“That’s ripping of you! You see, obviously, there had to be a girl, and, obviously also, I couldn’t ask a friend. There was nothing for it but to get someone from outside. I searched the newspapers and spotted your office. They said they employed ladies, and being trained to detec—to inquiry work, I thought it would come easy to act a part.”
In after years Juliet never quite understood how she retained her balance at that moment, and did not topple sideways, fall out of the high cart, and find a solution of her troubles. The sudden realisation that she was masquerading as nothing more or less than a lady detective, was so stunning in its unexpectedness and chagrin, that even the tactful softening of the term to that of inquiry agent failed to restore her equanimity. Now, indeed, there was nothing before her but confession, for her whole nature revolted from the position of a “spy” in the household. It required a strong effort to speak in a natural voice.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you began at the beginning and told me the whole story?”
“That’s what I am trying to do, but it’s so difficult... The Squire, Mr Maplestone, is my uncle. He and his wife have been like parents to me. I am in the army—Indian regiment—home on a year’s leave. They have no children, and I am their heir. Naturally, under the circumstances, they are anxious that I should—er—”
“Marry!”
“Quite so. Well!” in a tone of aggrieved self-vindication, “I mean to marry. Every fellow does when he gets past thirty. I came home this time with the determination to get engaged at the first opportunity, but—er—the time has passed by, and—it hasn’t come off. I’ve met lots of girls, charming girls. I can’t honestly say that I haven’t had the opportunity, but when it came to the point”—he shrugged again—“I simply didn’t want them, and that was the end of the matter. The dickens of it is, my leave is up in two months from now, and the old man is at the end of his patience. Last week he had an attack of gout, a bad one too, and that brought matters to a crisis. He declared he’d cut me off there and then if I did not get engaged at once. I was sorry for the old fellow; he was in horrible pain; the doctor said he must be soothed at all costs, so—er—er—on the spur of the moment I invented Clare. I said I was engaged to Clare, but that Clare was afraid of the Indian climate, and refused to marry me till the regiment returned home, two years from now. I hardly realised what I was saying. I was between the devil and the deep sea. But he swallowed it whole, went off to sleep, and woke up as bright as a button. I was inclined to congratulate myself on having done a clever thing, for as I told you, I intend to marry. I am only waiting for the right girl to turn up. I may very likely meet her on the voyage out. Many men do. But, retribution fell upon me. He demanded to see Clare. I prevaricated. He grew suspicious. There was another scene, another relapse; it was a case of confessing all, at goodness knows what risk, or of finding Clare, and producing her for inspection. So—you see—”
Juliet sat silent; petrified, aflame. While he had been speaking, Maplestone had kept his eyes rigorously averted from her face; he continued to do so now, and they drove along the quiet lane in a silence which could be felt—a throbbing, palpitating, scorching silence, which grew momentarily more unendurable. Juliet told herself fiercely that she was a fool to feel embarrassed. Alice White would not have been embarrassed. Alice White would have accepted the position as a pure matter of business. As Alice White’s substitute, she must pull herself together and discuss the matter in a cool, rational fashion. If only her cheeks were not quite so hot!
“It’s—er—rather an unusual proposition, isn’t it? It is, as you say, somewhat difficult to discuss. Suppose,” she cried desperately, “we treat it with a sense of humour! Don’t let us be serious. Let us laugh over it, and then it will become quite easy.”
“Oh, thank you, yes. How ripping of you!” His eyes flashed relief. “I can promise you that it won’t be nearly as trying as it sounds. The old people will be all that is kind, and—er—you understand that he is an invalid, and his wife is his nurse. They are engrossed with their own affairs, and won’t worry you with questions. It is only in your supposed connection with me that you will—er—enter into their lives. As to myself, I have the reputation of being reserved to a fault. They won’t expect me to—er—er—”
Juliet forced a determined smile. “Precisely so! We’ll be a model of all that an engaged couple—ought to be. But I had better not make myself too agreeable, in case the subsequent breaking off should prejudice the old people against you. I conclude I am to break it off?”