The Oyster Part 44

"Money to spend upon herself, upon frocks and furs and entertainment.

Den, she must not come to the house again. And this exonerates you from sending her gifts of money."

Sick fear jumped to life again. If there was any difficulty with Esme's allowance the whole story might come out; she might still be ruined, disgraced.

But reflection brought comfort; there would be heaps of ways of managing the money.

Denise put her arms round Cyril's neck and pleaded for silence for her friend; let the stigma of thief fall on another woman, and wondered why she had found so easy a way out.

"I don't blame you, Den--don't cry." He held his wife closely. "But don't lie to me, girl! Don't! even to save other people. I must have truth. Must--and--will. The past's past; the future's mine, Denise, remember that."

He held her away a little, so that he could see her face. "You took some money out to send this wretched woman to-day. Don't send it now.

How much was it?"

"It was not all for her, Cyril; she wanted--fifty," stammered Denise.

"I got a lot--I was thinking of buying those ponies and the little trap for the boys as a surprise. You know, Edwardes' pair."

It was a good lie this time; he had no suspicion.

"Well, put your money back," he said kindly. "I'll get that. I'll put it in for you to-morrow ... send it for you."

Denise Blakeney did not sleep that night; and next day, driving into the town, she lost a valuable ring; it was loose, must have slipped off in her glove.

Esme, opening the parcel, read a letter which surprised her.

"You were mad to write, Esme, mad! All kinds of things have happened, and I cannot tell you. Take these stones out to sell them. I've said I lost the ring. And don't go to Benhusan's."

Sir Cyril, before he promised silence to his wife, had talked too openly to Amos Benhusan; said more than he had perhaps intended to.

Mr Benhusan had not promised silence; he talked a little, discreetly, but he talked.

Esme bought her Paris frocks; paid something to Claire. Denise had sent her something valuable; but when the Blakeneys came to London, and she called, the "Not at home" was unmistakable.

"When would her ladyship be in?"

"Could not say, madam."

The door respectfully pushed to. Sir Cyril, meeting her, pa.s.sed her with a cold bow.

Esme rang up furiously. What was it? She must know.

"Not here. I can't talk here." Denise's voice was hurried and strained.

"Meet me at the club to-morrow--at eleven."

Esme kept her appointment punctually.

"Down here, Esme--down in this lounge." Denise hurried to a dim corner, poured out a badly-jointed tale.

It was the letter. Cyril had caught sight of some of it, been furious; Esme must keep away. It was the only plan. "And never come near the boy, never," wailed Denise, "never. After all, you never wanted him.

You mustn't come to the Square. Cyril would suspect."

A pa.s.sion of anger rent Esme. Not to see the little son she had sold.

Not to spend the half-hours which sent her away yearning and wistful.

Not to bring sweets to the unloved child; to try to be his friend.

"Then, if you're not good to him," she stormed out, "by Heaven, Denise!

I'll have him back. And for money, I must have my payment, but the boy comes first. Be good to him."

A sneer from Lady Blakeney. It was a little late to prate of mother-love, to a.s.sume virtue. Esme had hated the idea of the baby coming. It was rubbish to suppose that anyone so hard-hearted could want to bother now. "I wouldn't have sold my child," sneered Denise.

"No real woman would. Let cant alone, Es."

A pretty quarrel between two well-bred women who, with primitive instinct itching their fingernails, flashed out sharp truth and sharper innuendo.

A couple of women pa.s.sing in saw the two.

"Hullo! I think that Esme and Denise are disagreeing." Lady Mary Ploddy peered down the corridor. "They're flaming at each other. Look, Sukey."

Lady Sukey, her sister, looked; she even listened. "Quite interestin',"

she drawled languidly. "Quite!"

When Esme, flushed and furious, had gone out of the club, she flung back a last threat which left Denise raw with fear and anger, so irritated that her words were not quite under her control. She forgot caution, only wanted to hurt.

"Denise, you've been fighting with your Esme," said Mary Ploddy.

"I was telling her I could not go on being friends and she resented it," said Denise, unsteadily.

"Couldn't? Why?" It was ill-fortune for Esme that Denise should meet two women who loved a scandal dearly.

"Oh, never mind why. Cyril has forbidden me to. It's something I could not tell; nothing to do with morals."

"Money then?" Lady Mary's eyes were glowing with curiosity. "Only money and morals nowadays in the sin catalogue."

"Oh, never mind--she's impossible," snapped Denise, and, fl.u.s.tered, shaken, went out.

"It's something bad. Scratch the Carteret woman's name off the list of your Bridge Tournament, Sukey. I'll drop a hint to the Rollestones, too, for their dinner and dance."

So a whisper grew. Esme, going to a big reception that night, caught one or two frigid bows from women who had smiled the day before.

The rooms were crowded, full of notabilities. The reception was in honour of a French diplomatist and his wife; the tripping tongue was as much used in the rooms as English.

"There is one lady whom I wish to see." Dr Legrand looked at the brilliant crowd. "Milady Blakeney."

"So, Monsieur. She is close to us--pa.s.sing downstairs. There--in grey-blue--with the diamond stars."

"But, non, that is a dark lady." The doctor stared, puzzled.

"My nephew attended milady in Italy; but she is fair."

"No, Monsieur; she was always dark. He's muddled her with Esme Carteret, who was with her. She is brilliantly fair. She might--yes--there she is, just going out."