She rose suddenly and moved towards him, speaking excitedly. "Richard, for God's sake, before it's too late, take me away!"
"Away?" Richard's voice was empty and despairing. "Away where?"
"Anywhere," replied Lucia with growing excitement. "Anywhere in the world! But away from this house. That's the important thing, away from this house! I am afraid, Richard, I tell you I'm afraid. There are shadows -" she looked over her shoulder as though she could see them "- shadows everywhere."
Richard remained seated. "How can we go away without money?" he asked. He looked up at Lucia and continued, bitterly, "A man's not much good to a woman without money, is he, Lucia? Is he?"
She backed away from him. "Why do you say that?" she asked. "What do you mean?"
Richard continued to look at her in silence, his face tense yet curiously expressionless.
"What's the matter with you tonight, Richard?" Lucia asked him. "You're different, somehow -"
Richard rose from his chair. "Am I?"
"Yes - what is it?"
"Well -" Richard began, and then stopped. "Nothing. It's nothing."
He started to turn away from her, but Lucia pulled him back and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Richard, my dear -" she began. He took her hands from his shoulders.
"Richard," she said again.
Putting his hands behind his back, Richard looked down at her.
"Do you think I'm a complete fool?" he asked. "Do you think I didn't see this old friend of yours slip a note into your hand tonight?"
"Do you mean you thought that -"
He interrupted her fiercely. "Why did you come out from dinner? You weren't feeling faint. That was all a pretense. You wanted to be alone to read your precious note. You couldn't wait. You were nearly mad with impatience because you couldn't get rid of us. First Aunt Caroline - then me." His eyes were cold with hurt and anger as he looked at her.
"Richard," said Lucia, "you're mad. Oh, it's absurd. You can't think I care for Carelli! Can you? Can you, really? My dear, Richard, my dear - it's you. It's nobody but you. You must know that."
Richard kept his eyes fixed on her. "What is in that note?" he asked quietly.
"Nothing - nothing at all."
"Then show it to me."
"I - I can't," said Lucia. "I've destroyed it."
A frigid smile appeared and disappeared on Richard's face.
"No, you haven't," he said. "Show it to me."
Lucia was silent for a moment. She looked at him imploringly.
Then, "Richard," she asked, "can't you trust me?"
"I could take it from you by force," he muttered through clenched teeth, as he advanced a step towards her. "I've half a mind -"
Lucia backed away with a faint cry, her eyes still on Richard's face as though willing him to believe her. Suddenly he turned away.
"No," he said, as though to himself. "I suppose there are some things one can't do."
He turned back to face his wife. "But, by God, I'll have it out with Carelli."
Lucia caught his arm with a cry of alarm. "No, Richard, you mustn't. You mustn't. Don't do that, I beg you. Don't do that."
"You're afraid for your lover, are you?" sneered Richard.
"He's not my lover," Lucia retorted fiercely.
Richard took her by the shoulders. "Perhaps he isn't - yet," he said. "Perhaps he -"
Hearing voices outside in the hall, he stopped speaking. Making an effort to control himself, he moved to the fireplace, took out a cigarette-case and lighter, and lit a cigarette.
As the door from the hall opened and the voices grew louder, Lucia moved to the chair Richard had recently vacated, and sat. Her face was white, her hands clasped together in tension.
Miss Amory entered, accompanied by her niece Barbara, an extremely modern young woman of twenty-one.
Swinging her handbag, Barbara crossed the room towards her.
"Hello, Lucia, are you all right now?" she asked.
Chapter 3
Lucia forced a smile as Barbara Amory approached her. "Yes, thank you, darling," she replied. "I'm perfectly all right. Really."
Barbara looked down at the beautiful black-haired wife of her cousin. "Not broken any glad tidings to Richard, have you?" she asked. "Is that what it's all about?"
"Glad tidings? What glad tidings? I don't know what you mean," protested Lucia.
Barbara clasped her arms together and made a rocking motion as though cradling a baby. Lucia's reaction to this pantomime was a sad smile and a shake of the head. Miss Amory, however, collapsed in horror onto a chair. "Really, Barbara!" she admonished.
"Well," said Barbara, "accidents will happen, you know."
Her aunt shook her head vigorously. "I cannot think what young girls are coming to, nowadays," she announced to no one in particular. "In my young days we did not speak flippantly of motherhood, and I would never have allowed -" She broke off at the sound of the door opening, and looked around in time to see Richard leave the room.
"You've embarrassed Richard," she continued, addressing Barbara, "and I can't say I'm at all surprised."
"Well, Aunt Caroline," Barbara replied, "you are a Victorian, you know, born when the old Queen still had a good twenty years of life ahead of her. You're thoroughly representative of your generation, and I dare say I am of mine."
"I'm in no doubt as to which I prefer -" her aunt began, only to be interrupted by Barbara, who chuckled and said, "I think the Victorians were too marvellous. Fancy telling children that babies were found under gooseberry bushes! I think it's sweet."
She fumbled in her handbag, found a cigarette and a lighter, and lit the cigarette. She was about to begin speaking again when Miss Amory silenced her with a gesture.
"Oh, do stop being silly, Barbara. I'm really very worried about this poor child here, and I wish you wouldn't make fun of me."
Lucia suddenly broke down and began to weep. Trying to wipe the tears from her eyes, she said between sobs, "You are all so good to me. No one was ever kind to me until I came here, until I married Richard. It's been wonderful to be here with you. I can't help it, I -"
"There, there," murmured Miss Amory, rising and going to Lucia. She patted her on the shoulder. "There, there, my dear. I know what you mean - living abroad all your life - most unsuitable for a young girl. Not a proper kind of upbringing at all, and of course the continentals have some very peculiar ideas about education. There, there."
Lucia stood up and looked about her uncertainly. She allowed Miss Amory to lead her to the settee, and sat at one end while Miss Amory patted cushions around her and then sat next to her. "Of course you're upset, my dear. But you must try to forget about Italy. Although, of course, the dear Italian lakes are quite delightful in the spring, I always think. Very suitable for holidays, but one wouldn't want to live there, naturally. Now, now, don't cry, my dear."
"I think she needs a good stiff drink," suggested Barbara, sitting on the coffee-table and peering critically but not unsympathetically into Lucia's face. "This is an awful house, Aunt Caroline. It's years behind the times. You never see the ghost of a cocktail in it. Nothing but sherry or whisky before dinner, and brandy afterwards. Richard can't make a decent Manhattan, and just try asking Edward Raynor for a Whisky Sour. Now what would really pull Lucia around in no time would be a Satan's Whisker."
Miss Amory turned a shocked countenance upon her niece. "What," she inquired in horrified tones, "might a Satan's Whisker be?"
"It's quite simple to make, if you have the ingredients," replied Barbara. "It's merely equal parts of brandy and créme de menthe, but you mustn't forget a shake of red pepper. That's most important. It's absolutely super, and guaranteed to put some pep into you."
"Barbara, you know I disapprove of these alcoholic stimulants," Miss Amory exclaimed with a shudder. "My dear father always said -"
"I don't know what he said," replied Barbara, "but absolutely everyone in the family knows that dear old Great-Uncle Algernon had the reputation of being a three-bottle man."
At first Miss Amory looked as if she might explode, but then the slight twitch of a smile appeared on her lips, and all she said was, "Gentlemen are different."
Barbara was having none of this. "They're not in the least different," she said. "Or at any rate I can't imagine why they should be allowed to be different. They simply got away with it in those days." She produced from her handbag a small mirror, a powder-puff and lipstick. "Well, how do we look?" she asked herself. "Oh, my God!" And she began vigorously to apply lipstick.
"Really, Barbara," said her aunt, "I do wish you wouldn't put quite so much of that red stuff on your lips. It's such a very bright colour."
"I hope so," replied Barbara, still completing her makeup. "After all, it cost seven and sixpence."
"Seven shillings and sixpence! What a disgraceful waste of money, just for - for -"
"For 'Kissproof,' Aunt Caroline."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The lipstick. It's called 'Kissproof.'"
Her aunt sniffed disapprovingly. "I know, of course," she said, "that one's lips are inclined to chap if one has been out in a high wind, and that a little grease is advisable. Lanoline, for instance. I always use -"
Barbara interrupted her. "My dear Aunt Caroline, take it from me, a girl simply can't have too much lipstick on. After all, she never knows how much of it she's going to lose in the taxi coming home." As she spoke, she replaced the mirror, powder-puff and lipstick in her handbag.
Miss Amory looked puzzled. "What do you mean, 'in the taxi coming home?'" she asked. "I don't understand."
Barbara rose and, moving behind the settee, leaned over to Lucia. "Never mind. Lucia understands, don't you, my love?" she asked, giving Lucia's chin a little tickle.
Lucia Amory looked around blankly. "I'm so sorry," she said to Barbara, "I haven't been listening. What did you say?"
Focusing her attention on Lucia again, Caroline Amory returned to the subject of that young lady's health. "You know, my dear," she said, "I really am worried about you."
She looked from Lucia to Barbara. "She ought to have something, Barbara. What have we got now? Sal volatile, of course, that would be the very thing. Unfortunately, that careless Ellen broke my bottle this morning when she was dusting in my room."
Pursing her lips, Barbara considered for a moment. "I know," she exclaimed. "The hospital stores!"
"Hospital stores? What do you mean? What hospital stores?" Miss Amory asked.
Barbara came and sat in a chair close to her aunt. "You remember," she reminded her. "All of Edna's things."
Miss Amory's face brightened. "Ah, yes, of course!"
Turning to Lucia, she said, "I wish you had met Edna, my elder niece, Barbara's sister. She went to India with her husband - oh, it must have been about three months before you came here with Richard. Such a capable girl, Edna was."
"Most capable," Barbara confirmed. "She's just had twins. As there are no gooseberry bushes in India, I think she must have found them under a double mango tree."
Miss Amory allowed herself a smile. "Hush, Barbara," she said. Then, turning back to Lucia, she continued, "As I was saying, dear, Edna trained as a dispenser during the war. She worked at our hospital here. We turned the Town Hall into a hospital, you know, during the war. And then for some years after the war, until she was married, Edna continued to work in the dispensary at the County Hospital. She was very knowledgeable about drugs and pills and that sort of thing. I dare say she still is. That knowledge must be invaluable to her in India. But what was I saying? Oh, yes - when she left. Now what did we do with all those bottles of hers?"
"I remember perfectly well," said Barbara. "A lot of old things of Edna's from the dispensary were bundled into a box. They were supposed to be sorted out and sent to hospitals, but everyone forgot, or at least no one did anything about it. They were put away in the attic, and they only came to light again when Edna was packing to go to India. They're up there -" she gestured towards the bookcase - "and they still haven't been looked through and sorted out."
She rose and, taking her chair across to the bookcase, stood on it and, reaching up, lifted the black tin box down from the top.
Ignoring Lucia's murmured "Please don't bother, darling, I really don't need anything," Barbara carried the box over to the table in the center of the room and put it down.
"Well," she said, "at least we might as well have a look at the things now that I've got them down." She opened the box. "Oh dear, it's a motley collection," she said, taking out various bottles as she spoke. "Iodine, Friar's Balsam, something called Tinct. Card. Co, Castor oil." She grimaced.
"Ah, now we're coming to the hot stuff," she exclaimed, as she took out of the box some small brown glass tubes.
"Atropine, morphine, strychnine," she read from the labels. "Be careful, Aunt Caroline. If you arouse my furious temper, I'll poison your coffee with strychnine, and you'll die in the most awful agony." Barbara made a mock-menacing gesture at her aunt, who waved her away with a snort.
"Well, there's nothing here we could possibly try out on Lucia as a tonic, that's for certain," she laughed, as she began to pack the bottles and phials back into the tin box. She was holding a tube of morphine aloft in her right hand as the door to the hall opened and Tredwell ushered in Edward Raynor, Dr Carelli and Sir Claud Amory.
