Rachel Treherne went to her room with a tired and heavy heart. The thought of going to bed and forgetting all about the family for seven or eight hours was a pleasant one, but on the other side of the night there would be another day, in which she foresaw an interview with Ernest, several interviews with Mabel, a talk with Maurice, a talk with Cherry, a talk with Caroline. Ernest would press her to produce the capital for Maurice’s anticapitalist crusade. Mabel would probably have palpitations. Maurice would deliver a lecture on communism. And Cherry—no, she didn’t really see herself talking to Cherry. Let Mabel deliver her own lecture on accepting jewelry from a young man engaged to be married to somebody else.
Caroline—oh, Caroline was different. She must find out why the child should have pawned her mother’s ring. All Rachel’s thoughts softened as they dwelt on Caroline.
She found Louisa in a grimly silent humor. But when Rachel said, “You seem tired, Louisa. Go to bed—I shan’t want anything more,” words came out with a rush.
“Oh, I know you’d be glad enough to send me away, and there’s those that ’ud be glad enough to see me go. Right down on their bended knees they’d be, and thanking the devil if I was out of the house and gone for good and no one to stand between you and them!”
Rachel, at her dressing-table, said in a weary voice,
“Louie, I’m very tired. Not tonight—please.”
Louisa caught her breath in something between a sob and a sniff.
“You won’t be warned, Miss Rachel. You’re angry because I try to warn you. Not tonight—and tomorrow it’ll be not today, and so it’ll go on until it’s too late. Then there’ll be nothing left for me but to go and throw myself over the cliff.”
“Oh, Louie!”
“Don’t you think I’d do it? Don’t you know I’d do it if harm was to come to you, Miss Rachel?”
Rachel Treherne got up.
“Louie, I really am too tired for this sort of thing tonight. Just go and call Neusel, then go to bed.”
To her relief, Louisa obeyed. Neusel arrived with all the delirious excitement of one who achieves reunion with the beloved object after incredible exertions. He tore about the room, uttered several ear-piercing barks, dragged all the bedding out of his basket, and finally flung himself down upon his back on the hearthrug, where he abandoned himself to an ecstasy of wriggling punctuated by short screams.
“Like as not he’ll be sick in the night,” said Louisa.
Rachel went down on her knees and gathered him up. Here at least was one who gave all and demanded nothing in return. Neusel laid his head upon her shoulder, gazed at her with melting brown eyes, and then with a sudden wriggle was out of her arms and sniffing eagerly.
“What is it, Noisy?” said Rachel.
He was standing quite still now about a yard away, tail and flanks quivering, ears pricked, and eyes intent. At the sound of her voice he threw her a rapid glance and whined.
“Noisy, what is it?”
He whined again, snuffed, and ran to the bed, where he stood on his hind legs and pulled at the bedclothes.
Rachel got up and began to collect his bedding.
“Certainly not!” she said. “You don’t sleep on my bed, you little wretch. Come along, Noisy—you’ve got a lovely basket of your own.” She patted it invitingly as she spoke.
But Neusel had begun to bark at the top of his voice. She turned, to see Louisa on the far side of the bed. She had an odd startled look on her face.
“There’s something wrong, Miss Rachel.”
Rachel said, “Nonsense!” But the dog was leaping, yelping, barking. As she spoke, he tore at the sheet with his teeth, and barked, and tore again.
Louisa Barnet took hold of the bedclothes in her strong bony hands and strjpped them back—eiderdown, blankets, and upper sheet. They came down on the carpet with a soft thud. She let them fall, and sprang back with a scream, and a “Lord have mercy!”
Rachel did not scream, but she turned cold from head to foot. At the bottom of the stripped bed lay her new hot water bottle, green to match the furnishings. But on either side of it coiled something that was not green, but brown. She saw one of the coils move and a flat head rise a little way. Neusel with a flying leap landed at the pillow end of the bed. Louisa screamed again.
Neusel sprang in, bit savagely and sprang back—and in and back again, teeth clicking, every movement swift and deadly as a snake’s own. It was all over in the time it would take to draw half a dozen breaths, but Rachel did not breathe at all. At least she thought she had not breathed until Neusel jumped down and ran to her, eyes sparkling with pride. Then she went down on her knees to look him over—because if he had been bitten—her dear little Noisy—
She looked up, to find Louisa standing over them ashy pale.
“He’s not hurt, Louie. Oh, Louie, are they dead?”
“The two of them,” said Louisa. “Dead as door-nails. I’ll say that for him, he was quick. In and out again before you could say Jack Robinson, and them teeth of his clicking!”
Rachel shuddered, and got to her feet again. The brown coils lay inert and lifeless. Louisa said in a sharp whisper,
“They’re dead. And it might have been you! Who put them there, Miss Rachel?”
Rachel stood looking.
“I don’t know.”
“Someone that wished you dead, Miss Rachel—you can’t get from it. Who is it that would like to see you dead, and have what’s yours?”
Rachel did not turn her head. In an odd stiff voice she repeated the words she had just used.
“I don’t know.”
Louisa Barnet went over to the hearth and picked up the tongs. She said just over her breath,
“I could name some—but you wouldn’t believe me.”
Rachel shuddered again.
“How can I believe a thing like that?”
The dark, grim face worked.
“You’d best, Miss Rachel.” She picked up one of the dead snakes with the tongs. “You can believe your own eyes, can’t you? Someone put these adders in your bed— and that’s no love-gift.”
She went over to the fire, dropped the limp coil into the heart of it, and went back to pick up and dispose of the second snake.
Rachel watched her with a dazed look.
“Are they adders?” she said rather faintly. “They were talking about adders downstairs tonight. Richard said Mr. Tollage was digging out his hedge. The men found a lot of adders in the bank.”
Louisa Barnet thrust at the fire with the tongs and dropped them back upon the hearth.
“Mr. Richard?” she said. “Oh, yes—he’d know, no doubt.”
Strength came back to Rachel Treherne—strength, and anger.
“Louie!”
“Oh, no—you won’t hear a word! Him and Miss Caroline can do no wrong by you—not if you was to see them with your own eyes.” She came suddenly near and caught a fold of Rachel’s maize-colored dressing-gown between her hands. “Oh, my dear—you don’t believe, and you won’t believe, and I mustn’t say a word. But what would you feel like if it was the one you loved best in all the world—if there was them that was creeping and crawling and going all ways to gain their own end, and you only a servant that nobody wouldn’t listen to? Oh, my dear, wouldn’t it wring your heart same as mine’s been wrung? Oh, the Lord, he knows how it’s been wrung, and he’ll forgive me if you won’t!”
Rachel put her hand on the woman’s shoulder and spoke gently.
“Louie, we’re both upset. There are things I can’t listen to—there are things you mustn’t say. But that doesn’t mean I won’t do something about this. And now I’d like clean sheets, so there’s something you can do whilst I’m undressing.”
When she was alone, Rachel Treherne sat a long time by the fire. The noise of water and the noise of wind came to her ears with their accustomed sound. Here, on the edge of the cliff, there were very few days or nights so still that this wind and water music was wholly absent. Tonight it had sombre undertones. The wind was a desolate voice. The sea dragged on the shingle under the cliff.
She got up at last and looked at the clock. The hands stood at midnight. She felt a momentary startled wonder that so little time should really have passed. It was only an hour since she had left the drawing-room—half an hour since she had sent Louie away.
She sat on the edge of her bed and lifted the receiver from the telephone beside it.
She got through very quickly. Miss Maud Silver’s voice sounded most reassuringly awake and clear.
“Yes? What is it?… Oh, Miss Treherne?… Yes… You would like me to come down tomorrow instead of Saturday?… Yes, I—I quite understand. I will wire my train in the morning. Good-night.”
Rachel hung up the receiver. She felt as if the burden were off her shoulders.
She got into bed, put out the light, and stopped thinking. She slept until Louisa came in with the tea at half past seven.
Richard Treherne came through the hall on the way to breakfast. As he passed the study door, he heard voices. The door was ajar. He pushed it a little way, and then stopped because he heard Cherry say in a taunting voice,
“You should have done what you were told, Car-o-line. I said I’d tell on you if you didn’t give me a rake-off.”
Richard waited to hear what Caroline would say.
She said nothing.
He pushed the door a little wider, and saw her standing at the window with her back to him. Cherry, a little nearer, half turned from him, half turned to Caroline, showed him a malicious profile. Her pale hair caught the light.
“You’d much better pay up,” she said. “I expect you got at least fifty pounds for that ring. You can easily spare me a tenner.”
Caroline did not turn her head. She said, “Why should I?” in a tone of gentle scorn.
Cherry Wadlow laughed.
“Because you’d better. I warned you I’d tell about the ring, and I told. But there’s something else I can tell about too if I don’t get my little rake-off.”
Richard came in, shut the door behind him, and crossed the floor.
“And that’s about enough of that!” he said. “Cherry, in case you don’t know it, blackmail is an indictable offence, and you can get quite a nice long stretch of penal servitude for it.”
She put out her tongue at him like a child.
“And a nice time your darling Caroline would have in the witness-box. ‘You pawned a diamond ring, Miss Ponsonby. I believe it belonged to your mother. You must surely have had a very strong motive for parting with it. Oh, you wanted the money? Now you wouldn’t like to tell the Court what you wanted the money for, would you? No, I thought not—a most natural reluctance.’ There, Dicky— that’s how it would be. Do run me in. I think it would be simply wizard—don’t you, Carrie? Shall I tell him what you wanted the money for?… No? All right, I’ll let you off this time, because though revenge is sweet, I’d really rather have that tenner, so I’m giving you time to think it over.” She slipped her arm through Richard’s. “Wouldn’t you like to kiss me good-morning, darling?”
Richard would have liked to strangle her, but he curbed himself and said in a bored tone,
“Not amusing, Cherry. You’re out of the schoolroom now, though it’s a bit difficult to realize it.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing her change color. She ran out of the room. The door banged.
Caroline said, “It’s wicked to hate people, but I think I hate Cherry.”
“What she wants is a daily dozen,” said Richard— “laid on with a good stiff hair-brush. Maurice the same. Now—what’s all this about? Are you going to tell me?”
The color came into Caroline’s face. She said,
“No.”
Richard took her hands in his own. He said,
“Better tell me, Caroline.”
She said “No” again, but rather faintly.
“Silly to make mysteries, my dear—really silly, when it’s you and me. Don’t you know that you can tell me anything?”
She said “Yes,” and caught her breath and said, “Anything about me. But this isn’t anything about me, Richard.”
‘Thank the Lord for that! But I think you’d better tell me.”
She tried to pull her hands away, and when he held them fast she threw him a piteous look which he found hard to bear.
“Please, Richard—I can’t. Please, Richard, let me go.”
He lifted her hands, kissed them, and let them go.
“Well, don’t let Cherry bully you. And don’t forget I’m here. What do you mean by letting her drag us all into a melodrama before breakfast? The emotions should never be excited before three in the afternoon. Come and eat scrambled eggs and kippers. Particularly kippers. They have a very stabilizing effect.”
Breakfast was not a particularly tranquil meal. The Wadlows, Ernest and Mabel, had obviously cast themselves for the role of martyrs. They asked for coffee in tones of gloom, refused sugar as if it had been poison, and gazed upon Rachel with a steady reproach which she found extremely trying. Maurice sulked openly, whilst Cherry advertized the fact that she was in a bad temper by pushing away her cup of tea with so violent a shove as to send half of it into Caroline’s lap.
For a moment Rachel saw them, not as part of her family, but as four singularly irritating and disagreeable people. For that moment she disliked them extremely, wondered why she had put up with them for so long, and made up her mind to send them packing. Then the moment was over. The Wadlows were family again. You were fond of them, you put up with them, you could never, never, never be rid of them. It was not an enlivening thought.
Ernest ate fruit and cereal, Mabel cereal without fruit. Cherry crumbled toast and upset her tea. Caroline ate nothing at all. The telephone was active.
Maurice answered it the first time, and reported that Cosmo Frith was coming over bag and baggage before lunch.
“He might just as well live here and have done with it.”
“So might any of us for the matter of that,” snapped Cherry.
This was so undeniably true that no one attempted to deny it.
The telephone bell rang again. This time there was a telegram. Richard took it down, laid the message beside Rachel’s plate, and saw her change color. She said,
“Miss Silver will be arriving this afternoon by the five-thirty. I shall have to send Barlow to meet her. It’s my day for Nanny Capper.”
“Who is Miss Silver?” said Cherry, staring.
Rachel hoped she wasn’t sounding nervous. She said,
“I don’t think any of you have met her. She’s a retired governess. Not very exciting, I’m afraid, but I want to have her down here for a bit.”
Cherry pushed back her chair rudely.
“Oh, why not turn the house into a home for the aged and have done with it!” She strolled towards the door with her hands in her pockets, whistling. She was wearing mustard-colored tweeds and a large emerald-green scarf. She stopped just as she was going out of the room, because Maurice was taking another call. He turned with the receiver in his hand.
“Oh! It’s for you. The faithful, or shall we say the unfaithful, Bob.”
Cherry said “Damn!”, and snatched the receiver. With her father and mother watching, she had to keep her face sulkily indifferent while Mr. Robert Hedderwick said in a voice of violent passion,
“Cherry, you’re driving me mad!”
The Wadlows saw her eyebrows lift a little. They heard her say,
“Why?”
The line quivered under the energy with which Mr. Hedderwick told her why. Cherry found it very difficult to go on looking sulky, because this was all most exciting. And gratifying. The fact that Bob Hedderwick was within a few weeks of his marriage to Mildred Ross contributed an added thrill.
“Cherry, I’ve got to see you!”
She said, “All right.”
“Tonight—at the usual place.”
Cherry said, “Well, I don’t know,” and was rewarded by another outburst.
“I tell you I’m going clean off my head! I’ve got to see you and talk it out! You’ve got to come! Say you will!”
Cherry said, “Perhaps,” and rang off.
This was heady stuff for the breakfast table. She had the utmost difficulty in not looking as pleased as she felt. She poured herself out another cup of tea and sipped at it to hide a lurking smile. Meanwhile the telephone bell was ringing again. Richard spoke over his shoulder, his palm against the mouthpiece.
“Personal, private and particular for you, Rachel. G.B. on the line.”
The young people’s complaint about having the telephone in the dining-room came home with force to Rachel as she took the receiver and heard Mr. Gale Brandon say with his agreeable American accent,
“Miss Treherne?”
Of course there was an extension in her bedroom, but it would look so marked if she switched over. No, it wouldn’t do at all. She said,
“Miss Treherne speaking.”
Gale Brandon’s voice became eager.
“Oh, now, Miss Treherne—I wonder if you would do me a favor. I don’t really like to ask you, but I know you’ve got a very kind heart, and if you’ll think that here I am on the wrong side of the Atlantic for getting help from any of my own women folk, well I think that kind heart of yours will urge you very strongly to step into the breach and help me choose my Christmas presents.”
Rachel heard the pleased note in her own voice as she said,
“But it’s much too early. I haven’t even begun to think about mine.”
Gale Brandon’s voice sounded pleased too. She thought, “He’s pleased with himself,” and tried to bang the door on that other thought, “He’s pleased with me.”
He laughed and said, “If I don’t start early I don’t at all. I just stall and quit. Now if you will come into Ledlington with me this morning—I don’t know how much we could do there but we can make a start.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
His voice took a pleading tone.
“I shall be just lost if you won’t. You know, I do lose my head in a store, and I am liable to send a pair of skates to my bedridden Uncle Jacob, or the lastest thing in lipsticks to my Aunt Hephzibah. What I need is guidance. So won’t you just cut out all those things you were going to do and let me call for you in half an hour’s time?”
Several bright thoughts arrived in Rachel’s mind simultaneously. If she went out with Gale Brandon, Ernest and Mabel would not be able to talk to her. Maurice would not be able to talk to her, and she could put off talking to Caroline. She would also avoid Louisa. And she could make quite certain of being out when Mrs. Barber brought Ella Comperton over.
She said with alacrity, “Well, I oughtn’t to, but I will,” and hung up.