Out of the Past

CHAPTER 5

Later on that evening Miss Silver paid her accustomed visit to Mrs. A

“Darsie doesn’t come. She doesn’t tell me anything. She sent that foreign girl up with my supper. Nobody tells me anything, but I know he is here.”

“Someone whom you wanted to see?” enquired Miss Silver. She took a chair and leaned forward to look at the embroidered roses. “What a pretty pattern, and how well you have carried it out.”

Mrs. A

“I heard his voice,” she said. “We don’t talk of him because of what happened. Darsie used to be so pretty and bright- but we don’t talk about it now.”

Miss Silver had begun to knit. She said very kindly,

“It is always better not to recall unhappy things. There are happy memories too, are there not, and pleasant things that happen from day to day?”

Mrs. A

“I was so fond of him. We all were. And Darsie was so pretty-”

At about this same time or a little later Alan Field stepped out of the French window which led from the drawing-room at Cliff Edge and, turning, spoke over his shoulder.

“It’s a great deal cooler out here. Lovely breeze. You are missing all the best of it in there. Why not come out?”

The meal had been a dreary affair. Esther looked as if she had been crying. She probably had, but there really wasn’t any need to let everyone know about it. Quite u

Since no one answered his invitation, he repeated it.

As far as Colonel Trevor was concerned, you took your exercise in the open air, and when you had taken it you came into the house and sat down in a civilized ma

Esther Field said,

“I think not, Alan.”

Carmona said nothing at all.

To everyone’s surprise, Adela Castleton rose to her feet.

“It is rather hot in here,” she said. As she moved towards, the window, Esther Field spoke in a shaky voice,

“Adela, do you think-should you not have a wrap? Is it really wise?”

She had leaned sideways to catch at the folds of a floating skirt. Adela smiled down at her with an air of assurance.

“Oh, yes, Esther.”

Esther Field let go of the filmy stuff.

Lady Castleton came out upon what was by day a singularly hideous terrace adorned with a number of massive urns. In the evening light the effect was softened, the harsher outlines blurred. The old figureheads in the garden below loomed up with a certain air of mystery. The sea beyond the cliff had begun to darken. In an hour or two the breeze would carry a chill. Now it was a breath of enchantment.

Adela Castleton said,

“You are quite right-the air is delightful. Shall we go down towards the sea?”

There were steps that led to the garden. She moved towards them, catching up her floating black. Alan followed her, puzzled. It was quite obvious that she wished to speak to him. A great many women had had the same wish in the past, and had made some such opportunity.

A light breeze after a hot day, dusk and the scent of flowers or the tang of the sea-there was nothing he didn’t know about it. But Adela Castleton-that did puzzle him.

When they were about half way down the garden, its cement paths still giving out the heat, she stopped and said in an authoritative ma

“You have been upsetting Esther. Is that what you came back for?”

He was lighting a cigarette, its red tip glowed. He put away the packet before he answered her. Then he said,

“You are a good friend. Of course anyone could see she had been crying-but you know, she cries very easily. We had been talking about my father.”

“Yes, I know that. I also know what you said to her.”

He blew out a little cloud of smoke.

“Oh-she told you?”

“Yes, she told me. I went into her room before di

“About this Life of my father? I naturally don’t want her to be distressed about it, but if there is to be a Life at all, it must be a faithful one. My father had a good many sides to his character. The side Esther knew wasn’t the only one. He was very fond of her-who wouldn’t be-but she was not the only woman in his life.”

“I suppose not. Do you really mean to make that public?”

He sketched a deprecatory gesture.

“I don’t know what Esther told you, but this is how it is. There is a boom in Penderel Fields. Unfortunately, we possess very few of them-as far as I know, only some sketches and his portrait of Esther. And I don’t see her consenting to part with that.”

“Why should she?”

“I’m not saying that she should. She values it very much, and I wouldn’t dream of asking her to make such a sacrifice.”

She said crisply,

“You surprise me.”

“Do I? Well, to continue. It is now proposed that there should be a Life of my father. I only had a few hundreds out of his estate, and I think it is fair that I should have a share of any profits on the book-especially as the papers without which it ca

“And you propose to sacrifice Esther’s?”

“I don’t want to in the least. I am, in fact, prepared to sacrifice my own advantage. I could publish this correspondence myself. There are about a hundred and fifty letters. I could, I daresay, produce quite a readable Life. But the letters would do the trick on their own-they are of a highly personal and romantic nature. I say I could do this, but for Esther’s sake I don’t want to-do try and believe that. I am very fond of her and I don’t want to hurt her. But I’m in a difficult position. If I can produce a certain sum of money I can secure a partnership in an excellent going concern run by the chap I’ve been working with for the last three years. Other things being equal, he would like to give me the chance, but he must have the money. It’s a question of purchasing a larger ranch, and if I can’t raise the amount, he’ll have to take in someone who can. If Esther will enable me to avail myself of this chance, I shall be only too glad not to distress her by publishing those letters.”