The Odd Women Part 56

His look expressed both surprise and doubt.

'A month? But I thought--I had an idea--that she went only a few days ago.'

'In the day time?'

'To Great Portland Street, I mean--to hear a lecture, or something of that kind, by Miss Barfoot.'

Rhoda kept silence for a moment. Then she replied hastily--

'Oh yes--very likely--I wasn't there that afternoon.'

'I see. That would explain--'

He seemed relieved, but only for the instant; then his eyes glanced hither and thither, with painful restlessness. Rhoda observed him closely. After fidgeting with his feet, he suddenly took a stiff position, and said in a louder voice--

'We are going to leave London altogether. I have decided to take a house at my wife's native place, Clevedon. Her sisters will come and live with us.'

'That is a recent decision, Mr. Widdowson?'

'I have thought about it for some time. London doesn't suit Monica's health; I'm sure it doesn't. She will be much better in the country.'

'Yes, I think that very likely.'

'As you say that you have noticed her changed looks, I shall lose no time in getting away.' He made a great show of determined energy. 'A few weeks--. We will go down to Clevedon at once and find a house. Yes, we will go to-morrow, or the day after. Miss Madden, also, is very far from well. I wish I hadn't delayed so long.'

'You are doing very wisely, I think. I had meant to suggest something of this kind to Mrs. Widdowson. Perhaps, if I went at once to Mrs.

Cosgrove's, I might be fortunate enough to find her still there?'

'You might. Did I understand you to say that you go away tomorrow? For three weeks. Ah, then we may be getting ready to remove when you come back.'

The change that had come over him was remarkable. He could not keep his seat, and began to pace the end of the room. Seeing no possibility of prolonging the talk for her own purposes, Rhoda accepted this dismissal, and with the briefest leave-taking went her way to Mrs.

Cosgrove's.

She was deeply agitated. Monica had not attended that lecture of Miss Barfoot's, and so, it was evident, had purposely deceived her husband.

To what end? Where were those hours spent? Mildred Vesper's report supplied grounds for sombre conjecture, and the incident at Sloane Square Station, the recollection of Monica and Barfoot absorbed in talk, seemed to have a possible significance which fired Rhoda with resentment.

Her arrival at Mrs. Cosgrove's was too late. Monica had been there said the hostess, but had left nearly half an hour ago.

Rhoda's instant desire was to go on to Bayswater, and somehow keep watch near the flats where Barfoot lived. Monica might be there. Her coming forth from the building might be detected.

But the difficulty of the understanding, and, still more, a dread of being seen hovering about that quarter, checked her purpose as soon as it was formed. She returned home, and for an hour or two kept in solitude.

'What has happened?' asked Miss Barfoot, when they at length met.

'Happened? Nothing that I know of.'

'You look very strange.'

'Your imagination. I have been packing; perhaps it's from stooping over the trunk.'

This by no means satisfied Mary, who felt that things mysterious were going on about her. But she could only wait, repeating to herself that the grand _denouement_ decidedly was not far off.

At nine o'clock sounded the visitor's bell. If, as she thought likely, the caller was Everard, Miss Barfoot decided that she would disregard everything but the dramatic pressure of the moment, and leave those two alone together for half an hour. Everard it was; he entered the drawing-room with an unusual air of gaiety.

'I have been in the country all day,' were his first words; and he went on to talk of trivial things--the doings of a c.o.c.kney excursion party that had come under his notice.

In a few minutes Mary made an excuse for absenting herself. When she was gone, Rhoda looked steadily at Barfoot, and asked--

'Have you really been out of town?'

'Why should you doubt it?'

'As I told you.

She averted her look. After examining her curiously, Everard came and stood before her.

'I want to ask your leave to meet you somewhere during these next three weeks. At any point on your route. We could have a day's ramble together, and then--say good-bye.'

'The lake country is free to you, Mr. Barfoot.'

'But I mustn't miss you. You will leave Seascale to-morrow week?'

'At present I think so. But I can't restrict myself by any agreement.

Holiday must be a time of liberty.'

They looked at each other--she with a carelessness which was all but defiance, he with a significant smile.

'To-morrow week, then, perhaps we may meet again.'

Rhoda made no reply, beyond a movement of her eyebrows, as if to express indifference.

'I won't stay longer this evening. A pleasant journey to you!'

He shook hands, and left the room. In the hall Miss Barfoot came to meet him; they exchanged a few words, unimportant and without reference to what had pa.s.sed between him and Rhoda. Nor did Rhoda speak of the matter when joined by her friend. She retired early, having settled all the arrangements for her departure by the ten o'clock express from Euston next morning.

Her luggage was to consist of one trunk and a wallet with a strap, which would serve the purposes of a man's knapsack. Save the indispensable umbrella, she carried no impeding trifles. A new costume, suitable for sh.o.r.e and mountain, was packed away in the trunk; Miss Barfoot had judged of its effect, and was of opinion that it became the wearer admirably.

But Rhoda, having adjusted everything that she was going to take with her, still had an occupation which kept her up for several hours. From a locked drawer she brought forth packets of letters, the storage of many years, and out of these selected carefully perhaps a t.i.the, which she bound together and deposited in a box; the remainder she burnt in the empty fireplace. Moreover, she collected from about the room a number of little objects, ornaments and things of use, which also found a place in the same big box. All her personal property which had any value for her, except books, was finally under lock and key, and in portable repositories. But still she kept moving, as if in search of trifles that might have escaped her notice; silently, in her soft slippers, she strayed hither and thither, till the short summer night had all but given place to dawn; and when at length weariness compelled her to go to bed, she was not able to sleep.

Nor did Mary Barfoot enjoy much sleep that night. She lay thinking, and forecasting strange possibilities.

On Monday evening, returned from Great Portland Street, the first thing she did was to visit Rhoda's chamber. The ashes of burnt paper had been cleared away, but a glance informed her of the needless and unprecedented care with which Miss Nunn had collected and packed most of the things that belonged to her. Again Mary had a troubled night.

CHAPTER XXII