The Mystery at Stowe. Vernon Loder

gone. Her lips tightened a little, her gaze became speculative.

      ‘What does that mean exactly?’ she asked, when her silence had made him fidget, and uneasily stir his coat-tails behind his back.

      He cleared his throat nervously. ‘Nothing more than what I say, I assure you, Miss Gurdon. I hear that a good deal of money will be wanted for your new expedition. I’d like to have a hand, if not a name, in it.’

      ‘You are suggesting financing me?’ she said bluntly.

      He nodded, relieved. ‘That’s it. I should like to. Name your figure, and I’m on. It would be a pity to spoil the ship for the sake of a hap’orth of tar.’

      She considered that for a moment. She knew that the trip would be an expensive one. Barley had plenty of funds.

      ‘Perhaps you haven’t heard that Mr Tollard is backing me?’

      He coloured a little, and she knew at once that someone had been talking. Her glance became slightly hostile. He fidgeted again, puffed gustily at his cigarette, threw it behind him into the fire-place, and smiled apologetically.

      ‘Well, I understood so. Yes, decidedly I knew that. At least, I was aware that he was standing some of the expense.’

      ‘What then?’ said Elaine, and now she held his eyes, and her own had grown hard and challenging.

      ‘My dear girl,’ said Mr Barley, with symptoms of discomfort in voice and manner, ‘now we come to a point that has been causing me some distress.’

      ‘But does not directly concern you, perhaps?’ she demanded.

      ‘Not directly—no. But we are all friends here. I hope we are, and, er—’

      ‘You think it unwise of me to accept financial help from Mr Tollard?’ she interrupted fiercely.

      ‘That is more or less what I meant to say,’ remarked the kind old man. ‘It may sound crude to you, the more so, Miss Gurdon, because I am not sure that you realise what people have been saying.’

      ‘Or don’t care?’ she fired out.

      ‘In this world we have to care,’ he said gently. ‘I’m old enough to be your father, my dear, and I tell you that we have to pay some attention to what others say, even if we have given them no cause to say it.’

      ‘That simply isn’t true!’

      ‘Excuse me if I say it is. If not for oneself, there are others concerned. We never live quite alone and detached in this world. I was thinking of Mrs Tollard. She may be a weak woman, and a foolish, but I feel sure her husband’s interest in this expedition gives her pain. Then she is aware of the gossip. There are always people about who are anxious to tell young wives what others say of their husbands.’

      Elaine got up. ‘I don’t think I care to continue this.’

      He reached out a fat hand, and put it on her arm. ‘Do hear me out. I am sure you are everything that is discreet. Tollard too. I am quite sure of it. If I weren’t, I should not insult you by saying what I have said. Look at it this way. You and Mr Tollard are old friends. You are interested in the same thing. No one of sense thinks otherwise, but his young wife has perhaps some of the natural jealousy we find in folk who haven’t been brought up to keep a hold on themselves.’

      Elaine’s lip curled. ‘You describe her neatly.’

      ‘Very well then, is it worth while to sow discord between husband and wife, when you can avoid it by stepping the other way? Look at it that way. Let me give you a cheque for your work out there, and tell Tollard you need not trouble him. No one will know what I have just said to you.’

      Elaine shrugged. ‘It won’t do at all. I know you mean well, but it won’t do. Mr Tollard would see through it at once. It would be as blunt as telling him that I thought we were in danger of falling in love with one another. I refuse to take that attitude. Margery is a little fool. I hope she has not been complaining to you?’

      ‘Not a word,’ he said awkwardly, ‘but I hear talk. I wish you would think it over. If on no other grounds, you might give me the pleasure of associating myself with your important exploration. It’s a weak spot in me. I’m a bachelor and without anyone to carry on my name. I should like to be known as one who did a bit in the world.’

      She shook her head. ‘I am sorry. It is quite impossible. It would be an insult to Ned—to Mr Tollard. It would even seem to some a confession that there was something wrong. You must see that.’

      ‘Mrs Tollard looks most unhappy,’ he said.

      ‘It’s her own fault,’ Elaine cried hotly. ‘She has a pose. I detest her, if you must know! Like all the silly, backboneless creatures in the world, she thinks if she sits back in a chair, and smiles wanly about her, people will kneel at her knees all day and worship her. I refuse to pamper her wretched emotions. Mr Tollard and I have never been anything but good friends. I need not tell you I don’t love him, or he me. I needn’t say that a woman of my type who loved a man would not be as discreet as I have been.’

      ‘I shouldn’t have thought of asking,’ he said simply.

      ‘Then why should this miserable weakling parade a misery for which she has no justification, Mr Barley?’ she cried hotly. ‘She will end by making herself a laughing-stock, and ruining her husband’s life.’

      ‘Well, think it over, think it over,’ said he, disconcerted by her vehemence. ‘I am sure I meant no harm. It was just a thought of mine. I hoped it would do good. I hate to see folk unhappy.’

      ‘I know,’ she said, throwing away the stub of her cigarette, ‘but I am afraid I have given you the only answer I can. Do you mind if I leave you, and go into the garden? I need a breath of fresh air.’

      ‘Not at all. You have been very patient in listening to me,’ he returned. ‘I have a letter or two to write, so go by all means.’

      Bitterness sat on Elaine’s lips as she left him, and went out through the French window into the garden. Anyone watching her now would have understood, the spirit, the resolution, the fiery energy, which had carried her through a hundred perils. Poor old Barley was like the rest of them. Whatever he said, he was afraid Ned and she were on the edge of a precipice, dallying when they ought to have stepped back to safety.

      As she crossed a strip of lawn, she heard a car come up the drive. As she turned the corner of the house she saw Tollard at the wheel. His face was white and set. Margery, beside him, had her eyes down, but she was white too, and drooping.

      ‘The Madonna-lily pose!’ Elaine said to herself angrily.

      Neither of them appeared to see her. Tollard got down, and offered a hand to his wife, his face averted. She refused it, with a delicate shrug.

      Elaine went away hurriedly. Tollard gathered up his wife’s bag and books, which she had left on the seat, and followed her into the hall. She went upstairs without turning to look at him. In her fragile figure there was a lassitude that would have enchanted her Chelsea friends. Her pale face was that of a Mater Dolorosa of an Old Master.

      Tollard put down books and bag on a chair, and looked about him uncertainly. Then he pushed open the door of the library, and greeted Mr Barley; who was not writing letters after all, but sitting in a chair, smoking and reflecting.

      ‘Got what you wanted, Tollard?’ he asked, turning to look at his guest. ‘Good. I have been having a chat with Miss Gurdon. I wanted her to let me have a share in the expedition, but she won’t hear of it.’

      Tollard shrugged. ‘We have arranged that all right. By the way, Mr Barley, I shall have to go up to town this afternoon. Some urgent business I had not counted on. I am sorry to have to go in such a hurry.’

      Mr Barley bit his lip. Surely Elaine had not had time to see Tollard and warn him? ‘Just as you like, my dear fellow,’ he replied. ‘I suppose Mrs Tollard will stay on?’

      Tollard