The Gazebo (9 page)

MISS SILVER PUT down the letter which she had been reading and turned to the telephone. Since she was sitting at her writing-table, the receiver was conveniently to her hand. She lifted it and heard her own name spoken.

‘Is that Miss Maud Silver?’

‘Miss Silver speaking.’

The voice said in rather a hesitating manner,

‘I wonder if I could come and see you. Perhaps you will remember talking to me at the Justices’ the other day. I am Sophy’s friend, Althea Graham. You gave me one of your cards…’

‘Oh, yes. What can I do to help you?’

Althea said, ‘I don’t know.’ And then, ‘At least – I hope you don’t mind my troubling you, but would you let me come and see you?’

Miss Silver said, ‘Certainly.’

‘At once — today? I – I’m in town – just round the corner. Would it be all right for me to came now?’

‘It would be quite all right.’

Miss Silver resumed the letter which she had put down in order to answer the telephone. By one of those coincidences which really do happen, it was from her nephew Jim Silver’s wife Dorothy – the same Dorothy Silver whom Sophy Justice had befriended four years ago in Barbados. Jim Silver’s work as an engineer had taken him to the island, and his wife had accompanied him, taking with her what was then her only child, a little boy born after ten years of marriage. Her illness in Barbados had fortunately proved of short duration, and on her return a few months later a little girl was added to the family. Since then there had been twins, a boy and a girl, just as in Sophy’s case.

Dorothy’s letter was full of what were to Miss Silver the most interesting particulars about all these children. Jamie was growing so very like his father. Jenny knew all her letters though she wouldn’t be four until after Christmas. Teddy and Tina were like a couple of puppies – under your feet all the time, but so sweet. It was really delightful to get such a happy letter. She placed it on the left of her blotting-pad to be answered at leisure and rose to greet Althea Graham.

If she had not already committed herself on the telephone Althea might have reached Montague Mansions, but she would probably not have gone up in the small self-operated lift or have rung the bell of No. 15. Even as she stood with her finger on the button it was all she could do not to turn and run away down the stairs. That isn’t the sort of thing you do of course – not if you have been nicely brought up, so she didn’t do it.

The door opened and Miss Silver’s invaluable Hannah Meadows stood there, a comfortable rosy person with a country air about her. Althea was not the first of Miss Silver’s clients to find reassurance in her aspect, and she would not be the last.

Althea came into Miss Silver’s room with its workmanlike table, its carpet and curtains in the shade which used to be called peacock-blue and which is now rather oddly known as petrol. There were chairs with curly walnut frames and the spreading laps designed to accommodate skirts of the crinoline period and upholstered in the same material as the curtains. There was a yellow walnut bookcase, there were little tables. There was a perfect host of photographs on the tables, on the bookcase, on the mantelpiece, framed in leather, in silver, in silver filigree on plush. A great many of them were pictures of young men and girls, and of the children who might never have been born if Miss Silver had not stepped in to disentangle the net in which innocent feet had been caught. From three of the walls, framed in yellow maple, reproductions of famous Victorian pictures, Hope, The Black Brunswicker, and The Stag at Bay, looked down upon the scene.

A small cheerful fire burned on the hearth. Althea sat down on one side of it. Miss Silver, taking the opposite chair, lifted a gaily flowered knitting-bag from the low table beside her and took out a pair of knitting-needles upon one of which some rows of ribbing stood up like a frill. The colour was a pleasing shade of pink, and the completed garment would be one of a set of vests for Dorothy Silver’s little Tina, about two years old. There was something very soothing about this domestic occupation. Althea watched whilst Miss Silver inserted the second needle and began to knit, her hands held low in her lap after the continental manner.

Althea leaned forward and said,

‘I don’t know that way of knitting.’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘It was taught me when I was at school by a foreign governess. It is much easier and better than the English way. You do not have to loop the wool over the needle, and it is practically impossible to drop a stitch.’

‘I see.’ There was a pause before she said, ‘I mustn’t take up your time – but I don’t know how to begin. You see, if I talk to people I know, they will either be on one side or the other. They will have known all about it for years and their minds will be made up.’

The small nondescript coloured eyes out of which Miss Silver was regarding her were full of intelligence. She said,

‘Yes?’

‘But someone who hears about it for the first time…’ She broke off and her colour rose. ‘You do see what I mean, don’t you? It’s so difficult for anyone to be impartial when they have known you for years and years and years.’

Miss Silver continued to knit. The needles moved with incredible speed, but her voice did not hurry as she said,

‘Perhaps if you will tell me what is troubling you…’

Althea bit her lip.

‘Yes, I will. And I will try very hard to be fair. It isn’t easy when you are in a thing up to your neck, but I will try.’

Althea Graham was twenty-seven, but for the moment Miss Silver was reminded of the child who says, ‘I will be good.’ She smiled her reassuring smile.

‘Do not think too much of what you are going to say and of how you are going to say it. I shall get a clearer impression of the facts if you will allow yourself to be natural.’

Althea gripped the arms of her chair. They were not very comfortable to grip, because the yellow walnut of which they were made was carved with acanthus leaves. The edges of the leaves were quite sharp, and the one on the right cut into her palm and left a deep scored line there. She began to tell Miss Silver about Nicholas Carey.

‘He used to spend the holidays with an aunt who lived quite near. He is two years older than I am. I used to go round to their house a lot, and we went on bicycle rides together. It was like having a brother. Then we began to grow up. He had his military service to do, and he was abroad for two years. When he came back he got on to the staff of a weekly paper, the Janitor. He writes well, you know – differently. We went on going about together. He has some money of his own, and he had a car. We used to go out into the country – quite long runs. My mother was an invalid then, but she began not to like our going off together.’

Miss Silver looked across her busy needles and said,

‘Why?’

‘It took me away. She has always liked to have someone to do things for her.’ It was said simply and without bitterness. ‘When Nicholas wanted us to be engaged it upset her dreadfully, but we thought she would come round.’ There was quite a long pause before she went on to say, ‘She didn’t.’

Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’

Althea’s colour, which had faded, came up momentarily. She kept her voice steady with an effort.

‘We planned a cottage in the country. There was an old cousin who would have been glad to come and keep my mother company, but she wouldn’t even listen to our plans. She just cried until she made herself ill, and Dr Barrington said to give her time and she would come round. He said her heart wasn’t strong and if she went on as she was doing it would be very bad for her. We waited six months, and then we tried again, but the same thing happened. We said then that we would get a flat in Grove Hill – Nicholas would go up and down to town. But it wasn’t any use. Every time we brought the subject up she had a heart attack. Nicholas asked Dr Barrington what would happen if we just went ahead and got married, and he said he couldn’t answer for the consequences. Well, after two years we got to the point where we offered to take over the top floor of the house. Of course it wouldn’t have answered, but we were desperate. We – we – both cared a great deal.’ She jerked her head back and bit her lip again hard. ‘Of course I can see how it looked to her. She had got used to my being there to do all the odd jobs, and even if I had still been in the house it wouldn’t have been the same thing – there would have been Nicky to think of. But in the end he said he couldn’t go on.’ The familiar name slipped out on a failing breath. It was some time before she said, ‘There were the sort of scenes that tear you to bits – I don’t wonder my mother was ill. I said I would try to be fair. I think she really did believe that she hadn’t got long to live. She kept on saying couldn’t I stay with her for just the very little time that she had left. She used to cry, and hold my hand, and beg me not to leave her. I told Nicky I couldn’t marry him, and he went away.’ She stopped there and drew a long breath.

Miss Silver said,

‘And now he has come back again?’

Althea looked at her with a heartbreak in her eyes.

‘After five years. He said he wouldn’t write, and he didn’t. He said I would have to choose between him and my mother, and I had chosen. He went to all sorts of wild places. I didn’t know where he was, or what he was doing. His aunt sold her house and went down to Devonshire to live with a sister. After that I didn’t even know whether he was alive or dead. Then one day I picked up a copy of the Janitor on the railway bookstall. There was an article in it signed “Rolling Stone”, and I was sure that it was Nicholas who had written it. There were more articles – at irregular intervals. They were about the sort of places that are right off the map. They were odd and exciting, and brilliant. People began to talk about them and look out for them. When I read one I did know at least that he was alive when it was written. And then after five years he came back.’

Miss Silver’s gaze rested upon her compassionately. Althea said,

‘Five years is a long time. I didn’t know whether he would be the same person. I knew that I wasn’t. Being unhappy does things to you – it makes you dull. He never could do with people being dull. I didn’t feel as if there was anything left that he could possibly care about. But I did feel I had got to put up as good a show as I could.’ She took her hands off the arms of the chair. They were numb with the pressure that she had put on them. She folded them in her lap and felt the blood come tingling back. She said, ‘His aunt Emmy Lester had left a lot of his things in the attic of her house when she sold it to a cousin. Nicholas had to come down to sort them out. I didn’t think I should see him – I didn’t think he would want to see me. But he was at Mrs Justice’s cocktail party, and the minute we saw each other across the room it was just as if he hadn’t ever been away. I went out into the hall – I couldn’t trust myself. He came after me, and we went into Sophy’s little room and talked…’ Her voice stopped, her eyes remembered.

Miss Silver pulled on the pale pink ball in her knitting-bag. The silence had lasted quite a long time before she broke it.

‘And now?’

‘He wants me to marry him at once without saying anything to my mother. He has got a licence. I think we ought to tell her. But it will be the same thing all over again if we do.’

‘Miss Graham, what is the real state of your mother’s health?’

Althea lifted a hand and let it fall again. The acanthus leaf had marked the palm. She said,

‘I don’t know. If she upsets herself she has an attack. Dr Barrington says she mustn’t be allowed to upset herself.’

Miss Silver said gravely,

‘It is a doubtful kindness to encourage a selfish course of action. May I inquire whether the cousin you spoke of would still be available as a companion for your mother?’

‘I should think she would. I know that she has had losses and is finding things difficult. She has a couple of rooms in a friend’s house, but I don’t think the arrangement is being a great success. The friend has recently taken up table-turning and automatic writing, and my cousin doesn’t approve of it. We could pay her a salary, and I think she would be quite good with my mother. The trouble is that if I write to her and wait for her to make up her mind and let me know, it will get round the family and come back to my mother. Cousin Bertha writes reams to all the relations every week. None of them could keep a secret if they tried, and of course they don’t try.’

Miss Silver found her sympathies warmly engaged. She stopped knitting, rested the now considerably lengthened pink frill upon her lap, and said,

‘Emily Chapell!’

Althea repeated the name in an inquiring voice.

‘Emily Chapell?’

Miss Silver beamed.

‘She would be extremely suitable.’

‘I don’t think…’

The knitting was resumed. Miss Silver inclined her head.

‘She is not a trained nurse, but she has had a good deal of nursing experience. A very dependable person and, most fortunately, disengaged. If you decided on an immediate marriage, she would be able to move in as soon as you had broken the news to Mrs Graham.’

Althea could say nothing but ‘Oh…’

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

‘I have known her for twenty years, and I have never known her to fail in tact and good temper.’

Althea had a picture of Miss Silver and Emily Chapell as twin angels shooting back the bolts of her prison doors and throwing them wide. She heard Miss Silver say,

‘Your cousin would naturally require a little time to consider your offer and to give notice to her friend. Miss Chapell would, I am sure, be prepared to remain with Mrs Graham until her arrangements had been made.’

Althea leaned forward. The doors were opening, but could she – might she step across the threshold? She looked at Miss Silver with piteous intensity and said,

‘Oh, do you really think I could do it?’

ALTHEA RETURNED HOME to find Mrs Graham in an extremely fretful mood. She held forth for some time on the congenial theme of selfishness in the young, with particular application to a daughter who left her mother alone whilst she wasted time and money on going to town.

‘And if it was to shop, I am sure there are very good shops here in the High Street.’

‘I didn’t go up to shop.’

Mrs Graham looked at her suspiciously.

‘Then what did you go up for?’

‘To see a friend of Sophy’s.’

‘A friend of Sophy Justice’s – of course she’s Sophy Harding now, but it seems so much easier to say Sophy Justice – why on earth should you go and see a friend of Sophy’s?’

‘I thought I should like to see her again.’

‘Oh, you’ve met her before?’

Althea said, ‘Yes, I’ve met her,’ and then hurried on with, ‘I thought Nettie Pimm was lunching with you. You told me she was, and I left everything ready.’

‘She rang up at the last moment and said she couldn’t come. She said she wasn’t feeling well.’ A delicate sniff expressed Mrs Graham’s opinion of Nettie’s ailment. ‘Most inconsiderate I call it, and I let her see I wasn’t pleased. And then on the top of that Mr Jones rang up again about the house. He said Mr Worple had withdrawn his offer of seven thousand five hundred. You know, there’s something about Mr Jones that I don’t like at all. He sounded quite pleased about the price having come down. And I told him that it wasn’t any good his going on worrying us, because I didn’t like Mr Worple and I didn’t feel at all inclined to sell to him. He reminds me of someone we saw in a film. I can’t remember who he was, but Mr Worple reminds me of him, and in the film he really wasn’t at all the sort of person I should care to sell a hosue to. After all, one does owe a certain duty to the neighbourhood, and we have been here for more than twenty years. And with my health what it is, I shouldn’t like to feel that I hadn’t got a home to come back to. I did think the cruise we were planning might be good for us both, but one couldn’t be sure of congenial companionship, so I have really given up the idea. A few weeks in a nice hotel by the sea would be quite a different thing. One would have one’s own comfortable home to come back to at any time. I really think that is a necessity. I am sorry that you should be disappointed about the trip, but my mind is quite made up. For one thing I shouldn’t care to have to call in a strange doctor. Dr Barrington understands me, and that is everything. So I told Mr Jones it wasn’t any good thinking I would sell, and I rang up Mr Martin and told him too.’

She had talked herself into a better humour, and Althea left it at that.

At a little after nine o’clock Nicholas Carey rang up. The telephone was in the dining-room, with an extension in Mrs Graham’s bedroom. On the not infrequent occasions when she felt a disposition to rest she was thus able to enjoy long gossipy conversations with her friends. She could also listen in to anything Althea said when using the instrument in the dining-room. With this in mind Althea, lifting the receiver and hearing Nicholas Carey’s voice, had to consider what chances there were of being overheard. Mrs Graham was in the bathroom. If the taps had been running when the bell rang, she probably wouldn’t have heard it. If her mother was already in her bath she wouldn’t get out of it to answer the telephone. The chances were that it would be safe enough to talk to Nicky, but prudent to keep the conversation on noncommittal lines. She began with a quick,

‘I told you not to ring me up.’

His voice came back, lazy and teasing.

‘Counsel of perfection, darling. I want to see you. No don’t say you won’t, or you can’t, or you don’t want to.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

He went on as if she had not spoken.

‘Because it’s perfectly easy – you let the cat out and come out with it.’

She could not help her voice laughing a little as she said,

‘We haven’t got a cat.’

‘Very remiss of you! But the principle remains the same. The operative words are “You come out”.’

‘Oh, Nicky, I can’t.’

‘Darling, I warned you about saying that. If you don’t come out, I shall come in.’

‘You can’t do that!’

He said, ‘Watch me!’

She had a perfectly clear picture of what he was looking like at the other end of the line – frowning brows, eyes with a spark of malice, lips just curling into a grin. When Nicky was in that sort of mood he didn’t really care a damn. He was perfectly capable of marching into the house and saying what he wanted to say. If she didn’t open the door, he was capable of breaking a window. She would have to slip out. She said in a hurry,

‘Well, just for a moment.’

‘Me come in, or you come out?’

‘I’ll come out.’

‘Good girl! Half past ten. In the gazebo.’ He rang off.

The hand with which she put the receiver back was not quite steady. Half past ten was too early – her mother might not be asleep. She had her bath at nine, her cup of hot Ovaltine between a quarter to ten and ten o’clock, and as a rule she would be fast asleep before the quarter past. No – half past ten ought to be all right. But suppose it wasn’t – suppose her mother was still awake. Part of the picture of herself as an invalid was the belief that she lay awake for hours, suffering but unwilling to disturb Althea. Suppose that for once she really did lie awake, not for hours, but even for one half hour. Althea turned quite cold at the thought. She wanted to see Nicky every bit as much as he wanted to see her, but they oughtn’t to risk it. A scene or an upset now would be a danger which mustn’t be risked – not now, at the very minute when the prison doors were opening to let her through. She had meant to ring Nicky up from the call-box at the corner as soon as her mother was in bed. She had meant to ring him up and to tell him that she would marry him at once – tomorrow if he wanted her to. Then they could get Emily Chapell down and have her handy and choose their time for breaking the news. It was all beautifully planned in her mind. She had a perfectly clear picture of it with everything going smoothly to a beautiful climax in which her mother resigned herself to the inevitable and gave them her blessing. It hadn’t seemed incredible when she planned it, but it did seem incredible now. If only Nicky hadn’t rung up…

Something in her which would always take his part began to defend him. It was her own fault. She ought to have said, ‘I can’t talk now – I’ll ring you up at ten o’clock,’ and just put the receiver back. Even Nicky couldn’t have come banging at doors and bursting in after that. He would have waited half an hour, and she could have slipped out to the call-box after washing out the empty Ovaltine cup. She would have to meet him at the gazebo now. It was where they always used to meet. It was where they had met five years ago to say good-bye. Tonight would blot that parting out. She wouldn’t stay a moment, but it would be a wonderful moment for them both. She would say, ‘I’ll marry you tomorrow,’ and they would kiss, and she would send him away for the last time.

She went out into the hall and up the stairs. When she came to the bathroom door she stood there for a moment, listening. When she could hear nothing, she knocked gently.

‘Are you all right, Mother?’

There was a slight splashing sound. Mrs Graham said fretfully,

‘Of course I am all right! What is it?’

‘I couldn’t hear anything.’

‘Really, Thea! Am I a noisy person? I am enjoying my bath, which is making me feel sleepy. I should like my Ovaltine a little earlier than usual tonight. I really feel as if I might drop off.’

She repeated the words later on when she had drunk the Ovaltine and was handing the cup to Althea.

‘Be as quiet as you can. I really do feel as if I might drop off.’

Althea said, ‘I hope you will.’ She had a guilty feeling as she said it.

She put out the bedside light, felt her way to the door, and turned on the threshold to say goodnight. Her mother’s voice sounded quite sleepy as she answered her.