Friends? What friends? Beth fought and won a battle with ragingjealousy. There was no reason for him not to be at the Delaneys. Shepleaded tiredness and canceled all her own engagements so as to be at handwhen he finally read the note.
She could not help but be disappointed that he was out of the houseindefinitely. Too late she knew she could have chosen her moment morecarefully, but what was done was done. She had no intention of trying toretrieve her letter.
She prepared for bed that night with care and in a state of nervousanticipation, wishing she could ask Hughes whether her husband had been inthe house since the afternoon and whether he had read the note.
Would he come?
How late would he be?
If she fell asleep would he just go away?
Despite her efforts, she fell asleep and had no way of knowing whetherhe had come or not.
When she woke the next morning she was the victim of sick anxiety. Howwas she to stand another day of waiting? Would he come to her to discussthe matter in broad daylight? That seemed horrible to Beth, so detachedand coldblooded, when she wanted to regain the passion she had so brieflyknown.
Beth had no need of pretense to appear to be under the weather. Shebreakfasted in her room, waiting for the tap on the door which mightsignal a visit from her husband. At midday she discovered he had returnedhome in the early hours, slept, breakfasted, and gone out. He must, atleast, have got her note by now. What, oh what, had been his reaction, andwhat was she to read into the fact that he had not come to speak withher?
Was it of such small significance to him?
Perhaps, Beth thought bitterly, she should not have said, “At yourconvenience.”
She had to escape from the house, and so she went for a long walkaccompanied by her maid. She attempted once or twice to strike up aconversation with the woman, but Redcliff, though obviously fond of hermistress, was determined to keep to her place and never encouragedfamiliarities.
They were nearly home again when a young man hurried over to them.“Your ladyship,” he said.
Redcliff moved forward as if to drive him off but, with astonishment,Beth recognized Clarissa in boy’s clothing and stopped the maid.
“What is it, Charles?” she asked, hoping the girl had the wits to goalong.
Clarissa looked at the end of her tether, but she tried. “I need tospeak to you,” she whispered. “I have run away from home.”
“Oh, lord,” muttered Beth, “why now?” But Clarissa was so distraught itwas unthinkable to abandon her. The only possibility was to take the maidinto their confidence. Beth explained the situation in brief and asked themaid to keep the secret.
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Redcliff. “It isn’t right, milady.”
“Right or not, I intend to help Clarissa,” said Beth firmly.
The maid clucked in disapproval but reluctantly agreed to be anaccomplice.
“We cannot stand in the street like this,” said Beth. “The question is,Redcliff, can we get Miss Greystone into the house without her being seen?Her parents will soon set up a hue and cry.”
The maid’s face was set in lines of rigid disapproval, but she said,“There is a side door, my lady, for the coal deliveries, and a back stairsup from there. If it is unlocked we could probably get to your roomswithout being seen.”
“Very well,” said Beth. “Lead on.”
Belcraven House stood detached from the other nearby houses, but therewas only a narrow passage down the side, wide enough for a cart. Alongthat passage was the doorway. It proved to be unlocked.
The door and floor were sooty, and all three ladies eased their waycarefully through the small hall and up the narrow., bare-wood staircase.Eventually, the maid led them through a green baize door into the suddenopulence of the corridor off which the bedrooms opened. Beth wondered howmany of those bleak little staircases there were to enable the servants tocare for the house without intruding in the lives of their employers.
Once in the boudoir Clarissa pulled off the old-fashioned tricorne shewore and tossed it into a corner. She was pale and close to hysterics. “OhBeth! Lord Deveril came today to offer for me!”
“Well, really, Clarissa,” said Beth impatiently, for she knew they werein a pickle, “could you have not appeared to comply? I haven’t had time tomake any plans.”
“I did,” wailed the girl, bursting into tears. She pulled at her loosecravat and used the ends to wipe her eyes. “And then . . . And then mymotherleftus! He ... hekissed me!”
Beth looked at the girl with appalled commiseration.
“I threw up my breakfast over him,” added Clarissa, not without a touchof satisfaction.
