“Oh, darling, isn’t it marvellous? Just look at me!”
Cyril looked, at first with amazement, then with genuine admiration, and lastly with a good deal of apprehension, because he knew what things cost and he hoped she wasn’t putting too much in the shop window. All very well to have everything new and costing the earth-and he wouldn’t say Ina didn’t pay for dressing; every woman did-but the really important thing was, what did it all amount to in hard cash, and how much of it was going to come his way. In fact Mr. Mantalini had, as it were, taken some very appropriate words out of his mouth a hundred years ago by enquiring “What’s the demd total?”
It wasn’t, of course, the moment to come out with it as bluntly as that. He had to look and admire, and stand with his arm round Ina while she chattered away nineteen to the dozen, for all the world like she used to when she was a schoolgirl.
“Oh, Cyril, isn’t it all simply too marvellous! There’s a house-did I tell you there was a house-and it’s by the sea-in Ledshire-a place called Farne-and we’re going there just as soon as ever we can. I can’t believe it, I really can’t-we’re going to the sea! I have to keep saying it out loud, because it doesn’t seem as if it could be true. The house is really two houses, only Uncle Martin’s grandfather had such a big family he threw them into one and lived there with all his relations. Rather frightful, but people used to. At least, it would be fun if you liked them, and perhaps you would-”
“Darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rubbed her cheek against his.
“That’s because it’s all so wonderful-it won’t get into words. I’m so thrilled about the house. You see, Mr. Ashton says-”
“Who is Mr. Ashton?”
“Uncle Martin’s solicitor. We’ve been seeing him. He says the house can quite easily be made into two again. It would only mean shutting the doors that were cut through, and we could have an electric stove in the old kitchen, and then we shouldn’t have to turn the relations out, which he says would be frightfully difficult-and of course rather horrid. I mean, you don’t want to start with a family row, and then have to live next door to each other for ever and ever-too, too grim!”
He had his arm round her and he called her darling, but his voice had an edge to it.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, darling.”
Marian had gathered up her parcels and gone into her own room. Like Ina she was wearing a new suit and everything else to match, beautifully cut and very becoming-one of those grey-green shades which are flattering to dark hair and grey eyes. She had said “How do you do?” and taken up her parcels and gone away. At the time he had been pleased, because of course he would get more out of Ina if they were alone. But she didn’t come back, and he was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something rather marked about her not joining in. Nobody could say Marian was stupid. She had a head on her shoulders all right, and she must know perfectly well that he would want to hear just what it all amounted to. Ina’s enthusiasm was like so much whipped cream-all very fluffy and nice, but nothing you could make a meal off. He wanted to know just what Cyril Felton was going to get out of it.
He didn’t listen very attentively whilst Ina told him about the relations.
“Aunt Florence Brand-she’s the widow of Uncle Martin’s brother Alfred, and of course he was my father’s brother too. They both were-Martin and Alfred, I mean-only it seems so funny when we had never heard of them. Alfred married Florence Remington who was some sort of a cousin, and when he died and Uncle Martin’s wife died she came and kept house for him. And he hated her. Her sister, Cassy Remington, came and lived there too. And he hated them both. Then there’s Felix, who is Aunt Florence’s son. He plays the piano-”
Cyril woke up.
“Not Felix Brand!”
“Yes, that’s his name. Do you know him? Oh, Cyril-how exciting!”
His voice became very cold indeed.
“He’s Helen Adrian’s accompanist. He’s got a foul temper. I don’t know him.”
Ina gazed at him in an ecstasy.
“I’ve heard her-on Mrs. Deane’s wireless-she was lovely! Do you suppose he was playing for her then? Darling, it’s almost too romantic! The secret cousin!”
The arm that had been round her dropped.
“Look here, Ina, stop babbling! I’ve had a hell of a time- everything going wrong that possibly could. I’m not in the mood for all this talk. I want some plain facts. You’ve got it all in your head, but I haven’t. Nobody tells me anything. I’ve had nothing but three lines in a paper to go on, and I want to know where we stand.”
Ina continued to gaze, but the ecstasy was a little dashed.
“But I’ve told you. Uncle Martin came down here and called himself Mr. Brook, and pretended he wanted a house, and saw Marian-only of course she didn’t know who he was-”
“He didn’t see you?”
“Oh, no. He went to the office-he was supposed to be looking for houses. He saw Marian, and he went away and made his will.”
“Now we’re getting there. He made a will. I want to know what was in it.”
“But, darling, I told you. He left her everything-just like that.”
Ina drew back a little, because he was looking quite frightening. Not really of course-it was just being on the stage- it was just-
“What was in it, damn you!”
She drew in a sharp breath. He oughtn’t to swear-she hadn’t done anything-she had told him. She said,
“I did tell you. He left everything to Marian.”
“Not to you?”
“No-I keep telling you-to Marian.”
“You don’t get anything at all?”
“No.”
She had gone back another step. He was angry. Of course she could see that it was disappointing for him, but it wasn’t her fault.
He was quite pale with anger. His eyes were light and cold. He said in a hard undertone,
“But she’ll give you some of it. She’s bound to do that in common decency. What has she said about it?”
“She hasn’t-said anything-not about sharing.”
“What has she said?”
“Cyril-don’t!”
“What has she said?”
“She wants me to have-an allowance.”
“How much?”
“A hundred a year.”
“How much does she get?”
“I-don’t-know. Mr. Ashton can’t be sure-till everything is-settled up.”
“He’ll have a damned good idea. What will she get?”
Ina said in a faltering voice,
“He wasn’t sure-he said-about-two thousand.”
“Two thousand clear?”
“That’s what he said-after income tax was paid.”
“And she’ll give you a beggarly hundred! Not much!” He took her in his arms. “Ina, it’s marvellous! No wonder you couldn’t talk sense! It’s-it’s unbelievable! But look here, darling, she’s got to do the square thing-she’s got to give you half. I mean, it’s only decent. She can’t just put all that money in her pocket and leave us to starve.”
It was, perhaps, unfortunate that Marian should open the door in time to hear this last remark. It rang with passionate conviction, but affected her only to the extent of inducing a hope that Cyril really might achieve some success upon the stage. She had changed into an old dress in order to get supper. As she began to lay the table she said in her pleasant voice,
“You won’t starve, Cyril. Supper’s just about ready. ”