Towards Zero (12 page)

IX

On their arrival back at Gull's Point, Hurstall came out into the hall and spoke to Mary.

“Would you go up at once to her ladyship, Miss? She is feeling very upset and wanted to see you as soon as you got in.”

Mary hurried up the stairs. She found Lady Tressilian looking white and shaken.

“Dear Mary, I'm so glad you have come. I am feeling most distressed. Poor Mr. Treves is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, isn't it terrible? So sudden. Apparently he didn't even get undressed last night. He must have collapsed as soon as he got home.”

“Oh dear, I am sorry.”

“One knows, of course, that he was delicate. A weak heart. I hope nothing happened while he was here to overstrain it? There was nothing indigestible for dinner?”

“I don't think so—no, I am sure there wasn't. He seemed quite well and in good spirits.”

“I am really very distressed. I wish, Mary, that you would go to the Balmoral Court and make a few inquiries of Mrs. Rogers. Ask her if there is anything we can do. And then the funeral. For Matthew's sake I would like to do anything we could. These things are so awkward at a Hotel.”

Mary spoke firmly.

“Dear Camilla, you really must not worry. This has been a shock to you.”

“Indeed it has.”

“I will go to the Balmoral Court at once and then come back and tell you all about things.”

“Thank you, Mary dear, you are always so practical and understanding.”

“Please try and rest now. A shock of this kind is so bad for you.”

Mary Aldin left the room and came downstairs. Entering the drawing room she exclaimed: “Old Mr. Treves is dead. He died last night after returning home.”

“Poor old boy,” exclaimed Nevile. “What was it?”

“Heart apparently. He collapsed as soon as he got in.”

Thomas Royde said thoughtfully:

“I wonder if the stairs did him in.”

“Stairs?” Mary looked at him inquiringly.

“Yes. When Latimer and I left him he was just starting up. We told him to take it slow.”

Mary exclaimed:

“But how very foolish of him not to take the lift.”

“The lift was out of order.”

“Oh, I see. How very unfortunate. Poor old man.”

She added: “I'm going round there now. Camilla wants to know if there is anything we can do.”

Thomas said: “I'll come with you.”

They walked together down the road and round the corner to the Balmoral Court. Mary remarked:

“I wonder if he has any relatives who ought to be notified?”

“He didn't mention anyone.”

“No, and people usually do. They say ‘my niece,' or ‘my cousin.'”

“Was he married?”

“I believe not.”

They entered the open door of the Balmoral Court.

Mrs. Rogers, the proprietress, was talking to a tall middle-aged man, who raised a friendly hand in greeting to Mary.

“Good afternoon, Miss Aldin.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Lazenby. This is Mr. Royde. We came round with a message from Lady Tressilian to know if there is anything we can do.”

“That's very kind of you, Miss Aldin,” said the Hotel proprietress. “Come into my room, won't you?”

They all went into the small comfortable sitting room and Dr. Lazenby said:

“Mr. Treves was dining at your place last night, wasn't he?”

“Yes.”

“How did he seem? Did he show any signs of distress?”

“No, he seemed very well and cheerful.”

The doctor nodded.

“Yes, that's the worst of these heart cases. The end is nearly always sudden. I had a look at his prescriptions upstairs and it seems quite clear that he was in a very precarious state of health. I shall communicate with his London doctor, of course.”

“He was very careful of himself always,” said Mrs. Rogers. “And I'm sure he had every care here we could give him.”

“I'm sure of that, Mrs. Rogers,” said the doctor tactfully. “It was just some tiny additional strain, no doubt.”

“Such as walking upstairs,” suggested Mary.

“Yes, that might do it. In fact almost certainly would—that is, if he ever walked up those three flights—but surely he never did anything of that kind?”

“Oh no,” said Mrs. Rogers. “He always used the lift. Always. He was most particular.”

“I mean,” said Mary, “that with the lift being out of order last night—”

Mrs. Rogers was staring at her in surprise.

“But the lift wasn't out of order at all yesterday, Miss Aldin.”

Thomas Royde coughed.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I came home with Mr. Treves last night. There was a placard on the lift saying ‘Out of order.'”

Mrs. Rogers stared.

“Well, that's an odd thing. I'd have declared there was nothing wrong with the lift—in fact I'm sure there wasn't. I'd have heard about it if there was. We haven't had anything go wrong with the lift (touching wood) since—oh, not for a good eighteen months. Very reliable it is.”

“Perhaps,” suggested the doctor, “some porter or hall boy put that notice up when he was off duty?”

“It's an automatic lift, doctor, it doesn't need anyone to work it.”

“Ah yes, so it is. I was forgetting.”

“I'll have a word with Joe,” said Mrs. Rogers. She bustled out of the room calling, “Joe—Joe.”

Dr. Lazenby looked curiously at Thomas.

“Excuse me, you're quite sure, Mr.—er—”

“Royde,” put in Mary.

“Quite sure,” said Thomas.

Mrs. Rogers came back with the porter. Joe was emphatic that nothing whatever had been wrong with the lift on the preceding night. There was such a placard as Thomas had described—but it was tucked away under the desk and hadn't been used for over a year.

They all looked at each other and agreed it was a most mysterious thing. The doctor suggested some practical joke on the part of one of the Hotel visitors, and perforce they left it at that.

In reply to Mary's inquiries, Doctor Lazenby explained that Mr. Treves' chauffeur had given him the address of Mr. Treves'
solicitors, and he was communicating with them and that he would come round and see Lady Tressilian and tell her what was going to be done about the funeral.

Then the busy cheerful doctor hurried off and Mary and Thomas walked slowly back to Gull's Point.

Mary said:

“You're quite sure you saw that notice, Thomas?”

“Both Latimer and I saw it.”

“What an extraordinary thing!” said Mary.

X

It was the 12th of September. “Only two more days,” said Mary Aldin. Then she bit her lip and flushed.

Thomas Royde looked at her thoughtfully.

“Is that how you feel about it?”

“I don't know what's the matter with me,” said Mary. “Never in all my life have I been so anxious for a visit to come to an end. And usually we enjoy having Nevile so much. And Audrey too.”

Thomas nodded.

“But this time,” went on Mary, “one feels as though one were sitting on dynamite. At any minute the whole thing may explode. That's why I said to myself first thing this morning: ‘Only two days more.' Audrey goes on Wednesday and Nevile and Kay on Thursday.”

“And I go on Friday,” said Thomas.

“Oh I'm not counting you. You've been a tower of strength. I don't know what I should have done without you.”

“The human buffer?”

“More than that. You've been so kind and so—so calm. That sounds rather ridiculous but it really does express what I mean.”

Thomas looked pleased though slightly embarrassed.

“I don't know why we've all been so het up,” said Mary reflectively. “After all, if there were an—an outburst—it would be awkward and embarrassing, but nothing more.”

“But there's been more to your feeling than that.”

“Oh yes, there has. A definite feeling of apprehension. Even the servants feel it. The kitchenmaid burst into tears and gave notice this morning—for no reason at all. The cook's jumpy—Hurstall is all on edge—even Barrett, who is usually as calm as a—a battleship—has shown signs of nerves. And all because Nevile has this ridiculous idea of wanting his former and present wife to make friends and so soothe his own conscience.”

“In which ingenious idea he has singularly failed,” remarked Thomas.

“Yes. Kay is—is getting quite beside herself. And really, Thomas, I can't help sympathizing with her.” She paused. “Did you notice the way Nevile looked after Audrey as she went up the stairs last night? He still cares about her, Thomas. The whole thing has been the most tragic mistake.”

Thomas started filling his pipe.

“He should have thought of that before,” he said in a hard voice.

“Oh I know. That's what one says. But it doesn't alter the fact that the whole thing is a tragedy. I can't help feeling sorry for Nevile.”

“People like Nevile—” began Thomas and then stopped.

“Yes.”

“People like Nevile think they can always have everything their
own way—and have everything they want, too. I don't suppose Nevile has ever had a setback over anything in his life till he came up against this business of Audrey. Well, he's got it now. He can't have Audrey. She's out of his reach. No good his making a song and dance about it. He's just got to lump it.”

“I suppose you're quite right. But you do sound hard. Audrey was so much in love with Nevile when she married him—and they always got on together so well.”

“Well, she's out of love with him now.”

“I wonder,” murmured Mary under her breath.

Thomas was going on:

“And I'll tell you something else. Nevile had better look out for Kay. She's a dangerous kind of young woman—really dangerous. If she got her temper up she'd stop at nothing.”

“Oh dear,” Mary sighed and, returning to her original remarks, said hopefully: “Well, it's only two days more.”

Things had been very difficult for the last four or five days. The death of Mr. Treves had given Lady Tressilian a shock which had told adversely on her health. The funeral had taken place in London, for which Mary was thankful, since it enabled the old lady to take her mind off the sad event more quickly than she might have been able to do otherwise. The domestic side of the household had been very nervy and difficult and Mary really felt tired and dispirited this morning.

“It's partly the weather,” she said aloud. “It's unnatural.”

It had indeed been an unusually hot and fine spell for September. On several days the thermometer had registered 70 in the shade.

Nevile strolled out of the house and joined them as she spoke.

“Blaming the weather?” he asked, with a glance up at the sky. “It is rather incredible. Hotter than ever today. And no wind. Makes one feel jumpy somehow. However, I think we'll get rain before very long. Today is just a bit too tropical to last.”

Thomas Royde had moved very gently and aimlessly away and now disappeared round the corner of the house.

“Departure of gloomy Thomas,” said Nevile. “Nobody could say he shows any enjoyment of my company.”

“He's rather a dear,” said Mary.

“I disagree. Narrow-minded prejudiced sort of chap.”

“He always hoped to marry Audrey, I think. And then you came along and cut him out.”

“It would have taken him about seven years to make up his mind to ask her to marry him. Did he expect the poor girl to wait while he made up his mind?”

“Perhaps,” said Mary deliberately, “it will all come right now.”

Nevile looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“True love rewarded? Audrey marry that wet fish? She's a lot too good for that. No, I don't see Audrey marrying gloomy Thomas.”

“I believe she is really very fond of him, Nevile.”

“What matchmakers you women always are! Can't you let Audrey enjoy her freedom for a bit?”

“If she does enjoy it, certainly.”

Nevile said quickly:

“You think she's not happy?”

“I really haven't the least idea.”

“No more have I,” said Nevile slowly. “One never does know what Audrey is feeling.” He paused and then added, “But
Audrey is one hundred per cent thoroughbred. She's white all through.”

Then he said, more to himself than to Mary:

“God, what a damned fool I've been!”

Mary went into the house a little worried. For the third time she repeated to herself the comforting words, “Only two days more.”

Nevile wandered restlessly about the garden and terraces.

Right at the end of the garden he found Audrey sitting on the low wall looking down at the water below. It was high tide and the river was full.

She got up at once and came towards him.

“I was just coming back to the house. It must be nearly tea-time.”

She spoke quickly and nervously without looking at him.

He walked beside her without speaking.

Only when they reached the terrace again did he say:

“Can I talk to you, Audrey?”

She said at once, her fingers gripping the edge of the balustrade: “I think you'd better not.”

“That means you know what I want to say.”

She did not answer.

“What about it, Audrey? Can't we go back to where we were? Forget everything that has happened?”

“Including Kay?”

“Kay,” said Nevile, “will be sensible.”

“What do you mean by sensible?”

“Simply this. I shall go to her and tell her the truth. Fling
myself on her generosity. Tell her, what is true, that you are the only woman I ever loved.”

“You loved Kay when you married her.”

“My marriage to Kay was the biggest mistake I ever made. I—”

He stopped. Kay had come out of the drawing room window. She walked towards them, and before the fury in her eyes even Nevile shrank a little.