Lady Matthews looked round at the cake-stand. "Why has no one given me anything to eat?" she said plaintively. "I'm exceedingly hungry."
"You refused everything," Felicity reminded her.
"Nonsense, my dear. Give me a scone, please," said Lady Matthews, placid as ever.
Chapter Sixteen
When Lady Matthews had left her that morning, Shirley found herself torn by conflicting feelings. She was at once anxious to shift her burden of worry onto shoulders that seemed to her eminently capable of bearing it, and nervous of the result. She could never quite forget that painful grasp on her wrist beside the dead man's car on the Pittingly Road. It had left a bruise, and it had given her an impression that Mr. Amberley (however kind he might be to animals) would have little mercy on persons whom he detected in breaking the law. His association with the police had made her doubly wary. It was true that he did not seem to have mentioned her presence on the scene of the murder that night; equally true that he had not given her away at the fancy-dress ball. But this forbearance had always seemed to her to be due not so much to chivalry as to a desire to give her enough rope with which to hang herself. He had been watching her from the start and not, she felt, with a kindly eye. Certain words of his still rankled. He had said that he did not like her at all, and she thought that he spoke the truth. She could never discover in him any signs of liking. On the contrary,when he was not mocking her he was very rude and never lost an opportunity of telling her that she was callow and foolish. She set very little store by his unwonted gentleness on the night of Mark's death. After all he was not a cad, and only a cad would have been anything but kind on such an occasion. Moreover, she would not put it above him to have changed his tactics with the hope of inducing her to confide in him. He seemed to her a singularly ruthless individual.
Lady Matthews had guessed a part of her secret and had appeared to think that he also knew it. Shirley was not much surprised at Lady Matthews' perception, but failed to see how Amberley could know. At the same time, she had more than once had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew more about her than he pretended.
A sensation of lassitude had succeeded her first dismay on hearing of Collins' death. Success had, for the first time, been within her reach. Now the valet had been shot, and with him died her hopes. There did not seem to be anything left that she could do; if Mr. Amberley could help her, let him try; if he had her put into prison,what matter?
Her own words to Collins jigged in her brain. Half a loaf. Half a loaf! Better than no bread, was it? She thought bitterly that if the other half had gone it would be better by far had she never set eyes on that tantalising half-loaf.
She realised with a start that she had wasted an hour in vain speculations, so that there was not time before lunch to visit Ivy Cottage. She went out instead to buy a packet of luggage labels and saw, with a wry smile, that her faithful attendant was following at a discreet distance. Had she not been so depressed she did not think that she could have resisted the temptation to lead him on a long cross-country walk over ploughed fields and through hedges. He did not look like a walker.
She meant to set out for the cottage immediately after lunch, but when she had buckled on Bill's collar in preparation for the walk she paused and glanced uncertainly towards her dressing case. Bill reproached her for the delay, but she shook her head. "Wait a bit, Bill. I think we'll be on the safe side," she said slowly.