Читать книгу The Lady of Ascot - Edgar Wallace - Страница 5

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MRS. CARAWOOD passed under the familiar grey arch of Cheltenham Ladies' College, turned to the left and towards the circular stone stairs.

The "crocs." were beginning to arrive from the houses, long double lines of girls in blue, their flaming house colours worn in the shape of ties. She had passed the Cranmore croc. in the street, and had seen two senior girls bicycling to "Coll." wearing the Mendip necktie, and they were at once invested with a special glamour, for Marie's house was Mendip—the first house in the college for all field sports.

The college porter, hurrying past, recognized her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Carawood—have you seen her ladyship?"

"No, Mr. Bell." The stocky, dark-faced woman almost smiled. "I came down by the late train yesterday. Is my lady well?"

Her voice had a Cockney twang to it; the college porter, who liked her, yet thought her "a bit common", felt that, for all the respect due to a parent or guardian, he was dealing with a social equal, if no worse.

"She was all right when I saw her yesterday," said the porter. "Are you taking her home?"

Mrs. Carawood shook her head.

"No," she said, rather shortly, and went on her way.

At the top of the staircase a prefect, with the shield of office hanging like a medal from her blouse, showed her through a doorway and to a pine seat. She was in the gallery that surrounded Hall on three sides. At one end was a stage draped with heavy blue curtains. In the centre a table with a silver reading-desk and a bowl of flowers on top. An organ was playing softly, and already the girls were filing in, each going to her place until the floor-space and all the galleries were filled.

The visitor looked upon a sea of white blouses and neatly brushed heads. Last to enter were the seniors, sitting at the head of the congregation. A girl prefect came into Hall, whispered to a mistress, and went out. Mrs. Carawood's eyes glowed at the sight of the slim figure until it had vanished from sight. Then, over her shoulder, she looked at the door.

Marie appeared, flushed and breathless, came silently to the pew, and sat down by the woman's side. Their hands met in a clinging hug, and then cheek touched cheek for a moment. Through a door by the side of the platform came the senior prefect, prayer-book in hand, and behind her a majestic woman, in academic gown, her cap under her arm, a lady with a grave, rather tired face.

From the opposite gallery John Morlay watched the pair. He had been one of the first of the visitors to enter Hall, and had taken his place in the solitude fully a quarter of an hour before the first line of girls had filed in noiselessly to their places.

The woman he recognized as the visitor to the house at Ascot. She was in the region of fifty, swarthy of face and yet not unpleasant to look upon. There was something of the gipsy in the romantic Mrs. Carawood. Her black hair was untouched with grey, and at this distance, where the lines about her eyes were invisible, her face was singularly smooth.

The girl, when she came, rather took his breath away. He had retained a memory of a slim and pretty schoolgirl, but in the months which had passed since his first and only meeting with her, a subtle maturity showed. It would be, he thought, ridiculous to describe her as a woman; it would be equally absurd to speak of her as a child. Nature had modelled so delicately that figure and face were in some manner transformed. She had been boyishly slim, with a certain awkwardness of movement and gesture; he had been conscious of long limbs and an almost masculine grip of hand. There were harmony and grace in her movements now; the gaucherie of childhood had come to be a rhythm; the round, firm cheeks had delicate shadows.

All through the short service which followed her appearance his eyes did not leave her. When the golden head was bent in prayer and all other eyes were downcast, his were fixed upon these odd companions, the woman in her severe black dress, the girl in her white blouse. And the longer he looked the more revolting seemed the cold-blooded scheme of Julian Lester. There was a new ugliness in the commission which this exquisite young man had offered. There and then John Morlay dissociated himself from his "client".

After the simple service was over the two passed down the stairs together into the corridor; and then Mrs. Carawood became aware, even in the soft ecstasy which always filled her when she was in the girl's presence, that a man was standing watching them, a tall, good-looking man with a smile on his lips.

"The Countess Fioli, is it not?" he asked, hat in hand.

The girl stared at him for a moment and then laughed softly.

"Oh, I remember you—you are Mr. Morlay."

John Morlay was staggered.

"Mr. Lester introduced you at Rumpelmeyer's."

The frown that had gathered on the woman's face slowly disappeared, and John thought he detected a sigh of relief. They walked towards the porter's gate together, and then, with a quick kiss and hug for her guardian, and a nodding smile to John Morlay, the girl passed through the doorway.

For a second there was silence, and then, looking at Mrs. Carawood, he saw her staring at the doorway through which Marie had vanished, and there was in her face so concentrated a devotion that even he was astounded. He saw a light in her eyes, a certain tenseness in her mien, which spoke eloquently of the emotion which even that brief interview had aroused.

"You are very fond of your little—friend?" said John softly.

With a start she turned to him.

"Fond of her?" Her voice was husky. "Why, I should think so! She's like my own."

"Soon she will be leaving school, won't she?" Mrs. Carawood nodded.

"Next week," she said. "She's going into residence."

There was almost a note of pomposity in this—an exaggerated self-consciousness.

"Rather young, isn't she, to set up housekeeping at Ascot? Or is she going to Italy first?"

The woman's eyes met his and he saw in them the dawn of suspicion.

"No," she said shortly. And then, as if repenting of her brusqueness: "I don't know what I shall do with her yet. She is very young."

"Too young to marry," stated rather than asked the other.

He was not exactly supporting his client's case; but then, he did not regard Julian Lester in that light. He was ridiculously anxious to discover whether Mrs. Carawood favoured the suit of the elegant young man, and he had his answer when he saw the cloud in her face.

"Much too young," she said emphatically. "Marie has no wish to leave me."

There was no further excuse for lingering. With a lift of his hat he turned away, and she watched him from the entrance until he had turned a corner and was out of sight. Then she saw the porter.

"Who was that gentleman, Mr. Bell?" she asked. "The man who was talking to you?"

She nodded.

"He's Mr. Morlay. He came down here two years ago over some fraud that had been worked in the staff. He is a sort of detective..."

Her trembling hand went up to her mouth; the dark face turned grey. The porter was speaking, yet she did not hear him.

"A detective!" Her heart beat painfully as her lips formed the words. "A detective!"

The wonder which was in John Morlay's mind would have been intensified if he had been a witness of her agitation.