THIRTY-FOUR
MISS SILVER WAS very much interested. The woman whom Mr Martin had pointed out as Mrs Blount did not at all correspond with his description of her as the spoiled delicate woman so much indulged by her husband that he was willing to pay an extravagant price for her fancies. Mrs Blount really did not look like that at all. She had unmistakably the air of a woman who has lost interest in everything. Her hair and skin quite obviously received no attention. Her clothes, originally of a fair quality, had a neglected look. There were wisps of hair on the collar of the coat, and the hem of the skirt sagged lamentably. Her stockings were twisted, and her shoes had not been cleaned for at least a week. But above and beyond all these things it was her face which fixed Miss Silver’s attention. Under the limp felt hat, it had a lost and hopeless expression. Someone past emotion, beyond any expectation of relief, might look like that. In the course of her experience, Miss Silver had seen a great deal of trouble, suffering, fear, and guilt, but even against this background there was something about Mrs Blount which gave her a feeling of dismay. Moving slowly towards her, she saw that she remained standing at the bus stop. The other passengers were dispersing, but Mrs Blount just stood as if the effort that had brought her there had petered out. Miss Silver was reminded of a child’s clockwork toy that has run down. She came up close and said in her pleasant voice,
‘You are a stranger here. Can I help you at all?’
Mrs Blount looked at her vaguely. She picked out one word from what Miss Silver had said and echoed it.
‘Help…’
Miss Silver put a hand on her arm.
‘I think you are not very well. Can I help you?’
The vague look persisted. The dry lips said,
‘No one – can – help me.’
Miss Silver regarded her with compassion.
‘There is a very nice café at the corner. If you can walk as far as that, we could have some tea or coffee together. A hot cup of tea is very refreshing.’ She kept her hand on Mrs Blount’s arm and took a step in the direction of the café.
Mrs Blount moved too. She did not seem to be either faint or giddy. In Miss Silver’s opinion she was suffering from shock. She was certainly in no fit state to find her way alone in a strange town. It would do her good to sit down quietly in one of the shaded alcoves at the Sefton Café and have a nice cup of tea. She guided her kindly and firmly in that direction and met with no resistance.
The time being now a little after twelve, the midmorning rush was over and it was as yet too early for anybody to be thinking of lunch. Miss Silver ordered a pot of tea and conducted Mrs Blount to the end alcove at the back of the room. Since there were four empty spaces screened off from one another by curtains in a vivid shade of emerald green between this alcove and the one in which an aggressive lady appeared to be laying down the law to a meek friend over coffee-cups whose dregs had long since congealed, Miss Silver could feel assured of privacy. She had not at that time any idea of how valuable this might be.
The waitress brought the tea on a green tray and departed. Mrs Blount leaned back in one of the ornamental wicker chairs, her eyes fixed as if upon some image of despair. Miss Silver poured her out a cup of tea and inquired whether she took milk and sugar.
The stiff lips moved, but they did not relax. They said first ‘No,’ and then ‘Yes’, and then ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Miss Silver added milk and sugar and set the cup before her. Mrs Blount put out a hand to take it, lifted it as an automaton might have done, and drank from it in a series of spasmodic gulps. When the cup was empty she put it down. Miss Silver filled it again. The lifting and the gulping were repeated.
When the cup had been put down for a second time Mrs Blount leaned back again and closed her eyes. She had not slept since midnight. She had not been able to swallow any breakfast. Mr Blount had gone out early, upon what business she did not know. By half past eleven she could no longer bear the solitude of her room, nor could she face the lounge. She had dressed and gone out. The bus happening to stop at the corner just as she came to it, she had got in and allowed it to take her down into the town. Once there, she had no idea what to do next. At the first sip of the hot tea she had realized how parched her mouth was. She drank eagerly, and was a little more aware of her surroundings. Her eyes opened and she looked at Miss Silver and said,
‘You are – very kind.’
‘I do not think you are well enough to be out alone.’
‘I am – quite well.’
‘You have had a shock.’
‘Yes – a great shock. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Is there any way in which I could help you?’
Mrs Blount’s head moved in a slow negative gesture.
‘I don’t think so. You see – he is my husband…’
Miss Silver said nothing. The slow, heavy voice went on,
‘Perhaps he will kill me – I don’t know. If he thinks I heard what he was saying, I think he will. I don’t think I mind – not really. It’s just not knowing when it will happen or how he will do it. It’s dreadful not to know, but I haven’t got – anything to live for.’
Miss Silver said firmly,
‘There is always something to live for.’
Mrs Blount made that slow movement of the head again.
‘Not for me…’
Miss Silver took one of the hands which lay ungloved in the shabby lap. It felt cold and slack.
‘Have you no family of your own – no relations?’
‘They didn’t want me to marry him. I would do it. They said I would be sorry.’
‘Mrs Blount, why are you so much afraid of your husband?’
She pulled her hand away and stared with eyes that were definitely frightened now.
‘I don’t know you! How do you know my name?’
‘I am staying at The Lodge with Miss Althea Graham. Your husband is trying to buy the house. You were pointed out to me.’
The frightened eyes shifted, looked away.
‘I shouldn’t have said – anything. He doesn’t like me to talk about his business.’
‘Why are you afraid of him?’
Mrs Blount stiffened.
‘There isn’t anything – to be afraid of. He is – very good to me. He is buying the house because I like it so much.’
Miss Silver felt a deep compassion. The poor thing was repeating what she had learned by rote. It was a lesson in which she had been drilled. She said,
‘That is what you have been told to say, is it not?’
Mrs Blount looked at her, and suddenly she broke down. That large flat face of hers began to crumple and quiver. Her hands went up to cover it and she said in a shaking whisper,
‘Oh, I can’t go and live there – I can’t – I can’t – I can’t! I’d rather he killed me – I would – I would!’
Miss Silver looked anxiously about her. The dogmatic lady and her acquiescent friend had gone. There really was no one within hearing, and fortunately Mrs Blount had her back to the shop. She leaned forward and said,
‘Are you not perhaps being a little fanciful? Is there any reason why your husband should want to harm you?’
Mrs Blount’s hands dropped back into her lap. Her tears were running down without restraint. She said in that whispering voice,
‘Oh, there’s reason enough – reason enough and to spare. He always said to keep out of his business, and reason enough for that. I’ve known for a long time there was reason enough and I’ve kept out. I’ve always known I’d do better to keep out, and I’ve done it. Only last night… last night…’ She choked on a sob and began to grope for a handkerchief.
Miss Silver said,
‘What happened last night?’
Through the folds of a large crumpled handkerchief Mrs Blount’s voice came in a succession of gasps.
‘It’s not – my fault – if he talked – in his sleep – but he’ll kill me for it. I wish I was dead – before he does it! Oh, God, I wish I was dead! And he’ll kill me – as sure as death he’ll kill me – if he ever comes to know what he said!’