The Witness on the Roof (11 page)

Joan laid her cheek for a moment against her cousin's soft hair.

“Cynthia, there are no sides about this—Evelyn is only coming to her own, and it is only natural that she should come here—to her sister's house. Come, Cynthia, for my sake!”

“Umph!” Mrs. Trewhistle's ejaculation scarcely betokened assent, but as she looked at Joan her expression changed. After all, the girl must not be left to herself; there was no knowing what mad, quixotic thing she might do. “Still—well, if you will see her, I suppose I must come too.”

“That is right!” Joan said heartily. She took her cousin's arm as they crossed the hall.

When the drawing-room door was opened the tall woman in black, who was sitting on a sofa in the middle of the room, looked up eagerly and rose.

“Is it Polly?” she said, stretching out her hands. “Surely it is Polly!”

Joan went forward quickly. The sound of the once familiar name seemed to bring back the old time vividly. Her heart warmed to this unknown sister. Cynthia, standing in the background, watched the meeting with cold, critical, eyes. She noticed the airy, casual manner in which the elder sister just touched Joan's cheek; she saw how the light, prominent eyes wandered perfunctorily from Joan's face to her own. Joan looked at the new-comer earnestly.

“So you are Evelyn! How often I have thought of you, and wondered whether we should ever meet again! I can scarcely believe it really is you.”

Miss Davenant laughed.

“I guess it really is,” she said in an affected, mincing voice, with just a suspicion of a nasal twang. “As for meeting you again—-well, you would not have been to blame if you had hoped we shouldn't. But”—glancing at Cynthia—“won't you introduce me? I guess this is your cousin, isn't it?”

“Yes, this is Cynthia.”

“How do you do?” ‘Mrs. Trewhistle said coldly.

She was by no means prepared to welcome the relationship Miss Davenant appeared to be eager to claim. Her partial eyes saw no resemblance between the sisters. Evelyn was tall, though an inch or two short of her sister's height; she was very fair, with large blue eyes, already engirded with a network of tiny lines, and a profusion of golden hair, in which Cynthia's quick eyes noted more than a suspicion of dye. Mrs. Trewhistle drew in her lips. The new-comer's appearance gave an impression of bad taste, Cynthia said to herself.

“How is it that you have come upon us in this way, without any warning?” she asked. “I think Mr. Hurst should have written.”

“Guess he did not get much chance!” Miss Davenant said. Her outstretched hand dropped by her side; it was evident that Mrs. Trewhistle had no intention of taking it. “It was only last night that I succeeded in convincing Mr. Hurst that I really am Evelyn Spencer, and this morning I made up my mind to come over here straight away. I was anxious to see Polly—Joan, you call her now, don't you? It seemed as if I couldn't wait any longer.”

“Yet I believe it is ten years since you took the trouble even to write a letter to her,” Cynthia commented dryly,

“I—I couldn't!” Miss Davenant hesitated a moment; then she turned to Joan. “I have had a hard life of it all these years. I have tried my hand at most things—teaching first; then I went on the stage, and it isn't easy to get a living there unless you make a hit, and I never did. It has been living from hand to mouth and hard work all the time for me. Do you remember how I used to write to you and scrape up my earnings to send you little presents as long as you were at home, Polly? But when I heard you were going to be made a lady of and have everything you wanted, why, there didn't seem to be any more use for me in your life—I just dropped out. Still, when I heard luck had turned for me at last, I couldn't help coming to claim it. You don't blame me, Polly?”

“Of course I don't!” Joan threw her arms around her sister impulsively. “I am glad, Evie. You have had a hard time, and it is only fair you should have your share of the good things now.”

It seemed to Mrs. Trewhistle that Joan's display of affection was rather embarrassing to Evelyn.

“You shan't lose your share either, Polly,” she observed magnanimously. “It always used to be share and share alike in the old days, and I will see that you don't go short now.”

Mrs. Trewhistle laughed a little.

“Joan will not need your help now, I think, Miss Davenant. She is a very great lady indeed. Lord Warchester is one of the richest men in the county.”

“Oh, I dare say! But a woman is never the worse for being independent of her husband, and it is my place to see that Polly—” Evelyn broke off with a shrill laugh. Her eyes had strayed to the window. If there isn't that dry-as-dust old lawyer! I guess he thinks I am not to be trusted to come here by myself.''

“Mr. Hurst! Oh, I am so glad!” Cynthia threw open the door just as the lawyer was admitted. “Do come in! You know—”

“My dear Mrs. Trewhistle, I come, I fear—” Mr. Hurst's expression altered, stiffened, as he looked beyond. “Miss Davenant—I am amazed—”

“Thought you would be!” the visitor interrupted equably. “But you men of business are so uncommonly slow, and I wanted to see my sister, so I just got into the train and came down. While you and Sir Edward Fisher put your heads together wondering how the thing was to be accomplished—hey, presto, it was done!”

“So I see!” Mr. Hurst responded coldly. “But I presume you scarcely imagined you could take possession of Davenant Hall in that fashion, my dear madam. You would not be admitted unless you presented certain credentials from me.”

“Shouldn't I?” Miss Davenant laughed again, the same shrill, hard sound. “I guess I should make it unpleasant for them later if I wasn't. But now I see you have a cab at the door I guess we will just drive up, you and me and Polly, and you will put all that straight for me. Come, Polly! Put your hat on and come with us.” She pointedly ignored Cynthia.

But that lady was not accustomed to be ignored,

“It is impossible for Joan to go with you,” she said calmly. “She has not been well lately, and Lord Warchester is out.”

Joan went over to her and kissed her.

“I feel much better now, Cynthia, and I think I ought to go. The old servants are fond of me; and if Evie goes alone they may not understand; they may be just a little—difficult.”

“I dare say. I should not blame them!” Evidently Mrs. Trewhistle was not to be easily placated. “But if you do go, Joan, I shall insist on one thing—you are to come back as soon as possible. You are not to stay. Am I not right, Mr. Hurst?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Trewhistle. I am sure Miss Davenant will understand that.”

Miss Davenant looked sulky.

“It must be as Joan pleases, but I shall expect to see a good deal of her later on.”

“Of course I shall come back directly!” Joan promised, clinging to her cousin for a moment. “You—you must excuse me, Cynthia. I feel I must go with Evie. I will not be a minute. Evie, come with me while I put my hat on.”

When the door had closed behind the two, Cynthia glanced at Mr. Hurst.

“Well, this is a pretty thing you have done!”

He spread out his hands as if disclaiming all responsibility.

“My dear lady! Could I help myself? And she seems genuinely attached to her sister. Things might have been much worse.”

“They couldn't!” Cynthia said succinctly.

“My dear Mrs. Trewhistle—”

“I say things couldn't be worse!” Cynthia insisted with a stamp of her foot. “Did you see how she looked at Joan just when she was pretending to be most affectionate? She reminds me of a cat or a toad! Joan's sister! Ugh!”

“J
OAN
!”

Joan was standing by the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantelpiece; her simple black gown fell around her in long straight folds. The last rays of the setting sun streaming through the window touched her hair with gold.

To Warchester she had never looked fairer, more desirable. There was ardent longing in his eyes as he came swiftly across to her with outstretched hands.

“Joan, Joan, I have been mad with anxiety! You have been ill, and you refused to see me. Why have you been so cruel?”

With old memories thronging quickly upon her, Joan shrank from him against the old tapestry on the wall at her side; then, as she slowly raised her eyes to his dark face, transfigured by love, a great rush of tenderness swept over her; the resemblance she had seen to the murderer in Grove Street had vanished. She told herself that she had unconsciously exaggerated some chance likeness, that she had been foolishly, culpably credulous. How could she, ever have imagined that the grey eyes, now full of love, that smiled down upon her were the same that had met hers that dreaded day ten years ago? 

She laid her hands in Warchester's with a sigh of content.

“I wasn't well,” she said softly. “And I was nervous, and—and frightened and foolish, but—I have wanted you too.”

A look of joy illumined the man's anxious face. He drew the girl towards him; then as she let her head rest on his shoulder with a sigh of relief he held her closely to him, and, stooping, laid his cheek caressingly against her bright hair.

“What was the matter, Joan? I can't have you frightened.”

“Oh, it was nothing! It was only that I was silly.”

His clasp of her tightened, but he had noticed the tense look in her eyes as he entered the room, and as he felt her tremble he told himself that her nerves were strained, that it behoved him to be careful. He led her to a settee and carefully arranged the cushions so that she could lean back.

“Now you are to rest,” he said quietly. “Lay your head back so, I am going to sit here and you shall talk or not just as you feel inclined.”

The mingled tenderness and authority of his tone were just what Joan needed. She leaned back on the settee and let her hand rest in his. For the present at any rate; the black cloud of suspicion had rolled away; she resolutely thrust even the remembrance of it aside, while Warchester talked quietly to her of the Dutch garden, which was rapidly nearing completion, of changes that were likely to take place among his tenantry.

For a time Joan was content to listen silently, but at length when he paused she looked up.

“You know that Evelyn has come back, Paul?”

“Oh, yes! I have had a long interview with Mr. Hurst,” he answered. “He seemed to think she was coming here to-day, but I have seen nothing of her; and I thought it might be better not to call until we could go together.”

Joan made no rejoinder; her fingers moved softly, half caressingly over his hand.

After a pause Warchester spoke in a lighter tone.

“Well, about the new sister, Joan—what is she like? Does she accord with your recollection of her?”

The girl's face clouded.

“I—I don't know,” she said dreamily. “She is very kind, but I think we have grown apart all these years. Paul, I can't feel to her as a sister should, I am afraid.”

“I suppose that cannot be helped in the circumstances. It is not your fault, I am sure,” Warchester assured her. “Cynthia says you behaved like an angel.”

Joan smiled and shook her head.

“I am afraid Cynthia is partial. There is no generosity in not grudging Evelyn her inheritance, which never was mine. I always thought it was very likely Granny would leave it to her. But now—perhaps for your sake—I am inclined to wish it had been different.” She looked wistfully at Warchester.

“I am not!” he contradicted heartily. “I want my wife to myself—you, Joan, and not the heiress of Davenant. We shall have plenty to do at the Towers, sweetheart. Your sister is heartily welcome to Davenant, as far as I am concerned.”

Joan was silent. She could not explain that she had not been speaking wholly of her sister's inheritance, and yet she could not help feeling that in Evelyn she would give Warchester an exceedingly undesirable sister-in-law. Even in the little time she had spent with Evelyn she had found that not all her recollections of her sister's kindness to her in the old days, not all her real sympathy with the hard life the girl had led, could blind her to Evelyn's many deficiencies—deficiencies which were not merely of manner, but of heart and mind.

Despite the effusively expressed affection for herself, Joan had seen plainly how little interest apart from their monetary value her new possessions had in Evelyn's eyes. She had known that the years that had passed; the different lives they had led, must of necessity have made a gap between them, but this was even deeper and wider than she had expected. Evelyn had been curiously silent about her own experiences; she had given certain particulars to Mr. Hurst when she had presented her credentials in town, but, beyond telling Joan that she had been on the stage, she carefully avoided any reference to her past life. She had taken with her to Mr. Hurst all the necessary proofs of her identity—little personal trifles that had come to her from her mother, her birth certificate, a couple of Joan's childish letters.

What the lawyer had learned beyond this Joan did not know. She could scarcely help surmising from his manner that it did not redound to her sister's credit. Evelyn was almost openly anxious that Joan should invite her to stay at the Towers, but to this idea Cynthia and Mr. Hurst were emphatically opposed, and Joan herself, though feeling it might be her duty to acquiesce, could not help shrinking from the suggestion.

Warchester was emphatic in his condemnation of it when Joan consulted him.

“No, no!” he said determinedly. “Spend as much of the daytime as you like with your sister, but don't ask her to stay here for a while until we know more of her. Later on we must think of having people to stay with us, but for the present you will be content with me, won't you?”

The shadow on Joan's face deepened as he waited for his answer; she fancied that she caught a far-off look of that baleful glance that had haunted her childhood. She turned away from him.