The Captives [202]
be all right in the end, I've no doubt. You'll never desert me, Maggie."
"I'll never desert you," Maggie answered.
He bent down and kissed her, his breath whisky-laden. She kissed him eagerly, tenderly. For a moment she felt that she would go with him, just as she was, and leave them all.
"Uncle," she said, "you understand how it is, don't you? We'd have asked you to stay if we'd known."
"Oh, that's all right." He looked at her mysteriously. "That new sister-in-law of yours was shocked with me. They wouldn't have me in the house. I saw that. And I only had one glass at the station. I'm not much of a man in society now. That's the trouble . . . But next time I'll come down and just send you a line and you'll come to see me in my own little place--won't you? I'm in the devil of a mess, Maggie, that's the truth, and I don't know how to get out of it. I've been a bit of a fool, I have."
She saw the look of terror in his eye again.
"Would some money--" she suggested.
"Oh, I'm afraid it's past five pounds now, my dear." He sighed heavily. "Well, I must be getting along. You'll catch your death of cold standing out here. We ought to have been together all this time, you know. It would have been better for both of us."
He kissed her again and left her. She slowly returned into the house. Curiously, he had made her happier by his visit. Her pluck returned. She needed it. Grace was now stirred by the most active of all her passions--fear.
Nevertheless Grace and Paul behaved very well. Maggie understood the shock that visit must have given them. She watched Grace imagining the excited stories that would flow from the lips of Miss Purves and Mrs. Maxse. She was determined, however, that Grace and Paul should not suffer in silence--and Uncle Mathew must be vindicated.
At supper that night she plunged:
"Uncle Mathew's been very ill," she began, "for a long time now. He wasn't himself this afternoon, I'm afraid. He was very upset at some news that he'd just had. And then meeting so many strangers at once- -"
Maggie saw that Grace avoided her eyes.
"I don't think we'll discuss it, Maggie, if you don't mind. Mr. Cardinal was strange in his behaviour, certainly. It was a pity that Miss Purves came. But it's better not to discuss it."
"I don't agree," said Maggie. "If you think that I'm ashamed of Uncle Mathew you're quite wrong. He's very unhappy and lonely--" She felt her voice tremble. "He hasn't got any one to look after him--"
Grace's hand was trembling as she nervously crumbled her bread. Still without looking at Maggie she said:
"By the way, you did the church flowers this morning didn't you, eh?"
Maggie turned white and, as always on these occasions, her heart thumped, leaping, as it seemed, into the very palms of her hands.
"But it was to-morrow--" she began.
"You remember that I told you three days ago that it was to be this morning instead of the usual Thursday because of the Morgans' wedding."
"Oh, Grace, I'm so sorry! I had remembered, I had indeed, and then Lucy suddenly having that chill--."
Paul struck in. "Really, Maggie, that's too bad. No flowers to- morrow? Those others were quite dead yesterday. I noticed at evensong . . . Really, really. And the Morgans' wedding!"
Maggie sat there, trembling.
"I'm very sorry," she said, almost whispering. Why did fate play against her? Why, when she might have fought the Uncle Mathew battle victoriously, had Grace suddenly been given this weapon with which to strike?
"I'll go and do them now," she said. "I can take those flowers out of the drawing-room."
"It's done," Grace slowly savouring her triumph. "I did them myself this afternoon."
"Then you should have told me that!" Maggie burst out. "It's not fair making me miserable just for your own fun. You don't know how you hurt, Grace. You're cruel, you're cruel!"
She had a horrible fear lest she should burst into tears. To save that terrible disaster she jumped up and ran out of the room, hearing behind her Paul's admonitory "Maggie, Maggie!"
It is to be
"I'll never desert you," Maggie answered.
He bent down and kissed her, his breath whisky-laden. She kissed him eagerly, tenderly. For a moment she felt that she would go with him, just as she was, and leave them all.
"Uncle," she said, "you understand how it is, don't you? We'd have asked you to stay if we'd known."
"Oh, that's all right." He looked at her mysteriously. "That new sister-in-law of yours was shocked with me. They wouldn't have me in the house. I saw that. And I only had one glass at the station. I'm not much of a man in society now. That's the trouble . . . But next time I'll come down and just send you a line and you'll come to see me in my own little place--won't you? I'm in the devil of a mess, Maggie, that's the truth, and I don't know how to get out of it. I've been a bit of a fool, I have."
She saw the look of terror in his eye again.
"Would some money--" she suggested.
"Oh, I'm afraid it's past five pounds now, my dear." He sighed heavily. "Well, I must be getting along. You'll catch your death of cold standing out here. We ought to have been together all this time, you know. It would have been better for both of us."
He kissed her again and left her. She slowly returned into the house. Curiously, he had made her happier by his visit. Her pluck returned. She needed it. Grace was now stirred by the most active of all her passions--fear.
Nevertheless Grace and Paul behaved very well. Maggie understood the shock that visit must have given them. She watched Grace imagining the excited stories that would flow from the lips of Miss Purves and Mrs. Maxse. She was determined, however, that Grace and Paul should not suffer in silence--and Uncle Mathew must be vindicated.
At supper that night she plunged:
"Uncle Mathew's been very ill," she began, "for a long time now. He wasn't himself this afternoon, I'm afraid. He was very upset at some news that he'd just had. And then meeting so many strangers at once- -"
Maggie saw that Grace avoided her eyes.
"I don't think we'll discuss it, Maggie, if you don't mind. Mr. Cardinal was strange in his behaviour, certainly. It was a pity that Miss Purves came. But it's better not to discuss it."
"I don't agree," said Maggie. "If you think that I'm ashamed of Uncle Mathew you're quite wrong. He's very unhappy and lonely--" She felt her voice tremble. "He hasn't got any one to look after him--"
Grace's hand was trembling as she nervously crumbled her bread. Still without looking at Maggie she said:
"By the way, you did the church flowers this morning didn't you, eh?"
Maggie turned white and, as always on these occasions, her heart thumped, leaping, as it seemed, into the very palms of her hands.
"But it was to-morrow--" she began.
"You remember that I told you three days ago that it was to be this morning instead of the usual Thursday because of the Morgans' wedding."
"Oh, Grace, I'm so sorry! I had remembered, I had indeed, and then Lucy suddenly having that chill--."
Paul struck in. "Really, Maggie, that's too bad. No flowers to- morrow? Those others were quite dead yesterday. I noticed at evensong . . . Really, really. And the Morgans' wedding!"
Maggie sat there, trembling.
"I'm very sorry," she said, almost whispering. Why did fate play against her? Why, when she might have fought the Uncle Mathew battle victoriously, had Grace suddenly been given this weapon with which to strike?
"I'll go and do them now," she said. "I can take those flowers out of the drawing-room."
"It's done," Grace slowly savouring her triumph. "I did them myself this afternoon."
"Then you should have told me that!" Maggie burst out. "It's not fair making me miserable just for your own fun. You don't know how you hurt, Grace. You're cruel, you're cruel!"
She had a horrible fear lest she should burst into tears. To save that terrible disaster she jumped up and ran out of the room, hearing behind her Paul's admonitory "Maggie, Maggie!"
It is to be