Antidote to Venom (7 page)

The first was an opinion given by Dr. Marr during a chat at the club. “I'm sorry to tell you, Surridge,” he said, gravely, “that Miss Pentland is very seriously ill,” and when George once again asked if anything immediate was to be anticipated, he had not denied it. “Nothing immediate, perhaps,” he had pronounced, “but soon. I'm afraid the poor lady can't last many more days.”

George expressed suitable concern, but his heart leaped. Not many more
days
! In not many more days his aunt would have passed away and his troubles would be over! What an unspeakable ease to his mind that would be!

The second event gave him even more to think about. A couple of mornings later there was a telephone call from Nancy, saying that something unexpected had occurred and that she wanted to see him. She would give no particulars, but having arranged a meeting she rang off. George, feeling he must account for the call, sent Miss Hepworth to inquire if a lady's umbrella had been found in the lion house on the previous day.

When that evening he had hired the car and picked Nancy up at the rendezvous, he realised that her news was going to make a further upheaval in his life. The lady to whom she had been acting as companion had died suddenly; in fact, Nancy herself had found her dead when she brought her her early morning tea. It had been a dreadful shock, but that was the smallest part of it. What really mattered was that her job was gone. As soon as possible after the funeral the furniture would be sold and the house closed. She herself was moving immediately to Hampshire, where a friend had invited her to stay while she was looking round for something else.

This news was a terrible blow to George. Nancy had become a part of his life, and though he had never really faced the question of how the entanglement was to end, he had long since rejected a permanent parting as impossible. Now the issue was forced upon him and he was not prepared for it.

It was at this point that the idea of the little cottage, with roses over the porch, which had been for some time a cherished if unrealisable dream, re-entered his mind and gripped it till it became an obsession. This was due partly to Nancy's news and partly to the fact that on one of their recent excursions they had seen just such a cottage. It was exactly the size, surrounded by what might be made a delightful garden, and if it had not roses on the porch, it had at least a porch over which they might be trained. It was built on heathland, away from both farm workers and tourists, and yet within five-and-twenty miles of the centre of Birmington. Moreover, it was empty and for sale. George had stopped the car on the rough gravel lane and they had walked round it. The more he had seen of it, the more perfectly he believed it would meet his purpose, and Nancy had also greatly admired it. He had not dared to say all that was in his mind, but now he began to wonder if something of the kind might not have been in hers also.

However, out of the question as the idea had then seemed, it had suddenly become one of pressing importance. Of its two tremendous difficulties, one, marvellously, had been overcome. The death of his aunt would find him the necessary money for its purchase. There remained, therefore, only the second—would Nancy agree?

As George considered this it seemed to grow more and more formidable. Nancy in some ways was very conventional. He doubted lest his suggestion might antagonise her.

Not quite certain as to the best way of introducing the subject, he suggested a drive. “We can talk better when the car's going,” he declared, starting forthwith.

While giving no apparent attention to their route, he chose that which would take them past the cottage, and when they reached it, he stopped.

“I've taken a tremendous fancy to this little place,” he said, as he got out of the car. “Let's have another peep at it. It looks somehow like a haven where one could find shelter and peace if ever one was really up against it.”

She shook her head. “No, I couldn't bear to look at it again,” she returned. “It would make me simply sick with longing. To settle down in a place like that would be heaven; particularly when I'm looking out for a horrible job, probably with horrible people.”

His heart leapt. He hesitated for a moment, then plunged.

“Nancy,” he said a little hoarsely, in spite of all his efforts to be calm, “I brought you here to-day with an object. I'm renting this cottage, and if for a little time you'd condescend to use it, I should take it as the greatest privilege and proof of friendship you could give me.”

She was obviously surprised and touched, but he did not think she was antagonised. “It's good of you,” she answered, taking his hand and pressing it warmly, “very good of you, but—I couldn't.”

“Why?” he asked. “I wouldn't bother you more here than in the past. Instead of going for drives, I would come here; that's all. I'm not suggesting a permanent arrangement; only for a time till you can look round and find a job you can tolerate.”

Again she declined and he presently changed his petition. “I won't try to persuade you against your own will, even if I could. But grant me at least this. Let's have a proper look over the place. I'll find the agents and borrow the key.”

It was clear that she was torn between her better judgment and her reluctance to refuse his request. He left her walking in the garden while he drove a couple of miles to the address given on the notice board, a house agent's in the small town of Cleerby. There, after the agent had glanced at the Gnat, he handed over the keys.

The more he and Nancy investigated, the more desirable the cottage seemed to George, and the more impressed he thought she grew. It was tiny, containing only a sitting-room, a bedroom and a kitchenette; all in quite good repair. The sitting-room had a french window opening into the garden, with as a background a row of fine Scotch firs, the advance guard of the surrounding wood. Water was laid on, but neither gas nor electricity, but, as George pointed out, with oil lamps and stoves anyone could do very well. He said no more about taking it, but he thought Nancy looked at it with more and more longing, and he waited with a slowly-growing hope. Then suddenly, instead of answering one of his remarks, she turned abruptly away and stood looking out of the window.

He was amazed to find she was crying. A moment later she was in his arms and weeping unrestrainedly on his shoulder.

“It's too good,” she presently sobbed. “I know I shouldn't, but I just can't help myself. George, if I ruin you, will you forgive me?”

George's heart swelled with unspeakable delight. He did not realise that those words represented a turning-point in his life, and rendered inevitable the tragedy which had even now grown on the horizon to a cloud like a man's hand.

Chapter VII

Venom: Through Surroundings

The price of the little estate was seven hundred pounds, and George told the agents he would buy. A deposit of fifty pounds was required to clinch the bargain, the balance being handed over before occupation. It would take a few days, he was told, to get the legal business through, but he could move in directly the money was paid.

The seven hundred pounds for the house did not represent the total expenditure. There would be at least another hundred for furniture, as well as small sums for legal fees, minor repairs and one or two small alterations. Altogether the amount required would not be much below nine hundred.

The borrowing of a sum of this magnitude from the bank or from friends was simply impossible. George could manage the fifty pounds, but not more. Regretfully, he therefore decided that only this fifty pounds could be paid, and that the completion of the purchase would have to wait till his aunt's death had actually taken place and he was able to raise the balance in a normal way.

He naturally did not wish to appear in the affair, and now bitterly regretted that he had himself called at the agent's for the key. However, he had taken the precaution to give a false name and address, and as, owing to the rain the day was dark and his coat collar was turned up and his hat pulled low over his eyes, he did not think he could be traced. He had let Nancy return the key and now she conducted all the negotiations, also in an assumed name. She called on the agent with the fifty pounds and engaged a local solicitor to act for her. For this purpose she stayed at a neighbouring inn, which incidentally added to George's bill.

Though at last George was achieving a dream which he had scarcely dared to hope would ever materialise, he was not wholly happy. Sometimes he was almost delirious at the prospect of having Nancy permanently within reach, because though he had spoken of her spending only a short time in the cottage, he had really meant that she should make it her home. But at others he felt the weight of living a lie, the discovery of which would mean ruin. Sometimes he asked himself was the pleasure worth the pain, and he did not always answer Yes. For nearly three weeks things went on as usual, George growing daily more impatient at the delay. Then at last took place the event for which he had been so long waiting.

He was dressing one morning when Marr rang him up with the news. He was sorry to tell him that his aunt had just passed away. The end had come suddenly. As Surridge knew, he, Marr, had been expecting it, but on the previous evening there was no more appearance of anything immediate than at any time during the preceding three weeks. Miss Pentland had died in her sleep, and the family must not mourn her, as her death had been for her a happy release.

George smiled grimly at the idea of his mourning the death, but he replied sympathetically to Marr, and said he would go round immediately to see what he could do.

This proved to be little. Marr, of course, was able to give a certificate, so an inquest was unnecessary. The undertaker, once George had given him his instructions, took over all the details of the funeral. The elderly maid was told to look out for another job, though she was retained for a few days to help to clear up the house. George intended to sell both house and furniture, and he was anxious to see his aunt's solicitor, who, he thought, might do this for him.

He was surprised, and by no means pleased, to find that this was none other than Capper, the nephew of old Burnaby, whom he had met at the party to celebrate poor Joyce's engagement. At first he felt inclined to get someone else to act for him, then he thought he could not pass by a relative of Burnaby's in so marked a manner, and decided to employ him.

Slowly the leaden hours crept by till at last there came the funeral, and after it that moment for which George had so long waited, when he, Clarissa, and the maid met in Miss Pentland's sitting-room to hear the reading of the will. He had never questioned his aunt's good faith, but all the same a verbal promise and a binding legal document were different matters. Once he had seen in black-and-white that the inheritance was coming, the little gnawing pain of doubt would be finally removed.

He was astonished on reaching the house to meet a stalwart young stranger, who said he was Patrick Logan, Capper's partner, and that he would read the will. Capper, it appeared, was abroad. He had had to go to America on business, but he would be home in two or three weeks. Meanwhile, Logan was at George's disposal if any legal business should be required.

George found it hard to sit still during the reading of the document. Logan was slow and evidently unaccustomed to the task. He was, indeed, surprisingly young to be a partner. George wanted to get up and scream at him. “Get on, man!” he wanted to shout. “For heaven's sake get on with it! Don't stand there gaping like a boiled haddock!” Clarissa, he could feel, was similarly on edge, though she had far less cause than he. In the maid's mind the same struggle was also in progress: all tense with eagerness, all trying to disguise the fact.

At length Logan got under way, stumbling laboriously through masses of preliminary verbiage: “Last will and testament…of sound mind…give and bequeath.…” Then the words were spoken, the words that for years George had longed to hear: “That…to my dear friend and maid…save the said…and the said…all that I die possessed of…to my nephew, George Humphrey Surridge….”

In spite of himself, George heaved a great sigh of relief. Surreptitiously he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Then it was true! There was no longer any doubt! He could now borrow on his expectations, and send that six hundred and fifty pounds to the agent at once. In a day or two Rose Cottage would be his!

In a dream he heard himself talking to Logan. Much obliged for all his trouble. Yes, everything had gone without a hitch. There would be a little business to be done. Could Logan undertake it for him? Good, then he would call him in the course of a day or two. When would suit?

George soon found that the only time he could spare for the meeting was the following morning. He simply could not wait any longer. He had controlled himself admirably; he did not think that any of those present had suspected his eagerness. But it was beyond his powers to continue the strain.

He thought very carefully over what he should say to Logan: how he could get his information unsuspiciously. Then he saw that he only wanted to know what any man in his position would want to know. There would be nothing in the least suspicious in his questions. But there might be in his manner. Finally, to avoid a show of eagerness, he decided to prepare a small questionnaire, hand it to Logan, and ask him to reply to it at his leisure.

Next morning he drove the forty-odd miles to Bursham, the town in which Capper & Logan practised. The name had been freshly lettered on the door, and it was obvious that the junior partner was a recent addition to the firm. The young man was evidently impressed by the call, and assumed a portentously professional air, though he had the good sense to consult his chief clerk on George's questions before attempting replies.

In accordance with his decision, George adopted a leisurely attitude. He sat down and began to talk about the weather. When Logan held out a box of cigarettes he chose one deliberately and was in no hurry to light it. He talked about smoking, about Capper's absence, reaching by easy stages the matter of the deceased Lucy Pentland.

“I'm sorry for seeming to hurry this affair,” he went on, “but after this morning I am engaged for several days, and there is no reason why probate and so on should be held up.”

Logan expressed cordial agreement.

“I have prepared,” George continued, “a few questions, which I thought might get us at once to the heart of things. If I have omitted anything important, I should be obliged if you would add it to the list.”

Slowly he searched his pockets and produced a paper. “It seems a little heartless to be going into all this, when my aunt has only just died,” he murmured, “but I have explained the reason. Now, these questions are the obvious ones which would occur to anyone in my position. I have known for years that I was to be my aunt's heir, but I have never had the slightest idea of how much she was going to leave me. That's the first thing I want to know; very approximately, of course. Then I should like to know how she held it: whether it is in stocks or property, or otherwise: all those sort of things. Perhaps you could tell me how I stand?”

Logan was anxious to oblige. The actual figures he hadn't had time to get out, but, roughly, he understood that when death duties and legacies to the present and two former maids had been paid, there would be left over for George between eight and nine thousand pounds. This money, it appeared, was in shares, mostly industrials of various kinds, with a sprinkling of corporation and other stocks.

“I have the list here,” went on Logan, “and you will see that the choice of investments has been pretty good. Not only are the investments sound, but they are widely distributed both as to situation and type, while the proportion of trustee stock adds security. I think I may be allowed to offer my congratulations, Mr. Surridge.”

Up till now, George had striven to hide his eagerness; now he strove to hide his satisfaction. This, certainly, was a magnificent list. He was no authority on finance, but he knew enough to realise that these investments represented a good income with as close an approach to security as was possible in this financially distracted period. Nothing would have been better.

Two of his three fundamental questions had now been answered: he was the heir, and there was plenty of money. One other point only remained to be cleared up.

“That's a fine list, I agree,” he said, as coolly as he could. “I admit I'm delighted with it. But I don't suppose I'll see the money for a little time. It'll take—what? Three or four months to get probate and everything straightened up?”

“Less than that, I should think.”

George chatted on rather aimlessly about the delays in the law. Then he became slightly more confidential.

“There's just one other matter I'd like to ask you about. It has been in my mind that if this legacy came to over five thousand, I'd like to blue part of it: I'd like to take a holiday with my wife round the world. I don't know whether I shall do so or not. But if I do, I should probably do it soon: I mean in spring, so as to avoid the extremes of summer and winter. Suppose I wanted to get some money before probate was granted, could I do so?”

Logan seemed slightly embarrassed. “I'm afraid not through us, sir,” he answered. “We don't do that class of work. There are plenty of firms who do, of course.”

George hastened to explain. “I never for a moment expected that you did, Mr. Logan,” he said, pleasantly. “What I meant was: have I now sufficient security to borrow in the ordinary way?”

Logan again hesitated. “I do not think you could borrow, say, from your bank at the present moment. I imagine they would require the actual scrip to be deposited first. That Mr. Capper has in his safe deposit, but you will understand that until probate is granted I am not in a position to hand it over; nor, of course, would he, if he were here. But there are lots of firms which would lend on knowing that you were the heir and that we held your securities.”

“And how could they know that?”

Logan shrugged. “I don't think you need worry. If you tell them the facts, they'll make their own enquiries.”

George nodded. “I may do so: I don't know yet. By the way, when will Mr. Capper be home? I've met him, you know. He's a relative of my neighbour, Professor Burnaby.”

The remainder of the interview passed off as normally as even George could have desired, and he left the office profoundly satisfied with what had taken place. His prospects were splendid, and he had not at any point acted in the slightest degree suspiciously.

A couple of days later it happened that he had business in Town, and he took the opportunity to call once again on Messrs. Abraham & Co., the moneylenders. There he was received with the same formal courtesy, but with much more interest.

“We do not usually make loans otherwise than after the securities have actually been deposited with us,” Mr. Abraham explained, when George had stated his business. “However, in your case, where there is obviously no doubt as to the security, we might meet you to a certain, I'm afraid very limited, extent. You say that Mr. Capper will be home in a fortnight and that then these scrips will be available?”

“No,” George answered, “I didn't say that. I understand the firm won't allow the scrips out of their possession until probate is granted. But, of course, if I were to wait till then, I should have the money myself and should not require a loan. If the facts as I've mentioned them are not enough for you, I'm afraid we can't do business.”

Mr. Abraham hummed and hawed. Mr. Surridge, he said hesitatingly, was a man of business himself and would therefore understand business methods. He, Abraham, was personally satisfied, and if it concerned him alone he would willingly advance up to seventy-five per cent of the capital. But the affair involved his partners and therefore must be conducted on business lines. Without further security he could only advance what would be to a man like Mr. Surridge mere pocket money, say up to £250. “I suppose the matter couldn't be dealt with in some other way?” Abraham concluded. “You wouldn't care to say just what you wanted the money for?”

George hesitated in his turn. “It's rather confidential,” he said, “but as a matter of fact I want to buy a cottage.”

“And the price of the cottage, sir?”

“Seven hundred pounds, of which I have already deposited fifty. That leaves six-fifty, but I shall want a hundred or two for furniture and repairs.”

“Eight hundred and fifty,” answered the moneylender. Then, after a moment: “Will you excuse me while I consult my partners?”