XIII
Evie brought the news at a run. She had been shopping with Teddy—the store had given her a holiday, and there was some talk of subscribing for a wedding present.
"I said to Teddy, 'let's stop and see who it is'—we knew it was somebody swagger by the two cars and the cab outside the door. And then I thought that I knew one of the cars. I said, 'Teddy, I'll bet it is Beryl Merville'—and it was!"
Christina was pale.
"She wasn't to be married until tomorrow," she insisted.
"Well, she's married. My dear, she looked awful. Teddy says—"
"Oh, damn Teddy!" snapped Christina and was sorry. "I don't mean that, but I'm so used to damning your young men that I can't get out of the habit. Did they go away together—Steppe and she?"
"No—she's gone back to the house with her father. Steppe—is he a man with black whiskers—well, he went alone."
Christina kicked off her slippers determinedly.
"I'm going to see her," she said.
"What do you think you can do?" asked the scornful Evie. "Take my advice, Christina, never interfere between man and wife. Teddy says—"
"I repeat anything I have already said about Teddy," remarked Christina. "Chuck over my shoes, Evie."
She could not tell Beryl. She could tell nobody. Ronnie Morelle must be interpreted by those who saw.
She strode out thanking God for life, and Ambrose Sault for the tingle of her soles upon the pavement. Spring was in the air, the park trees were studded with emerald buttons; some impatient bushes had even come fully into leaf before the season had begun. The sky was blue and carried white and majestic clouds; the birds were chattering noisily above her as she came through the park and the earth smelled good, as it only smells in spring when the awakening of life within its bosom releases a million peculiar odors that combine in one fragrant nidor.
To Beryl's eyes the girl, with her peaked face and her flaming hair, was a vision of radiance.
"So good of you—" Beryl was on the verge of a breakdown as Christina Colebrook put her arms about her shoulders. "So lovely of you, Christina—I wanted to see you. I hadn't the energy to move—or the heart."
"Why today?"
"Steppe knows everything. He insisted upon today. As well today as tomorrow. I am troubled about father. I feel that something dreadful is going to happen. He is so restless and he has asked John Maxton to come; John was a great friend of my mother's. In a way I'm almost glad that there is this other trouble hanging over us—that sounds cruel to poor daddy, but it does distract me from—thoughts."
"What is this other trouble?"
But Beryl shook her head.
"I don't know. There has been some unpleasantness about a company father floated. Jan Steppe did it really, father is only a figurehead. He has had people to see him, people from the Public Prosecutor's office. He doesn't talk much about it to me, but I have a premonition that all is not well. But, Christina, I'm just whining and whining at you, poor girl!"
"Whine," said Christina. "Go on whining. I should scream! Beryl, my love, you have to do something for me, something to relieve my heart of a great unhappiness. I intended seeing you today—you had my letter?—well, I'm too late to stop you marrying. I thought I would be in time; but not too late to save your immortal soul."
"What—?"
"Wait. I want you to promise me, by the man we hold mutually sacred, that you will do as I ask. No matter at what inconvenience or danger."
"I will do anything you ask," said Beryl quietly.
"What time do you meet this Steppe?"
"I call for him at eight o'clock. The boat train leaves at nine-thirty."
"At eight o'clock you will go to Ronnie Morelle."
"No, no! I can't do that—"
"You promised. You will see him: go to his flat and see him. Tell him you are married. Tell him the truth, that you are going away with a man you hate. Tell him that Steppe knows."
"I can't! You don't know what you're asking, Christina, I've—begged Ronnie before—begged him to run away with me. I can't do that again. It is impossible."
"You need beg nothing—nothing. Just tell him."
She caught the girl to her.
"Beryl, you're going to do what I ask you, dear?"
"Yes—you wouldn't ask me—"
"Out of caprice," finished Christina, "or cussedness, or a wish to try experiments. No. But you must go, Beryl. I—I think I should kill myself if you didn't."
"Christina! What do you mean?"
"I mean it is life to go and death not to go!" said Christina, with a sort of ferocity that staggered her companion. "That is what I mean." In a quieter tone: "Have you seen Ronald lately?"
Beryl shook her head.
"No. I saw him that night—the night they killed Ambrose—oh—"
"Don't gulp," warned Christina.
"I'm not gulping. I'm yearning. I saw him yearning once, the dear, I am trying to find some of his strength now. It is a little difficult."
On the way home Christina dropped into a telephone booth and paid three precious pennies.
"Ronnie! Christina speaking. Beryl is coming to see you tonight. At eight. Wait for her—don't dare to be out."
She cut off before he could ask questions.