With All My Worldly Goods (20 page)

But when she was alone at last in the train, turning over the interview with Martin in her mind, the extent of “what could be done about it” seemed terrifyingly small.

She tried to start with the essential points and then fit in the others as best she could. But it was so difficult to decide which
were
the essentials.

Martin insisted on seeing Bruce and accusing him openly. That was one essential. Martin was in a position to force his point and so the interview must take place.

It was quite impossible that Bruce, unprepared, could meet the charge calmly and justify himself. Therefore she must keep him and Martin apart.

That meant a deadlock, and she had to start all over again.

When the train drew in to the little country station Leonora was just as far from solving her problem as she had been at first.

Bruce was waiting for her on the platform, strolling up and down, smoking, very much as he had that very first afternoon at Southampton when she had been sitting there waiting miserably for the train to start for London.

His face lit up immediately when he caught sight of her at the window and, tossing away his cigarette, he came over and almost lifted her down from the train.

“It’s been such a long day without you,” was his greeting. And she could do nothing for a moment but cling to him and think: “I must save him. I
must.
He is so dear.”

In the car he did most of the talking—perhaps so that she should not feel bound to say anything about her London visit—and she managed moderately well with a random “Yes’ and “No”. But actually she was thinking: “Suppose Martin did go to the police. They couldn’t make any sort of charge unless
I
want it, surely?—Or could they? Anyway, I should support Bruce, of course, and then—Oh, but can a wife be a witness for or against her husband? I’m not sure. Why doesn’t one
know
these things? Oh, how awful this is!”

After a while, Bruce must have seen how absent she was, because he didn’t even attempt to talk. Only, when he handed her out of the car, he gave her an anxious kiss and said:

“All right, Lora?”

“Yes, thank you. Quite all right,” she assured him, with what she felt must be very hollow brightness.

He said no more but, as the evening wore on, she thought that he, as well as she, showed signs of strain.

And still she had not said anything about Martin’s demand.

It was almost time to go to bed when he spoke at last, breaking a long and uneasy silence.

“Lora dear, can’t I help at all over whatever it is that is worrying you?”

She didn’t answer at once. She simply could not find the words.

And then suddenly, as she sat there groping wretchedly for some sort of explanation, it came to her that there was only one way of dealing with this—just as there had been only one way of facing her fear over the poisoning.

She must find the courage to tell him herself exactly how things stood, and somehow make him understand that she was with him and would help. Only if they stood absolutely together in this, as in everything else, could they perhaps find the way out.

Nervously Leonora passed the tip of her tongue over her lips, and then, with a desperate attempt at calm, she raised her eyes to his.

“I wish it didn’t have to be said, Bruce.” There was a tremor in her voice, but she went on doggedly. “Only, something very—difficult and unhappy has got to be faced, and I think—I think we must face it together.”

“Why, of course, my dear.” He came over and took her hand, holding it comfortably tight in his. “Unless it is something that I can tackle for you.”

“No, Bruce,” she said very earnestly. “The whole point is that I want to be in too. Please remember that—
I am with you
.”

He pressed the hand he was holding against his lips.

“Tell me, Lora dear.”

“It’s—it’s about our reason for coming down here,” she got out with difficulty.

“Our reason for coming down here,” he repeated in bewilderment. And then, with sudden sharpness; “But you don’t know everything about—about that.”

“Yes. I do Bruce,” she said very quietly.

“But you
couldn’t
.” He bit his lip agitatedly, she saw, although he tried not to appear too deadly serious. “What are you imagining, I wonder?”

“I’m not imagining, dear. I know.” Leonora felt quite calm now that the moment had come. “We came down here because Martin Velnott suspected I was being poisoned. And Martin’s suspicions happened to be right.”

There was absolute and utter silence, and after a moment she somehow forced herself to look up at him. He was pale, with nearly all the expression gone from his face. And when he found his voice to reply there was not much expression in that either.

“Then—you knew,” he said slowly, and the words were like little weights falling. “You really—knew—all the time.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Perhaps until that v
ery moment Leonora had still preserved the smallest hope that Bruce might be innocent. It was against all possible reason and much more than she dared to let herself put into actual thought. But it had been there, hidden under everything else, that faint flicker of a belief that she might find it was all a mistake.

Now that died. And, by a supreme effort, she forced back the wave of sick disappointment. It didn’t really matter, she told herself. It was immaterial beside the fact that her love really had risen triumphant over everything. He was hers. With all his faults and weaknesses, he was hers—and she loved him. That was all that really mattered, and that was what she must make him understand.

“Bruce dear—” she began. But he cut in sharply.

“How did you find out?”

“Well, you see, Dr. Brindbent was quite positive that I
was
being—poisoned, and he happened to be able to identify the poison as something known only in Central America.”

“Good lord!” The faintest grim smile touched Bruce’s lips. “But fancy remembering in all that shock that she had ever been in Central America. She scarcely ever mentioned it.”

“She? Who?” Leonora looked bewildered.

“Well, Millicent, of course.” It was his turn to be puzzled. “Aren’t we speaking of her?”

It was to Leonora as though the sky had cracked open. She staggered to her feet, with her hand against her throat, because she thought for a moment that she must choke.

“Millicent?” she said in a high whisper. And then over and over again: “Millicent?—Millicent?—It was
Millicent!
Oh God, it was only Millicent!”

And she began to cry wildly, in long hysterical gasps that were practically tearless.

“Stop it!”

Bruce caught her and shook her abruptly.

She let him. She didn’t care. He could have beaten her and it would not have mattered.

“Lora, be quiet. You’re being hysterical.”

“But it was only Millicent,” she said. Don’t you see?” And, hiding her face against him, she wept much more quietly and naturally.

He made no attempt to stop her then, and presently he stroked her hair and said softly:

“But who did you think it was, my child?”

“
You
,” came in all its unvarnished candour.

“I? Good God, Lora, you thought that I was trying to kill you? But you couldn’t. You know I love you much better than my life. What are you saying?”

She didn’t answer at first. And after a while he lifted her up and, carrying her over to a big chair by the window, he sat down with her on his knee.

“Now—” he drew her down against him as though she were a child. “Try to stop crying, my darling, and tell me all about it.”

It was a moment or two before she could obey him and even when he had wiped the tears from her white cheeks, she still gave little shaken after-sobs, that broke up her story more pitifully than she knew.

“It was when Dr. Brindbent said
that,
you know—about the poison coming from Central America—and then he wanted to know who could have any m-motive, and who would inherit my—my money.”

“Oh yes. I see.” Bruce sounded grimly amused. “The unknown adventurer who arrived from Mexico, married you, had a will made in his favor, and then proceeded to poison you?”

“Y—yes.”

“But, Lora dear, didn’t you
know
how much I loved you?” He spoke very gently, so as not to upset her again.

“Not—not so much then,” she explained timidly. “It’s only been lately that I’ve been so—sure. And then, you see”—her voice dropped a little—“I knew how passionately you longed for Farron—”

“Farron!”

“Yes. And—and my money would have bought it. Only you had vowed you wouldn’t touch a penny of it—so long as I was alive.”

“Oh lord!” Again amusement struggled with dismay in Bruce’s voice. “Has my taste for melodramatic expression been added evidence?”

She pressed against him remorsefully.

“I’m sorry, Bruce.”

“Never mind. Go on.”

“I thought again and again that it couldn’t be you. I
said
so again and again—”

‘To whom?”

“Well—well, to the doctor and to Martin.”

“Oh.” Up went Bruce’s eyebrows. “Both trying to put a rope around my neck, were they? Well, I understand Martin’s feelings, but I call that carrying friendship rather far on Brindbent’s part.”

“Oh Bruce, it wasn’t really that, really.”

“All right, darling.”

“If you could have seen how terribly worried and in earnest they were—”

“I don’t doubt it. Damned fools!”

Leonora bit her lip. Bruce’s feelings were too natural for her to argue with them.

“ And then, you see,” she went on with a sigh, “the unfortunate thing was that each time I felt very ill happened to be after
you
had brought me something to eat or drink. At least, twice it was that, and the other time you definitely refused to share something with me, saying it was specially for me.”

“I see,” said Bruce slowly. “That was a nasty bit of circumstantial evidence, I admit. When were the times, Lora?”

“The first was—was that night I waited up for you.”

“And you thought I could poison you
that
night?” He kissed her rather fiercely.

“Well—” she stopped. Even now she could not bring herself to tell him what she had heard him say earlier that day. “Well, anyway, you brought me a drink in bed. And then—and then the next time was after the dispute about Farron.” He held her convulsively close for a moment. “And that time, too, you brought me a drink in bed.”

“But I
like
bringing you a hot drink in bed,” he exclaimed. “You look like a good, expectant little girl, sitting up there, waiting for it.”

“Yes. I—I see that now. But I
was
ill again, Bruce. It seemed so queer, you know.”

“You do realize, don’t you, that Millicent prepared that drink, although I brought it up?” he said rather anxiously.

“Oh—” light began to break on her. “And, of course, she probably put—put something in the sandwiches, the third time, that night after the opera. She knew that they were a kind you would never eat.”

“I suppose so.” Bruce looked terribly dark suddenly.

“But—the first time, Bruce, was before she was staying with us at all. It was before we were married, you remember.”

He frowned.

“You’re sure the symptoms were the same?”

“Oh, certain.”

“And Millicent was nowhere near the house.”

“No—
Oh
!” She clung to him in sudden wild relief. “She came to dinner that night. I remember now! She left early, and Agatha and I sat talking for ages. She must have given it to me at dinner—in a glass of wine or something—and I suppose it took longer to act because it was the first time.”

“It might have. What did Brindbent say it was?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me any name.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter.” Bruce dismissed that. “What else, Lora—besides the fact that I was a bit of a mystery in any case, that I inherited a fortune if you died, and that every time I gave you something to drink you showed symptoms of poisoning?”

“That—that’s all.”

“Hm. And quite enough, too,” he admitted. “No wonder your Martin jumped for joy.”

“Oh, he didn’t, Bruce,” Leonora exclaimed reproachfully. “But will you tell me about Millicent, please? I can’t understand. I don’t think she had any grudge against me of any sort.”

“Well, I’m afraid, Lora dear, that isn’t strictly correct. In her estimation she had a very real grudge against you.” Bruce looked faintly embarrassed, a very rare thing with him. “You see, you had the good, or bad, fortune to be my wife.”

“Was
that
it?” Leonora turned in his arm and stared at him. “Was Millicent in love with you?”

Bruce flushed.

“In her way—yes.”

“She never showed it much.”

He was silent. Then, after a moment, he said slowly: “It’s a rotten story. I never meant you to have to hear it, but perhaps there’s no other way now. Only don’t ever let Agatha know. She thinks so much of Millicent, it would be such a terrible shock, and I don’t think there will ever be any actual necessity for her to know. That’s why I tried to settle everything quietly. That and my fear of the effect on you if you heard that someone had been trying to kill you.”

“Well, you see I survived that,” Leonora said with a smile.

“Yes. But I didn’t know until now just how brave you were,” he said simply.

“Oh.” She drew very happily against him at that, and presently he began to tell her about Millicent.

“It started ages ago, when she first came out with her husband to Mexico. She had known Agatha in England and that was an introduction.”

“The husband wasn’t much good, was he?” Leonora asked.

“Well, he was a very ordinary sort of fellow, I think. A good deal older than Millicent; drank a bit too much perhaps. But I’ve know many much worse men.”

“Oh, I thought—Agatha said—”

“Yes. I know.” Bruce frowned. “I think Millicent romanced a good deal to Agatha about being the victim of a most unhappy marriage. I don’t know quite what the idea was, except it gave her a sort of romantic interest in her own eyes. Quite a lot of insignificant-looking people will do that sort of thing, you know.”

Leonora nodded. She did know, but she had scarcely credited Bruce with being so understanding.

“But I think the truth was that there was never a great deal of love lost between them—certainly not by the time I met them. They were rubbing along rather discontentedly, as far as I could see, sometimes bored and sometimes irritated, but not tragically so.”

He stopped and bit his lip.

“And then, Bruce?” Leonora prompted him gently.

“Well, it sounds frightful when I say it myself, but she—got some sort of infatuation for me from the beginning. I can say I did nothing to prompt it. I never had much leaning towards love-making until I met you,” he smiled slightly. “But it seems she just decided I would do as her hero of romance, and I’m afraid my indifference only made matters worse. I think perhaps that was what was in your father’s mind when he wrote saying—well, what he did.”

“Of course!” Several things were beginning to fall into place for Leonora now.

“Then Dymster died—”

“How?” Leonora asked sharply, without being quite, able to stop herself.

“Well, Lora, no inquiries were made at the time so I suppose the doctor was satisfied. Heart, I think, was what it was put down to. Shall we leave it at that?”

“I think so,” murmured Leonora, who felt she could afford to be charitable.

“And then, afterwards, when I saw her and—offered my conventional sympathies, there was a scene.” Again Bruce stopped and frowned as though the memory were very unpleasant. “I don’t want to go into details, Lora. Nothing makes a man feel quite such a fool or such a skunk as to have a woman throw herself at his head. But I couldn’t be anything but frank. I didn’t want her, and I damned well wasn’t going to be forced into having her.”

“Bruce—how awful!”

“For her or for me?” Bruce sounded faintly amused.

“Well—both, I suppose.” Leonora smiled a little. “I don’t expect you were kind about it in those days.”

“Eh? Oh well, perhaps I deserve that.” He kissed the top of her head lightly. “Anyway, in the end we agreed to put it down to hysteria after her husband’s death, or something like that. I got out, feeling about as ridiculous and furious as a man can feel. And I didn’t see her again before she left for England.”

“And you thought that was the end of it?”

“Yes, of course. But when I came home on leave a year later, I found she had taken up her friendship with Agatha once more and—you know how thick they were. I hated the whole position of course, but she never said anything openly again, so I held my tongue too, and hoped things would have changed by the time I came back to England next leave. But they hadn’t, and that was why I was very anxious to let her know, as soon as Agatha, that I was engaged to you.”

“Oh, now I remember!” exclaimed Leonora. “I thought it was odd that you didn’t even wait until she had gone before you told Agatha.”

“No. I thought the sooner she knew, the better,” said Bruce dryly. “And then, she apparently took it so well that I decided with tremendous relief that she had got over the whole thing long ago.”

Leonora nodded.

“Now I know why she urged me so passionately to prolong my engagement, and why she was always warning me against marrying you.”

“The deuce she was!”

“It’s all right,” Leonora said soothingly. “As you see, I didn’t listen.”

He smiled slightly at that.

“Well, anyway, nothing else happened except your bright friend, Martin, jumped to the idea that you were being—poisoned. I thought the whole thing ridiculous at first, particularly as his suspicions of me were obvious. And then, something he said about looking round to see who there was with a motive made me think of Millicent.” Leonora felt Bruce give a very slight shudder. “There are always one or two things in your life that you
know
are correct long before you have proof. This was one of them for me. I think I must have looked utterly sick and horrified, and no doubt sealed my guilt in Martin’s eyes. But I scarcely thought about him. He seemed too much of a fool to matter.”