Meanwhile Timmy, upstairs, had performed what was for him quite an
elaborate toilet. He possessed a new Eton suit of which he was secretly
proud, for in this as in so many things unlike most little boys, he took
great care of his clothes, and had an almost finicking dislike to what
was rough or untidy. His two younger sisters' untidiness was a perpetual
annoyance to him, and he still felt sore and angry at the way Rosamund
had upset his toy-box when looking for that old prescription.
To-night he felt queerly excited and above himself. After-dinner coffee
had been made in a way Betty had learnt in France, and she had foolishly
allowed him to drink a cup of the strong, potent, delicious fluid. This
had had a curious effect on him, intensifying his already acute
perceptions, and making him feel both brave and bold as well as
wary--wary Timmy Tosswill always was.
And now he was eagerly debating within himself whether he could carry
out an experiment he had an eager wish to try. It had filled his mind,
subconsciously, ever since he had slipped quickly in front of his brother
Jack to open the front door to Mrs. Crofton, a couple of hours ago.
Mrs. Crofton was very much of a town lady, and she had actually been
accompanied, during her short progress through the dark village, by her
parlourmaid. When Timmy opened the front door, she had been engaged in
giving the girl a few last directions as to how a lighted candle was to
be left out for her in her hall, for she had brought her latchkey with
her. After ringing the bell, the lady and her maid had moved away from
the door a little way, and Timmy, staring out at the two figures, who
stood illumined by the hall light out on the gravel carriage drive, had
seen Something Else.
He did not invariably see Mrs. Crofton accompanied or companioned by that
of which he had spoken to his mother. Sometimes days would go by and he
would see nothing, though he was a constant, if never a welcome, visitor
at The Trellis House.
Then all at once, sometimes when she was in the garden, at other times
in the charming little parlour, Timmy would see the wraith of Colonel
Crofton, and the wraith of Colonel Crofton's terrier, Dandy, looking as
real as the flesh-and-blood woman beside whom they seemed to stand.
Sometimes they appeared, as it were, intermittently, but now and again
they would stay quite a long time.
As long as he could remember, Timmy had been aware of what Nanna
expressed by the phrase "things that were not there," and he was so
accustomed to the phenomena that it did not impress his own mind as
anything very much out of the way, or strange.
Dr. O'Farrell had always shown a keen interest in Timmy's alleged visions
and presentiments. Like so many country doctors of the old school, he
was a man not only of great natural shrewdness, but of considerable
intellectual curiosity, and, from his point of view, by far the most
inexplicable of the little boy's assertions had concerned a long vanished
building which had stood, for something like three centuries, close to
the parish church, right on the main street of the village.
One Easter Sunday, Timmy, coming out of church, had excitedly exclaimed
that he saw to his right a house where no house had been up to yesterday.
His sisters had laughed at him and his mother had snubbed him. But when
Janet had told Dr. O'Farrell of her little boy's latest and most peculiar
claim to having seen something which was not there, the doctor had gone
home and looked up an old county history, to find that up to Waterloo
year there had still been standing in the pretty little hamlet of
Beechfield, a small Elizabethan manor-house which had figured in the
Titus Oates conspiracy.
* * * * *
But to return to the evening of Mrs. Crofton's second visit to Old Place.
Timmy had given his mother his word of honour that Flick should not be
released from the stable till their visitor had left. But no casuist
ever realised more clearly than did Timothy Tosswill, the delicate
distinctions which spread, web-like, between the spirit, and the letter,
of a law. And while he moved nimbly about his bedroom, the plan, or
rather the plot he had formed, took formal shape.
Josephine, Timmy's white Angora cat, was now established in a comfortable
basket in a corner of the scullery. There she lay, looking like a ball of
ermine, with her two ten-days old kittens snuggling up close to her.
Josephine was a nervous, fussy mother, but she was devoted to her master,
and he could do with her anything he liked.
Very softly he crept past Nanna's door, and as he started walking down
the back staircase, he heard voices.
Then Betty and Godfrey were still in the scullery? That was certainly a
bit of bad luck, for though he thought he could manage his godfather, he
knew he couldn't deceive Betty. Betty somehow seemed to know by instinct
when he, Timmy, was bent on some pleasant little bit of mischief.
He need not have been afraid, for as he slowly opened the door at the
bottom of the stairs, Betty exclaimed, "I'm going into the drawing-room
after all! But first I must run upstairs and make myself tidy. You two go
on, and I'll follow as soon as I can."
She ran past Timmy, and at once the boy said firmly to Radmore, "I'm
going to take my cat, Josephine, into the drawing-room. Ladies who hate
dogs nearly always like cats."
"I don't think Mrs. Crofton cares for cats," answered Radmore carelessly.
"Oh, yes, she does--and the other day she said The Trellis House was
overrun with mice. Betty thinks it would be a very good home for one of
Josephine's new kittens."
Even while he was speaking, the big white cat had left her basket and was
walking round her master, purring. He stooped down and lifted her up.
"If Mrs. Crofton sees Josephine, she will simply long to have one of her
kittens! Will you bring along the white one, Godfrey--the one we call
Puff? We do so want to find him a good home."
Radmore walked across to where the big basket stood on the floor, and
peered into it dubiously: "Why, Timmy, they're tiny! Poor little
wretches! I wouldn't dream of bringing one of them along--it would be
sheer cruelty. Of course you can bring the cat if you feel like it, but
I shouldn't if I were you."
"I'll only take her in for a minute."
Timmy felt just a little sorry Radmore had refused to bring Puff along,
for he was well aware that a cat is never so fierce as when she imagines
she is defending her young.
They went off together, Radmore in front, Timmy, hugging Josephine,
behind. Just outside the drawing-room door the boy stopped for a moment,
and shifted the cat's weight from one arm to the other. There had come
over him a rather uncomfortable premonition of evil, but he now felt
strung up to go through with his experiment.
From within the drawing-room there came the sound of laughter and
talking. It was evident that the party was going well, and that everyone
in there was merry and at their ease.
"Would you mind opening the door, Godfrey?" There was a slight quiver of
apprehension in Timmy's voice.
Radmore opened the door, and for a fleeting moment he saw an attractive,
placid scene spread out before him.
The two girls, in their pretty light dresses, were standing by the wood
fire. On the sofa, to their left, with the light from one of the lamps
focussed full on her, sat Mrs. Crofton, her bare left arm hanging over
the side of the low couch. Jack, perched on the arm of a big chair, was
looking at her, all his soul in his eyes. Mr. Tosswill sat some way off
under a shaded reading lamp; his wife, knitting, not far from him. Tom
was surreptitiously reading a book in a corner behind the sofa.
And then, all at once, Radmore found himself whirled into an unutterable
scene of confusion and terror.
As Timmy walked through the open door Josephine had leapt out of his arms
on to the floor. For a flashing second the cat stood on the carpet, her
white fur all abristle, her back arched, and her tail lashing furiously
in the air. Then, uttering a hoarse cry of rage and fear, she sprang
towards Mrs. Crofton, and dug first her claws, and then her teeth, into
the white arm that hung over the side of the couch.... Josephine's
terrified victim gave a fearful cry, everyone in the room got up and
rushed forward, and at that exact instant Betty came into the
drawing-room. Sweeping a piece of embroidery off the piano, she threw it
over the cat's head, took up the now struggling, helpless bundle, and
rushed out of the room with it.
Then followed a scene of appalling confusion. Enid, completely losing
control of herself, screamed and screamed and screamed.
Few people, fortunately for themselves, have ever heard a woman scream,
and some of those present felt they would never forget the sound. In
the minds of most of the grown-up people there was the same unspoken
question--had the cat suddenly gone mad? Had she got hydrophobia?
They all crowded round their unfortunate guest--all but Timmy, who stood
aside with a look in which remorse, fear, and triumph struggled for
mastery on his queer little face.
And then at last, when Mrs. Crofton lay back, moaning, on the sofa,
surrounded by her distracted and horrified hosts, somebody suggested that
Dr. O'Farrell should be sent for, and Jack rushed into the hall to find
Betty already at the telephone.
Meanwhile Janet Tosswill was doing her best to persuade the victim of
Josephine's savage aggression to come upstairs and await the doctor
there; but, shudderingly, Enid Crofton refused to stir.
A slight diversion was created when Betty came in with a basin of warm
water, soap, and a sponge. Again everyone crowded round the sofa, and
Jack and Radmore both felt alarm, as well as horror, when they saw the
wounds made by the cat's claws and the cat's teeth.
While her arm was being bathed, Mrs. Crofton grew so pale that Janet
feared she was going to faint, and Rosamund was sent flying up to the
medicine cupboard to get some brandy.
Dr. O'Farrell was at home when telephoned for, but the quarter of an hour
which elapsed before he reached Old Place seemed very long to some of the
people waiting there. The doctor came in smiling, but his face altered
and grew very grave when he saw Mrs. Crofton's arm, and heard the
confused, excited account of what had happened.
To the patient he made light of the whole matter, but while someone was
putting on Mrs. Crofton's overshoes and while her evening cloak was being
brought in he moved a little aside with Jack, Mr. Tosswill, and Radmore.
None of them noticed that Timmy was hovering on the outskirts of the
group.
"I want to say," he began in a low voice, "that of course that cat will
have to be kept under observation, or else she'll have to be destroyed
and her body sent up to town to make sure of--you know what! Meanwhile,
no one must go near her. Where is she now?"
Mr. Tosswill looked vaguely round. "I think Betty took her into the
kitchen," he said slowly, and then he called out, "Betty?"
The girl came up. "Yes, father?"
"What did you do with Timmy's cat?"
"I put her back in the scullery, with her kittens. They only opened their
eyes yesterday. Of course Timmy ought never to have brought her into the
drawing-room."
Dr. O'Farrell looked much relieved. He turned round: "Oh, she's just had
kittens, has she? That probably accounts for the whole thing."
Mrs. Crofton roused herself. "I do hope that horrible cat will be killed
at once," she cried hysterically. "I can't stay in Beechfield if she's
left alive."
Dr. O'Farrell answered soothingly, "Don't you fret, Mrs. Crofton. She's a
vicious brute, and shot she shall be."
No one noticed that Timmy had heard every word of this conversation; no
one noticed the expression on his face.
It had been arranged that the doctor should take Mrs. Crofton home in his
car, and that only when she was comfortably in bed should those ugly
little wounds be properly dressed.
As the doctor was hurrying down the passage into the hall, he was
surprised to see Timmy at his elbow and to hear the boy's voice pipe up:
"If my cat's not mad, she won't have to be killed, doctor, will she?" He
asked the question in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone.
"Yes, my little friend, mad or not mad, she's deserved death--and no one
must go near her till the fell deed is done!" And then, as he suddenly
caught sight of Timmy's strained, agonised face, he added kindly: "She'll
be in the cats' heaven before she knows she's touched. I'll come down in
the morning and I'll shoot her through the window myself--I'm a dead
shot, Timmy, my boy."
As Janet came along, Timmy burst out crying, and his mother, distracted,
turned to Radmore. "Oh, Godfrey, do get him away upstairs! He's tired
out, that's what it is. Unfortunately the cat belongs to him, and he's
very fond of her--he's almost as fond of Josephine as he is of Flick."
Radmore put his hand on his godson's shoulder. "Come, Timmy, don't cry.
It's unmanly."
But Timmy, instead of making an effort to control himself, wrenched
himself away and ran down the long corridor towards the kitchen. Even as
a tiny child he had hated to be caught crying.
There followed an absurd scene at the front door, Jack and Rosamund
almost quarrelling as to which of them should accompany Mrs. Crofton
home. In the end they had both gone, and Janet, ordering everyone else
to bed, sat up, wearily awaiting their return, for neither of them had
thought of taking a latchkey.
Poor Janet! Her thoughts were sad and worried thoughts, as she waited,
trying to read, in the drawing-room. At the very last, Betty had lingered
for a moment after the others, and she had noticed that the girl's eyes
were full of tears.
"Why, Betty, what's the matter? I don't think we need really worry over
Mrs. Crofton."
"I'm not thinking of Mrs. Crofton. I can't bear the thought of poor
Josephine being shot to-morrow morning."
"Oh, my dear, don't _you_ turn sentimental! I never did like that poor
cat; to me there's always been something queer and uncanny about her."
"You've never liked cats," Betty answered, rather aggressively. "Timmy
and I are devoted to Josephine--so is Nanna."
Janet had checked the contemptuous words trembling on her lips. Abruptly
she had changed the subject: "I want to tell you, Betty, how splendidly
the dinner went off to-night. Your cooking was first chop!"
Betty at once softened. But all she said was: "I would give anything for
Mrs. Crofton to leave Beechfield, Janet. Did you see Jack's face?"
"Yes, and I do feel worried about it. Yet one can't do anything."
"I suppose one can't. But it's too bad of her. I think her a horrid
woman. Jack is just a scalp to her. I don't mind her flirtation with
Godfrey--that's much more reasonable!"
Then she had hurried off upstairs without waiting for an answer, and her
step-mother, looking back, rather wondered that Betty had said that.