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MRS. KEITH'S CRIME

 

 

CHAPTER XIV

 

TO-DAY we make acquaintance with our neighbours. On a table in the patio, which serves as a lounge for every one in the hotel, there are some old English papers. Even to see them from a distance is fascinating; so after luncheon I summon courage to go and sit on one of the wicker chairs beneath the palms, close by them. Molly is on my lap curiously looking round and up at the great leaves above us. Suddenly Miss Vincent comes and speaks.

            ‘ I hope your little girl is better, Mrs. Keith?’ she says; and then, half shyly, she asks,

‘ May I sit down by you? ’ and pulling another wicker chair up by mine, she begins to talk to Molly. Molly tells her about Marseille, and the lizard, and the ship, and all the wonders she has seen since she left home. When Miss Vincent has heard all about them, she turns to me and says, ‘ Mrs. Greenside has told us so much about Molly, we have all been longing to know her. She tells us, too, that you know some friends of ours, Mrs. Keith, and mamma has been quite curious to hear who they are.’

            I wish Mrs. Greenside has not been so communicative; but it does not matter, so I tell her that Alice Grey is my cousin, and had desired to be kindly remembered to them if we met. Then she becomes quite excited, as people do abroad on hearing of their friends in England, and we are immediately as intimate as if we had been a month in the same house; so Alice Grey is of some use to us, after all. Miss Vincent tells me about a ball Mrs. Grey gave last season, and asks if I was there, and wonders why we did not see each other; but I tell her that I do not go to balls any more, and I think, but do not say so, that I did not even have the chance of going to this one.

            ‘ It was very nice,’ she says. ‘ The most exquisite floor, and not too crowded. I think it is perfectly cruel to ask one to a ball and not give one room to move, don’t you, Mrs. Keith? Molly, won’t you come on my lap? ’ she asks coaxingly; ‘ oh, do.’

            But Molly shakes her head, and says, ‘ No, thank you; I want to stay with mummy. Dear mummy,’ she adds, kissing my dress.

            ‘ Very well, ’ Miss Vincent answers, with an offended air. ‘ I have a little guitar in my room which was bought at a very funny shop, near a beautiful palace in Granada, and I shall go upstairs and shut the door, and play “Three Blind Mice” all by myself.’

            Molly is staring at her intensely with wide-open blue eyes, and without taking any notice of the enticing remark about the guitar, says gravely, ‘ You have got dimples in your face.’

            ‘ You dear little thing. Don’t you think they are very ugly? It is a sad thing to have little round holes in your face; worse than having them in your frock.’

            ‘ They’re not holes, and they are not ugly,’ Molly says stoutly. ‘ Can you play anything else besides “Three Blind Mice?”’ she asks. Evidently the mice have made an impression on her though she does not want to show it.

            ‘ Come and sit on my lap and I’ll tell you all about them,’ Miss Vincent says; but Molly only shakes her head and hides her face against my shoulder. ‘ You little coquette; I won’t have anything more to say to you. The blind mice wouldn’t look at you if they knew you were so unkind to me.’

            ‘ Why, of course they wouldn’t,’ Molly answers, with severe common sense; ‘ blind mice can’t look—can they, mother?’ she asks doubtfully. Then it seems to occur to her that she ought to make some little return to Miss Vincent’s overtures, so she remarks, ‘ We threw a penny out of the window to-day to a poor man.’

            ‘ I know another friend of yours,’ I say, for Mrs. Greenside is coming along the corridor that leads to the patio, and I know that our talk will soon be at an end— ‘ Mr. Bicknell.’

            ‘ Do you?’ and she looks up quickly, and with such keen interest on her face that it is easy to see that she knows him very well indeed.

            ‘ I thought he was with you, from what Alice Grey said.’

            ‘ So he is, only he has been on an expedition with Lord Bexley. He is coming back this very afternoon. Mrs. Greenside, do have my chair;’ she gets up quickly, gives that lady her chair, and seizing two enormous cushions on the divan near, puts them one on the top of the other, and sits down upon them. ‘ Low seats are so comfortable,’ she says.

            Mrs. Greenside takes the chair with scarcely a word of thanks. She considers that girls are meant to give up to other people, and that unless they are married, and therefore at the head of an establishment, they are not worth considering. Miss Martin told me this accidentally. ‘ Miss Greenside dislikes unmarried people,’ she said; ‘ that is, unmarried women. She thinks they are always in the way, and so very tiresome.’ Mrs. Greenside turns to me, while the diamonds on her hands sparkle, and the heavy folds of her black silk dress, that never rustles, slowly arrange themselves.

            ‘ Mrs. Keith,’ she asks, in her most earnest voice, ‘ tell me how your little girl is? I should have sent Miss Martin to see, but she has been laid up with neuralgia, and every moment upstairs I have had to devote to writing to friends in England. They will be so anxious about me,’ she adds plaintively. ‘ And do tell me how you are yourself.’

            ‘ Thank you, we are both much better, and delighted with this place.’

            ‘ I knew you would be,’ she says, with a sigh of satisfaction, as if she had been the means of bringing us here. ‘ Miss Vincent, when are Lord Bexley and Mr. Bicknell to return?’ I know that she has never seen either of them, so rather wonder at the interest in her tone; it amuses me to find, too, that Mrs. Greenside speaks to Miss Vincent in the tone of one who has known her for years and takes a grave interest in her affairs. ‘ Lord Bexley will be such an interesting man to meet,’ she continues, as if to account for her inquiry. ‘ His book is charming; I have written to England for it.’

            ‘ I have not read it,’ Miss Vincent says; ‘ but he and Mr. Bricknell are coming back this afternoon.’

            ‘ That is why Lady Bexley refused to go for a drive, perhaps. She is with your mother now. They are talking about their children.’ The last words are said in a sympathetic but slightly impatient voice.

            ‘ Have you many brothers and sisters?’ I ask Miss Vincent.

            ‘ No, not many: only two little brothers—they are at school; and two little sisters—they are staying with mamma’s sister.’

            Miss Greenside looks up quickly. ‘ Are they half-brothers and sisters?’ she asks.

            ‘ Yes; mamma is not my own mother,’ she says gently; and, hesitating as if she thought it unkind to remember it, she adds, ‘ she is my father’s second wife.’

            Mrs. Greenside sighs. ‘ I hope my niece will never have a step-mother,’ she says, with utter want of tact.

            The girl looks up quickly, and answers, ‘ Perhaps no one can be quite like one’s own dear mother, Mrs. Greenside; but I am very glad that papa married again. It would have been very sad and lonely for him without a companion: she has always been so very kind to me, and I love her and am very grateful to her for making my father happy. Mamma,’ she says, as Mr. and Mrs. Vincent come out on their way to the street, and Lady Bexley follows them, ‘ mamma dear, what do you think? Mrs. Keith is a cousin of Mrs. Grey’s, and she knows Ralph too.’

            ‘ I am very glad to meet you, Mrs. Keith,’ Mrs. Vincent says, holding out her hand as if she desired to be friendly; ‘we have hear so much of Molly from Mrs. Greenside. You have come for the winter, I hear.’

            ‘ Yes,’ I answer, grateful for her friendliness, and feeling less lonely already as we stand, Molly and I, in the midst of the pleasant little group in the patio.

            ‘ I feared your little girl was not so well yesterday as you did not come into luncheon, and we never see you of an evening. I hope you get some dinner?’

            ‘ Oh yes,’ I explain; ‘ but it is brought up on a tray, and then I can read, and be near Molly in bed in the next room.’

            ‘ Let me sit with Molly this evening while you go down to dinner, Mrs. Keith,’ Mary says.

            ‘ Or Miss Martin would,’ Mrs. Greenside puts in.

            ‘ No, thank you,’ I answer. ‘ I much prefer the simple tray and the open window to the long dinner and the hot room; but thank you very much.’

            ‘ You are quite right,’ Mr. Vincent says, in the tone of one who feels it to be his duty to express his approval of a sensible arrangement, even though it is one he would not think of making for himself. ‘ Take my advice, and always escape a table d’hôte if you can. And so you know Bicknell?’

            ‘ Yes; I knew him a great many years ago, when I was a little girl. We were playfellows.’

            ‘ Very odd, to be sure, how things turn up,’ he says. ‘ Come Caroline; we must not keep Lady Bexley waiting any longer.’

            ‘ You see, Mrs. Greenside,’ Lady Bexley says, in an apologetic, but very formal voice,

‘ Miss Vincent has persuaded me to go out, after all. I think really I was a little afraid of those terrible Spanish carriages, afraid to trust myself in one;’ and she turns to follow the Vincents. But Mrs. Greenside is not by any means to be extinguished yet.

            ‘ Mr. Vincent,’ she says, ‘ you seem to know everything. Do tell me how my brother will get here from Gibraltar. He would hardly bring his yacht in here. Do you suppose he would leave it at Gibraltar, and come by land; or take it to Malaga, and then come on? I don’t know in which direction to turn my face to look for him.’

            Mr. Vincent looks at her with a little odd smile, and his stiff iron-grey moustache looks extra wiry. He has a way of saying slightly rude things in a pleasant, patronising manner that people seldom resent.

            ‘ I should say you had better turn your face in the direction of the road,’ he answers. ‘ He will probably leave his boat at Malaga, and drive over. What is his yacht called?’

            ‘ The Flying Dutchman.’

            His tone is more respectful when he hears this. ‘ I know her. She’s a fine craft; belongs to Josephs the Jew.’ Mrs. Greenside is silent, and looks rather annoyed. It is odd how her pride in her relations and her half shame of their persuasion struggle. ‘ He is a very clever man. What wonderful people the Jews are; I wish I had been one myself;’ he adds.

            Mrs. Greenside brightens up. ‘ Oh, he’s very, very clever,’ she says, with a long-drawn sigh.

            Then Mr. Vincent suddenly looks at Mrs. Greenside, as if from a new point of view.

‘ And so Josephs is your brother?’ and he looks at her still more closely, as if he expects to see a hook in her nose suddenly develop itself. ‘ Why, you must be one of the great people, too, then?’

            She tries to answer proudly that it is so, but her voice hesitates a little. ‘ I suppose so, Mr. Vincent. But I wish I could say that I did wholly belong to them. My mother was not a Jewess. She was one of the Sherwins of Doretshire.’

            ‘ She was not strong, poor thing, and I fear I inherit her constitution. The Jews have such splendid physiques,’ she says, determined to express some unqualified admiration of her father’s race.

            ‘ Of course they have; and don’t you know,’ Mr. Vincent says instructively, ‘ that one proof of the Jews being the stronger race is, that if a Jew and a Gentile marry, the children are pretty sure to take after the Israelite’—she does not like this last word at all—‘ and the Jewish blood will show itself even after several Christian generations? Ah, they are a wonderful people. I have a great respect for them. Come, Lady Bexley; come, Caroline.’ And they all three slowly sally forth.

            ‘ May I come with you, Mrs. Keith?’ Miss Vincent asks, as we get up, and she takes Molly’s hand. She stops to say good-bye when we get to out door, but I ask her to enter and see our rooms, and she assents joyfully. ‘ Oh, what a nice room,’ she cries, and wanders round, looking at the books and the little scraps of adornment. ‘ And there is Molly on the easel. What a sweet portrait, what a  pretty thing she looks!’ She laughs, and her laughter seems to make the whole room bright and happy. ‘ Mrs. Greenside told us you painted. She is a very old friend of yours, isn’t she, Mrs. Keith?’

            ‘ Oh no,’ I answer, in surprise. ‘ I only met her on board the boat. She is very kind,’ I add, for my conscience pricks me for not liking her well enough.

            ‘ Yes, indeed she is,’ the girl says eagerly; ‘ I am sure of that, only Lady Bexley has taken a dislike to her, and papa makes fun of her. I only hope Ralph won’t go take a dislike to her, for he is so rude to people when he does; it is very awkward sometimes.’

            ‘ Yes, it is very awkward,’ I answer absently, noticing how her face lights up when she mentions him; and then I make her sit down on the rocking-chair, and she turns it round a little so that she can look up at Molly’s portrait as well as out at the open window. She waits half impatiently for me to speak. I know perfectly that she wants me to talk about Ralph, and that my old acquaintance with him is the chief cause of my sudden attraction for her.

            ‘ Do tell me how you knew Ralph,’ she says at last. ‘ It is odd I never heard him talk of you; but he never does talk much about people.’

            ‘ I have not seen him since we were both children,’ I answer; ‘ we were playfellows together.’

            ‘ How nice. And did he bully you?’ she asks merrily. This girl, in the full tide of youth and beauty and happiness, fascinates me; I sit opposite and look at her, it seems as if from across the world.

            ‘ Yes, he did,’ I answer, amused at the question; and ask in turn, ‘ does he bully you?’

            She nods uneasily, and evidently does not want to talk about it.

            ‘ It doesn’t mean anything,’ she quickly.

            ‘ Oh yes, he is very masterful,’ she goes on. ‘ He thinks that women like masterful men; but I think he would be just as nice, much nicer, if he didn’t always want his own way. I should know that I had mine sometimes only because he pleased to let me have it.’ Then, as if she had suddenly remembered something, she says, ‘ Perhaps I shouldn’t this to you, Mrs. Keith, only you don’t seem like a stranger, you knew him so long ago. Was he a nice boy?’

            ‘ Yes, very.’

            ‘ I think he must have been,’ she says, with a sigh; and then she looks up and says, ‘ He is very nice now, though he is disagreeable sometimes.’

            ‘ So he was as a boy,’ I say. ‘ When I offended him he used to pinch me,’ at which she laughs out joyously.

            ‘ Did he? she exclaims. ‘ That is just like him. Of course he can’t pinch people now, but he punishes you dreadfully if you offend him.’

            ‘ Do you ever offend him?’

            ‘ Oh yes, sometimes, I suppose. But I must go. Mrs. Keith, I wonder if you would come and have some tea in our room presently? He will be back by five o’clock, and I am sure mamma would be glad to see you.’ But I shake my head.

            ‘ Not this afternoon,’ I say; ‘ but perhaps you and Ralph—Mr. Bicknell, I suppose I must call him—will come and see me for an hour this evening. I think I must rest for a little while now.’

            ‘ You look very tired,’ she says gently. ‘ Would you not like to be a little while alone and quiet? Perhaps Molly would come with me for a bit. Will you, dear?’

            ‘ I’ll be very, very quiet,’ Molly says beseechingly, ‘ but I do want to stay with mother;’ and she creeps into my arms and lies quite still.

            A few hours later, just after the dinner-bell had rung, May Vincent taps softly at the door and comes in again. Her eyes are bright, and her face is flushed with happiness. A bunch of scarlet flowers is in her waistband.

            ‘ Are you better, Mrs. Keith?’ she asks.

            ‘ Yes, I am better,’ I answer.

            ‘ Ralph remembers you perfectly. He says you were so pretty and such a sweet little girl, and he means to fall in love with you over again.’

            ‘ That is very kind of him:’ and I try to laugh. ‘ But I fear it must not be to-night, dear, for I am very tied. I think I must lie down when Molly does to bed.’

            ‘ I am so sorry—I am so sorry,’ she repeats softly, touching my hand. ‘ Let us come to-morrow night. We are going for a picnic all day. You are not strong enough to go with us?’ I shake my head. ‘ I will steal in for a moment, if I may, before I go to bed to-night, just to see if I can do anything for you. Molly, you shall have one of these scarlet flowers; Ralph brought them from the mountains; dear little Molly, and there is a kiss for you. Now keep still by mother.’ And with the happy smile lighting up her beautiful face, she goes down to meet her lover.

 

 

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