The Odd Women Part 73

'I don't know. But I can get you her address.'

'Pray do. I shall go and see her. We are quite friendly enough for me to do so without impertinence.'

Having lunched with her acquaintance, Rhoda went in the afternoon to Mildred Vesper's lodgings. Miss Vesper was at home, reading, in her usual placid mood. She gave Rhoda the address that was on Mrs.

Widdowson's last brief note, and that evening Rhoda sent it to Mrs.

Cosgrove by letter.

In two days she received a reply. Mrs. Cosgrove had called upon Mrs.

Widdowson at her lodgings at Clapham. 'She is ill, wretched, and unwilling to talk. I could only stay about a quarter of an hour, and to ask questions was impossible. She mentioned your name, and appeared very anxious to hear about you; but when I asked whether she would like you to call she grew timid all at once, and said she hoped you wouldn't unless you really desired to see her. Poor thing! Of course I don't know what it all means, but I came away with maledictions on marriage in my heart--one is always safe in indulging that feeling.'

A week or so after this there arrived for Miss Barfoot a letter from Everard. The postmark was Ostend.

Never before had Rhoda been tempted to commit a break of confidence such as in any one else she would have scorned beyond measure. She had heard, of course, of people secretly opening letters with the help of steam; whether it could be done with absolute security from detection she did not feel sure, but her thoughts dwelt on the subject for several hours. It was terrible to hold this letter of Everard's writing, and yet be obliged to send it away without knowledge of the contents, which perhaps gravely concerned her. She could not ask Miss Barfoot to let her know what Everard had written. The information might perhaps be voluntarily granted; but perhaps not.

To steam the back of the envelope--would it not leave marks, a rumpling or discoloration? Even to be suspected of such dishonour would be more bitter to her than death. Could she even think of it? How she was degraded by this hateful pa.s.sion, which wrought in her like a disease!

With two others which that day had arrived she put the letter into a large envelope, and so dispatched it. But no satisfaction rewarded her; her heart raged against the world, against every law of life.

When, in a few days, a letter came to her from Miss Barfoot, she tore it Open, and there--yes, there was Everard's handwriting. Mary had sent the communication for her to read.

'DEAR COUSIN MARY,--After all I was rather too grumpy In my last note to you. But my patience had been desperately tried. I have gone through a good deal; now at last I am recovering sanity, and can admit that you had no choice but to ask those questions. I know and care nothing about Mrs. Widdowson. By her eccentric behaviour she either did me a great injury or a great service, I'm not quite sure which, but I incline to the latter view. Here is a conundrum--not very difficult to solve, I dare say.

'Do you know anything about Arromanches? A very quiet little spot on the Normandy coast. You get to it by an hour's coach from Bayeux. Not infested by English. I went there on an invitation from the Brissendens; who discovered the place last year. Excellent people these. I like them better the more I know of them. A great deal of quiet liberality--even extreme liberality--in the two girls. They would suit you, I am sure. Well instructed. Agnes, the younger, reads half a dozen languages, and shames me by her knowledge of all sorts of things.

And yet delightfully feminine.

'As they were going to Ostend I thought I might as well follow them, and we continue to see each other pretty frequently.

'By-the-bye, I shall have to find new quarters if I come back to London. The engineer, back from Italy after a longer absence than he antic.i.p.ated, wants his flat, and of course must have it. But then I may not come back at all, except to gather my traps. I shall not call on you, unless I have heard that you don't doubt the a.s.surance I have now twice given.--Your profligate relative,

E. B.'

'I think,' wrote Mary, 'that we may safely believe him. Such a lie would be too bad; he is incapable of it. Remember, I have never charged him with falsehood. I shall write and tell him that I accept his word.

Has it, or has it not, occurred to you to see Mrs. Widdowson herself?

Or, if there are insuperable objections, why not see Miss Madden? We talk to each other in a sort of cypher, dear Rhoda. Well, I desire nothing but your good, as I think you know, and you must decide for yourself where that good lies.'

Everard's letter put Rhoda beside herself with wrath. In writing it he knew it would come into her hands; he hoped to sting her with jealousy.

So Mrs. Widdowson had done him a service. He was free to devote himself to Agnes Brissenden, with her six languages, her extreme liberality, her feminine charm.

If she could not crush out her love for this man she would poison herself--as she had so often decided she would do if ever some hopeless malady, such as cancer, took hold upon her--

And be content to feed his vanity? To give him the lifelong reflection that, for love of him, a woman excelled by few in qualities of brain and heart had died like a rat?

She walked about the rooms, here and there, upstairs and downstairs, in a fever of unrest. After all, was he not behaving in the very way she ought to desire? Was he not helping her to hate him? He struck at her with unmanly blows, thinking, no doubt, to quell her pride, and bring her to him in prostrate humility. Never! Even if it were proved in the clearest way that she ought to have believed him she would make no submission. If he loved her he must woo once more.

But the suggestion in Mary's letter was not fruitless. When she had thought over it for a day or two she wrote to Virginia Madden, asking her as a favour to come to Queen's Road on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Virginia quickly replied with a promise to call, and punctually kept the engagement. Though she was much better dressed than in the days previous to Monica's marriage, she had lost something for which costume could not compensate: her face had no longer that unmistakable refinement which had been wont to make her attire a secondary consideration. A disagreeable redness tinged her eyelids and the lower part of her nose; her mouth was growing coa.r.s.e and lax, the under-lip hanging a little; she smiled with a shrinking, apologetic shyness only seen in people who have done something to be ashamed of--smiled even when she was endeavouring to look sorrowful; and her glance was furtive. She sat down on the edge of a chair, like an anxious applicant for work or charity, and a moistness of the eyes, which obliged her to use her handkerchief frequently, strengthened this resemblance.

Rhoda could not play at smooth phrases with this poor, dispirited woman, whose change during the last few years, and especially during the last twelve months, had often occupied her thoughts in a very unpleasant way. She came almost at once to the subject of their interview.

'Why have you not been to see me before this?'

'I--really couldn't. The circ.u.mstances--everything is so very painful.

You know--of course you know what has happened?'

'Of course I do.'

'How,' asked Virginia timidly, 'did the news first of all reach you?'

'Mr. Widdowson came here and told Miss Barfoot everything.'

'He came? We didn't know that. Then you have heard the accusation he makes?'

'Everything.'

'It is quite unfounded, I do a.s.sure you. Monica is not guilty. The poor child has done nothing--it was an indiscretion--nothing more than indiscretion--'

'I am very anxious to believe it. Can you give me certainty? Can you explain Monica's behaviour--not only on that one occasion, but the deceit she practised at other times? Her husband told Miss Barfoot that she had frequently told him untruths--such as saying that she called here when she certainly did not.'

'I can't explain that,' lamented Virginia. 'Monica won't tell me why she concealed her movements.'

'Then how can you ask me to believe your a.s.surance that she isn't guilty?'

The sternness of this question caused Virginia to redden and become utterly disconcerted. She dropped her handkerchief, fumbled for it, breathed hard.

'Oh, Miss Nunn! How can you think Monica--? You know her better; I'm sure you do!'

'Any human being may commit a crime,' said the other impatiently, exasperated by what seemed to be merely new evidence against Barfoot.

'Who knows any one well enough to say that a charge _must_ be unfounded?'

Miss Madden began to sob.

'I'm afraid that is true. But my sister--my dear sister--'

'I didn't want to distress you. Do command yourself, and let us talk about it calmly.'

'Yes--I will--I shall be so glad to talk about it with you. Oh, if I could persuade her to return to her husband! He is willing to receive her. I meet him very often on Clapham Common, and--We are living at his expense. When Monica had been with me in my old lodgings for about a week he took these new rooms for us, and Monica consented to remove.

But she won't hear of going back to live with him. He has offered to let us have the house to ourselves, but it's no use. He writes to her, but she won't reply. Do you know that he has taken a house at Clevedon--a beautiful house? They were to go to it in a week or two, and Alice and I would have gone to share it with them--then this dreadful thing happened. And Mr. Widdowson doesn't even insist on her telling him what she keeps secret. He is willing to take her back under any circ.u.mstances. And she is so ill--'

Virginia broke off, as if there were something more that she did not venture to impart. Her cheeks coloured, and she looked distressfully about the room.

'Seriously ill, do you mean?' inquired Rhoda, with difficulty softening her voice.

'She gets up each day, but I'm often afraid that--She has had fainting fits--'

Rhoda gazed at the speaker with pitiless scrutiny.

'What can have caused this? Is it the result of her being falsely accused?'

'Partly that. But--'