Lady Matthews had guessed a part of her secret and had appeared to think that he also knew it. Shirley was not much surprised at Lady Matthews' perception, but failed to see how Amberley could know. At the same time, she had more than once had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew more about her than he pretended.
A sensation of lassitude had succeeded her first dismay on hearing of Collins' death. Success had, for the first time, been within her reach. Now the valet had been shot, and with him died her hopes. There did not seem to be anything left that she could do; if Mr. Amberley could help her, let him try; if he had her put into prison,what matter?
Her own words to Collins jigged in her brain. Half a loaf. Half a loaf! Better than no bread, was it? She thought bitterly that if the other half had gone it would be better by far had she never set eyes on that tantalising half-loaf.
She realised with a start that she had wasted an hour in vain speculations, so that there was not time before lunch to visit Ivy Cottage. She went out instead to buy a packet of luggage labels and saw, with a wry smile, that her faithful attendant was following at a discreet distance. Had she not been so depressed she did not think that she could have resisted the temptation to lead him on a long cross-country walk over ploughed fields and through hedges. He did not look like a walker.
She meant to set out for the cottage immediately after lunch, but when she had buckled on Bill's collar in preparation for the walk she paused and glanced uncertainly towards her dressing case. Bill reproached her for the delay, but she shook her head. "Wait a bit, Bill. I think we'll be on the safe side," she said slowly.
Bill lay down with a sigh, his nose on his paws, whining softly. His mistress took a small key out of her handbag and unlocked the case and drew a torn piece of foolscap out of one of its pockets. She stood for a moment in uncertainty and then went across to the writing-table by the window and sat down. The letter she wrote was quite short, but took her some time to compose. She read it through, hesitated, and then with a shrug folded it. She carefully placed the torn foolscap into an envelope and sealed it, and inserted both it and her own note into another larger envelope. She addressed this and said to Bill, whose whines had become despairing: "All right, you shall go. I've a feeling I've done the right thing. What do think, old boy?"
Bill thought that it was time they started for their walk and said so quite unmistakably.
Together they descended the stairs. To Bill's disgust their first objective was the post office, where Shirley registered and posted her letter. Then she set off towards Ivy Cottage, and Bill, released from his lead, bounded ahead of her joyfully. In the rear Constable Tucker plodded dutifully after them.
It was three o'clock by the time Shirley reached the cottage, and she found the charwoman whom she had appointed to meet her there at half-past two standing on the doorstep and looking aggrieved.
The cottage felt cold and smelled musty, of dry rot. Shirley flung open the windows and told the charwoman to put a kettle on for hot water. The kitchen floor had to be scrubbed, she said. The charwoman remarked that it wasn't everyone who was so particular how they left a place.
"Possibly not," said Shirley. "And while you're waiting for the water to boil please put those plates away in the cupboard and fold up that rug for me to pack."
There was a good deal to be done in the cottage. Shirley finished packing her own trunk and tied a label on it; and then, with rather a heavy heart, she began to sort out Mark's possessions. She did not want to be obliged to go through them again, and she had made up her mind to send most of his clothes to an East End mission. She went down to hunt for brown paper and string and did up four large parcels.
The charwoman acted for the first time on her own initiative at four o'clock. Having found a tin of condensed milk in the larder she made some tea and brought it upstairs to Shirley. Shirley declined the tinned milk but was glad of the tea. Remembering Lady Matthews' parting words that morning, she told the charwoman to offer some to the man outside in the lane. Apparently it was accepted, for presently, looking out of the window, she saw Constable Tucker coming up the path behind the charwoman. He looked sheepish but grateful. When he had retired again to his post Shirley told the charwoman that she could go as soon as she had washed up the tea-things. She herself saw the end of her labours in view and hurried to get everything finished before the light went.
The charwoman came upstairs for her money, and while Shirley searched in her purse, volunteered the remark that she wasn't surprised miss had left the cottage. "Lonely, I call it," she said.
"I don't mind that," said Shirley.
"Well, everyone to 'er taste, miss. It'd give me the creeps after dark, this place would. Rats too, I shouldn't wonder."
"Mice," said Shirley.
"I don't know but what I 'ate them worse, miss. I 'ad an aunt once sat on a mouse what had run up under her skirts. It give her a regular turn."
"I should think it gave the mouse a turn too," said Shirley. "Here you are, and thank you. Go out by the front, will you? And shut the door, please."
The charwoman went off downstairs. Bill, lying at the foot of them in a bored attitude, left the house with her and went round to the back on a quest of his own. He shared her belief in the presence of rats.
Constable Tucker, who had left the lane for a rustic seat in the garden, sighed and lit a cigarette. A dull job, shadowing Miss Brown. He hoped she wasn't going to be much longer. Constable Westrupp was due to relieve him at six o'clock, but he'd be waiting outside the Boar's Head. He wondered whether the young lady was going to keep him hanging about here much longer, and sent out thoughts towards Mr. Frank Amberley that were by no means loving.
The autumn afternoons soon got chilly and damp, he found. He drew up his coat collar and sat for a while nntemplating a solitary star. Bill came round the house and growled at him.
Shirley looked out of the window. "Who's that?" she said sharply.
Feeling a little foolish, Tucker said with a slight cough: 'It's me, miss."
"Oh!" She sounded amused. "Shan't keep you many minutes. Shut up, Bill. You ought to know him by now."
Bill was sniffing suspiciously at Tucker's ankles. Tucker made propitiating noises and wondered why the young lady couldn't have had a nice little Pekinese. He advanced a nervous hand towards Bill, assuring him that he was a good dog. Bill was more interested in trying to ascertain whether he was a good man. He came to the conclusion that no steps need at the moment be taken to evict the constable and went off again to continue operations in the back garden.
Inside the cottage Shirley had lit a lamp and was burning a collection of old letters and bills in the kitchen grate. The trunks were all packed and labelled ready for the carrier to take away; she had counted the laundry and left it in the basket in the scullery. Having watched the last piece of paper burn away, she picked up the lamp and went to make a final tour of inspection and to shut and bolt the windows again. She was annoyed to find that she had forgotten to look inside the cupboard on the landing, where Mark had kept some odds and ends. Disposing of these took her some little time, and she was startled to see, on looking out of the window, that it had grown quite dark.