Choose the One You'll Marry (20 page)

“I’m not—deliberately. I can’t help it if he likes me. I can’t help it if he’s friendly toward me. It’s ridiculous and—and immoral that you should try to hold that over me as though it’s a crime.” And Ruth’s voice shook with indignation and emotion.

“
You undertook to choke him off,” Charmian said stonily.
“
How much have you done toward that this afternoon, I’d like to know?”

Ruth was silent.

“How much, incidentally, are you going to do toward that this evening?”

“Oh—” Ruth clapped her hand to her lips, as she recalled her happy arrangement with Michael.

“You see?” The other girl was watching her. “What have you planned for this evening?”

“N-nothing,” lied Ruth desperately.

“You’re not going out with him?” Charmian narrowed her eyes skeptically.

“No.” Panic-stricken, Ruth made the immediate decision that she must somehow get out of her engagement with Michael.

“Funny. I thought I heard—”

“He wanted me to go. But—I’m not going,” Ruth explained hastily. “I’m going to put him off.”

There was a long moment’s silence. Then Charmian said, almost genially, “Well, now, that’s a very wise decision, I’d say.”

Ruth hated her in that moment. But she hated herself almost equally for what she felt was cowardly capitulation. All the same, she had to glean what advantage she could from the miserable situation, and in a husky, almost sulky voice she said, “If—if I undertake to do that, will you undertake to—to hold your hand?”

“I’ll see,” Charmian retorted carelessly. “I’ll see what the result is.”

And on that she drifted away, leaving Ruth in a state of rage and despair impossible to describe. She could not even run after Charmian and catch her by the arm and insist on a definite reply. She had to remain in the office, courteously at the service of any client who might choose to come along with a problem, even on this quiet afternoon.

What can I say to Michael,
she thought despairingly.
How can I possibly explain that, after all, I’m not going out with him this evening
?
Any explanation will sound so thin—so ungracious—after my eager acceptance.
I
ought never to have accepted, of course. But
—
oh, how could I have refused?

Mr. Naylor came into the office at this moment and said how pleasant it was to see all Ruth’s television friends back again, and that it must have brightened a dull afternoon for her.

Ruth, who had never felt less bright in her life, said, “Yes, indeed,” and somehow managed to conceal the fact that she wished most of “her television friends” at the ends of the earth. Then she went through some of the account books with Mr. Naylor, and tried not to sound as though the affairs of the Excelsior had ceased to interest her, and as though the only thing that mattered at the moment were her personal affairs.

But even the longest day comes to an end, and at last it was time for Ruth to go. She had decided by now that it was useless for her to try to see Michael and make her explanations. She was afraid she would be quite unable to hide her disappointment and distress. The only thing was for her to go home and telephone from there.

Inevitably, this would make her cancellation about as ungraciously late as possible, but there was nothing else she co
u
ld do about it.

Having just missed a bus by five seconds, Ruth half ran all the way home, and arrived panting and exhausted, to be met in the hall by Susannah, who began one of her involved and boring school sagas with, “You’ll never believe what happened in history lesson today. Miss Forbes—”

“I can’t wait to hear now,” Ruth cut in impatiently.

“But it’s terribly int
e
resting.”

“Of course it isn’t! Miss Forbes can go and drown herself in the flood, for all I care,” retorted Ruth, beside herself with irritation.

She felt ashamed, when she saw the way Susannah’s mouth fell open, but there was nothing she could do about it at the moment. She simply had no patience or breath or ingenuity left for anything but the necessary explanations
t
o Michael. And leaving an obviously chilled and offended
Susannah to find a more appreciative audience, she ran upstairs to her parents’ bedroom, where there was a telephone extension that promised more privacy than the general telephone in the hall.

Trying to disguise her voice, so that the operator at the Excelsior would not start thinking things, Ruth asked to be put through to Mr. Harling. And she was not sure if she were relieved or dismayed when she heard his voice reply. “Oh, Michael—it’s Ruth—”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I’m so terribly sorry. But
I
—I’m not going to be able to manage this evening, after all.”

“Not at all? Not any part of it?” He sounded indescribably disappointed and dismayed.

“No—I’m afraid not. You see—” for the first time in her life, and in absolute desperation, she embarked upon a perfect tissue of fibs “—when I got home, I found that some very old friends of the family had arrived. I—I can’t very well leave them. They came especially. They—”

“But couldn’t you let them have part of the evening and keep the rest for me? You could stay home for dinner perhaps, and let me pick you up around half-past eight or nine.”

“No. I’m afraid I really couldn’t
.”

“But, Ruth, I very specially want to speak to you tonight.”

“I’m sorry. I—I can’t manage it.”

There was a chilled silence. Then he said—with an effort, she thought
—
“Well, then, keep tomorrow evening for me.”

Ruth’s hopes bounded up, only to fall again with a crash, as she recalled Charmian’s cold glance.

“I’m afraid I can’t manage tomorrow, either. It’s—it’s been booked for some time.”

There was another pause. Then he said dryly, “Am I right in thinking that you don’t especially want to make time for me?”

“Oh, no, Michael! I—” She stopped.

“Is it perhaps,” he went on quietly, “that you guess what it is I want to say to you, and you’re trying to forestall me?”

“Not—entirely.
”

“Well, either it is or it isn’t,” he pointed out.

“No. Please don’t read more into this than the—the simple fact that
I
can’t come out with you tonight or—or tomorrow,” she said desperately.

“Very well. Maybe we can talk things over another time,” his voice replied coolly. And then suddenly she realized that he had replaced the receiver at his end without even saying goodbye to her.

For half a minute Ruth sat there, staring at the receiver in her hand, hardly able to believe that this was the instrument with which she had virtually severed all tender, affectionate connection with Michael. Then slowly she replaced it and—not daring to start crying, for fear she would not be able to stop—she went to her room, took off her hat and coat, smoothed her hair and went downstairs.

Here she found Susannah, looking very aloof and dignified.

“I’m sorry, darling.” Ruth ruffled her hair kindly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you just now, but I was in a fearful hurry to telephone, and couldn’t stay to talk.”

“That wasn’t a reason for saying you wished Miss Forbes had been drowned,” Susannah pointed out, only half-mollified.

“Did I say that? I didn’t mean it. I’m sure Miss Forbes is very nice.”

“She isn’t, as a matter of fact. She’s a perfect stinker,” Susannah explained, in a much more friendly tone. “That was just the point.” And, her good humor now completely restored, she proceeded to elaborate the point, while Ruth smiled and appeared to be interested, and thought miserably about Michael.

It was a dreadfully trying evening after that. Like most outwardly casual but deeply devoted families, the Tadcasters were sensitive to any unusual moods in each other, and Ruth was well aware that her mother at least knew that she was upset about something.

This made dinner a slightly constrained meal. And things were not improved when Leonard came in later and remarked, “I see your friend Michael Harling is back here, Ruth.”

“Why—yes. How did you know?” She tried to keep her voice casual, but she knew her mother glanced at her.

“
I
passed him on the coast road,” Leonard explained carelessly. “He had a gorgeous-looking redhead with him. Would that be Charmian Deal?”

Ruth said coldly that it might be, and wished herself dead.

Then she muttered something about washing some stockings and gloves, and slipped away upstairs to her own room. Here she stood by the window, staring out at the garden, trying to decide whether she should have a good cry and get it over, or be brave and continue to swallow an aching lump in her throat and blink back burning tears.

She was still wretchedly undecided when Susannah banged cheerfully on the door and shouted, “You’re wanted on the phone.”

Although she knew that in no circumstances whatever was Michael likely to telephone her again that evening, Ruth snatched open the door and eagerly ran downstairs to the telephone.

“Yes?” Her voice trembled with eagerness. “This is Ruth speaking.”

To her astonishment, it was Aunt Henrietta’s voice that replied, “Hello, my dear. I’ve only just got in by the late train. Michael appears to be out for the evening, so I thought I would have a word with you.”

“B-but—where are you?”

“At the hotel, of course. At the Excelsior.”

“But I didn’t think you were coming for two or three days.”

“I didn’t think, so either,” said Aunt Henrietta, in the tone of someone who allowed herself the indulgence of changing her mind at will. “
I
stayed behind to do some shopping. But it seems that I was wrong about the dates of a dress show I meant to attend. It doesn’t come on until the end of next week. So I thought I would come north, after all, and return to London sometime next week.”

“I—see. Well, it’s
very
nice to have you here,” Ruth said sincerely. “I mean—” Suddenly she remembered Charmian, and the threats she had made. It was true that going out with Michael that evening might have appeased her, but the threats had never been withdrawn, and it seemed to Ruth, in that moment, that Aunt Henrietta stood in deadly danger, without even the advantage of being prepared for any crisis she might have to deal with.

“What is it, dear?” A slight note of surprise was discernible in Aunt Henrietta’s tone.

“I was thinking—there’s something you should know. At least—” Ruth ran an agitated hand over her hair without even knowing that she did so. “Aunt Henrietta, can I come along and see you, please?”

“Now, do you mean? It’s rather late.”

“Yes, I know. But—tomorrow might be
too
late.”

“Ruth, what do you mean?”

“It’s difficult—I can’t explain on the phone. But please can I come?”

“Well, of course, child. Come straight up to my room. It’s the same room as before.”

“Thank you. I won’t be long.”

Hastily Ruth replaced the receiver, ran up to her room and snatched a coat and scarf from her wardrobe. Downstairs once more, she looked into the dining room and said as casually as she could, “I’m going over to the hotel, mother. I won’t be very long.”

“To the hotel, dear? Whatever do they want you for at this time of night?”

“Oh, it isn’t work. It’s—a visit. I’m going to see Aunt Henrietta. She’s just—arrived from London, and I have to talk to her about something.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Tadcaster.

But she didn’t see at all. ' And she looked very thoughtfully after her eldest child, as Ruth whisked out of the room again, slammed the front door behind her and ran down the path to the front gate just in time to leap on a bus that was going to the Excelsior.

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
he mellow-toned clock
in the foyer of the Excelsior was just striking ten as Ruth entered the hotel. There were few people around, but it did occur to her that, if Michael and Charmian chose to return at this moment, the situation would be delicate in the extreme.

Urged on by the thought of such a possibility, therefore, she only waved briefly to her nighttime colleague in the reception office, and ran up the stairs without waiting for the elevator.

The moment she tapped on Aunt Henrietta’s door, a voice bade her enter. And although the welcome she received was kindly, there was a slight air of strain around the older woman as she made Ruth sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs and said, “Now—tell me what is wrong. There was such an—an odd note in your voice on the telephone. You made me feel quite—nervous, Ruth.”

“I’m sorry! I don’t think there’s any need—I
hope
there isn’t any need. But there’s something you ought to be told, just in case—in case there’s trouble.”

“Well?”

“You know Charmian Deal—”

Ruth, who had only just gathered her scattered thoughts together on the short bus journey, plunged straight into the center of the trouble.

“Yes, indeed! Don’t tell me Michael has got engaged to that young woman!”

“Oh, no!” cried Ruth, though she turned quite pale as she reflected that even the wisest of men have been known to do the silliest things when deeply hurt or angry. “No, I don’t think there’s anything of that sort. Unless—” she winced “—it happened this evening.”

“Is he out with her, then?”

“Yes,” Ruth said unhappily, and Aunt Henrietta glanced at her shrewdly. “But that isn’t what I wanted to tell you. It’s something that concerns you more personally. Aunt Henrietta, she—she knows something about you. About your—situation.”

“Charmian Deal does?” Aunt Henrietta looked both angry and scared. “But how could she?”

“It was something that Angus said—some time ago—before I knew the real situation myself. I—I hoped she would have forgotten. But she hasn’t. And for some reason or other—” one could not quite explain all the facts to Aunt Henrietta “—she seems inclined to—turn nasty.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Aunt Henrietta’s voice had a slight edge to it. “Explain more clearly.”

So, very carefully—and trying not to make it sound too disparaging—Ruth explained Angus’s reference to Michael, which he had followed by saying, “He’s no more your cousin than Aunt Henrietta is the person she’s pretending to be.”

“I stopped that line of talk as quickly as I could, of course,” Ruth said, “but Charmian had overheard. And later, it seems, she referred to it, when she was with Angus, and he told her about his certainty that he had seen you in England when you were supposed to be in Australia or New Zealand.”

“He told her?”

“It was before
I
knew all the facts,” Ruth explained unhappily, “and before I had impressed upon him that what little mystery there was about you was not to be discussed.”

“I don’t know why she should be interested,” Aunt Henrietta exclaimed bitterly.

“I don’t know, either. Except that you’re connected with Michael.”

Aunt Henrietta’s fine eyes narrowed.

“She’s very determined to have Michael, isn’t she?”

“I—I think she has designs on him,” Ruth agreed moderately.

“Well, go on.”

“At a later stage, as you’ll remember, I persuaded Angus to regard the whole thing as greatly exaggerated, and as something that need never be referred to again.
I
also tried to persuade him to convince Charmian of that, too. But I’m afraid he—he can’t have done so.”

“
Why, Ruth? What has prompted you to this—this sudden outburst of anxiety?”

Ruth passed the tip of her tongue over her lips, for now she was nearing the most delicate part of her explanations.

“
She—spoke to me in a very unfriendly way this afternoon—”

“Why?” interrupted Aunt Henrietta abruptly.

“Why?” Ruth looked somewhat taken aback. “Well, she’s—like that, you know. She was annoyed—”

“About what, Ruth?”

Ruth swallowed.

“She chose to think that Michael was too friendly toward me, and accused me—”

“What utter impertinence!” The violence of that did something toward warming Ruth’s chilled heart.

“It was rather.” She smiled slightly.

“I wonder you didn’t tell her to mind her own business.”

“I did—more or less. And that was when she turned nasty.”

“You mean she brought me into the conversation?”

“Yes.” Ruth wished she could think of a way to enlarge on that without giving away too much to Aunt Henrietta.

“Do you mean—she made threats? Do be more explicit, child.” Aunt Henrietta sounded faintly irritated. “First you seem eager to pour out everything, and now you suddenly don’t seem to want to say anything useful.”

“I’m sorry.” Ruth hastily rearranged her plan of action. “It’s a bit embarrassing. You see, she has decided that Michael is very much attracted to me—”

“Well, so he is, of course.” Aunt Henrietta sounded so convinced of that that Ruth had difficulty in not embracing her and imploring her to enlarge upon the enchanting subject.

“Oh, do you think so, Aunt Henrietta?”

“Of course.” The older woman looked slightly amused. “Don’t you know that for yourself? I thought girls always knew these things.”

“I did—wonder,” murmured Ruth.

“Well, you can take that as fact,” Aunt Henrietta told her, with a certain amount of impatience. “Now let’s go on from there. Charmian knows that Michael is attracted to you, and so—what?”

“She wants me to—keep off the grass, so far as she is concerned.”

“Her expression or yours?” inquired Aunt Henrietta, with genuine interest.

“Hers. But her meaning was quite clear. She tried to make me promise not to—to go out with him, or be friendly with him in any way.”

“I never heard such nonsense! I hope you told her exactly where she got off,” exclaimed Aunt Henrietta, apparently feeling that only Charmian’s phraseology could aptly deal with Charmian’s behavior.

“Unfortunately I couldn’t. It was at that point that she began to threaten.” It was no good delaying the ugly disclosure any longer. “Quite simply, Aunt Henrietta, she told me to leave Michael alone, or she would make trouble by telling him what she knows about you.”

There was a short, pregnant silence, and Ruth saw the light and some of the color fade from Aunt Henrietta’s face.

“But that’s blackmail,” said the older woman at last, in a slightly husky voice.

“I suppose it is.”

“And—one should never yield to blackmail.”

“She has a very potent weapon, Aunt Henrietta.”

Aunt Henrietta moistened her lips nervously.

“Did all this happen this afternoon?” she inquired presently, and Ruth saw that she was looking back over the immediate past with an anxious eye for any earlier signs of trouble.

“Not—really, no.” Ruth spoke reluctantly. “She made the first threats when I was still in London.”

“And you—gave way, Ruth? You mean you came to some sort of terms?” Aunt Henrietta sounded half impressed, half shocked.

“I had to,” Ruth said briefly.

“But, my dear—what did you agree to?”

“What I told you,” Ruth exclaimed, with more pain in her voice than she knew. “I undertook not to—to be particularly friendly with Michael in any way.”

There was a long silence while Aunt Henrietta looked at Ruth and Ruth looked at the ground. Then the older woman got up and, coming across the room, put her hand lightly on Ruth’s hair.

“My dear, dear child,” she said wonderingly, “were you really willing to do that for me? I—can’t believe it. I can’t—imagine that anyone could—care enough about me to do such a thing.”

“Oh, Aunt Henrietta—” Ruth turned and hugged her “—don’t be absurd! Of course I care about you. You don’t suppose I was going to abandon you to the mercies of that cold-eyed harpy, do you?”

“But—such an overwhelming sort of sacrifice!”

“Not—really,” Ruth began uncomfortably. “I mean—”

“No, don’t say it didn’t mean much to you, because that just isn’t true. You’re very much in love with Michael, aren’t you?”

Ruth gasped slightly, for the cool frankness of that seemed to strip all pretense from the situation. She had thought, until that moment, she could keep Aunt Henrietta from knowing just how much had been sacrificed on her behalf. But now, with no possibility of prevarication, it was she who looked up wonderingly arid said, “How did you know?”

Aunt Henrietta laughed slightly.

“For one thing, I don’t know how anyone could know him well and
not
love him,” she said, with simple prejudice. “And for another, you’ve given yourself away half a dozen times in the last half hour, while you told your story.”

“Have
I?”

“Yes, of course. But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is the fact that no one should ever, ever sacrifice the one person who matters to the interests of someone else.”

“It—it didn’t seem quite so clear-cut as that,” Ruth said doubtfully. “I mean—I kept on hoping that, by prevaricating, I might somehow keep Charmian from
making any disclosures until—until the situation had improved in some way.”

“In what way?” inquired Aunt Henrietta with ruthless exactness.

“I’m n
ot quite sure. I suppose I vaguely hoped for a miracle. That Charmian might suddenly be attracted by someone else or—or—or anything! I just knew I couldn’t let her start making trouble. I never visualized myself entirely losing Michael over it—until tonight. If I had
—
perhaps I would have acted differently.”

“I should hope so!” Aunt Henrietta spoke with energy. “Well, at least you took a grave risk, my dear and silly child, and I’m touched beyond measure that you should be willing to make yourself so unhappy on my behalf. But of course there’s no question of this continuing.”

“No question? What do you mean, Aunt Henrietta?”

“I’m not having you regulate your behavior toward Michael by what Miss Charmian decides you may do or not do. In future, you will be your natural, affectionate self with Michael, and forget that Charmian and her threats exist.”

“But, Aunt Henrietta—”

“I insist,” the older woman said calmly. “I’m not even arguing the point, Ruth. I never heard of anything so impertinent and ridiculous in my life. This Deal girl must be made to understand, once and for all, that she has neither the right nor the power to influence your life.”

“But,” Ruth pointed out timidly, “in a way, she
has
the power.”

“Not if you choose to ignore her threats.”

Ruth looked doubtful.

“She’s perfectly capable of carrying them out, you know. I feel bound to—to point that out.”

“That’s immaterial,” said Aunt Henrietta almost coldly, and for a moment she seemed clothed in dignity, and a sort of contemptuous pride that made nonsense of Charmian and her petty little schemes.

“Oh, Aunt Henrietta!” Ruth was deeply impressed. “It’s wonderful of you to say that. But—you dreaded the very idea of Michael finding out the truth about you.”

“Of course. And I was prepared to go to almost any
lengths to see that he didn’t find out. But only in so far as it affected me. I’ve no intention whatever, child, of letting you sacrifice your happiness in this way.”

“
But what will you
do
if she tells Michael?”

“
Deal with the situation when it arises,” replied Aunt Henrietta calmly. “Now you run along home, or your mother will think I’m keeping you out too late. Don’t shed any more tears over Michael and don’t allow yourself to be frightened by Charmian. Tomorrow everything will look different.”

“Will it—really?” Ruth looked like a child who had been assured that the fairy would wave her wand and make all well.

“I promise you.” The older woman smiled.

“I wish you’d tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do until the moment comes,” Aunt Henrietta said dryly, but she smiled.

“You won’t just—throw away all the happiness you’ve achieved in the last two years, will you?” Ruth urged anxiously.

“I never throw away anything,” Aunt Henrietta assured her. “But I always try to preserve a correct sense of values between opposing interests. Now good night, my dear, kind child. And—thank you, Ruth.”

“Oh, thank
you,
Aunt Henrietta!” Ruth flung her arms around the older woman and embraced her, with an indescribably lightened heart. She still could not quite see how everything was to come out all right, but she felt a sort of warm confidence in the assurances that had been made.

Even so, she was glad not to have to put the issue to the test by encountering Michael and Charmian yet, and she thankfully slipped out of the hotel again, unobserved by anyone but the girl at the reception desk, and walked home, feeling too excited and elated to stand around waiting for a bus.

At home no one inquired very searchingly about her unexpected visit to the hotel. Only her mother looked at her thoughtfully and asked, “Did you and Aunt Henrietta settle whatever was worrying you?”