I wanted to escape from those memories. It might well be that the best way to do so would be through marriage with someone else.
I had to give this serious contemplation. If Joe were to ask me and I said No, that would make him more unhappy than he already was. It seemed to my inexperienced and romantic mind that if he asked me I must therefore say Yes. I could not bear to cause him further pain; and if I became engaged to him I should be able to comfort him. It would be a way of saying, I believe in your father. I want him for my father-in-law. I was sure that it would comfort the entire family. But I wished I could stop thinking of Rolf.
I was very uneasy on that Wednesday morning. I was afraid that at the last minute Aunt Amaryllis and Helena would cancel their visit to the dressmaker’s. It was hardly likely that Uncle Peter would be in. If Peterkin decided not to go out, that would not be too bad. I could explain to him more easily.
But all went according to plan.
At ten o’clock I was at the window which looked out on to the street. Joe was waiting. I listened. The house was quiet. The servants were all in the kitchen having the snack which they had about this time. I hurried down to the door and let Joe in.
I took him to a small room which was rarely used. He looked very distraught and was pale, I noticed. He took my hand and pressed it warmly.
I said: “We are free from interruptions here. The servants won’t emerge from the kitchen for half an hour at least, and everyone else is out.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” He looked around the room. “Oh, Annora. I could do with a drink.”
“Oh, yes. I’ll go and get something. It isn’t kept in this room. I won’t be long. You’ll be all right here. No one will come.”
He nodded.
I sped down to the cellar. I had to be careful because I did not want the servants to hear. They would think it so odd that I had not asked them to bring the wine. I had rarely been down here. It was dark. It was some little time before I could find what I wanted. Then I must find glasses. I must have been away for more than five minutes.
All the time I was pondering on his strange behaviour. I could not understand why he had asked so soon for wine.
There was a surprise for me when I reached the room. He was not there. Of course, he had been very nervous. Had he thought that someone was coming and made his escape?
It was all very strange.
I set down the wine and looked out on the street. There was no sign of him. It was very mysterious.
I went upstairs. No one was about. I stood listening. I thought I heard a sound from above.
Cautiously I went up the next flight of stairs. I was standing at the bottom of those steps which led to Uncle Peter’s sanctum. I looked up and to my astonishment saw that the door was open.
Uncle Peter must be home.
“Uncle Peter,” I called.
There was no answer. I went up and looked in. Joe turned to face me. He looked pale and shaken.
I cried: “What are you doing here? This room is always locked. How did you …”
“Hush,” he said.
I advanced into the room. I had never been there before. It was as I had expected it would be—an office. There was a big desk and several iron filing cabinets.
“It’s Uncle Peter’s private office,” I said.
Joe was putting some papers into his breast pocket.
“I’m ready to go now,” he said.
“You must come down at once. This door is supposed to be locked. How did you get in?”
He did not answer that. He just said: “Let’s get down.”
I said: “I don’t understand. Someone must have left the door open.”
We came silently down the stairs to the hall.
“I must go now,” he said.
“No, no, Joe,” I cried. “I want to know what you were doing in Uncle Peter’s room.”
I drew him into the little room into which I had first brought him.
I said: “You have taken something. Joe, what are you doing?”
“There was something I wanted. Understand, Annora, I have to do this. You’ll understand in time and you’ll see why.”
“But I don’t understand. How did you know the door was open?”
“It wasn’t. I opened it.”
“You … you haven’t a key. No one has a key except Uncle Peter and Aunt Amaryllis.”
“I learned how to open locked doors. It’s an art. Someone at Frances’s place taught me how to do it. When you know how, it’s not difficult.”
“Frances’s place!”
“Yes. Someone whose profession it is to unlock doors.”
“You mean a thief … a criminal!”
“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to involve you in this, Annora.”
“But you unlocked the door. They’ll know you’ve been there.”
“I can’t relock it. They’ll just think they forgot to lock it.”
“But what did you take?”
“I can’t tell you now Annora. I must go. I have to go now … at once.”
“So you came here … just to do that?”
“I knew you’d help me. We’ve always been good friends. I knew you’d be on my side. I must go now … quickly. Goodbye, Annora.”
My first thought was that no one must know he had called. I took back the wine and the glasses. Then I went to my room.
I had thought he was going to ask me to marry him and he had come to steal something from my uncle’s study. I felt stupidly bewildered and very, very uncertain. Should I tell them? I felt a certain loyalty to Joe. And yet what of Uncle Peter?
I tried to shut out of my mind the memory of Joe standing in Uncle Peter’s room putting papers into his breast pocket. I could not stop thinking of him any more than I could of Rolf leaping over a bonfire.
I was in a terrible state of uncertainty. I simply did not know what I should do.
Helena returned full of excitement about her trousseau. I pretended to listen to her prattle and did not hear a word of it.
I expect Aunt Amaryllis thought she had failed to lock the door. She would be very upset and perhaps hastily lock it and say nothing about it. She would hate Uncle Peter to think she had been careless where his instructions were concerned.
I was quite bemused. I could not understand it. I did not want to discuss it even with Peterkin.
And then suddenly I learned what it was all about.
Following on the Cresswell case it was like another chapter in the same story.
“Corruption in High Places. Well-Known Politician in dubious Clubs Scandal”: “Exclusive story in the Gazette”: “Read all about it.”
“I should have thought,” said Aunt Amaryllis, “that everyone is tired of reading about these political scandals. I believe a lot of them are made up just to make sensational headlines and sell the papers. I shall not read it.”
But of course she did.
The Cresswell case was nothing to this.
“Mr. Peter Lansdon, the well-known politician, and the expected choice for the new Vice Enquiry, is revealed as the man behind many of the leading clubs which are the haunts of prostitutes and gamblers. This multi-millionaire, whose daughter is about to marry into one of our oldest families, has made his fortune out of vice. Documents have been brought to us to prove this. There is no doubt of their authenticity.”
It seemed that the house in the square was to be dealt a similar blow to that which had befallen the Cresswells.
There were crowds round the house and we could not go out. Aunt Amaryllis was stunned. She declared that it was all lies. Peterkin was bewildered. He told me that he had never really understood what his father’s business was. There were warehouses dealing with imports from Jamaica he had known, but it seemed these were a cover for other, more lucrative interests; and he had always wondered why his father did not wish him to go into his business.