Anne of Windy Poplars - L. M. Montgomery [100]
Anne felt that she rather needed some smoothing over herself just then, but she also felt rather uneasily responsible for the outcome of the affair, so she gave the required promise.
‘Of course, he’ll be terrible – simply terrible, Anne, but he can’t kill you,’ said Dovie comfortingly. Oh, Anne, you don’t know, you can’t realize, how safe I feel with Jarvis.’
When Anne got home Rebecca Dew had reached the point where she had to satisfy her curiosity or go mad. She followed Anne to the tower room in her nightdress with a square of flannel wrapped round her head, and heard the whole story.
‘Well, I suppose this is what you might call “life”,’ she said sarcastically. ‘But I’m real glad Franklin Westcott has got his come-uppance at last, and so will Mrs Captain MacComber be. But I don’t envy you the job of breaking the news to him. He’ll rage and utter vain things. If I was in your shoes, Miss Shirley, I wouldn’t sleep one blessed wink tonight.’
‘I feel that it won’t be a very pleasant experience,’ agreed Anne ruefully.
8
Anne betook herself to Elmcroft the next evening, walking through the dreamlike landscape of a November fog with a sinking sensation pervading her being. It was not exactly a delightful errand. As Dovie had said, of course Franklin Westcott wouldn’t kill her. Anne did not fear physical violence, though if all the tales told of him were true he might throw something at her. Would he gibber with rage? Anne had never seen a man gibbering with rage, and she imagined it must be a rather unpleasant sight. But he would likely exercise his noted gift for unpleasant sarcasm, and sarcasm in man or woman was the one weapon Anne dreaded. It always hurt her, raised blisters on her soul that smarted for months.
‘Aunt Jamesina used to say, “Never, if you can help it, be the bringer of ill news,” ’ reflected Anne. ‘She was as wise in that as in everything else. Well, here I am.’
Elmcroft was an old-fashioned house with towers at every corner and a bulbous cupola on the roof. And at the top of the flight of front steps sat the dog.
‘“They never let go once they take hold,”’ remembered Anne. Should she try going round to the side-door? Then the thought that Franklin Westcott might be watching her from the window braced her up. Never would she give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was afraid of his dog. Resolutely, her head held high, she marched up the steps, past the dog, and rang the bell. The dog had not stirred. When Anne glanced at him over her shoulder he was apparently asleep.
Franklin Westcott, it transpired, was not at home, but was expected every minute, as the Charlottetown train was due. Aunt Maggie conveyed Anne into what she called the ‘liberry’ and left her there. The dog had got up and followed them in. He came and arranged himself at Anne’s feet.
Anne found herself liking the ‘liberry’. It was a cheerful, shabby room, with a fire glowing cosily in the grate and bear-skin rugs on the worn red carpet of the floor. Franklin Westcott evidently did himself well in regard to books and pipes.
Presently she heard him come in. He hung up his hat and coat in the hall; he stood in the library doorway with a very decided scowl on his brow. Anne recalled that her impression of him the first time she had seen him was that of a rather gentlemanly pirate, and she experienced a repetition of it.
‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ he said rather gruffly. ‘Well, and what do you want?’
He had not even offered to shake hands with her. Of the two Anne thought the dog had decidedly the better manners.
‘Mr Westcott, please hear me through patiently before –’
‘I am patient, very patient. Proceed!’
Anne decided that there was no use beating about the bush with a man like Franklin Westcott.
‘I have come to tell you,’ she said steadily, ‘that Dovie has married Jarvis Morrow.’
Then she waited for the earthquake. None came. Not