She put Jim away from her and thought about Miss Silver. Could she go to Miss Silver? She had to think that out very carefully, because if she couldn’t-if she couldn’t-A spasm of terror swept over her. Her hands came together in her lap and clenched there. Could she go to Miss Silver? And as she put the question she knew very well what the answer must be-she couldn’t. The answer came with a terrible distinctness, and not all the shrinking of her flesh and spirit could interfere with its clarity. Miss Silver was working with Jim. She couldn’t, she mustn’t, risk it. She dared not risk it. If she had had her memory clear-if… What was the good of that? The face of the man who had come to her in the garden came up in her memory. It was fearfully distinct. He might say anything, and she couldn’t contradict him of her own knowledge. He could say anything he liked, and she would be helpless. Her mind showed her one thing after another that he might say, and she would know that they couldn’t be true, but she could not prove them untrue-she couldn’t prove anything at all. Then if she couldn’t disprove his lies, what was she to do? Disappear-vanish into the crowds of London. That was the only safe way until her memory came back. And suppose it never did come back? A tremor ran over her. No use to think about the future.
Quite suddenly a picture came up in her mind. It was the picture of a little girl eight or nine years old writing in a copybook. What she wrote was, ‘Manners makyth man’. She had got down about half-way on the page-‘Manners makyth man’, over and over again. The picture was small and clear. Suddenly the child stopped writing, stretched out her right hand, and gave a deep sigh. The picture vanished. But in that moment Anne had recognized herself. It was Aunt Letty who set those copies, and as the words went through her mind she saw Aunt Letty quite plainly, a mountainous creature, quite old, with white hair and a hard hand that was quick to slap.
The whole hadn’t lasted a minute. It left her grasping but encouraged. She had remembered. For the first time the curtain had lifted. It would certainly have been of more use if it had lifted on some nearer scene. But curiously enough that picture of herself as a child of eight and a half or nine was most oddly reassuring. To look back and see herself as a child brought the present, as it were, into focus.
Her hands relaxed, and her mind quietened. She had ten pounds, and she had her freedom. Now that she had started remembering she would go on. There was nothing to be dismayed about. Everything would come right.
It was curious the effect it had on her. She felt hopeful and encouraged. For the rest of the way her mind was full of plans. She must get work. The money Prissy had given her wouldn’t last her for very long. She must get a room, and she must buy a nightgown and a brush and comb. She would have to pay for her room in advance. Oh, and she must have a case of some sort. Quite a cheap one would do-but no one would take you in without any luggage.
She went on planning.
CHAPTER 26
Jim rang up Chantreys about an hour later.
‘I’d like to speak to Anne.’
There was a curious effect. He couldn’t make out what it was. The nearest he got to it was dismay. It was Lilian who had answered. First she didn’t say anything at all, then she said, ‘Anne-’
‘Yes.’
‘Well-’
‘I want to speak to her.’
Lilian didn’t know what to do. She temporised.
‘I don’t know that you can.’
‘Why?’
‘She-she isn’t here.’
‘You mean she’s out?’
‘Well-’
‘Lilian, do you mind telling me what you mean?’
There was a pause. She was greatly tempted to hang up. She could pretend they had been cut off. Her mind, twisting this way and that, boggled at a decision.
‘Jim-something has happened.’
It was a relief to tell him. He would have to be told. Much better to tell the truth-really-
‘What has happened?’
‘She-she’s gone.’
‘Lilian, what do you mean?’
‘She-she’s gone. I couldn’t stop her. I didn’t know she was going.’
‘Do you mean that Anne has gone?’
Lilian’s voice became more and more agitated.
‘Yes-yes. And it’s no use your asking me why, for I don’t know any more about it than you do. When we got up this morning she wasn’t here, that’s all-she just wasn’t here. And it’s no good asking why she went off like that, because I don’t know. No one here knows. I said good-night to her, and she went up to bed, and that’s the last I saw of her-the very last.’
Lilian was quite pleased with herself by now. She had got over the worst of it. Jim couldn’t really say anything. He had deceived her shamefully. She didn’t know whether to say anything about that to him or not. Perhaps better not. What was it that man had said last night-‘Least said, soonest mended.’ Yes, that was what she had got to remember. When you hadn’t said anything you could always put in a word here and there just as it might be convenient. She became aware of Jim’s voice, very hard and cold-‘I’m coming down at once.’ And then the click of the receiver being replaced.
By the time that Jim arrived Lilian was quite persuaded that she could carry everything off just as she wanted to. She was one of those people who can work out a fine plan if there is no one else to call the tune, but with Jim facing her it wasn’t so easy. To begin with, she had never seen him like this before. She had not seen very much of him. He had been brought up by his mother’s family, and on his visits he had been at first the boy and then the rather silent young man. Then he had vanished for three years-they really didn’t know what he had been doing. It was nonsense to think of his embarrassing them, and she certainly wasn’t going to stand it.
And then when he came down everything seemed to have changed. He was a man now, he wasn’t a boy any longer. When he looked at her like this her heart contracted. She couldn’t help it.
She got up, walked to the window, and back again:
‘I don’t know what you think. I’m sure we were all as kind to her as we could be.’
‘Were you? Then why did she go?’
‘Really-how do I know? You can say what you like, but there was something very extraordinary about her. I don’t know, I’m sure-’
He stood in front of the fireplace and looked at her.
‘What don’t you know?’
‘Really, Jim, anyone would think-’
‘What would they think?’
Lilian burst into tears.
‘Anyone would think you-you suspected us! It’s very hard-it’s very hard!’
‘Lilian-do you know why she went?’
‘No, I don’t’
‘Then I must see whether anyone else does.’
And he was gone. It was a relief, but what did he mean to do? She couldn’t think. She blew her nose and went over what she had said. There was nothing the matter. He couldn’t expect her to know anything. He couldn’t think that she did know anything. It would be all right. It must be all right. And if he had gone… Had he gone?
He had not gone.
When he left Lilian’s room he made his way to the back premises. It was in his mind that he would see Thomasina.
Lilian was always concerned with making a smooth tale. He didn’t want smooth tales, he wanted the truth. He thought that he would get it from Thomasina.
He came across her in the pantry and shut the door.
‘Thomasina, I want to ask you about Mrs Fancourt.’
She turned round to him with a teapot in her hand and a fine polishing cloth.
‘Yes, Mr Jim?’
‘I hear she’s gone.’
‘So it would seem.’ The words came without fuss, slowly- he thought with something in the voice. No, he couldn’t get nearer to it than that.
He said, ‘Do you know why she went?’
Thomasina rubbed at the side of the teapot.