The Case Of William Smith (7 page)

The lunch went off well. In his relief at having come more than creditably through a much dreaded interview, Cyril Eversley relaxed to play the courteous, gentle-mannered host. In doing so he was not so much playing a part as throwing one off. It was the role of man of business which he found perennially jading and ungrateful. As the scholarly dilettante he was at his ease. Admiral Holden, who had never thought much of him, was surprised to find him such an agreeable host.

The Admiral was feeling pleased with himself — pleased to be up and about again; pleased to be asserting himself with the Eversleys who had certainly considered him as good as dead and buried (he’d show them!); pleased to be visiting his old haunts and saying what a damned filthy place London was, and very much pleased to see Katharine. When she came into the hall of the club in her blue dress and fur coat, and put her hands in his and kissed him, his weatherbeaten face turned quite scarlet with pleasure and he thought to himself, ‘She’s a lovely woman — and be damned to all the rest of them — they can’t hold a candle to her.’ He squeezed her hands very tight, and she said,

‘Darling Bunny, you look as if you’d just come back from a voyage round the world.’

‘Bed on the verandah,’ he said gruffly — ‘fair or foul — wet, wind, or snow — or I shouldn’t be here today.’

After that everything went with a bang. She had called him Bunny ever since she was three years old. It gave him extraordinary pleasure. She had a loving heart, God bless her, and she looked young and happy, and he had gone into her affairs for her. If he had come out of his verandah bed in the nick of time to dance at her wedding, nobody would be better pleased than he. Only he wasn’t sure that he would have chosen that fellow Brett — no, he wasn’t sure about that. Cyril Eversley seemed to think they had made it up between them, or that they were going to, but that it was all very hush-hush at the moment. He couldn’t see why it should be. He thought he would have a word or two with Katharine and find out. Hang it all, she liked the fellow, or she didn’t like him. She was old enough to know her own mind. He could find out tactfully. He hoped he could be tactful when he chose. Thoughts like these came and went as he partook vigorously of lobster and partridge and finished up with a couple of ices and some Stilton cheese.

Brett Eversley, making himself charming to Katharine, was aware of scrutiny. Admiral Holden’s small bright blue eyes appeared to be sizing him up. He laid himself out to entertain, and succeeded. But when Katharine rose to go the Admiral rose too.

‘We’ll have a taxi, my dear,’ he said easily. ‘I’m going your way.’

‘Darling Bunny, how do you know which way I’m going?’

‘Well, which way are you going?’

‘Back to my job.’

Brett laughed and said, ‘He crashes in where we’ve been afraid to tread! Go on, sir — ask her what she’s doing, and where she’s been hiding herself away!’

Katharine was smiling.

‘Oh, I’m not telling anyone. It’s fun for me, because I can keep you all guessing — and it’s even more fun for you, because you can invent all sorts of scandalous explanations. They won’t any of them be true, but that only makes them more intriguing.’

Brett took her hand and held it just a little longer than he need have done.

‘You won’t tell me where you’re living?’

‘It would spoil the stories. It’s all too, too respectable.’

Cyril said, ‘Have you really got a job? There surely isn’t any need?’

She laughed.

‘I have an urge to work. Doesn’t that prove my respectability? I must rush! Thank you for a lovely lunch.’

At the taxi door she said,

‘I’ll be dropped at the Marble Arch tube.’

Admiral Holden spoke to the driver, and got in after her. Except that he did not move quite as lightly as he had done, he seemed to be perfectly restored. As they drove away, he beamed at her and said,

‘Well, I’ve got everything settled up, and you won’t have any more trouble. If those dividends of yours don’t come in on the nail, you’ve got to let me know. Not much of a hand at business, Cyril Eversley. Struck me that secretary of his knew more about everything than he did. Good-looking woman. They had her in, and she had it all at her fingers’ ends. It seems the old clerk — what’s his name, Davies — was a bit past his work at the end and things got muddled up. I shouldn’t have heard anything about it from Cyril — it was Brett let the cat out of the bag. Cyril was all for hushing it up and saying how long Davies had worked for them, but reading between the lines, I should say he’d left everything at sixes and sevens, and for all we know he may have been feathering his nest for years — ’

Katharine interrupted him with distress in voice and manner.

‘Oh, no — he wouldn’t!’

‘That’s what Cyril Eversley said. But it happens, you know. Old trusted servant of the firm — everything left to him — too much left to him. Then he dies suddenly, and the whole thing comes out.’

She caught him by the arm.

‘Is Mr. Davies dead?’

‘That’s what they were telling me.’

‘When?’

‘They didn’t say. Not so long ago, I should think.’

She said, ‘The last time I went to the office he was there. That was about two months ago. I’ve known him ever since I could remember. He was good — I’m sure he never did anything wrong in his life.’

He patted her knee.

‘Well, my dear, we all have to go some time. And I haven’t got very long with you — I want to talk. First of all, I want to now where you are and what you are doing, and why there’s any mystery about it.’ He looked at her reproachfully — square shoulders, grey hair cut close to his head, water-blue eyes in a ruddy face. ‘What’s all this about? I don’t like it.’

‘Darling Bunny — ’

‘Hiding yourself away, taking some hole-and-corner kind of a job — what’s it all about? Girl does that sort of thing, it means she’s got something up her sleeve. What have you got up yours?’

‘What do we generally have?’

‘A young man,’ said the Admiral bluntly. ‘You’d better tell me who he is, and I’ll size him up for you.’

‘I have sized him up.’

‘Pack of rubbish! A girl can’t size up a man any more than a man can size up a girl. Set a thief to catch a thief, my dear! I’ll size him up for you!’

He saw her eyes widen with that little smile in them, but she didn’t answer. With quick suspicion he came out with,

‘Is it that fellow Brett?’

‘Oh, no, darling.’

‘Well, I’m glad about that. Something I don’t cotton to there. Very agreeable fellow — very good company. What the women call charming — always been a favourite. A bit too much stuff in the shop window to my way of thinking. I like them a bit plainer.’

‘So do I, darling.’

He patted her hand.

‘Very glad to hear it.’ His voice suddenly took on a definitely quarter-deck note. ‘Then what the blazes did that fellow Cyril mean by telling me you were engaged?’

‘Cyril said I was engaged to Brett?’

‘Or as near as makes no difference. Said it was all very hush-hush. Couldn’t make out why. Because if you’re engaged you’re engaged, and if you’re going to be engaged you’re going to be engaged. Can’t see any reason to go mincing round like a cat on hot bricks, which is what that fellow Cyril was doing. So I thought I’d have a word with you and find out what was going on. Tactfully of course — ’

‘Darling, I do love you when you’re being tactful!’

‘Meaning I’m no good at it. Well, I daresay I’m not. And I daresay you think you can manage your own affairs without my putting my oar in. Women always think so until they go on the rocks. Now you listen to me! If you’ve got a man up that sleeve of yours I’d like to meet him. If he’s any good he’ll want to meet me. I’m not your guardian any longer, but your father was the best shipmate and the best friend I ever had, and if you don’t know by now that I’m a good deal fonder of you than most men are of their daughters, you’re not so intelligent as I’ve always given you credit for being. Now, what about it?’

She looked at him sweetly.

‘Bunny, you’re an angel, and I love you.’

He said gruffly, ‘Fine words butter no parsnips. I said, “What about it?” ’

She took one of his hands and held it tightly in both of hers.

‘This,’ she said. ‘There is someone. I love him — very much. And he loves me — very much too. I can’t tell you any more than that — I can’t really. It’s the most wonderful time of my life, and I don’t want it to be spoiled. I want to have it. I want a little time before I tell people — just a little, you know. And you shall be the very first — I promise you that. And I promise you something else — you’ll be terribly, terribly pleased.’

‘Oh, I will, will I?’

‘Yes, Bunny — and here’s my tube station.’

‘All right, all right.’

He followed her out of the taxi, pulled a handful of money out of his pocket, and added a generous tip to the fare. Then he turned back to Katharine.

‘A deuce of a hurry you’re in.’

‘I’ve got to change and get back to my job.’

‘Can’t see what you want with a job myself. Look here, who’s in the Cedar House?’

‘No one at the moment. I let Aunt Agnes have it because she thought she was going to be at a loose end until March when her tenants go out, but her daughter hasn’t been well and she’s gone over to stay with her in Eire.’

‘So there isn’t anyone there. Then why don’t you go down for a bit? Take one of the old cousins or a friend. Get the place aired and lived in.’

‘Mrs. Perkins airs it regularly, darling. She lives next door, you know, over the corn-chandler’s. She is his wife’s aunt, and she used to be Granny Eversley’s cook, which makes her fairly antique, but she still cooks like a dream.’

‘Then go down and let her cook for you.’

‘Later on perhaps. Darling, I must rush. Write to me care of the bank and they’ll send it on. Blessings! It’s been marvellous seeing you!’

Katharine let herself into her flat. She had leave off till three. Miss Cole would look down her nose, but she couldn’t go back to Tattlecombe’s in these clothes. She got into her old tweed suit, removed the forbidden lipstick, bit her lips to induce a natural substitute, looked at the clock, and turned into the living-room.

The telephone was on her writing-table. Standing there ready to go out, she dialled and took up the receiver. A girl’s voice said, ‘Eversleys’.

‘Can I speak to Miss Jones?’

A moment later Mavis Jones on the line:

‘Mr. Eversley’s secretary speaking.’

‘Oh, Miss Jones — it’s Katharine Eversley. Admiral Holden has just told me of Mr. Davies’ death, and I’m so very sorry. It was after I said goodbye to my cousins, so I had no opportunity of asking them about it. When did he die?’

‘Well, let me see — it would be about six weeks ago.’

‘Yes, I saw him the last time I was at the office. He seemed quite well then. What was it?’

‘He was knocked down in the street — not looking where he was going, I’m afraid. They took him to hospital, but he never recovered consciousness.’

Katharine said, ‘I am so very sorry — I didn’t know.’ The receiver felt cold and heavy in her hand. She said, ‘What day was it — when did it happen?’

Miss Jones’ voice sharpened a little.

‘I don’t know that I could say offhand.’

‘It would be very kind of you if you would find out. The date on his ledger would show when he stopped coming — wouldn’t it? I should like to know.’

‘Oh, certainly.’

As she stood waiting, the receiver in her hand became colder and heavier still. She heard Miss Jones go away. She heard her come back. She heard her voice, hard and efficient, with that something which wasn’t quite an accent — a little more noticeable on the telephone than it was when you were with her.

‘The date would be the sixth of December. That was the last time Mr. Davies was at the office.’

Katharine said, ‘Thank you, Miss Jones,’ and rang off.

An hour later she looked up from her painting to say to William Smith,

‘Do you remember the date you went to Eversleys and saw Miss Jones?’

William frowned.

‘It was just before Mr. Tattlecombe had his accident.’

‘Well, when did Mr. Tattlecombe have his accident?’

‘The seventh of December.’

She put down her brush because her hand wasn’t quite steady.

‘When you say just before, what do you mean, William? Do you mean that it was the day before?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes. Why — does it matter?’

‘I don’t know.’ She picked up her brush again. ‘I just wanted to know.’

William had become absorbed. Only a small portion of his mind had been on what he was saying. Now the whole of it was concentrated upon putting the finishing touches to the first of the Krow models. Should there, or should there not, be a touch of metallic green on the head? Nothing that you could swear to, but just the suggestion of a sheen.

He referred the question to Katharine and they debated it earnestly.

Tattlecombe’s shut at half-past five, and William drove her home. Miss Cole, who had put on her hat and coat and walked briskly away in the opposite direction, took the first turning to the right, and the first to the right again, which brought her into the narrow cut immediately behind the shop. William did not see her because he had to back his car out of the shed in which it lived, but by walking very fast indeed and occasionally breaking into a short run she was able to reach the corner in time to see him stop, lean sideways to open the near door, and let that Miss Eversley in, after which they drove away together.

‘And not for the first time, Mr. Tattlecombe!’ said Miss Cole, in tones which trembled with moral indignation.

Mrs. Salt hadn’t wanted to let her in, but she had got in. A really determined woman can always get in if she wants to. It is just a question of how many of the finer feelings she is prepared to disregard, and how much driving-power she can develop. Miss Cole walked past Abigail Salt at her own door and said she had come to see Mr. Tattlecombe. On being told that in his sister’s opinion he should be kept quiet and not encouraged to upset himself about the business, she sniffed and said that he would be a great deal more upset if the business got a bad name, and see him she must. Abigail was displeased, but, handicapped by her ignorance of what had happened and a suspicion that Abel would indeed upset himself if he thought she was interfering between him and his business, she gave way, ushered Miss Cole into her spare room, and left her there. Tempted to close the door sharply, she restrained herself and went down to the parlour, where she applied herself to playing hymn tunes on the harmonium. Her momentary indecision about the door may have resulted in its failing to latch. The tongue of steel engaged and slipped out again, the door remained ajar.

Miss Cole sat in an upright chair beside Mr. Tattlecombe’s bed and poured out her soul. She wore a ginger-coloured hat and a thick black coat. Her sallow skin glistened in the gaslight. She washed it night and morning with yellow soap, and considered face-powder immoral. Her hands in black woollen gloves were tightly clasped upon her knee. Her voice trembled with earnest disapproval.

‘Every day and all day long — painting at the same table, and their heads as good as touching!’

Abel Tattlecombe leaned against his pillow and said,

‘The painting has got to be done, Miss Cole.’

‘Very true, Mr. Tattlecombe, and I’m not denying it. But when I say that I understood Miss Eversley was engaged to help me in the shop I’m only saying what was clearly understood at the time. And what happens? The very second day she is there Mr. Smith takes her out of the shop and puts her in the workshop and gives her the painting to do, which is what he wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on. Because I offered, and he said, ‘oh no, he could manage very nicely.’ She gave a really dreadful sniff and repeated this telling phrase in a loud tone of scorn. ‘He could manage very nicely! And how does he manage, Mr. Tattlecombe?’ She sniffed again. ‘Him and her with no more than the width of a table between them, and for all I know dipping their brushes in the same paint-pot! And that boy away at the other end of the shop taking it all in!’

Miss Cole was a fellow chapel member. Abel Tattlecombe gazed at her mildly.

‘William Smith is a single young man,’ he said, ‘and Miss Eversley is a single young woman. I have spoken to William on the subject of marriage. If he is thinking of Miss Eversley in the light of that conversation, there would be nothing wrong about it.’

Miss Cole tossed her head.

‘You didn’t see her when she came about the place! Painted she was, and no other word for it, and I told her straight out it wasn’t what you’d approve of! I wouldn’t have engaged her if it had been left to me, but Mr. Smith pushed in and said she was just what we were looking for — right over my head!’

Abel said sharply, ‘She doesn’t wear paint in the shop.’

Miss Cole sniffed.

‘There’s no saying what she might have done if I hadn’t spoken up. I told her you wouldn’t allow it, and I’ve kept a pretty sharp look-out to see she didn’t get round what I said.’

Abel was becoming weary of the bickering voice. He said, ‘Well, that’s all right,’ and immediately became aware that the remark was optimistic.

Miss Cole looked at him in a pitying manner.

‘If you call it all right for him to drive her away in his car and stay out till all hours!’

Abel’s temper slipped a little.

‘What do you call all hours? And how do you know how long he stays out?’

Miss Cole bridled.

‘I suppose Mrs. Bastable has a tongue in her head! Eleven one night, and half-past eleven another, and before we know where we are there’s no saying whether he’ll come home at all! It’s not what I call respectable!’

Mr. Tattlecombe was a good deal more disquieted than he wished it to appear. He put Miss Cole down for a meddlesome old maid. But the respectability of his shop was very dear to him. It should be beyond question or comment, and here was Miss Cole gossiping with Mrs. Bastable, and both of them questioning and commenting just about as hard as they could go. He wished, as many a man has wished, that something could be done to stop women talking, and he remembered that when he was twenty-four he had taken a girl on the river in June and not brought her back until midnight, and what a blazing row there had been. She was a pretty girl, and she had married a stout middle-aged shopwalker at Prentice & Biddle’s and had seven or eight children, all the image of their father. And he had married Mary Sturt and been very happy with her until the Lord took her… He fixed his blue eyes on Miss Cole’s face and said,

‘Does the young woman live with her parents?’ — Because if she did, and William was courting her, he would naturally go there of an evening.

‘Parents!’ said Miss Cole. ‘There isn’t much of that, Mr. Tattlecombe! A flat in a mews — 21, Rasselas Mews — that’s where she lives! Lent her by a friend is what she says! And all alone there — because she let that out! So if that’s where Mr. Smith stays half the night, you may call it respectable, Mr. Tattlecombe, but I don’t!’

This outburst was delivered in a series of short gasps. If Mr. Tattlecombe had been at all mobile, it is tolerably certain that he would have left the room. Unable even to leave his bed, he had perforce to sustain the onslaught.

Miss Cole took a good long breath and began again.

‘A front door painted scarlet isn’t what I’d call respectable either — steps going up to it and the railings as red as any pillar-box ! And no hearsay gossip about that, for I saw them with my own eyes, and if you want to know what came into my mind, well, it was the Scarlet Woman! And can you be surprised?’

Abel Tattlecombe primmed up his mouth. If he wasn’t surprised, he was certainly shocked. He said so, just like that.

‘Miss Cole, I am shocked!’

Miss Cole appeared quite pleased about it.

‘I thought you would be!’

‘I am shocked at the way you are jumping to conclusions. Red paint on the front door of a flat that someone else has lent you — ’

Miss Cole interrupted with vigour.

‘Don’t say lent me, Mr. Tattlecombe! We’ve all heard about flats in mews before this, and we know what to think about them, let alone scarlet paint on the doors!’

Abel restrained himself with difficulty. Miss Cole was a valued assistant. Persons of unblemished moral probity and years of business experience did not grow on gooseberry bushes. If you possessed one you did not lightly let her go. He said with praiseworthy calm,

‘I think that’s enough about the paint, Miss Cole.’

Miss Cole tossed her head.

‘Certainly, if that is your wish, Mr. Tattlecombe! Whether it’s on Miss Eversley’s face or on her front door, I’m sure it’s all one to me! And if I thought I had a duty and it’s been misunderstood, well, I’ve done what my conscience told me, and I shan’t mention it again!’

Abel hoped very much that this was true, but he was not very sanguine. Even his wife, estimable and deeply mourned, had been known to close an argument in this manner, only to reopen it as soon as she had thought of something more to say. He said, ‘I will speak to William Smith,’ and took refuge in his character of an invalid, alarming Miss Cole by groaning slightly, closing his eyes, and leaning back against the pillow which happened to be uppermost.

Heart-smitten and alarmed, she retired in disorder to find Mrs. Salt. As she came out upon the landing, a black skirt disappeared into the room opposite. A big bony hand remained in view for a moment. It had been closing the door. It now withdrew. The latch clicked home.

Miss Cole, who knew all about Emily Salt, did not bother her head — Emily always tried to get out of the way if anyone came to the house. She found Abigail,‘hoped she hadn’t tired Mr. Tattlecombe, and hastened to be gone.

Abigail Salt went up with a cup of Benger’s. She met Emily coming down with a queer sly look on her face, and didn’t like it. Sometimes Emily worried her. She went on in to Abel, and found him angry.

‘That woman talks too much, Abby.’

‘Most people do,’ said Abigail Salt.