Edwardian Candlelight Omnibus (72 page)

“What on earth happened?”

“He fell overboard just before the ship docked at Singapore. There’s been a hell of a stink at the inquest. It seems Cyril was entertaining some very handsome purser to drinks in his cabin when they were interrupted by a Miss Cecilia Wendover, who made a hysterical scene. She says she was engaged to Cyril on board ship! She demanded that Cyril come up to the boat deck for a private chat. No one saw the couple after that, but the next thing they knew was that Miss Wendover was running about screaming hysterically and saying that Cyril had fallen overboard. The purser claims she pushed Cyril. But the jury brought a verdict of accidental death. Well!”

“Oh, dear,” cried Tilly, her eyes filling with tears. All the horror of that evening on the swing rushed back into her mind.

“Don’t worry,” said her husband gently. “There will be no more shocks in your life, Tilly. I don’t care if Cyril jumped or was pushed. I’m heartily glad he’s dead. He’s been on my conscience. People who try to kill once may succeed the next time. I had long regretted not having taken him to the police. Don’t get so exercised over it, you’ll upset the baby,” he finished, for Tilly had let out a scream.

“It’s not Cyril,” said Tilly wildly. “Look who’s coming along the road. Only
look!
”

The marquess followed her pointing finger. At first he only saw what appeared to be an English gentleman with a very pretty Frenchwoman on his arm—a not uncommon sight on the boulevards of Paris. Then he too straightened up in amazement as he recognized the couple.

Toby Bassett, with Francine on his arm, came strolling along in a leisurely way in the pale sunlight. Francine was wearing a very modish gown in the latest fashion—a tailored suit by George Poirot in muted green with an otter collar. Over her arm she carried a large otter muff and perched on her glossy curls was a diminutive otter hat. Toby looked the picture of the English gentleman from his well-tailored suit to his glossy top hat.

The couple caught sight of the marquess and Tilly. Toby strode forward, pulling a blushing and embarrassed Francine.

“I say,” he cried, waving his cane, “this is splendid. All together again. Meet the wife.”

A series of images flashed through Tilly’s brain: Francine’s print dress fluttering in the breeze as Toby drove her off from the vicarage; Francine asking to be allowed to wear a dress of a different color; Francine transformed and elegant while Toby drank lemonade by the window in the drawing room and the aunts stared; Toby holding her in his arms as she, Tilly, had stood at the side of the road, frightened by the tramp and wondering why Toby smelled of her perfume. Francine used the same fragrance, she suddenly remembered.

“You’re married?” asked Tilly faintly as the couple sat down beside them. Tilly had never quite got over her disappointment on finding out that the pretty Emily was unwed and that the mysterious Mr. Bassett had disappeared.

“What’s that?” countered Toby vaguely, his eyes losing their focus. He was back in his old state of not quite drunk, not quite sober. Tilly flashed an accusing look at Francine, who got to her feet again.

“We will walk a little way together, Lady Tilly,” said Francine, “and leave the gentlemen to their newspapers.”

Tilly mutely allowed herself to be led away. Francine stopped at a bench under a plane tree and motioned Tilly to sit down beside her.

“You are shocked,
non?
” demanded Francine.

“I am a bit,” said Tilly. “You might have told me.”

“You might not have approved, and my lord would certainly have not. And, oh, those aunts!
They
would have had something to say. I had a chance and I took it,” said Francine simply. “He was so eager. We were married by special license by your good vicar.”

“But Emily—”

“Emily made a very pretty bridesmaid,” said Francine.

“Do you love him?” asked Tilly wonderingly.

“No, not in the way you love your lord.”

“But he is
drunk
again,” protested Tilly hotly. “If he loved someone, he might reform.”

“I said I do not love him, but he certainly loves me,” said Francine calmly. “And that one will never reform. For my sake, he only gets drunk once a day and that is as much as I can hope for. We will soon go home and he will sleep, and he will be recovered by the evening.”

“But why did you marry him? I don’t understand,” wailed Tilly.

“Why? You ask me, Francine, why? And after you have worked as a kind of servant yourself,” exclaimed Francine. “I am French and infinitely practical. A handsome young man offers me marriage and security. In return, he gets an affectionate keeper. I am a very good wife.”

But Tilly only bit her lip. When they returned to join the two men, she still felt upset. Francine was surely no more than a scheming adventuress.

She voiced this disturbing thought when she was safely back in the apartment with her husband. “I think it’s answered very well,” he said, removing his tie and loosening his collar stud. “Toby’s as happy as he can manage to be because Francine does not expect him to change. People don’t change, you know. If Toby had married Emily, she would have been a very upset young lady by now. Can you imagine? Her husband falling drunk out of the family pew on Sundays?”

“You say people don’t change,” said Tilly sadly. “Does that mean you are going to go back to chasing other women?”

He came forward and began to loosen the pins from her hair. “I couldn’t go chasing
other
women,” he said, “before I met you, that is. I only chased after women. Now I’m perfectly happy to confine my chasing to you.” He reached for the buttons at the top of her dress.

“What are you doing?” cried Tilly, trying to button them up again. “It’s still daylight!”

“Have you never heard of love in the afternoon?”

“It doesn’t seem quite right.”

“What if I do this… and… this… and this.”

“I can’t stop you when you do that to me,” moaned Lady Tilly as she was carried into the bedroom. “Oh, rats! You are a beast, Philip!”