Lonesome Road (15 page)

Cosmo Frith shut the door behind him and walked over to the hearth. He stood there, picking up the old-fashioned gilt clock which had belonged to Rachel’s mother and fiddling with the key. He looked troubled and serious. Rachel’s heart sank.

“Cosmo, what is it? Don’t keep me.”

He said, “No, I won’t—I won’t—” But he got no further than that until she made an impatient movement. Then he put down the clock and said, “Don’t, my dear. It’s because it’s so difficult to say.”

“Difficult or easy, I think you must say it, Cosmo.”

He drew a heavy breath that was like a sigh.

“Yes, I know—but one puts off—you will probably be angry—”

“Does that matter?”

He nodded.

“A good deal—to me.”

A bright exasperated color was in Rachel’s cheeks.

“Oh, say it and have done!” she cried.

He gave her a wounded look.

“You see—you are angry already. But I can’t help it. I can’t let you go with that man and not say a word.”

“You said you wanted to see me about Caroline.”

“Yes, but I must say this too. I must beg that you will not go off alone with this man who calls himself Brandon. He is Gale Brent, and if you’ll give me time I’ll prove it. What do you know of him? He was on the cliff when you were pushed over it. Suppose he pushed you. Suppose he had some crazy notion of revenge. Oh, it sounds melodramatic enough, but isn’t your morning paper full of just that sort of crude melodrama? Can’t you believe that a man might grow up under a grudge and nurse it until he was crazy on just that one point? He’d be sane about everything else. He’d look sane—talk, think, and act as sane men do—and all the time there would be that one danger-point.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” said Rachel coldly. “I can’t stop, Cosmo.”

He stood where he was.

“Rachel, this morning you practically accused us all. You called us together, and you called in a stranger, and in front of that stranger you informed us that there had been an attempt on your life. I think we were all under observation. Will you deny that?”

Rachel gave no answer.

“You see,” said Cosmo Frith again. “I say—and you don’t deny it—that we were all under suspicion. Poor little Caroline broke under it. She fainted, and she has run away. I suppose that proves her guilty—”

“Cosmo, stop! I can’t listen to this.”

He said, “I am afraid you will have to. Don’t you see, it’s the fact that you’ve put us all in the pillory which gives me the right to tell you to look elsewhere. My dear, do you really believe that any one of us—It’s too monstrous!”

The phrase which he had used about the morning paper flickered through Rachel’s mind. She could not bring it across her lips. She said mournfully,

“What is the good of this?”

He returned her look with one as sad.

“No good at all. And you want to go, don’t you? Rachel, I only ask that you don’t go alone with him. Don’t risk yourself alone with Gale Brandon.”

Rachel’s chin lifted.

“Is that all, Cosmo? Because if it is—”

“No, it isn’t. There’s still Caroline.”

“Yes?”

He stood aside from the door and opened it.

“I have been thinking it over, and I am sure that she would go to town. You see, she has a key to my flat. I let her have one when she gave up her own flat a month ago. And she spoke of running up there—oh, one day this week, I can’t remember which.”

“Why didn’t you say this before? Why didn’t you tell Richard?”

The concerned look was back on his face.

“I know—that’s what I’ve been saying to myself. But it had gone clean out of my mind. It wasn’t until I came to go over it all—You know, I could go straight up there myself. There’s no need for you—”

She shook her head.

“No—I must go. I must see her.”

She went past him into the passage, and this time he made no attempt to stop her, but as she emerged, the half open door of Caroline’s room was opened wide and Miss Silver appeared.

“Miss Treherne—will you spare me a moment?”

It seemed as if everyone was in a conspiracy to keep her. She said quickly,

“I ought not to. Won’t later do?”

Miss Silver shook her head with a kind of mild obstinacy.

“Oh, no, I am afraid not. I really must beg—”

Rachel resigned herself.

“Cosmo, will you tell Mr. Brandon that I won’t be a moment?”

She went into Caroline’s room, and found evidences of a thorough search. Drawers stood open. The bed had been stripped. On the dressing-table some torn scraps were laid out to form part of a typewritten sheet. Some of the words were damaged, and some of the pieces missing. She leaned with a hand on either side of the table and read what was there to read:

“Better get away at once whilst we are all at lunch. You’ll get a good start. That woman is a detective. If you don’t get away, she’ll make you speak. Take your car to…” Here there was a piece missing from the right-hand side of the paper. The next line began on the left. “I’ll make an excuse and…” The end of the line was gone. Below again was a whole sentence. “We can talk things over and decide what had better be done.”

The bottom part of the paper was torn away. On an isolated scrap was the name—“Richard.”

Miss Silver said briskly, “Who has a typewriter?”

With her eyes on that last fragment, Rachel Treherne said,

“Richard.”

“Do you know if this was typed on his machine? Are there any peculiarities which you could recognize?”

Rachel said, “Yes.” She put her finger on the first word. “The capital B—it always blurs like that.” Her eyes went back to the fragment with the name on it. “Is that the signature?”

Miss Silver said, “It might be.”

Rachel spoke in a dazed voice.

“Richard went after her… If he wrote this… Where did you find the pieces?”

“In the bed-clothes. She got the note. She tore it up. She was in great distress—probably her hand was shaking. The bits dropped and scattered. Some were on the floor. She managed to destroy the part that mattered most. We don’t know where they were to meet. Then she hurried on her things. I found the cupboard door open. A dress had fallen from its hanger. That drawer was pulled out. The pin-cushion was on the floor, the bed left anyhow, the lunch-tray not touched. You can see what a hurry she was in.”

Rachel’s heart cried out in her. Caroline—in such a desperate hurry to be gone! And where was she going? Where were they all going?

She straightened up slowly, and spoke as if answering her own thoughts.

“I am going after her. Cosmo thinks she will be at his flat. He says she has a key. They are like uncle and niece, you know.”

“And is Mr. Frith driving you?” said Miss Silver.

“No—I am going with Mr. Brandon.”

There was a slight, definite pause. Was Miss Silver going to warn her too? If they all warned her she would still go with Gale Brandon.

But Miss Silver did not appear to have any warning to give. She said thoughtfully,

“Quite so. And Mr. Frith stays here?”

“No. He is going up to town to see a friend who is ill.”

“Can you give me the telephone number of his flat? If Miss Caroline is there—”

“No, no, you mustn’t ring her up—it would be fatal.”

Miss Silver detained her with a touch on the arm.

“Suppose she is not there—is there anywhere else she might go—to talk things over?”

Rachel hesitated.

“She actually spoke of going to town. I think she would go to the flat. Cosmo seemed sure—”

“Miss Treherne, is there anywhere else—any lonelier place than a London flat?”

“There’s Cosmo’s cottage. I did think of that, but he was so sure—and she wouldn’t go there by herself. It’s— very lonely. Oh, no, she’d never go there alone.”

“She was not to be alone. You forget that. She was to meet the person who wrote that letter, and talk things over. Where is this cottage?”

“At Brookenden—about fifteen miles from Ledlington.”

“In the direction of London?”

“No, the other way. The cottage is a mile out of the village. Cosmo goes down there to paint. When he’s not there it’s shut up. Caroline wouldn’t go there—she didn’t like it.”

“If she did go there, could she get in?”

“Oh, yes. He hides the key in the tool-shed. There’s nothing there to steal, you know.”

“Is there a telephone?”

“Yes—he had one put in. I can give you the number. But she wouldn’t be there yet. Miss Silver, I’m sure she wouldn’t go there.”

“If you will give me the address and the telephone number—”

She was offered pencil and paper. She scribbled quickly— Pewitt’s Corner, Brookenden.

Miss Silver bent her brows.

“A very curious name.”

Rachel turned in the doorway.

“It’s a corruption of the French puits. There was a well there, and the house was built over it. I’ve always thought it must make it horribly damp. And Caroline says it gives her the creeps—that’s why I feel sure she wouldn’t go there. I’ll ring you up if she’s at the flat.”

Miss Silver stood looking at the piece of paper in her hand.

The car moved away. Rachel Treherne leaned back with relief. She had taken her way, and she was past caring where it led her. The strain lessened and she could relax. Whincliff Edge was left behind and its problems with it. London lay ahead, and problems there to meet her. But between Whincliff and London for the space of an hour or two there was only herself and Gale, in a swift moving world of their own. All that mattered was that they were here together—shut off—shut in.

As they turned out of the drive on to the Ledlington road, she looked at him, and found pleasure in the strong set of his head. Everything about him was strong. She thought, “If he hadn’t been so strong, I shouldn’t be here now.” And that gave her pleasure too. She said, without any effort at all,

“Are you Gale Brent?”

The road was empty. He took a look at her and smiled with his eyes.

“Now fancy your asking me that! Who’s been talking?”

“Cosmo. It was in a letter that my mother wrote to his—Gale Brent. Nanny only remembers him as Sonny. Are you Gale Brent?”

He laughed a little. It was a very unembarrassed laugh.

“I’m Gale Brandon sure enough. That’s my real name. I haven’t come courting you under false pretences. At least—well, in a way I suppose I have. But I was going to tell you—I just wanted a clear start. You know, I fell for you the moment we met—again. And I was going to tell you all about it as soon as I’d got you safe.” Her heart beat hard. He put out his left hand and dropped it on her knee, covering both of hers. “Have I got you?”

She said rather inaudibly, “You seem to think so.”

The hand closed in a harsh grip that made her gasp.

“It’s for you to say—at least that seems to be the idea. I don’t know that I’m dead struck on it. I’ll get you one way or another, but”—his grip tightened—“you can say it if you like.”

Rachel found herself laughing without much breath.

“And if I don’t like?”

His voice changed, too on a boyish, coaxing note.

“Maybe I’d like to hear you say it after all. I’ve got an idea it would sound good. Have I got you?”

Rachel said, “Yes,” and the hand that was gripping hers let go and came about her shoulders. The car described a rather odd curve and narrowly missed the ditch. The hand came back to the wheel, and the voice said ruefully,

“That was a bad break. I’ll have to put off making love to you till we get some place. It’s liable to go to my head, and I wouldn’t like to get sent to jail for disorderly driving, or being drunk in charge of a car, or anything like that. I’d better tell you about being Gale Brent.”

Rachel said, “Oh!” Her mind felt perfectly light, bright, and empty—a house stripped but not yet garnished. The light was very bright indeed. She heard Gale say, “I’d better tell you about being Gale Brent,” and in that light, empty house which was her mind she thought, “Then I’d better listen.”

He said, in the voice she knew best,

“Well, it’s this way. My father’s name was Sterling Brandon. He quarrelled with his father about marrying my mother. So then he went away—cut the old folks right out—didn’t write—didn’t so much as tell them when I came along—wouldn’t use the name. They must have said things he couldn’t get over. Anyhow he called himself Sterling Brent. My mother died when I was about four years old, and that made things worse. He kind of set up the quarrel for a monument to her. Well, about a year after that he met your father. They were partners for a bit— something like a year, I think it was—and that’s when I got acquainted with you. I’d never seen such a little baby before. I can remember standing there looking at you and wondering if you were real. I expect I fell for you then. Your mother was mighty good to me, but I never rightly got on with Mabel—I didn’t like her, and she didn’t like me. But I was mighty happy. And then it all came to an end. My father quarrelled with your father, and I’m bound to confess it’s the likeliest thing in the world that it was my father’s fault. The fact is he’d a genius for quarrelling—couldn’t see anyone else’s point of view, and always thought the other man must be disagreeing with him out of spite. Then he’d go all hot and kick up a fuss, and the next thing would be you couldn’t see him for the dust. Well, we went off to some other place—I forgot where. Then he picked up a paper one day and saw that his father had had a stroke, so he went back. The old man was head of a big real estate business, and as he didn’t live long enough for them to get quarrelling again, my father came in for everything. So now you know.”

Rachel wondered whether she did. The words seemed to float round in her mind without meaning very much. She said vaguely,

“My father was sorry about the quarrel. He found oil after they broke the partnership. He wanted your father to have his share. It doesn’t matter now, does it? I’ll tell you some time.”

He said, “No, it doesn’t matter. But there are other things that matter very much. Look here, could we pull up and talk, becuase there’s plenty to talk about.”

It came to Rachel then with an absolute shock that she had forgotten Caroline. But she remembered her now. Caroline, and her fear for Caroline—they both came back to her together. She said only just above her breath,

“No, no, we mustn’t stop. I must find Caroline. I don’t know what is happening, and I’m—frightened—”

He put his hand down over hers again, but this time the clasp was gentle as well as strong.

“Don’t be frightened, honey—it’ll be all right.”

“It’s like a bad dream.”

“Well, you’re going to wake right up. Like to tell me about it?”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Perhaps I know some already. The little woman in brown, that Miss Silver—what is she, a detective?—she told me some.”

He felt her start.

“But—but when—you’ve never met—”

He laughed.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You went up to put on your hat, your cousin went after you, and she came down.”

Rachel stared at him.

“But there wasn’t time.”

“You can say a lot in five minutes if you don’t waste time handing bouquets. She got off the mark quicker than anyone I’ve ever known, and first I reckoned she was crazy, and then I reckoned she wasn’t. She’s got a way of looking at you that makes you take notice of what she says, and the first thing she said to me gave me one of the worst jolts I’ve ever had. She said you didn’t fall over that cliff last night. She said you were pushed. What have you got to say about that?”

She drew a long sighing breath.

“It’s true.”

“Any guess who did it?”

The color rushed into her cheeks. She dragged her hand away and leaned back into the corner of the car.

“That’s the horrible part of it—it might be anyone. It’s been like that every time, only of course some of the things were just Louisa trying to frighten me.”

“Rachel—what are you saying?” He brought the car to a standstill and turned to face her. “We’ve got to have this out. What is all this? You know, I can’t drive a car and listen to this sort of thing. You’ve got to tell me.”

Rachel told him with simplicity and relief.

The money. That was the first thing—the burden of the money—the responsibility which she was not allowed to pass on or to share.

The family—always there. “And it’s nice to have a family, but they oughtn’t to be always there. One ought to have a life of one’s own. I didn’t see that in time, but I see it now. You can’t live all those other people’s lives, and that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I’ve drained myself, but I’ve never satisfied them. I don’t mean just the money, but because of the money they’ve looked to me, depended on me. They’ve expected more and more. It’s all been wrong, and it’s kept on getting worse—like something out of focus. And then this last week it’s been a nightmare. When I couldn’t bear it any longer I went to see Miss Silver. She helped someone I know, so I went to her. She came down here yesterday evening, and she found out right away that Louisa had been playing tricks on me. She really is clever, you know.”

“Why was Louisa playing tricks, and what sort of tricks did she play?”

He saw her color fade and her eyes darken. Her voice went to an uneven whisper.

“She wanted to make believe that someone was— attempting my life.”

“And how did she do that?”

“A slippery step—my curtains on fire—chocolates doctored with ammoniated quinine—snakes in my bed—”

“What?”

“Two of Mr. Tollage’s adders. Noisy killed them. But Louie didn’t mean to hurt me—she only wanted to make me believe that someone else was trying to hurt me. Gale, she swears that there was another slippery step before she polished hers, and that one of the chocolates had been tampered with before she touched them. She swears someone was really trying to kill me. And, Gale, she was right. It wasn’t Louie who pushed me over the cliff.”

She saw his face hard with anger.

“How do you know that? She was there, wasn’t she— came along with the lantern just as soon as I’d pulled you up.”

She shook her head.

“She loves me. It couldn’t be Louie any more than it could be you.”

He nodded slowly.

“Yes—I was there too—wasn’t I? Sure it couldn’t have been me?”

Their eyes met. Time stayed. Then she said,

“You see. That’s all I’ve got—the people I love. That’s something secure. When that is shaken I can’t bear it. Outside that it’s all suspicion—no one trusting anyone else—Louie trying to make me believe it was Caroline, or Richard, or both of them—Cosmo trying to make me believe it was you—and I, God forgive me, only too ready to believe it might be Maurice or Ernest, because, you see, I don’t love them.”

He put the Wadlows aside with an odd sweeping gesture.

“So Cosmo thinks it was me. I’d like you to tell me why.”

He caught the flicker of a smile.

“Revenge of course—because of your father and my father—the real full-dress, old-fashioned feud—”

She had the feeling of having stepped over the edge of an unseen drop. She got a quite unmistakable jolt. It stopped her. She saw his face harden. There was as sudden an effect of change as if she had looked from him to his presentment cut in stone. The light was bad. It might have been an illusion, for before she could draw a breath it was gone and he was saying.

“So I pushed you over. But why did I pull you up again?”

She said rather breathlessly, “Because you saw Louisa’s lantern of course. Or you might have had a brain-storm and then felt sorry about it.”

“I see—”

He looked up and down the road. Three young men on bicycles flitted noiselessly by, bodies stooped, heads down, hands gripping. Gloom swallowed them.

Gale Brandon said roughly.

“That’s enough about that. I haven’t kissed you yet.”