‘What a damned nuisance money is,’ she said, petulantly. ‘If only Aunt Emily were to die we could get married at once, and you could come to London and have a laboratory full of test tubes and guinea pigs, and never bother any more about children with mumps and old ladies with livers.’
Donaldson said:
‘There’s no reason why your aunt shouldn’t live for many years to come—if she’s careful.’
Theresa said despondently:
‘I know that…’
In the big double-bedded room with the old-fashioned oak furniture, Dr Tanios said to his wife:
‘I think that I have prepared the ground sufficiently. It is now your turn, my dear.’
He was pouring water from the old-fashioned copper can into the rose-patterned china basin.
Bella Tanios sat in front of the dressing-table wondering why, when she combed her hair as Theresa did, it should not look like Theresa’s!
There was a moment before she replied. Then she said:
‘I don’t think I want—to ask Aunt Emily for money.’
‘It’s not for yourself, Bella, it’s for the sake of the children. Our investments have been so unlucky.’
His back was turned, he did not see the swift glance she gave him—a furtive, shrinking glance.
She said with mild obstinacy:
‘All the same, I think I’d rather not… Aunt Emily is rather difficult. She can be generous but she doesn’t like being asked.’
Drying his hands, Tanios came across from the washstand.
‘Really, Bella, it isn’t like you to be so obstinate. After all, what have we come down here for?’
She murmured:
‘I didn’t—I never meant—it wasn’t to ask for money…’
‘Yet you agreed that the only hope if we are to educate the children properly is for your aunt to come to the rescue.’
Bella Tanios did not answer. She moved uneasily.
But her face bore the mild mulish look that many clever husbands of stupid wives know to their cost.
She said:
‘Perhaps Aunt Emily herself may suggest—’
‘It is possible, but I’ve seen no signs of it so far.’
Bella said:
‘If we could have brought the children with us. Aunt Emily couldn’t have helped loving Mary. And Edward is so intelligent.’
Tanios said, drily:
‘I don’t think your aunt is a great child lover. It is probably just as well the children aren’t here.’
‘Oh, Jacob, but—’
‘Yes, yes, my dear. I know your feelings. But these desiccated English spinsters—bah, they are not human. We want to do the best we can, do we not, for our Mary and our Edward? To help us a little would involve no hardship to Miss Arundell.’
Mrs Tanios turned, there was a flush in her cheeks.
‘Oh, please, please, Jacob, not this time. I’m sure it would be unwise. I would so very very much rather not.’
Tanios stood close behind her, his arm encircled her shoulders. She trembled a little and then was still—almost rigid.
He said and his voice was still pleasant:
‘All the same, Bella, I think—I think you will do what I ask… You usually do, you know—in the end… Yes, I think you will do what I say…’
It was Tuesday afternoon. The side door to the garden was open. Miss Arundell stood on the threshold and threw Bob’s ball the length of the garden path. The terrier rushed after it.
‘Just once more, Bob,’ said Emily Arundell. ‘A good one.’
Once again the ball sped along the ground with Bob racing at full speed in pursuit.
Miss Arundell stooped down, picked up the ball from where Bob laid it at her feet and went into the house, Bob following her closely. She shut the side door, went into the drawing-room, Bob still at her heels, and put the ball away in the drawer.
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was half-past six.
‘A little rest before dinner, I think, Bob.’
She ascended the stairs to her bedroom. Bob accompanied her. Lying on the big chintz-covered couch with Bob at her feet, Miss Arundell sighed. She was glad that it was Tuesday and that her guests would be going tomorrow. It was not that this weekend had disclosed anything to her that she had not known before. It was more the fact that it had not permitted her to forget her own knowledge.
She said to herself:
‘I’m getting old, I suppose…’ And then, with a little shock of surprise: ‘I am old…’
She lay with her eyes closed for half an hour, then the elderly house-parlourmaid, Ellen, brought hot water and she rose and prepared for dinner.
Dr Donaldson was to dine with them that night. Emily Arundell wished to have an opportunity of studying him at close quarters. It still seemed to her a little incredible that the exotic Theresa should want to marry this rather stiff and pedantic young man. It also seemed a little odd that this stiff and pedantic young man should want to marry Theresa.
She did not feel as the evening progressed that she was getting to know Dr Donaldson any better. He was very polite, very formal and, to her mind, intensely boring. In her own mind she agreed with Miss Peabody’s judgement. The thought flashed across her brain, ‘Better stuff in our young days.’
Dr Donaldson did not stay late. He rose to go at ten o’clock. After he had taken his departure Emily Arundell herself announced that she was going to bed. She went upstairs and her young relations went up also. They all seemed somewhat subdued tonight. Miss Lawson remained downstairs performing her final duties, letting Bob out for his run, poking down the fire, putting the guard up and rolling back the hearthrug in case of fire.
She arrived rather breathless in her employer’s room about five minutes later.
‘I think I’ve got everything,’ she said, putting down wool, work-bag, and a library book. ‘I do hope the book will be all right. She hadn’t got any of the ones on your list but she said she was sure you’d like this one.’
‘That girl’s a fool,’ said Emily Arundell. ‘Her taste in books is the worst I’ve ever come across.’
‘Oh, dear. I’m so sorry—Perhaps I ought—’
‘Nonsense, it’s not your fault.’ Emily Arundell added kindly, ‘I hope you enjoyed yourself this afternoon.’
Miss Lawson’s face lighted up. She looked eager and almost youthful.
‘Oh, yes, thank you very much. So kind of you to spare me. I had the most interesting time. We had the Planchette and really—it wrote the most interesting things. There were several messages… Of course it’s not quite the same thing as the sittings… Julia Tripp has been having a lot of success with the automatic writing. Several messages from Those who have Passed Over. It—it