With All My Worldly Goods (11 page)

She wondered if Bruce just couldn’t bear to mention the place, or whether he preferred to talk of anything so personal when even Millicent was not there.

In any case, if he did not mention it, it was not for her to do so, and so she said nothing either.

Among the letters awaiting her return had been a short but very friendly one from Martin. He didn’t reproach her at all with having kept him somewhat in the dark. In fact, he seemed to understand her impulse exactly.

“I suppose it always appeals rather to a girl to rush off and do things in romantic haste,”
he wrote,
“and, after all, if you know you’ve found what you want, why waste time about it? In any case, Lora dear, you know that no one will be more delighted than I to know that you are very happy.

“There is no need to make speeches about our remaining good friends. I think you and I shall always be that. But now that you have a husband to look after you, I must of course resign several of the privileges that I did have as a friend.

“When I have said that, however, I’ve paid the debt to the conventions, and I want to add that if ever there is anything I can do for your happiness and welfare, you have only to ask me. Please don’t forget that
—ever.

“
Bless you—and be very happy.
—
Martin
.”

Dear Martin! He was so absolutely well-balanced and—sane, she supposed was the word. She must ring him up and have a talk with him. It would be like old times, before—she hesitated even in her thoughts. Well, before everything grew so exciting and uncertain.

She felt guilty the moment she had put it like that to herself, but it was true. Life
had
a quality of exciting uncertainly these days. She loved it, of course. She wouldn’t have had it any different. But it would be good to ring up Martin and talk.

Martin was evidently of the same mind, because his delight was obvious, even on the telephone.

“It’s simply splendid to hear your voice, Lora. How are you? And was it a wonderful honeymoon?”

“Glorious,” declared Leonora with a happy laugh. “And I’m very well. I’d like it if we could meet some time, Martin. Have tea, or something. Or would you come along here to dinner one night? I’m not really hostess here, of course, but I know Agatha would be delighted to see any friend of mine.”

There was the faintest pause, and then he said:

“Well, evenings are a bit difficult for me just now. Suppose you come and have tea with me one day.”

She understood at once.

“Yes. I’d like that. What day? To-morrow?”

To-morrow would do splendidly. Four o’clock at our usual haunt?”

“Oh yes. Good-bye, Martin dear. I shall look forward to to-morrow immensely.”

She rang off, and turned away from the telephone, to find that Millicent had come into the room and was looking a little sombrely at her.

“Did you want something?” Leonora said, just a trifle sharply because she didn’t specially want her private conversation overheard.

“No—oh no.”

“Oh, I thought perhaps, from the way you were looking at me—” she paused.

Millicent sighed and seemed suddenly to make up her mind.

“Lora dear, there’s something I’d like to say to you, only it’s terribly difficult, without appearing inexcusably interfering.”

Leonora stiffened.

“What is it?” she said, and her voice was cold in spite of herself.

“You mustn’t be angry with me—really you mustn’t because I
hate
having to do it at all. Only, after the mess I made of things myself—” She stopped.

“Hadn’t you better just come to the point and say whatever it is you want to say?” Leonora suggested patiently.

“Well—you see, I couldn’t help hearing just now—your making an appointment and speaking quite affectionately and all that. Lora, you
do
know, don’t you, that your husband is a very violent man and very easily roused? No”—as Leonora made a movement to speak—“wait a minute, I knew him for quite a long time when we were in Mexico. He had that reputation.”

“What reputation?”

“Of being violent and—hard. Most people were afraid of him.”

“I don’t think you need worry about me, Millicent.” Leonora controlled her temper with difficulty because Millicent so obviously meant well. “Bruce couldn’t possibly object to anything so ordinary as my old friendship with Martin. It would be simply crazy.”

“Yes, but men
do
have crazy ideas. Particularly men like Bruce. My husband was just such another, and I counted on his being logical and reasonable. That’s where I made my mistake.”

“I know you mean it kindly, and I’m—I’m awfully sorry about you and your husband.” Leonora spoke more gently now. “But really, you’re worrying quite without need.”

“Well, I hope so,” Millicent said with a sigh. “Only, do remember that it changes men a bit, being out there.”

“Where?”

“Mexico.”

“Oh really, Millicent,” Leonora cried in exasperation, “I don’t think Mexico can be such an utterly extraordinary place as you all make out. It seems to me you think you have only to breathe the word ‘Mexico’ and you change a man’s character.”

Millicent smiled faintly.

“No, it’s not that exactly, my dear. But you have lived all your life in a nice conventional house in a nice conventional street, with a policeman at every corner to keep order. It’s impossible for you to realize how it changes a man when he has more or less been able to take the law into his own hands for years. He is bound to have a different outlook and to do things which seem preposterous by your standards.” She patted Leonora’s arm kindly. “Just remember that you can’t anticipate the reactions of a man like Bruce by measuring him against ordinary, conventional standards. Then perhaps you won’t make the mistakes I did.”

And she slipped away before Leonora could say any more.
“She
is
a queer woman,” Leonora thought, slightly irritated, and more than slightly disturbed.

She tried to dismiss the matter from her mind, but it refused to be banished entirely, and even when she went to meet Martin the next day a faint uneasiness lingered.

Martin, however, didn’t seem to see any sign of it. Like Agatha, he said: “Lora, how well you look—and how pretty. Matrimony evidently agrees with you.”

“Oh yes. I’m awfully happy,” Leonora assured him quickly, and then they settled down to talk over their various pieces of news.

Leonora touched quite lightly on her honeymoon, contriving to say as little as possible about Bruce. She had found, after all, that it was not possible to discuss every topic with Martin without reserve. Some had to be treated carefully. And Bruce was one of them.

“Entirely a country honeymoon, then?” said Martin finally. “I wondered rather whether you would go abroad.” “No. I think Bruce has had enough of foreign places, and he loves the English country.”

“And you?”

“Oh yes. We plan to live in the country, you know.” Leonora told him.

“I—hadn’t realized that.” He looked faintly put out, and she couldn’t help knowing why.

“We want something quite small, I think, but very nice. I almost think we shall have to ask your advice, Martin,” Leonora said, remembering suddenly that Martin’s work was with a big firm of auctioneers and estate agents.

“What part of the country, Lora? Anywhere special?” Martin inquired.

“Well—no. I don’t think so.” Leonora considered the point. “Bruce used to live in Norfolk when he was a boy. They—they had a marvellous place there.”

“And he wants to go back to that part of the country, but you don’t?” suggested Martin.

“Oh
no
.” Leonora laughed. “Nothing like that at all. Only—only, well the family estate was sold, and I think Bruce feels too strongly about it all to want to go anywhere near it unless he can have the place itself.”

“I see. Where is this place, did you say?”

“Norfolk. Fairly far inland. It’s called Farron.”

“Oh—” Martin looked interested. “I know the place, I think. Very attractive Tudor type of house at the end of a long avenue of trees, isn’t it?”

“Yes. That’s the place. It’s simply beautiful, Martin,” Leonora cried. And suddenly she found that
she
badly wanted Farron for them, too.

“Um.” Martin looked thoughtful. “It’s a very fine estate that goes with it, too. A couple of the best farms in Norfolk and some glorious ground.”

Leonora looked surprised.

“How do you know so much about it?” she asked.

Martin smiled.

“Well, funnily enough, I went all over it not so very long ago. We had the job of valuating it for probate.”

“You—” Leonora stared at him in sudden wild excitement. “Do you—do you mean that the present owner is dead?”

Martin laughed. “Well, that’s to say, the past owner is dead, Lora. I think, as far as I remember, that a cousin inherited.”

“Oh.” She was most bitterly and illogically disappointed. “Then
he
will live there now?”

“No. I don’t think so. He is quite an elderly man himself—doesn’t have at all good health, and lives on the Riviera most of his time. He has pots of money, so really the inheritance was not of vast importance to him. He intends to sell the place.”

Leonora half rose to her feet.

“Are you—are you telling me that Farron is coming into the market again?” She was white with sudden emotion.

“Lora dear—” Half distressed, Martin put out his hand and gently put her back into her seat. “It will be sold eventually—yes. In fact, our firm are expecting to have the job of selling it. But you do realize, don’t you, that we’re speaking of one of the finest estates in that part of England? It isn’t like the sale of an ordinary little country house.”

“How much?” was all Lora said, through rather dry lips.

Martin shrugged, still divided between amusement and slight dismay.

“I’m afraid, my dear, it will fetch nearer forty than thirty thousand. It’s the kind of place that is bound to run to a fancy price.”

“Forty—thousand—pounds.” Lora drew a great gasp. “I could buy it,” she said. “I’ve—I’ve
heaps
more money than that.”

Martin became entirely serious then.

“Nonsense, Lora. You can’t go halving your capital for a whim. It wouldn’t be anything from the investment point of view, you know. The upkeep would be immense. I doubt if you would do more than just balance your profit and loss if you rented out the farms. It’s a wonderful country place for a wealthy man, but as an investment—”

“I’m not looking for an investment.”

“But, Lora, it’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of! What do you
want
with a place like that?”

Leonora stared at him.

“Don’t you see? If Farron belonged to me, he could live there again. Bruce could live there again.”

Martin went quite white with most unusual temper.

“Do you mean to tell me that skunk’s got you into the state of mind when you want to run round selling your good investments to buy him a place to live in.”

“
Martin
!”

There was dead silence.

“I say, I’m most awfully sorry.” Martin stared at the table cloth. “I shouldn’t have said that I know. Please forgive me. I just—Oh well, please forgive me, Lora. I simply didn’t think—”

“Evidently.” Leonora could never have imagined herself speaking so coldly to Martin, and she simply hated doing it now. “I think you must be quite mad, Martin. Especially if you imagine I can go on being friends with you when you talk like that about my husband.”

Martin glanced up pleadingly.

“I can only say I’m sorry,” he said unhappily, and her heart melted a little in spite of herself. “But honestly, Lora, you—you must think very carefully before you”—he cleared his throat—“before you talk of making an expensive gesture like that.”

“I shall think very carefully,” Leonora assured him, still rather coldly. “And really, Martin, I’m afraid I must go now.”

He didn’t protest Only, when he had paid the bill and they were moving towards the door, he said quietly: “Lora, please try to forgive what I said—and only think of the advice implied.”

It was impossible to keep up her resentment when he looked so unhappy, and spoke so earnestly.

“All right, Martin.” She squeezed his hand rather hard. “Only, you see that I can’t have you saying such things—?”

“Yes. I do see,” he interrupted quickly.

“Nor thinking them either.”

He didn’t answer that distinctly—just murmured something rather unintelligible, and then turned to hail a passing taxi.

“Don’t bother to come with me, Martin,” she begged. “There really is no need, and it’s so far out of your way.”

“Very well, if you’d rather not,” he said. And she didn’t correct his way of putting it.

It was not that she was angry any longer, but a sudden idea had struck her. She allowed him to give the address, and she waved to him with a friendly smile as she drove away. But as soon as she had gone a little way, she leaned forward and tapped on the glass.

“Don’t take me to that address, after all,” she said a little breathlessly. And she ordered the man to drive to the office of Messrs. Meerwell & Roup.

It was just striking six when she arrived there, and Mr. Meerwell was preparing to leave. He was perfectly willing to wait, however, and hear what Leonora had to say. Perhaps he was a little curious to know why she looked so flushed and excited.

“Mr. Meerwell, when I come of age in a month’s time does—does my money become mine absolutely?”

“Why, certainly, Mrs. Mickleham. Absolutely,” the lawyer assured her firmly.

“And can I do what I like? I mean, I can realize it, or whatever it is—turn it into actual cash?”

Mr. Meerwell looked faintly disturbed.

“It is extremely wisely invested.” He thrust out his under-lip thoughtfully. “I couldn’t conscientiously advise you to make any drastic changes.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” Leonora said earnestly. “I mean—suppose I wanted to very large sum of money, say—say, forty thousand pounds, there is nothing to prevent my selling out stock and—and spending the money, is there?”