Читать книгу Lonesome Road - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 8

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Miss Treherne was met at Ledlington by her very comfortable car. As she was driven through the dark lanes she could not help thinking how secure she must appear. Nobody who saw her drive away with a fur rug over her knees and the steady, responsible Barlow at the wheel, could have believed that under this appearance of safety there was a nightmare of fear, an anguished struggle against suspicion. She looked at Barlow’s solid back, and could hardly believe it herself.

She was glad that the house would not be full—only Mabel and Ernest, and Caroline, who was so much the child of the house that she did not count. She supposed that Richard might turn up, but she was always pleased to see Richard. She was tired, but she would have a clear hour before dinner. The thought of a hot bath was pleasant, and Louie brushing her hair.

She came into the hall, and found it full of people. Ernest, Mabel, Richard, Caroline, and Maurice and Cherry who had apparently just arrived and wished to dine but not to sleep, because they had to get back to town.

‘And this makes quite a good road-house, darling.’ Cherry’s light, fleeting laugh had no more warmth than the term of endearment which she applied to everyone she met. Her prettiness had something brittle about it—the very fair hair with a sugar-loaf cap crammed on amongst its curls, the very thin hands with their pointed blood-red nails, the painted arch of the lips. As always when she saw them together, Rachel’s eyes went to Caroline, who came forward, kissed her, and said in that slow, soft voice of hers,

‘Are you quite frozen?’

‘No, not quite. How many of you are sleeping here? I suppose Mrs Evans knows. Cherry, you and Maurice had much better stay. Barlow says the roads will be dangerous in another hour—it’s freezing on the melted snow.’

Mabel Wadlow turned round with her hand on her son’s arm. She was a small woman, and had once been as fair as Cherry, but her skin had gone lined and sallow, and her hair as colourless as dried grass. It had something of the same off-greenish tint. She had a high, fretful voice.

‘That’s what I’ve been saying,’ she complained. ‘And perhaps Maurice will listen to you. Of course what I say doesn’t matter to anyone.’

Maurice said, ‘Oh, come!’ and slipped an arm about her waist. He had the same small, regular features as his sister, the same rather near-set eyes; but whereas Cherry had seen to it that her lashes were a good half-dozen shades darker than her hair, his were still as sandy as nature had made them. He wore a small struggling moustache, and occasionally threatened the family with a beard. He was at the moment quite determined to throw up a legal career in favour of politics. He hoped to induce his aunt to finance this change of plan, but up to date he had found her very unresponsive. He said,

‘Well, I would like to have a talk with you, Rachel.’

Rachel Treherne said ‘Presently’ in rather a weary voice.

‘You’ve missed Cosmo,’ said Mabel Wadlow. ‘He was seeing someone in Ledlington. He came out here for tea. Oh, and Ella rang up and wanted to know if she could bring a friend over to lunch—you know, that Mrs Barber she stays with. They came over in Mrs Barber’s car. I don’t know how all these people afford cars, I’m sure.’ Mrs Wadlow’s tone suggested that this was a personal grievance.

Rachel felt a faint thankfulness at having missed Mrs Barber—one of those people who are obsessed with the excellence of their own good works and are forever thrusting them down your throat. But it appeared that she had rejoiced too soon. Ella Comperton proposed transferring herself from Mrs Barber’s cottage to Whincliff Edge in time for lunch next day, and Mrs Barber would drive her over. She couldn’t stay to lunch, but she would drive her over. Mrs Barber therefore had not been completely avoided. One might perhaps be out shopping, or taking Neusel for a walk. And by the way, where was Neusel?

She had reached the staircase, when with a scurry and a rush a black and tan dachshund precipitated himself down the stairs, giving tongue as he came. When he actually reached her his screams became frantic. He nuzzled an adored ankle, shrieked on a high top note, took a fond bite at a restraining hand, moaned, screamed again, and snatching a glove, raced off with it ahead of her.

‘I can’t think how Rachel can bear that noisy dog,’ said Mabel Wadlow, with her hand to her head. ‘Oh, dear—just listen to him! Now, Maurice, it’s quite settled that you stay. No, Cherry, it is not the slightest use your making that sort of face. I know no one pays any attention to me, but perhaps you’ll listen to your father. Ernest, tell Cherry that it is all settled, and that they are to stay. And now I really do think we should all go and dress.’

Cherry Wadlow looked across to where Richard Treherne was reading a letter. She laughed and said,

‘Richard isn’t staying. Like to drive me up to town, Dicky? You’re not one of the nervous ones.’

Richard Treherne looked up—a dark, strongly built young man with glasses. His best friend could not have called him handsome, and when he frowned as he was doing now he looked formidable, but his voice when he spoke was a remarkably pleasant one.

‘Cherry darling, when you call me Dicky I am liable to an attack of homicidal mania. Just as well I am staying here, because if you did it when we were alone together in a car, there might be a nasty accident.’

‘In fact I’m not Carrie.’

‘And if you call Caroline Carrie, I shan’t wait till we’re alone—I shall just get on with it and murder you here and now.’

‘Might be rather amusing,’ said Cherry. ‘Car-o-line, what would you do if a murderer offered you his heart and his blood-stained hand?’

Caroline smiled. She was one of the people who do everything with a kind of slow grace. Richard Treherne once said that she always suggested music off. She was not very tall, or very small, or very dark, or very fair. She had lovely brown eyes and very beautiful hands and feet. People who loved her loved her very much indeed. She smiled now and said,

‘I should tell him to wash it.’ And went up the stairs without looking back.

At her own door Rachel Treherne was met by Louisa Barnet—and Louisa in not at all a good temper.

‘You’ll be frozen, Miss Rachel. What you wanted to go up to town for on a day like this, the dear knows, for I don’t. And that Noisy’s got one of your new gloves.’

Miss Treherne called in a laughing, indulgent voice,

‘Noisy! Darling. Not my new glove! Oh, Noisy—please!’

‘A good smack is what he wants if you ask me!’

‘But I don’t, Louie dear. Noisy—wicked one—give it up—there’s a darling!’

Neusel, thus wooed, advanced with prancings and tail-waggings to drop the glove. He leapt joyously and licked his mistress’s face as she bent down to pick it up.

Louisa frowned severely.

‘’Orrid creature!’ she said. ‘It passes me how you can let him. And I wouldn’t have him in your room if it was me, because he’ve just been sick.’

Rachel gazed at the sparkling eyes and healthful aspect of the sinner.

‘He looks all right.’

‘Oh, it didn’t trouble him!’ said Louisa darkly.

‘He’ll only scream if we shut him out.’

‘Then he can scream where he won’t be heard!’ said Louisa, picking him up by the scruff of the neck and carrying him off.