A Little Treachery

4

There had been a long prologue to that April morning, a long period while the ominous hints and muffled cries (caught on sleepless nights or in prophetic dream) were still enigmatic; a long, darkly worded prologue before the act opened.

It had started, nearly a year before, in the early summer, with the buying of the cottage.

They had been so very cautious, so terribly hesitant about taking the plunge, for there had been very little money to play with. The cottage was to be bought in Catherine’s name. A small legacy unexpectedly left her accounted for some of the purchase-money, and Clem had made up the remainder from her savings. A large part of Clem’s savings had thus been engulfed, for she had had small chance to save, and so after the house was bought she had very little behind her, while Catherine had even less. But to buy the house outright and make it all over to Catherine had been Clem’s impassioned aim, so that, should anything happen to herself, Catherine would be left with a roof over her head (and, given that, one can usually live somehow, or so one hopes), untroubled by legal delays and complications. Clem’s anxious certainty that nothing in the business way could be made simple enough for her sister was all too well grounded.

The house bought, there remained only Clem’s pension. It was a good pension, more than enough for both of them, their way of living was so simple. Yet the swallowing up of practically all their capital had at once begun to loom threateningly, for Clem, in the small hours. They were women who had been made apprehensive by long-standing misfortune. Besides, all this had come as the finish to a stony trek which had lasted many months, a very thorough experience of the frustrations and exhaustions of the house-hunter who can pay only a minimum price and has no car at her disposal. They were both past fifty and were already overtaxed physically. Clem was far from well; this slightly premature retirement from business was not of her choice. Then, conscious of inexperience as house-owners, they had distrusted their own judgement, which had made for anxiety.

So their relief at having the privilege of an opinion from a man like Hungerford, and their gratitude to the Forresters, who had spoken for them, had been boundless. A first-class man whose probity was beyond question – so they had been warmly assured. And, with that, they had cast all their cares upon him. They had trusted him, indeed, as they would never have trusted an unknown professional called in merely in a business way. With such a stranger, their critical faculties would never have been lulled so foolishly, they would have been guided by their own common sense; and that would certainly have saved them unassisted.

For they themselves had been dubious. They had supposed regretfully that so old a house, a cottage of genuine antiquity, going at such a price, must have intolerable drawbacks. Catherine’s first doubt, ‘But with that basement, that almost cellar floor, backing on the hill, it must surely be damp?’ had been capped by Clem’s misgivings about the humble and shabby character of the neighbouring properties.

‘In case we should ever want to sell again, you mean?’

But, no, it was a descent in the social scale of which Clem had seemed peculiarly conscious; and this had struck Catherine, for the descent was so trifling as to make the consideration ridiculous in her opinion; and, besides, no one could have been less snobbish than Clem was normally. Catherine had felt more than ever dubious.

Then they had been obliged to view the place while it was furnished, floors covered, walls screened, and were aware of the disadvantages of an inspection so imperfect. Still, was it usual to demand the tearing up of linoleum or the lugging out of heavy furniture? But they had imagined their surveyor would somehow have managed to discover the exact state of the floors and walls. Oh, they had been quite easy about that. Clem had finally swung up into high spirits, into complacency.

‘Well, anyway, we can safely leave it to him – nothing will escape him! Now we’ve nothing whatever to worry about. His word shall settle it.’

They had resolved to act entirely by Hungerford’s advice. They were prepared to give up all thought of the place at a word from him. And, fearing that the verdict must be unfavourable, they were resigned to disappointment.

Therefore Hungerford’s rosy report had as much astonished as delighted them. It had been quite a little shock – a joyful shock. Rosy? It was more than that. He had led them to suppose they had secured a bargain.

They had never questioned his verdict. Perhaps it was too much what they desired to hear. The truth was that they were simply not self-confident enough to question it; they had said to each other that it would be fatuous to doubt the judgement of such a man; and the plain fact that, if they had trusted to their own wits and had no advice from anyone, they would have turned the thing down, had added a cruel sting to the business of being gulled. Yes, it was true that without Hungerford they would never have bought this horrible and terrible little house.

A mere arbitrary matter of an agent’s list had brought them to the place; a lovely spot, but not one they had ever considered. A place of which they knew nothing, where they had not a single acquaintance; much too far away from all Clem’s friends; much too far away from London, of which Catherine had always thought so desirously. But they were so tired! Couldn’t the search end here? It was not that they were sentimental about a country life, either. They were urban at heart. Neither of them wished to be isolated in rustic fastnesses, wasting half their days attending to primitive living arrangements and trundling by bus or bicycle miles into a town. But, after all, a country cottage of primitive type remains the cheapest order of house property.

This little house, then, on the outskirts of a picturesque country town, with what appeared to be an unspoiled countryside close about it, even when its position set flush with the pavement of a great main road had been taken into account, had seemed an incredible piece of good fortune.

Then, from the first moment, everything had gone so easily. Difficulties melted away – not a hitch anywhere.

But as soon as ever they were in the trap – yes, ‘in the trap’, that was the phrase which had burst shockingly into Catherine’s mind at the first revelation. In the trap. No sooner was the purchase completed and it was too late to withdraw than everything had gone wrong. As in a nightmare, everything had begun to fall to pieces before their horrified eyes. One shocking discovery had followed upon another.

To begin with, on opening the door with their own key for the first time and stepping for the first time into an empty house, of which Catherine was now the owner, they had been faced by a leprous wall from which all covering objects had been removed. They were silent, touching it and feeling the crumbling, clammy plaster under the sodden paper. Then they were too bright, jaunty. Clem flushed deeply in a way she had of late when frightened, a flush which stayed.

Next, there was Clem coming excitedly down the top stairs lugging a too-heavy pail; Clem, with her face still flushed morbidly with shock, attempting to smile over the dreadful thought which had come to her, lest Catherine should be frightened. ‘How the traffic does shake the place! – do you notice it?’ she said with a nervous little laugh, trying to disguise the seriousness of the statement. They were washing the house down when this happened, and had just had the filthy and strenuous job of taking up the old linoleum which had so kindly been bequeathed to them, and had discovered the usual reason for such generosity – the state of the boards, worm-eaten to danger-point; and dark and nervous views were excusable.