Beggar’s Choice (4 page)

There was a pause before Car said, “Yes? Who from?”

“My beastly shop, of course. Delphine
asks
for it, she's so careless. She leaves checks lying about for days. Days? Weeks—months is more like it. Well, I took one and cashed it. They know me at the bank, and it wasn't crossed—some of her customers are as careless as she is. And then, as luck would have it, there was a row, and I only just got off by the skin of my teeth.”

Car's hand came down on her shoulder.

“What are you talking about? You're not—in earnest?”

She pulled away from him with a jerk.

“Of course I am. You don't suppose I think this is amusing, do you? I was very nearly for it, and I've never been less amused in my life.”

His hand fell to his side.

“And you've got to find the money—five hundred pounds?”

“Not exactly. That's only the beginning of it.”

“Oh—that's only the beginning?”

She stamped her foot.

“I said so! Don't look at me like that!”

Car didn't want to look at her at all. He said,

“Go on.”

“I got the money all right.”

“May I ask how?”

“Yes—that's the point—I got it from a man.”

“What sort of man?”

“A man called Fosicker. I—met him——”

Car raised his eyebrows. He said with cold conviction,

“You met him. You mean you picked him up?”

Just for a moment Fay looked around at him. He wondered if she was going to strike him, but the look was all the blow he got. Then, as she turned away, he heard her say in a confused, choking voice,

“You never—took me—out.”

He felt utterly bewildered. What did she mean? They were talking about money.… He got back to it with a determined effort.

“This man lent you money?”

“He gave it to me”—with a toss of the head.

“For nothing?” said Car with bitter irony.

“No—of course not. I'm not a fool. I didn't expect him to. But I can look after myself. It wasn't what you think.”

“What was it?” said Car gravely. This was Peter's wife.

“It was a business arrangement.” Fay's tone had hardened. The worst was over. She let go of the mantelpiece and began to light another cigarette. The bit about the check was the worst. Men fussed so about things like that, and Car——

Car was speaking:

“Will you go on?”

“Well, he let me have the money, and I said—that is I—agreed—I—it's rather difficult to explain.”

“It seems to be. But I think you'd better try.”

“Well, he had a business. He wanted me to be a sort of agent—
you know
.”

“I don't yet.”

“How dull of you!”

“Yes. What was the business?”

Fay blew out a cloud of smoke. It hung in the air like a shifting veil. She could have wished it thicker, because Car's eyes——

“Well, that's just it.” She laughed, not very successfully. “That's just it, you see—because I suppose it's a
sort
of smuggling.”

“What sort?”

“I can't see why people shouldn't have those things if they want them and like to pay for them,” said Fay airily.

“What things?”

“Oh, Car, for the Lord's sake stop saying ‘What'!”

“I will when I get an answer. What things?”

“Drugs,” said Fay in a sullen whisper.

IV

Half an hour later Car felt as if he was still playing blindman's buff in the crowd of Fay's evasions—shifting, half caught, but never plainly grasped. If she made a statement, it was only to qualify it with the next breath. If he thought he had touched fact, it slipped from him and was gone. From standing over her, he had taken to pacing the room as a relief to his impatience. He had come to anchor now astride of a chair, his arms across its back, and in the silence that had fallen he tried to sort her story, or stories, out.

She had taken money from Delphine and replaced it with what Fosicker had given her. But she could only have replaced it partially, since she spoke of Delphine's finding her out. Or perhaps she had replaced it all, and had again found it convenient to “borrow.” When pressed, she slid away. Fosicker frightened her. “If he gets his knife into you, you're
done
—every one says so. There was a girl—” And then Fay's bitten lip, and the jerk of the head which sent a shower of ash all over her bare neck. One thing emerged with the utmost clearness—Fay was frightened, and the farther they got with this game of blindman's buff, the more plainly did it appear that she had reason.

As far as he could piece it together, Fosicker carried on a lucrative business selling forbidden drugs. But Fosicker took care to run no risks himself. Why should he when he could get fools like Fay to take them for him? And if they kicked, they could be threatened with exposure to Delphine. Yes, that was how it was worked.

He looked over the top of Fay's head rather grimly. It was a pity the great Lymington smash hadn't happened just one week earlier. Car's cynicism decided that Fay Everitt would probably not have entered into matrimony with the son of a ruined man. It seemed to him that Peter was likely to pay pretty dear for his secret marriage. Meanwhile Peter was in America and Fay was his wife, and some one had got to get her out of this beastly mess.

“I think you might say something,” said Fay.

“I don't know what to say. You've pretty well torn it, haven't you?”

“If I had five hundred pounds——”

“Yes—what would you do with it?”

“Square things up and get out of the country.”

“You owe Delphine five hundred pounds?” The euphemism left a bitter flavor in his mouth. Owe? Good Lord, she'd stolen the money! But five hundred—even in the most careless establishment!

“No, of course not!” Her tone was virtuously surprised.

“What do you—owe?”

“Oh, I don't know. Fosicker gave me fifty last week, and that—let me see——” She plunged into calculations. “It's awfully hard to say exactly—but not more than three hundred or three-fifty.”

“Oh, not more than that!”

“No, I don't think so. You see it all goes through my hands, and sometimes I'm nearly square, and then sometimes I'm a good bit down.”

“I see.”

The irony of his voice drew a jerk of the shoulder.

“I see,” said Car again. “Well, you'll square up—and then?”

“I thought I might go out to Peter,” said Fay with a quick sidelong glance. “Suppose it took four hundred to clear everything right off—that would leave a hundred to get my passage and anything I really had to take with me.”

Car got up.

“And what do you propose to tell Peter?”

Fay's lids lifted; her eyes, palely blue, looked straight at him with an effect of innocent surprise.

“There wouldn't be anything to tell him—I should be all square,” she said.

“The clean slate! Well?” He laughed harshly. “Where's the money coming from?”

“Car!”

The fear in her voice was not put on. Yes, Fay's fear was the one thing that stood out plain. She was unmistakably afraid.

“Car—Peter said he'd have my passage money saved by October. If you cabled to him and said I must have it now—”

“It wouldn't be five hundred pounds.”

“No. But if I got out of the country—if I got clear—do you think they would try and get me back?”

“Yes—they might.” He was considering. “Yes, I think they would—if you'd gone off with four hundred pounds.”

“I
haven't
! I wish you wouldn't say things like that. They couldn't bring me back because I'd borrowed some money—I'm sure they couldn't.”

Car got his hand on the door.

“Oh, stop talking about borrowing! Call things by their proper names if you want me to help you.” He steadied his temper with an effort. “Look here, Fay, I'll help you if I can.”

“For Peter's sake?”

“Yes,” said Car.

“Not for mine?” Her lashes were low over the watching blue of her eyes. He had the feeling that something was waiting for his answer, something that he didn't understand.

He opened the door.

“I'll do what I can,” he said roughly, and went out of the room.

When the door shut, Fay was staring at it, her eyes wide open now. They were angry, bright, and daring. But the door was shut.

The door was shut and Car's steps going away. She jumped up and ran to the door, but he was gone. What was the good of calling him back? He only cared about Peter. He didn't care for her. If she was Peter's wife, he would know that she existed; but if she was only Fay Everitt, he wouldn't even know that. Her face went white and hard. Why should he care about Peter like that—stupid, fat, blundering Peter? If he was only going to help her for Peter's sake, he could leave it alone. No—no—no—she'd got to be helped. Fear came again like a stabbing pain.

She walked to the bed and stared through swimming tears at the green lace dress which lay across it. Then suddenly, passionately, she threw herself down and broke into a flood of unrestrained weeping.

V

Carthew Fairfax's diary:

September
14
th
—I've had a scene with Fay. She seems to have got herself into a perfectly beastly hole. I was losing my temper, so I came away. It looks as if some money has got to be found somehow. She talked as if you could pick it up in the street. I'm writing this to-night because odd things keep happening and I want to write them down. It's simply ages since anything happened at all and now it's just one damn thing after another. I'm not going to write about the scene with Fay—it riles me too much, and she's got into the sort of mess that's better not written about. It's bad luck on Peter. She says he's pretty well got her passage money saved. He didn't say anything about it in his last to me—but then, come to think of it, I can about count on my fingers the times he's ever mentioned Fay at all. He did ask me to look after her, but he left it to her to tell me so and that they were married. I'm afraid he won't think I've looked after her very well.

I hope I got away without losing my temper—I don't know whether I did or not. I got back to my room, and the first thing I saw was that paper that was shoved into my hand in the street, and staring at me in big print at the top of the cutting that was pasted on to it: “Do you want five hundred pounds?” Do I want five hundred pounds? I thought it was a pretty odd coincidence. As far as I can make out, Fay's got to get five hundred pounds or else—well, I won't go into that, but she's scared stiff. She can't speak the truth if she tries—she don't try of course—but she's scared all right, and I don't think she's scared easily.

I read the newspaper cutting all through again: “Do you want £500? If you do, and are willing to earn it, write to Box Z.10, International Employment Exchange, 187 Falcon Street, N. W.”

Do I want—I looked at the thing, and I thought it was a bit of a coincidence. I'm still no end puzzled as to why I should have had “Do you want £500?” shoved into my hand, when everybody else was getting “Eat more Fruit.” Anyhow, I wrote to Box Z.10 and said I'd like particulars, and then I thought I'd walk out to Falcon Street and have a look at the International Employment Exchange. I should save a stamp, but I suppose I should take more than a penny-halfpennyworth out of my boots. You're pretty near the bottom when you have to consider pennorths of shoeleather—but if your boots go, you're done.

I was just getting up to go, when I heard Mrs. Bell come puffing up the stairs. You can't mistake her. She sounds exactly like a steam-roller. Well, she knocked and burst in. I don't know why she knocks—you can't stop her anyhow. She came in, very red in the face and very short of breath, and pushed a letter at me, and then stood fairly bulging with curiosity.

“District messenger,” she said; and then, “Perhaps there's an answer.”

I looked down and saw Isobel's writing—Carthew Fairfax Esq, and the address. Now how in the name of all that's wonderful did Isobel find out my address? It doesn't matter of course, because I probably shan't be here to-morrow unless Box Z.10 sends me that five hundred pounds by return.

“Perhaps there's an answer,” said Mrs. Bell. She looked at me as hard as if I was something in a circus.

“I don't think so,” I said.

And then she started fanning herself and telling me how she once got a proposal by post—“
registered
, if you'll believe me, and me thinking as how me aunt in Dorset had sent me half a sovereign in a postal order, which she did once in a way when she done well with her chicken. But no such thing, and I give you my word when I see what it was you could ha' knocked me down fair and square with a burnt match. ‘Herbert Hopkins!' I says out loud, and never so much as turned my head to see if the other girl was listening. It was when I was in service with Mrs. Murgatroyd, and if ever I come across a nasty, jealous, spiteful, two-faced toad, it was that girl Maud Jones, and well I knew she'd been a-laying for Herbert herself—and welcome to him as far as I was concerned, for I wouldn't have touched him with the kitchen tongs, and so I told the two of them!”

I did get rid of her in the end, and then when I'd heard her clump down off the stairs on to the landing, I opened Isobel's letter. She said:

Oh, Car, why did you go off like that? I had such heaps and heaps to say—three years of things all bottled up—and you went off like a flash of lightning before I'd said more than about two and a half of them. Please, Car, don't hide from me. I won't tell any one if you don't want me to. But I must see you—I want to tell you things you ought to know. There
are
things, but I can't put them in a letter. I really must see you. If you knew what I want to tell you, you'd come at once. No, that sounds silly and Irish. But, Car,
do
come. Write to me at Linwood and say where we can meet. I thought we were staying with Aunt Carrie for another week, but she and Aunt Willy have just had the most terrible row, so we're catching the four-thirty. They'll be all right in a day or two, but for the moment they're simply not safe, so I'm taking mine away and leaving Janet Wimpole to soothe Aunt Carrie. Aunt Willy sacked the cook, and Aunt Carrie
turned
. Family scenes sound amusing, but they're not. I feel like a sparrow on a housetop, and I want to cry.