Patricia Wentworth - Beggar’s Choice

She jabbed her pencil down on the stop at the end and broke the point.

“Oh,” said Anna, “you won’t let her go?”

“Let?” said Miss Willy in a loud offended voice. “Let?”

“Isobel wouldn’t go if you didn’t want her to!” Anna was gently shocked. “Oh, Miss Willy-surely you won’t let her go!”

“Isobel goes as she likes,” said Miss Willy.

“Against your wishes?”

Miss Willy achieved a masterly change of position.

“And why should it be against my wishes?” she said. She came over to the dining-table and picked up the little white box. “As a matter of fact it will be very convenient. She can spend the night with Carrie, and she can give Car his packet. It will all fit in quite nicely, because Mrs. Messiter is coming down to stay with me for a couple of days, so I shan’t be alone and Isobel can match my violet ribbon and get several other things I forgot last time I was in town.” She turned the box this way and that. “Dear me, what an extraordinary thing! The writing is exactly like Isobel’s.”

Anna stood up. She stood and looked at the packet, with its red seal and Car’s name on it in a hand carefully like Isobel’s.

“Yes-isn’t it? I wonder-” She broke off. “No, of course it couldn’t be. You won’t tell her I said that-will you?”

“Why should I?”

“No-of course you wouldn’t. The whole thing’s so strange-isn’t it? I was just wondering-but it doesn’t do with Isobel-does it? I think your way’s much the best, really. Asking questions might just put her off telling you anything; but if you don’t ask or make anything of it, she’s sure to tell you all about it afterwards. I think it’s very clever of you-but then you are very clever with Isobel- and with every one else too. I often wonder how you do it.”

As she said the last word, a slight hissing sound disturbed the pleasant consciousness of having done a difficult job really well. She turned her head and saw the macaw a foot away. He must have slipped down from his chair back and approached with the greatest caution. He stood now on one leg, both wings extended, his head craned forward, his beak half open showing a horny tongue, and his round glittering eyes fixed maliciously upon her left ankle. A little more self-restraint and he would have achieved his object; but the hiss of triumph had escaped too soon.

As Anna turned, Miss Willy screamed and clapped her hands.

“Cyril! Cyril! Bad, wicked bird! Anna!”

Anna was already at the door, and the baffled Cyril retreated to his chair back with a scream of rage.

“I must go,” said Anna breathlessly. She blew a kiss and slipped through the door. “Dear Miss Willy, good-by! I’ll send Isobel back.”

She shut the door.

Miss Willy gazed at Cyril with fond reproach.

“Mother’s very, very worst boy!” she said.

Cyril screamed again.

Car Fairfax ’s Diary:

(September 25th; but the Diary was not written up until later.)

Nothing happened all day until the evening. That is to say, I met Fay on the doorstep. I can’t remember where I’d been, and it doesn’t matter. I’m afraid I rather barged past her, because she seemed to want to stop and speak, and I was still angry. She had said some perfectly beastly things about Isobel which I haven’t written down. I was trying to forget about them, but I hadn’t got as far as passing the time of day with her just as if nothing had happened. Afterwards I felt as if I’d been rather a beast, because she was looking most awfully ill-white as a sheet, with black saucers under her eyes, and her hat was crooked. I don’t think she was bothering about how she looked; and that’s not a bit like Fay. I didn’t think about any of this at the time, but it came back later on.

I walked down to Putney, and got to Olding Crescent at about a quarter to eight, just in case Isobel was early. Ever since her telegram came I had been racking my brains to think of any possible reason that would make her ask me to meet her like this, but I couldn’t think of one. I was afraid she must be in trouble, but I couldn’t think what sort of trouble it could possibly be. I kept going over all sorts of things in my mind.

It was a most awfully dark night. The whole sky was covered with the even darkness of clouds that are hanging so low that they seem to be a ceiling over your head. It wasn’t raining, and it didn’t rain; but there was the feeling of rain in the air. Every now and then the bushes, and the great sweeping branches of the trees overhead, moved and rustled in a sudden wind that was wet against one’s face. The street-lamps gave hardly any light, and the shadow under the wall was as black as coal.

I walked up and down. I was going to see Isobel! Then I laughed, because I certainly shouldn’t be able to see her unless I marched her up to one of the lamps and stood her there with her head well up facing it. And then I stopped laughing, because, of course, when you love any one very much, you don’t just see them with your eyes.

I walked up and down for about three-quarters of an hour, but the time didn’t seem at all long. Waiting for Isobel to come was like watching a wonderful tide of happiness rise. It seemed to come up all round me with bright, shining waves. I hadn’t been so happy for years, and I couldn’t help wondering whether she was happy too. I ought not to have let myself get into that state of mind. I thought of that afterwards, but at the time I just thought about Isobel.

And then she came. I must have been waiting for three-quarters of an hour, and no one had passed at all either coming or going. Olding Crescent is the loneliest place I have ever been in. There are houses all along one side of it, but no one ever seems to go into them or come out, and the windows do not let out a single spark of light. So when I heard a footstep, I was quite sure that it was the footstep I was waiting for.

She came from the direction of the main road, passed the lamp, and then stood hesitating. I could see her, and yet I couldn’t. What I saw was a coat and skirt, and shoes and stocking, and a scarf, and a little close hat, all dark like the shadows of clothes. But I couldn’t see Isobel herself, because she was a shadow too. I felt as if I should see her better if I didn’t have to look at the shadows.

I came across the road, and she ran to me and slipped a hand through my arm.

“Car-” she said in a sweet, breathless voice, and we went back across the road into the black dark where the trees hung over the wall. Then-I don’t know how it happened, but of course it must have been my fault-that shining tide of Isobel just carried me away. She was so near, and I could feel her trembling a little, and she pressed against me. And the thing I knew I had my arms round her and we were kissing each other.

I didn’t feel as if it could be true. I never thought I should kiss Isobel really. I kissed her once in a dream, and it nearly killed me to wake up and know that it could never come true. I don’t know how long we stood there without speaking. I had nothing to say, because I felt as if Isobel must know every thought I had, or ever could have.

She had put her arms round my neck, and after we had kissed she leaned her head against my shoulder and we stood like that, drowned fathoms deep in happiness. I didn’t think about the past, or the future, or what we were going to do, or even why we were there. I’ve heard people talk about the world standing still, but now I know what they mean. The world stood still for us, and time went by.

I came very slowly back to realize what I had done. Then I said her name, and she said mine. I didn’t know that my name could sound like that. It carried me off my feet again, but I made myself come back. I said,