CHAPTER FIFTY
1
JOAN got out of the cab. In her hand she gripped a birdcage, containing Bobbie, well muffled for the journey.
"That's the 'ouse, miss," said the driver, pointing with his whip.
A large gate painted and grained, with "The Pines" in bold black lettering across it. She pushed it open and walked up the drive. Speckled laurels and rhododendrons, now damp and dripping, flanked her on either hand. The yellow gravel was soggy and ill-kept, with grass and moss growing over it. At a bend in the drive the house came into view; a large three-storied building of the Victorian era, with a wide lawn in front, and a porch with Corinthian columns. The house had once had the misfortune to be painted all over, and now presented the mournful appearance of neglected and peeling paint. As Joan rang the bell she got the impression of a great number of inadequate sash windows, curtained in a dull shade of maroon.
A middle-aged maid-servant opened the door. "Miss Ogden?" she inquired, before Joan had time to speak.
"Yes, I'm Miss Ogden. Do you think my luggage could be brought in, please?"
"That cabby should have driven up to the door," grumbled the woman. "And he knows it, too; they're that lazy!"
She left Joan standing in the hall while she lifted her skirts and stepped gingerly down the drive. Joan looked about her, still clutching the cage. The impression of maroon persisted here; it was everywhere: in the carpet, the leather chairs, the wallpaper. Even the stained-glass fanlight over the front door took up the prevailing tone. The house had its characteristic smell, too; all houses had. Glory Point, she remembered, had smelt of tar, fresh paint and brass polish; the Rodneys' house had smelt of Ralph's musty law books. Leaside had smelt of newspapers, cooking, and for many years of her father's pipes. But this house, what was it it smelt of? She decided that it smelt of old people.
The servant came back, followed by a now surly cabby, carrying a trunk.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, miss," she said less austerely.