The Odd Women Part 57

HONOUR IN DIFFICULTIES

At Mrs. Cosgrove's, this Sunday afternoon, Monica had eyes and thoughts for one person only. Her coming at all was practically an appointment to meet Bevis, whom she had seen twice since her visit to the flat. A day or two after that occasion, she received a call from the Bevis girls, who told her of their brother's approaching departure for Bordeaux, and thereupon she invited the trio to dine with her. A fortnight subsequently to the dinner she had a chance encounter with Bevis in Oxford Street; constraint of business did not allow him to walk beside her for more than a minute or two, but they spoke of Mrs.

Cosgrove's on the following Sunday, and there, accordingly, found each other.

Tremor of self-consciousness kept Monica in dread of being watched and suspected. Few people were present to-day, and after exchanging formal words with Bevis, she moved away to talk with the hostess. Not till half an hour had pa.s.sed did she venture to obey the glances which her all but avowed lover cast towards her in conversation. He was so much at ease, so like what she had always known him, that Monica asked herself whether she had not mistaken the meaning of his homage. One moment she hoped it might be so; the next, she longed for some sign of pa.s.sionate devotion, and thought with anguish of the day, now so near, when he would be gone for ever. This, she ardently believed, was the man who should have been her husband. Him she could love with heart and soul, could make his will her absolute law, could live on his smiles, could devote herself to his interests. The independence she had been struggling to a.s.sert ever since her marriage meant only freedom to love. If she had understood herself as she now did, her life would never have been thus cast into bondage.

'The girls,' Bevis was saying, 'leave on Thursday. The rest of the week I shall be alone. On Monday the furniture will be stowed away at the Pantechnicon, and on Tuesday--off I go.'

A casual listener could have supposed that the prospect pleased him.

Monica, with a fixed smile, looked at the other groups conversing in the room; no one was paying any attention to her. In the same moment she heard a murmur from her companion's lips; he was speaking still, but in a voice only just audible.

'Come on Friday afternoon about four o'clock.'

Her heart began to throb painfully, and she knew that a treacherous colour had risen to her checks.

'Do come--once more--for the last time. It shall be just as before--just as before. An hour's talk, and we will say good-bye to each other.'

She was powerless to breathe a word. Bevis, noticing that Mrs. Cosgrove had thrown a look in their direction, suddenly laughed as if at some jest between them, and resumed his lively strain of talk. Monica also laughed. An interval of make-believe, and again the soft murmur fell upon her ear.

'I shall expect you. I know you won't refuse me this one last kindness.

Some day,' his voice was all but extinguished, 'some day--who knows?'

Dreadful hope struck through her. A stranger's eyes turned their way, and again she laughed.

'On Friday, at four. I shall expect you.'

She rose, looked for an instant about the room, then offered him her hand, uttering some commonplace word of leave-taking. Their eyes did not meet. She went up to Mrs. Cosgrove, and as soon as possible left the house.

Widdowson met her as she crossed the threshold of home. His face told her that something extraordinary had happened, and she trembled before him.

'Back already?' he exclaimed, with a grim smile. 'Be quick, and take your things off, and come to the library.'

If he had discovered anything (the lie, for instance, that she told him a month ago, or that more recent falsehood when she pretended, without serious reason, to have been at Miss Barfoot's lecture), he would not look and speak thus. Hurrying, panting, she made a change of dress, and obeyed his summons.

'Miss Nunn has been here,' were his first words.

She turned pale as death. Of course he observed it; she was now preparing for anything.

'She wanted to see you because she is going away on Monday. What's the matter?'

'Nothing. You spoke so strangely--'

'Did I? And you _look_ very strangely. I don't understand you. Miss Nunn says that everybody has noticed how ill you seem. It's time we did something. To-morrow morning we are going down into Somerset, to Clevedon, to find a house.'

'I thought you had given up that idea.'

'Whether I had or not doesn't matter.'

In the determination to appear, and be, energetic, he spoke with a rough obstinacy, a doggedness that now and then became violence. 'I am decided on it now. There's a train to Bristol at ten-twenty. You will pack just a few things; we shan't be away for more than a day or two.'

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday--By Friday they might be back. Till now, in an anguish of uncertainty, Monica had made up her mind. She would keep the appointment on Friday, come of it what might. If she could not be back in time, she would write a letter.

'Why are you talking in this tone?' she said coldly.

'What tone? I am telling you what I have decided to do, that's all. I shall easily find a house down there, no doubt. Knowing the place, you will be able to suggest the likely localities.'

She sat down, for strength was failing her.

'It's quite true,' Widdowson went on, staring at her with inflamed eyes. 'You are beginning to look like a ghost. Oh, we'll have an end of this!' He cackled in angry laughter. 'Not a day's unnecessary delay!

Write to both your sisters this evening and tell them. I wish them both to come and live with us.'

'Very well.'

'Now, won't you be glad? Won't it be better in every way?'

He came so near that she felt his feverish breath.

'I told you before,' she answered, 'to do just as you liked.'

'And you won't talk about being kept a prisoner?'

Monica laughed.

'Oh no, I won't say anything at all.'

She scarcely knew what words fell from her lips. Let him propose, let him do what he liked; to her it was indifferent. She saw something before her--something she durst not, even an hour ago, have steadily contemplated; it drew her with the force of fate.

'You know we couldn't go on living like this--don't you, Monica?'

'No, we couldn't.'

'You see!' He almost shouted in triumph, misled by the smile on her face. 'All that was needed was resolution on my part. I have been absurdly weak, and weakness in the husband means unhappiness in the wife. From today you look to me for guidance. I am no tyrant, but I shall rule you for your own good.'

Still she smiled.

'So there's an end of our misery--isn't it, darling? What misery! Good G.o.d, how I have suffered! Haven't you known it?'

'I have known it too well.'

'And now you will make up to me for it, Monica?'

Again prompted by the irresistible force, she answered mechanically,--

'I will do the best for both.'

He threw himself on the ground beside her and clasped her in his arms.

'No, that is my own dear wife once more! Your face has altogether changed. See how right it is that a husband should take the law into his own hands! Our second year of marriage shall be very different from the first. And yet we _were_ happy, weren't we, my beautiful? It's only this cursed London that has come between us. At Clevedon we shall begin our life over again--like we did at Guernsey. All our trouble, I am convinced, has come of your ill-health. This air has never suited you; you have felt miserable, and couldn't be at peace in your home. Poor little girl! My poor darling!'