CHAPTER XVI
"No, you mustn't come in; I'm tired. Besides, I've got someone coming totea."
The ready lie slipped easily off Enid Crofton's tongue, as Jack Tosswilllooked down into her face with a strained, pleading look. They werestanding in the deserted road close to the outside door set in thelichen-covered wall of The Trellis House. It was already getting dusk,for they had been for a long walk.
"I shall never, never forget to-day!" He gripped her hand hard as hespoke, and she looked up and down the empty road a little apprehensively.But no one was coming or going, and the group of little old cottagesopposite The Trellis House held as yet no twinkling lights.
"I shall never forget it, either," she said softly. "But I really _must_go in now--you know we are meeting this evening?"
"May I come and fetch you?" he asked.
"No, I'd rather you didn't do that--if you don't mind," and then, seeinghis look of deep disappointment, she added, "Perhaps you will walk backwith me after dinner?"
"Of course I will, but I'm afraid Radmore or one of the girls will wantto come too."
As he gazed down into her face there was a look of infinite longing inhis eyes, and even she felt a certain touch of genuine emotion sweep overher. It is so very, very delicious to be loved.
"Good-bye, darling," he whispered huskily; and, before she had time tostop him, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, passionately,lingeringly. Then, with no other word, he released her and went offquickly down the road.
* * * * *
After Enid Crofton had shut the heavy door in the wall behind her, shedid not go straight along the path which led to her front door. Instead,she turned in the gathering darkness to the left, and started walkinground the garden which in daylight looked so different, now that JackTosswill had put in so many hard mornings' work at it.
She felt more surprised and moved by what had happened this afternoonthan she would have thought possible. Poor Jack! Poor, foolish, adoring,priggish boy!
When he had come in this morning, bringing the note of invitation fromhis step-mother, he had seemed excited and ill at ease. She had feltvexed at his coming so early, as she was anxious to superintend thejam-making herself. Enid Crofton had a very practical side to hercharacter, and she was the last person to risk the wasting of good sugarand good fruit through the stupidity of an inexperienced cook.
While Jack was still there one of her new acquaintances had come in for amoment, for she had already made herself well liked in the neighbourhood,and after the visitor had gone, Jack, exclaiming angrily that they werenever left in peace together, had begged her to go for a walk with himthat afternoon. This she had consented to do, after discovering thatGodfrey Radmore had gone up to London for the day.
And then, during their walk, Jack had suddenly made her a pompous offerof marriage!
No wonder she smiled mischievously to herself, when pacing slowly up anddown the path between a row of espaliered apple trees.
She told herself that in a sense it had been her fault. They were sittingon a fallen tree trunk, in a lonely little wood, Jack, as he seldom was,tongue-tied and dull. Piqued, she had twitted him on his silence. Andthen, all at once, he had turned and, seizing her roughly, had kissed herwith the pent-up passion of a man in love who till now has never kissed awoman.
Pacing slowly in her dark garden, Enid Crofton's pulse quickened atthe recollection of those maladroit, hungry kisses. Something--a mereglancing streak of the great shaft of ecstasy which enveloped JackTosswill's whole being had touched her senses into what had seemed tohim marvellous response.
When at last he had released her, and in words of at once triumphant andhumble adoration, had made her an offer of marriage, she had felt it anabsurd anti-climax to a very delicious and, even in her well-storedmemory, a unique experience.
And now she remembered the last time a man had kissed her. It was quitea little while ago, on the day she had taken possession of The TrellisHouse. Of course Captain Tremaine had tipped the guard so that theyshould have a carriage to themselves. But she had been uncomfortablyaware that he was half-ashamed of himself--that he remembered, all thetime, that she was a newly-made widow.
Somehow Jack Tosswill hadn't remembered that. Jack hadn't thought of it.But oh! how absurd he had been when his first rapture was over. Withouteven waiting for an answer to his proposal, he had coolly suggested theyshould wait till he had made a start at the Bar! At last she had managedto make him listen to her plea that, till a year had elapsed, she couldnot think of re-marriage. And he had believed her!
All at once she told herself, a little ruefully, that she had perhapsbeen foolish; that this affair, slight and altogether unimportant as itwas, might become a tiresome complication. Of course she could keep himin order, but she was well aware that when a man had kissed her once, hegenerally wanted to kiss her again, and very soon.
In principle, she had no objection to Jack Tosswill's kisses. There wassomething fresh, alluring, wholly delightful, even to so hardened a flirtas was Enid Crofton, in being the object of a youth's first love. But shetold herself, almost fiercely, that she must make him understand very,very clearly that, though they might sometimes kiss, they must never becaught. Fortunately Jack was curiously cautious for so young a man. Thathad been one of the reasons why she had been tempted to--well--to makehim lose his head.
And then another figure, one of far greater importance and moment toherself than poor Jack Tosswill, came and challenged Enid Crofton toanxious attention. How did she stand with regard to Godfrey Radmore?
She stopped in her pacing, and stared straight before her. For the firsttime in her life she was quite at a loss as to what a man, of whom shewas seeing a great deal, really felt about her.
Rosamund Tosswill was very young, and Enid secretly thought her verystupid, but there could be no doubt as to her essential truthfulness.Now, a day or two ago, Rosamund had said: "Isn't it funny of Godfrey? Hetold Janet when he first came here that he had made up his mind to remaina bachelor!"
And yet they two, she, Enid, and Godfrey, had had something tantamount toan emotional little scene the first time he had come to see her at TheTrellis House. True, it had only lasted two or three seconds, but whileit lasted it had been intense. Had Timmy Tosswill not burst into the roomin that stupid, inopportune way, Radmore would have certainly taken herin his arms. Though Radmore was no innocent, high-principled boy, evenone kiss between them would have altered their whole attitude, the one tothe other. She would have seen to that. In her heart she had cursed Timmyfor his idiotic intrusion, and now she cursed him again.
Lately she had thought Radmore was becoming aware of Jack Tosswill'sgrowing absorption in her, and she had suspected, as well as hoped, thathe was a trifle jealous. Now jealousy, as Enid knew well, is a potentquickener of feeling between a man and a woman. It was unfortunate thatRadmore seemed to regard Jack Tosswill as a mere boy--a rather tiresome,priggish boy. Still, that had its good side. Jack was only a very slightcomplication after all!
Again she cast a fleeting thought to Tremaine. In a sense he was her realmate, her real soul, and, yes, body mate. If only he wasn't so poor! Shefelt for a moment tempted to throw up everything--to do what he had sourged her to do, what he was always writing and begging her to do. Thatwas to marry him quickly just before the end of his leave, and go out toIndia with him. He wrote to her every day, and his last letter was in thelittle silk bag now hanging on her arm.
It was the kind of love-letter that Enid understood, and enjoyedreceiving: full of ardent, if rather commonplace, expressions, and ofcomparisons, very pleasant to her vanity, between her pretty self and thestupid, ugly women he said he was now meeting. He had been with hispeople in Cornwall--but for that he would of course have come down to seehow she was getting on. In this particular letter he announced that hewas going to be in London very soon, and might he run down for a day? Hehad added a question, chaffingly worded, and yet, as she well knew,seriously inte
nded. Did she think it would be improper for him to comeand spend two or three days with her? And now she told herself, verydecidedly, that of course she couldn't have him here--in stupid,old-fashioned Beechfield. It would be a tiresome, useless complication.But why shouldn't she go up to London for three or four days and have agood time with him there?
Enid was well aware that absence frequently makes the heart grow fonder,and that distance does lend enchantment to the view. But she would nothave put it in those exact words.
At last she began walking towards the house, telling herself that shefelt oddly tired, and that it would be very pleasant, for once, to have asolitary cup of tea. Her house-parlourmaid was shaping very nicely. Thusthe girl had evidently brought the lamps into the sitting-room, thoughshe had forgotten to draw the curtains.
Enid knocked and rang. She had a theory that the possession of a latchkeyby their mistress makes servants slow to answer the door.
"There's a person waiting for you in the drawing-room, ma'am. She saysshe's come down on purpose from London to see you. She came just afteryou went out first."
There swept over Enid Crofton a strong, sudden premonition of evil. Sherealised that for the last ten days she had been secretly dreading thatthis would happen to her. She blamed herself sharply, now that it was toolate, for having done nothing further to help the Pipers; but she hadhoped the five pounds would have kept them quiet.
"I'll go upstairs and take off my things," she said wearily. "Bring me acup of tea in my bedroom--I don't want anything to eat--and then I'llcome down and see this person." She forced herself to add, "I supposeit's a Mrs. Piper?"
The girl answered at once, "She didn't give her name, ma'am. She justsaid that she wanted to see you, and that it was urgent. She's not gotvery long; she wants to catch the six o'clock train from Telford. Shewouldn't believe at first that you wasn't in."
Enid found some comfort in those words, and she made up her mind that shewould linger upstairs as long as she possibly could, so as to cut shorther coming interview with the tiresome young woman. After all there wasvery little to say. She had behaved in a kind and generous manner to herlate husband's servant, and she had already said she would do her best tohelp him again.
When she got upstairs she lit the two high brass candlesticks on thedressing-table, and then, after she had taken off her hat and long blackwoollen coat, she sat down in her easy-chair by the wood fire. Soon therecame a familiar rap and a welcome cup of tea.
She was sipping it, luxuriously, when there suddenly came a verydifferent kind of rap on the door. It was a sharp, insistent knock,and before she could call out "Come in," the door opened, and asingular-looking figure advanced into the luxurious-looking,low-ceilinged bedroom.
"Excuse me coming up like this, Modam. But I'm afraid of losing mytrain."
The speaker was small and stout, with a sallow face which might once haveheld a certain gipsy-like charm, for, in the candlelight, the luminousdark eyes were by far its most arresting feature. She wore a small,old-fashioned-looking, red velvet bonnet perched on her elaboratelydressed hair.
Enid Crofton looked at her odd-looking visitor with astonishment. Who onearth could this be? Certainly not Piper's wife. A feeling of intenserelief came over her when the strange-looking woman came towards herwith a soft, gliding step, and handed her a card on which was written:
Madame Flora
Ladies' wardrobes, gold teeth, and old jewellery purchased at the highest prices known in the trade
"I do 'ope you will excuse me coming up like this," she said again, andher queer Cockney voice sounded quite pleasantly in Enid Crofton's ears."I've not got very long, and I've been 'ere since four o'clock."
As she spoke she did not look at the pretty young lady sitting by thefire. Her dark eyes were glancing furtively round the attractivelyfurnished bedroom, as if appraising everything that was there, from theuncommon-looking high brass candlesticks on the dressing-table to thepink silk covered eiderdown and drawn linen coverlid on the bed.
Perhaps because she was so extraordinarily relieved, Enid Crofton spoketo this somewhat impudent old-clothes woman very graciously.
"I'm sorry," she began, "but I've nothing in the least suitable for you,Madame Flora. It's a pity you wasted your time waiting for me. There areseveral other people in Beechfield with whom I expect you might have donebusiness." She smiled as she spoke.
"I wish I'd thought of that, Modam." The woman spoke with a touch ofregret. "But your maids expected you might be back any minute, and I didwant to meet you, for Piper's that down on 'is luck, I sometimes don'tknow what to do with 'im! Instead of wanting to employ ex-soldiers, as incourse they ought ter, people seem just to avoid them--"
"Piper?" repeated Enid Crofton in a low, hesitating voice. "Then are youMrs. Piper?"
Was it conceivable that this strange-looking old thing was Piper's wife?
"I've been Mrs. Piper eighteen years," replied Madame Flora composedly,"but I've always kep' on my business, Modam. It's not much of a businessnow, worse luck! Ladies won't part with their clothes, not when they'redropping off them. In old days, if Piper was down, I was up, so we wasall right. But we've both struck a streak of bad luck."
For a few moments neither of them spoke. Mrs. Crofton was staring,astonished, at her visitor, and through her shallow mind there ran thenew thought of how very, very little any of us know of other people'slives. After her first shock of dismayed surprise to find that Piper wasmarried at all, she had imagined Piper's wife as something young and, ofcourse, in a way, attractive and easily managed.
"Did you ever come down to my house in Essex?" she asked, still trying tospeak pleasantly.
"No, Modam, I never was there. Piper and I 'as always kep' clear of eachother's jobs, and I wouldn't be interfering _now_, but that the matter'sbecoming serious. Piper's worse than no good when 'e's idle." Shehesitated, then went on, "If 'e's to keep off 'is failing, 'e must beworking."
There was a pause, and then Enid Crofton spoke, in a low, uncertain tone."Believe me, Mrs. Piper, when I say that I really will do all I can forhim. But it's not easy now to hear of good jobs, and Piper doesn't seemeasy to suit."
"You wouldn't care to take my 'usband on again yourself, Modam?"
Again there followed that curious pause which somehow filled Enid with avague fear.
"I wish I could," she said at last, "but I can't afford it, Mrs. Piper.As a matter of fact, I've done a foolish thing in coming here, toBeechfield, at all. Only the other day one of my husband's relationsadvised me to let the house."
"Piper thinks, Modam, as how you might 'elp 'im to a job with MajorRadmore." The name tripped quickly off the speaker's tongue, as if shewas quite used to the sound.
Enid felt a throb of dismay. Did the Pipers know Godfrey Radmore wasback?
"We was wondering," said the woman, "if you would give us the major'saddress?"
Then they didn't know he was back--or did they?
"I don't know it."
Enid Crofton was one of those women--there are more than a truthful worldsuspects--who actually find it easier to lie than to tell the truth. Butshe saw the look of incredulity which flashed over the sallow face of herunwelcome visitor.
"Mr. Radmore," she went on hastily, "is taking a motor tour. But he'll beback in London soon, and I'll let you know the moment I know he's settleddown."
"I should 'ave thought," said the woman, "that the Major would 'ave 'ad aclub where Piper could 'ave written."
"If he has, I don't know it."
And then, all at once, Enid Crofton pulled herself together. After allthe interview was going quite smoothly. Nothing--well, disagreeable--hadbeen said.
She got up from her chair. "I hope you'll forgive me, Mrs. Piper, forsaying that Piper will never keep any job if he behaves as he did withthese last people--I had a very disagreeable letter from the lady."
Mrs. Piper, alias Madame Flora, grew darkly red.
"Piper 'ad a shock
this last July," she said, moving a little fartherinto the room, and so nearer to Enid Crofton. "The thing's beena-weighing on 'is mind for a long time. It's something 'e won't exactlyexplain. But it's on 'is conscience. Only yesterday 'e says to me, 'esays, 'If I'm drinking, my dear, it's to drown care; I ought to havespoken up very differently to what I done at the poor Colonel's inquest."
The terrible little woman again took a step or two forward, and then shewaited, as if she expected the lady to say something. But Enid, thoughshe opened her lips, found that she could not speak. Hardly knowing whatshe was doing, she sat down again. And, after what seemed to the owner ofthe attractive, candle-lit room an awful silence, Mrs. Piper went on,speaking now in quite a different tone--easy, confidential, and with atouch of wheedling good nature in it.
"Thanks to your late gentleman, Piper knows all about dogs, and all'e requires, Modam, to set 'im up as a dogfancier, so to speak, is amoderate bit o' money. As 'e says 'imself, five hundred pound would do iteasy. If I may make so bold, that's what reely brought me 'ere, Mrs.Crofton. It do seem to us both, that, under the circumstances, you mightfeel disposed to find the money?"
Enid looked down as she answered, falteringly: "I told Piper some timeago that it was quite impossible for me to do anything of the kind."
In her fear and distress she uttered the words more loudly than she wasaware, and the woman looked round at the closed door with an apprehensivelook: "Don't speak so loud. We don't want to tell everyone our business,"she said sharply.
Now she came quite close up to her victim, for by now Enid Crofton knewthat she was in very truth this woman's victim.
"You think it over," whispered Madame Flora. "We're not in a 'urry to aday or two. And look here, Modam, I'll be open with you! If you'll dothat for Piper, it'll be in full discharge of anything you owe 'im--d'youtake my meaning?"
Enid Crofton got up slowly from her chair almost as an automaton mighthave done. She wanted to say that she did not in the least know what Mrs.Piper _did_ mean. But somehow her lips refused to form the words. She wasafraid even to shake her head.
"I told you a fib just now"--Mrs. Piper's voice again dropped to awhisper. "Piper's made a clean breast o' the matter to me, and I do thinkas what it's common justice to admit that my 'usband's evidence at thatinquest was worth more than twenty-five pound to you. It wasn't whatPiper said; _it was what 'e didn't say that mattered_, Mrs. Crofton. It'sbeen on 'is mind awful--I'll take my Bible oath on that. But 'live andlet live,' that's my motter. We don't want to do anything unkind, butwe're in a fix ourselves--"
"I haven't got five hundred pounds," said Enid Crofton desperately;"that's God's truth, Mrs. Piper."
To that assertion Madame Flora made no direct answer; she only observed,in a quiet conversational tone, and speaking no longer in a whisper. "Theinsurance gent told Piper as what 'e was not entirely satisfied, and 'esaid as 'e'd be pleased to see Piper any time if anything 'appened ascould throw further light on the Colonel's death. 'An extraordinaryoccurrence'--that's what the insurance people's gentleman called it, Mrs.Crofton--'an extraordinary occurrence.'"
And then Enid was stung into saying a very unwise thing. "The Coroner didnot think it an extraordinary occurrence," she said quietly.
"'E says sometimes as what 'e ought to give 'imself up and say what 'esaw," went on Mrs. Piper with seeming irrelevance.
There was another brief pause: "If you 'aven't got five hundred pounds,Modam, I take it the insurance money has not yet been paid, for it was amatter of two thousand pounds--or so Piper understood from that partywhat came down to make enquiries."
Enid Crofton looked at her torturer dumbly. She did not know what tosay--what to admit, and what to deny.
"Think it over," said the terrible little woman. "We're not in a 'urry toa day or two. We'll give you a fortnight to find the money."
She put her hand, fat, yet claw-like, on Mrs. Crofton's shoulder."There's nothing to look so frightened about," she said a little gruffly."Piper and me aren't blackmailers. But we've got to look out forourselves, same as everybody else does. It's Piper's idea--that fivehundred pounds is. 'E says 'twould ease 'is conscience to carry on thepore old Colonel's dog-breeding. As for me, I'd just as lief 'ave 'im ina good job--what gentlefolk call 'a cushy job'--with a gentleman likethis Major Radmore seems to be. But there! Piper's just set on them nastydogs, and 'e's planned it all out."
"Five hundred pounds is a great deal of money." Enid Crofton spoke in adull, preoccupied tone.
"Not so much as it used to be, not by any manner of means," saidMrs. Piper shrewdly. "Think it over, Mrs. Crofton--and let us knowwhat you _can_ do. Perhaps it needn't be paid all in one; but best towrite to Piper next time. 'E says 'e'd like to feel you and 'im werepartners-like. I'll tell 'im I arranged for you to 'ave ten days to afortnight to think it over."
"Thinking won't make money," said Enid in a low voice.
"Such a beautiful young lady as yourself, Modam, can't find it difficultto put 'er 'and on five hundred pounds," murmured Mrs. Piper, and as shesaid the words there came a leering smile over her small, pursed-upmouth.
And then, turning, she glided across the candle-lit room, and noiselesslyopening the door, she slid through it.
Enid Crofton sank farther back into her chintz-covered easy-chair. Shewas trembling all over, and her hands were shaking. She had not felt sofrightened as she felt now, even during the terrible moments which hadpreceded her being put in the witness-box at the inquest held on herhusband's body; and with a feeling of acute, unreasoning terror, sheasked herself how she could cope with this new, dreadful situation.
What, for instance, did that allusion to the insurance company mean? Shehad had the two thousand pounds, and she had spent about a quarter of itpaying bills of which her husband had known nothing. Then the settlingin at The Trellis House had cost a great deal more than she had expected.Of course she had some left, but five hundred pounds would make a hideoushole in her little store.
What could the Pipers do to her? Could they do anything? The sinisterwoman's repetition of Piper's curious remark, "'E says sometimes as what'e ought to give 'imself up, and say what 'e saw," came back to her withsickening vividness.
She looked round her, timorously. The candles on her dressing-table gavesuch a poor light. How stupid of a village like Beechfield not to haveelectric light! She stood up and rang for a hot-water bottle. At any rateshe might as well try to get a little beauty sleep before dressing to goto the Tosswills.