The Five-Minute Marriage (28 page)

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It was not to be expected that Delphie could soon compose her spirits enough to sleep. In whichever direction she turned her thoughts, they encountered so many occasions to alarm, distress, or mortify, that her mind seemed to rebound, wretchedly, from one point to another. As soon as she tried to fix on one aspect of her troubles, to arrive at some practical resolution, some different cause for anxiety would intrude itself.

First, and worst, was her quarrel with Gareth, and her impulsive announcement that she would immediately remove herself and her mother from Curzon Street.

Certainly it was her most eager wish to do so; she felt she would die if obliged to remain for another twenty-four hours under the same roof with Gareth; yet how could she possibly subject her poor mother, after such an unprecedented series of shocks, to the distress of yet another upheaval? It could not possibly be done within twenty-four hours; Mrs. Carteret
’
s spirits must be given a few days, at least, in which to settle.

Then there was the horrifying—but hardly to be doubted—fact that Elaine Carteret apparently hated them enough to attempt to contrive their death—or at least, that of Mrs. Carteret. True, her scheme had been a decidedly clumsy one, and said little for her intelligence—but still—suppose she tried again? Tried some other method? Poor Mrs. Carteret, still so unsettled in health, would constitute easy prey to such stratagems.

She thought next of Mr. Fitzjohn. Without quite knowing why, Delphie could not avoid a decided feeling of mistrust toward him. The original affair of the bungled marriage was, after all, due to his agency. How
could
he have made such a mistake?

Could it really have been done by accident? Or had he arranged it on purpose? And if so, with what intention? To handicap his cousin Gareth in some way? To insure Elaine
’
s inheritance? Gareth had said that Mordred and Elaine had at one time been very close. Did he
know
that she was a false claimant? Then there was the accident with the horses—Fitzjohn
’
s horses. Could it have been an accident—or was it deliberate? If so, was it meant to injure Gareth—or herself?

Delphie further admitted to herself that she had found Fitzjohn
’
s attitude after the death of Lord Bollington decidedly alarming. He had seemed inclined to suggest that the old man might have been deliberately hastened to his end—with the object, presumably, of forestalling a possible change of his will. Could criminal charges be preferred against Gareth and Delphie? Might Fitzjohn inculcate some kind of action? Delphie
’
s knowledge of criminal procedure was of the scantiest—she did not know if such a thing were possible. Could she and Gareth be accused of murder, because the death had taken place after the meal they had provided? There was, of course, the evidence of Dr. Bowles
—
but was Dr. Bowles himself a beneficiary under Lord Bollington
’
s will? If so, his evidence might be inadmissible.

“
I don
’
t trust Fitzjohn,
”
Delphie said to herself.

There had been a very strange moment, just as he and the doctor had been on the point of departure. Fitzjohn had suddenly walked back to the corpse—hesitated—and then removed from the dead finger the outrageously enormous ruby ring.

“
Best not to leave
that
to get stuck on with rigor mortis,
”
he said,
“
or some spry undertaker
’
s assistant will be making off with it. Here take it—
”
and he had handed it to Gareth.

“
What ought I to do with it?
”
Gareth said, looking at it doubtfully. He made as if to put it in his pocket.

“
Not
in your pocket!
”
exclaimed Fitzjohn with a sharp note of harshness and strain in his voice.
“
It could roll out—fall through a hole—get prigged by a pickpocket! Put it on, you fool! On your finger is the best place for it!
”

And, as Gareth had somewhat reluctantly done so, Fitzjohn remarked, in a tone of strange, ironic satisfaction,

“
There!
Now
you are all set! Dubbed up and riding high, eh?
”

Then he had followed the doctor to the door.

How, Delphie wondered, turning restlessly on her pillow, trying to banish the thought of Mr. Fitzjohn—how would Lord Bollington
’
s death affect Gareth
’
s situation? Would Elaine Carteret, once she was satisfied with her share of the estate, cease her attempts to injure or discredit Delphie and Mrs. Carteret? Presumably she would now be more anxious than ever to marry Gareth
—
who must now be Lord Bollington, the Eighth Viscount. Would Gareth be relieved of his cares and anxieties—secure in his own fortune, and, it was to be hoped, free of the responsibility for his sister, who would now have money of her own?

Oh, how I wish that I could discuss some of these matters with Gareth! Delphie confessed miserably to herself. But there would be no possible chance of
that;
he had made it abundantly plain that he regretted his association with her. Every scrap of pride and self-respect now dictated that she keep entirely out of his way and make not the slightest effort to approach him. Doubtless he would now wish to marry his Lady Laura What-was-her-name
—
supposing her now to be rid of her elderly infirm husband? (That was, of course, if he could get away from Elaine Carteret.) Well, Lady Laura was welcome to him, thought Delphie miserably, shifting yet again on her hard pallet; probably Lady Laura was not aware what a devilish temper, what a disagreeably puritanical nature, what an atrociously hard and unsympathetic heart he had! Imagine speaking in
such
a way to children who thought they had done something useful! It was fortunate that he had none of his own.

Uncomforted by any of these considerations, Delphie at last fell into a brief deep slumber, from which, all too soon, she was abruptly aroused by Mrs. Andrews, come to tell her with gloomy relish,

“
The undertakers
’
men is here, miss, to remove the mortal relics of the poor gentleman as died. Ah well,
”
she went on,
“
he
was one that ate of the goose that shall graze on his grave! Ain
’
t it singular to think, miss, that at this very time yesterday—give or take half a dozen hours—we was podding the peas and buttering the lobsters that was to carry the poor soul to his rest? We mid as well ha
’
spared ourselves the pains! If your name be cheese, lay not your head upon the grocer
’
s counter!
”
With which obscure and menacing proverb she went cheerfully away to brew Mrs. Carteret
’
s morning chocolate.

Delphie wondered if the children had managed to smuggle their father back into jail. She had left the back door unlocked for their return, reckless of the risk of burglars; but did not know whether they had slipped in during her short period of sleep. But she did not like to go upstairs and inquire, for fear of encountering Gareth.

However, while she was assisting Bardwell to remove the last leaves of the dinner table from her parlor, Gareth came down the stairs, dressed in severe black, with a very carefully tied white neckcloth. His expression was forbidding, and Delphie made no attempt to approach him.

He, however, paused when he saw her; made as if to speak; appeared to change his mind; finally said,

“
How does Mrs. Carteret do this morning?
”

“
Only tolerably, thank you.
”

“
You will not—
”
He paused again.
“
You will not think of removing her today?
”

“
No,
”
Delphie said reluctantly.
“
Her state is too low. I believe I must not.
”

In any case, she thought, before removing her, I need to find another lodging to remove her
to.
I will go and consult Jenny about it—and apologize, too.

Gareth said, with haughty composure,

“
Do not be thinking, ma
’
am, that my presence here need incommode you or—or cast you into affliction—during the next few days. I am about to see my uncle
’
s man of business; then I shall be obliged to go to Chase—very soon—if not directly—for there will be the funeral to arrange, and other tasks of a similar nature. Pray, therefore, remain here as long as you think necessary.
”

She curtsied in silence. Taking his hat from a chair, he went out, slamming the front door behind him.

Delphie waited, biting her lip, until the sound of his rapid footsteps had died away down the street; then she ran up to the second story to find the children.

They were all assembled in their schoolroom (a somewhat battered chamber, furnished with a kitchen table, two globes, and half a dozen broken-backed chairs). The girls were silently cutting out paper dolls, while the boys carved spinning tops from chips of wood. They seemed unusually subdued. However, they greeted Delphie with apparent pleasure, and when she asked if they had succeeded in slipping Mr. Palgrave back into prison again, they assured her that it had been as easy as pie, had all gone off like clockwork, and that Papa had seemed quite pleased to return to the peace and seclusion of his prison quarters.

“
But we forgot the canary!
”
Isa said.
“
We must remember to take it with Papa
’
s supper tonight.
”

“
Did your Mama get to hear of all this?
”

“
No,
”
Arthur said.
“
Uncle Gareth said it would be best not to afflict her spirits by telling her, as it would be such a disappointment that he had come and gone without even seeing her. However, he said, now Great-uncle Bollington is dead, it may only be a short time before he can get Papa out of jail; he can
borrow on his expectations
, he says.
”

“
I hope that your uncle has apologized to you for flying out at you in such a way last night,
”
Delphie said severely.
“
I was never more shocked in my life.
”

Tristram grinned.
“
He can fairly rip off when something puts him in a tweak, can
’
t he, though? But I will say for Uncle Gareth, he don
’
t bear a grudge. It
’
s sharp while it lasts—but it
’
s soon cry, soon fly, with him. In fact, he
’
s a great gun! He has given us the money to go to Astley
’
s, tonight, as he may have to travel to Chase and could not come with us, in any case, because of great
-
uncle
’
s death, which is a great shame, it seems to me! I suppose,
”
he added reflectively,
“
I suppose it
was
rather a totty-headed notion to rescue Papa. But it was prime fun while it lasted, and I
’
m not sorry we did it.
”

Relieved at this news, and feeling slightly more in charity with Gareth, Delphie was turning to go downstairs, when a faint voice from across the hall called out,

“
Is that Cousin Delphie?
”
and she was obliged to step through and have a word with Gareth
’
s sister.

The news of Lord Bollington
’
s death had evidently, Delphie was interested to observe, had a most salubrious and revivifying effect upon Una. She was sitting up in an armchair, pink-cheeked, sipping at a cup of chocolate, and demanded, as soon as she saw Delphie,

“
When is the funeral to be? And where?
”

“
At Chase, I believe,
”
Delphie said.

“
Ah, so it should be.
”
Una nodded approvingly.
“
That will be much better. The country air will be good for me—and for the children too. I daresay Gareth will be arranging for carriages to take us down? I shall have to procure a new black silk; the one I wore for Mamma
’
s funeral has become wretchedly shabby; it will not do for Lord Bollington
’
s sister. Gloves, too, and a hat. Shall you be going into blacks, Cousin Delphie?
”
she added, in a tone of mild reprobation, eyeing Delphie
’
s sprig-muslin.
“
You will surely wear black to the funeral?
”

“
I have not given the matter much thought,
”
Delphie answered. In fact she had little expectation of attending the funeral, and certainly none of attending it uninvited. She told herself that she never wished to set foot in Chase again.

“
I must leave you now,
”
she said, moving toward the door.
“
Mamma is expecting a visitor.
”

“
Pray, do, my dear Delphie, come and sit with me this evening!
”
begged Una.
“
I have hardly had a chance to converse with you yet. I long to know you better. My nerves, too, have been so much oppressed by the thought of that poor old man
’
s death downstairs! And Gareth is going out of town—I shall feel sadly solitary.
”