Patricia Wentworth - The Ivory Dagger

‘Good-night, Mr. Waring.’

He went because there really was nothing else that he could do-not there, not at that time.

She didn’t ring for Frederick to show him out, but stood there in the hall herself to see him go. As he went down the steps under the pillared portico he heard the key turn in the lock of the door behind him.

Well, that was that. The next move lay with him. He gave her ten minutes to get away upstairs or into the drawing-room.

During this time he drove his car round the first turn of the drive. Sitting there, he took pencil and paper, wrote briefly, and addressed an envelope to Miss Lila Dryden. Then he walked back to the portico and rang the front door bell.

Again he had the good fortune to encounter Frederick. He said,

‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid I left my cap.’

Even Lady Dryden could hardly marshal the chuckers-out to deal with a polite request for one’s own property. Bill was rather pleased with himself for having thought about leaving his cap. Lady Dryden had made him so angry that he might easily have forgotten everything else. Being in a rage was rather like being out in a thunderstorm-you couldn’t hear yourself think.

Frederick produced the cap, and Bill produced two pound notes.

‘Look here, I want Miss Lila Dryden to have this letter, if you can manage it.’

Frederick said, ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

All the notes changed hands. Bill nodded and stepped back. The front door shut.

Frederick, full of romantic zeal, ran up the back stairs and tapped on Miss Lila Dryden’s door. The whole thing didn’t take a minute. Nobody saw him come or go.

Lila took the note with a shaking hand. She locked the door before she dared to read it, and when she had read it she sat down on the bed, a thing Sybil Dryden never allowed, and began to cry.

At a quarter past seven Lady Dryden tried the door and found it locked. Ridiculous nonsense. She didn’t approve of people locking* themselves in. Particularly she didn’t approve of Lila locking herself in. It was a measure of defence, and she was inclined to suspect it of being a measure of defiance. She knocked in a peremptory manner and said,

‘Let me in at once, Lila!’

There was a little delay, but not much. Lila stood back from the door and received an astonished stare. She was still wearing the grey skirt and white jumper, only the coat had been removed and thrown down carelessly across the foot of the bed. She had stopped crying some time ago, but the marks of it showed on her face.

Lady Dryden was brisk.

‘You haven’t left yourself much time to dress. You’ll have to hurry.’

‘I don’t think I can.’

‘You don’t think you can what?’

Lila said, ‘Anything-’ in an exhausted voice. She didn’t feel as if she could do any of the things that confronted her-dress herself in one of the new trousseau frocks she hated, go down to dinner and talk or be talked to through an endless evening; endure Herbert Whitall’s good-night kiss; creep down in the dark after everyone was asleep and tell Bill she wasn’t engaged to him any more; and in no more than six days’ time-six dreadful hurrying days-put on that ivory satin wedding dress and be married to Herbert Whitall, with Aunt Sybil giving her away. She was past having any sense of proportion about these things. They all felt equally dreadful-difficult-impossible.

She gazed at Lady Dryden in a bewildered manner.

‘My dear Lila, you look half asleep! For goodness sake wash your face! First hot water and then plenty of cold! It will wake you up. You will wear your new crepe-it is just the thing for a small dinner. You know there are some people coming in, and you certainly look your best in those ivory shades. And you had better put on a little colour. You are too pale. High time you were out of town.’

Lila stepped out of her grey skirt, took off the jumper, stood at the washstand, poured hot water and then cold. The hot water was soothing, the cold gave her a tingling shock. With her face hidden in the towel, she answered Lady Dryden’s ‘What has been upsetting you?’ with one word, ‘Bill.’

Lady Dryden felt as if some of the cold water had splashed up in her face.

‘How did he upset you? You haven’t seen him.’

‘He wrote-’ The words were only just audible from behind the towel.

Lady Dryden was so much relieved that her laugh sounded quite good-tempered.

‘Is that all? Naturally he feels sore. But he will get over it. You don’t suppose you are his first love, do you, and you certainly won’t be his last. What have you done with his letter?’

Lila had turned away. She was folding the towel.

‘I burned it.’

‘Where?’

‘After I got it.’

Sybil Dryden’s voice was very decided indeed.

‘I said where. You haven’t been burning anything here.’

‘It was downstairs-after I got it.’

‘And when did you get it?’

Frederick ’s job hung in the balance. Other things too. More important things.

Then Lila did what was perhaps the best thing she could have done. She burst into tears.

Lady Dryden could have slapped her with the best will in the world. She restrained herself, picked up the wet facecloth and the towel, and spoke with cold authority.

‘That’s quite enough of this nonsense! Wash your face again and dry it! And see that it stays dry this time!’

Lila said in a quivering whisper,

‘I can’t marry him.’

‘You are not being asked to marry Mr. Waring.’

There was a piteous shake of the head.

‘I can’t marry Herbert-I can’t.’

Lady Dryden said in a bracing voice,

‘You are not being asked to marry anyone. You are being asked to behave like a civilized person and dress for dinner, and that is what you will do!’ She stepped to the wardrobe, took out the long, straight ivory dress, put the grey coat and skirt on a hanger, folded away the jumper in a drawer, and went over to the door.

‘You’ll have to hurry,’ she said. ‘The Considines are asked for a quarter to eight.’

Lady Dryden took her way to the study. If Eric Haile had arrived, she would not be able to see Herbert Whitall alone, but there was a good chance of being able to plant a few well chosen hints.

She said, ‘May I come in?’ and was gratified to find him alone and already dressed.

His ‘Of course’ was all that it should have been from a well bred host, and yet a sensitive person might have been aware of a faint sarcastic undercurrent. If Sybil Dryden was aware of it, she could dismiss it as immaterial. What she had to say would be said, and unless Herbert Whitall was a complete fool, it should have a beneficial effect.

With a slight gracious smile she crossed the room to stand beside him and remark that a fire was really very pleasant now that the evenings were drawing in.

He received this highly original sentiment with amusement.

‘My dear Sybil, did you really seek me out to say that? If you didn’t-Eric Haile will be here at any moment. He also has an urge to see me. I imagine he hopes to touch me for a loan. So if there is anything you want to say-’

She showed no resentment.

‘Only this, Herbert. I have just found Lila in tears. Eleventh hour nerves-the sort of thing every girl goes through, but it wants handling with care. Don’t be too affectionate.’

He gave a short laugh.

‘I don’t get much chance, do I? I practically never see her alone.’

‘It is just as well. Believe me, you really cannot be too careful. That is all I came to say, so I will leave you to your interview with Mr. Haile. I hope it will be a pleasanter one than you seem to expect.’