The lonely house

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

And then, after he had disappeared round the edge of the terrace, the Countess walked a little gropingly, as might have walked a blind woman, through into the drawing-room.

There was no one there, and she gave an involuntary sigh of relief. She had a disagreeable communication to make to her husband and to Cristina, and she was glad that she would not have to make it at once. She was going to propose something that she knew would annoy and frighten both of her house-mates, and yet it was something which, though disagreeable, had to be done. For the matter concerned Beppo—and would take a danger and an obstacle out of her son’s way, make the future for Beppo smooth. Surely Angelo would understand, and not involve her in a long, tiring argument? Still, she would begin with Cristina.

She left the drawing-room, and went slowly to the tiny kitchen.

Cristina was sitting at the small table, doing nothing. She looked up with unsmiling eyes at one whom she regarded as an intruder on her domain.

And, on meeting that look, the Countess felt a pang of exasperation and pain. It was not her fault that Cristina’s help was required! Often in the past she had felt that she would have given anything in the world if she could have carried through her schemes unaided. But there are things which no woman, however clever, however determined, however physically strong, can do alone. And the thing which the Countess had made up her mind must be done within the next few days was one of those things in which the co-operation of at least two other human beings was required.

Five minutes after the Countess had entered the kitchen she left it, wiping a few drops from her forehead as she did so. She was not a nervous woman, but the five minutes had tried her nerves severely. For Cristina, to her horror and surprise, had begun by refusing to accede to her wishes.

“I would rather kill myself!” the old woman had said. “And what is more, I will kill myself if you drive me too far! Whether I go to hell in the next few days, or in the next few years, does not matter much to me. For the matter of that, I am in hell already!”

And then, after the Countess had answered these wild, extravagant, and foolish words very quietly, making an appeal to Cristina’s better feelings, and to her love for Beppo, the other had bowed down her head over the table, and, sobbing bitterly, had confessed herself conquered. Yes, for one more time, she would do what was required of her. But it must be the last time, for she was at the end of her strength.

“And what do you think I feel?” the Countess had asked passionately. And then she had gone into her own sitting-room and sat down.

Opening a drawer she took out of it a box of little heart pills, which had been given her six years ago by the specialist at Marseilles whom she had gone to consult about the state of her health. She took two of these, waited for their effect to begin, and then, as she gradually began to feel calmer, she got up and, opening the door, went upstairs to find the Count. It had been her suggestion that the patience table should be taken up there, so as to leave the drawing-room free for Beppo and Lily to talk together in the odd English fashion.