Читать книгу So Evil My Love: Based on a True Crime Story - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 7

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Mrs. Sacret prayed to god when she first entered the Old Priory that she might be enabled to help her friend, and she used those words when explaining herself to her Dissenting acquaintances. “I am trying to help a friend, who is lonely and not very happy. I do not know how long I shall stay with her.”

No one was interested, she had always been too aloof from the chapel, save when she mentioned her future address, then she saw a gleam of surprise and envy on several dull faces.

They have to admit, she thought, that I have good connections and that I am what I always claimed to be, a gentlewoman.

She resolved to take no money from Olivia; this was to be a visit, no business arrangement. She would stay three months at the Old Priory, then look for a situation, this time from a comfortable background, with more confidence, and among Anglican institutions. Dissent dropped from her easily; she found no difficulty in returning to a church that she had never really left. It would be so much more convenient and improve her standing in her new position. After all, she would not need to change her God or her prayers. “I do really intend to be of service to poor Susan,” she assured this Deity and herself.

It was gratifying to be able to pity Susan. A few days at the Old Priory showed Mrs. Sacret, trained in observation of her husband’s flocks, her friend’s commonplace troubles. Martin Rue had the appearance of a robust young man, blond, comely, a stolid Anglo-Saxon. But his temperament was that of a middle-aged invalid; an expensive education had left him incompetent in everything except perhaps his business of which Mrs. Sacret knew nothing, with no interests beyond his own ailments, his medicine chest and his hothouses.

He was away frequently, either at the city offices of the bank—St. Child’s—of which he was a partner, at his club, or with his mother. Although he received Mrs. Sacret civilly he warned her not to encourage Susan in “frivolity” and hinted that she was inclined to make acquaintances of which he could not approve, and that he had had “to drop” most of the people she had known when he married her, including her first husband’s family, the Dasents, who belonged to a “fast military set.” Mrs. Sacret with her landed gentry descent and her impeccable character was an exception to these strictures, but she felt a common dislike between herself and the master of the Old Priory.

The idleness of the couple interested the guest, used to an ordered existence full of insistent, if futile, duties. Ever since her return to London her search for work had kept her occupied and fatigued. At the Old Priory there was nothing to do when the short daily routine was over.

Susan was a fair if disinterested housekeeper. The servants were adequate, the house comfortable, her husband managed the menservants and the stables and grounds were as orthodox as the mansion; if there was no sign of taste in either, there was none of disorder. Mrs. Sacret suspected waste and extravagance on Susan’s part, but these were well hidden. She had her own money as well as her allowance to make good any insufficiencies.

After she had seen the cook and given her orders she had the empty hours on her hands. A visit to the shops, to the dressmaker, to the lending library, a call on some woman she hardly knew, or a visit from some such acquaintance, a drive in the park, such were Susan’s days. She had no accomplishments and could not even play croquet or whist, tat or embroider, the only books she read were love stories. When she talked to her new found friend it was always of the past.

The long heavy breakfasts were eaten in silence as Mr. Rue sat behind the Times; the long heavy dinners accompanied dragging conversations Mrs. Sacret found more tedious than silence. The master of the house had the dyspeptic’s complaints of his food, the mistress of the house the nervous defense of the woman bored by both the man and his meals. After dinner Mr. Rue would go to his smoking room and Susan and Mrs. Sacret to the pleasant garden boudoir, as it was termed, and there while away the evening, Susan vaguely admiring her friend’s active fingers, for Mrs. Sacret could not sit quite idle and would sew or embroider diligently. Once old Mrs. Rue came on a visit; her son was the only child of a late and brief marriage and she doted on him. A large, colorless, expensively dressed woman, she took on life and even brilliancy through emotion when she regarded her daughter-in-law. At once she was frankly menacing to Mrs. Sacret whom she asked into the luxurious bedroom always reserved for her at the Old Priory.

“A queer idea for Susan to have a companion.”

“I’m not a companion. A friend.”

“Oh! It has been a long visit. A mistake to interfere between husband and wife.”

“I never interfere.”

“A third person in the house is awkward.”

“Not for Susan. She was so much alone.”

“I knew she had been complaining. She could find plenty to do if she looked after my son. Before he left home it took all my time to take care of him. He is very delicate.”

“This is his home now, isn’t it? And I’m sure he doses himself too much; he should see a doctor, instead of making up his own medicines.”

The two women exchanged level looks of dislike.

“You would hardly know anything about that, Mrs. Sacret.”

“I do. I used to keep a dispensary and learned something of drugs.”

“You were a missionary, Mrs. Sacret. Church of England?”

“My husband and I worked as Christians, Mrs. Rue. We never thought in terms of denominations.”

“I see, Dissenters,” said the elder lady. “My son is High Church. You have a very pretty dress on, Mrs. Sacret—very fashionable for mourning.

“Susan gave it to me,” smiled Mrs. Sacret. “She has bought me a wardrobe. I had nothing fit for this house. She has her own money and it pleased her to spend it like this.”

Mrs. Rue flushed at this cool defiance, and her faded eyes glanced contemptuously at the other woman’s plain, well-fitted cashmere gown, with the delicate cambric collar and cuffs, and the ruffles and buttons of black velvet. Mrs. Sacret’s hazel-colored hair was brushed to a pale shimmer and hung in a black chenille net. She wore jet earrings that set off her fine complexion.

“You have discarded your widow’s cap,” said Mrs. Rue, with a shudder that shook her own starched and crape erection. “And before your year’s mourning is over.”

“Does that matter to you?” asked Mrs. Sacret sweetly.

The elder woman trembled, her fat fingers pulled at the glossy silk stretched over her fat knees.

“This is my son’s home. Susan should think of him—”

“She does. Too much. Too often. She is afraid of him.”

“What do you mean! Martin is the kindest of men!”

“And Susan the meekest of women. Perhaps you’re glad to have it confirmed, Mrs. Rue—for you must have known it, that Susan lives in fear of your son—of his grumbling, his bad temper, his snubs.”

“And she called you in to protect her, I suppose?”

“Perhaps.”

“This is very insolent. I shall speak to Susan and you must go. You are making mischief, I can see that. You suddenly appear—”

Mrs. Sacret interrupted.

“No, I was at school with Susan. I’ve always been in her confidence. I shall not leave unless I wish. Only Susan could make me.”

“She shall,” declared Mrs. Rue, rising, shaking out her weeds; the two widows faced one another. “I shall desire her to do so.”

“Susan will never send me away. I told you she was very meek. Timid. She is afraid of me—also.”

“Why?” demanded Mrs. Rue, with an eager, pouncing look. “Because I am the stronger character.”

“You spoke as if you had a hold over her—”

“A hold?” Mrs. Sacret smiled haughtily.

“I always thought Susan might have something to conceal—”

“Did you? How uncharitable of you!”

The elder woman, intent on her own line of thought, ignored this and continued.

“I suppose you knew her when she was making herself conspicuous with Sir John Curle, a married man.”

“I told you, I’ve known her since we were children.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Mrs. Rue, throwing all civility aside. “I understand you very well. You have everything to gain from Susan, you mean to stay here, in idleness, in my son’s house—”

“On Susan’s money—”

“She ought to hand it over to her husband.”

“So she has. Nearly all of it. Like a fool. But she has kept enough—”

“For what you want. I quite understand.”

“And so do I, Mrs. Rue.”

The elder woman suddenly lowered her panting voice.

“It was a most unsuitable marriage for my son. A chance meeting at the house of a new acquaintance—and he became infatué with this—stranger. She was being talked about—a silly, common, frivolous creature.” Mrs. Rue labored with her venom. “Of course my son soon found out his mistake.” She paused, her gasp for breath was a sigh, she approached Mrs. Sacret and spoke confidentially. “If you know anything,” she whispered, “it is your duty to tell my son—”

“What could I know?” asked Mrs. Sacret sweetly.

“I thought—usually—it’s letters—indiscreet letters. If you had any—”

Mrs. Sacret slightly flinched and the other staring woman perceived this.

“You ought, as a Christian woman, to show them to my son.” She cast down her eyes and added, “He would be a good friend to you. He has influence—a position, whatever you want. He is, really, I repeat, the kindest of men.”

Mrs. Sacret hesitated on the verge of extreme plain speaking but controlled herself, said “good afternoon” and left the room.