The following morning Kenyon received a summons to the headquarters of the United British Party, and there at twelve o’clock he interviewed certain prominent members of the House. Two Cabinet Ministers were among them.
They informed him of the Government’s decision that the Mid-Suffolk by-election was to be called off—at least for the time being. Kenyon naturally protested, as his recent tour of the constituency had convinced him of the certainty of his election; but they told him that the Government was determined to prevent meetings of any kind which might lead to riots and disturbances—and an election without meetings was unthinkable.
Forced to accept their decision, Kenyon informed them that as he was now a free agent he would volunteer at once for the mounted branch of the Special Police, but they asked him to refrain. Owing to the enormous pressure of business his services would be much more valuable in some administrative capacity. So he agreed to hold himself at their disposal.
Other business was discussed by the Party Chiefs before he left the meeting, so he found himself in the privileged position of attending the deliberations of a little group of men who, if not the actual Cabinet, were perhaps the most important political body after it. The information which he gathered was first-hand and authoritative.
The King’s death was a baseless rumour. The banks would definitely reopen on Monday, and the assignats which they proposed to issue would receive Government backing, thereby converting them into legal tender.
A serious split had occurred in the Cabinet over the question of Martial Law. A strong minority were for proclaiming it immediately throughout the kingdom, but the Labour, Liberal and weaker Conservative elements were averse to placing such power in the hands of the military. They instanced the highhanded action of the Scottish Commander and even suggested his recall. At that the Secretary of State for War had intimated grimly that if the old Tiger went, he would go too.
Glasgow had then been thrown on the television screen in the Cabinet Room, and except for sentries and Special Police the principal streets were seen to be quiet and orderly. The Minister for War had pointed out that the General’s action, together with a rigid enforcement of the curfew, had been solely responsible for the restoration of order; and urged a general proclamation of Martial Law in view of the desperate situation in South Wales.
Television had then been switched on to Cardiff, but the receiving screen remained blank, and it was evident that the transmitters there had been damaged, yet the Prime Minister would not give way and they had adjourned at eleven-thirty without reaching any decision on the point.
The naval situation was also causing bitter controversy, and the Secretary for the Dominions had stigmatised the action of the First Lord in recalling the disaffected ships to their home ports as ‘H’ay cowardly compromise calculated to do endless ’arm.’ Nor was his truculence pacified by the specious reasonings of the lawyers and schoolmarms among his colleagues who assured him that the ships were under-armed and that they feared a general mutiny in the Fleet.
The affair of Canvey Island made the Home Secretary irritable and nervy. The previous night he had ordered the Special Branch to round up three hundred and fifty of the leading Communists in London and intern them there, but the Reds had proved to be better organised than he knew. In the early morning the big convoy of police vans had been ambushed in the marshes when nearly at their destination. A horrible mêlée had ensued, and after a desperate fight against automatics, razors and sawn-off shotguns, the police had only succeeded in getting about half their prisoners on to the island. The rest had got clean away, and the Home Secretary was acutely conscious that only his personal jealousy of the War Minister had prevented him applying for the proper escort of troops and armoured cars which would have prevented such a disaster.
The Prime Minister likewise had a special worry of his own, for, without consulting him, the Prince had paid a visit to the Air Ministry and arranged for the dispatch of about forty planes to unknown destinations. The Minister of Air refused all explanations and offered his resignation, but as he was one of the few really popular figures among the masses the Prime Minister felt that this was no time to accept it. His Royal Highnesses action was in the highest degree unorthodox, and the Prime Minister resented it accordingly, but faced with the duty of reprimanding him he felt an exceedingly strong desire to postpone the interview.
His Royal Highness was proving difficult in other ways too, apparently. With tireless energy he motored or flew from place to place, and wherever he went they knew him to be in constant consultation with important pople who represented every shade of feeling. The only potentates whom he resolutely refused to interview were the principal members of the Government. He declared that authority had not been delegated to him, and therefore he was not prepared to take the responsibility of lending his countenance to their decisions. On the other hand the Prime Minister, the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Home Secretary knew that he was in constant touch with the Secretaries of War, Air and the Dominions. The situation rankled.
Another nebulous but potent figure outside the Cabinet hovered on the Prime Minister’s horizon. Lord Llewellyn with his great private organisation of Greyshirts, formed it was said without political aims, but for the maintenance of law and order under established Government. The Prime Minister detested the autocratic Llewellyn, and had the gravest suspicions regarding his middle-class volunteers though it was denied that they were in any way associated with the Fascists. However, Llewellyn having offered his legions as additional Special Police the Prime Minister had been compelled to accept them under pressure from his more belligerent colleagues, and official status was to be given to the Greyshirt army that evening.
The last and most disquieting piece of news which Kenyon learnt before he left the meeting was that the mutinous sailors from Portsmouth were now marching on London, not as a mob, but in well-disciplined formation, determined to lay their grievances before the Government.
The information had come through just as the Cabinet were breaking up after a five-hour session, and the Dominions Secretary had made the cynical but practical suggestion that the Prime Minister and First Lord should go to meet them. ‘’Ave a word with ‘em,’ he had urged as he lit a fresh cigar. ‘Talkin’s your big line—and the boys are only a bit excited, they don’t mean no ’arm!’
The Prime Minister, however, preferred that troops should be ordered out from Aldershot to head the sailors off and there, for the moment, the situation rested.
As Kenyon drove back to Grosvenor Square he was struck by the strange, unusual aspect of the streets. It might have been Sunday or some sort of bank-holiday. Less than half the ordinary number of buses were running, and there was hardly a trade van to be seen. Many shops were closed, and in front of others little knots of assistants stood chatting on the pavement. Some people were hurrying to and fro with unusual energy, others occupied the street corners in small groups—evidently swapping the latest rumours. There also seemed to be an unusually large proportion of a class alien to the West End in normal times. Gaunt, pale-faced workers in threadbare clothes, slouching along in little batches. Blue-coated police and Specials were dotted about in couples every hundred yards or so.
When he entered the residential district he was astonished by the activity which had invaded the quiet streets of Mayfair. Large private cars were being loaded up with trunks and boxes, and from many houses the more valuable possessions were being stowed into furniture vans.
In Grosvenor Square he found two great pantechnicons drawn up outside his home and sweating men staggering down the steps under the burden of a large Van Dyck. The short, fat, rubicund Duke was personally superintending the removal of his treasures.
‘Damnable, but understandable!’ was his comment when Kenyon told him of the decision to postpone the election. ‘Heard about the sailors? They seem to be out for trouble.’
‘Yes,’ Kenyon nodded. ‘I should think the balloon is due to go up in about two days’ time now.’
‘Less, my boy, less. The troops had to use the butts of their rifles on the crowd in the East End this morning. I have ordered the cars for three o’clock to take your mother and the staff down to Banners.’
‘Hell!’ thought Kenyon, ‘that puts the lid on the cocktail party,’ for even in the stream of startling events his mind had never been far from Ann and he had persuaded himself that she would accept Veronica’s invitation. Now, if Veronica had to go down to Banners with his mother, Ann would find him alone in Grosvenor Square and probably imagine the whole business to be a put-up job. His father’s next words reassured him.
‘I suppose you can fly Veronica down tomorrow?’
‘Oh, rather!’ Kenyon agreed with relief.
‘She had a fine rumpus with your mother—said she must go down with you tomorrow because she’s got some party on this evening that she doesn’t want to miss. What it can be at a time like this, heaven only knows—but you know how impossible she is, and I can’t force her, much as I should like to have her out of London tonight. They are going to proclaim martial law you know.’
‘I don’t think so, sir.’ Kenyon reported the latest news from Westminster.
The Duke grunted irritably. ‘I bet you a pony they will, whether the P.M. likes it or not. I saw J. J. B. this morning.’
‘Did you?’ exclaimed Kenyon, much interested, for ‘J. J. B.’ was the First Sea Lord who had undergone a serious operation only ten days before. ‘I thought he was hors de combat in a nursing home.’
‘So he was, or they would never have got away with that fool decision about the big ships. They’ve been keeping everything from him because he was so ill, but Jaggers broke through the cordon of medicos this morning and told him the whole position. He said J. J. B. ought to know even if it killed him!’
‘I’d love to have heard his language!’ Kenyon had a vivid mental picture of the red-faced, autocratic sailor. ‘What did he do?’
‘Had himself carried out in his dressing-gown there and then. He was still in it when I saw him. He said he’d choke the life out of that whimpering rabbit of a schoolmaster they’d had the impudence to foist on him as First Lord—and do it with his own hands if they hanged him for it afterwards!’
‘Good for him! I bet the fur is flying at the Admiralty now.’
The Duke chuckled. ‘Yes, but he’s a wily old fox. He went to the Air Ministry first. That’s where I saw him—I’d dropped in to offer them the cars as soon as they’d taken your mother to Banners.’
‘What was the idea?’
To get behind the Government, I think. Llewellyn was there and what’s-his-name—the War Office chap, and Badgerlake. It looked to me as if they were forming a kind of Junta. Jaggers told me that if the P. M. refused to declare martial law by midnight they meant to do it themselves, and Badgerlake will bring it out in all his papers tomorrow.’
Arm in arm father and son walked in to lunch. Veronica and the high-nosed Duchess were already there. A strained silence hung over the first part of the meal, punctuated by a wearisome little monologue of complaint from Juliana Augusta regarding Veronica’s obstinacy—folly—and lack of feeling in refusing to accompany her to Banners that afternoon.
‘Well, father’s going with you,’ Kenyon attempted to pacify her.
‘You are wrong, dear boy, it seems that I am to be packed off alone with the servants; your father is going to Windsor.’
‘Windsor! Whatever for?’
‘Well,’ the small red-faced Duke spoke with unusual decision. ‘We are faced with a national crisis of the first magnitude, and these Parliamentary people are all very well in their way, but they are a mushroom growth entirely. The whole basis of the throne is a loyal and responsible aristocracy. It is older, better, and more fitted to govern by centuries of practice than these—er—lawyer people. I do not suppose for one moment that I shall be called upon, but I feel that it is my duty to place myself at the disposal of whoever is acting for the monarch.’
Veronica was mildly amused. She thought it incredibly comic to see her fat and livery parent mouthing the phrases of a knight at arms, but for Kenyon the little man was invested with new dignity in claiming this ancient privilege of his order.
Directly the meal was over Veronica stood up. ‘Well, darlings,’ she declared. ‘I’m going to have a L. D. on the B. without my B. and C.’
‘What is the girl talking about?’ muttered the Duke.
‘A lie down on the bed without my bust bodice and corset,’ she laughed, kissing the bald spot on the back of his head. ‘Don’t be rash and get yourself strung up to a lamp-post or anything while we’re away.’
As the two women left the room the Duke pushed the decanter over to Kenyon. ‘Have some more port.’
‘Thanks.’ Kenyon filled his glass.
‘Wish to God you’d got a son,’ was His Grace’s next rather unexpected remark.
‘Son, father? I don’t quite understand.’
‘Don’t you? You’re a fool then. To carry on, of course. Three generations stand more chance than two. Surely you realise that you and I will probably be as dead as doornails before the month is out.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘I do. The whole system is cracking up. Tomorrow is Friday, isn’t it? Do you realise what that means to the millions? It is the day on which nine out of ten people draw their weekly wage—and the banks are shut. This Government rationing scheme can only be a stop-gap because, now that the pound has gone to blazes, they won’t be able to pay for the food cargoes which are coming in from the only stable countries that are left. London will be starving in a week!’
‘Yes, I’m afraid you’re right.’
‘As a natural consequence the people will turn and rend their leaders. You can’t blame ’em after all. How can you expect them to understand the terrible scenes of shocks our finance has sustained. The man in the street judges by results after all, and if he can’t get food for himself and his family, he’ll go out to burn and rob and wipe out the upper classes that he thinks have been responsible for landing him in such a mess.’
‘That won’t do him any good!’
‘Of course it won’t, that’s the tragedy of it. But he will do it all the same, and you can take it from me that people like us are going to be hunted like hares before we’re much older.’
The Duke pushed back his chair. ‘Well, I may as well go and see about the rest of the pictures. Directly they are packed and your mother has gone I shall leave for Windsor.’
‘Then—er—I may not be seeing you again for some little time?’ Hesitantly Kenyon held out his hand.
‘Bloody fools, aren’t we?’ His Grace of Burminster gave a stiff, unnatural grin. ‘Keep out of it as much as you can, Kenyon—don’t shirk anything, I wouldn’t ask that—but your elder brother went in the War and you are the last of the hatching, so I’d like you to see it through if you possibly can. They may consider us effete, but England wouldn’t be England without a Burminster in the background.’ He squeezed his son’s hand and let it drop.
By half-past three the great house was empty and deserted, dim from drawn blinds and comfortless now with covers over all the furniture. The removal vans had gone with their freight of pictures and old silver. The Duke was on his way to Windsor, and Juliana Augusta had departed with the staff for Banners.
Having seen them off Kenyon began to make preparations for his own departure. He rang up Selfridge’s roof garage where he kept his helicopter to give instructions that it should be overhauled and made absolutely ready for an early start the following morning, but he received an unpleasant shock. All private aircraft had been commandeered, and his helicopter with the rest.
That meant motoring down, so he went through to the garage in the mews at the back of the house, and spent half an hour tinkering with his car. E. C. G. was the next thing, every ounce that he could carry, so he ran her round to the nearest filling station. A long line of cars stretched ahead of him, all bound on the same errand. Many of them were stacked high with the weirdest assortment of luggage. The great exodus from London had begun, and everybody who had any place to go to in the country was making for it.
In the queue strangers were talking together with unaccustomed freedom and exchanging the wildest rumours. The news of the sailors’ advance on London was now common property. A story was current that the Scottish Commander had been assassinated, another that one of the principal power-stations on the Underground had been wrecked that morning. Certainly trains were only running on two of the lines, and those had curtailed their services. When at last Kenyon reached the cylinders he asked for 5,000 atmospheres, but the man shook his head. One thousand was the limit for any car, irrespective of its size, and the price of gas ten shillings a thousand.
‘But the price is controlled,’ Kenyon protested.
‘Can’t help it,’ said the man, ‘if the rush continues it’ll be a couple of quid termorrer—do I renew your cylinders or not?’
Kenyon promptly parted with his money and drove away, but the episode made him more thoughtful than ever. Events seemed to be moving now with such terrifying speed. What would London be like in another twenty-four hours with all these people abandoning the sinking ship, and the services breaking down? He began to feel guilty about detaining Veronica for another night, but it had never occurred to him that the trouble would accelerate so rapidly, and the more he thought of Ann the more determined he became not to leave London until he had satisfied himself about her future safety.
He was neither rake nor saint, but had acquired a reasonable experience of women for his years, and he could remember no one who had aroused his mental interest and physical desire to the same pitch as Ann. Now, in the customary manner of the human male when seized with longing for the companionship of one particular female, he was endowing her with every idealistic and romantic perfection.
Back at Grosvenor Square he decided that he ought to discuss the increasing gravity of the situation with Veronica at once, but her maid, Lucy, informed him that she had gone out.
At the sight of Lucy’s trim figure—a pert young hussy he had always thought her—it occurred to him that she and his own man ought to be given the opportunity to rejoin their own families if they wished, and he put the proposition to them.
Lucy tossed her head. That is a matter for her ladyship, milord, though I wouldn’t leave her with things like this even if she wished it. She’d never be able to manage on her own.’
Kenyon suppressed a smile and turned to his valet. ‘What about you, Carter?’
‘If it please your lordship I would prefer to carry on with my duties.’
‘Well, that’s nice of you both.’ Kenyon nodded. ‘Unless I receive instructions to take on a job of work I propose to leave for Banners first thing tomorrow morning. You can drive a car can’t you, Carter?’
‘Yes, milord.’
‘Then Lady Veronica will come with me, and you can take Lucy with you in her ladyship’s two-seater. Better do any packing tonight. I take it His Grace has sent all the rest of the staff down to Banners?’
There’s Moggs and his wife still here, milord.’
‘I see—well, I’ll have a word with them.’ Kenyon went downstairs to the grim gloomy basement. He paused to look into the store-room and satisfied himself that although tinned goods and luxuries had been difficult to procure for months past, the chef, with the ducal purse behind him, had not allowed his reserves to become depleted. The contents of the shelves would have stocked a fair-sized grocer’s shop. Then he went on to the housekeeper’s room where he found Moggs, and his wife, the laundry woman of the establishment, enjoying a large pot of very black tea. He told them that the situation was growing worse from hour to hour, and suggested that they might like to make other arrangements.
Old Moggs, who cleaned the boots and apparently spent most of his day in the area, jerked a grimy thumb at his wife.
‘Me and the missis ’ad better stay ’ere, milord—can’t leave the ‘ouse empty, can we?’
‘I don’t like to,’ Kenyon replied, ‘but I’m thinking more of you than the house at the moment.’
‘Very good of your lordship, I’m sure, but we’d just as soon stay ’ere as I told ’is Grace, if it’s all the same to you—ain’t that so, Martha?’
‘I’m willin’, Tom,’ said his wife.
‘All right,’ Kenyon agreed, realising suddenly that the couple might have no home to go to, but thankful not to have to leave the house untenanted. ‘Take what you want from the store-room, but I should go canny with it if I were you—there is enough there to last you a couple of months if you’re careful.’
‘Thank you, milord, an’ my best respects.’ Old Moggs touched an imaginary forelock.
‘Good-bye then, and good luck to you both!’
‘Same to you, milord, same to you,’ came the quick response as he left them in the eternal half-light which perpetually envelops the dwellers below stairs in most London houses.
Up in his own study once more he began to pack a few of his more precious possessions into a couple of suit-cases. He was growing more and more certain that if they ever got back to Grosvenor Square they would find it sacked and looted.
It occurred to him that he ought to ring up the Party Office and see if they had decided on any job for him. If they had, Carter would have to run Veronica down to Banners; but the man he wished to speak to was not in, and the secretary had no message for him.
Restlessly he wondered now if Ann would turn up, even if she had meant to in the first place. He could not expect her before seven anyhow, but would she come at all in this state of crisis and with transport breaking down? He began to hatch fresh plans in case of her non-appearance, but he needed Veronica’s help and she had not yet returned.
It was nearly six, so he switched on the wireless to hear the latest bulletin. The Sappers had performed miracles with the wrecked bridge and trains were running to Glasgow. Negotiations were proceeding which it was hoped would pacify the sailors. There was now reason to hope that the United States would lift their embargo as far as Britain was concerned, and extend further credits to ensure an adequate food supply. The Government were taking active measures to cope with the situation.
Kenyon turned off the instrument in disgust. Why was there no news of Cardiff or of the trouble in the East End that morning? The Government were trying to stay the panic by suppressing the most vital facts. Impatient now for Veronica’s return, and unable to settle down to anything, he went out on to the front doorstep to watch for her.
A low-built powerful Bentley roared out of Carlos Place at a hideously dangerous speed, but the driver, catching sight of Kenyon, pulled up a few yards past him with screaming tyres. Kenyon knew the car and ran down to meet him. It was young Bunny Cawnthorp, dressed as an officer of Grey shirts. There was a nasty gash across his forehead and his face was smeared with blood.
‘I say! Are you bad?’ Kenyon asked.
‘No, nothing serious; we’re having hell in the East End with these ruddy Communists. I can’t stay though, only stopped to tell you to get out; London will be Red tomorrow.’
‘I’m off first thing in the morning.’
‘You go tonight, my boy—I am!’
‘But aren’t you still on duty?’
‘Duty be damned, Kenyon. I’ve slogged a few of these blokes and I’ll slog a few more before I’ve done; but you know my mother is a cripple, and she’s the only thing in the world that matters two hoots to me. My first duty is to see her safe out of it—then I’ll come back to the other if I can—take care of yourself, old scout. So long!’
As the Bentley roared away Veronica pulled up in her two-seater. Kenyon hurried over to her. ‘Where the deuce have you been all the afternoon?’
‘With Klinkie Forster; the poor sweet’s due to shed an infant this week. Ghastly for her, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, filthy luck. I’d forgotten about that, and you’re paying for the nursing-home, aren’t you?’
Veronica went scarlet. ‘How the hell did you know that?’
‘Oh, her husband told me, ten days ago. The poor devil was almost weeping with gratitude, and I know they’ve been down and out for months. I don’t wonder you’re always broke!’
‘Well, that’s my affair,’ she snapped, angry and embarrassed as she fumbled with the door of the car.
‘Steady on,’ he soothed her. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and I meant to offer you a bit myself towards it, only I’ve been so busy I forgot; but don’t get out. I want you to run down to Gloucester Road and pick up Ann.’
‘She’s coming, then? I had no answer to my note.’
‘I think the post has gone groggy, like everything else; there’s been no delivery yet today!’
‘She may not have meant to come, anyway?’
‘Perhaps not, but I simply must know what has happened to her, and if she is there I thought you could persuade her into coming back with you. I’ll wait here in case she is already on her way.’
‘My dear! You have got it badly!’
‘Yes,’ said Kenyon grimly, ‘so badly that I’ve made up my mind to take her with us.’
‘What! To Banners?’
‘That’s the idea; why not?’
Veronica exclaimed, protested, and talked wildly of Juliana Augusta’s possible reactions to his project, but finally agreed to assist her brother when he had fully outlined his plans.
‘But say she doesn’t want to go with us; you can’t keep her here all night against her will?’ was her final protest.
‘Got to,’ said Kenyon tersely. ‘You get her for me if she’s there and think up some idea to delay her departure once she’s here till about nine o’clock; I’ll do the rest! Off you go!’ A quarter of an hour later Rudd showed her up to the sitting-room in Gloucester Road.
Ann was there, and with her the Pomfrets who, apparently oblivious of the crisis which was shaking Britain, were busy addressing postcards to their friends asking them to get Pomfret’s new book, The Storm of Souls, which was to be published next day.
Veronica sailed into the room, her small neat head tilted in the air. ‘Miss Croome?’ her smile was almost bewildering, ‘I do hope you don’t mind my coming in, but I’ve been simply dying to meet you because I’ve heard so much about you from my brother Kenyon. I spent the afternoon with friends in Queen’s Gate, and as you were so near I thought I could give you a lift back?’
Ann was taken completely by surprise. She had decided not to go to Grosvenor Square but to write a letter of apology. ‘How … how very nice of you,’ was all she could murmur, a little breathlessly.
‘Poor child,’ thought Veronica. ‘It must be horrid for her to have me butting in like this with these squalid people about.’ Mentally she wiped the Pomfrets from her consciousness like flies from a window pane: the girl hadn’t meant to come, of course—a stubborn little piece, but damned good-looking, all the same. Yes, Kenyon knew his oats all right, and like it or not she was coming back—Veronica meant to see to that.
‘Ye Gods! what marvellous eyes you’ve got,’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t wonder Kenyon is crazy about you. Am I being terribly personal? I’ve got into such an awful habit of saying just what I think; do you mind if I smoke?’ She whipped out an onyx cigarette-case and dropped on to the settee.
‘Oh, no; please do.’ Ann’s eyes showed interest and a flicker of amusement.
‘Isn’t that fun?’ Veronica rattled on, thrusting the case at Ann. ‘Cartier, my dear—Miss Croome, I mean—an American gave it to me; sheer blackmail, of course, but I simply had to have it.’
‘I think it’s lovely, and so are you!’ Ann riposted neatly, as she returned the cigarette-case.
Veronica launched swiftly into a series of incidents which had occurred to her during the day. Things always happened to Veronica that never happened to anyone else—absurd, trivial things, but in the quick dramatic telling, punctuated by bursts of infectious laughter, they gained the status of incredibly humorous adventures.
It was impossible to be mulish in the face of Kenyon’s magnetic sister if she laid herself out to charm, so when, after ten minutes’ incessant talking, she exclaimed: ‘My dear! It’s a quarter to seven—we must positively fly!’ Ann found herself standing up too.
She had been laughing uproariously only a second before and the attack had been so sudden, so swift. How could she possibly say now that she did not wish to go, and begin an argument with the listening Pomfrets in the background; two minutes later she was sitting beside Veronica in the car.
The stream of chatter flowed on. Veronica had no intention of allowing her captive time to think of belated excuses to make on the doorstep. The body of Ann Croome must be handed over to Kenyon in good order and good humour. Veronica took a pride in her achievements.
‘Looks like a doss-house, doesn’t it?’ she cried, as they entered the wide hall now stripped of its old masters. ‘But we shall all be murdered in our beds, I expect, so what does it matter?’
Kenyon came down the stairs to meet them. ‘Well, Ann,’ he said, ‘it is nice of you to come with all this upset going on.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ she said frankly, ‘but I found your sister irresistible!’
They went up to Veronica’s sitting-room. Kenyon shook the drinks while his sister talked, and an hour sped by unnoticed, but Veronica had her all-seeing eye on the clock. The guest must not be allowed to say that she was going!
Suddenly, as though struck by a lightning thought, she cried: ‘What a bore, with the servants gone we can’t possibly ask you to stay for dinner; but wait, I’ve got it! We’ll picnic up here on what’s left in the larder; come on, let’s beat it to the basement!’
‘Splendid!’ Kenyon laughed. ‘Ann shall cook us an omelette; she told me the other night that she could!’
What could Ann do against the enticements of these charming people? Only follow Veronica through the door that Kenyon smilingly held open.
Half an hour later she was seated on a table in the vast, empty kitchen, where in the spacious days of lavish entertaining twenty men and women had laboured at the preparation of ball suppers. She was gobbling a large slab of omelette which she had helped to make, and laughingly protesting that she was quite unfitted to give Veronica the cooking lessons which were for the moment that tempestuous lady’s most earnest desire.
They opened champagne and drank it out of tea-cups, scorning to call Moggs or Carter to their aid when they could not find the glasses; then carrying more bottles they proceeded upstairs into the silence of the great empty house.
Back in her sitting-room, Veronica, with Ann beside her, curled up on the floor and began to tell the cards. There were journeyings across water, meetings in tall buildings, love, treachery, imprisonment, and in Ann’s cards—death!
When the last round was finished Veronica drew the pack quickly together with her slim fingers. ‘Darlings, I must leave you,’ she declared. ‘Lucy is a perfect saint, but she simply cannot pack; don’t go, Ann, please; give me a quarter of an hour and I’ll be back.’
Alone with Ann, Kenyon wasted no time in fencing. He stooped to take her hand but she withdrew it quickly. ‘Ann!’ he protested, ‘you’re not still cross with me?’
‘Not cross—but I only came this evening so as not to be rude to your sister. It doesn’t alter anything I said in my letter.’
‘What nonsense! I’m terribly sorry I didn’t tell you my full name in the first place; but what difference does it make? I haven’t, got three legs, or a tail, or anything!’
‘I see,’ a glint of humour lurked in Ann’s tawny eyes, ‘you’re just like any other man, and you’re in love with me. Is that it?”
‘I am.’
‘A lot?’
‘Yes, Ann, a lot.’
‘Do you realise the logical conclusion then?’
‘N … no,’ he hesitated, fearing some kind of trap.
‘In such circumstances it is usual for the man to want to marry the girl: do you want to marry me?’
The question was so direct that Kenyon hesitated again, floundered, and was lost. ‘Marry? … well, you know … I hadn’t meant to … yet!’
‘Please don’t go on, my dear.’ Ann was smiling now. ‘Of course you don’t; I didn’t expect for one moment that you would. I’m not suitable and I know it. If you were really going to get a Civil Service job at £400 a year I might be—but you’re not!’
‘But Ann—’
‘What?’
‘Well, I do care about you—terribly.’
‘Perhaps.’ She stood up. ‘I like you too; you must know that.’
‘Then can’t we—carry on?’
‘Listen,’ she said slowly, fingering the lapel of his coat, ‘it’s this way. I might live with a man who wanted to marry me and couldn’t—if I liked him enough; but I would never live with a man who did not love me enough to want to marry me. I wonder if you understand. Anyhow, I’m going home now. Say good-bye to that nice sister of yours for me, and tell her I liked her an awful lot—and I have enjoyed this evening.’
‘I understand, Ann; but you’re not going home; I am not going to let you!’
‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes grew hard, and the heavy lids came down, half-concealing them.
‘Just this. I warned you to stay in Orford, but you wouldn’t listen. It may be too late now for you to reach there safely on your own. I’m going down to the country tomorrow and I mean to take you with me.’
‘No, Kenyon. I can look after myself; I’m not going with you.’
‘You are.’ His eyes were hard though he was smiling.
‘I’ve had a room prepared for you and you will sleep here tonight.’
‘No!’ she snapped, filled with sudden fury by his dictatorial manner.
‘You will,’ he repeated firmly.
‘No!’
‘I say yes! I’ve put you next to Veronica, so you will be quite comfortable—and quite safe.’
‘No! You’ve got no right to keep me here against my will!’
‘Nobody will have any rights in a few days’ time. I’m anticipating the movement, that’s all!’
‘No! You’ll let me go now—now! D’you hear!’
His only reply was to take her firmly by the arms. For a second she tried to wrench herself away but realised immediately how powerless she was against his strength.
He let her go for a moment and pulled open the door. ‘Come on; do you walk or do I carry you?’
Beneath the lowered lids her eyes were blazing with anger as with sullen tight-shut mouth she walked slowly past him. He piloted her down the corridor and pushed her gently into a spacious bedroom.
A tiny fire burned in the grate although it was early August, and the sheets had been carefully turned back in the great four-poster. A nightdress—Ann supposed it to be one of Veronica’s—lay across the bed. A dressing-gown, slippers, and everything else she could possibly require also seemed to have been provided, but there was no other exit than the door by which she stood with Kenyon.
‘I’ll never forgive you for this,’ she said slowly. ‘Never!’
He smiled slightly. ‘We’re making rather an early start in the morning, I’m afraid, so you will be called at six o’clock. Good night, Ann—sleep well!’ He shut the door softly behind him, and with renewed fury Ann heard the key turn in the lock.
Kenyon went along to report to his fellow conspirator.
‘Well?’ asked Veronica curiously. ‘How did she take it?’
‘Damn badly. I had to lock her in!’
‘Phew!’ Veronica let out a peculiarly vulgar whistle. ‘You’ll find yourself in Bow Street, laddie, if these troubles blow over.’
‘I don’t care. She comes with us if I have to carry her all the way now. I love that girl like hell!’
Nevertheless, when Kenyon decided to call Ann himself in the morning, he found the door still locked but the bed unslept in and the window open. Ann Croome had gone.