Beggar’s Choice

She still had time, but it was slipping away. Every moment seemed to pass slowly, and each new moment might be the moment of decision. It hadn’t ever been like this before. She couldn’t remember any other time when she had stood with a space cleared before her and waited, not knowing for certain what she was going to do. She had always before been pushed-driven, without time to think, so that when she could think again it was too late to go back.

Sometimes it was fear that had driven her. She could not bear not to be praised and admired. The child, covering a fault with a quick lie, had grown into the woman who would ruin a man because he had slighted her.

She had not meant to ruin Car; she had only meant to force him into marrying her. Her wild accusation had not been premeditated. She had seen him look at Isobel, and had rushed from a passionate quarrel with him to his uncle, not caring what she said. Her reputation didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except to damn Car in his uncle’s eyes. Uncle John would make him marry her, or he would drive him from Linwood and from Isobel. After three years, she still did not know just why she had done it. Anger swept you away, and you did things, and then you couldn’t go back. It had been like that ever since. She had said things that she had not meant to say, spoken aloud thoughts that she had played with-dangerously. She had acted, and been carried away by her own acting. But now she had come to a moment in which all the heat of anger, all the glamour and thrill of drama, were stripped away, and there was only fear left. If she went on, Car… She saw him in the dock, in prison. She saw him changed, coarsened, spoilt. She saw herself in the witness-box-a slim, black frock, a small, black hat, a pale profile, her emerald ring, her hands very white; Car looking at her; the judge’s voice sentencing him.

The picture broke at the thrust of a stabbing pain. If she went back-she could still go back. Another picture rose up vivid and clear-Car at the chancel of Linwood church with Isobel’s hand in his, and Car’s voice saying “to have and to hold from this day forward.” The pain stabbed again. Forward-the word stayed with her-Forward. She wasn’t going back whatever happened. You couldn’t really go back. She had been a fool to think of it. What? After all she had done and all she had made Bobby do? With all her plans ready and only one more step to take?

She lifted her head and saw the outer world again-the very blue sky, the green, smooth slopes ru

“A

XXXI

Mr. Carthew, having successfully conducted Cori

“People say one oughtn’t to keep jewelry in the house, but I’ve had all my servants for years, and I trust them all just as I’d trust myself. And besides, a safe’s a safe-what? No good having one if it won’t keep a burglar out-that’s what I say. Besides, I shouldn’t like to think of my wife’s things put away in a bank. Some of ’em were my mother’s, and some of ’em were her mother’s, and they’ve always been in this house, and they’ll stay in it as long as I’m here myself.”

“And no one wears them?” said Cori

“No one’s got the right to wear them,” said Mr. Carthew gruffly. He dropped his voice, but he looked at A

“I love seeing jewelry,” said Cori

Mr. Carthew turned back the leaves of the album.

“She wore my mother’s necklace to go to Court in-you can see it here. And the stars are what I gave her when we were married. But you can’t see the Queen A

“What is it?” asked Cori

“Aha! It’s an heirloom. You’re American-Americans like old things, don’t they? It’s a bow of diamonds-very fine stones-and a big emerald in the middle of it, with another one hanging down as a drop. Queen A

A

“Your keys, Uncle John? Haven’t you got them?”

“Should I ask for ’ em if I ’d got ’em?”

A

“Well, you might. Aren’t they in your pocket? Or-did you put them down under those albums?”

“Why should I do that?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled again, and found the keys under the corner of the largest photograph album.

Mr. Carthew took them, letting them swing and jingle.

“Pull down the blinds and put on the light,” he said.

Cori

“Good place for a safe-what?” he said, and Cori

It pleased Mr. Carthew enormously to have such an appreciative audience. He beckoned to Cori

“And now for the Queen A

Cori

The ladder Mr. Carthew was using had three steps on either side. A

A

“I tell you it’s not there! And I tell you I put it there myself-what-you saw me!”

“It must be there,” said A

“Where? I don’t see it.”

“There-on the right, by your hand-under the big, square case. Look!”

“And who put it there?” said Mr. Carthew angrily. “I’ll swear it wasn’t me. Who’s been messing the things about? Who-”

He pulled out the case with a jerk. It was very rubbed and shabby and old; the leather, which had once been scarlet, was now a dim pinkish brown; the gold crown on the lid could only just be distinguished, a mere tarnished hint of royalty.

Mr. Carthew turned round, still grumbling.

“I suppose you’ll say I’m losing my memory-but I never put it there, and that I’ll swear to.”

A

“Oh, do show it to us!” said Cori