The Odd Women Part 55

Before dinner they had a walk in Battersea Park. Rhoda had never been so frank and friendly; she induced the quiet, unpretending girl to talk of her early days, her schools, her family. Remarkable was Milly's quiet contentedness; not long ago she had received an increase of payment from Miss Barfoot, and one would have judged that scarcely a wish now troubled her, unless it were that she might see her scattered brothers and sisters, all of whom, happily, were doing pretty well in the struggle for existence.

'You must feel rather lonely in your lodgings sometimes?' said Rhoda.

'Very rarely. In future I shall have music in the evening. Our best room has been let to a young man who has a violin, and he plays "The Blue Bells of Scotland"--not badly.'

Rhoda did not miss the humorous intention, veiled, as usual, under a manner of extreme sedateness.

'Does Mrs. Widdowson come to see you?'

'Not often. She came a few days ago.'

'You go to her house sometimes?'

'I haven't been there for several months. At first I used to go rather frequently, but--it's a long way.'

To this subject Rhoda returned after dinner, when they were cosily settled in the drawing-room.

'Mrs. Widdowson comes here now and then, and we are always very glad to see her. But I can't help thinking she looks rather unhappy.'

'I'm afraid she does,' a.s.sented the other gravely.

'You and I were both at her wedding. It wasn't very cheerful, was it? I had a disagreeable sense of bad omens all the time. Do you think she is sorry?'

'I'm really afraid she is.'

Rhoda observed the look that accompanied this admission.

'Foolish girl! Why couldn't she stay with us, and keep her liberty? She doesn't seem to have made any new friends. Has she spoken to you of any?'

'Only of people she has met here.'

Rhoda yielded--or seemed to yield--to an impulse of frankness. Bending slightly forward, with an anxious expression, she said in confidential tones--

'Can you help to put my mind at rest about Monica? You saw her a week ago. Did she say anything, or give any sign, that might make one really uneasy on her account?'

There was a struggle in Milly before she answered. Rhoda added--

'Perhaps you had rather not--'

'Yes, I had rather tell you. She said a good many strange things, and I _have_ been uneasy about her. I wished I could speak to some one--'

'How strange that I should feel urged to ask you about this,' said Rhoda, her eyes, peculiarly bright and keen, fixed on the girl's face.

'The poor thing is very miserable, I am sure. Her husband seems to leave her entirely to herself.'

Milly looked surprised.

'Monica made quite the opposite complaint to me. She said that was a prisoner.'

'That's very odd. She certainly goes about a good deal and alone.'

'I didn't know that,' said Milly. 'She has very often talked to me about a woman's right to the same freedom as a man, and I always understood that Mr. Widdowson objected to her going anywhere without him, except just to call here, or at my lodgings.'

'Do you think she has any acquaintance that he dislikes?'

The direct answer was delayed, but it came at length.

'There is some one. She hasn't told me who it is.'

'In plain words, Mr. Widdowson thinks he has cause for jealousy?'

'Yes, I understand Monica to mean that.'

Rhoda's face had grown very dark. She moved her hands nervously.

'But--you don't think she could deceive him?'

'Oh, I can't think that!' replied Miss Vesper, with much earnestness.

'But what I couldn't help fearing, after I saw her last, was that she might almost be tempted to leave her husband. She spoke so much of freedom--and of a woman's right to release herself if she found her marriage was a mistake.'

'I am so grateful to you for telling me all this. We must try to help her. Of course I will make no mention of you, Miss Vesper. Then you are really under the impression that there's some one she--prefers to her husband?'

'I can't help thinking there is,' admitted the other very solemnly. 'I was so sorry for her, and felt so powerless. She cried a little. All I could do was to entreat her not to behave rashly. I thought her sister ought to know--'

'Oh, Miss Madden is useless. Monica cannot look to her for advice or support.'

After this conversation Rhoda pa.s.sed a very unquiet night, and gloom appeared in her countenance for the next few days.

She wished to have a private interview with Monica, but doubted whether it would in any degree serve her purpose--that of discovering whether certain suspicions she entertained had actual ground. Confidence between her and Mrs. Widdowson had never existed, and in the present state of things she could not hope to probe Monica's secret feelings.

Whilst she still brooded over the difficulty there came a letter for her from Everard Barfoot. He wrote formally; it had occurred to him that he might be of some slight service, in view of her approaching holiday, if he looked through the guide-books, and jotted down the outline of such a walking-tour as she had in mind. This he had done, and the results were written out on an enclosed sheet of paper. Rhoda allowed a day to intervene, then sent a reply. She thanked Mr. Barfoot sincerely for the trouble he had so kindly taken. 'I see you limit me to ten miles a day. In such scenery of course one doesn't hurry on, but I can't help informing you that twenty miles wouldn't alarm me. I think it very likely that I shall follow your itinerary, after my week of bathing and idling. I leave on Monday week.'

Barfoot did not call again. Every evening she sat in expectation of his coming. Twice Miss Barfoot was away until a late hour, and on those occasions, after dinner, Rhoda sat in complete idleness, her face declaring the troubled nature of 'her thoughts. On the Sunday before her departure she took a sudden resolve and went to call upon Monica at Herne Hill.

Mrs. Widdowson, she learnt from the servant, had left home about an hour since.

'Is Mr. Widdowson at home?'

Yes, he was. And Rhoda waited for some time in the drawing-room until he made his appearance. Of late Widdowson had grown so careless in the matter of toilet, that an unexpected visit obliged him to hurry through a change of apparel before he could present himself. Looking upon him for the first time for several months, Rhoda saw that misery was undermining the man's health. Words could not have declared his trouble more plainly than the haggard features and stiff, depressed, self-conscious manner. He fixed his sunken eyes upon the visitor, and smiled, as was plain, only for civility's sake. Rhoda did her best to seem at ease; she explained (standing, for he forgot to ask her to be seated) that she was going away on the morrow, and had hoped to see Mrs. Widdowson, who, she was told, had not been very well of late.

'No, she is not in very good health,' said Widdowson vaguely. 'She has gone this afternoon to Mrs. Cosgrove's--I think you know her.'

Less encouragement to remain could not have been offered, but Rhoda conceived a hope of hearing something significant if she persevered in conversation. The awkwardness of doing so was indifferent to her.

'Shall you be leaving town shortly, Mr. Widdowson?'

'We are not quite sure--But pray sit down, Miss Nunn. You haven't seen my wife lately?'

He took a chair, and rested his hands upon his knees, gazing at the visitor's skirt.

'Mrs. Widdowson hasn't been to see us for more than a month--if I remember rightly.'