Miss Eade moved sullenly away, not more than half convinced. Long after Monica’s disappearance she strayed about the platform and the approaches to the station. Her brother was slow in arriving. Once or twice she held casual colloquy with men who also stood waiting—perchance for their sisters; and ultimately one of these was kind enough to offer her refreshment, which she graciously accepted. Rhoda Nunn would have classed her and mused about her: a not unimportant type of the odd woman.
* * *
After this Monica frequently went out, always accompanied by her sister. It happened more than once that they saw Widdowson, who walked past the house at least every other day; he didn’t approach them, and had he done so Monica would have kept an obstinate silence.
For more than a fortnight he had not written to her. At length there came a letter, merely a repetition of his former appeals.
“I hear,” he wrote, “that your elder sister is coming to London. Why should she live here in lodgings, when a comfortable house is at the disposal of you all? Let me again entreat you to go to Clevedon. The furniture shall be moved any moment you wish. I solemnly promise not to molest you in any way, not even by writing. It shall be understood that business makes it necessary for me to live in London. For your sister’s sake do accept this offer. If I could see you in private, I should be able to give you a very good reason why your sister Virginia would benefit by the change; perhaps you yourself know of it. Do answer me, Monica. Never again will I refer by word or look to what has passed. I am anxious only to put an end to the wretched life that you are leading. Do go to the house at Clevedon, I implore you.”
It was not the first time he had hinted darkly at a benefit that might accrue to Virginia if she left London. Monica had no inkling of what he meant. She showed her sister this communication, and asked if she could understand the passage which concerned her.
“I haven’t the least idea,” Virginia replied, her hand trembling as she held the paper. “I can only suppose that he thinks that I am not looking well.”
The letter was burnt, as all the others had been, no answer vouchsafed. Virginia’s mind seemed to waver with regard to the proposed settlement at Clevedon. Occasionally she had urged Monica, with extreme persistence, to accept what was offered; at other times, as now, for instance, she said nothing. Yet Alice had written beseeching her to use all means for Monica’s persuasion. Miss Madden infinitely preferred the thought of dwelling at Clevedon—however humble the circumstances had been—to that of coming back into London lodgings whilst she sought for a new engagement. The situation she was about to quit had proved more laborious than any in her experience. At first merely a governess, she had gradually become children’s nurse as well, and for the past three months had been expected to add the tendance of a chronic invalid to her other duties. Not a day’s holiday since she came. She was broken down and utterly woebegone.
But Monica could not be moved. She refused to go again under her husband’s roof until he had stated that his charge against her was absolutely unfounded. This concession went beyond Widdowson’s power; he would forgive, but still declined to stultify himself by a statement that could have no meaning. To what extent his wife had deceived him might be uncertain, but the deception was a proved fact. Of course it never occurred to him that Monica’s demand had a significance which emphasized the name of Barfoot. Had he said, “I am convinced that your relations with Barfoot were innocent,” he would have seemed to himself to be acquitting her of all criminality; whereas Monica, from her point of view, illogically supposed that he might credit her on this one issue without overthrowing all the evidence that declared her untrustworthy. In short, she expected him to read a riddle which there was scarcely a possibility of his understanding.
Alice was in correspondence with the gloomy husband. She promised him to use every effort to gain Monica’s confidence. Perhaps as the eldest sister she might succeed where Virginia had failed. Her faith in Monica’s protestations had been much shaken by the item of intelligence which Virginia secretly communicated; she thought it too likely that her unhappy sister saw no refuge from disgrace but in stubborn denial of guilt. And in the undertaking that was before her she had no hope save through the influence of religion—with her a much stronger force than with either of the others.