Beggar’s Choice (32 page)

I was pretty well all in when I reached what I was looking for, a heathery common with clumps of trees here and there. It had kept dry, thank goodness; the damp in the air which had made the roofs wet and slippery a few hours ago had gone. The heather was dry enough. I flung myself down on it and fell into a deep pit of sleep. I didn't dream and I didn't move, for I woke in the very same position in which I had thrown myself down.

I opened my eyes and sat up feeling stiff, dirty, and ragingly hungry. I must have slept for a good many hours, for by the sun it was getting on for ten o'clock.

There was a sun shining over low mist. Some of the heather was still in bloom, the rest burnt red and brown. There were birches here and there, and young pines lifting out of the mist. The sky overhead was a very jolly pale blue. I glanced at my wrist watch. It was ten minutes to ten.

I did my best to clean myself up. My suit was in a frightful state. Besides the tear I knew about, there was another on the outside of my left sleeve. My hands looked as if I'd been cleaning a chimney with them. I found all that the drought had left of a pond, and got the worst of the grime off my face and hands. Then I had to find out where I was and get to Linwood.

I got there at eleven, and walked up to the front door feeling a good deal like a tramp. I wondered who would answer the bell. I was most awfully pleased when I saw William, because of course every one in the house might have changed for all I knew.

William hadn't changed a bit—same red hair, same freckles, same crooked nose. He seemed most awfully pleased to see me.

I had looked at my watch just before I rang the bell, and I thought that if it was eleven o'clock, I had better give Anna her message from Arbuthnot Markham before I did anything else, because she'd probably be catching the twelve-fifteen, so I asked for her.

He said she was in the library, and then put in,

“Mr. Carthew's just gone into the study, sir. Shall I tell him you're here?”

I said, “No, wait a minute. I want to see Miss Anna first.” And then I crossed the hall and opened the library door.

Anna was over by the window. I got the impression that she had turned round in a hurry, and I'm sure I was the last person in the world she was expecting to see. She looked as if she had been crying.

I shut the door behind me and walked over to her.

“Good morning, Anna,” I said.

She didn't say anything for a moment. She looked at me. I think she was trying to register shock, or something of that sort—or perhaps, for once in a way, she wasn't trying. Come to think of it, it really must have been a bit of a shock to see me walk in like that, when she'd been picturing me safely put away in a nice quiet police cell.

“How did you get here?” she said at last.

“On my feet,” I answered; and then, “I've got a message for you.”

“You
have?”

“Yes—from your husband.”

She walked past me when I said that, until she came to Uncle John's chair with the high carved back. She took hold of it and leaned there.

I went on giving her the message:

“He told me to tell you you'd have to cross alone. He's gone on. He said some one would meet you. That's all.”

I didn't want to stop there and talk to her, so I turned round and began to walk to the door. I hadn't gone a yard before she called me back.

“Is that all you've got to say to me?”

“Yes, that's all of it—he didn't tell me anything more. I've given you his message.”

She didn't ask how he had come to tell me that. She stood holding the chair and looking at me across it. She had a bright color in her cheeks, a very bright color. I wished myself well out of the affair.

“A
message!”
she said in a deep, scornful sort of way. “Haven't you anything to say to me from yourself?”

“I don't know that I have, Anna,” I said.

“Nothing?”

“Or too much,” I said.

She pushed the chair away from her.

“Say it then!” she said violently.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Why should I? You'd better be thinking about catching your train.”

“There's time for that,” said Anna—“and there's time for us to talk.”

I looked at my watch.

“Not so very much, if you're going to leave Croydon at three.” I didn't say it to provoke her. She hadn't even got her hat on, and I thought she'd better not miss that train.

She took offense of course. I don't know why, because she couldn't really think I should have anything to say which she would enjoy hearing.

“Yes,” she said, “I'm leaving Croydon at three. I'm going out of England, and I'm going out of your life. But before I go——”

My temper was getting up, and I cut in.

“For heaven's sake, Anna,” I said, “put on your hat and go to your husband! And cut out all this futile film stuff!”

“Oh, I'm futile?” said Anna. “Futile! That's what you think of me, is it? I suppose I was futile when I turned you out of here? Futile? I had only to say a word to Uncle John and out you went—out of his house, out of his will, out of his thoughts—out of sight, out of mind. I did that! Was that futile?”

“Don't you think it was?” I said.

She laughed.

“I picked you up, and I threw you away! No—I haven't done. I'm going, you know—but before I go I want you to know just how
futile
I've been. You got quite a decent job when you went away from here—didn't you? Did you ever wonder why you didn't keep it—and why you didn't keep the next job, which wasn't quite such a good one—and the next—and the next—and the next?”

I had often wondered, but I wasn't going to say so.

“You needn't wonder any longer. I drove you out of every job you had. When it comes from a man's own family that he is—unreliable——” She paused. I wondered if she was frightened, for she drew back from me and put the table between us. “I drove you out of here—I drove you out of every job you had! And when I've driven you to prison—shall I still be
—futile?”

I hadn't meant too let her make me angry, but the blood began to sing in my ears. I was on one side of the table, and she on the other. Neither of us had heard the door open. The screen masked it. Neither of us saw my uncle and some one else come into the room. Neither of us saw or heard anything but our own anger, until all at once I saw Anna's face change and I felt my uncle's hand on my shoulder and heard him say in his very loudest voice,

“What's all this—what? What's all this, I say?”

XLIII

I moved round and faced him. I moved slowly, because the whole thing was such a surprise and my mind seemed to have stuck. I couldn't get it to work on this being my uncle's hand on my shoulder. I had a sort of dazed feeling which was probably due to my not having had anything to eat.

After a moment I began to get there. Uncle John was clapping me on the back and saying things in a loud angry voice; but the anger wasn't for me, it was for Anna.

“I heard what you said—what? You're very clever at persuading people, but you can't persuade me out of what I've heard with my own ears—what? You can't do that—not if you were twice as clever as you think you are! I heard what you said to him! Do you hear that—what? I heard you with my own ears, and how you have the face to stand there and look at me, I don't know!”

Anna was doing just what he said. She stood there, and she looked at him. The tips of her fingers just touched the table. I saw a picture once of the arrest of a Nihilist—I think it was called
The Order of Arrest
. I saw it when I was about then, and it made a great impression on me. There was a girl standing behind a table, just touching it. She had big dark eyes, and she was staring out of the picture as if she was looking at something dreadful. Anna was standing and looking just like that. I suppose it was wrong of me, but I couldn't help wondering whether she remembered the picture too. She didn't say anything; she just looked.

My uncle turned to me.

“She was trying to make me believe you'd taken the Queen Anne bow. We've had a burglary, and it's gone. She was trying to make me believe you'd taken it.”

“It's sewn into the corner of my coat,” I said.

He let go of me and stood back. It must have been a bit of a shock. If I hadn't been feeling so stupid, I might have broken it a bit more gently. He looked at me, and he looked at Anna, and Anna laughed.

My uncle thumped the table.

“And who put it there?” he said.

I didn't answer him. I went over to the bureau and picked up a penknife. I thought it was time the Queen Anne bow was back in its safe. I cut a stitch, pulled the thread and broke it. The bow was pushed right down into the hem. I took it out and laid it on the table by my uncle's hand. The setting was tarnished; and the diamonds looked dull, but the two big emeralds were like burning green water.

Anna's eyes went to them and stayed there. I expect she was thinking they would suit her. I don't know whether it went through her mind that she wouldn't ever wear them now.

“Who put it in your coat?” said my uncle. Then, when I didn't answer, he got angry and banged again. “You don't sew, do you—what? Some one put it there, and I want to know who!”

Anna laughed and stepped back from the table.

“You are very chivalrous all of a sudden, Car! Don't you know who sewed the bow in your coat?”

I said, “Yes. Don't you want to catch that train of yours, Anna?”

“Train?” said my uncle. “What train? Where's she going?”

The door opened, and William came in. He was trying to look as if he didn't know that there was something up. I felt sorry for him—it's his ambition to be the perfect butler, but he hasn't got a butler's face.

“The car's at the door, miss,” he said. Then he tried not to look at us and went out again, fairly boiling with curiosity.

Anna saw her chance of a good exit and took it.

“I'm going to my
husband
,” she said in her best tragedy voice.

My uncle's jaw dropped about half a foot.

“Your
what?”

“My husband,” said Anna. “I was married to Arbuthnot Markham a fortnight ago.”

My uncle got very red in the face. He began to speak, stopped, and got redder still.

Anna looked at us both, very loftily.

“Good-by,” she said, and she began to move towards the door; but she had only got half-way, when she stopped.

She looked round at me, and I thought she was going to say something, but she didn't. She went quickly out of the room and shut the door.

My uncle stared after her, angry and confused.

“Bless my soul! Married?” he said. “What?
Married?
What's all this?” He jerked his shoulders back as if he was throwing something off. “Well, I wish him joy of her!”

It was whilst he was speaking that I saw there was some one else in the room. I very nearly jumped, because there was a sort of effect of his having appeared out of nothing. As a matter of fact, as soon as I had time to think, I realized that he had come in with my uncle. I hadn't seen him, because he had been standing behind me. But Anna must have seen him. It struck me afterwards that that was why she didn't say whatever it was she was going to say before she went out of the room.

Well, I looked at him and pulled myself together. He was a little man with thin, neat hair, sharpish gray eyes, and the sort of nose that is made for a pince-nez. The pince-nez sat neatly on the nose. He wore a natty gent's suiting, and he took a very small size in black boots. I had never seen him before, but I knew him at once.

He put up his hand and fiddled with his pince-nez, and he said,

“Good morning, Mr. Fairfax.”

It was Z.10 Smith.

It was such a relief that I felt as if a ton of bricks had been suddenly lifted off me. The beastliest part of the whole beastly nightmare I had been wandering about in was the perfectly damnable idea that Z.10 was acting for Anna. I had never been able quite to shake it off. Z.10 here, with my uncle, meant something quite different. This all went through my head very quickly.

I said, “Good morning, Mr. Smith,” and my uncle stopped staring after Anna and slapped me on the back.

“Well,” he said—“well? So you recognize him—what? What did you think? Did you guess he came from—me what?”

“No, I didn't,” I said. I was feeling a bit angry. “I wish I had!” I said.

My uncle broke into a shout of laughter.

“You weren't meant to! No, no—not a bit of it! His name's really Smith, you know—Smith and Wilkins, Enquiry Agents.”

He took me by the arm and walked me away to the other side of the room, dropping his voice till I could hardly hear what he said.

“Worried about you—began to think Anna'd been bamboozling me—found her out in a lie or two—makes you wonder whether it isn't all lies—what?” He gripped my arm. “I missed you, my boy. We've both got tempers—runs in the family—said a lot of things that didn't make it easy to climb down, both of us—what?”

I looked round and saw Z.10 vanishing discreetly. I heard the door close behind him. I don't think my uncle noticed. He went on, still holding me tight and mumbling between embarrassment and discretion:

“Thought I'd find out how you were getting on—couldn't do it myself—got him instead—Smith—Perkins recommended him—very efficient—what?—discreet—confidential—had to take him into my confidence a good deal—about Anna—what?”

“She knew,” I said.

“Yes—Smith said so—said she butted in—sent that fellow Markham ferreting round—kept the appointment Smith had made with you——” He broke into a half laugh and slapped my shoulder. “He saw her carry you off, and didn't know what to make of it, by Jove!”