Geoffrey Trent looked past Flaxman at the fire. He had the same ghastly pallor which had shocked everybody on the day of Margot’s death. When the normal colouring is unusually strong and bright, its absence is bound to produce a somewhat startling effect. Flaxman, however, appeared quite undisturbed. If Mr. Trent wanted time to think of something to say he could have it-there was no hurry. In the end he would see reason. After all, their interests were identical.
Geoffrey said in a controlled voice,
“Miss Margot had no authority from me-that goes without saying. I should not have dreamed of allowing her to touch those ropes. If she said what you say you heard, it would be just a trick to get her own way. And if she said it, why didn’t Humphreys say so? He was examined on his interview with her, but he never said a word about her having claimed my authority for taking the rope.”
His colour was coming back. He took his elbow off the table, straightened up, and fixed his eyes on Flaxman’s face. He observed there an indefinable trace of complacency.
Flaxman’s tongue was glib to answer.
“The employer’s interests come first, sir. Mr. Humphreys has a long tradition of service in connection with the Ladies’ House. I am sure you can rely upon him not to repeat what was said.”
The touch of complacency had deepened. Geoffrey Trent said,
“Are you blackmailing me, Flaxman?”
An archbishop could not have looked more shocked.
“Mr. Trent! How can you say such a thing!”
Geoffrey’s eyebrows rose.
“As easily as you yourself.”
“Mr. Trent, I never expected! I bring to your notice a circumstance of which I consider you should be apprised-”
Geoffrey laughed harshly.
“For God’s sake, man, stop talking like a grammar book! I never gave that poor girl any authority to take one of those crazy ropes. I did give her a good talking to about the trick she played on Miss Muir and myself the day before, and I hoped I had made an impression. It seems I didn’t. She was like a weathercock, poor child. I certainly never told her she could take one of those ropes. They were rotten.”
“A story of that kind can be very damaging, sir.” Flaxman’s tone was without any expression. “So far as I am concerned, you can of course rely on my discretion.”
“The employer’s interests!” Geoffrey could not keep the sneer out of his voice.
An expression of pain appeared upon Flaxman’s face.
“Yes, sir-the employer’s interests. But I am sure it is not necessary for me to point out that these things are, if I may use the expression, reciprocal. Loyalty on the one side is stimulated and encouraged by generosity and trust upon the other. In fact, sir, if you take me, the benefits are mutual.”
Geoffrey Trent threw back his head with an angry laugh.
“Oh, I take you, Flaxman, I take you! You needn’t worry about that-you have made yourself perfectly clear! It is just a question now of how much you expect me to pay you for holding your tongue!”
“Mr. Trent, I must beg of you to be more moderate in your language. I have declared myself to be a loyal servant who is devoted to your interests. There would, I think, be nothing inappropriate in the suggestion of a rise in salary.”
“And what do you mean by a rise?”
In a manner that was at once firm and respectful Flaxman said, “Double for Mrs. Flaxman, and the same for myself, with a bonus to be agreed upon between us.”
He went out of the room and shut the door.
CHAPTER 23
For the moment all that Geoffrey Trent could feel was relief. Flaxman was gone. He had not to take any immediate decision. He was being blackmailed-skilfully, delicately, and respectfully blackmailed. There were severe penalties for blackmail, but if he were to ring up the police at this moment and accuse Flaxman, it would only be one man’s word against another. He had no doubt at all that Flaxman would keep his head and produce the perfect explanation. He and Mrs. Flaxman had been at least two years with Mr. Trent. They hoped that they had given satisfaction, and they considered that they were due for a rise. As for the matter of Miss Margot saying that about the rope, he would not have dreamed of bringing it up if Mr. Trent had not done so.
It would have been brought up. If he sent for the police he would have brought it up himself, and once it had been spoken aloud it could never be taken back. “Miss Margot, she said, ‘Geoffrey says I can have it.’ ” Hearsay words, but just what Margot might have said, making a mischievous face and throwing the words at Humphreys as he stormed at her. Chance, idle words-just something to throw at Humphreys-but once they were repeated they would never be forgotten. The whispers would follow him everywhere. “That poor girl, his ward, she went climbing with a crazy rope and was killed. They say she told the gardener she had Trent ’s leave to take it. She had quite a lot of money, and he came in for it.” Nothing that would hold water in a court of law perhaps, but enough to damn him socially from one end of his world to the other. That sort of thing stuck. He began to know inside his own mind that he couldn’t face it.
Flaxman went out to the kitchen. He was whistling, and he looked pleased. Mrs. Flaxman wondered what had pleased him. She was mixing a cake without hurry. Cooking done in a hurry was cooking spoiled in her opinion. She could have taken a job as a chef, but it wouldn’t have suited her-not all that rush and bustle. She liked to have her mind easy, and all her ingredients of the best. She looked up from her smooth, creamy mixture and said,
“What’s got into you? I don’t know when I heard you whistle.”
He said good-humouredly,
“Inquisitive, aren’t you, old dear?”
She went on stirring.
“Meaning I’d better not ask?”
“That’s your meaning, not mine.” He picked up a sultana from the table and nibbled it.
She began to put in the fruit. When she had the consistency to her liking she turned the mixture into a buttered cake-tin and slid it into the oven. Then she came back to her place at the table, wiping her hands upon her apron.
“I hope you’re not up to nothing, Fred.”
He put his hand in his pocket, jingled some money that was there, and said,
“Why should I be?” Then, sharply, “Where’s that girl Florrie?”