Authors: Susan Barrie
“
I
must and I
’
m going to, my dear child,
”
Miss Constantia insisted with the stubbornness of one who knew that the sands were running out.
“
I
’
ve said that I
’
ve had a good life, but it hasn
’
t been full enough—never with any of the things I really wanted, you know. A husband and children
...
I always envied my married friends, particularly in the days when I was still young and thought how wonderful it would be to have a husband come hastening home in the evening with plans for taking me out to dinner, or perhaps with some little unexpected gift in his pocket
...
Nothing expensive, you know, just a trifle, such as a pair of earrings that caught his eye, and that he
’
d bought because I
’
d such pretty ears. Or a box of bonbons! I
’
ve always bought my own bonbons, and I
’
ve so many pairs of earrings, most of them very valuable, which my nieces will fight over when I die!
”
“
Please,
”
Valentine begged her,
“
you simply mustn
’
t talk like that!
”
“
But it
’
s true, my dear.
”
The amusement in the old tired voice was hollow and strange.
“
And my nephews will fight over my first editions—I
’
ve collected such a number of them, and they
’
re in the library at Chaumont. And all my pictures, and china, and glass
...
! My silver, my lovely period furniture, my collection of jade. There
’
s so much for them to fight over, and they
’
ll have a simply wonderful time the instant I
’
ve passed on! At least, they would have done, but for the fact that I
’
ve taken steps to prevent anything of the kind happening.
”
She chuckled suddenly—it was the strangest little chuckle in that silent room, and with her labored breathing acting as a background to it.
“
You, Valentine, are much prettier than
I
ever was, but you
’
ve never had the things that set off prettiness, have you? Oh, of course you always look terribly nice—
”
her faded eyes smiling at the girl
“
—but you could look even nicer! And one day I hope you
’
ll have a husband, and a home, and children
...
”
Valentine felt tears prick behind her eyes and she thought wildly,
oh, why doesn
’
t Martine come? Why doesn
’
t the doctor come?
“
They will come, my dear, in a few minutes,
”
Miss Constantia said, as if she could read her thoughts.
“
Just be patient with me a little longer.
”
She peered rather earnestly into the girl
’
s face.
“
It is true, isn
’
t it, that you are quite alone in the world? No parents? No close relatives? No one to whom you are even thinking of becoming engaged?
”
“
No one,
”
Valentine answered firmly, but she wondered why her affairs should be of the slightest importance at such a moment.
“
Then I think
I
have acted wisely.
”
Miss Constantia sounded tired, and she relaxed against her pillows and closed her eyes,
“
I have given the matter a lot of thought and I think ... I have acted wisely!
”
She opened her eyes to smile once more at Valentine.
“
You mustn
’
t disappoint me, you know,
”
she said strangely and then seemed to lie listening for a short while.
“
They are coming. Martine walks so quickly because she is agitated, and Leon has such a firm tread!
”
When he stood beside her bed Leon Daudet
’
s face became completely inscrutable. For the second time he ordered Valentine from the room.
“
You had better go
,
Mademoiselle Brooke!
”
CHAPTER TWO
Valentine wandered aim
l
essly
up and down the big drawing room at Chaumont.
It was a lovely room, beautifully proportioned, with a garlanded ceiling and big windows overlooking the lawns at the back of the house. Just now the lawns were very green after the winter rains, and all the flower beds were a blaze of color. Miss Constantia had followed the English pattern for having grounds laid out, and at Chaumont there was a very English rose garden, and even a little herb garden. There was a lake, too
,
and beyond it the woods that crowded close to the village also crowded close to the lake.
Valentine stood near the window and watched the tops of the trees swaying dreamily against the deep blue of the sky. It was such a clear unsullied blue, and she thought:
A blue sky of spring,
White clouds on the wing
...
Miss Constantia had been very fond of the bit about the ducks on the pond and the green bank beyond.
“
So peaceful!
”
she had declared.
“
And so like Chaumont!
”
Miss Constantia had loved Chaumont, and the people of the village had benefited every time she stayed at the house. She had been absurdly generous and she knew all about their little affairs. Marthe Catinot
,
whose husband had died suddenly of pneumonia and left her with three children to support, had found it comparatively simple to carry on after Miss Constantia learned of her troubles; and the wheelwright
’
s daughter, Denise, whose father had refused to give her a
dot
for her marriage, had had everything satisfactorily smoothed over once Miss Constantia
’
s sympathy was enlisted.
But Miss Constantia would not come to Chaumont anymore—neither to live in the house, nor to listen to human beings
’
troubles. She had been laid to rest that day in the family vault, and surviving members of her family, who imagined they were vitally concerned with her will, had congregated in the library to receive something in the nature of a shock. Valentine had wondered at the silence in which most of them had departed, their big cars gliding away with a fat hiss of tires on the well
-
kept driveway. In one case the blinds of a big American Cadillac had been drawn at the back, as if the occupants didn
’
t feel like being observed—particularly by eyes in the house!
Valentine began to feel as if the walls of the drawing room were closing in on her. She knew every picture on the wall and every cherished ornament in the glass-fronted cabinets after what seemed to her like hours of imprisonment, and all because she had felt she owed it to Miss Constantia to be there in her much-loved house when she was carried out of it. There was no one here who needed her, and tonight she would go back to Paris. Tomorrow she would make practical plans for going home to England. It was hardly likely that, if she stayed on in Paris, she would find another secretarial post that would compensate her for the loss of Miss Constan
t
ia
..
.
The drawing room door opened and Dr. Daudet came into the room. It was he who had suggested to Valentine that she remain where she was until the others had left: he would drive her back to the capital himself.
She thought he looked extremely composed, as usual, but he also looked a little strange. He was wearing a dark suit so beautifully tailored that it was a work of art in itself, and his black tie made his shirt look start
l
ingly white by contrast. The light coating of bronze that she understood he had acquired during a recent holiday in the Bahamas seemed less noticeable at this hour of the day and in the dimness of the drawing room; and the one or two silvery threads in the night-darkness of his hair above the temples also failed to show up as much as she had more than once seen them do. His eyes were deep, brooding and thoughtful.
“
So you
’
re still here, Miss Brooke,
”
he said, and the statement was so obvious that she looked at him for enlightenment. He picked up a delicate piece of porcelain and examined it with a slight frown between his brows.
“
I told old Dubonnet, when he wanted to call you in that I wasn
’
t sure where we could find you, and I promised to pass on the relevant information to you myself.
”
He glanced at her and then away.
“
In any case, he
’
ll be waiting for you at the apartment tomorrow morning—about eleven o
’
clock, if that is convenient to you?
”
Valentine felt her eyebrows go up. She was spending one more night at the apartment with Martine, but she had planned to leave early the following day. And why should Miss Constantia
’
s solicitor, Maitre Dubonnet, wish to see her in any case?
“
I don
’
t understand,
”
she said.
“
Of course I can make it convenient if Monsieur Dubonnet wishes to see me, but
...
”
“
You have no idea at all what it is that he wishes to see you about?
”
She shook her head. She thought that his eyes were oddly penetrating, and they were so intensely dark—a sort of fluid darkness, like water at the bottom of a very deep well—that she found their direct gaze disconcerting.
“
No idea at all. Unless
...!
”
She felt herself turning a little pink. Surely Miss Constantia hadn
’
t left her a bequest? Something to remember her by? Why, she had only worked for her for three months
!
“
Unless,
”
she
repeated slowly and awkwardly,
“
Miss Constantia
...
”
“
Yes?
”
he insisted with something soft and silken in his tones, and she had the queer sensation that she was a mouse he was waiting to pounce upon.
“
Yes,
mademoiselle
!
”
“
Oh, put into words it sounds ... it sounds as if
I
was expecting something, but
I
can assure you
I
wasn
’
t! Only when you asked me whether
I
had any idea why Monsieur Dubonnet wished to see me it did occur to me that
...
”
“
You might have been substantially remembered in our late friend
’
s will?
”
“
Not substantially!
”
Her eyes were perplexed, and they were so large and clear and blue that they should have struck him as extraordinarily truthful eyes, with nothing at all to hide.
“
Just perhaps, a little souvenir
...
something that I could remember our three months
’
association by. It
was
only three months, and it seemed to pass in a flash, but I think that in that short space of time we got to know one another rather well
...
”
“
Obviously,
”
he said dryly.
She swallowed.
“
I was very fond of Miss Constantia.
”
“
It would appear that she was very fond of you.
”
She looked at him with a hint of appeal in her eyes.
“
It seems I have done something to incur your displeasure, Dr. Daudet. Wouldn
’
t it have been better if you had allowed Monsieur Dubonnet to call me in while the others were still here, then
I
might have learned what it is that I have done?
”
This time it was he who shook his head.