A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook
Title: The Judas Kiss
Author: Herbert Adams
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Language: English
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Title: The Judas Kiss
Author: Herbert Adams
1: Surprising News
THE young clergyman cleared his throat.
"As we are all met together," he began, "I will read you a letter I have
received from our father."
"Listen, girls," said Jasper flippantly, "our reverend brother has
apparently had a message from On High. It may be important."
"Where is he, Garnie?" enquired Emerald, the older sister.
"Does he say when he will be back?" asked Pearl, the youngest of them
all.
Garnet replied to their questions in what they called his parson voice.
"I will read the letter," he repeated. "It will tell you all I know."
Again he cleared his throat, and holding his missive in front of him, he
started--
'My dear Garnet,
It is nearly three months since I left you, to convalesce after that bout
of 'flu. It was good of you all to offer to accompany me, but I thought
it best to be alone, especially as I did not know exactly where I meant
to go and wished to be free to wander as I felt inclined. I have always
tried to make you independent, so that you could carve your own careers.
I trust I have in some measure succeeded. It would not have helped for
you to be tied to me.
I sincerely hope that no one of you will feel there is any measure of
reproach in what I have to tell you. When your Mother died, four years
ago, you shared my grief but you imagined that the radio, cross-word
puzzles and an occasional game of bowls or golf would satisfy and fill my
life for such years as might be left me. But you were wrong! The natural
urges of life do not end at fifty!'
"What is he getting at?" Emerald injected. "He is fifty-seven."
Garnet ignored her. He proceeded--'As my occasional postcards will have
shown you, I have wandered far and wide. I have had many interesting
experiences and think I can say I am as fit as ever I was. I have now met
a lady who I am sure can make me happy. I am about to marry her--'
Jasper whistled.
Emerald echoed, "To marry her!"
Garnet went on:
'I will not attempt to describe her to you, as you will so soon see her
for yourselves. We plan to be home in about a fortnight. I will wire the
day of our arrival as soon as it is settled. I hope you will love her for
my sake and am confident, when you know her, you will love her still
better for her own.
Naturally I have told her about you and she is anxious to meet you all.
We want you to carry on the home just as in the past--until any of you
have other plans. We discussed what you should call her. I fully realise
no one can ever be to you what your dear Mother was, and we agreed it
would be best for you to call her by her first name, Adelaide.
We send our love, assured that a warm welcome awaits us.
Your affectionate father,
GEORGE MICHELMORE.'
The silence that followed the conclusion of the letter lasted for several
moments. It was broken by Jasper.
"Oughtn't we to send a telegram of congratulations and good wishes, or
something?"
"He gives no address," Garnet said. "The postmark on the envelope is St.
Malo."
"Is he married or is he about to be married?" Emerald asked, rather
indignantly. "He might have given us the chance to be there. Why not
bring her home and marry here?"
"It would be unusual for a man to marry his father," Garnet remarked,
"but I would have liked at least to attend the ceremony."
"Poor Daddy!" Pearl murmured. "I had no idea he was so lonely. I often
sat with him and watched the TV. I would have done anything he asked, but
he never would."
"Perhaps he wanted something a daughter could not give," Jasper said.
"I hope she will make him happy," Pearl replied.
The door of the room opened and a slight figure dressed in black entered.
"I will bring the coffee, if you're ready," she said. "I didn't 'ear the
bell."
"We have had rather a shock, Nan," Emerald explained. "Father has just
written that he has married again."
Nan was nearing sixty. She had been nurse to all of them and had stayed
on as housekeeper. She prided herself on never showing surprise at
anything any member of the family might do.
"Indeed. May I ask who to?" Her tone was quite unemotional.
"He does not tell us," Garnet answered. "He wishes it to be a pleasant
surprise. We are to expect them in about a fortnight."
"Then p'raps I shall not be wanted no more?"
"Don't say that, Nan!" Pearl cried impetuously. "We can not do without
you. We may need you more than ever."
"He says they wish us to carry on as before," Jasper added.
"Then I'll get the coffee."
She left the room and there was silence until she returned with it.
Emerald had picked up the letter to read it through again.
They were a good-looking group of young people. Sitting each at one side
of a small table, they had just finished their evening meal, though
Jasper forked half a tinned peach from the heavily cut glass dish, and
poured the last few drops of cream from a silver ewer over it. Garnet,
the oldest of them, aged twenty-seven, had dark eyes and well-formed
features. He looked earnest and his spare form suggested that he observed
all the recognised fasts of the church and enjoyed doing it. Jasper, on
his left, had similar dark eyes, but there was a twinkle of mischief in
them. Emerald, who faced her elder brother and was next in age to him,
would have been beautiful had it not been for a rather hard mouth and a
look of discontent. Pearl, the baby of the family, just twenty-two, was
definitely pretty, of the Greuze type. She had wide dark-blue eyes but
there was more life and laughter in them than that artist generally
showed in his charming maidens.
The flat was barely furnished but everything in it was good. The chairs
and sideboard were Chippendale, or by an early disciple of his. The
well-polished table was of dark mahogany and the lace table mats
excellent of their kind. There were few ornaments and the only picture,
hanging over the mantelpiece, was of a beautiful woman, the mother of
them all.
Garnet wore clerical attire with a short black coat. The girls had light,
short-sleeved frocks, but Jasper showed up in a tweed jacket, a coloured
shirt and blue corduroy trousers. In the opinion of many he could have
done with a hair-cut.
Nan brought the coffee and left it without saying a word.
"It is most extraordinary," Emerald remarked when they were again alone.
"That bit about not blaming us looks as though he wanted an excuse. And
surely he might have sent a photograph. There is no hint as to whether
she is young or old, single or a widow."
"What intrigues me," said Jasper, "is the reference to natural urges. Do
you think our venerable parent has thoughts of rearing another family?"
"Heavens, no!" Emerald exclaimed. "It would hardly be decent."
"A baby in the house would be rather fun," Pearl said.
"Or maybe Adelaide already has a family," Jasper suggested.
"He would have said so were that the case," Garnet assured them. "I mean
if there were more than themselves to prepare for. I think you can take
it she is about his own age."
"How do you get that?" Emerald asked.
"From the name--Adelaide. Names, as the christenings show, have a way of
dating people. At present Jacqueline, Jill, Elizabeth and Margaret are
most popular. Twenty years or so ago Pamela, Patricia and Phyllis had a
great vogue. Before that it was Dorothy or Doris, taken, I believe, from
the title of a play. Clarissa, Agnes and Amelia were earlier, but
Adelaide probably preceded them. There was once a Queen Adelaide."
"The wife of William the Fourth. She died about a hundred years ago,"
Emerald said. History was her strong point.
"So you reckon our Adelaide--or rather our parent's Adelaide--is probably
fat, fair and forty-to-fiftyish," Jasper observed.
"That is as I see it," Garnet nodded.
"I fear I find the reasoning unconvincing," the younger brother said. "We
of course bow to your experience. I believe you have christened six--or
is it seven?--muling infants, not all female; but you overlook the fact
that many are named after an elderly maiden aunt from whom there are
expectations, or even after an aged grandmother. So the generation idea
does not hold the baptismal water."
"I have studied the subject," Garnet said loftily.
"But we do not know that she is English," Emerald pointed out. "If he met
her in St. Malo she might be French. Queen Adelaide was German."
"And you cannot rule out the possibility that you will have an American
stepmother," Jasper added. "Believe it or not a dealer in St. Malo sold
one of my pictures to an American."
"What are we to tell people?" Emerald demanded. "We shall look such utter
fools if we cannot answer the simplest questions."
"Why tell people anything?" Pearl asked. "We shall know when we see her
and can truly say it was a big surprise. He is Daddy and I shall love him
just the same."
"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings," Jasper murmured. "I think the
child is right."
"Thank you, old hoary head," Pearl retorted.
"I agree with that," Garnet said. "You had to tell Nan, as she must
prepare for them, but ask her to be silent about it until we know more."
2: The Arrival
IF the Michelmores were an unusual family, their home was also out of the
ordinary. A comparatively small abode when George Michelmore bought it,
it had been enlarged by the addition of a wing at either side, projecting
at an angle from the main building. As it faced south it thus earned its
name, "Sunbay."
Each wing formed two flats and each flat was given up to one of his
children, so that all possessed a self-contained home of their own, with
a sitting-room, a bedroom, a bath room and a tiny kitchenette. Every flat
had its own front door, the upper ones being approached by a narrow
staircase.
The dining-room and lounge in the main building were shared by all, when
they so chose, but they could entertain their own friends in their own
way in their own apartment. They could also work undisturbed in the
particular line they elected to adopt. The older son, Garnet, having
entered the Church, the arrangement suited him very well. He had a ground
floor flat. Jasper, with artistic ambitions, occupied the one over it,
his sitting-room or studio boasting a north light.
As for the girls, Emerald had the upper flat on the other side. She was a
writer, though so far little of her work had found a publisher. When
Pearl became of age, she had been presented with the key of the remaining
suite. She was proud of it but, having domestic rather than professional
inclinations, she spent much of her time with her father or, when he was
away, with Nan, whose real name, if anyone remembered it, was Hannah
Wood. Pearl also had a Cairn terrier, Sandy--her faithful guardian and
companion.
It was part of the arrangement that each flat owner was responsible for
the care and cleanliness of his or her own apartment. That was admirable
for the girls, but Garnet and Jasper paid a few shillings occasionally
for a "do" by Mrs. Hopkins, the daily helper in the house. Their father
had made them all an allowance. As food, light and fuel were provided, it
was adequate for their needs but not enough to keep them in perpetual
idleness. He wished them to be independent, but wanted them to follow the
calling that appealed to them and to make a success of it.
If it was suggested to him that their semi-detached mode of existence
might lead them into trouble, he would say such a thing was less likely
than if they went off by them selves into some big town. "Sunbay" was one
of the few larger houses in the village of Beckford, a mile or so from
the sea and about midway between Felixstowe and Aideburgh on the Suffolk
coast. He was proud of his arrangement. He pointed out that the day of
big residences was past, but there would never be any difficulty in
finding tenants for his sectional homes.
The news of his second marriage had come as a shock to his children.
While their mother had been alive she had been keenly interested in the
Church and all the local activities. When she died their father had
gradually dropped them. But it had never occurred to them that he might
start a new life of his own. Perhaps they did not realise that his
theories of independence might apply to himself as well as to them.
When they met at meal-times, which they generally did, though a message
to Nan always brought them a breakfast tray if they wished it, they
discussed the matter over and over again. But it was several days before
they heard any thing further. Then came a telegram from Paris--'Returning
Friday for dinner. Love. George and Adelaide.'
"Hardly calls for the fatted calf," Jasper commented. "What is the
appropriate dish for the prodigal father, Garnie?"
"Ewe mutton," Emerald answered for him.
"Being Friday I would prefer fish," Garnet said, "but I realise it is a
special occasion."
"Indeed it is!" Pearl cried. "We must get something jolly good. Let us
ask Nan."
When summoned and informed of the impending arrival, Nan told them in her
unemotional way she could secure a goose.
"I do not like that idea at all," Jasper said. "It is too suggestive. A
pair of ducks would be far more appropriate. Besides, the parent likes
duck almost as much as I do."
So that was settled. Pearl busied herself with special flowers and
decorations and conspired with Nan to make a cake with almond icing and
much sugar ornamentation. Jasper thought champagne the most essential
thing and was pleased to find his father's cellar possessed a few
bottles. Emerald kept aloof as though disapproving of the whole affair.
At length the great day arrived. They were all excited and a new point
arose.
"Where and how do we receive them?" Garnet asked.
"We shall be in the lounge and Nan will announce them," Emerald said.
"The Dad announced in his own home!" Jasper objected. "Don't be daft. He
will just walk in."
"I do not know what you others will do," Pearl declared. "I shall be
waiting for them at the gate."
In the end that is what they all did. And they got the surprise of their
life. The newly-weds arrived from London by car. When it pulled tip,
their father sprang out, bronzed and far fitter than when they had last
seen him. He turned to assist his companion to alight. A young woman,
little older than themselves, and more lovely than anyone they had ever
before beheld.
"This is Adelaide," he said.
There was a moment's pause. She was so unlike anything they had expected.
Then Pearl sprang forward and threw her arms round his neck and kissed
him.
"Welcome home, Daddy. I hope you will both be very happy."
"Thank you," he laughed. "Adelaide, this is Pearl, our baby."
Adelaide took her hands, drew her forward and kissed her. "I thank you
too," she said softly.
The ice thus broken, Emerald kissed her father and turned a cold cheek
for her stepmother's caress.
"This is Garnet," said the father, gripping the hand of his first-born.
"He is a shining light and an example for all of us.
"I do not think I have ever kissed a clergyman," Adelaide smiled. "May
I?" She did.
"Jasper, our artistic hope."
Jasper did not wait to be asked. He pressed a kiss on each cheek.
"Welcome indeed!" he said.
Then, chatting and laughing, they passed into the house. Emerald,
asserting her position as hostess--was it for the last time?--said:
"Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Will you have a drink and then do
any changing you want to?"
Jasper came forward with the sherry and proposed an appropriate toast.
It was not until they were seated at the table that they were really able
to take stock of the new arrival. She was every bit as beautiful as they
had at first thought. She had real golden hair, with delightful waves the
girls could appreciate, a flawless skin, eyes of the deepest grey, small
features and a pretty mouth that enclosed perfect teeth. The only notable
sign of make-up was the vivid lip-stick that gave an air of
sophistication to an expression otherwise almost incredibly innocent. A
pearl necklace and a diamond bracelet were her only ornaments, other than
her wedding ring.
Nan was introduced when she brought in the food. Adelaide got up and
shook hands with her, saying she had heard how good she was to all of
them.
After some delicious soup there were fried fillets of sole done to a
turn. Conversation was at first spasmodic and trivial, but when Jasper
got busy with the champagne their tongues were loosened.
"Where did you get married?" Emerald enquired. "Why did you not ask us to
the wedding?"
"It was all rather hurried," Adelaide smiled. "You see, George was
impatient to get home and we wanted to spend a few days in Paris."
"Where was it?" the girl repeated.
"In the Cathedral at St. Malo, but it was very quiet. I have few
relations."
"I know an art dealer in St. Malo," Jasper said. "He must be a genius; he
sold a picture of mine." It was a fact he liked to proclaim.
"An appreciative genius," was the reply. "Who is he?"
"His name is Lanier., He has a little shop near the Cathedral."
"I do not know him, though I worked for a time in St. Malo. Before that I
was in Dinard."
"That is a spot you should see, my boy," his father said. "There is a
service of little boats they call videttes between the two places. It is
well-named the Emerald Coast because the sea is such a clear and
wonderful green. You ought to have eyes like that, my dear," he added to
his older daughter. "But I prefer them as they are. Jasper might do some
good pictures there."
"Is that your line?" Adelaide asked.
"Definitely not," Jasper said. "I do figures, but I am experimenting in
what you might call abstract subjects."
"You must let me see them," she said. "You all seem so wonderfully clever
to me. You, I believe, are a writer," she added to Emerald.
"So far, unlike Jasper, without a patron--or a publisher," was the reply.
"She has had a lot of jolly good articles and stories in local papers,"
Pearl said, speaking up for her. "And her book, when she finishes it,
ought to be a winner."
"I am writing it in collaboration with a friend," Emerald said, "so if it
does appear the credit will be partly his."
"I always wonder how collaborators work," Adelaide commented. "Do they
write alternate chapters or does one do the descriptions and the other
the dialogue?"
"It is a matter of arrangement," Emerald replied rather coldly.
Garnet had been very silent. He hardly dared to look at his astonishing
stepmother. He felt he ought to show his disapproval of that daring neck
line. But she did not spare him.
"Is this your parish?" she asked him.
"No," he said. "I am an assistant priest at Torbury, the next village."
"The vicar," Pearl added, "Mr. Forbes Fortescue, ought really to retire.
He leaves all the work to Garnie."
"Except the preaching," Jasper added silly. "The old boy still likes to
talk on Sundays, doesn't he, Garnie? The same sermons he has used for
years."
Garnet looked embarrassed, but his father gave the talk a new turn.
"Who made that gorgeous cake?" he asked, indicating the elaborate
confection in the centre of the table.
"I did," Pearl blushed.
"It looks more than tempting, but after all we have had I doubt if we can
tackle it." The ducks had been appreciated.
"But you and--and Adelaide--must cut it, even if you only eat a crumb.
Nan helped with the mixture, so it should be all right."
"Of course we will," Adelaide laughed. "I said it was a wonderful family.
A clergyman, a writer, an artist and a sculptor in sugar. How I envy you
all!"
One of her decidedly lesser charms was her quaint way of licking her
lips, poking out her pointed little tongue after she had made a remark.
Her comment on their talents gave Emerald a chance for which she had been
waiting.
"What did you do before you married?" she asked.
"Me? I hope you will not be ashamed of me. I worked in a perfumier's
shop. That is where George found me."
"What was he doing in a perfumier's shop?" Jasper grinned.
"I went to get a hair-cut," his father said. "When I left the execution
chair I saw the loveliest--I saw Adelaide. I could not think what to say
to her, but I had to say some thing. I asked her if she thought I would
look better with a beard."
"I said decidedly not," she smiled, "and I sold him some lotion to use
after shaving."
"Which I still have, unused," he chuckled. "But I went back every day for
something. And that is how it happened."
They all laughed. "Modern love potions," Jasper murmured.
Emerald asked "Were you born in France? Your English is perfect."
"I was born in England but my mother was French. My father was killed in
the Normandy landing and after that we went to live there. My mother
died, but my English was useful in getting a job where most of the
visitors are English or American."
Taken altogether it was a happy meal. It concluded with the cutting of
the cake by the bridal pair with a large knife. Pearl was deservedly
congratulated on her achievement.
After that, they adjourned to the lounge. Emerald asked Adelaide if she
could sing, hoping perhaps to find a fault somewhere.
"I would not be so unkind," was the smiling reply. "I do play a little."
They pressed her to do so. They had a good piano and she rendered some
pieces by Grieg and Chopin really well. Pearl, who had a pleasing voice,
sang a couple of songs and then George insisted that he and Adelaide must
retire as they had had a very long day.
"Well, what do you think of her?" Emerald asked, when the four were at
last alone.
"The parent has picked a perfect peach," Jasper said. "Can't think how he
managed it. I must paint her."
"A peach from a barber's shop!" Emerald sneered. "What do you say,
Garnie?"
"I pass no judgment till we know her better," the curate replied.
"I think she is lovely," Pearl said. "I like her."
"You would," commented her sister. "Look at the vulgar way she puts out
her tongue!"
"Probably she was nervous," Pearl suggested. "I would be in such
circumstances."
"Nervous--not a bit of it! She saw her chance and grabbed it. I would bet
there is plenty in her past we will never know. Poor Dad! I do not see a
very happy future for him with her in a dead-alive place like this!"
"Give her a chance," Jasper grinned. "Not afraid she will run away with
your boy friend, are you?"
"Don't be a fool!" Emerald said angrily, and she left the room, slamming
the door after her.
3: Pearl and Jasper
THE next morning George and Adelaide had their breakfast in bed. If they
dallied over it, who shall blame them?
"Well, my love," he asked teasingly, "what do you think of your little
brood?"
"Is it not more important what they think of me?"
"Dumb with admiration. Was it wise to tell them all you did?"
"They were bound to be curious. I only hope they were satisfied. I shall
try to make them like me. It will not be easy with Emerald and I am not
sure about Garnet."
Adelaide was no fool and she had summed up their feelings with remarkable
accuracy. After a little more banter George decided to dress. He was
definitely handsome and looked younger than his years. The holiday with
its surprising ending had undoubtedly done him good. Now he was anxious
to see how his garden, some two acres in all, had fared in his absence
and whether Teague, his gardener, had carried out certain alterations he
had suggested.
Left to herself Adelaide made a leisurely toilet. She thought she had
made a fairly favourable impression on her "step-children" but wanted to
see them separately to establish as friendly an atmosphere as was
possible.
When she went down she was wearing a tweed skirt and a knitted pullover
that was discreet in every way, even if it could not conceal the shapely
lines of her figure. The first of the family she met was Pearl, which was
as she would have wished. It should be an easy start.
She kissed her and after a few words as to a good night's rest, asked if
she might see her flat. Pearl was pleased to show it to her. They went to
the entrance door on the ground level which the young girl with some
pride opened with her own latchkey.
"You are not afraid to sleep down here by yourself?" Adelaide asked.
"Not a bit. Emerald is just above and there is a bell to the house. Sandy
takes care of me." She introduced her little dog who sniffed approvingly
at the newcomer.
The rooms were small but very daintily appointed. After a peep at the
bedroom and bathroom, they sat in the two easy-chairs in the
sitting-room.
"You know, Pearl, I was terribly afraid of you all."
"Of us?" asked the girl. "Why?"
"George told me how clever you all were and I thought you would suppose I
had trapped him in some way because I am rather younger than he is. That
was a surprise? You thought I would be about his own age?"
"Well--he didn't tell us very much."
"I know. I wanted him to, but he thought it best to do things his way. I
love him and I think I can make him happy, especially if you will help
me. I want to be one of yourselves. Will Nan regard me as an intruder?"
Pearl hesitated. "She may be a little difficult at first, till she gets
used to things. You see we have grown up with her, and she was devoted to
Mummie."
"I understand. Will you please tell her from me that I want her to carry
on as she has always done. I shall tell her so myself, but you may help
to make her believe it. I am really a dreadfully lazy person, only too
glad to be able to rely on her. I shall devote myself to George."
"You will not take him away from us?"
"Of course not, darling. But he told me you were all so full of your own
affairs."
"I am not."
"But the others are? What do you do?"
"Nothing much. I am just the plain domestic type. I enjoy having a home
and making it look nice. When Daddy did not want me I spent a good deal
of my time with Nan. For one thing, I love cooking;"
"How splendid--though a little bit lonely? But you are not plain, you are
very pretty. Have you any boy friends?"
Pearl blushed. "I have some friends."
"Of course you have. Please remember, darling, I want to help you in
every way I can, if you will let me. I wish I had a little sister like
you. I was lonely when my mother and father died. If George takes me
about, as he talks of doing, you must come, too, sometimes."
"If he wants me."
"I am sure he will. It was a terrible shock to him when your mother died,
but he had talked a lot about your independence and he rather felt he was
no use to anyone. You and I must cure him of that."
They talked intimately for some time. Then Adelaide said she wanted to
see Jasper. Did Pearl think he would mind?
"I am sure not," was the reply. "He has the top flat on the other side.
Would you like me to tell him?"
"No. I will take my chance."
The open door to Jasper's private staircase proclaimed that he was at
home. Adelaide mounted the stairs and tapped at what she knew must be his
sitting-room door.
"Come in!"
She entered and found him in an easy-chair with a block on his knee,
drawing.
"Am I disturbing anything?" she asked.
"Not at all," he said, rising to find her a seat. "As a matter of fact I
was trying to do you. But it is no good." He tore it off and threw it
into the fireplace.
"May I not see it?"
"Certainly not. We do not show our first impressions to our victims. I
hope you will let me paint you properly."
"I should be honoured," she smiled.
The studio was untidy, as studios often are. On an easel stood a
semi-nude almost completed and two or three canvases rested against the
wall, only their backs being visible. On a throne lay a portfolio,
presumably of sketches. Paints, palettes and brushes were strewn on table
and shelves.
"What did you think of us last night?" Jasper asked.
"As someone once said, not half had been told me."
"Rather enigmatic. We might say the same. We were expecting someone--how
shall I put it?--rather more mature?"
"Hence your disappointment?"
Jasper grinned. He thought they should get on well together. "Fishing?"
he asked.
"Not at all. You needed mothering and I did not look equal to the task."
"You can but try. I had a wonderful idea before I got up how I would like
to paint you."
"Tell me."
"It would be called 'Good Morning.' You are sitting up in bed, your arms
stretched above your head--"
"And my mouth open in a big yawn?"
"Oh, no; just a sweet smile. Your nightie is slipping from your
shoulder--"
"The further it slips the better, I suppose?"
"Yes," Jasper said eagerly. "Down to your waist, if you do not mind."
"I am afraid I do mind. What would your father say about it?"
"Dad appreciates art and beauty."
"That takes us both for granted, doesn't it?"
"He knows my work. As for you, I saw enough last night--"
"You mean my frock was too revealing? I am sorry about that. I put it on
in your honour as it is the prettiest I possess."
"Let me paint you in that."
"If he agrees, I would love it." She glanced at the figure on the easel.
"What do you generally do about models?"
"That is rather a snag. Plenty at the art schools, of course, but a
devilish expense to get them down here."
"I hope you do not make love to them."
"No, Mamma," he mocked. "One soon grows out of that. You are interested
in your job and the two things don't mix. A model--that is a professional
model--is a shape without a soul. You pose her as you want her and don't
think about her as a person. Pearl has helped me a lot. She sat for
that."
He indicated the figure on the easel.
"She does not mind?"
"Why should she? I am her brother. She has nice limbs and is a good
sport. Of course I put other faces to them."
Adelaide rose and examined the picture more closely. He was certainly
good at his work; colour and drawing were excellent.
"Tell me about what you call your abstracts," she said.
"If you wanted to paint a picture of Grief," he replied, "how would you
do it?"
"I might show a child crying over a broken toy. Or possibly a woman,
utterly miserable, with a letter in her hand."
"You probably would. But they are examples of grief, not the thing
itself."
"But how can you--?"
"Look."
He took one of the canvases from the wall and put it on the easel in
place of the nude. At first it seemed a formless mess of colour, blotches
and spirals. But considering it more carefully, Adelaide saw that the
lower portion was a blend of crimson and gold which grew more dim as it
rose and then blended into a dull grey and finally black. It was some
thing like an inverted bonfire.
"You mean," she said slowly, "the sunshine and gladness of life die away
and give place to gloom and despair."
"Good! I thought you would understand. Anyone can paint a weeping infant,
but to portray Grief you must think it out for yourself."
"The other way up you could call it Joy."
"Perhaps." Jasper was not quite so pleased. "I should work out something
fresh for that."
"I think it is terribly clever," she assured him. "I hope they will be
very successful. You must do a set--Love, Hatred, Malice, and things like
that. Of course I am old-fashioned, but I do see what you mean. I will
help you if I can."
"I will promise not to paint you with three square legs and eyes in odd
places," he laughed. "I am not all that mad."
"I am sure you are not," she said. "What does Garnet think about them?"
"Works of the devil! He believes only in photography; landscapes or
well-clad humans."
"I want to see him. Do you think I might?"
"He is downstairs. I expect you will find him in, preparing an address
for a mothers' meeting or something of the sort. You might help him."
"I could try. Thank you, Jasper, for what you have shown me. I do wish
you the greatest possible luck."
"Thank you, Mamma. Don't you kiss the child goodbye?"
"This is not goodbye," she laughed. "Only au revoir."
4: Garnet and Emerald
As she went down the stairs Garnet emerged from the lower flat. He was
surprised to see her leaving his brother's rooms and seemed a little
embarrassed.
"Oh--er--good morning," he muttered.
"Good morning, Garnet," she said. "I am trying to do a little in your
line."
"In my line?"
"Calling on my parishioners in their own homes. I was coming to see you."
"I am going to Torbury."
"Is it far?"
"Four miles over the fields. Further by road."
"Walking?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps I could come part of the way with you."
"Rather rough going." She could see he did not want her, but she
persevered.
"I have stout shoes," she said, raising her skirt a little higher that he
might clearly see her neat, well-shod feet, not to mention her shapely
ankles. "I want to talk to you. I am so interested in your work."
"I am rather late."
"Then we must walk quickly."
He did not reply and they crossed the garden which looked beautiful with
the fresh colouring of spring. Not all of it was under cultivation, but
the trees had been chosen for their foliage and the prunellas gave a fine
display of colour. They did not speak until they reached a gate that
opened on to a meadow rented by a neighbouring farmer.
"Is it a very beautiful church?" Adelaide asked.
"Indeed it is," he said. "There are many wonderful churches in this part
of the country, far too big for the population of the villages. But
things have changed."
"In what way?"
"At one time East Anglia was the centre of the wool industry. There were
more people and the churches were alive." He stopped abruptly. Then he
said, "I have been thinking about you. Are you a Roman Catholic?"
"Why do you ask?" Adelaide was defensive.
"You were married in that Cathedral."
"My mother was a Catholic."
"My father is not."
"Your father is a very wonderful man, Garnet," she said after a moment of
hesitation. "He holds that religion is largely a matter of geography. If
you are born in England you are probably brought up a Protestant. In
France you are a Catholic. In Scotland a Presbyterian, and so on. He says
God knows all about that and will not worry over creeds as we do. Is he
not right?"
"It is a big subject--"
"Are you preaching to-morrow?"
"I do not think so."
"I must come and hear you when you do. If my ideas are wrong, you must
tell me. Is it true that your vicar is old and leaves everything to you
except the preaching?"
She had expertly changed the conversation and Garnet responded eagerly.
"There is truth in it," he said. "When I joined him the congregation had
dwindled to a handful of old people. The place was dead! Practically no
choir, no Sunday School, no parochial work of any kind. I want to make it
live! A real live centre of Christian worship. The attendance is already
better. We have a choir and are starting a Sunday School and Mothers'
Meetings. But it is only a beginning."
He was speaking with more animation than he had ever shown before. The
light of a zealot was in his eye.
"Does not Mr. Fortescue help you?" Adelaide asked.
"I will not say anything against him. He is old, he is tired, perhaps
disheartened. But what use is it to get people to the church unless you
have a message to give them when they come? Everything wants stirring up!
We need a parish room, we need a new organ, we need surplices, we
need--What is the good of talking? I talk to him but he just nods and
says it cannot be done; he tried it years ago. It is like saying we
should not repair the roof because he did it twenty years before I came."
"Does it leak badly?"
"Not now. I saw to that. My stipend is small but I spend it all there.
Living at home and having a little money of my own, I do not need it."
"Won't he retire? Cannot he be made to?"
"He owns the living and provided services are held nothing can be done
about it."
"What is his preaching like?"
"Dead! Mumbling and rambling. I am no orator but sometimes it is all I
can do to prevent myself shouting. I got him to let me choose the hymns.
That helps a little."
"Could you not go to another church where there is more life, more
scope?"
"And leave these people to slip back to what they were before I came? No!
I feel this is the work God has given me to do and I must do it with such
power as I possess."
"I think you are splendid, Garnet," Adelaide said. "Thank you for what
you have told me. I believe you will succeed. If I can help you I will.
Now I must be going back or you may be late."
"Oh--thank you for listening. I don't know what made me say all I did.
I--I don't often do it. But--but you seemed to understand."
His manner had changed. The fire had died down and he spoke with his
usual hesitancy.
"I am on your side," she said. She held out her hand and he shook it. So
they parted.
She thought of him as she made her way back to the house. She admired his
earnestness, but no doubt it was difficult for him to show to advantage
in his own home, with a brother and sisters who had known him all their
lives and could not take him as seriously as they should. She must not
fall into that error, but how different he was from Jasper. Jasper would
flirt with anyone--even his stepmother!
When she reached the garden gate she met her husband, who had been
looking for her.
"There you are, my dear," he said. "Been exploring on your own account?"
"No, darling. I walked a little way with Garnet. He does not seem very
happy. Could you help him?"
"He is a queer fellow," George replied. "He would hate to have things
made too easy. He believes in bearing his cross and finding it heavy. I
hope he is not heading for a breakdown like he had once before."
"How was that?"
"Working for some exam. He thought it would be too awful if he failed.
Actually he passed quite well. I will have a talk with him. But I must
show you the new water lily pond."
"I rather want to see Emerald. I believe she is going out for lunch."
"This will not take long."
He led her through the trees to an opening where the pond had been
cunningly contrived. It was irregular in shape and some stepping-stones
led to a mound in the centre that would no doubt be a blaze of colour
later on. A gnarled old man was waiting for them. With his bent legs,
stooping shoulders, ugly features and three days' growth of stubbly
beard, he might have been a gnome from a fairy tale.
"Ah, Teague," Mr. Michelmore said, "this is your new mistress."
"Marnin', Mum," he muttered, touching his cap. His ferrety eyes took
stock of her, not altogether with approval, Adelaide thought.
"Good morning," she said. "You have made a good job of this. Will you
stock it with goldfish?"
"Maybe," he muttered.
"You like it?" George asked.
"It is lovely. So is everything else I have seen, but you must show me
round properly. I think the great thing about a garden is that you do not
see all its beauty at once. New joys at every turning. I wonder if those
trees over there would do with a bit of pruning; rather overshadow the
flower-bed, don't they?"
She spoke innocently enough, only meaning to show interest. She did not
realise that gardeners are in the main of two kinds, those who are too
handy with axe and clippers, and those who hate to cut anything down.
Both kinds like suggestions to come from themselves and want to do things
in their own way.
"Some plants wants shade and some wants sunshine," Teague said, almost
malevolently.
"How true that is," she responded gaily. "I shall have so much to learn.
I must run in now."
She hurried to the house, and passing Pearl's private door, pressed the
bell of the one that adjoined it. A minute later it opened and Emerald
stood at the top of the stairs. She had a cord that pulled back the latch
without her having to come down.
"Oh--you," she said. "What do you want?"
"Good morning," Adelaide replied. "I have seen the others and I thought I
would like to see your little home. It is such a wonderful idea."
"All right," Emerald responded, not too graciously. "Come up, but I
haven't much time. If you have seen one you have seen them all."
That was not quite true. In size and shape the apartments might be
identical but in appointment they were very different. Pearl's
living-room was cosy and dainty; Jasper's was an artist's work-room; the
one she now entered was more of a library. There was a big desk in the
window, with a typewriter on it. Shelves ran round the walls, filled with
books of reference and works of fiction of all kinds. The easy-chairs
were leather covered.
"How business-like it looks," Adelaide said. "I hope I did not interrupt
you."
"I have just finished a chapter."
"I am glad. May I ask what it is about?"
"It is an historical romance."
"How interesting! What period have you chosen?"
"William and Mary," Emerald said shortly.
"What a clever idea. So many people have written of Charles II and Henry
VIII. Both so fatal to women. I have read quite a lot of Regency tales
but I cannot recall any of William and Mary."
"There have been some."
"I expect there have. I always think it should have been called Mary and
William. She was really the queen, being the daughter of James II. It was
only through her that William became king."
"You know quite a lot." The comment was ironical.
"Not really," Adelaide said, "but I did go to a decent school before my
father died."
"What was his rank?"
"He was a captain in the Tank regiment."
"I suppose you get a pension?"
"My mother did, but it died with her. They do not give pensions to
able-bodied young women, though it is not too easy to get a job without
special training. Oh--Emerald! Do you smoke a pipe?"
Again an adroit change of conversation. Her quick eyes had seen a
well-bitten briar partly hidden by a photograph on the mantelshelf.
Emerald turned an angry red, vexed that she had not concealed it.
"I do not," she said. "It belongs to Victor Gore-Black. He is forgetful
and keeps it here in case he has not brought one."
Adelaide also saw a pair of man's slippers under a chair, but she did not
mention them. It was of course possible that a writer might have a spare
pipe and slippers in a room where he worked, but was there more to it
than that? Had Emerald some sort of affair with her co-worker? Did that
account for her resentment at the arrival of George's wife? Was she
fearing discovery?
"Victor Gore-Black," Adelaide said. "Is he your collaborator?"
"He is."
"I believe I have heard the name. Has he written much?"
"Some successful novels. He is attached to an Ipswich paper. He also does
some free-lance work."
"How interesting! He must be very clever. I hope I shall meet him some
day."
"You probably will."
"He must think a lot of you, too, to want you to help him."
Emerald did not reply. Adelaide got up.
"I must not keep you," she said. "I know you are in a hurry. Do you
cycle?"
"I have my own car."
"How jolly! One of them said something about cycling."
"The others do. I lend them my car sometimes."
"Very good of you. If I can ever help you in any way, please let me
know."
"In what way?"
"Well--reading proofs, looking up dates or quotations. I know it takes a
long time."
"Thank you, but I prefer to do such things myself. And--I hope it does
not sound rude--should you think of coming again, would you use the
house-telephone? I might be busy."
"Of course," Adelaide said. "I did not know you had one."
5: The Diamond Star
As the weeks went by Adelaide appeared to settle down happily in her
fresh surroundings. She had little reason not to. Nan was efficient in
the house and Teague did his duty outside, so, although they remained
slightly resentful of the newcomer, things worked smoothly. George adored
her and she did her duty by him. He took her to see many interesting
places in Suffolk and Norfolk and not infrequently Pearl accompanied
them, to her no little delight. Pearl became really fond of Adelaide and
was always her champion in any family discussions. Yet the young
stepmother realised she did not enjoy the girl's entire confidence;
perhaps it was too soon to expect it.
She perceived that Pearl, young as she was, had two admirers. One, Peter
Skelton, the son of the local doctor, had just qualified and joined his
father in the practice. He was a big fellow, good-natured if not
particularly good-looking. Pearl liked him well enough, but she had known
him all her life and there would be no thrill in marrying him. He on the
other hand had always regarded her as his destined mate and was content
to wait. His allegiance never wandered.
About the other admirer, Arthur Dixon, there was too much thrill. A
little older than Peter, he was more assured in his manner, more adroit
in his wooing and he had plenty of money. But--it is a very big But--he
was married. He and his wife Esme had been separated for nearly two
years. There had been no grounds for a divorce; she had just left him. He
was romantically handsome, of the Byron type, and possessed a pleasant
voice and a persuasive manner. It is possible that in her father's
absence Pearl saw more of him than was good for her.
As the summer approached, the Michelmores had frequent tennis parties and
the two young men came to most of them. Adelaide watched the affair with
regret but felt she must not interfere. She hoped Pearl would trust her
and come to her before it was too late.
There was little doubt about Emerald's affair; the girl practically
admitted it. Victor Gore-Black also played tennis and so was introduced
to the new hostess. How often he called in connection with the literary
work--or how late he stayed--no one knew. Adelaide did not like him but
she realised he was of a type that would attract some women--what is
called the he-man type. Rather short, with a big head and long hair, he
was, she imagined, arrogant, aggressive and sensuous. No doubt he had
ability and a girl like Emerald might pay heavily to get her name linked
with his and so see her work in print. He was obviously surprised by
Adelaide's youth and beauty and she realised she must keep him at a
distance if she wished to continue on reason ably good terms with his
fellow-worker.
"You and Emerald are writing a novel of the time of William and Mary?"
she remarked when he was presented.
"That is so," he said, eyeing her boldly.
"Lucky for her to have so notable a partner."
"I don't know about that, but I generally succeed in what I undertake."
His tone was complacent. "Do you write at all?"
"Never," Adelaide replied. "Not even letters if I can avoid it. But I am
interested in your period. I have always wondered how it worked. A king
and a queen. If they wanted different things, whose will prevailed?"
"Which will do you think should prevail?" he challenged, with an assured
smile.
"Hers. She was the rightful queen."
"Have you never heard of the gallant husband who told his bride that
married happiness was a matter of give and take? So when they agreed they
would always have her way; when they differed, his."
"All take and no give "
"But a good working arrangement," he smiled. "Our story, however,
concerns the times rather than the persons of their majesties."
"Victor, are you ready? They have just finished." It was Emerald
returning to claim him for a set.
It was later that Adelaide put her question to the girl.
"Are you thinking of marrying Mr. Gore-Black?"
"No," Emerald said. "Victor does not believe in marriage. Neither do I."
"Why not?"
"I do not suppose you will understand. A writer must not be bound. He
must be free to enjoy all the experiences and emotions life has to
offer."
"The woman too?"
"Of course."
"Suppose one of them tired of the experience before the other did?"
"That is the advantage of freedom."
"A dangerous doctrine, my dear."
"Would you expect a creative genius to observe the rules of a
domesticated clerk or shop-keeper?"
"I believe many a creative genius has been glad of a good wife to see to
his creature comforts," Adelaide said.
"When genius has to obey the dinner-gong, creation dies," Emerald
retorted.
Adelaide saw that Emerald loved Victor and accepted him on his own terms.
That he would be constant to her was extremely unlikely. She might have
put the problems of both his daughters to their father, but that would
assuredly lead to trouble, possibly a family break-up. He had taught
independence and she must wait. She did not want the trouble to be
ascribed to her.
With the sons things were less difficult. Jasper started on her portrait
in the frock she had worn on the first evening. He made more demands on
her time than she could grant and that led to an indiscretion on her
part. If indiscretion it really was.
When a morning sitting ended she told him she could not come again for a
few days but she would leave the frock and he could get on with that.
"I will slip it off," she said. "I brought a coat to go back in. Don't
look."
She expertly undid some fastenings and stepped clear of the garment. He
did look. He saw her in her flimsy but alluring underwear. He dashed at
her, seized her in his arms and kissed her shoulders.
"You are beautiful, Adelaide," he whispered. "A beautiful devil."
"Don't be silly," she said coolly, pushing him away. "You told me your
model was only an empty shape. I trusted you. If I cannot I will never
come again."
She picked up her coat, slipped her arms into it and left him. She did
come again but that episode was never repeated. If she had to change her
attire she did it in the adjoining room.
Of Garnet she saw but little; he was absorbed in his work. She and George
gave him money to help with the new surplices and she went twice to his
church. On the first occasion the vicar preached, the second time he did.
The Rev. Forbes Fortesque was a remarkable-looking man. He must have been
nearly eighty years of age; his hair was white but his clean-shaven
cheeks were fresh and shiny like a well-polished apple. It was not true
that he mumbled. His voice was soft and it was probably only audible in
the front pews. But his discourses did ramble. He preached ex tempore and
it was no unusual thing for him to start on one text and finish on
another quite different.
On the morning Adelaide heard him he started with the River of Life. He
drew a vivid picture of the rower striving against the tide and showed
the importance of his keeping to the main stream lest he got lost in one
of its branches. Talking of branches reminded him of trees and in the
trees, God's gracious gift, the birds of the air made their nests. But
not all birds were good birds. There were the birds that swallowed the
seed that fell by the wayside. And some fell in stony places. So
naturally he concluded with the parable of the sower.
Adelaide could see that his inconsequence made his curate restive, but he
was a dear old man and his parishioners respected him, even if they
thought he lived in a different world from theirs. She had brought Garnet
over in the little car George had given her and she waited to take him
back.
"What did you think of it?" he asked as they started.
"It was all good, but rather muddled," she said. "Like having three
excellent recipes for puddings and cooking them all together."
"And what is the effect on the congregation?"
"Did it have any?" she enquired.
"Probably not. That is the tragedy of it. The wasted opportunity. I
strive to get them to the church and they are sent empty away."
Garnet's own methods were certainly different. He preached in the evening
and his words rang through the church. He told of the Love of God and the
Sinfulness of Man. His earnestness made Adelaide--and perhaps others--a
little uncomfortable.
Adelaide's arrival did not only affect the Michelmore household, it
created no little sensation in the village and the surrounding country.
The women for the most part disapproved. George might wish to marry
again, that was natural, but for him to bring home a bride of the same
age as his children was entirely wrong. How could she guide and help them
in the problems of life as an older woman would have done?
The men, however, when they saw how beautiful Adelaide was, did not
blame him at all. Possibly they envied him. One lecherously remarked that
for an old man to marry a young wife was the pleasantest form of suicide.
But George was not an old man. All agreed that he seemed to be enjoying a
new lease of life. As was natural there were many tea parties and a few
dinners at which he and Adelaide were the guests of honour. They returned
the hospitality received and there was more entertaining than the small
community had known for several years. Many of the ladies were curious
about her, but the family told no one of their father's fatal hair-cut.
They merely said the two had met abroad.
At one party given in the garden of the Vicarage (the vicar, Dr. Aitken,
not to be confused with the Rev. Forbes Fortescue of the adjoining
parish), an old soldier, Colonel Vatchell, managed to secure a cosy chat
with Adelaide.
"You may not be aware of it," he said, "but I am your nearest neighbour.
Your garden and mine adjoin."
"I think I have seen you," she replied.
"Had I seen you sooner," he said gallantly, "I do not think I should have
done the foolish thing of which I have unfortunately been guilty."
"What is that?" she smiled.
"I have let my house. I generally do for the summer."
"But you will be coming back?"
"As soon as I can. Meanwhile be kind--but not too kind--to my tenants."
"Who are they?"
"Ever heard of Major Roger Bennion?"
"I don't think so."
"He has a wife and a baby of about a year old. Very charming people. At
one time Bennion was quite famous as a sleuth."
"What is a sleuth?" Adelaide asked.
"A sort of amateur detective. He brought to justice a lot of criminals
who dodged the police."
"He sounds rather frightening."
"He has given it up now, but don't start any mischief!"
"Do you think I am likely to?" she laughed.
"I don't know," he said, trying to look roguish, "but not perhaps in his
line. Anyway I want him to enjoy himself. Tell him I said so and he
certainly will."
Adelaide promised to do her best.
Another episode has to be recorded that did not turn out quite so well
and it seriously threatened Pearl's devotion for her. Dr. and Mrs.
Skelton, Peter's parents, asked George and his bride and Pearl to have
dinner with them. The invitation was accepted and to Pearl's
consternation her stepmother wore the costliest gown in which she had
ever seen her, set off by a pair of diamond ear-rings and a handsome
diamond star hanging from her neck on two fine gold chains.
What hurt was that they had been her mother's diamonds. It came as a
shock to see them on someone else.
Mrs. Skelton was a kindly, homely woman and it was just a neighbourly
meal. Surely, Pearl thought, apart from anything else, Adelaide might
have known such splendour was uncalled for. But Mrs. Skelton was not
disturbed.
"You look lovely, my dear," she said. "The grandest visitor we have ever
had, isn't she, Peter? I am afraid you have to take us as you find us. We
did have two maids when we first married, but on the whole we are happier
without them. Never contented and always wanting more time off. Now if
you'll excuse me, I'll dish up."
Peter Junior assisted her and so did Pearl. Everything was excellent of
its kind, and the talk was amusing. The doctor had some good stories to
tell and Adelaide, unconscious of her offence, responded gaily. George
and Mrs. Skelton did their part but Pearl and Peter were rather silent.
Pearl because of that star and Peter because he had little to say, since
they were not alone.
When they had finished, Mrs. Skelton told them to go along the other room
and she would bring the coffee there. Pearl insisted that she must help
with the washing-up and Peter went with them.
"Do you know Arthur Dixon and his wife Esme?" Adelaide asked the doctor
when she and George were alone with him.
"Of course I do. I saw him into the world. A pity he and Esme don't get
on, but it is an instance of the sort of thing my wife was talking about.
He loves the country, has a pleasant enough place with some shooting and
fishing. Esme is a pleasant girl but they could get no domestic help. She
has a little money of her own and said why should she become a maid of
all work when she can afford to live in a London hotel, having everything
done for her and enjoying the sort of life she likes?"
"No very deep affection," George remarked.
"She suffers from what is all too common in these days," Skelton
shrugged; "sinkophobia."
"A disease without a remedy?" George asked.
"None that I can prescribe."
"Is there likely to be a divorce?" Adelaide enquired.
"No cause for it so far as I know," the doctor said. "If either of them
can find a married couple or a decent working housekeeper, Esme will
probably come back."
Pearl and Peter brought in the coffee and the subject was dropped. It was
not until she got home that Pearl had a chance to speak to her father
about the thing that was troubling her. Adelaide had gone up to her room.
Pearl perched herself on the arm of his easy-chair, as she had often done
in the past.
"I am fond of Adelaide," she said, "but was it necessary to give her
those things?"
"What things, my dear?"
"Mummie's star and the ear-rings."
"What else should I have done with them?"
"I suppose you did not know what they meant to us. That star was Mummie.
We grew up used to seeing it on her and we loved it."
"You want it?"
"No, Daddy. Don't say that. I would like Emerald to have it; or Garnet's
wife, if he marries. Someone who knows how we felt about it. Someone
Mummie would like to see wearing it."
"Well, my dear, I did not realise you regarded it like that and I am sure
Adelaide did not. Your mother was not fond of jewellery. That was my
first and almost my only present to her of real value. She refused other
things. I must think it over and see what can be done about it."
Pearl kissed him and it was left at that.
6: The Bennions
How often it is true that the tail wags the dog. Penelope Ann had not
benefitted as much as had been hoped by her stay in Cornwall. Roger had
gone to Northumberland by himself to play his part in the amazing affair
of "Slippery Dick." For Ruth the rest had been good, but little Penny had
not gained much in strength. She was healthy enough but a bit below
weight. A long wet spell had not helped. So it was for her sake her
parents decided to spend part of the summer in the bracing air of
Suffolk. Colonel Vatchell was an old friend and the chance to take his
house at Beckford was too good to lose.
Ben and Bessie Orgles arrived a little in advance to get things ready and
Roger, Ruth and Penny, with the faithful Nannie soon followed. They were
pleased with the house and all its surroundings. A few minutes' run would
take them to the sea or to one of several golf courses. They anticipated
a quiet, health-giving holiday. How little they knew!
Ruth and Roger were sitting on the verandah one sunny morning, two days
after their arrival, when they saw the garden gate open. A slim, elegant
figure approached them. That she was young and very good-looking was at
once apparent. Roger rose as she joined them.
"Is it Major Bennion?"
"It is."
"I am from next door. Mrs. Michelmore. I hope I am not being a nuisance
coming so early. Colonel Vatchell told us you had taken the house and
said we must do all we could to make your stay comfortable. I do not
suppose there is anything, but please let us know if there is. We shall
be glad to help in any way we can."
Adelaide was not wearing a hat and her pleasant smile could not have
failed to make a good impression.
"Very kind of Colonel Vatchell and of you," Roger said. "Won't you sit
down? This is my wife."
The two young women murmured words of polite greeting and Adelaide took
the seat by her.
"I expect you know a lot more of housekeeping than I do," she said, "but
I could tell you about the local tradespeople."
"You are very good," Ruth answered, "but Colonel Vatchell left us a
list."
"That's all right. We mostly have the same as he does. Oh--is that your
baby? What a darling!"
She dropped her voice to a whisper. Nannie was pushing the pram past them
and its little inmate was fast asleep. They did not speak again until
there was no risk of rousing her.
"Your only one?" Adelaide asked.
Ruth nodded.
"I have four," the visitor said. "My youngest is twenty-two."
"And your oldest?" Roger smiled.
"About my own age. I am Mr. Michelmore's second wife. I have only been
here a few weeks. That is partly why I rushed in on you so soon. Everyone
has been very kind, but I thought how wonderful it would be to have a
friend of my very own."
"Lucky for us, too," Ruth said, liking her straightforward way of
speaking.
"We are having a small tennis party on Saturday," Adelaide went on.
"Could you possibly come?"
"I expect you would be far too good for us. I was never up to much. Roger
has played in first-class matches, but it was years ago."
"Oh, do say you will come, Major Bennion."
"Charming of you to ask us," Roger replied. "I am sure it would be very
pleasant, even if we only looked on."
"Oh, thank you," Adelaide said. "And of course you must play. I do not,
and the others are not terribly good. They will be thrilled when I tell
them. You know, Major Bennion, Colonel Vatchell made me rather frightened
of you."
"Very wrong of him. How did he do it?"
"He said you had caught a lot of criminals that the police let slip
through their fingers."
"That is done with," Ruth said.
"Yes," Roger agreed. "Please do not talk about it. In a peaceful spot
like this we want to forget there is such a thing as crime. Do any of you
play golf?"
"My husband. He would love to play you sometime. He wants to teach me,
but I didn't start young enough."
They chatted for quite a time. When Adelaide rose to go she handed a
small parcel to Ruth.
"A few eggs. I know you have no hens and ours lay more than we need. They
are really fresh as I took them from the nests this morning. Now I shall
have to face Teague, the gardener, and confess. He rules us with a rod of
iron."
They all laughed and there were appropriate words of thanks. Roger walked
with her to the gate.
"Saturday at three," were her parting words.
"That is neighbourly," Roger said when he returned to the verandah. "What
do you think of her?"
"I don't quite know," Ruth answered. "She is very pretty, almost
beautiful, but it must be rather a queer household with four stepchildren
of about her own age. I wonder what the husband is like? Did you notice
the way she puts her tongue out and licks her lips?"
"Costly in lipstick," Roger laughed. "That is an idea for a fortune. Let
us produce a new lipstick. You not only select your shade but your
flavour. Cherry, raspberry, whatever you like. Would it take on?"
"You are not supposed to swallow it," Ruth said. "But many women do;
otherwise it would not want renewing so often. It is worth thinking
about."
At lunch Adelaide told the family of her new acquaintances and of the
match arranged for Saturday. On the whole they were pleased; new blood is
always welcome.
"1 hope they are reasonably good," Emerald remarked. We don't want more
pat-ball!" She was thinking of some of their friends whose efforts were
very third-rate.
"Major Bennion won county championships when he was younger," Adelaide
told her. "He may be as good as Mr. Gore-Black."
"Did you say Bennion?" her husband asked her. "There was a Major Bennion
who made a stir in these parts years ago. He cleared up a remarkable
murder case and ended by marrying one of the daughters of the Dean of
Fenchester. Ruth, I think her name was."
"That is right," Adelaide nodded. "Colonel Vatchell told me something
about it, but Major Bennion says he has given up such things."
"Just as well," her husband agreed. "He must be a very interesting man,
but murders don't happen here."
"We will hope not," Jasper said, "though it would be rather a thrill to
have a Sherlock Holmes as our next-door neighbour. What is his wife
like?"
"Charming in every way," Adelaide replied. "You might get a commission to
paint her. She would make a lovely picture. So would their baby."
"I must see the baby," Pearl said.
"It sounds all right," Emerald commented, "but we do not want snoopers
here."
"He is no snooper," Adelaide declared. "Wait till you meet him."
Sunbay boasted two tennis courts, and whatever his failings in other
respects, Teague kept them in good order. George still liked an
occasional set and as all the family were playing, that meant five in the
home team. Adelaide cried off as she would have to see to the teas.
Pearl's admirers, Peter Skelton and Arthur Dixon arrived as usual, as did
Emerald's collaborator, Victor Gore-Black. To help balance the sexes
Pamela and Mary Aitken, two girls from the Vicarage, were invited.
All the girls and most of the men wore the modern one-piece linen
costumes with bare legs, the hairy limbs of Gore-Black being specially
notable. Ruth and Roger were exceptions as she had a skirt and he white
trousers with a silk shirt. Naturally the regular players knew one
another's form and Gore-Black ranked as their Number One.
To make a start, Ruth and Roger were invited to play Emerald and
Gore-Black on one court, while Pearl and Peter took on one of the
Vicarage girls and Arthur Dixon on the other. Victor Gore-Black liked to
live up to his name and monopolised as much of the game as he could. He
directed all his attack on Ruth who had played very little since her baby
was born. Although golf was Roger's game, he played squash and badminton
to keep himself active. It took him a little time to find his form but he
was satisfied that he had the measure of Victor and was content at losing
6--4.
"You played jolly well, my dear," he said to Ruth. "We will take them on
again presently and beat them, if you like."
"It might do them good, but I want to talk to Adelaide." The sets were
made up again and again, with various changes of partner and with
intervals for tea. It would be tedious to detail them. Victor was very
pleased at beating Roger, whose bygone glories had been told him. To rub
it in he suggested a men's four, he and Dixon taking on Roger and Garnet.
Roger, whose touch had been getting more sure readily agreed.
The curate, though not brilliant, was quite a useful partner, perhaps a
shade better than the good-looking Dixon. Gore-Black tried to excel
himself. Roger was faster and more accurate and that was bound to tell.
When he and Garnet led by 3--1 there was an incident that amused the
onlookers. Roger was serving and had scored two aces. At the third Victor
called "Fault!" Garnet protested, "I saw the chalk fly."
"Never mind," Roger said, "call it a fault." There was no umpire.
For his second service he sent over a ball popular years ago but now
little used. A sort of backhand googlie with a lot of spin. It was
necessarily slow. Victor ran forward to smash it back but it broke at
least a yard in the opposite direction to that expected and he missed it
completely. Everyone laughed. Roger and Garnet eventually won by 6--2.
"That was an extraordinary ball," Garnet said afterwards. "How did you do
it?"
"It came from America," Roger smiled. "It was devastating at first but
our players soon got the hang of it and killed it."
He asked Ruth if she would like their return but she declined. She had
played two other sets and said he had done mischief enough for one
afternoon. It had really been a pleasant affair. She and Roger chatted
with all their neighbours. Adelaide was delighted with their success and
she and George asked them to come in for a game when ever they wished.
"I believe you play golf?" Roger said.
"Of a sort," George replied.
"So do I. Much nicer to have a ball that sits up and waits instead of
running away from you."
"Especially when it runs the wrong way," George chuckled.
The party broke up and Ruth and Roger returned to their own abode. When
they were well out of earshot Ruth said--"I like them all, especially
Adelaide and Pearl. I told you it was a queer household and so it is."
"I saw Adelaide telling you her life-story," Roger answered. "What is so
queer about it?"
"Not her life-story but that of everyone else. George must be rather a
remarkable man. He retired when he was about thirty with a fortune of
over a hundred thousand pounds."
"How did he make it?"
"He inherited from his father a number of shops in the Midlands called
Michelmore's Markets. Something in the Woolworth line. He opened more and
then one of the big combines bought him out."
"A shrewd fellow."
"Yes, indeed," Ruth said, "and his wife had ideas too. As each child was
born she made him buy an insurance policy so that it received five
thousand pounds when it became twenty-one. Would that cost a lot?"
"It would depend on the terms of the policy. If he took the chance and
the money was lost if the child did not reach twenty-one, it would be
much cheaper than if there was a surrender value at death."
"Adelaide says he took the chance and in due course they each got their
money. He invested it for them in his old firm, and they each have about
three hundred a year free of tax. Not a great deal in these days. They
could use the capital if they wished, but she doesn't think they did so.
The idea was that they should be independent but not too well off to
work. And they all have their own little flat, rent free, part of the
house."
"Certainly a novel idea. Does it answer?"
Ruth hesitated. "Adelaide is not quite sure. She says Emerald and the
Gore-Black man profess to believe in free-love. They are writing a book
together and may practise what they preach."
"Is Adelaide doing anything about it?"
"She is afraid to. She also says one of the two men who appear devoted to
Pearl already has a wife."
"Independence run riot. What about the sons?"
"Garnet, the curate, is a model of pious endeavour. She is not so sure
about Jasper, the artist. What queer names they all have. Chosen, she
says, by their mother."
"As the mother of the Gracchi proclaimed, these are my jewels."
"Is Jasper a jewel?" Ruth asked. "It used to be the name of the villain
of the piece."
"Rather difficult, I imagine, to get male names from gems. Plenty of
female ones; Ruby, Coral, Beryl and so on. Jasper is a semi-precious
stone, very Biblical, as you, a Dean's daughter, should know."
"Adelaide hopes we will have a good influence on them."
"A bit late in the day, if what she says is true," Roger remarked.
7: Temptation
Contact between the occupants of Sunbay and their new neighbours grew
apace. There was frequent tennis and George Michelmore had two rounds of
golf with Roger Bennion. Pleasant enough, but there was little
inclination to repeat them as George was no match for Roger and preferred
to reserve his energies for bowls, a game Roger had not so far attempted.
Few days passed without Adelaide looking in to see Ruth, and Pearl made
great friends with little Penny. Emerald remained aloof. Jasper, having
been promised that he should try his hand on Ruth and her infant, was
well occupied in finishing the work he had already begun.
The curious thing was the friendship between Garnet and Roger. Friendship
may not be the right word for it. When he had a free evening the curate
would call and ask for Roger, but the latter found him rather tongue-tied
and could not quite see why he came. He tried various themes of
conversation without much success.
"Is Garnet coming to-night?" Ruth asked him.
"I hope not," Roger said. "He doesn't smoke, he doesn't drink, he doesn't
play cards and he cannot talk!"
"Perhaps he has something on his mind."
"Then I wish he would get it out of his system. Why bring it to me?"
"He may be lonely."
"Can it help him to sit and brood? I would sooner spend the time with
you."
"I have plenty to do," Ruth said. "Does he play chess?"
"More likely Tiddleywinks! I could ask him. But what about you?"
"Nannie and I enjoy the wireless."
The next time he came Roger made the suggestion and the curate said he
would like a game. The pieces were set out. Roger had never really had
much time for chess, there were other things he preferred, but in less
than a quarter of an hour he had mated his opponent.
The pieces were replaced in silence and another game started. But it was
soon evident that Garnet, although he knew the moves, was not really
giving proper attention to it. Roger was naturally patient, but this was
sheer waste of time. He purposely made an atrocious move that should
have led to the capture of his queen. Garn took a long time to play and
then missed his opportunity.
"Something worrying you?" Roger enquired.
"Why--why do you ask?" Garnet replied.
"You could have taken my queen and in the last game you missed some
chances."
"I--I am not very good."
"Not as bad as that, I think."
Garnet was silent for some moments. Then he said--"Yes. I am worried. I
have wanted to tell you, but--but I don't know how to begin."
"It is generally the start that is difficult," Roger said kindly. "I will
help you if I can, but am I the right person to come to?"
"I--I think so. There is no one else."
"Well?"
"A young woman--a girl--wants to marry me." Roger looked at him for a
moment or two. He was undoubtedly good-looking, though there was an
expression in his eyes that called for sympathy.
"Most men have had that experience," Roger said with a slight smile.
"Perhaps clergymen are more subject to it than others; I don't know. I
take it you do not wish to marry her. Have you ever given her reason to
think otherwise?"
"No! Before heaven, never!" Garnet spoke with sudden vehemence. "I
believe in a celibate clergy."
A parson had to be polite to the members of his congregation and a
determined woman is difficult to escape. Roger knew that. Perhaps
unmarried curates are less sought after than they used to be but no doubt
there are still those who feel their fascination--a tribute possibly to
their virtue.
"Need you meet her?"
"I do my best not to," Garnet said.
"Then surely the matter will die a natural death--unless there are
special circumstances in the case."
"There are."
The young man got up from the table. Perspiration stood on his brow and
the look of misery was intensified.
"There are special circumstances," he muttered, walking restlessly across
the room.
"You are sure you wish to tell them to me?" Roger said. "You would not
prefer to ask the advice of your father or perhaps your vicar?"
"They would not understand. You are a man of the world. You have had much
experience."
"In some matters I have. Whether they will help you I cannot say."
"I need someone to confide in. Someone with an open mind."
"A lawyer perhaps?"
Garnet shuddered. "A lawyer would see it all wrong. He might not believe
me."
"Well--start at the beginning. I will do what I can."
Perhaps a little reassured at having broken the ice, Garnet returned to
his seat. He brushed the chessmen on to the table and closed the board.
"When I went to help Mr. Fortescue at Torbury I found the work at the
church neglected."
"So I have heard."
"Mr. Fortescue is old but I am young. I saw a field white unto harvest
and with such energy as I possess I threw my self into the work. One of
the things that shocked me was the neglect of the service of Holy
Communion. It was only held once a month and then only two or three
elderly people attended it."
He paused. For a moment the misery in his eyes gave place to the light of
the zealot.
"I talked to the people about it and slowly our number grew. Then I found
there had been no Confirmation classes for two or three years; no attempt
to reach the young people. I was horrified. I asked the Vicar and he said
he had no objection to my holding such classes if I could get anyone to
attend them.
"He evidently thought my effort was doomed to failure, but I spoke to the
young people and I called to see their parents. Eventually a dozen
promised to come."
"Of what ages?" Roger asked.
"Fifteen to eighteen. There was no suitable place in Torbury for them to
meet and I decided to hold the classes here in my own room. At first I
thought of having them all together, but I decided against it. You know
how it is with a mixed class. You try to make them think of sacred
things; then they go off, perhaps in pairs, and the temptation for fun
and flirting may be too strong for them."
Again he paused. Roger realised he was getting to the more difficult part
of his story.
"I arranged for the lads to come one evening and the girls another. I
think some at least of them meant to become real members of the Church of
Christ. Then one evening, when I had been talking to the girls, one of
them said there was something she wished to ask me in private. So I let
the others go. I took them to the door and said good-night to them, but
suggested they might wait for their friend. I would not keep her long."
He stopped. The signs of agitation were again visible. He rose from his
chair and walked to the window and back again.
"I returned to my room. She was not there. I could not understand it;
there was no other way out. I thought perhaps she had wanted to go to the
cloakroom and had been too shy to say so. But it was not that; the door
was open. Then I heard a sort of muffled laugh from the inner room--my
bedroom. I went there. She was in my bed . . . She sat up and held out
her arms to me. She was naked! I--I have never been more shocked in my
life."
Another pause. He was finding it difficult to speak. The moisture on his
face told of his suffering. Roger made no comment.
"I--I told her to get up and dress immediately. She said it was all
right. She loved me--did I not love her? I cannot describe how I felt. I
had been talking of the love of God and then--that. I do not remember all
we said but I told her unless she was up and dressed in five minutes I
would telephone her father informing him of what she had done and asking
him to fetch her away. She said I must not do that or he would use the
strap on her."
"How old is she?" Roger asked.
"Seventeen-eighteen."
"A bit old for such treatment."
"Mr. Howes--I did not mean to give names, but that is it--Mr. Howes is a
fierce old man. He is our churchwarden; a farmer. He has two daughters,
no sons, and Binnie is the elder. He is very strict in an old-fashioned
way. I have heard that he beats them, but do not know if it is true. I
threatened to fetch him and I went outside for her to dress. I meant to
tell her friends she was just coming. But they had gone. They had
bicycles and had not waited. Then she came. I started to say a few words
but she was too angry. She muttered she did not believe I was a man at
all and she rode off."
"That ended it?"
"I wish to God it had! When I went back to the room I saw she had left a
garment behind. The thing they wear--up here."
He did not like to mention the breasts but made a motion to indicate
them.
"A brassiere?" Roger suggested.
"I think they call it a bra." Garnet nodded. "I made a parcel of it and
posted it to her the next day. I put no message inside. Then I had to
consider what I should do about the classes. Of course I could never have
her again, but I persuaded a Mrs. Stokes, a faithful old soul, to let me
have the others in her home, she being present. The lads came to me as
before. Then a few days ago I met her--that is Binnie."
Again he paused. He was still finding words difficult.
"I would have passed by, but she stopped and said she must speak to me. I
thought she wished to express contrition for what she had done, but--it
was not that at all. She said she thought I had better marry her. I
started to walk away. She caught hold of my arm. 'Listen!' she said. 'I
have only to say a word and what will people think of you? The girls all
know I stayed that night with you and I have that bra'--I think she
called it that--'addressed to me in your writing. Who is to know what you
did to me? I love you. Why should we not be happy together?' I told her
she was a wicked girl and must not think or talk of such things. She
laughed. 'What will Dad and the Vicar say when I tell them?' she asked. I
shook her arm off and left her."
"Anything more?"
"I met her again a day or two later. 'Made up your mind?' she said. 'I'd
be a good wife."
Garnet stopped abruptly. He leant over the table, his head in his hands.
"Why does God let this happen to me?" he murmured brokenly. "Have I been
unfaithful? How can I carry on? O God, what must I do?"
Roger was sorry for him, but he felt that a few firm words might be
helpful.
"You are not the first man to be tempted," he said. "Was not St. Anthony
tempted by the devil in the shape of a woman? I once heard a preacher say
he pitied the man who was never tempted. It could only be because the
devil knew he had already got him. A farmer does not shoot the birds in
his chicken run."
Garnet looked up. "He said that?"
"Indeed he did. But tell me this, were there any endearments, a kiss or
anything like that the girl could have misconstrued?"
"No. Never. Unless--"
"Unless what?"
"Last Christmas the Howes gave a party. I was asked and I went. I want to
know the people and be one of themselves. We played games. One of them
was a game with forfeits. I forget what it was, but I made a mistake. For
my forfeit I was told I must kneel to the wittiest, bow to the prettiest
and kiss the one I loved the best."
Roger remembered playing such a game in his childhood. "What did you do?"
"I knelt to Mrs. Howes, she was my hostess; I bowed to her mother, a
wonderful old lady, who was also there. Then I said I could not do the
last part as I loved them all equally well, as it was my duty to do."
"Very neat. Then?"
"One of the girls--I think it was Binnie, but am not sure--cried, 'Come
on! We won't let him off like that!' And five or six of them rushed at me
and tried to kiss me. Of course it was only high spirits, but I did not
like it. Mr. Howes told them to stop it. 'Remember who he is.' he said."
"That was all?"
"Yes. There was to be dancing. I do not dance and I came away."
"Were others of your family there?"
"No. They do not know the Howes. They go to this church--if they go at
all."
"Just a little free and easy fun," Roger said. "Nothing in that, but what
you now tell me is more serious. I think I have seen Binnie. A girl with
a fresh colour, rather on the buxom side?"
Garnet nodded.
"Judging by her type I see three possible explanations of what she did.
Old perhaps for her years, she was attracted by you and thought you
needed encouragement. Primitive in her ideas, she offered herself to you
in that shameless way."
The curate shuddered.
"Another possibility is blackmail. Has she mentioned money to you?"
"Never."
"I did not expect it. It would be the trick of a woman of the town, not a
country girl. Her father is fairly well off?"
"I believe so."
"Has she, or has she had, a sweetheart?"
"I don't know."
"I have been told," Roger said slowly, "there is more immorality in the
country than in the cities. Young people live closer to nature; the
breeding of animals is part of their life. It may or may not be true, but
many a girl has found herself in trouble. The man may not be willing to
marry her and she has to find someone on whom to foist her child. Could
it be so with Binnie?"
The curate trembled. "I hope to God it is not!"
"Those seem to me the possibilities. If it is the first--infatuation--it
will probably pass if you show you wish to have nothing to do with her.
Blackmail we dismiss in the monetary sense but the other is more serious.
Should she renew her attack, you must take a bold stand. Say you will see
her father the next day and let him have the whole story. Tell her you
will bring your doctor with you and he will probably wish to examine
her."
"Will--will that help?"
"The doctor will be able to say if she is Virgo intacta. If she is not,
if she is with child, he will possibly give some idea of the time period.
If it pre-dates that unhappy night it will show the truth of your story.
She will perhaps be afraid to face the doctor--"
He stopped. Garnet had collapsed over the table in a faint. Roger got
some brandy and, as soon as he was able to swallow, forced a little
between his lips. Being unaccustomed it had the quicker effect. The young
man coughed and pulled himself together.
"Oh," he mumbled, "it is so horrible."
Roger believed his story, just as he had told it. Like many another young
parson he talked glibly of sin but had little experience of it in its
cruder forms.
"Remember," he said, "what Robert Browning told us. We must face
temptation in order that we may triumph. If you do what I say I believe
you will triumph. Should it be necessary, send for me. I will also see
Mr. Howes and let him know what you have told me. You would hardly have
done that were it not true."
"Thank you, thank you," Garnet whispered. "It has helped me a lot to talk
to you. I will try and follow your advice."
He got up and Roger saw him out. As the door closed, Ruth appeared.
"Did you play chess?" she asked.
"We did. But you were right; he is worried. I talked to him like a
father. He is a curiously sensitive soul. Perhaps saints need thick
skins!"
8: "The End of Life Beginneth Strife."
The sudden death of George Michelmore had a profound effect on the
parties concerned in this story. Naturally so, though there was no
mystery about his demise. It was, in fact, just one of those things that
happen and are accepted as unavoidable in the modern world.
He was slain by a motor car. So are nearly a hundred others every week of
the year. In the Boer War, lasting about three years, there were 5,774
killed and 22,000 injured. We are approaching that number of deaths on
the road annually, while the injured are already ten times as great. What
are we doing about it? Making new and better roads? Very slowly--if at
all. Reducing the number of cars and limiting more stringently their
speed? By no means. The output of the engines of destruction increases
rapidly and so does their velocity.
Had George been killed with perhaps a dozen others in a railway accident
or a plane crash, there would have been big newspaper headlines and
probably a public enquiry. But as one of the year's toll of five thousand
road deaths, he hardly deserved mention.
It was his own fault too. He went out to post a letter. His home, Sunbay,
abutted on the village street. He had enjoyed his tea and he thought to
stroll to the post office, which was a couple of hundred yards away on
the other side of the road. He walked a short distance and then glanced
behind him. There was no vehicle of any kind in sight. He took a few more
paces and stepped on to the road.
Those few paces were fatal. A car had turned the corner and was almost
level with him when he stepped in front of it. The luckless driver could
not help hitting him. He was travelling at a legitimate pace and there
were onlookers who saw it happen. George was known to them. A stretcher
was improvised and he was carried back to the house he had left a few
minutes before.
Dr. Skelton was soon in attendance. He decided that nothing would be
gained by taking him to a hospital. There were multiple injuries and he
knew the case was hopeless. All that was possible was done. A nurse was
installed. Adelaide was by his side day and night and Pearl and Emerald
were anxious to help. On the third day he died.
An inquest was of course held. The eye-witnesses told their story. The
motorist expressed his sorrow but showed he had had no time to hoot or to
alter his course. A verdict of Accidental Death was recorded.
The funeral was largely attended and the floral tributes were numerous.
Adelaide, in deep mourning, looked pale and pathetic, though a drooping
hat hid her features. The sons and daughters were by her side. There were
no other relations.
The Vicar, the Rev. Dr. Aitken, paid a tribute to a friend and neighbour
who had supported all good causes in the parish. His exemplary career had
been abruptly ended by the Moloch of the Road at a time when he had only
just started a new and happy life. He expressed his deep sympathy with
his widow and his family.
After the interment the little party walked slowly back to their home,
Adelaide leaning on the arm of Garnet, the older son. Ruth and Roger
Bennion were among those in the church, but neither they nor older
friends intruded on the sorrowing group who were accompanied by one man
only, a Mr. Watson, who, as Mr. Michelmore's solicitor, had been present
at the inquest.
Nan had attended the service, but she hurried back to see that Mrs.
Hopkins had prepared lunch in accordance with her instructions. It was
for the most part a silent meal, Adelaide remaining in her room.
When it was over, Mr. Watson said he had brought Mr. Michelmore's will
with him; would they ask if Mrs. Michelmore felt able to come down while
he read it or would she prefer it left until another day. Pearl went to
make the enquiry and after a brief delay returned with the pale but
outwardly composed young widow.
They sat in the lounge and Mr. Watson, adjusting his horn-rimmed
spectacles, took the document from his pocket. Lawyers as a class are
thin men. It is sometimes held that mental activity wars against obesity.
If that be so, Mr. Watson was an exception to the rule. He was decidedly
corpulent and his smooth poker face gave no indication of his thoughts.
"Mr. Michelmore's will," he began, "is in effect very simple. I think it
would be best if I explained its general outline and I can have copies
made and sent to each of you if you so wish."
He paused. Silence appeared to give consent.
"He sent me written instructions from Paris to prepare it, and he called
and executed it at my office in London on his way here. I may perhaps say
I disapprove of it in certain respects, but he insisted on my carrying
out his instructions. He appoints his bank manager and myself his
trustees and executors. He leaves all his real and personal estate to his
wife--" Mr. Watson glanced at the deed to refresh his memory--"to his
wife Adelaide Michelmore, formerly Adelaide Bidaut, nee Pelmore, for her
life. On her death it is to be divided equally between his four children,
Garnet, Emerald, Jasper and Pearl, or the survivors of them. Should
however any of them have died and left issue such share or shares shall
pass to their children."
It was indeed simple, but some of them could hardly believe their ears.
It was outrageous. They glared furiously at Adelaide, who sat with
downcast eyes as though she was hardly listening. No one interrupted and
the solicitor went on--"There are certain provisions affecting you all
more immediately and these I had better read in detail.
"I would wish my house, Sunbay, to be carried on as far as possible as it
has been in the past, that is as a residence for my said children until
they marry, free from all charge, and I give to each of them the contents
of the rooms or flats they occupy if they are in residence at the time of
my death. I have already made some provision for them but I authorise my
Trustees to pay to each of them any further sum up to five thousand
pounds as may be directed in writing by my wife, the said Adelaide
Michelmore, should they marry, or should other circumstances arise that
in her opinion justify it. Such sums to be deducted from their eventual
shares in my estate."
Mr. Watson raised his eyes from the document.
"There are legacies of five hundred pounds to the housekeeper, Hannah
Wood, and of one hundred pounds to the gardener, Saul Teague, but that is
all. I shall be happy to answer any questions you may care to ask me and,
as I said, if you wish it I will let you each have a copy that you may
consider at your leisure."
He stopped. There was silence for some moments. They all looked serious
and the heightened colour in Emerald's cheeks told of suppressed anger.
Jasper was the first to speak and his tone was normal, almost casual.
"Can you give us any idea of the amount of the estate?"
"That," Mr. Watson said, "is fortunately easy. Your father's investments
were almost without exception in gilt-edged securities or good-class
industrials. After paying duties there would be not less than eighty
thousand pounds."
"Twenty thousand each. Could we realise anything on it, should we wish to
do so?"
The solicitor shook his bead. "Other than the five thousand provided for,
it would be difficult. The bequest is to the survivors at the time of
Mrs. Michelmore's death."
"Do you mean?" Emerald's voice hardly concealed her rage, "do you mean we
get nothing while Adelaide lives?"
"That is so, subject to the proviso as to marriage I read you."
"But we cannot marry without her consent!"
"Not quite that“ was the smooth reply. "Your marriage is no one's affair
but your own, but you have to get her written consent if you wish to
anticipate part of the money that may eventually be yours."
"It amounts to the same thing," the girl retorted hotly. "It is
monstrous. She is little older than we are and is practically a stranger.
Why should she dictate to us?"
"You told me you did not believe in marriage," Adelaide said gently.
"Perhaps I did," Emerald flushed, "but circumstances alter cases."
Possibly she thought that would apply to Victor Gore-Black.
Mr. Watson did not answer and Jasper had something further to say in his
more easy friendly manner.
"The will, if I heard you correctly, alluded to other circumstances.
That, I take it, would apply to things that might affect the
opportunities and advancement of the party concerned?"
"That could well be so," Mr. Watson nodded.
"Well, I have no thought of being married, at any rate at present, but I
do wish to pursue my career as an artist. I feel it would be invaluable
for me to be able to go to Paris, Rome and elsewhere to learn all I can
of modern art, and to study the old Masters. I suppose a thousand or two
would last me quite a time and be most valuable. What about it,
Adelaide?"
She hesitated before she replied.
"I will pay you the fifty guineas your father owed you for my portrait,
and a further fifty as he promised, if it is accepted for the Royal
Academy. That is all I can say at present."
Pearl said nothing. Perhaps she had no immediate wants, perhaps her mind
did not grapple so swiftly with such matters. Garnet took up the cry.
"I ask nothing for myself, but I have great opportunities in my Church
for five thousand pounds or any lesser sum. I would see there was a
worthy memorial to my father. I cannot think of a better."
"This is horrible, horrible!" Adelaide said, bursting into tears as
though she could stand no more. "I loved George and would try to carry
out what I believe would have been his wishes when I have time to think
them over. But almost before the breath is out of his body, you are
badgering me about money! I cannot endure it. I will go back to my room."
She got up and, with her handkerchief to her eyes, walked slowly to the
door. Garnet opened it for her. Pearl went too, to ask if she would like
her to be with her. Adelaide declined.
"A very good act," Emerald muttered scornfully. "Believe you me, she will
stick to every penny she can for as long as she can."
"That is not fair!" Pearl said hotly.
"We know you toady to her," Emerald retorted. "Much good may it do you!
There are one or two things I want to know."
"Yes?" murmured Mr. Watson.
"Can the will be contested?"
"On what grounds?"
"What are the usual grounds?" she demanded. "Such cases are common
enough."
"There are normally three grounds for such cases," the solicitor replied
looking at her through his heavy spectacles. "The first would be because
of some irregularity in the execution of the will. As in this case it
follows his written instructions and was duly signed and attested in my
office, I do not think that arises. The second would be that the deceased
was of unsound mind when he made the will, and the third undue influence
by some party concerned. I do not think any of you would suggest
insanity. Your father was in possession of all his faculties and lived a
normal life."
"He did," Pearl said, and Garnet nodded.
"Undue influence," Emerald muttered. "Hers!"
"I saw no sign of it. He came alone to my office and his great wish was
to provide adequately for her. He was obviously deeply attached. You must
remember that his tragic end was as little foreseen by him as it was by
you. He might reasonably have hoped to live for many years to come."
"Did you know she was about the same age as we are?" Jasper asked.
"I did not--nor did I see her--or my remonstrance would have been
stronger. I imagined her to be about his own age. I did point out that
any or all of you might wish to marry in his lifetime. He said he saw
little sign of it, but in such a case he would do his duty by you. It
would be simple to amend the will."
"You realise she was some sort of shopgirl?" Emerald said warmly. "The
marriage lasted only these few weeks. Is it right for her to be put over
us?"
"I would rather not discuss that. He had made some provision for you in
the past and had supplemented it in the manner shown."
"Are you acting for us or for her?" the girl demanded bluntly.
"Strictly speaking, for none of you," Mr. Watson answered. "As executor I
am acting for the will; that is, for my late client's expressed wishes.
But I hope you will believe me when I say my opinions are sincere,
however much I may regret them."
"You consider," Garnet said, "the will must be accepted?"
"Undoubtedly. Should any of you marry and should Mrs. Michelmore decline
to authorise the Trustees to pay the sum provided, you could apply to the
Courts to compel her to do so. I cannot say with what result but, unless
she had valid reasons for her refusal, such application might well be
successful. But why anticipate such trouble? Mrs. Michelmore is suffering
from severe shock. Give her time to recover from it, show her your
sympathy, and I do not doubt she will act as your father would have
wished."
He then left them, glad perhaps to escape from a situation that he felt
did him no great credit.
9: Jasper's Discovery
THERE was little opportunity for them to show sympathy or any other
emotion in the days that followed. Adelaide had her meals in her room and
they rarely saw her. She occasionally went for motor rides, driven by
Pearl who was expert at the wheel. Letters of condolence and gifts of
flowers called for acknowledgement but Garnet undertook to deal with
them.
The only person who seemed to enjoy the young widow's confidence was Ruth
Bennion. Almost every day Adelaide would slip into the next-door house
with her problems. Ruth was naturally sympathetic and felt really sorry
for her--with no friends or relations of her own and surrounded by those
who, with the possible exception of Pearl, made no pretence of affection.
Adelaide told her of the clauses in the will and asked what she thought
should be done about them.
"I think," said Ruth slowly, "I should let them each have their five
thousand pounds as soon as you can."
"And lose a quarter of my income?"
"There is plenty left, isn't there?"
"I don't really know. Mr. Watson said the will had to be proved, whatever
that may mean. But why should I let them have it?"
"If you are to live happily with them, it seems the only way."
"But suppose George would not have approved?"
"Was it not his wish? They are his children."
"Then what do you think of this?" Adelaide asked. "Yesterday I wanted to
speak to Emerald about it. She and Victor Gore-Black had both said they
did not believe in marriage. I used the special house telephone. There
was no reply, but I heard them talking. They must have left off the
receiver. They were in bed together."
"How do you know that?" Ruth spoke coldly.
"They must have been. The 'phone is on the table beside the bed. She
keeps it there so that she can ask for her breakfast to be brought up. I
heard them distinctly."
"They were no doubt in the room. You cannot say more than that."
"Does it matter? Emerald asked him when should they announce their
engagement? He said, 'Five thousand pounds is a useful sum; it wants
thinking over.' 'There is another fifteen thousand when she dies,'
Emerald told him. 'When she dies,' he repeated; 'she may outlive us
both.' 'But we can get the five thousand now we are engaged; the lawyer
told us so. If he is wrong, we can call it off if you want to.'
"I don't mean I heard it all clearly, word for word like that," Adelaide
added, "but that was the effect of it and they went over it again and
again. What do you think of it?"
"He does not sound very pleasant, but she is clearly in love with him.
You must help her all you can."
"But I do not like him. I do not believe he would be faithful to her,"
Adelaide objected.
"She knows him well if your suspicions are correct," Ruth said. "If he
will make an honest woman of her, as the old stories used to put it, it
is up to her, not to you."
"She has always been beastly to me."
"Then let her have her money provided they marry and go away and leave
you in peace."
Adelaide, like many another, wanted advice but was not pleased when it
was not the advice she wanted.
Through the agency of Pearl, Jasper got the money for his picture. He told
his sister mysteriously a client wanted to see him. He did not say who or
where. Adelaide drew the cheque, although she said it was not really her
debt, but George's. She would keep her promise.
Jasper dashed off for St. Malo. He had heard from the picture dealer, M.
Lanier, who had sold a previous effort and thought he might place others.
He took with him several sketches and a few canvases, including his
conception of Grief. He booked a room in a small hotel near the Cathedral
and after a satisfying déjeuner made his way to the dealer's shop.
The interview was fairly satisfactory. Lanier bought three of his works
outright--for what sounded a lot of money until one remembered a franc
was worth less than a farthing--and kept Grief and some others for
further consideration. In the evening Jasper found his way to an
attractive café.
There was music inside but the more interesting seats were those on the
street where one could watch the passers-by. All the tables appeared to
be taken. He was about to turn away when a man by himself beckoned him
and said he was welcome to sit there if he cared to do so. In his rather
halting French Jasper thanked him and took the seat.
"Monsieur is English perhaps?" the man said, in that tongue.
Jasper admitted he was and regretted his poor French had given him away
so quickly.
"Mais non, Monsieur. Your French is excellent, but I speak some English
and am lucky to be able to practise it." He shrugged in Gallic fashion as
he spoke. He was middle-aged, rather stout, and smartly dressed; his dark
curly hair and his short pointed beard made his skin seem pale, though
his eyes were alert. A waiter came up and Jasper invited his companion to
join him in a drink.
"As a visitor you should be my guest," the man said.
"As an artist who has actually sold a picture, the drinks are on me,"
Jasper returned, glad perhaps to get in his little boast.
A shrug. "Eh bien alors, my congratulations. Another Dubonnet."
Jasper gave the order and asked for a café and cognac for himself.
"So Monsieur is an artist. I hope the pictures sell well."
"Not too badly," Jasper smiled. "Perhaps you know Emile Lanier?"
"I know of him. A fair man. Of course he has to make his profit."
"He is welcome to it. He bought three little things and is considering
others."
"Good fortune." The drinks were brought and they raised their glasses to
one another. They chatted for some time, Jasper saying he had only
arrived that day and talking with him about himself. Then another man
joined them, a big, rather untidy person. He had a glass of beer with
him.
"Ah, Bidaut," he said, "in your usual place with your usual drink. I
trust I do not disturb you."
He spoke in French. Jasper understood it better than he talked it.
"I thought you were not coming," Bidaut replied in the same tongue. "My
friend is an artist from England."
The man nodded. Then he went on, "The Government--think you it will
fall?"
"Tout est possible, Henri."
"Possible! Mon Dieu, it is certain." He proceeded volubly to tell of the
parties who would or would not support it. Jasper guessed he was a
politician or a journalist, or both.
His torrent of words continued for a considerable time. Then he turned to
Jasper. "Vous comprenez, Monsieur?"
"I am afraid not," Jasper owned. "You have so many parties. I do not know
what they stand for."
"And in England you have but two. How foolish! Call them black and white.
But there are many shades between black and white! We represent them all,
so we are the more truly democratic. Is it not so?"
"It is arguable," Jasper admitted, "but it makes it difficult for a
Government to carry on."
Then he got up. He felt he had taken this Henri's place and he was not at
all interested in his talk. His friend pressed him to have another cognac
but with polite remarks on both sides he got away.
"Bidaut, Bidaut," he muttered as he approached his hotel. He had a
feeling it ought to ring a bell, yet somehow it did not. It was not until
he got inside that he remembered. He had been meaning to enquire if there
was a night show worth seeing but now decided against the idea.
Bidaut--My wife Adelaide Michelmore, formerly Adelaide Bidaut neé
Pelmore. That was the line in his father's will. Adelaide had come from
St. Malo. They had been married in the Cathedral. She had said she had no
relations. It was odd that the first stranger he met in the town was a
Bidaut. It might be quite a common name but he had a feeling that his new
acquaintance might be able to tell him something about Adelaide's past
life. He must see him again.
Early the next morning he called on the art dealer. Lanier, very
apologetic, said he had been unable to contact his patron but he might
have news on the morrow. Jasper said he could easily stay a little
longer, and remarked that he had met a friend of his, Lanier's, the night
before--a M. Bidaut, a man with a short dark beard.
"Gaston Bidaut--the hairdresser?"
"He looked like it," Jasper said. "Where is his shop?"
He was told and he made his way in the direction indicated. Then he saw
it. A fine shop with the wax busts of incredibly lovely ladies in the
window, showing the latest styles of coiffeur. Hair could be waved,
curled, tinted or treated in other ways. Various cosmetics were
displayed, fancy soaps and toilet accessories. There was also an
inconspicuous notice in English for the benefit of foreign visitors that
Gentlemen could be shaved and have their hair cut. Over the shop in bold
letters he read Maison Bidaut.
So it was here his father had had the hair-cut that led to the temporary
disinheritance of his family! Yet Adelaide asserted she had no relatives.
It was very odd, for she had made no secret of the fact that she had
worked in such a shop.
Jasper decided not to enter. He gathered that Gaston had his usual table
at the café where they had met the night before. He would be there in
time and perhaps enjoy a little conversation before the loquacious Henri
arrived.
In the afternoon he crossed on the smart vidette to Dinard and saw the
sparkling green water and the beautiful coast line his father had talked
about. He returned in time for an early dinner and found the table in the
café unoccupied when he reached it. Bidaut soon arrived. Jasper hoped he
did not mind his being there and ordered him a Dubonnet.
"Sold another picture?" was the reply.
"I hope so. A little thing called Faith, but I may not know for a day or
two. Artists must be patient."
"How true!" Bidaut said. "I also am an artist in my way."
"I know it. Lanier told me of your beautiful shop. I went and admired it.
I but paint, you create."
“Perhaps we both improve on nature," Bidaut smiled.
"We try to, but what perfect English you speak!" Jasper thought a little
flattery would create a good impression.
"I tell you a secret," was the reply in a lowered voice. "By birth I am
English."
"Yet you are the perfect Frenchman too!"
Gaston shrugged, not displeased. "My father was English, my mother
French. She taught me all I know. When I started my business I used her
name. I became Gaston Bidaut. Could I, as Arthur Smith, create the mode
Parisienne?"
"Very difficult," Jasper agreed. "Curiously enough, I know a lady whose
name also was Bidaut."
"Ah, who was she?"
"Adelaide Bidaut. Did you ever hear of her? I believe she lived here."
Gaston drew back as though he had been struck.
"My wife!" he muttered.
Jasper was utterly surprised. "Perhaps we talk of different ladies," he
said. "The one I know has golden hair, is very beautiful and about
twenty-seven years of age. She once worked in an establishment like
yours, but she married an Englishman."
"My wife!" Gaston said again. "She had eyes of the Madonna but a false
heart."
"You divorced her?"
"Mon Dieu, no! She did not marry your Englishman. He was rich and he
stole her from me. Yes, she was beautiful. She was the Beauty Queen of
Dinard. Then I married her. In less than two years this monster, this
Michelmore, enticed her away. Where did you see her?"
Jasper's thoughts were in turmoil. He did not doubt what he heard; it
must be true. It was a shock to hear of his father's deception but might
it not turn to his own advantage? He was glad he had never mentioned his
name. He must be cautious.
"I met her with Mr. Michelmore," he said. "She told me they were married
in your Cathedral."
"She lied. She married me there. She could not marry again."
"Would you wish to have her back?"
Gaston hesitated. He passed his hand over his heated brow. This sudden
rebound from the tragedy of his life shook him deeply.
"Would she come? She was beautiful, yes. In bed she was all a man could
desire, but she would not get up! She was lazy. One wants a wife to help
in one's business. Some times she would sit in the window while I dressed
her hair. Everyone watched. Sometimes she would attend in the shop. But
often she would refuse. 'I am not a servant,' she said. This reptile
came. She left me a little note; she was tired of it."
"Perhaps you have consoled yourself?"
"A man is a man. But Adelaide--" He did not finish the sentence.
"You want her back?"
"I--I do not know. Why do you ask?"
"I ask," Jasper said slowly, "because Mr. Michelmore is dead. He was
killed a short while ago in a motor accident."
"Mon Dieu! Where can I find her?"
"I may have the address somewhere in the hotel. If not, I can send it
you. I may be leaving to-morrow."
"You will not forget?"
"I will not forget."
With a quick gesture Gaston pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled
out his wallet.
"See," he said, "I still have her photograph."
Jasper glanced at it. Adelaide without a doubt, in the minimum of a
bathing costume she had probably worn as the Beauty Queen.
"Yes," he said, handing it back. "It is the same."
"She was not hurt? Not disfigured?"
"No. He was knocked down on the road. She was not with him."
"I shall hear from you?"
"Surely."
"And your name is?"
"Jasper."
"Thank you, Monsieur Jasper. She is well?"
Before he could reply the ugly bulk of M. Henri loomed up. Gaston hastily
put his wallet out of sight. Jasper rose.
"Your seat, monsieur," he said, and he escaped.
When he had come to St. Malo his mind had been full of his pictures. He
had not thought of tracing the shop where Adelaide said she had worked.
Why should he? But now, thanks to his meeting with Gaston, the
extraordinary truth had come to light. His father's behaviour astonished
him. He had always been popular with ladies but had never seemed to give
a thought to any other woman while his wife lived. Then after his illness
he had met Adelaide. He could not marry her but he could run off with her
and say they were married. Who in their Suffolk home would doubt it?
Much of what Adelaide had said had been true. She had been married in
that Cathedral--but to someone else. He again recalled the curious line
in the will--my wife Adelaide Michelmore, formerly Adelaide Bidaut, nee
Pelmore. He had not given it much thought before, there had been so much
else that seemed important. Emerald had noticed it.
"So she was a widow," she had said to him.
'Doesn't make much difference," he had replied. "Perhaps she specialises
in old men."
But it might make a big difference! She was not his father's wife; she
never had been. Did the will hold good? He must hurry home and find out.
Bidaut could wait!
In the morning he again saw M. Lanier.
"Good news for you," the dealer said. "My client does not care for Grief.
He thinks that style is already old-fashioned, but he likes this."
He held up the picture that Jasper called Faith. Dimly in the background
one saw a cross or the shadow of a cross. In the foreground were two
hands stretching towards it. The long sensitive fingers painted with
delicate detail, were striving, straining, but were grasping nothing.
"Cynical," Lanier commented, "but that is the mood of to-day. It has an
idea behind it. I can give you 70,000 francs for it. If you accept, he
will try to exhibit it in Paris. He says the hands are after Rembrandt."
Jasper took the money and dashed for the boat.
10: Turning the Tables
"NAN, your hands brought me luck. I sold the picture." He took each hand
and kissed it.
"Don't make fun of me, Master Jasper. Who would want to buy my hands? And
you showed 'em worse than what they are."
Nan's voice was a little softer than usual. If she had a tender spot in
her heart for one of the family more than the others, it was for the
young artist.
"It is all true, my Nan. I will buy you the nicest pair of gloves you can
find to prove it. What has been happening here while I have been away?"
It was nearing lunch time and he had just arrived home from his trip to
France.
"Mostly nothing," said Nan. "She still keeps herself to herself.
Posterated with grief she pretends, but I don't believe it, seeing that
according to all accounts she only knew the Master for a few weeks."
"Still it was a shock for her."
"Maybe it was, but is it true, as Miss Emerald says, she is trying to hold
on to the money that should go to all of you?"
"That seemed the idea when I went away," Jasper said.
"Then I call it a downright wicked shame. I don't say anything against
the Master. She bewitched him. But he would have done different if he had
lived a little longer. I'd put it right myself if I could."
"Good of you, Nan, but perhaps we shall be able to persuade her to be
more reasonable. Who will be in to lunch?"
"All of 'em. She of course has it upstairs. Posterated but still got a
good appetite. Don't think I can carry on much longer. And if I go Teague
goes too."
"Love's young dream?" Jasper smiled. "How appropriate! But wait a bit; we
may be able to arrange it and you both stay here. I want to see the
others."
"Lunch is nearly ready."
They all welcomed him, especially when they heard of his success with
some of his pictures.
"You are now the rich man of the family," Emerald remarked.
"For a week or two," he grinned.
"I congratulate you," said Garnet, who had seen his picture of Faith. "It
is good work but I do not like the title. You might have called it
Despair, seeing that the hands grasp nothing."
"It is jolly well painted," Pearl declared. "I hope it is shown in Paris.
More orders may follow."
"Get on with your food, mes enfants," the artist said complacently. "I
have big news for you when you have finished."
It was a simple but satisfying meal. Possibly Nan would have made it more
elaborate had she known he would be back. No one had much to say; the
domestic tension was not without its effect on all of them.
"Any of you made any fresh approach to Adelaide?" he asked when they had
finished.
"No," Emerald said. "She doesn't give us much chance. But I soon may."
"Wait till you have heard what I have to tell you," he said, conscious of
his coming triumph. He proceeded to relate the story of his strange
meeting with Gaston Bidaut and all that he had learned from him, doing
full justice to his own adroitness in the matter. They listened and made
exclamations but did not interrupt.
"Good for you, Jasper," Emerald said when he stopped. "I always felt
there was something crooked about it. Always."
"The story of the marriage at the Cathedral bothered me," Garnet
observed.
"How could Daddy do it?" Pearl murmured.
"We must not blame the parent too much," Jasper said. "Adelaide is a real
good-looker, there is no getting away from that. She was Beauty Queen at
Dinard and they know what beauty is there. He wanted her and that was the
only way to get her. She jumped at the chance of an easy life. But the
thing is this, what are we to do about it? In his will he called her his
wife, which she is not. How does that affect things?"
"Of course it washes it all out," Emerald cried exultantly. "We get what
is ours."
"It would certainly appear so," Garnet said.
Jasper smiled. "I thought that at first, but it seems I was wrong. I
decided not to go to old Watson just yet, but on my way here I went to a
solicitor chap I know and put the case to him. Using imaginary names, of
course. You know the line in the will--Adelaide Michelmore formerly
Adelaide Bidaut nee Pelmore. He said if the will was contested on those
lines we should not stand an earthly. In law the point is who was meant?
The description leaves no doubt as to that. Had our parent died intestate
it would have been another matter, but the will is so explicit."
"You mean we are helpless?" Emerald said. "It is damnably wrong."
"Wrong as hell," Jasper declared, "but she may not know the will would
stand and she may not like the truth to be blazoned abroad. The sooner we
have a show-down the better. I suggest we send for her and you leave it
to me. If I cannot squeeze something out of her I'll eat my hat--all our
hats!"
"Does Watson know this?" Garnet asked.
"That they were not married? I feel sure not. I cannot see the parent
telling him. My friend said that in these cases the woman sometimes takes
the man's name by deed poll. Whether or not that was done I don't know,
but it would not affect us. Let us go into the sitting-room and Pearl
might invite her to join us."
"Me?" Pearl said.
"Certainly, my dear. You would be best. Just tell her I am back from St.
Malo and would like to see her. I think that will work the trick."
Rather reluctantly Pearl went on her errand and returned to say Adelaide
would join them in a few minutes.
"What will you say to her?" Emerald asked.
"Depends on how she takes it. I shall be friendly at first and then work
it up. I have an idea what is fair and should satisfy her."
Adelaide entered the room. She had taken some trouble over her appearance
and had seldom looked more beautiful. She was wearing a plain black satin
frock sufficiently low in the neck to show the diamond star that had been
their mother's. Pearl did not know if her father had said or done
anything about it. She had not seen it since the night she had told him
of her feelings. She wondered if Adelaide had put it on as a gesture of
defiance.
"A family party," Adelaide said. She seemed a little surprised but was
quite composed. "All to welcome Jasper."
"Not quite all," Jasper smiled. "We want to have a business talk."
"I cannot stop you, but I fear you will be wasting your time."
"I hope not. You see, Adelaide, I am just back from St. Malo."
"So Pearl told me. And you sold a picture. I congratulate you.
"Thank you. I also met--shall I say a very intimate friend of yours."
"Indeed? Who was it?"
They were all watching her. Did she lose a little colour or did they
imagine it? Jasper, enjoying his big moment, did not hurry.
"It was quite by chance. We met at a café and over a drink he told me his
name."
"Well?"
"He said he was Gaston Bidaut, though that was an assumed name for
business purposes. By birth he was Arthur Smith."
"How interesting!" Her self-control was unshaken.
"I will not beat about the bush. Adelaide Bidaut was his wife. You
assisted in his shop and there our father met you. You ran away with him.
You did not marry, for if you had, it would have been bigamy. Neither of
you wished to risk that."
She made no answer.
"You do not deny it. It would be useless to do so when I have such ample
proof. Well, Adelaide, we do not want to be hard on you. In his will our
father described you as his wife, but you were not. We would not wish to
expose you and we have his good name to think of as well as yours. I
suggest, and the others agree, some little re-arrangement of our affairs
is called for."
Still she made no reply. Her hands were clenched and she bit her lips. It
may be what he said was not entirely unexpected, but no words came.
"I take it you also will agree," Jasper said.
"What--what re-arrangement do you suggest?"
"In the first place you let us each have as soon as possible the five
thousand pounds that is due to us."
She hesitated a moment. "I might do that."
"Good! Then I think for your own sake, as well as ours, you should vacate
the house and surrender all claim to it. I am sure you will realise we
cannot continue the pretence that you are our stepmother."
"Anything else?" She spoke with ominous calmness.
"Only one thing. We want to be fair and, if I may say so, generous. I
propose that you execute a deed by which half the remaining income is
made over to us. That will still leave you twelve or fifteen hundred a
year as a reward for the brief period for which you were our father's
mistress."
Then Garnet broke in. He had restrained himself so far with difficulty.
"I cannot live under the roof of a harlot!" he exclaimed.
Emerald, too, had her say.
"You will certainly have done well for yourself, Madame Bidaut--or should
it be Mrs. Smith?" She put all the venom of which she was capable into
the words.
Adelaide's manner suddenly changed. Her eyes, Madonna-like no longer,
blazed with fury and red spots of anger showed in her cheeks.
"You brood of bastards!" she cried. "Now I will tell you something.
George and I were not married, but neither did George marry your mother!
What have you to say to that?"
"It is a lie!" Garnet said hoarsely.
"A lie?" she jeered. "How little you knew him! Where did they marry?
When? Can you name a witness who was present at the wedding? Search the
records, the registers, and produce a marriage certificate. I defy you to
do it."
They were silent. For some moments they were too startled, too outraged,
for words. Children never question their parents' marriage. They were
trying to think back for some fact, some evidence, that would confute the
vile assertion.
"Their wedding day was March 25th," Pearl said quickly.
"They had to celebrate it sometime!"
"The marriage was in Birmingham about twenty-eight years ago," Jasper
asserted.
"Or in Wolverhampton," Emerald added.
"Both perhaps," Adelaide jeered. "I will tell you the truth as George
told me. I promised him never to say a word of it unless you forced me to
do so. Now you have. I say nothing against your mother. She was a good
mother. She had been George's secretary and when he sold his business
concerns he arranged for her to meet him in Cornwall, Falmouth I think it
was. They wrote to their friends they had been quietly married and were
going to Italy for their honeymoon. No one doubted it. They returned and
were accepted without question."
She was speaking in a cooler, derisive manner. The others said nothing.
"Your father was a remarkable man, more virtuous perhaps than most. So
far as I know he never wavered in his loyalty, but he had seen many
marriages break up. He hated the words till death us do part. He liked
freedom and independence. Your mother may have protested, but she loved
him and she yielded. She made one curious condition. It was that if and
when children were born, he should immediately take out an irrevocable
fully-paid policy for five thousand pounds for each of them, payable at
the age of twenty-one. So whatever happened, if anything came between her
and him, the children would be provided for. George was a fair man and
the idea appealed to his creed of independence. He agreed, and I
understand you have all benefited by your mother's foresight. There is no
occasion for you to apply evil names to her, even if you dare to do so to
me."
She stopped. There was a strange stillness in the room. Each of the
family had the feeling that what she said might be true, yet was entirely
unwilling to accept it.
"That is your story," Jasper said at last. "It remains to be proved."
"Or disproved," Adelaide retorted. "You have only to find a record of the
marriage and it will show your father lied to me. That I decline to
believe."
"Our mother was a good woman," Garnet declared.
"I have always said so. It is the loyalty that counts, not the vows."
"Our mother never left her real husband."
These words, very softly spoken, were from Pearl. While Adelaide had
been, speaking, she had been watching that diamond star, to her the
symbol of motherhood, sparkling as it rose and fell with the agitation of
the argument. She felt she hated Adelaide. She had loved both her mother
and her father and she would not believe ill of either of them. Yet--
"She had no real husband," Adelaide said.
"I refuse to believe it!" the curate cried.
"So I should expect," Adelaide returned, in her calmer manner. "You will
no doubt make your enquiries in Birmingham and Wolverhampton and perhaps
Falmouth. Also, I suppose, at Somerset House. I hope for your parents'
sake and for your own you will do it discreetly. Being illegitimate you
have no claim. I do not propose to press that point but remember the text
as to who should cast the first stone."
Garnet was silen