That bright blue glance of Geoffrey’s travelled over the sisters and came to rest upon his wife. She met it with a flush and a smile.
“I was telling Ione about the house. But I really oughtn’t to-I told her so. You do it so much better.”
He laughed and came to stand in front of the fire.
“I’ve just about exhausted her patience, I should think. But”-with a return of his eager manner-“it is all rather absorbing, isn’t it?” Ione smiled and nodded.
“I feel as if I had been on a personally conducted tour of the fourteenth century.”
“And you didn’t like it?”
“Well, not the underground part. But then I’ve got rather a thing about cellars, so if I scream in the night, you’ll know why.”
Allegra’s little restless hands were plucking at one another. They stopped for a moment now. She stared at them and said,
“No one would hear you if you did-the walls are too thick.”
If there had been a pause just then it would not have been a pleasant one. But there was no pause, because Geoffrey spoke, still with that pleasant eagerness about him,
“I’m not suggesting anything about the inside of the house, but I did wonder whether you would care to see the outside. Of course there’s nothing in the garden at this time of year, but you can see how it’s been laid out. There’s a really wonderful rock garden in what used to be an old quarry. Those Americans spent hundreds on it, and it’s really very hot stuff indeed. Wouldn’t you like to see it? And if you come, perhaps Allegra will too. She doesn’t get out enough. Dr. Whichcote says she ought to have plenty of fresh air.”
“It’s so cold-” Words and tone were those of a fretful child. She shrank back into her corner as if an attempt might be made to dislodge her by main force.
“You would be much warmer when you came in, my dear.”
Allegra shook her head till the light, fine hair flew up in a cloud.
“No-no-I wouldn’t! I just get colder and colder until the last bit of warmness is gone!” Her eyes implored him. The hands were plucking at one another again.
Ione got up.
“All right, darling, we won’t make you come this time-will we, Geoffrey? I’ll just get a coat.”
CHAPTER 10
They went out by a door at the end of one of the narrow stone passages. It brought them into a small enclosed courtyard shut in on three sides by the house, and on the fourth by a wall with an arched doorway in the middle of it. The door was open and showed a glimpse of green. Beyond it lay first a stone terrace with formal trees in tubs, and then three other terraces, of grass, and stone, and grass again, set with rosebeds growing from a carpet of pansy and viola. The effect in summer would be lovely. Even now there was bloom upon the pansies, a bud showing purple, and even an occasional draggled flower. Steps went gently down to a lawn. There was a fine cedar, and a magnificent leafless tree which Geoffrey told her was a copper beech.
She had made up her mind to say nothing of what was weighing upon it until he had had his fill of showmanship. The garden was certainly beautiful. Even the bare bones of it in this winter month were a delight to the eye. After the lawn there were trees-a glade that would be full of bluebells and primroses in the spring. And then out again on to open ground which began to slope.
“This is what the American spent his money on,” said Geoffrey Trent. “I said hundreds, but it must have been nearer thousands-a couple at least. It was an old quarry with a derelict pond at the bottom. Most of the tin cans and dead cats of the neighbourhood used to find their way into it, I believe. He got one of the first landscape gardeners in the country to come down, and you can see what he has done. This side there wasn’t much drop, and it’s all been very carefully laid out with these shallow steps and the right settings and exposures for alpines. Those small rhododendrons are an absolute sheet of colour in the spring. The pond has been made into a magnificent lily pool, and those weeping willows over there are coming along like a house on fire. But the real feature is the steep face of the quarry over there. It has a south exposure, and when everything has had a little more time to grow it will be one of the loveliest things in England-sheets of aubrietia in every shade from lilac to crimson, curtains of white and purple wistaria, and every kind of flowering bush which could be persuaded to root itself. You can’t be surprised we are crazy about the place, now can you? The bother is that my capital is all in stuff that is pretty far down now but is bound to recover, and it would be madness for me to sell out. So unless we can persuade those obstinate trustees of yours to let Allegra use some of hers I’m afraid we’re in the soup. I shall wear them down, if it’s to be done-I’m quite good at going on until I get what I want. As a matter of fact, I believe I really have made some impression at last, because Mr. Sanderson is sending a chap down to vet the place tomorrow.” Ione had no intention of letting herself be drawn into a discussion as to whether Allegra’s money should or should not be used for the purchase of the Ladies’ House. The fact that she already held very strong opinions on the subject was a good enough reason for holding her tongue while she was Geoffrey’s guest.
And the quarry shook her. It was already beautiful, even in its winter sleep. And what it would be like in the spring-in the summer-Already there was prunus in a pale rosy mist, and witch hazel in a golden cloud. There were winter roses, and iris stylosa. There was yellow jasmine, and the winter-blooming heather. She could turn whole-heartedly to Geoffrey and say,
“What a perfectly marvellous place!”
He was flushed with pleasure.
“Well, it is, isn’t it! But you mustn’t let me bore you with it. Jacqueline says I do, you know. She says I don’t know where to stop. So you’ll just have to tell me quite frankly when you’ve had enough.”
That sounded very downright for Margot’s governess. She said,
“You have known Miss Delauny a long time?”
“Oh, not so very long. I’m very grateful to her. Margot is a bit of a problem, and she is good at managing her.”
It was not Margot whom Ione wanted to discuss with Geoffrey Trent. She made a slight gesture with her hand as if to put her aside, and said,
“Geoffrey, I want to talk to you about Allegra. What is she taking?”
A very decided change came over his face. The pleasure went out of it, and he met her look with a very direct one.
“What makes you ask me that?”
“Because I saw Allegra last night, and I’ve seen her this morning. I’m not quite a fool, and it is perfectly obvious that she is under the influence of a drug-morphia for choice. Besides, she told me about her wonderful medicine.”
“I see. Did she tell you I gave it to her?”
“No. She said the specialist she went to in London gave it to her, but that you were always trying to prevent her taking it.”
He turned aside for a moment, walked a few paces away, and came back again to say father curtly,
“If you know anything at all about drug cases you must be aware that they all have one thing in common-they are incapable of speaking the truth.”
He saw her colour come with a rush and then fade.
“You mean she wasn’t telling the truth-about the medicine?”
“Of course she wasn’t! The man I took her to was Blank.” He mentioned a world-famous name. “What he wanted her to do was to go into a sanatorium. She has refused, and goes on refusing. Every time the subject is mentioned she cries herself into a state of exhaustion. Frankly, I am at my wits’ end.”