‘Did Miss Otter not mention any time?’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ said Mr Tamburlane. ‘Yesterday, you understand.’
‘What about telephoning?’
‘Out of the question. Miss Otter will have nothing electrical in the house.’
‘Perhaps she dislikes fog and has stayed at home.’
Mr Tamburlane’s face lighted up. ‘Miss de Reptonville!’ he cried. ‘I believe you have hit it.’
At a quarter past four, when it was quite dark, a stranger entered the shop and asked to speak to Mr Tamburlane. Griselda showed him into the back room and went on dealing with the arrears of orders sent by post.
About half an hour later, Mr Tamburlane emerged, wearing his overcoat and scarf and looking altogether distraught. ‘All is over,’ he exclaimed. ‘Kindly put up the shutters immediately. Miss Otter has been run over by a postal van. I am informed that it was behind schedule owing to adverse weather.’
‘Then,’ cried Griselda, ‘shall I never know—?’
Mr Tamburlane raised his hand. ‘Please say no more, Miss de Reptonville, lest it be taken down and used in evidence against me.’
‘Come along, please,’ said the visitor.
Griselda looked at his feet, which she had once read was the right thing to do; but could see nothing unusual. ‘What is the charge?’ she asked.
‘That has been under discussion with this gentlemen for the last half-hour,’ said Mr Tamburlane. ‘It appears that the authorities have visited Miss Otter’s house and drawn their own conclusions. Entirely false ones, I am sure I need not add.’
‘Come along, please,’ said the visitor.
‘Cut is the bough that might have grown full straight.’ Mr Tamburlane extended both his hands.
‘What can I do to help? Please tell me?’
Mr Tamburlane suddenly became transfigured with an idea. ‘Officer,’ he said, ‘may I write a letter?’
‘Time we was on our way.’
‘Only one line.’ Mr Tamburlane looked exactly like half-a-crown.
‘Make it short.’
It was very short.
‘Miss de Reptonville this is what you shall do. You shall not read this until five minutes after I am gone. Five minutes by any timepiece you choose.’ He had rolled the letter into a spill. Griselda took it. The visitor was looking vainly for his half-crown. ‘Promise.’
‘I promise.’
‘Get going,’ said the visitor sourly. ‘We don’t go for your class of offence, you know.’
A woman entered the shop. ‘I want a copy of Reader’s Digest for my little boy.’
Mr Tamburlane put on his astrakhan hat and cleared his throat. ‘Tell me,’ he said to his companion, ‘did you find time to visit Sing-sing this summer?’
When the five minutes were spent, Griselda uncurled the letter. Mr Tamburlane had spoken the exact truth. Apart from his signature it consisted of a single line.
‘I hereby give my shop and all its contents to Bearer.’
XXVIII
Griselda made diligent enquiries, partly in the forlornest possible hope that she might extract some news of Louise, partly out of gratitude to Mr Tamburlane. But she found all channels blocked; largely, it seemed, at the particular direction of the accused. In the end she realized that in his own way Mr Tamburlane had disappeared from her life as conclusively as Louise.
Often, however, as she served in the shop, her thoughts turned to him. She was advised in the particular circumstances to adopt another name for the business as soon as possible; and through much of a cold December week, the versatile Lena, clad in motorcycling costume, painted out ‘Tamburlane’ and substituted ‘Drelincourt’. This was because Griselda had invited Lena to go into partnership with her, and had no particular conviction that her own was a suitable name to place above a London shop. Already, after only a fortnight, Lena’s knowledge of literature had proved as valuable as her capacity for odd but essential jobs. Griselda had insisted on placing in the window ten copies of Inhumation (ordered without Lena’s knowledge) on the very first day; and, oddly enough, by the end of the second day all were sold, and another ten had been ordered, to the conspicuous vindication of Griselda’s commercial judgement and acquired experience of the trade.
The proposal of Kynaston’s which Griselda accepted, was made one snowy night on the Central London Railway, between Oxford Circus and Marble Arch. Kynaston proposed immediately they entered the train, as indeed the shortness of the journey rendered necessary.
‘I shall go to Canada, if you refuse,’ he concluded. ‘The Mounted Police are starting a ballet, and I’ve been asked to be rйgisseur.’
There was a tired desperation about him which was very convincing.
‘You don’t mind that I love someone else?’
‘Of course I mind. It’s bloody for me.’
‘But you’re willing to risk it?’
‘I don’t expect everything.’
Griselda sank her head on his shoulder. But it was Bond Street Station, and she raised it again. It would be pleasant not to have to conduct so much of her emotional life on and near the Underground. She waited for the train to restart. Her heart felt quite dead; like a dry sponge, or a cauliflower run to seed.
‘All right, Geoffrey, I’ll marry you if you want it so much.’
He said nothing at all and Griselda continued to stare before her.
‘Let’s make it soon,’ she said.
Kynaston still said nothing. From the corner of her eye, Griselda saw that he was quietly and motionlessly weeping. She laid her hand on his. He had attractive hands.
‘Thank you, Griselda,’ he said at last. ‘Could you lend me your handkerchief?’
They had reached Marble Arch. Ascending on the escalator, Griselda reflected that there were said to be wonderful mysteries attendant on marriage. Long before the top, a freezing atmosphere enveloped her from the world outside.
In the Edgware Road it was as if all the air held particles of snow in suspension. None the less, before they reached Greenwood Tree House, they had decided to marry before Christmas. It would, Kynaston believed, require a special licence, which would involve extra expense; but now that Griselda had the shop, extra expense might be less of an obstacle.
At the outer door, Kynaston showed no particular inclination to accompany Griselda upstairs.
‘My wretched shoes leak. I must buy some new ones before we marry. This snow could lead to chilblains.’
But Griselda had no wish to be left with her thoughts.
‘You can take them off in my room. It’s just the sort of thing you’ve always wanted.’
He did so. His socks were saturated with snow, and his feet were blue. They were, however, as male feet go, attractively shaped, Griselda was relieved to note.
‘I can’t lend you any socks because I don’t wear trousers.’
‘I expect they’ll dry.’ He hung them on the bars of a bedroom chair and pushed the chair in front of the electric heater. At once the socks began to steam profusely and also to fill the room with a faint but individual stench.
‘I’ll fetch Peggy. She’d better hear the news.’
‘Peggy frightens me, Griselda.’
‘I expect we shall both find it difficult with the other’s friends, but Peggy’s got a right to know.’
If Kynaston had asked what right, Griselda would have found it hard to specify. But he merely said ‘I’d better put my shoes on.’
Peggy, however, proved to be already in bed.
‘Everyone at the Ministry has got a cold. I don’t want to take an unnecessary risk.’
‘Peggy! I’m going to marry Geoffrey Kynaston.’ Griselda came very near to the tone in which such announcements are made.
‘You said you weren’t the marrying kind.’
‘I’ve changed.’
‘Not at all. I never believed you. Remember? I hope you’ll be very happy, Griselda.’