the other made no immediate answer, Miss Crofton went on:--"I knowthere was an inquest, for one of my friends in Florence saw a report ofit in an English paper. Perhaps you would kindly let me see any newspaperaccount or cuttings you may have preserved?"
"I have kept _nothing_, Alice!" Enid Crofton uttered the words with atouch of almost angry excitement. Then, perhaps seeing that the other wasvery much surprised, she said more quietly:--"The inquest was a purelyformal affair--the Coroner himself told me that there must always be aninquest when a person died suddenly."
"Oh, but surely the question was raised, and that very seriously, asto whether Cecil took what he did take on purpose, or by accident? Iunderstood from my friend that the account of the inquest she saw in somepopular Sunday paper was headed 'An Essex Mystery.'"
Enid felt as if all the blood in her body was flowing towards her face.She congratulated herself that she was sitting with her back to thelight. These remarks, these questions made her feel sick and faint. Yetshe answered, composedly:--"Both the Coroner and the jury felt _sure_ hehad taken it on purpose. Poor Cecil had never been like himself since theunlucky day, for us, that the War ended!" And then to Miss Crofton'ssurprise and discomfiture Enid burst into tears.
The older lady got up and put her hand very kindly on the younger one'sshoulder:--"I'm sorry I said anything, my dear," she exclaimed; "I'mafraid you went through a much worse time than you let me know."
"I did! I did!" sobbed Enid. "I cannot tell you how terrible it was,Alice."
Then she made a determined effort over herself, ashamed of her ownemotion. Still neither hostess nor guest was sorry when there came aknock at the door, followed a moment later by the entry into the room ofa stranger who was announced by the maid as "Miss Pendarth."
Enid Crofton got up, and as she shook hands with the newcomer shetried to remember what it was that Godfrey Radmore had said of herold-fashioned looking visitor. That she was a good friend but a badenemy? Yes, that had been it. Then she remembered something else--thefew kind words scribbled on a visiting card which had been
left at TheTrellis House a day or two ago.
She turned to her sister-in-law:--"I think Miss Pendarth knew poor Cecilyears and years ago," she said softly.
"Are you--you must be Olivia Pendarth?" There was a touch of emotion inAlice Crofton's level voice.
"Yes, I am Olivia Pendarth."
Enid was surprised--not over pleased by the revelation that these twoknew one another.
"I suppose it's a long time since you met?" she said pleasantly.
"Miss Crofton and I have never met before," said Miss Pendarth quietly."But I knew your husband very well in India, when he and I were bothyoung. My brother was in his regiment."
"The dear old regiment!" exclaimed Miss Crofton.
Enid Crofton smiled a little to herself. It amused her to see that thesetwo old things--for so she described them to herself--had so quicklybecome friends. "The Regiment!" How sick she had got of those two wordsduring her second married life! She was sorry that Alice, whom she liked,should be so queerly like Cecil. Even their voices were alike, and shehad uttered the two words with that peculiar intonation her husbandalways used when speaking of any of his old comrades-in-arms.
All the same Miss Pendarth's sudden appearance had been a godsend. Enidhated going back to the dreadful time of her husband's death.
And then, when everything seemed going so pleasantly, and when EnidCrofton was still feeling a glow of joy at the thought of the cheque forL100, one of those things happened which seem sometimes to occur in lifeas if to remind us poor mortals that Fate is ever crouching round thecorner, ready to spring. The door opened, and the buxom little maidbrought in two letters on the salver she had just been taught to use.
One of the envelopes was addressed in a clear, ordinary lady's hand; theother, cheap and poor in quality, was in a firm, and yet unformed,handwriting.
Enid glanced at the two elder ladies; they were talking together eagerly.She walked over to the bow-shaped window, and opened the commonerenvelope:
Dear Madam,
I hope you will excuse me writing to tell you that my husband has had to leave Mr. Winter's situation. Piper considers he has been treated shameful, and that if he chose he could get the law on Mr. Winter. I am writing to you unknown to Piper. If you could see me I think I could explain exactly what it is I want Piper to get. There do seem a difficulty now in getting jobs of Piper's sort, but from what he has told me there were one or two other jobs you heard of that might have suited him.
Yours respectfully, Amelia Piper.
Enid Crofton stared down at the signature with a sensation of puzzleddismay. _Piper married?_ This was indeed a complication, and acomplication which in her most anxious communings she had never thoughtof. The man had always behaved like a bachelor--for instance he hadalways made love to the maids. There also came back to her the memory ofsomething her husband had once said, with one of his grimly humorouslooks:--"Piper's a regular dog! If he'd been born in a different classof life he'd have been a real Don Juan." She now asked herself veryanxiously how far a married Don Juan of any class confides in his wife?Does he tell her his real secrets, or does he keep them to himself?Judging by her own experience the average man who loves a woman is onlytoo apt to tell her not only his own, but other people's secrets.
Slowly she put the letter back in its envelope. She had gone to a greatdeal of trouble, and even to some little expense, over procuring Piper areally good situation. She had seen not only his new employer, but alsowhat she liked doing far less, his new employer's wife; and she had gothim extraordinarily good wages, even for these days. It was too badthat he should worry her, after all she had done for him. As for hiswife--nothing would induce her to see Mrs. Piper. Neither did she wishPiper to come down to Beechfield. She was particularly anxious that theman should not learn of Godfrey Radmore's return to England.Unfortunately Radmore was on the lookout for a good manservant.
She took up the other letter. It was a nice, prosperous-looking, welladdressed envelope, very different from the other. Perhaps this secondletter would contain something that would cheer her up. But alas! whenshe opened it, she found it was from Mrs. Winter, Piper's late employer'swife.
Poor Enid Crofton! As she stood there reading it, she turned a littlesick. Piper had got drunk the very first day he had been in his newsituation. While drunk he had tried to kiss a virtuous young housemaid.There had been a regular scene, which had ended in the lady of the housebeing sent for. There and then Piper had been turned out neck and crop.
It was not only a justifiably angry letter, it was a very disagreeableletter, the writer saying plainly that Mrs. Crofton had been very much toblame for recommending such a man....
Feeling very much disturbed she turned and came back towards her twovisitors. They were now deep in talk, having evidently found a host ofcommon associations: "I find I ought to answer one of my letters atonce," she said. "Will you forgive me for a few moments?"
They both looked up, and smiled at her. She looked so pretty, so fragile,so young, in her widow's mourning.
She went through into the dining-room. There was a writing-table in thewindow, and there she sat down and put her head in her hands; she feltunutterably forlorn, frightened too--she hardly knew of what. It hadgiven her such a horrible shock to learn that Piper was married....
Taking up a pen, she held it for a while poised in the air, staring outof the window at the attractive though rather neglected old garden, inwhich only this morning she had spent more than an hour with JackTosswill.
Then, at last, she dipped her pen in the ink, and after making two roughdrafts, she decided on the following form of answer to Mrs. Piper,telling herself that it might be read as addressed to either husband orwife:--
Mrs. Crofton is very sorry to hear that Piper has lost his good situation. She will try and hear of something that will suit him. Mrs. Crofton cannot see Mrs. Piper for the present, as she is leaving home to start on a round of visits, but she will keep in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Piper and hopes to hear of something that may suit Piper very soon.
She began by writing "Mr. Piper," on one of her pretty black-edged mauveenvelopes; then she altered the "Mr." to "Mrs." After all it was Piper'swife who had written to her, and she suddenly remembered with a slightfeeling of apprehension, that Mrs. Piper, for some reason best known toherself, had not told Piper that she was writing. On the other hand itwas quite possible that the husband and wife had concocted the letterbetween them.
Having addressed the envelope, she suddenly got up and ran up to herbedroom. There she opened her dressing-table drawer. Quite at the backlay an envelope containing four L5 notes. She took one of the notes,and running down again, slipped it in the envelope and added a postscriptto her letter:--
Mrs. Crofton sends L5, which she hopes will be of use while Piper is out of a situation.
She went downstairs, giving her letter, on her way back to thedrawing-room, to the cook to take out to the post-box.
As she opened the drawing room door, something which struck her as alittle odd happened. Her two visitors, the murmur of whose voices she hadheard in deep, eager converse while she was stepping across her hall,abruptly stopped talking, and she wondered uneasily what they could havebeen saying that neither wished her to hear.
As a matter of fact that sudden silence was owing to a kindly,old-fashioned, wholly "ladylike" instinct, on the part of the two olderwomen. Miss Crofton had been talking of her brother's death, confidingto Miss Pendarth her desire to learn something more as to how it hadactually come about. With what was for her really eager sympathy, MissPendarth had offered to write to a friend in Essex, in order to discoverthe name of the local paper where, without doubt, a full account of theinquest on Colonel Crofton must have been published.