As Jeremy Brown went into the inn Edith smiled at me almost apologetically, but I avoided her eyes. I did not want her to think that I was putting any special construction on her meeting with the curate. In fact, it was only her manner which suggested that there might be something to be suspicious about.
The curate rejoined us and in a very short time three pewter tankards were brought out to us. I found it very pleasant sitting in the sun. I did most of the talking. I explained where I had been and how enchanting I found the town and I asked all sorts of questions about the boats which were lying on the shingle. The curate knew a great deal about local history, which is so often the case with people who are not natives. He talked of the smuggling that went on and how many of the boats were forty feet long and hollow; that they had enormous sails which helped them to escape the revenue ships and so bring in safely their contraband brandy, silks, and tobacco. Many of the old inns had secret underground cellars and in these the goods were stored until there was no longer danger from the excise men.
Such activities were by no means rare along this coast.
I found it all very stimulating, sitting there idly in the sunshine while Edith glowed with pleasure, chatting and laughing so that it seemed to me a new personality emerged.
Why could she not always be like this? That very morning I discovered the answer, for as we sat lightheartedly chatting there was the sound of horses’ hoofs in the cobbled yard close by and a voice said: “I’ll be an hour or so.” A well-known voice which made Edith turn pale and my own heartbeats quicken.
Edith had half risen in her seat when Napier came into sight.
He saw us immediately.
“Well,” he said, and his eyes were cold as they swept over Edith. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Then he saw me: “And Mrs. Verlaine too…”
I remained seated and said coolly: “Mrs. Stacy and I came together. We met Mr. Brown.” Then I wondered why I had felt I had to explain.
“I hope I’m not intruding on a merry party.”
I did not speak and Edith said in a flustered voice: “It’s—it’s not exactly a party. We just happened…”
“Mrs. Verlaine has just told me. I hope you will not object to my joining you for a tankard of that cider.” He looked at me. “It is excellent, Mrs. Verlaine. But I am repeating what you already know, I am sure.” He signed to one of the waiters who were dressed like monks in long dark robes tied about the middle with cords, and said he would have some cider.
As he sat down opposite me with Edith on one side and the curate on the other, I knew he was conscious of the embarrassment of those two, and I wondered whether he guessed at the cause of it.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said to the curate. “I always imagined you were so overworked. But sitting outside an inn sipping cider…well, it’s quite a pleasant way of working, don’t you agree, Mrs. Verlaine?”
“We all have to have our leisure moments and I imagine work all the better for them.”
“Right…as I’m sure you always are. Still, I must confess that I’m pleased to see you all at leisure. What do you think of the neighborhood?”
“Fascinating,” I said.
“Mrs. Verlaine has been exploring as far as Sandown,” said the curate.
“What…alone?”
The curate flushed; Edith cast down her eyes. “I had some shopping to do…”
“But of course. And Mrs. Verlaine had no wish to visit our shops. Why should she? I believe you live in London, Mrs. Verlaine, therefore you will find our little shops scarcely worthy of your attention. With Edith it is different. She is constantly driving around to see…” he paused and smiled from Edith to the curate… “the shops. What have you been buying this morning?”
Edith looked as though she was going to burst into tears. “I really couldn’t find what I wanted.”
“Did you not?” He looked surprised and again his glance took in the curate.
“N…no. I wanted to match some…some ribbon.”
“Ah,” he said. “I see.”
I put in: “Colors are so difficult to match.”
“In these little towns, of course,” he said. And I thought: He knows that she has come to meet Jeremy and he is angry about it. Or is he angry? Doesn’t he care? Does he just want to make them uncomfortable? And for myself, why is he harping on my coming from London? Why should he be angry with me?
“Well, Mrs. Verlaine,” he said, “what do you think of our cider?”
“It’s very good.”
“Great praise.”
He finished his and setting his tankard on the table, stood up. “I know you will excuse me if I hurry away. I have business. You didn’t ride in?”
Edith shook her head. “We came in the trap.”
“Ah yes, of course. You wanted to take all those purchases back with you. And you?” He had turned his contemptuous gaze on the curate.
“I came in the vicarage trap.”
He nodded. “Thoughtful of you. You were going to help with the purchases. Oh but of course, the meeting was accidental, wasn’t it?”
For a few moments his eyes lingered on me.
“Au revoir,” he said.
And he left us.
We sat silently at the table. There was nothing to say.
Edith was very nervous during the drive back and once or twice I thought we were going into the ditch.
What an explosive situation, I thought; and I felt very sorry for the young girl beside me—scarcely out of the schoolroom. How would she cope with the kind of disaster to which she could be heading? I wanted to protect her, but I could not see how.
I sat in the vicarage drawing room, Allegra beside me, while I listened with some pain to her performance of scales.
Allegra made no attempt to learn. At least Edith had a little talent, Sylvia was in fear of her parents and Alice was by nature painstaking. But Allegra possessed none of these incentives; and she was not going to bestir herself for anyone.
She brought her hands down on the keys with an abandoned finale and turned to grin at me.
“Are you going to report to Sir William that I’m quite hopeless and you refuse to go on with me?”
“But I don’t consider you hopeless. Neither do I refuse to go on with you.”
“I suppose you’re afraid there won’t be enough work for you here if you let one of your pupils go.”
“That had not occurred to me.”
“Then why did you say you didn’t consider me hopeless?”
“Because no case is hopeless. Yours is a bad one admittedly—largely due to yourself—but not hopeless.”
She regarded me with interest. “You’re not a bit like Miss Elgin,” she said.
“And why should I be?”
“You both teach music.”
I shrugged my shoulders impatiently and picking up a piece of music set it on the stand. “Now!” I said.
She smiled at me. She had beauty of a provocative sort. Although her hair was dark, almost black, her eyes were a slaty color, most arresting under dark brows, and fringed with abundant dark lashes. She was undoubtedly the beauty of the household, but it was sultry beauty, a beauty of which to beware. And she was conscious of it too; she wore a bright red string of coral beads about her neck—long narrow ones strung tightly so that they looked like spikes.
She laughed and said: “It’s no use your trying to be like Miss Elgin because you’re not. You’ve lived.”
“Well,” I said lightly, “so has she.”
“You know what I mean by living. I intend to live. I shall be like my father, I suppose.”