Wicked Uncle

Chapter XXXVll

The inquest was over. Verdict, wilful murder by Geoffrey Masterman. Dispersal of the guests at the Grange. Miss Masterman to a nursing-home. The Totes to the expensive and uncomfortable house in which she always felt a stranger. Moira Lane to the three-roomed flat which she shared with a friend. Miss Silver would stay to keep Dorinda company until after the funeral, when she too would return to town.

It was Dorinda’s destination which was in doubt. She could return to the Heather Club and look for another job. But on the other hand why should she? Two murders and a legacy which she had no intention of keeping didn’t really interfere with the fact that she was Mrs. Oakley’s secretary. She put the point to Moira Lane, and Moira blew a smoke-ring and said,

“Too right.” Then she laughed and said, “Ask Justin!”

Dorinda asked him. At least that is not quite the way to put it. She just said of course there wasn’t any reason why she shouldn’t go back to the Oakleys, and he said, “What a mind!” and walked out of the room. He didn’t slam the door, because Pearson was coming in with the tea-tray, but Dorinda got the impression that if it hadn’t been for that, he might have banged it quite hard.

After tea she walked up to the Mill House and was ushered by Doris into the pink boudoir, where the Oakleys had been having tea. Doris took the tray. Martin Oakley shook hands and edged out of the room. She was left with Linnet, in one of her rose-coloured negligées, reclining on the sofa propped up with pink and blue cushions. Dorinda thought she resembled a Dresden china figure, a little the worse for wear but obviously cheering up. The stamp of tragedy, so ill-suited to her type, was gone. The shadow under the forget-me-not blue eyes no longer suggested a bruise. Some slight natural colour was evident beneath a delicate artificial tint. She was affectionate to the point of warmth. She held Dorinda’s hand for quite a long time whilst she gazed at her with swimming eyes and said how dreadful it had all been.

Dorinda agreed, and came straight to the point.

“I could come back any day now-”

It was at this moment that her hand was released. A lace-bordered handkerchief came into play. Between dabs Mrs. Oakley murmured that it was all so difficult.

“You don’t want me to come?”

There were more dabs.

“Oh, it isn’t that-”

“Won’t you tell me what it is?”

It took quite a long time. Dorinda was reminded of trying to catch a bird with a damaged wing-just as you thought you had got it, it flapped off and you had to start all over again. But in the end out it came. There was a lot of “Martin thinks,” and “Painful associations,” and a very fluttery bit about “the dead past.” But, in much plainer and more brutal English than Linnet Oakley would permit herself, what it amounted to was that Dorinda knew too much. There were little sobs, and little gasps, and little dabs, but it all came down to that.

“Of course, we shall get married again at once, and nobody need ever know. The Scotland Yard Inspector promised us that, unless it was necessary for the case against the murderer. And it couldn’t be, could it? So as Martin says, it’s just to go through the ceremony again, and then we can forget all about it. I’m sure you’ll understand that. You see, it’s been so dreadful, because I did think perhaps Martin had done it-not Mr. Carroll, you know, but Glen. And Martin thought perhaps I had, which was very, very stupid of him, because I shouldn’t have had the strength, besides not being so dreadfully wicked. And you know, there was a time when I was very, very fond of Glen-I really was-and I couldn’t ever have done anything to hurt him. I can’t say that to Martin, because he has a very, very jealous temperament-that was why I was so frightened.”

She gave a last dab and reached for her powder compact.

“I mustn’t cry-it makes me look such a fright. And I really ought to be thankful-the way it’s turned out, I mean-its not being Martin. Because if it had been-” The hand with the powder-puff drooped. The blue eyes swam with tears again. A sobbing breath caught in her throat. “If you’ve been in love with anyone and been married to him you can’t feel just the same as if he was anyone else. And I was in love with Glen- anyone could have been. There was something about him, you know, though he wasn’t even kind to me after all the money had gone. And he went away and didn’t care whether I starved or not-and I very nearly did. But there was something about him-”

Dorinda remembered Aunt Mary dying grimly and saying with a bitter tang in her voice, “What’s the good of asking why? I was a fool-but there was something about him.” There couldn’t be two more different women anywhere in the world, but they had this one thing in common-neither of them had known how to say no to the man who was Glen Porteous and Gregory Porlock. She said in a calm, soothing voice,

“I wouldn’t go on thinking about it-and you’re making your eyes red. You haven’t really told me whether you want me to come back to you. I don’t think you do, but it’s better to get it quite clear, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Oakley dabbed with the powder-puff and said,

“Oh, yes.”

“You see, I must know, because of getting another job.”

Linnet stared.

“But Glen left you all his money.”

“There isn’t very much, and anyhow I can’t keep it. All I want to know is whether you want me-and I think you don’t.”

It seemed that she was right.

“Not because we don’t like you and all that, because we do. But you see, you know, and we should always know that you knew, and I don’t think we could bear it. So if you don’t mind-”

Dorinda came back to the Grange and informed Mr. Justin Leigh that she was out of a job.

“I shall go back to the Heather Club and look about me. I’ve got a month’s salary in hand, and as I shan’t have done a stroke of work for it, it’s not too bad. In a way it’s a relief that the Oakleys don’t want me back, because I think it would be nice to go where no one had ever heard of Uncle Glen. It’s stupid of me, but I’ve rather got that feeling.”

Mr. Leigh, extended full length in the easiest of the study chairs, neither raised his head nor fully opened his eyes. He might have been asleep, only Dorinda felt perfectly sure that he was not. After a short lapse of time he murmured enquiringly,

“Declaration of Independence?”

She said with dignity,

“Miss Silver and I can go up to town after breakfast tomorrow.”

“Yes, I should have breakfast first. Never travel on an empty stomach.”

“I wasn’t going to. Now I’m going upstairs to pack.”

He opened his eyes enough to let her see that they were smiling.

“You don’t need six or seven hours to pack. Come and talk to me.”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“Think again. Think of all the things you’ll think about afterwards and wish you’d said them to me. If you can’t think of them for yourself, I’ll be noble and oblige.” The smile had spread to his lips. “Come along, darling, and relax.” He reached out and pulled up another chair until it touched his own. “I’ll say this for the late Gregory, he knew how to pick a house with good chairs. And what have we been doing for days, and days, and days? Sitting on the edge of them as taut as bowstrings talking to policemen! No way to treat decent furniture. Come along and tell me all about the new job.”

Dorinda weakened. She had a horrid conviction that she would always weaken if Justin looked at her like that. But of course there wouldn’t be a great many more opportunities, because they would both be going back to work, and they wouldn’t be seeing nearly so much of each other.

She came and sat down in the chair, and the very first moment after she had done it she knew just what a mistake it was. It is a great, great deal easier to be proud and independent when you are standing up. Soft well-sprung chairs are hideously undermining. Instead of being buoyed-up with feeling how right it was to be self-supporting and independent, she could only feel how dreadfully dull and flat it was going to be. And as if that wasn’t enough, her mind filled with pictures and images which she had been firmly resolved to banish. There was the moment in the hall on Saturday night when Justin had put his arm round her and of course it meant nothing at all because they were cousins and someone had just been murdered. And there was the moment which really filled her with shame when she had pressed her face into his coat and clung to him with all her might. That was when the police were arresting Geoffrey Masterman and he had broken away and taken a running jump at the end window. The horrid sound of the struggle-men’s feet stamping and sliding on the polished floor, the clamour of voices, the clatter of breaking glass, came back like the sound-track of a film. Justin had pulled away from her and gone to help. It made her feel hot all over to think that he had had to push her away. That was why she mustn’t let go of herself now.

His hand came over the arm of the chair and touched her cheek.

“You’re not relaxing a bit-you’re all stiff and keyed-up. What’s the matter?”

Dorinda said soberly, “I think I’m tired.”

She heard him laugh softly.

“I think you are. And of course that’s a magnificent reason for sitting up as stiff as a board.”

“I get like that when I’m tired. Justin, please let me go!”

“In a minute. Move a bit so that I can get my arm round you… That’s better. Now listen! I’m thinking of getting married.”

She couldn’t help starting, but after that one uncontrollable movement something poured into her-some flood of feeling which carried her right away from all the things which had been troubling her. They didn’t seem to matter any more-they were drowned and swept away. She didn’t know what the feeling was. If it was pain it wasn’t hurting yet. What it was doing was to make her feel that nothing else mattered.

She turned so that she could look at him.

“Is it Moira Lane?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“If it made you happy-”

“It wouldn’t. Anyhow she wouldn’t have me as a gift.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t think she’d care about taking someone else’s property.”

He spoke, unconscious of incongruity, and, incongruous or not, it was the truth. Moira had stolen a bracelet, but she wouldn’t take another girl’s lover. Queer patchy sort of thing human nature.

Dorinda said, “Someone else?” And then, “Who is it, Justin?”

She was looking straight at him. His arm had slipped from her shoulders. He took her hands and said,

“Don’t you think it would be a good thing? I’ve seen a flat that would do. I’ve got furniture. Will it amuse you to help me choose carpets and curtains? All my mother’s things are in store, but I expect they will have perished. I’ll get a day off and we’ll go down and see if there are any survivors.”

“Who are you going to marry?”

“I haven’t asked her yet, darling.”

“Why?”

“Just the feeling that I didn’t want to get it mixed up with policemen and inquests and funerals.”

Dorinda said, “The funerals are over.”

“That’s what I was thinking. Are you going to marry me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Oh, Dorinda!”

She saw that his eyes were wet. It did something to her. He was still holding her hands. All of a sudden he jumped up pulling her with him, and put his arms round her. It wasn’t until he let go of her hands that she knew how tight he had been holding them. They felt quite stiff and numb. She set them against the rough stuff of his coat and held him off. But she didn’t feel that the stuff was rough. She knew it was, but she couldn’t feel anything because her hands were numb. She held him off, and said what she had to say.

“I’m not the right person for you-I’ve always known that. I don’t know enough about how things ought to be done. You ought to marry someone like Moira. I thought you were going to marry her-I’ve thought so for a long time.”

“Think again, my sweet. Think about saying yes. Did I tell you I loved you? I do, you know. It’s been coming on for months. I thought you’d understand when I gave you my mother’s brooch.”

Her eyes widened.

“I thought you were fond of me-”

He gave an odd shaky laugh.

“I’ve gone in off the deep end. Are you coming in too? Dorinda-”

She took her hands away and put up her face like a child.

“If you want me to.”