Miss Silver made up her mind. Miss Adrian had approached her as a client, and though she had not taken the case she felt a certain obligation to be frank. She said with some gravity,
“You intend to marry Mr. Mount?”
The blue eyes widened.
“I can’t afford to miss the chance.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“When you came to see me, I advised you to take those letters to the police. When you said you could not do that, I recommended you to tell Mr. Mount about them yourself.”
Miss Adrian shook her golden head.
“You don’t know Fred.”
Miss Silver continued as if she had not spoken.
“You now say you are sure that Mr. Cyril Felton is the person who has been attempting to blackmail you. I am inclined to agree with you. Are you aware that he is in Farne?”
Miss Adrian exclaimed in a manner which Miss Silver considered profane. Rightly conjecturing that this indicated surprise, she continued.
“I heard Mrs. Felton give her name in the library just now, and subsequently witnessed a meeting between her and her husband. From their conversation I received the impression that there had been some kind of quarrel which Mr. Felton was anxious to make up, since he was so short of money that it was a matter of urgency that he should be received at Cove House.”
Helen Adrian nodded.
“Yes-that’s Cyril. And, from what I’ve heard about Ina and seen for myself, she’s the kind of girl to let him walk all over her like a door-mat.”
Miss Silver gave her slight prim cough.
“Even a door-mat may become worn out in time.”
“Meaning?”
“That it is possible that Mr. Felton may be disappointed.”
Helen Adrian appeared to be considering the implications of this. The angelic look was replaced by a shrewd one as she said,
“If he’s as hard up as all that, I could have a stab at buying him off. Look here, it’s an idea! I don’t think Ina could hold out against him-once a door-mat, always a door-mat. But Marian Brand is a different proposition. According to Cyril, she’s been supporting his wife for years and taking him in whenever he was on the rocks, which is about the only time he went near them. But I don’t think he cuts any ice with her really. Ina is fond of him, and Marian is fond of Ina. If Ina cooled off, I don’t think Cyril would get yes for an answer, so if Ina is really peeved with him, this is the time for me to drive my bargain. I tell you what I’ll do-I’ll tell Cyril I know he wrote those letters. He can take ten pounds to hold his tongue, or I’ll go to the police. That’s just what I’m going to say to him, you know-I won’t really. If he’s as hard up as you say, he’ll take the ten pounds. Of course he’ll mean to come back for more, but he won’t get the chance. I’ll tell Fred he can see about a licence, and once we’re married, well, it’s done. And I shall tell Cyril that if he makes a nuisance of himself, all he’ll get is Fred will just about make him wish he’d never been born. And the worse he behaves, the less Fred will believe anything he says about me. How’s that?” Miss Silver’s neat features expressed none of the distaste which she felt. If there was a slight dryness in her tone, her companion did not notice it. She said, “It would appear to be quite a prudent course of action, Miss Adrian.”
Chapter 15
When Richard Cunningham had gone away down the road to Farne, the part of Marian’s mind which had been troubled about Ina began to take charge. It was nearly seven o’clock. She had not realized that it was so late until Richard looked at his watch. He had exclaimed, and she had known very well that he would have liked to stay on, but she had not asked him. There had been a sudden withdrawal, a cold breath of fear not definitely attributable to anything special. It was just as if they had been sitting out in a sunny place and all at once the sun was gone and it was cold. She walked with him to the gate, and he said,
“When shall I see you again?”
“I don’t know. Would you like to come over tomorrow?”
“You know I would. What time?”
She said, “Lunch, if you like,” and watched him walk down the road before she turned back to the house and to the realization that she was definitely worried about Ina.
But she was only half way up the stairs when she heard a step going to and fro above. She came out on the landing, to see that the door of one of the two empty bedrooms was open and Ina standing there waiting. She looked pale and tired. As Marian came up to her, she said in a plaintive voice,
“What ages you’ve been.”
“But I didn’t know you were in. I’ve been worried.”
“You didn’t sound worried. I’ve been in my room, and I could hear you and that man talking. You just went on, and on, and on-I thought he was never going to go. I suppose it was Richard Cunningham?”
“Yes.”
Ina caught her breath.
“I heard you on the telephone.” She flung her arms suddenly round Marian’s neck. “Oh, darling, I’m a pig! Did you have a nice time? I do really hope you did. I saw him when he was going away, and I thought he looked terribly nice. Is he going to come again? Shall I see him? I wanted to come down, but I was afraid I was going to cry.”
Marian said, “Why should you cry?” But of course she knew.
Ina let go of her with a sob.
“I’m so unhappy!”
“You’ve been meeting Cyril?”
“Yes. He rung up when you were in the kitchen with Eliza. I went to meet him in Farne.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ina dabbed at her eyes.
“It really was partly because I didn’t want to spoil your day. I opened the study door when you were talking to Richard Cunningham, so I knew he was coming over-at least I didn’t think it could be anyone else.”
Marian said, “I wanted you to meet him.”
“I met Cyril.”
“And what did Cyril want?” Marian’s tone was dry.
There was a pause before Ina said,
“He hasn’t any money. He wants to come here.”
Marian thought, “Well, we’ve come down to brass tacks. Money-that’s all that ever does bring him back, but she’s never faced it before. Poor Ina!”
She saw the colour run up to the roots of Ina’s hair.
“Marian-”
“When does he want to come?”
“Now-tonight-for supper. I told him to wait till then. He hasn’t got any money at all. He was expecting some, but it didn’t turn up. He-he-said to tell you he was sorry- about the things he said. He didn’t mean them. Everybody says things they don’t mean when they’re angry-I do myself.”
It was a lame and faltering performance. There was no conviction in Ina Felton’s voice. She looked anywhere except at her sister. Marian couldn’t bear it. She never had been able to see Ina hurt. She said as lightly as she could,
“That’s all right. Of course he can come, and we’ll talk things over. But he must try and get a job.”
Ina nodded.
“He says he will.” She turned abruptly to the window.
It wasn’t until then that Marian noticed that the room had been got ready for a visitor. There was soap on the wash-stand, and two clean towels on the old-fashioned towel-horse. The carafe had been filled, and the bed made.
Standing at the window with her back to her, Ina said,
“I’ve put him in here.”
Cyril strolled in a quarter of an hour later with a deprecatory “My dear-” for his sister-in-law and a sunny smile for his wife. For eight years Marian had managed to keep her eyes shut to the fact that these manifestations really meant nothing at all. Cyril might not be a very good actor on the stage, but in private life he could play any part with ease and charm, and so convincingly as to be quite carried away by it himself. At the moment he was, in all sincerity, the careless, impulsive fellow whose tongue has run away with him, but whose heart is so very much in the right place. He made no attempt to conceal the fact that it overflowed with brotherly affection for Marian and devotion to his wife. He was wounded but uncomplaining over the spare bedroom, and exerted himself to be the best of good company at supper.