The Blind Side (2 page)

He stopped on the top step and contemplated his Cousin Lucy with some astonishment. She had her back to him and her face to Ross Craddock's front door, and she was shaking her fist at it, absolutely and literally shaking her fist. Peter couldn't recall having ever seen anyone actually shake a fist before. A slight whistle escaped him. Lucy Craddock turned round and showed him a strangely unfamiliar face, tearstained, heavily flushed, and quite distorted by anger.

“Hullo, Lucinda—what's up?”

At the sound of his voice she burst out crying. She clung to his arm.

“He's wicked!” she said, and choked, and sobbed it out again.

Peter unlocked the door of No. 9 and got her inside. If Lucy must have hysterics, let her have them in decent privacy. He put her on the couch which had been her sister's, pulled up a chair, and said briskly,

“What's Ross been doing now?”

She was in such a state of agitation that it took him some time to arrive at the facts. He had to disentangle the Mavis motif from the eviction motif, and in the end he wasn't quite sure which was upsetting poor Lucinda most. Mavis was none of his business, and he certainly wasn't going to have a row with Ross about her, but the eviction was a different matter. He was quite prepared to fight if there was the faintest chance of success. He patted Lucy's heaving shoulder and said,

“All right. Now take a breather. No, you've cried enough. Here's my handkerchief. Blow the nose, brace the back, and listen to your Uncle Peter.”

Miss Lucy sniffed against the cold clean linen, dabbed her eyes with a shaking hand, and gazed at him with touching confidence. Peter wouldn't let her be turned out. Peter would speak to Ross.

“Now,” said Peter, “what I want to know is just this. When Uncle John brought you and Mary here, did you have a lease or anything like that?”

“It's such a long time ago—I'm sure I never thought—”

“Think now,” he said. “Think as hard as you can. Are you sure there wasn't a lease?”

“Oh, I don't know—oh, I'm sure there wasn't—but if there had been—Mary would have known—and she didn't always tell me things—of course she ought to have—but she didn't—”

Peter patted her again.

“Don't bother. If Mary had anything, I'll find it—it'll be somewhere in the welter. But think. Did Uncle John ever write to you about your coming here?”

“Oh, no—he was so kind—he came to see us. We were in very poor lodgings, you know—up in Birmingham—after Papa's death. He failed, you know—and then he died—and dear John came and fetched us away and gave us these flats—”

“He gave you the flats? What did he say?”

“Oh, I don't remember,” said Lucy Craddock, and burst into a fresh flood of tears.

She really knew nothing. It took Peter another quarter of an hour to make quite sure of this. If there was any evidence as to John David's intention with regard to the flats, it would be somewhere in the muddle of papers Mary Craddock had left for him to sort. He very much feared that there wasn't going to be any evidence.

“And I don't know what to do,” said Lucy, sobbing—“because I've got my tickets—and I'm all packed up—and the train goes at half past seven—but I can't go away now—can I?”

“Of course you can! Now look here, Lucinda, you've got to pull yourself together and carry on. You promised Mary you'd go away for a change, and you've got to keep your promise. Don't you see it's the very best thing you can do? If you go away you tie Ross's hands. He can't very well put your furniture out in the street, and anyhow I'll be here to see he doesn't. And you'll be giving me time to go through the rest of the papers. There may be something that'll give you a case. So you see, you couldn't do anything better than be out of the way for a bit. Now if you've still got anything to pack you'd better hop along and get on with it.”

Lucy Craddock stopped crying. She had the relieved, exhausted feeling that comes after prolonged weeping. She wanted to go away and forget all about Ross Craddock. She said,

“Oh, do you think I could? But there's Mavis too. He's got a dreadful picture of her in there. She oughtn't to have let him have it. She ought not to go about with him. He's a very wicked man. I don't think I ought to go away and leave her.”

“She is with her father's people, isn't she?”

“Yes—the Ernest Greys. She's very strict, but she hasn't any influence over Mavis. Besides, she doesn't know—” She broke off rather short and looked frightened.

“What doesn't she know?”

Lucy Craddock shook her head in a distracted manner.

“What is there to know?” said Peter.

Lucy shook her head again. Then she burst out,

“He can't marry her—he doesn't want to marry her—and he ought to leave her alone. She's my niece and his own cousin, and it's not
right!
And Mrs. Grey has no influence—Mavis doesn't listen to her.”

“Does she listen to you, Lucinda?” said Peter.

“Oh, no, she doesn't. I don't know what girls are coming to. She doesn't listen to anyone.”

“Then what's the use of your staying?”

Lucy Craddock jumped up.

“Oh!” she said, “I wish Ross was
dead!
” She ran out of the room and out of the flat, as if the sound of her own words frightened her.

CHAPTER III

“Oh, dear!” said Lucy Craddock.

She was all ready to start, her umbrella on her left wrist and the handle of her bag slipped over the umbrella handle in the special twist which she hoped would make it very difficult for a thief to snatch the bag whilst she was counting her luggage or tipping a porter. In her left hand she had the taxi fare all ready, and in her right she carried the little suitcase which contained everything she would need until she reached Marseilles.

And now there was the telephone bell ringing, and she would have to put everything down and keep the taxi waiting and—Her pale eyes looked distressfully out of her round pale face.

“Oh
dear!
” she said.

She took up the receiver, and heard Lee Fenton say,

“Is that you, Cousin Lucy?”

But it couldn't be Lee, because Lee must be on her way to South America by now. Quite against everyone's advice, but then young people never took advice.

She said in a small distracted voice, “Oh dear—who are you? I can't stay—I'm just starting.”

Lee Fenton, in the station call-box, giggled and frowned. No need to ask if it was Cousin Lucy at the other end of the line. And what a fuss she was in. Anyhow thank goodness she hadn't started. She said firmly,

“Cousin Lucy, it's Lee. Please don't start till I've told you what I want.”

Miss Lucy Craddock looked anxiously over her shoulder. The telephone was in the hall of the flat, a wall fixture, and if the kitchen door was open behind her she ought to be able to see the kitchen clock, and then she would know how much time she had to spare. But of course it wasn't open. She had shut all the doors herself, the kitchen door and the bathroom door behind her, and the bedroom door and the sitting-room door on her left. Only the front door stood open, just as Rush had left it when he carried down her trunk, and her hat-box, and the big suitcase which had poor Mary's initials on it but she hoped that wouldn't matter because there was an extra large label with her own name in full—Lucy Craddock.

She said in an agitated voice, “But, my dear—where are you? And I'm just starting—I really am.”

“Darling, you always start half an hour too soon—you know you do. I'll be as quick as lightning, but you must listen. Are you listening?”

“Yes—yes—But haven't you sailed? I thought you were at sea—”

“Well, thank goodness I'm not. Darling, it was a wash-out.”

“A wash-out?”

“Absolutely. And I shall put it across Madeleine Deshenka next time I see her—only I don't suppose I shall now, because from the way she talked you'd have thought she knew these Merville people in their cradles, and I only found out by accident two days before we were due to start that she'd picked them up in the Casino at Monte Carlo a couple of months ago, and all she really knew about them was that they'd made a packet.”

Miss Lucy gave a horrified gasp.

“Oh, my dear—how dreadful! I always said—”

Lee made a face at her end of the line.

“Darling, I know you did. But this isn't the moment to trample—it really isn't.”

“Oh, Lee, you can't go with people like that—not to South America—you really can't!”

“I'm not going. Anyhow it wasn't
them
any longer—it was
him
. They had a row—darling, I can't begin to tell you what a really first-class row it was—and then she walked out and took the little girl with her. And he seemed to think I was going to stay and just sail away with him into the blue, so I walked out too, and here I am.”

“Where?”

“Victoria Station. Don't get rattled, darling—nothing has happened, and nothing is going to happen. But listen. Can I have the key of Cousin Mary's flat and stay there for a bit while I look round for something to bring in the shekels, because this has just about cleaned me out and it won't run to digs.”

Miss Lucy felt, and sounded, completely distracted.

“Oh, my dear! How very, very unfortunate! And I've paid for my tickets, or I might have been able—Oh dear, I wish I weren't going away, but Mary made me promise—you know how unselfish she was, and she thought it would take my mind off. She'd been an invalid so long, and of course that is always a strain, and she made me promise that as soon as I could after the funeral I would go right away—and when Peter told me about this cruise—”

“I know. Dear Cousin Lucy, do listen. I should hate you not to go for your cruise.”

“She made me promise,” said Miss Lucy with a sob. “But I don't really feel I ought to go, because—oh, my dear, you know Ross is turning me out.”

It was Lee's turn to gasp. She said, “No!” and Miss Lucy said, “Oh, he is!” and gave another and a much louder sob.

“Ross Craddock is turning you out? Cousin Lucy, he
can't!
”

“He says he can. He says there was nothing in the will. He says he wouldn't turn Mary out, but now she's gone he wants to throw the three flats into one, and he says I'm quite able-bodied. He says I've got to go. I got the letter this morning.”

Lee stamped her foot so hard that she jarred the line.

“What a swine!” she said, and shocked Miss Lucy a good deal.

“Oh, my dear, I don't think—”

“Well, I do! What put him up to it?”

Miss Lucy's voice trembled.

“He says he wants the whole floor to himself—dear Mary's flat, and his, and mine—and to throw them all into one. He says he wants more room. But I think it's because I spoke to him about Mavis—I do indeed. He was so angry, and told me to mind my own business, but after all she
is
my niece, and I told him it wasn't right and he was getting her talked about. And this morning I got his letter—such a horrible, cruel letter—”

Lee said, “Swine!” again, then added hastily, “What an ass Mavis is!”

“Oh, my dear!”

“She always was. But Ross Craddock—what on earths—she can't like him!”

“Oh, I don't know—he is a very handsome man. I feel I oughtn't to go away, but I
promised
Mary—”

“Of course you must go.”

Miss Lucy sniffed.

“To stay here and keep on meeting Ross in the lift and on the stairs—I feel I really can't! I feel as if I should do something before, and it's so very uncomfortable. It's not just because he wants to turn me out. There's Mavis—she's so young—and there are reasons—” Miss Lucy became very much agitated. “I have got quite a desperate feeling—I have indeed. And Peter says it would be better for me to go away.”

“Much better,” said Lee firmly. “And look here, darling, let's get down to brass tacks. Can I have Cousin Mary's flat?”

Miss Lucy's agitation became less tearful. She said in a flustered voice,

“Oh, no, dear, you can't—Peter's there.”

“Peter? Living there?”

“Yes, dear. He is the executor. He is going through all the papers. Dear Mary never destroyed anything. There are boxes and boxes and boxes of them.”

“Bother! Then that's a wash-out. Well, what about your flat? That's a bright thought, isn't it? I'll keep it aired and warm and beautifully clean, and I won't let Ross so much as cross the threshold. If he tries anything on whilst you're away, there'll be murder done. I can't say fairer than that—can I?”

“My dear—”

“Now, darling, step on it, or you won't catch that train! Listen! I'll be at the barrier. Is it the Folkestone train—the seven-thirty-three? It is? All right, I'll be there. You can bring the keys along and press them into my hand. And you'd better just murmur to Rush that I'm moving in. You needn't bother about Peter—I'll break the news myself.”

Miss Lucy was heard to draw a breath that was almost a gasp.

“Oh, Lee—I don't know if you ought—if I ought—so many people away, and no one on this floor except Ross and Peter—”

“Darling, I've never had a chaperon in my life. Now hurry, hurry, hurry! And
don't
forget the keys!”

CHAPTER IV

Lee paid her taxi and ran up the steps of Craddock House. It was a very hot evening and the sun fell scorching on the steps and on her back. All the trains had been hot, and the station like an oven on baking-day. She thought lovingly about getting into a large cold bath and wallowing there.

Rush came up out of the basement with a highly disapproving air. If he was really going to disapprove of her having Cousin Lucy's flat, life wasn't going to be worth living. She cast hastily about for a scapegoat—or goats. Since he disapproved of nearly everyone in the house, she led off with affectionate enquiries about the occupants of the other flats.