With All My Worldly Goods (19 page)

“Thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t support the role of lady-killer,” Bruce said dryly.

“Weren’t you keen on
any
of them?” Leonora rather enjoyed provoking him a little, she decided. It was in pleasantly frivolous contrast to the dreadfully serious problem which stood such a little way off.

But he looked unusually distressed.

“No, Lora. Please don’t say things like that. I—hate it.”

She was sorry at once, and came over quickly to him. “I wasn’t serious, Bruce.” She sat down on the ground by his chair and leant her head against his knee.

“Very well. It’s all right.” But she could feel that he was troubled from the very touch of his hand on her hair. And just for a moment she thought uneasily: “I wonder if he tried to marry someone
else
for her money.”

And the thought was most unpalatable.

The next afternoon Bruce drove her to the station, without any comment to her on what she was doing.

Only when they were waiting for the train to arrive, he said a little teasingly:

“I expect your—old school-friend will be surprised that you still look like a schoolgirl.”

Leonora flushed deeply.

“I—I don’t,” she said quickly. “Surely I have a little more air of responsibility than that, Bruce?”

“Well—” he considered her with affectionate amusement. “A senior prefect, shall we say? Someone who can solve other people’s problems from the Olympian heights of the sixth form.”

“Oh—” she laughed and hugged his arm. “Do I look as though I could solve other people’s problems?”

“I never feel that my own are so serious when I look at you,” he told her gravely.

And then the train came in.

“I shan’t be late,” she assured him eagerly. She wanted to add: “And I’ll solve
this
problem for you, darling.”

But of course that would have spoiled things. So she just stood at the window and waved to him with her most radiant smile as the train steamed out.

It seemed impossible that it was less than a fortnight since she had left London. The big, crowded terminus oppressed her, and made her feel that her happy country existence was much farther away than was really the case. And she thought, with a sudden catch at her heart, that if anything really happened to spoil that, she would scarcely want to go on living.

She knew for a moment how Bruce must have felt when he had been sent away from Farron. And she thought how easy it was to understand some things now.

When she arrived at the meeting place, Martin was already there, anxiously consulting his watch.

“It’s all right, Martin. You can put that away,” Leonora said rather coldly. “It isn’t time to send out a search party yet.”

“Oh, Lora. Thank God! I’m so terribly glad to see you.”

She could not but be touched at his concern for her, and she saw that he, in his turn, was not unmoved by her matter-of-fact air.

“I ought to be furiously angry with you,” she said, as she sat down. “In fact, I’m not at all sure that I’m not—”

“No. Please don’t be,” he interrupted. “Although, of course, that is really quite a minor consideration.”

Leonora made a little face.

“That’s not very gallant of you, Martin.” She was trying hard to keep things on a not very serious basis, for she thought that might give her the best chance of throwing Martin off the scent .But she soon found how hopeless that was.

“Lora, I wish I could tell you how much I hate this role of Paul Pry and police officer in one. But of one thing I am determined, and that is that I will not be ridiculed out of my position.”

Leonora passed the tip of her tongue a little nervously over her lips.

“It’s all right, Martin. I’m not really laughing at you,” she explained troubledly. “Only, you see, it’s all so impossible to me that I’m simply not able to take it as seriously as you.”

“You were very serious about it at first,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I know.” She spoke quickly. “But I’ve found out since then that it was impossible, the idea that—well what we were mad enough to think.”

“I am still mad enough to think it,” Martin said dryly.

“But I must make you understand, Martin dear. You
must
be convinced.” Her very distress was not without its effects, she knew.

“Very well,” Martin said quite gently. “Then will you let me ask one or two questions without thinking me just unpardonably curious?”

“I suppose so.”

She was terribly reluctant to agree to it, but nothing could quiet his suspicions if she refused that.

“Then why did Bruce make that sudden decision to take you away from London only a few hours after I had let him know what I suspected?”

“That had nothing to do with it, Martin,” she said eagerly. “What you said, I mean. It was just—just that we were both feeling fed up with London for the time—you know how one does get like that sometimes—and with—with the fine weather coming on and so on, we just suddenly felt a longing for the country. Lots of people have that feeling this time of the year, and if they’re fortunate enough to be able to indulge it, well they go away. You know they do.”

“It’s customary to leave an address,” Martin reminded her.

“Well, we—just didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Lora dear—” Martin looked cross and worried beyond expression. “Do you really expect me to believe that a casual desire for a quiet spell in the country could prompt you to write all that stuff about cruising in the West Indies?”

Leonora flushed and bit her lip.

“But, Martin, surely it’s my
own
business if I want to go away and not be troubled by anyone,” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“No,” Martin said doggedly. “That’s no good, Lora. You wouldn’t be the first girl to listen to a plausible—” He stopped at the sight of her face. Then he added: “Well, anyway, it’s obvious that Bruce has talked you round into doing something terribly dangerous. It’s up to anyone who even pretends to be a friend to see that you come to no harm.”

“You’re simply fancying things,” Leonora began. But Martin interrupted.

“Do you think Brindbent fancied the symptoms of poisoning?”

Leonora was silent.

“Do you think it’s fancy that this sudden flight—for it’s nothing else—should seem suspicious to me? I suppose even you won’t expect me to believe that you yourself suggested going into the country.”

“I was quite willing to go,” she said with almost sullen despair.

“Lora—” Martin looked at her sadly. “What on earth did he say, my dear, that could have persuaded you to such a crazy notion?”

She was silent again, thinking of that scene when he had come to her room and begged so movingly for her unquestioning trust and confidence. It was useless—it was useless to expect Martin to understand that. She must just try something else.

“Martin, I know it’s difficult for you to see things with my eyes, but you must understand that I know Bruce ten thousand times better than you do. I believed in him and risked going away with him. I’ve lived almost completely alone with him these ten days and often enough he—he has prepared things for me at meal times. Isn’t it
anything
to you that I am perfectly well still, and show not a single symptom of this preposterous poisoning that seems to obsess you?”

He was slightly shaken, she saw, but only slightly.

“Bruce would scarcely risk—anything right on top of my suspicions,” he pointed out. “That would be inexcusably clumsy.”

Leonora bit her lip to keep it from trembling. There was nothing left that she could urge. She had not made good her case. How could she? The wretched truth was that half the things Martin said were correct.

Her own unshakable belief in Bruce’s sincerity that first evening at the cottage was enough to secure her own peace of mind entirely. But it would have no effect whatever on Martin. In any case, how could she put it?

It is true that Bruce did marry me for my money and then started to poison me. But now he has seen what an awful thing it was to do. He’s very sorry and he loves me, so it’s all right. I’m not in any danger any more.

It was quite hopeless. No re-arrangement of the facts would make them any more acceptable to Martin. They would simply make him more determined than ever that she should be saved from her own stupidity.

She raised her unhappy eyes and stared across at him.

“Well, Martin,” she said, with a helpless little gesture. “What do you expect me to do? What is it you want?”

“I want to get really at grips with the situation,” Martin said grimly. “I don’t want it all told to me with the facts sentimentalized—I’m sorry, Lora—by the views of an infatuated girl. I want to have it out with Bruce himself.”

“What?”

“It’s the only possible solution,” Martin insisted doggedly.

‘Do you mean you’re going to
accuse
Bruce to his face?” Leonora’s voice shook with dismay.

“Yes, just exactly that. I insist on seeing him and on telling him that I know what was being done, and what I personally am afraid has been only temporarily stopped—”

“You can’t, Martin!” she cried in desperation. “You can’t possibly do such a terrible thing.”

But she knew, even as she looked at Martin’s face that he could and would do it.

“It’s no good, Lora. We’ve got to face the whole thing squarely. Hints really only aggravated the danger. I was a fool to use them—except that they forced him into adding proof of his guilt. Now we’re going to have
all
the cards on the table. If he’s got and explanation, let him give it.”

“But he hasn’t got one!” Leonora thought wildly. “He hasn’t got one. Oh, what shall I do?”

“I won’t tell you where he is,” she exclaimed despairingly.

“Then—I’m sorry, Lora—but I shall call in those who are used to tracing escaping criminals.”

“Oh, will you think for one moment what you’re saying!” cried Leonora.

“I’ve thought.” Martin was inexorable.

“You mustn’t do this thing, Martin! I
beg
you not to do it.”

“Lora,” Martin said very quietly. “Do you realize that you speak exactly as though you know him to be guilty and are afraid for him to face any inquiry.”

“Nonsense!” But she could not altogether suppress a slight start, and she knew that what colour she had retained abruptly left her cheeks.

It was so unbelievable that Martin—nice, ordinary, good-tempered Martin—should suddenly seem like a menacing figure, someone to be feared and, if possible, outwitted.

She said nothing for a moment or two. Then she took a deep breath and looked squarely at him.

“All right. You are in the position to force almost anything you like. I’ll
have
to do what you want What—what do you expect me to tell Bruce?”

“May I come home with you now?” Martin asked curtly.

“No, you may
not.”
The tears came into her eyes as she thought of that sweet home-coming, utterly spoilt. “I will not give away our—our darling retreat to you.”

“Very well.” Martin accepted that Then suddenly his manner softened. “I don’t want to make this more beastly than it is already, Lora dear. Will you please make whatever arrangements are easiest for you, but see that he does meet me—at my place, or Brindbent’s or wherever else you like—tomorrow.”

“So soon?” whispered Leonora.

“It has to be soon,” was Martin’s laconic reply. And she made no further protest.

“I’ll telephone you to-morrow morning, I promise,” she said, “and let you know what arrangements we make.”

“Thank you, Lora.”

It was useless to prolong the meeting after that, of course, and there was no objection from Martin when, almost immediately, she rose to go.

“May I take you to your station?” he asked, a little diffidently now that he had won his point.

“No—no thank you, Martin. I’d much rather not.” She spoke very unhappily, because almost everything they said seemed to add absurdly to the mystery. No wonder he was so suspicious.

“Very well. I suppose it’s natural you should not want that,” he said reasonably. And Leonora thought:

“He means so well. If only there were not this miserable and ridiculous business between us, what good friends we could still be.”

Martin found her a taxi, and because, in spite of everything, she could not be blind to his good intentions, she gave him her hand and said with an unsteady little smile: “Oh, Martin, I do hope that by this time tomorrow we really shall have convinced you, and you and I can be friends again.”

“I am
always
your friend, Lora,” he exclaimed earnestly. “Please believe that. I know I seem tiresome and impossible to you just now, but it’s nothing except my anxiety for you that—”

“Yes, I know,” she interrupted, gently but quite firmly, because she really could not go over the wretched argument again. “I must just see what can be done about it tomorrow.”