The New Moon with the Old (30 page)

He had finished his letter in a quarter of an hour and was fairly pleased with it. He went back to the study.

Lord Crestover was working hard and breathing heavily – through his nose; for once his mouth was closed, in grim determination. He looked up and said: ‘One feels inadequate. And it’s difficult … in the circumstances. Do you think – after all, she will want to know – do you think it’s all right to tell her I love her?’

‘Of course it is,’ said Richard heartily. ‘And I’ve said you do, too. Now we haven’t much time left.’

Lord Crestover finished his letter and then Richard put it in an envelope with his own and addressed the envelope. ‘Would you like to see this posted?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please. Let me drive you to the post office.’

They went out into the chilly late afternoon. ‘Soon be winter,’ said Lord Crestover. ‘Merry wouldn’t like Crestover in winter – such a cold house, much as I love it. But she won’t mind coming back there for a few weeks while we find a London flat.’

If only he wasn’t so optimistic, thought Richard, getting into the Daimler. To change the subject he said breezily:

‘I suppose this is the car you dashed after her in?’

Lord Crestover looked astonished. ‘How did you know I did?’

What a gaffe! Richard hastily amended it. ‘Oh, I just guessed you would.’

‘I did indeed. But when I caught up with her bus, she wasn’t on it.’

‘She had to change buses in order to get home.’

‘Yes, I see. What a difference it’d have made if I could have found her last night!’

Depending on whether you found her before or after she saw you as a codfish, thought Richard. Oh, damn Merry! She should have seen that resemblance earlier – or never.

They posted the letter together, Richard feeling embarrassed at keeping the address turned downwards.

‘Do vou think she’ll telephone tomorrow?’ said Lord Crestover.

‘I wouldn’t count on it. As I said, there’s no telephone where she’s staying and she might not like to speak from a call box, on such an intimate matter.’

‘
I
think she’ll telephone,’ said Lord Crestover, fondly. He got back into the car.

Richard had decided to stay where he was and intercept Jane on her way home. It would be his best chance to tell her privately about Merry’s return. ‘Well, goodbye,’ he said. ‘And thank you for being … so chivalrous. And so wonderfully kind to my sister.’

‘I keep thinking of how she must have felt when she wrote that letter last night, not realizing I’d go on caring for her. It harrows me.’

Richard, watching Lord Crestover drive into the dusk, felt harrowed too; but not on Merry’s account.

The evening had gone smoothly. He had returned to Dome House safely chaperoned by Jane; and told Aunt Winifred and Violet that he’d had to go out to post a business letter, the writing of which had been necessitated by the telephone call he’d gone in to answer. He had never realized how truthful he normally was until he found how much he disliked telling the lies he now so constantly had to tell.

He had, anyway, told Jane the fall truth about Merry, but they’d decided Cook and Edith musn’t know it as they would be shocked if they heard that Merry had been involved in a love affair. So he told them she’d merely stayed in a quiet boarding house, failed to get work on the stage, and come home when her money ran out. They were overjoyed that she was unharmed and would soon be safely with Drew. For days Richard had thought they seemed tired and lacklustre; he was glad of this chance to cheer them up.

Not until Jane and Aunt Winifred had gone to bed did he find himself alone with Violet. (Jane threw him by going to bed earlier than usual.) Violet at once said: ‘Richard, I want to have a quiet talk with you, and not here; we’re so liable to be overheard. Will you come to my room or shall I come to yours?’

‘Neither,’ said Richard. Whatever she meant by a quiet talk he wasn’t having it so close to Jane and Aunt Winifred.
‘Let’s talk tomorrow.’ He got up and moved towards the stairs.

‘No, tonight – please, Richard! I shan’t sleep unless we do. You see, I’ve let you make a dreadful mistake about me and it’s on my conscience – because I know it’s worrying you. I was going to explain this afternoon when your aunt came in.

‘Like hell you were,’ said Richard.

‘Well, I will now and it’ll make all the difference. I’ll tell you the whole truth.’

‘Tomorrow, Violet dear,’ he said firmly; then went upstairs and into his room as fast as he could without running.

Unfortunately he had to come out again to go to the bathroom. She was now lying full length on the hall sofa. Waving a languid hand, she called up that she was still around.

‘So I noticed,’ said Richard. ‘Don’t forget to put the lights out when you come up.’

Returning from the bathroom he was glad to see the hall was in darkness, but less glad when Violet opened her door.

‘You knocked?’ she said sweetly.

‘No, I didn’t and I hope
you
won’t.’ He went into his room wondering if it would be too like a nervous spinster if he locked his door. Well, he doubted if many spinsters were more nervous than he was. He turned the key.

He had just got into bed when he heard a gentle tap. Good God, he’d probably put the idea into her head. The tap came again, much louder; if she went on like that she’d rouse the house. Hurriedly he flung on his dressing-gown and opened the door.

Aunt Winifred stood outside.

‘Richard, I’m extremely worried. That telephone call this afternoon, had it anything to do with Clare?’

He said patiently: ‘No, Aunt Winifred. It was just a business matter. I told you, remember?’

‘You weren’t hiding anything? I suddenly wondered.’

She stared at him anxiously, a bunched, shrivelled old lady, her white hair flattened into what looked to him like a string bag. He said: ‘I give you my word it had nothing to do with Clare. Now how about going back to bed?’

‘It’s so hard to sleep. Clare used to bring me hot milk.’ And hated the job, he remembered, and his aunt’s complaints about skim. Unwillingly, he offered to get her some hot milk himself.

‘No, thank you!’ Her tone implied grave doubts of any milk heated by Richard.

He steered her along to her room and gently pushed her in. As he closed the door he saw that Violet had come onto the gallery. With unwonted humour, she whispered: ‘Now I know who my rival is.’

‘Do go to bed,’ he implored her.

‘But Richard—!’

Jane came out of her bathroom, gave them one look and then scuttled into her bedroom.

‘Please, Violet!’ he said, then seized her by the shoulders and pushed her towards her room.

‘But I’m on my way to the bathroom,’ she wailed. He dived into his room recalling he’d once heard Jane tell Merry the hall was like the setting of some old French farce … all those bedroom doors. But Aunt Winifred’s mental state was scarcely funny; nor was his own situation much of a joke.

He woke next morning convinced that a difficult day lay ahead of him; not that he didn’t quite look forward to it.

Violet, he suspected, would have renewed her attack during their shared washing-up after breakfast, had not Jane been around unusually late; she had been given the day off from work to drive up to London and do some shopping. By the time she left, after ten, he was safely settled with Aunt Winifred in the hall. Violet was there too, reading the morning paper. He had never before seen a woman read a paper lying flat on her back with the paper held above her.

The telephone rang and he went to the study to answer. The call proved to be from London; some woman wanted Jane, and wanted her badly. The agitated, hard-to-hear voice said: ‘I know she’ll be at the school where she works but I must please be given its telephone number. This is a matter of the utmost urgency.’

He explained the position about Jane. ‘And when she gets to London I’ve no idea where she’s going.’

‘Oh, dear, this is dreadful. Are you one of Clare Carrington’s brothers? I know she has some.’

‘I’m her elder brother. Who is it speaking?’

‘Miss Gifford, of the Gifford Emplacement Bureau. I obtained a post for your sister – in the best possible faith, I assure you—’

He interrupted. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I’m afraid so, Mr Carrington. And I fear it’s serious.’

‘Is Clare ill?’

‘No, no …’

There was a silence so long that he asked if she was still there. Then she spoke again, sounding even more agitated.

‘I’m wondering what I ought to do. I see no course but to speak frankly.’

He had never heard anyone speak less frankly, but some facts did gradually emerge. Hearing of a possible job for Clare, she had that morning tried to ring her up. ‘She wasn’t there, Mr Carrington, but I did have a word with the late Mr Rowley’s nurse. Of course it’s extremely difficult for her as she’s being most generously pensioned by Mr Charles Rowley and she said she thought the world of him. And she likes Clare so much – though that was really her reason for speaking, not that she did speak, well, at all openly. Indeed, she said repeatedly how unwilling she was to say
anything
– just as I am, now ….’

Richard thought this double unwillingness to communicate would have been completely successful but for the
conversation he’d had with Jane a week before. As it was, he soon had no difficulty in guessing that the top-hatted,
black-moustached
menace had materialized. He then cut through Miss Gifford’s monologue by saying satirically: ‘Do I take it my sister’s facing a fate worse than death?’

‘Oh, come, that’s a little old-fashioned, surely?’

Slightly irritated, he said: ‘Anyway, I think you’re imagining things. My sister’s not the kind of girl—’

‘But of course she’s not – that’s the whole point. And
I
thought I was imagining things, only a week ago. But one really must face facts. Clare shows no sign of wanting any more work. And she goes out with Mr Charles Rowley – to matinees, one understands, which is unobjectionable, and I’m glad to say she’s in the hotel every night and Mr Charles Rowley isn’t, so Nurse feels sure that up to now there hasn’t been anything, well,
serious
. But she’s leaving today, Mr Carrington. I mean, the nurse is.’

‘I’ll ring Clare up,’ said Richard.

‘She won’t be back till six, the nurse said. After the matinee.’

‘Well, I’ll ring her then.’

‘Couldn’t you
see
her? Couldn’t you be there when she gets back? I was going to ask Jane to, but a brother would have far more authority. The nurse, in spite of her loyalty for which I respect her, made it perfectly clear that once she was out of the way … well….’

‘Did she say so in so many words?’ asked Richard.

‘Oh, no, Mr Carrington. One couldn’t expect it. And you mustn’t, please, disclose that she said anything – or that I have. Indeed, I’m not at all sure my dear mother
would
have.’

Faced with another woman not saying anything, Richard hastily thanked Miss Gifford and undertook to give the matter serious thought.

‘Well, it’s in your hands now,’ said Miss Gifford, almost gaily. ‘That’s a load off my mind. And if Clare does want
another job … Not that I can fix her up with another king.’

‘A what?’ said Richard sharply.

‘Oh, dear, this is my day for indiscretion. Still, I’d better tell you.’ She gave him a brief sketch of the Rowley antecedents, concluding by saying: ‘And Jane did tell me your sister fancied being a king’s mistress. Really, all this would be funny, if it wasn’t so serious. Now you must excuse me. I’ve people waiting.’

He excused her willingly. Good God, what did one do? At first, taking her for a silly old gossip, he had almost entirely discounted her suspicions but he had become more and more uneasy. Clare had been gone a fortnight without sending so much as a postcard. She had ignored letters from him and from Drew. And the very fact that she had got a job at all, and the first she had applied for, was omninous. Had this man had designs on her from the very beginning? And this ex-royalty nonsense, it was exactly the thing which would fetch his silly sister. Yes, Clare
was
silly. If Merry, at
twenty-one
, were involved in such a situation he’d hardly feel he had the right to attempt interference, but with Clare …

The telephone rang. What now?

It was Drew, his voice almost unrecognizable. Never before had Richard heard his brother really angry.

‘Have you gone out of your senses, Richard? How could you do such a frightful thing? Letting this man loose on Merry!’

‘What? Oh, God, has he managed to find her?’

‘No, no. But you forwarded his indecent letter. And what about your own letter? Calmly wanting to hand your sister over to this atrocious man!’

‘He’s not atrocious!’ said Richard, catching Drew’s anger. ‘And I don’t believe his letter’s indecent.’

‘Of course it is. A man of his age telling a child he’s in love with her and wants to marry her. And your letter backed him up!’

‘Not as regards marrying him. I merely pointed out how the Crestovers could help her.’

‘
And
tried to harrow her. Well, you’ve succeeded – and just when she was getting back to normal. I was seriously worried about her when she arrived yesterday; I wouldn’t have put it past her to have a nervous breakdown. But the Severns came up in the evening and we all encouraged her and gradually she began to talk and get the whole wretched business out of her system. I must say she was terribly funny.’

‘I bet she was,’ said Richard, grimly.

‘But it’s not funny to think what she’s been through. Still, she’s pretty resilient and by the time she went to bed she was almost her old self. And then, this morning! She was utterly shattered, especially by
your
letter. I tell you, she was hysterical.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard. ‘Merry does very good hysterics.’

‘Now listen,’ said Drew, more angrily than ever. ‘Just because you’ve been won over by this elderly roué …’

Richard laughed. ‘Come out of the Edwardian era – or shall I join you there and tell you Lord Crestover’s the soul of honour?’

‘No man who makes love to a child …’

‘He didn’t
know
she was a child.’

‘But she
looks
one, Richard. Actually, she’s looking even younger than usual – with that pretty fair hair.’

‘That
what
hair? Oh, God! Well, she didn’t look a child when she came home, with her hair flaming red and a false bust, though I didn’t realize the bust was false till afterwards. Which reminds me, do you know about her farewell letter to Lord Crestover?’

‘I think she did say she left one.’

‘Well, I’ve read the letter. Now calm down, Drew, and take this in. She told him she truly loved him and would have married him if the law would let her. What’s more, she meant
it when she wrote it. You get her to tell you the whole story when she hasn’t got such a large audience. Oh, she didn’t deliberately lie to you all. She just got carried away.’

There was a silence. Then Drew said deflatedly: ‘You could be right. Damn it, of course you are. But she’s still got to be protected. She
is
only a child.’

‘Well, she behaved like a grown-up for nearly three weeks and that needs imagination as well as acting ability. Tell her to use her imagination now and write the truth to Lord Crestover as kindly as she can. If she sends the letter to me, I’ll forward it without letting him know where she is, and I’ll see him again if necessary. I’ll protect her all right, but she’s got to behave decently. Believe me, he deserves it.’

Drew sighed heavily. ‘She kept saying he was like a codfish – and we all laughed madly. Miss Whitecliff adores her and so do Mr and Mrs Severn.’

‘Well, so do I,’ said Richard. ‘Even if I do want to kick her.’

‘She’s at a café with Miss Whitecliff now, eating ice-cream. I was so impressed by the brave way she’d perked up again, and all the more furious with you. I
am
sorry.’

‘Oh, forget it,’ said Richard. ‘And forget Merry for the moment. For God’s sake give me some advice about Clare.’

It took him no time at all to relay the few bare facts, shorn of Miss Gifford’s verbiage. Indeed, facts were so few and bare that he was surprised Drew took them so seriously.

‘Richard, how frightful! And exactly the kind of thing that could happen to Clare. You must go to her at once.’

‘She won’t be in till six. And of all the awful jobs! Suppose the man’s with her? What do I do?’

‘With Clare involved, there should be a duel by candlelight. Is King Rudolf of Ruritania expected to spring the instant the nurse leaves the hotel?’

‘That seems to be the idea. And Clare’s so silly she might not quite know what she was in for until – well, it had
happened. Drew, could you possibly come up to London and see her with me?’