Will O’ the Wisp (29 page)

She made again the movement that said “No.”

David's voice hardened.

“You must pull yourself together. I want to get you away. Where's your room?”

She moved then in the direction of the hall; with David's hand on her shoulder they came past Floss Miller to a door at the far end. David opened it—Folly's room; her hat thrown down on the bed; an evening dress across the pillow; trifles scattered everywhere. He left the door open. Folly sat down on the edge of the bed and stared in front of her.

“Can't you pack?” He spoke sharply and felt desperate. What on earth would he do if she fainted? She looked ghastly. Every moment that they stayed here added to his impatience. To get her away, to get her out of this horrible place, was all that mattered.

Folly shook her head. She could not tell David that the room was full of mist—thick, white, baffling mist; and on the mist, like a picture on a screen, Floss Miller's face, smiling. She could not tell David this; she could only sit still and hold on desperately to the fact that he was here.

After one glance at her, David let her alone. He pulled out the trunk which stood in the corner of the room and put into it everything that he could find. Then he strapped the box, took it through the hall, and put it outside the door of the flat. The hall was empty.

He went back for Folly. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, still looking into the mists in which she saw Floss Miller's face, Floss Miller's smile. He put her hat on her head and pushed her arms into her fur coat as if she had been a child. Then he put his arm round her and set her on her feet. She was quite passive, but to his relief she was able to stand. He took her through the hall, and, as they reached the door, Floss Miller came out of the dining-room, and the smell of brandy came with her. She spoke, and at the sound of the thick voice Folly gave a sort of shaken sigh.

“Well,” said Mrs. Miller, “I don't care which of you gets her. Always back the strongest—that's a good plan, isn't it? That's my plan, anyway.” She came a step nearer and dropped her voice a little. “I say, David Fordyce, Stingo said he'd pay my debts. I suppose you'll do as much?”

He felt Folly quiver. She pressed against him. Her voice came back in a dreadful gasping whisper:

“Don't listen to her—David—don't—she's my mother!”

All of a sudden David understood. It was not St. Inigo but Floss Miller who had brought that look of dazed agony to Folly's face. It was a betrayal of the most intimate sanctities and loyalties of a very loyal heart. It was the betrayal of woman by woman that had left Folly so helpless before St. Inigo. He felt the greatest passion of anger of which a man is capable, and another deeper, stronger passion of protecting love. His arm closed hard about Folly. There was nothing to be said. It was finished.

He lifted her over the threshold and shut the door on Floss Miller and her flat.

CHAPTER XLI

During the drive to Chieveley Street, David did not speak at all. They went up in the lift and rang the bell of Eleanor's flat. No one came. David rang again, and the sound of the faint, shrill ringing died away. He spoke then, almost angrily:

“Eleanor's dining out, but there ought to be someone in the flat. What's happened to them?”

Folly answered.

“Not if she's dining out. She lets them go to the pictures.” She spoke in a small weak voice, but it had lost the hoarse, unnatural quality which had frightened him; it was her own voice again, small and faint.

“Oh, Lord!” said David. “What are we going to do?”

“I've got my key.” Then, after a pause and a long sigh: “It was in my bag.”

“Your red bag? I shoved it in the top of the box.”

“Yes, it's there.”

He got out the bag, found the key, and opened the door. It was like the first time he had brought her here—like and yet different. He had been angry with her then; now he knew that he loved her utterly, and that to meet her need he must be mother, brother, friend, and lover all in one.

He put on the lights, and they came into the drawing-room. It was warm, and the fire not yet out. In the lap of the largest chair lay Timmy very fast asleep.

When he had revived the fire, David went and foraged in the kitchen. He came back presently with eggs, hot soup, and coffee, to find Folly sitting forward on the sofa with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, staring at the fire.

He made her eat, and when she had finished he heaped cushions behind her.

“I shall stay till Eleanor gets back.”

“'M—” said Folly. Then, after a pause: “You're kind.”

David's eyes stung; the words were said so childishly.

She had taken off her fur coat. Her dress was the pink one she had worn at Ford when she had first tied on the little black curls and asked him if he liked them. She had short curls of her own now, which only covered her ears halfway. Her small black head lay back against a pale blue cushion. The colour had come to her lips again, but her cheeks were pitifully white, and there were blue smudges under her eyes.

David put his hand on hers and held it in a warm, gentle clasp. After a long time she lifted her lashes.

“Why are you kind?”

“I'll tell you presently.”

She sighed deeply.

“I tried to call you.”

“I heard you.”

“Did you? I didn't think you could. I only had time to call once.”

“You'd been calling me for an hour before the telephone bell rang at all.”

“Had I? I didn't know. They came—I couldn't go on.”

David's hand tightened on hers.

“Don't talk about it.”

Her eyelids closed.

“I can't—ever.”

“I don't want you to.”

He got up, because, just for the moment, he couldn't bear to be so near her and not take her in his arms. But she looked up at once with a little cry:

“Where are you going?”

“Only to put some coal on the fire.”

When he came back she sat up a little and stretched out her hands towards him.

“You won't go till Eleanor comes?”

He shook his head. Then, as he took the cold hands in his, she gave a little sob.

“Don't go! I'm frightened.”

David went down on his knees and put his arms round her.

“My darling little thing—my darling, darling little thing!” he said.

There was just a moment when she clung to him, trembling. Then he felt her draw back; her hands pushed him from her.

“Folly—my little darling!”

She shrank into the far corner of the sofa.

“No—I'm not.”

“Didn't you know it? Didn't you know how much I cared?”

She shook her head; her eyes were wide and blank.

“I couldn't tell you, because I didn't know if I was free. I saw Heather Down this afternoon, and she told me that she wasn't Erica. She told me Erica died in Cape Town more than four years ago.”

Folly's eyes lost their unseeing look. She said:

“I'm glad you know. It's dreadful not to be sure—it's dreadful to feel you have to love someone whom you
can't
. Sometimes you
can't
.”

He knew she was thinking of Floss Miller.

He said: “I didn't mean to tell you that I cared. I meant to wait. But I can't see you like this and not comfort you with all the love I've got.”

Folly gave a little cry. She caught at the arm of the sofa and stood up.

“No—no—
no!
” she said. “No—no, it's not true.
Oh, it isn't!
” She spoke in a horrified whisper.

“Folly!”

“No, it isn't true. David—it isn't.
David!
”

“Of course it's true,” said David. “My little darling!”

“Oh!” said Folly. It was a bitter little cry that wrung his heart.

“Folly, what is it? I love you with all my heart.”

She said “No” on a quick, shuddering breath, and then: “Did you think I would? Did you think I'd take you from Eleanor? Oh
no!
”

“Folly, darling—what nonsense!”

She came up to him and caught his arm.

“It's not nonsense. You're hers—you're not mine. I always thought you were hers, and I flirted with you. Yes, I know I flirted, but I wanted to see if you were a beast like Stingo—I wanted to see if you were good enough for Eleanor—I wanted to be sure she was going to have a real chance of being happy. She wasn't happy with Cosmo Rayne—nobody could have been happy with him. I
want
her to be happy. You mustn't love me.” She shook the arm that she was holding; the vehement colour came up in her cheeks like a flame. “You mustn't—you
mustn't!
You must love Eleanor.”

David put his other arm round her.

“Then Tommy Wingate'll break my head,” he said gravely.

“Why will he?”

“Because Eleanor's going to marry him.”

Folly stared with all her eyes.

“Who said so?”

“Eleanor did.”

“Ooh! David—she
didn't!
”

“Folly, she did.” He laughed a little unsteadily. “She said it in front of Grandmamma, and Aunt Editha, and Aunt Mary, and Timothy and me.”

“Ooh!” said Folly again. “You're sure?”

“Ask Timothy—or Grandmamma. Now am I allowed to love you? Or must I have a hopeless passion for Mrs. Tommy Wingate?”

Folly flung her arms round his neck.

“David—no, David, I want to say something. No, David, I want to say it in your ear.”

“What is it, you silly little thing?”

“David—are you
sure
you don't love her?”

“I'm quite sure. I love you. I love you so much that I don't know how to say it. Do you love me?”

“I don't know. Do I?”

“I think you do.”

“I don't know,” said Folly in a troubled voice. She put up her face to be kissed like a child. “It's been hurting so. Why did it hurt?”

The tears were running down her cheeks.

“David—will it go on hurting like that? I didn't ever mean to be in love with anyone—I didn't. I hate men, really; only I like to flirt. I don't know why, but I do. I loved flirting with you, but I never, never,
never
meant to fall in love.”

She slipped out of his arms with a quick shrinking movement and stood away from him with her hands at her breast; her colour came and went.

“If you
love
people—it hurts. They—let you down.” She took a long sighing breath. “Eleanor—Eleanor and Cosmo—she got hurt—he let her down.”

She paused again, then said in a trembling whisper:

“Floss.”

David did not move or touch her. He looked into her eyes, and he saw things that he never forgot—a child's gay bravado shocked into terror, a child's loyalty and trust betrayed.

She met his look. There was silence between them, a long, long silence; her eyes looked into his. Then he saw something rise up, clear and shining. It was something new. It was Folly's love for him.

He spoke to her very gently.

“Do you think I would hurt you? Do you think I would let you down?”

That shining love looked out of Folly's eyes.

“No, David,” she said.

Suddenly she ran into his arms.

“Ooh!” she said. “You
wouldn't
.”

About the Author

Patricia Wentworth (1878–1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1928 by Patricia Wentworth

Cover design by Mauricio Díaz

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3353-4

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10038

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