Hue and Cry (20 page)

Ethan's hand was pinched rather hard. From the other side of the screen on their right a voice said, “Mally Lee?” It was a woman's voice; what Mally would have described as a dowagery voice—the sort that goes with chins and diamonds.

“Oh, yes,” said another woman. There were sounds as of two comfortably proportioned ladies settling themselves for conversation.

Mally went on pinching Ethan's hand. What on earth were they going to say?

“You don't mean to say she isn't here to-night!” This was the first voice.

The other had a sharper tone:

“My dear Louisa, you don't mean to say you haven't heard!”

“Not a word. Is there anything to hear?”

“Oh,
yes.”
The sharp-voiced lady threw a good deal of zest into the words. “Oh,
yes.
Why it's all off.”

“Not
really
! Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Really, Louisa! As if I should say such a thing unless I had it on quite unimpeachable authority!”

“And you have?”

“Lady Mooring rang me up this morning to tell us. Poor thing, I'm sure it's a relief to her; for I happen to know she was most unhappy about the engagement. And really you can't be surprised—a little nobody from nowhere without a penny piece. You know she was Maud Emson's governess, and managed to catch Roger when he was staying there. Most annoying for both families, because of course it was an open secret that he and Blanche were meant for each other. And such a name too—Mally Lee! Mally!—out of some old song that she made herself ridiculous by singing at those theatricals they had! I know Lady Mooring felt that very much. Such a thing to do!”

Ethan's right hand came down and covered the little cold fingers that were pinching him. Mally stopped pinching, and her hand began to tremble under his hand.

“I heard she sang charmingly,” said the comfortable, fat voice.

The other lady sniffed.

“A great deal too theatrical. All very well for the stage—but not for one's daughter-in-law. Lady Mooring was dreadfully upset about it.”

“Well, well, she needn't be upset now. What happened?”

“I don't know exactly. But she did say—only don't repeat it.”

“No, no, of course not.”

The sharp voice sank lower.

“Well, she did say that she could never be thankful enough that Roger had found out the girl's true character in time.”

Mally pulled her hand away from Ethan and stood up. Her face burned behind her mask, and her eyes stung. How
dared
they? Oh, how
dared
they?

Ethan caught her arm and followed her out of the alcove and down the passage. Where the last pair of chairs stood, his grasp tightened. The place was empty, for the music of the next dance had begun.

“Come in here,” he said. “Why should you mind what a spiteful old woman says?”

Mally turned to face him.

“I
do
mind—I do!” she said, and backed away from him until she stood against the wall between the two chairs.

“Were they talking about you?”

“Yes, they were. You heard them.”

“Then you were engaged to Roger Mooring?” Ethan's voice was slow and altered.

“Yes, I was.”

“And he broke it off? What a swab!”

Mally brought her hands together with a sharp, exasperated sound.

“No, he didn't, he didn't, he
didn't
! Every one will say that he did. But
you're
not to say it—you're not to think it. He
didn't
break it off—I did it. Do you hear? I did it.”

Her hood had fallen back. She put up a shaking hand and snatched off her mask. Ethan looked at her gravely.

“Why did you?”

“Because I chose to—because he didn't care for me, or know me, or understand anything at all. How dared he make love to me when he didn't care for me?”

“Are you sure?”

Mally laughed, a very hurt, angry laugh.

“Yes, I'm quite, quite,
quite
sure. He believed everything that odious, hypocritical Peterson said to him—he believed I'd stolen Mrs. Craddock's diamonds. People who care for you don't believe things like that—they
don't.”

Ethan gave a long whistle of dismay. What sort of mess had this child got herself into?

“Why should any one believe such a thing?”

The anger and the defiance went out of Mally; she felt frightfully helpless and alone. She put the backs of her hands to her eyes like a little girl, and said in a low, trembling voice:

“I don't know.”

And then suddenly—voices, laughter, a dozen couples looking for a place to sit out in. The intimate, passionate moment was over before Ethan knew what it was that he would have said or done. Mally's hood was up, and her mask on again; her hand rested on his arm conventionally.

“Don't let's stay here. Let's go into the ballroom and guess at who everybody is. I hate dark corners—don't you?”

Half-way down the corridor Mally saw Candida's black and silver. As she passed, Miss Long caught her by the arm and pulled her aside, all very imperiously.

“I've been looking for you everywhere. I
must
speak to you. Why did you say those things to me? Who are you?”

“One who knows,” said Mally in a whispering voice.

“I don't believe a word of it. How can you know? How can any one know? That's the curse of money—you can't be sure. Look here, you've got to tell me who you are.”

“Can't you guess?”

“No, I can't. What made you say those things? What do you know? Do you really know anything?”

Mally dropped the disguising whisper.

“Jimmy Lake's a great friend of mine. He's a great friend of Mr. Medhurst's, too. He told me Mr. Medhurst was in love with an awfully nice girl with a lot of money, but that he was much too proud to ask her to marry him.”

“Oh!” said Candida with a catch in her breath. “Is that true?”

Mally nodded.

“You're
Brown
! How on earth—”

“I'm not any one—I'm a rose-colored mask.”

“Brown!”

Mally laughed.

“No—rose-color.”

She ran away, still laughing. As she came out into the ballroom, she heard herself addressed in the correct squeak.

“Will you give me the next dance?”

Mally had noticed the handsome purple domino and remarked that he danced well. She made a mute curtsey. A new partner would give her time to recover. A furious shyness of Ethan Messenger had come down on her. She looked back, and wondered at her emotion. He was a stranger; he was nothing to her. But the anger and the emotion that had swept her off her balance were on his account. If he had not been there, she would not have minded what any one said. Her cheeks burned again. She had not justified herself to Roger Mooring, but she had come perilously near trying to justify herself to Ethan Messenger.

The music of the next dance broke in on her abstraction. She had not given the purple domino a thought; but they had not gone the length of the room before a most dreadful conviction came over her. “Idiot! Why didn't you guess
in time
? Idiot—idiot—
idiot
!” If she hadn't been wool-gathering, surely something would have warned her that this was Roger Mooring. Suspicion lasted for a moment only, and then became certainty. She had danced too often with Roger not to know his step, the way he held her.

It was when they were going round the second time that they both heard Mally's name.

“Mally Lee?”—it was a girl's hard, penetrating voice—“Oh, that's all off. Didn't you know?”

Roger steered for the middle of the room, his hand a little stiffer on Mally's, and the rest of the dance passed silently. When it was over, he gave her his arm and crossed the hall to the study. It was in Mally's mind to draw back, to plead a torn anything. But when it came to the point she was dumb.

Roger shut the door on them, pushed back his peaked hood, and lifted his mask, disclosing a pale and gloomy countenance. He gazed at Mally in the way that had always annoyed her and said, “Why did you come?”

Mally put her hands behind her and took hold of the handle of the door. She was very angry because her heart would beat so fast. Why should it? Why did it? It was only Roger in one of his glumps.

“Why did you come?”

It couldn't be Roger who was making her feel so frightened; she had never, never, never dreamed of being frightened of Roger.

“Why did you come?” said Roger. “It was cruel.”

All at once Mally knew that it was her own conscience that was making her afraid. She had cut Roger's cheek; she had broken a lot of lovely things that had never done her any harm; and she had been glad because she was angry with Roger. She looked at him, and something began to hurt her. He looked unhappy—not just gloomy, but unhappy, and hurt, and hungry.

Then suddenly he said “Mally!”; and Mally twisted the handle she was holding and called out quickly.

“No, Roger—
please.”

“Where have you been?” he said in a harsh, jealous voice. “Who's looking after you? How did you come here to-night?”

Mally pushed up her mask half impatiently. This was a mood that she knew and could deal with; Roger had been jealous so often. In the old days she would have said, “Pouf! Mind your own business.” But she did not want to flirt with Roger now. She felt remorseful, angry with herself for having come. For once in her life she didn't know what to say.

Roger came nearer.

“Why don't you speak?”

“I don't know,” said Mally in a small voice.

Roger caught her hands. His own were very hot and dry.

“Don't! No, Roger!”

She tried to pull her hands away.

“Roger, let me go! I oughtn't to have come. Let me go—and let's part friends.”

“Friends! We've never been friends—we never shall be. I don't want to be
friends
with you. I'm mad about you.”

“I can't think why. Roger, do let me go. It's no use.”

“I can't think why either.” He spoke with gloomy ferocity. “Look here, Mally, you're in the devil of a mess. That man Peterson's got his knife into you. I don't know what you've done, or why you did it—and I've got to the point where I don't care. I want you, and I'm prepared to stick to you.”

Mally stared at him. Was this the prudent, conventional Roger? She did not know him.

Roger Mooring did not know himself. For forty-eight hours he had been telling himself how well rid he was of Mally Lee; and all the time the memory of her furious contempt was playing havoc with his self-esteem. To change that contempt into admiration he was ready to go to unheard-of lengths.

“Roger, let me go!”

“I'll never let you go. Don't you see that I'm the only person who can really help you? No, listen—you
must
listen! Supper's due in half an hour, and every one will unmask. There's half the county here to-night. You go in with me, and when we unmask, I announce the date of our wedding. I can square Peterson. He's going to stand for Parliament, and he wouldn't have a dog's chance if he made trouble over my wife. I can get a pull on him through the Armitages, too.”

The color came quick and bright to Mally's cheeks. In her eyes Roger saw what he had been looking for—the surprised admiration which was to restore his own lost picture of himself. A sense of triumph came over him. And then Mally said:

“Oh, Roger, how frightfully nice of you! But I can't!”

“You can't? You must. I don't understand. We were engaged.”

Mally nodded.

“
Were
,” she said, and lifted her chin. Then she added quickly, “Roger, you must please let me go. I'm sorry I broke all that nice glass. I—I was angry. And it's frightfully nice of you to want to marry me and all that. But it's no earthly use. I can't. Only I'll never forget that you wanted to. And—and—let's part friends.”

She pulled her hands away and turned to open the door. If Roger had had a momentary spasm of relief, it was instantly swallowed up in a sense of angry loss. He was not going to be called upon to make his fine gesture of self-sacrifice; he was going to lose Mally.

As the handle turned, he caught her violently in his arms.

“You can't go—you can't! Mally! Mally!”

Mally did not struggle. She stood stiff and still, and said in a little cold voice, “It's no good, Roger.”

“Mally, I love you!”

She shook her head. She was full of a sudden wisdom.

“No, you only want me.” And then as his arms dropped, she got the door open and ran away across the hall pulling down her mask as she went.

CHAPTER XXIV

Candida Long watched Mally disappear.

“Brown!” She laughed, and a wave of excitement swept over her. “
Brown!
Now who on
earth
is Brown when she's not playing at being my maid?”

She went back to the yellow domino, who was waiting for her. They went into the little alcove where Mally had talked with Ethan. Candida sat down, leaned back in her chair, and took off her mask.

When her partner made no sign she said:

“So you knew me all the time. I thought you did.”

“Why?”

“I just thought so.”

“And when did you recognize me?”

“Oh, I knew you at once.” Then after a pause, “I wonder how many other people are playing at cross-purposes to-night.”

“I don't know. A good show—isn't it?”

Candida took no notice. Her voice sounded dreamy.

“You were pretending about me, and I was pretending about you.”

There was a silence—one of those silences which it seems very difficult to break. At last Candida said, “I think I'm tired of pretending. Look here, Ambrose, we're pretty good pals, aren't we?”