The Other Cathy (17 page)

‘Would that help you remember?’

She stared at the gold coin, decided that he was generous,
and wheedled, ‘Why don’t you come home with me, love, and
forget about her? You won’t regret it, that’s a promise.’

Matthew felt for another coin, and placed the two side by
side on the bar, touching them separately with his forefinger.
‘That one for her name, and that one for telling me where I
can find her.’

Quickly she scooped the coins up before he could change his mind.

‘Oh, all right then! It was Maysie Clugg ... over there.’ She jerked her head at a girl sitting by herself only a few
feet away from them, and gave Matthew a cheeky grin at
having squeezed money out of him so easily. ‘Now that you’ve seen her you can still change your mind, and I’ll knock this two
pound off. That’s fair, ain’t it?’

‘Sorry, no. But I’m obliged to you for your help.’
He paid for the drinks at the bar, signalled a waiter and
chose a small table tucked away in an alcove, half hidden by the arching fronds of a potted palm.
‘The lady dressed in blue,’ he said, indicating her with a
nod. ‘Be so good as to say that I’d appreciate the pleasure of her company.’

She came across at once. She was quite beautiful, he
thought. Her low décolletage revealed a smooth supple skin;
and her hair, falling in gleaming ringlets at the back of a
long slender neck, was the colour of beech leaves in October.
Randolph Hardaker’s choice ... young and innocent-looking,
a vision of loveliness.

‘Bruno said you asked for me.’ Her voice, too, was not yet hard; not yet calculating.

Matthew was on his feet, drawing out a chair for her. She
accepted it gracefully, as though gallantry was her due.

‘I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t object.’ A look of alarm leapt into her fine brown eyes, and he added quickly, ‘I intend no harm, I assure you. And I’m willing to pay for information.’

‘What is it you want to know?’

‘The man you were with last night – will you tell me when you met him, and when he left you?’

‘Are you a jack?’ she demanded suspiciously, the look of
innocence quite gone now.

‘No, not the police, nothing like that. It’s purely for myself I want to know. You won’t get into any trouble.’

‘How much is it worth to you?’

‘A finny.’ Matthew knew five pounds was about right. He
mustn’t overdo it and frighten her off. ‘If I’m satisfied you’re telling me the truth,’ he added warningly.

She hesitated, very tempted. ‘He won’t find out?’

‘Never, on my word of honour!’

She lifted her slender shoulders in a shrug. ‘What’s it
matter, anyway? The gent picked me up in here about nine-
thirty. He bought me supper, and then we went on to Georgie’s
place. After that—’ she paused and sipped her port wine,
‘—after that we went home, where else?’

‘And what time did he leave you?’

‘Hard to say! No, wait a bit, he had to catch the early
train at five-fifteen in the morning. A toff, he was, not tight-fisted. I hope he don’t get into any trouble through this.’

‘On the contrary,’ Matthew replied. ‘What you’ve just told me has got him
out
of trouble.’

When he left the place she accompanied him, clinging to his arm. With a saucy grin, she explained, “They’d get the
wrong idea, else, and that wouldn’t do my reputation no
good! You sure you don’t want to come home with me?
You’ve paid enough.’

‘No, I haven’t time.’

‘Pity!’

He left her at the corner of the street, then stopped to make
a small purchase, and caught the next train back to Bythorpe.

* * *

A few minutes after Matthew had entered the Cafe Regal, two young men had come in together to dine. As they sat down
Dr Bernard Mottram glanced around with raised eyebrows.

‘So this is the sort of place you frequent! Really, Freddie, I’m surprised at you.’

Frederick Waterton, his friend from medical school and a
pleasant-looking young man, like Bernard himself, grinned
amiably.

‘Time was, I seem to recall, when you were not so puri
tanical ! But I’ll have you know that I come here for the food. Believe it or not, it’s the best to be had in town. And the
naughty ladies can always be ogled from a distance, without
danger of entanglement.’

‘So I should hope, considering you’re within an inch of becoming engaged to be married!’

Looking up from the menu, Freddie asked, ‘And how does
your own
affaire de coeur
progress?’

‘Alas, it doesn’t progress! Unlike you, my well-breeched friend, I have to make my way in the world before I can think of marriage.’

The waiter came and they ordered grilled sole and a bottle
of hock, with roast ribs of beef to follow.

‘Isn’t it about time you took over from Dr Eade?’ Freddie
went on presently. ‘You do most of the work, by all accounts, so why not insist on getting your just rewards?’

Bernard shook his head. ‘Paget Eade has been very good to me. I’d never have been launched on a medical career without his backing. But in any case there can be no question of my
marrying Emma while Cathy Hardaker still lives. Emma is
her devoted companion, and nurse, too, when necessary, and she would never think of abandoning the poor girl.’

‘This is your young patient with pulmonary phthisis,
isn’t it? What’s the prognosis?’

‘Very bad! If we have a severe winter she’ll almost cer
tainly be carried off before it’s over.’

‘And then your Emma would be free.’

Bernard frowned, displeased. ‘That’s a crude way of putting
it, Freddie.’

‘I’d never have said such a thing, my dear fellow, if I weren’t
positive you’d do everything in your power to save the girl. I
suppose there’s nothing – a sea voyage, or one of those Black
Forest sanatoria? I imagine Mr Hardaker would readily foot
the bill if you suggested something on those lines?’

‘Good Lord, yes! But Cathy’s too far gone, both lungs are
seriously affected. Her mother died the same way, you know.’

Frederick sighed. ‘If only there were more we could do for
such patients. One day, I suppose, we’ll find a way of con
quering the damnable scourge.’ He drank some wine, then, as he turned and glanced across the room, his eyes sparkled. ‘Now there’s a peach of a girl, Bernard! That one in blue, with the magnificent bosom. She’s enough to make any man
cast discretion to the winds, eh?’

Bernard followed the direction of his friend’s gaze, but his glance went past the girl to the man whose arm she held so
possessively. He continued to watch until they had disappeared
through the swing doors to the foyer.

‘Well, well! Do you know who that was, Freddie? The
man, I mean.’

‘No, should I?’

‘His name is Matthew Sutcliffe, and he’s just arrived back from Australia, where he was transported many years ago
for manslaughter. His victim, in fact, was Emma’s father,’

‘So that’s Matthew Sutcliffe! Made his fortune in gold, so I hear.’ Freddie chuckled. ‘It looks as if the chap’s bent on
spending some of it now – and I could think of worse ways.’

Bernard made no reply. The waiter brought the fish, and
they began to enjoy their meal.

In the soft radiance of a waning moon the pedlar’s cart pulled
off the road on to the verge of grass and bracken. It was an
odd looking vehicle on two huge wheels, the boat-shaped body
roofed by a tattered sheet of tarpaulin slung over a centre ridgepole. The driver heaved himself down and unhitched the
weary old horse from the shafts, tethering it to forage for
itself. Half an hour later the blackcock he’d poached from the
moorside was plucked and drawn and simmering in the pot.
By God, it smelled good! The man laughed aloud, and
scratched the skin beneath his thick curly black beard.
‘T’would taste all the better for being nicked! Squatting by the
fire, he gazed with slitted eyes at the long spread of the
Brackle Valley below him. The pallid moonlight was enough to show him the mill buildings distinctly; added to since he
remembered, the tall furnace chimney casting a slender finger
of shadow across the river. He licked his thick red lips in crafty anticipation. Play it clever, careful like, he thought,
and your fortune’s made, Johnny me lad!

When he had eaten
he rolled himself into a blanket and stretched out on a bed
of bracken. Lighting his stubby clay pipe with a twig from the
fire, he settled down to enjoy the stillness of the fragrant night. The moon slipped silently across the unclouded sky, promising a fine day tomorrow.

    * * *

Cathy had passed another good night, and with the continued improvement in her condition Emma felt able to contemplate
a change of scene from the sickroom. As soon as she and
Nelly has attended to the morning routine, sponging Cathy’s chest and back with cold water as prescribed by Bernard,
changing the bed linen and otherwise making the invalid com
fortable, Emma went downstairs for breakfast. Randolph and Chloe were already seated at the table when she entered the
room.

‘Good morning, uncle. Good morning. Aunt Chloe. I apolo
gise for being late.’

‘We are only too glad you are able to join us at all, my
dear Emma,’ said Randolph, pouring cream on his porridge.
‘I was relieved to see Cathy looking quite a bit better last
evening. The little lass has been so poorly of late that I feared
her time had come. But happily it now seems that she’ll be
with us a while longer.’ He shook his head despondently. ‘I
wish to God there was something that could be done to save
her.’

His sister gave a heavy sigh. ‘Alas, there’s nothing. Bernard
has made that clear. All we can do is to try and make her last days as contented as possible.’

‘And we can rely on Emma for that.’ Randolph smiled across the table at her. ‘Your care and devotion doesn’t go
unappreciated, my dear.  Neither by Cathy, nor by your aunt
and myself. We are all deeply grateful to you.’

Chloe nodded her grudging agreement. She would gladly,
Emma knew, share the work of nursing Cathy if only Cathy
herself would permit it. But there was something about Aunt Chloe which inhibited her nieces from really liking her, per
haps because she sought affection too forcefully and, failing
to get the desired response, her manner became resentful and
brusque.

While Randolph helped himself to a pair of kippered herrings from the hot plate on the sideboard, Chloe refilled his capacious willow-pattern cup. ‘The conversation drifted on in a desultory fashion until Chloe startled Emma by
enquiring, ‘Did you find anything of interest in your mother’s
deed box?’

Emma was bereft of words, and Randolph too looked sur
prised. ‘I overheard you asking your uncle for the key the
other evening,’ Chloe explained.

With a thudding heart Emma gave the answer she had
carefully rehearsed for Uncle Randolph, in case he should ask
the very same question.

‘I didn’t need the key after all, as it happened. The box
was unlocked all the time. I glanced through what was there,
but I didn’t find anything of particular interest.’ She had ad
mitted nothing, neither the realisation that the deed box had
been forced open, nor that a package of papers had been re
moved. She felt confident that Matthew, who for some un
explained reason seemed not to believe Uncle Randolph was responsible, would approve of the tactful way she had handled
the situation.

‘To my mind,’ Chloe observed censoriously, ‘it is very morbid of you wanting to rake up the past like that. I said
as much to Jane, and she agreed with me.’

‘You spoke about it to Aunt Jane?’ Emma gasped. ‘But
why, when?’

‘And why shouldn’t I mention it to Jane, pray? It was when
I went to supper at High Banks the other evening. Blanche
professed she understood how you felt, but Jane and Paget
were of my opinion.’ ,

Randolph, wiping his mouth with a napkin, remarked ironically that it was a change for him to be in agreement with Jane
and Paget for once. Then, rising from his chair, he said,
‘Well, I must be off,’ and departed. His whole attitude was so
normal, he seemed so undisturbed about the deed box, that
Emma wondered if perhaps Matthew was right after all. But if
so, the question came back, who else could be responsible?

Towards the end of the morning, when Chloe was paying a
brief duty visit to her invalid niece, Nelly brought a message that Mr Sutcliffe had called.

‘Again!’ Chloe frowned her displeasure. ‘Very well, Emma, we will go downstairs together and see what it is Mr Sutcliffe
wants this time.’

Matthew was waiting in the drawing-room, clad in formal
clothes, as yesterday, and holding a small basket in his hand.
He bowed as the two of them entered.