Sometimes it was fear that had driven her. She could not bear not to be praised and admired. The child, covering a fault with a quick lie, had grown into the woman who would ruin a man because he had slighted her.
She had not meant to ruin Car; she had only meant to force him into marrying her. Her wild accusation had not been premeditated. She had seen him look at Isobel, and had rushed from a passionate quarrel with him to his uncle, not caring what she said. Her reputation didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except to damn Car in his uncle’s eyes. Uncle John would make him marry her, or he would drive him from Linwood and from Isobel. After three years, she still did not know just why she had done it. Anger swept you away, and you did things, and then you couldn’t go back. It had been like that ever since. She had said things that she had not meant to say, spoken aloud thoughts that she had played with-dangerously. She had acted, and been carried away by her own acting. But now she had come to a moment in which all the heat of anger, all the glamour and thrill of drama, were stripped away, and there was only fear left. If she went on, Car… She saw him in the dock, in prison. She saw him changed, coarsened, spoilt. She saw herself in the witness-box-a slim, black frock, a small, black hat, a pale profile, her emerald ring, her hands very white; Car looking at her; the judge’s voice sentencing him.
The picture broke at the thrust of a stabbing pain. If she went back-she could still go back. Another picture rose up vivid and clear-Car at the chancel of Linwood church with Isobel’s hand in his, and Car’s voice saying “to have and to hold from this day forward.” The pain stabbed again. Forward-the word stayed with her-Forward. She wasn’t going back whatever happened. You couldn’t really go back. She had been a fool to think of it. What? After all she had done and all she had made Bobby do? With all her plans ready and only one more step to take?
She lifted her head and saw the outer world again-the very blue sky, the green, smooth slopes running down to meet the trees, the sunshine flooding everything with gold. Her color was bright and steady as she turned at Mr. Carthew’s call.
“Anna-where are my keys? I want to open the safe. Bless my soul, what have I done with them?”
XXXI
Mr. Carthew, having successfully conducted Corinna through a complete photographic record of his married life, had arrived at the next stage of the proceedings.
“People say one oughtn’t to keep jewelry in the house, but I’ve had all my servants for years, and I trust them all just as I’d trust myself. And besides, a safe’s a safe-what? No good having one if it won’t keep a burglar out-that’s what I say. Besides, I shouldn’t like to think of my wife’s things put away in a bank. Some of ’em were my mother’s, and some of ’em were her mother’s, and they’ve always been in this house, and they’ll stay in it as long as I’m here myself.”
“And no one wears them?” said Corinna. “Not ever?”
“No one’s got the right to wear them,” said Mr. Carthew gruffly. He dropped his voice, but he looked at Anna for a moment, and Corinna looked too; but Anna did not know that they were looking at her.
“I love seeing jewelry,” said Corinna quickly. “Is there much?”
Mr. Carthew turned back the leaves of the album.
“She wore my mother’s necklace to go to Court in-you can see it here. And the stars are what I gave her when we were married. But you can’t see the Queen Anne bow, because it is on the other side of the bodice. Stupid of the photographer-what? But I’ll show it to you.”
“What is it?” asked Corinna.
“Aha! It’s an heirloom. You’re American-Americans like old things, don’t they? It’s a bow of diamonds-very fine stones-and a big emerald in the middle of it, with another one hanging down as a drop. Queen Anne gave it to my great-great-great-grandfather. And if you want to know why, I can’t tell you, but it had something to do with some state secret-and if you ask me, I should say it was probably not anything very creditable, because there was a lot of dirty work going on, and the higher up you were, the more dishonest you were. So perhaps it’s just as well we don’t know any more about it. But it’s a handsome piece of jewelry, and the emeralds are worth a lot of money. You shall see it for yourself. Now where are my keys? Anna- where are my keys? I’m going to open the safe.”
Anna turned from the window and came down the room.
“Your keys, Uncle John? Haven’t you got them?”
“Should I ask for ’ em if I ’d got ’em?”
Anna smiled.
“Well, you might. Aren’t they in your pocket? Or-did you put them down under those albums?”
“Why should I do that?”
“I don’t know.” She smiled again, and found the keys under the corner of the largest photograph album.
Mr. Carthew took them, letting them swing and jingle.
“Pull down the blinds and put on the light,” he said.
Corinna found it all very exciting. The library door was locked, the blinds pulled down, and all the electric lights put on. Then Mr. Carthew mounted three steps of a book-ladder, took down the portrait of Mrs.Carthew which hung above the mantel piece, stood it to one side of the black marble shelf, selected a key, and put it into a keyhole which hardly showed on the smooth, dark paneling.
“Good place for a safe-what?” he said, and Corinna clapped her hands. A square piece of the paneling opened like a door and showed a steel-lined cavity with three deep shelves.
It pleased Mr. Carthew enormously to have such an appreciative audience. He beckoned to Corinna to come nearer.
“And now for the Queen Anne bow! Why, bless my soul-the case ought to be just here-just on the left of the bottom shelf! And I’ll take my oath that’s where I put it. Now what the deuce-I beg your pardon, my dear.” His voice sharpened. “Anna, come here! Where’s that case! You saw me put it away. It’s always in that left-hand bottom corner.”
Corinna’s round eyes turned gravely from Cousin John, all flushed and stammering, to Anna. Anna was most extraordinarily pale. A moment ago she had had rather a bright color. It was all gone.
The ladder Mr. Carthew was using had three steps on either side. Anna mounted until she stood level with him. Corinna stared up at them both.
Anna said, “It must be there.” Her voice sounded as if she had been running.
“I tell you it’s not there! And I tell you I put it there myself-what-you saw me!”
“It must be there,” said Anna again. She leaned across him, looking into the safe. “Uncle John-oh, what a fright you gave me! There it is!”
“Where? I don’t see it.”
“There-on the right, by your hand-under the big, square case. Look!”
“And who put it there?” said Mr. Carthew angrily. “I’ll swear it wasn’t me. Who’s been messing the things about? Who-”
He pulled out the case with a jerk. It was very rubbed and shabby and old; the leather, which had once been scarlet, was now a dim pinkish brown; the gold crown on the lid could only just be distinguished, a mere tarnished hint of royalty.
Mr. Carthew turned round, still grumbling.
“I suppose you’ll say I’m losing my memory-but I never put it there, and that I’ll swear to.”
Anna stepped down. She did not say a word. She kept her eyes on the table.
“Oh, do show it to us!” said Corinna.
Mr. Carthew came down too. He opened the case, and the case was empty.
The library seemed to fill with silence. It was like water rushing into an empty place.
Mr. Carthew and Corinna both looked at what he had in his hand. The case had a satin lining, the white of which had turned to a yellowish brown. The outline of a loosely shaped bow was marked upon it, both by the dinting of the satin and by a deeper discoloration. Two brownish hollows marked the places of those emeralds which Mr. Carthew had described as worth a lot of money. From their size, he did not seem to have been guilty of overstatement.