The Man with the Double Heart Part 48

Jill, with an impatient sigh, pushed the soup to the side of the stove.

"It won't hurt to simmer there." She wiped her hands on a cloth and with her rounded arms bare, an ap.r.o.n over her drill skirt, followed Roddy up the stairs, a frown on her pretty face.

After the gloom of the bas.e.m.e.nt the light dazed her for a second as she walked into the dining-room and saw a tall man standing there.

"Well, Jill?"

At Peter's voice she gave a sadden breathless cry. She caught at the back of a chair and swayed...

"Good Lord! I've startled you."

His arm went out, supporting her. "I'm awfully sorry." He felt her stiffen. For Jill had recovered herself.

"You made me jump--How are you, Peter?" She forced a shaky little laugh. "I'm all right--it's nothing ... really." She drew back, her face red--"it's the hot kitchen. I'm rather tired--but awfully glad to see you again."

"You do look a bit played out." His blue eyes ran over her, conscious of a subtle change. This was not his schoolgirl friend of the short skirts and swinging plait.

Her hair was wound round her head in glossy coils, from beneath which little tendrils curled away, dark against her white forehead.

Her throat and arms, bare and dimpled, were softly curved and the low bosom that rose and fell with her quick breath had lost its narrow, boyish look.

But the grey eyes were the same, pure and fearless, though shadowed now with faint circles of violet that added to their natural size; and the pretty face, flushed from the fire, had the clear skin of the child he loved, the rather large and humorous mouth.

Her long skirt, tightly bound with the narrow ap.r.o.n, showed the curve of her slender hips and beneath he saw her high-arched, supple feet.

She looked a thoroughbred--he thought--with a sudden thrill of friendly pride--from the poise of her well-shaped head to the smooth, pointed finger tips.

"It's _so_ nice to see you again--I'm awfully glad." He beamed at her.

"I, too----" she laughed back--"we thought you had really gone for good. And you never said in your letter you were coming home, not a word!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It was!" She caught her brother's arm. "Roddy--you little wretch!"--for she guessed his share in the trick--"just run down and put on the kettle--and then we'll have tea together. D'you mind a picnic in the kitchen?"--she turned to the visitor, "Lizzie's upstairs with the invalid."

"I'd love it," McTaggart declared. "I've got such lots of things to tell you. But first of all--how's your Mother?"

"Better." Jill smiled bravely. "But it's been _dread_ful! Poor darling--she came home an utter wreck----" Her lips quivered as she spoke.

"Well--you'll soon get her right, my dear--good nursing and perfect rest." Peter's voice was soothing now; he was inwardly shocked at the strain he guessed. "And then we'll take her out for drives--I've ordered a car from Tommy Bethune."

"Oh!--I'm so glad. He's _such_ a dear! You don't know how good he's been. He arranged everything for Mother--even to the ambulance."

Peter's face was very grave. It was all very well, he said to himself to read of these things in the papers, but the thought of Mrs.

Uniacke--that delicate, frail little creature--in a prison, forcibly fed! This was bringing it home with a vengeance. And a new respect seized the man. Whatever his views on the Suffrage question might be, he marvelled in his heart at the courage displayed by those thousands of women banded together to fight or die.

"She's asleep now," went on Jill--"that's been the most serious trouble--that and her heart, which is very weak. And, of course, her digestion's all to pieces--and she's suffered frightfully in her throat ... Well, we won't talk any more about it. Come down and have some tea."

They crossed the hall with bated breath, Jill's finger to her lips. As they went down the dark stairs Peter slipped a hand through her arm.

"Steady, Jill. Don't take a header ... 'Steep is the descent to' ...

Tea! Here we are. Any black beetles?"

Jill s.h.i.+vered involuntarily.

"It's cowardly--but I hate them, Peter! Sometimes when I come down at night the floor's simply black with them. I'd far sooner find burglars!"

McTaggart's laugh steadied her nerves. He checked her in the narrow pa.s.sage and lowered his voice, with a glance at Roddy beyond them, busy in the kitchen.

"Look here, Jill--now I'm back--I hope you're going to make use of me?

I don't want to cut out Bethune----" he smiled, watching her thoughtful face---"but he's busy and I'm not--I'm game for any odd job. And I want to help--_awfully_. You see, I came home for that."

"Did you?" The girl looked at him. Her eyes in the gloom shone like stars under their heavy curling lashes.

"Honour bright! Your letter did it. I couldn't bear to think of you in all this trouble without a man. Although I knew you'd the pluck to face it. So it's a bargain--settled between us--I'm to be a sort of handy ... brother?"

"That's it," said Jill steadily. "I won't forget. Thank you, Peter."

CHAPTER XXII

McTaggart walked to St. John's Wood station absorbed in thought, his face grave.

For the memory of his little friend with the tired circles round her eyes haunted each step of the lonely road, shadowed by its belt of trees.

He saw that Jill was worn out with nursing and anxiety, that the long nights of vigil were bought at the expense of her nerves. He guessed, moreover, the strained resources of the shabby house he had left. He would have given much for the right to ease the position with a cheque!

But this was plainly impossible. He smiled to himself at the bare idea, striding along oblivious of the heavy thunder drops that fell.

At last a scheme presented itself. When he reached the Underground, after a moment's hesitation, he took a ticket for Kensington and, in due course, with two changes, alighted at the High Street station.

Here, with an anxious glance at the clock, he turned to the left and, winding about, arrived at last at a large block of flats in a quiet street.

He studied the list of names in the hall, entered the lift and was carried up to the fourth floor and Flat G, where he rang the bell, feeling a shade nervous.

Miss Elizabeth Uniacke was "at home." He handed the maid his card--a neat elderly woman in an old-fas.h.i.+oned cap and ap.r.o.n--and followed her into a small drawing-room, crowded with little tables and chairs and occupied by a large black cat, asleep on a cus.h.i.+on, and a grey parrot.

The door closed and he looked around him. Early Victorian furniture, bright chintzes, modern china, photo frames, frilled cus.h.i.+ons and a quant.i.ty of Benares work.

Over the draped chimney-piece a rosewood overmantel obtruded with carved cubicles, enclosing each a simpering statuette. The walls, buff with knots of roses, were dotted with plates, plush brackets and amateurish water colours, but the room was airy and spotlessly clean, with a certain homelike sense of comfort.

The parrot eyed him wickedly, his grey head on one side, and the black cat yawned in his face, red tongue curled, with sleepy disdain.

McTaggart's nervousness increased. Then he heard a brisk step, the door opened and in there came a trim, upright little figure in a blue "foulard" dress.

He gathered his wits and advanced to meet her. "I'm afraid you won't remember me--I must really apologize for coming..."

"Oh, yes, I do----" she cut him short--"_quite_ well"--and held out her hand.