of her consciousness was listening and watching. She dreaded to hear the
groan of the gate upon its rusted hinges, the noise of a knock, or the
gentle sound which the front door would make if Gaga accepted her
challenge. Her heart was almost silent as she waited, and then, as the
minutes passed without interruption, her relaxation was half relief and
half disappointment. Something within her had craved this crisis which
had not arrived. Some sensual longing for violence was frustrate. Sally
was alone with Gaga, and Gaga, humble and obedient, was in her track,
coming slowly and affectionately after her. As she saw from the landing
the top of his dark, grey-streaked head she almost screamed with fury.
It was in that moment that aversion for him rose in a tumult from her
heart. She hated Toby, but for his base cruelty alone. She hated Gaga
for his inescapable possessiveness and gentle persecution. It was a
horror to Sally in her abnormal condition. She began to run up the next
flight of stairs, and tripped upon her skirt. The stumble brought some
little sense to her. She rose, holding the balustrade. Shot through and
through with bitterness as she was, she yet clutched at sanity. When
Gaga came abreast of her Sally took his arm; and they completed the
journey together.
"Sorry I was beastly," she said, with a little pinch of the arm. "Got
the jumps."
"I know.... I know," whispered Gaga. "We'll go away. We'll go very ...
very soon."
"Now?" Sally demanded. "To-morrow? Could we go to-morrow?"
"Well ... well, perhaps not ... to-morrow. The day after?" He was
hesitant, and did not oppose her. Sally's lip curled. What a man! Yes
... yes ... yes; but the baby! She was again desperately shaken.
"Why not to-morrow?" she cried, almost spitefully. "Why hang about?"
Gaga wavered. He began to kiss her. His hands, holding hers, were
clammy. She had a glimpse of the black space under his eyes, and the
swollen yellowness of the whites of his eyes, and his grey cheeks, so
lined and creased, and the dreadful salmon colour of his dry lips. In
his arms though she was, Sally shuddered violently, aversion recurring
with such strength that she could not control her repugnance. This was
her husband--her _husband_. Her eyes were strained away from him.
"You're cold," Gaga murmured. "Poor little girl.... You're ... you're
cold."
"Yes, I'm cold," agreed Sally, with a violent effort for grim
self-repression. "That's what's the matter with me. I stayed out too
long. I oughtn't to have gone out this evening." She again laughed
slightly, her laugh so sneering that even Gaga looked up as though he
had been startled.
"We'll go to bed early," he said. "It's cold to-night. Let's have
something hot, and go to bed. We can't have ... have you falling ill.
It's nursing me that's made you ... queer."
"Yes, it's all my nursing." Sally spoke in a dry voice, and when he
released her she went over to the fire without heeding Gaga, and looked
down at its brightness. Still her ears were alert to catch some violence
below; and as there was none her heart sank once more. Toby was gone.
She had dismissed him and he had gone. She was more forlornly alone than
ever. If Gaga had not been with her she must have sought relief in some
physical effort, some vehement thumping of the mantelpiece and a burst
into wild crying. The repression which Sally was forced to exercise
tortured her. The agony she suffered was almost unbearable. Her mouth
was stretched in a horrible grimace, so poignant was her feeling.
"I.... I'd like something hot," Gaga proceeded, in innocence. "Some ...
some cocoa ... or...."
"I'll get you some." It was with passionate exasperation that Sally
spoke; but she was thankful to know that she might leave him for a few
minutes. The room seemed to stifle her. She plunged to the door, walking
past Gaga with her head averted, so that he might not see her face. The
stairs were cold, and she was upon the ground floor in an instant. A
servant, called from below, came slowly to receive instructions; but
there was no cocoa in the house. Nothing? No coffee? Nothing of the kind
was available. Still thankful for the opportunity of turning her mind to
details, Sally hurried upstairs again. Gaga was already half-undressed,
and stood in front of the fire folding his coat. His thinness was
grotesque in the bright light of the gas.
"Oh dear!" he cried. "I wanted it."
"All the shops'll be shut now," declared Sally.
Gaga thought for a moment, his face drawn. He was forced to sit down
upon the edge of the bed.
"I.... I used ... used to have cocoa in my ... my study," he said.
"I'll look." Sally went down to the half-landing and into the small room
which Gaga had always used for evening work before his marriage. It was
quite tiny, and there was a gas fire there, and an armchair, and above
the fireplace were some small shelves with a few books upon them. Upon
other shelves were many tins and packets and bottles, most of them
containing preparations handled by the firm in which Gaga had an
interest. Strange: she had not had to trouble at all about that! The
room was very cold, and Sally shivered as she stood examining the
contents of the shelves. The tins and packets were all in confusion,
large and small jostling one another; and many had their descriptive
labels turned to the wall. Sally read upon some of them words the
meaning of which she could not understand. Nearly all of them were
chemicals relating to the enrichment of soil or to the general
improvement of farm produce. Some were quite tiny, with little crystals
in them. Others were large, and still within wrappings. She hurriedly
read the lettering, darted away to the cupboard, back again to the
shelves, and once more to the cupboard. Here there was a litter of
papers also, for Gaga was temperamentally fussy and untidy, and
everything he owned was in disorder. She put her hand upon a cocoa-tin.
It contained white pellets which looked like rice. There was another
tin, and this was half-full of cocoa. She gave a cry of satisfaction.
And then, as she replaced the lid of this tin she saw another; straight
before her eyes; and something made her stop as if she had been
paralysed. Fascinated, she read: "POISON: This preparation of Sheep Dip
contains Arsenic." There followed some particulars, of which she caught
only the word "grains." Poison! Sally cautiously took the tin in her
hand, reading again more carefully the words printed upon the label.
Funny thing to have in the house, she thought.... Poison. She replaced
the tin upon the cupboard shelf, and carried the cocoa to Gaga.
"That cocoa?" she demanded. "It's all mixed up with poison and stuff.
Don't want to _kill_ you."
Gaga, by this time in bed, looked at the cocoa, and proclaimed its
reality.
"Yes ... that's ... co ... cocoa," he stammered.
There was a pause of some minutes while the cocoa was mixed; and they
both drank it slowly, Sally conscious, as its warmth stole through her
body, that she was less extremely unhappy than she had been. She felt a
little better. She even kissed Gaga in wishing him goodnight, and
received his eager kisses in return without flinching. At last she too
went to her bed in the adjoining room, and undressed and lay down in the
darkness. From where she lay Sally could hear Gaga moving, and could see
the glimmer of the light in his room which would burn until the morning.
And as she lay there all her tragic thoughts came flooding back with the
intensity of a nightmare. The horrors, for a short time repelled, were
stronger than ever. She was tensely awake. Every word exchanged between
Toby and herself came ringing into her head. She was aghast at the
stupidity, the cruel and brutal stupidity, of her lover. He her lover!
Love! why he didn't know what love meant! He would take everything she
had to give; and when he was asked to stand by her Toby would repudiate
her claim upon him. She was filled with vicious hatred at his betrayal.
That was what men were! That was what they did! Shirkers! They were all
like that, except when they were ridiculous half-men like Gaga. What was
she to do? What _could_ she do? Her brain became very clear and active.
It was working with painful alertness, so rapidly that she often did not
reach the end of one channel before she was embarked upon another. Toby
was hopeless. She must act by herself. And what could she do?
Supposing she could do nothing? Disgrace, failure.... She was
frightened. Better anything than disclosure so ignominious. She thought
of Gaga: very well, there was still time. He would be better soon, and
once he was better she could easily persuade him that he was the father
of her baby. That was the simplest plan, and one which had been so much
taken for granted that she had not taken it sufficiently into account as
the only safe course. Gaga could be deceived because he had no suspicion
of all that went on in her mind, or of anything that had happened in her
life. He would soon be better, and when once they were united he would
be wholly in Sally's hands. Not yet, though. He must get well. A quick
rush of relief came to her as a reassurance. She could have laughed at
her own panic. Of course Gaga was the solution. He could be made to
believe almost anything. But supposing ... supposing that he would
always be ill? Then indeed she would be better dead. Dead? But how could
she die? She might long for death; but death was not an oblivion that
could be called up at will. Sally pondered upon the possibilities.
The word "POISON" returned to her memory. Quickly there followed the
word "arsenic." Arsenic: what did she recall? Suddenly Sally remembered
that evening long ago when she had found her mother reading an account
of the Seddon trial. What had Seddon done? All the details came crowding
to her attention. He had given poison in food ... in food. And Miss ...
what was her name? Same as old Perce's-- Barrow. Seddon had given Miss
Barrow arsenic. It had made her sick. Sally shuddered. She did not want
to be sick. She had had enough of sickness in these past few weeks. To
her sickness was the abomination of disease.
A terrible shock ran through Sally's body. She lay panting, her heart
seeming to throb from her temples to her feet. Miss Barrow had been
constantly sick through taking arsenic, and they had only found it
out.... Gaga.... Sally's face grew violently hot. She could not breathe.
She sat feverishly up in bed, staring wildly. An idea had occurred to
her so monstrous that she was stricken with a sense of guilt and
self-horror such as she had never known.
xviii
All that night Sally dwelt with her terrible temptation. The more she
shrank from it the more stealthily it returned to her, like the slow
fingers of an incoming tide. So many circumstances gave colour to her
belief that the poison could be given without discovery that Sally found
every detail too easy to conceive. Gaga would be sick again and again,
would weaken, would.... Always her imagination refused to complete the
story. She covered her face with her hands and sought frantically to
hide from this loathsome whisper that pressed temptation upon her. Ill
and frightened, she lay turning into every posture of defiance and
weakness and irresolution, until the daylight was fully come; and then
Gaga's voice called feebly from the next room, and she must rise to tend
him with something of the guilt of a murderess oppressing her and
causing her during the whole talk to keep her face turned away.
But she found in the interview strength enough for the moment to baffle
temptation. To know that Gaga lay helpless there before her--hardly
moulded into recognisable form by the clinging bedclothes--was a
reinforcement to Sally's good will. His position appealed to the pity
she felt--the pity and the contempt. He was so thin and weak, so
exceedingly fragile, that Sally could not deliberately have hurt him.
Instead, she was bent upon his salvation.
"Bertram," she said. "We _must_ get away to-day. This morning. D'you
see? We _must_."
"O-o-oh!" groaned Gaga, in unformulated opposition.
"We _must_. We'll go to Penterby this morning."
"But my dear!" it was a long wailing cry, like that of an old woman.
"We've got to go. _Got_ to go. _I'll_ get _everything_ ready. You shan't
have to worry about anything at all."
"Sal-ly!" Again Gaga wailed. He tried to pull her down to him, gently
and coaxingly. In a sort of hysteria, Sally jerked herself free, looking
steadily away. Her mouth was open, and brooding resolve was in her eyes.
She was not tragic; she was in confusion, set only upon a single
purpose, and otherwise passively in distress. Obstinately she repulsed
him.
"It's no good talking. We _must_ go. I'm ill, as well as you. The doctor
says we must both go away. At once." She was so resolute that Gaga could
not resist her. He lay quite still, and for that reason she was forced
to look down at him. To Sally's surprise there was upon Gaga's face an
expression of such sweetness that she was almost touched. He loved her.
"There!" she murmured, as if to a baby; and bent and kissed him. Gaga
kissed her several times in return and continued to watch her, still
with that strange expression of kindness that was almost worship. He
stirred at last.
"I'll get up," he said. "I'll get up now. It's a ... it's a fine idea.
We'll catch the morning train, if we hurry. We'll be ... be there in
time for lunch."
Sally was in such a whirl of thankfulness that she flew to her dressing
and packing. She and Gaga were both downstairs and at breakfast within
half-an-hour, seated at the big dining-table, and looking very small in
that great room. As they sat, Gaga was so happy that he repented of his
promise to go away, and wanted to remain at ease in such pleasant
circumstances. He began to think of reasons why they should not go away
at all. He spoke with regret of the new flat, of their preparations ...
even of the business. But already Sally was upon her feet. A few
minutes later she was telephoning to Miss Summers explaining the sudden
change of situation; and then immediately began to pack. It was not a
difficult task. She herself had few things to take away. Presently Gaga
joined idly in the work; and the two of them neatly folded his clothes
and slipped into his dressing-case the articles he was bound to need
while they were away.
"My medicine!" exclaimed Gaga, clutching at an excuse.
"Got enough for to-day; and I've got the prescription." Sally was grim.
She was more--she was driven by instinct. It was essential that they
should go immediately. For one thing Toby might return, and any thought
of Toby was so horrible to her at this moment, when her first hatred was
giving way to uncontrollable longing for him, that it was like a
scourge. And for another thing Sally was in terror of the nightmare
temptation. She was fighting against that with all the strength that
remained. Even now, if she looked at Gaga, she shuddered deeply.
"What's the time?" called Gaga.
"Miriam ... telephone for a cab!" Sally was simultaneously giving
instructions to a servant. She went to a desk in which she kept money,
and found that she had very little remaining. "Bert, got any money?
Well, your cheque book?"
"In the study."
It was a fatal word, so carelessly spoken, but like a blow in its sharp
revival of something that was being suppressed. Sally hurried to the
door of her bedroom. As suddenly, she stopped dead. The study! In a wave
all her memory of the previous night's wicked temptation came back to
her. It was only with a great effort that she went further. More than a
moment passed in a silent struggle. Almost blindly, she entered the
study, and its chill atmosphere was tomb-like in its effect upon her.
Again Sally shuddered. Groping, she found Gaga's cheque book, and turned
again to the door. The walls of the tiny room seemed to rise
forbiddingly around her, to come closer, to begin to topple over as if
in ruin. Sally gasped for breath. She cowered. Everything became
dark.... A long time passed before she was again conscious. Clasping the
cheque book, Sally felt her way unsteadily, with her eyes closed, until
she stood upon the threshold. She was breathing slowly and deeply, and
she could see nothing. And at last, fighting still, but incapable of
conquering the stronger influence which was being exercised upon her
will, she went back into the room, and stood there with her face towards
the cupboard. Quietly, as if on tiptoe, she passed in a dream to the
cupboard and unfastened it, and without ever once looking about among
the other contents of the shelf put her hand upon the fatal tin which
she had found while looking for Gaga's cocoa. With this tin in her hand
she hastened back to her room, closing the door as silently as she had
opened it. The tin was quickly laid among her clothes, right in the
corner of her dressing-case, hidden from any prying eye. Then Sally
straightened herself, listened and bent down again to fasten the bag.
Within ten minutes she and Gaga were out of the house, sitting in a taxi
on their way to Victoria Station. Sally pressed herself back in the
corner of the cab, not touching Gaga, so that nobody should see her; and
at the station she was on fire until they were settled in the railway
carriage and the train was slipping gently out from the platform. Then
at last she sighed deeply, as if with relief, and the corners of her
mouth drooped until she looked like a little girl who was going to cry.
The houses became blurred.
xix
Gaga and Sally reached Penterby in a very different mood and a very
different state of health from that which had marked their arrival on
the previous visit. The station, with its confusing platforms and
connecting bridges, was by now familiar to Sally, and she was able to
turn at once to a porter and give him instructions. Whereas before they
had walked the short distance between the station and the hotel they
were now forced to take an open, horse-drawn, cab. It stood waiting when
they reached the small station yard, the horse still nibbling feebly at
dropped oats upon the paving and with its breath blowing them farther
away. The few little cottages near the station were passed in an
instant, and the old-fashioned main street of Penterby, reached after a
short run between a hedge upon one side and a tall wooden paling upon
the other, was about them. Above, the sky was brilliantly blue. In front
the houses rose towards the hill-top as of old. There was peace here, if
Sally could find it. And she could see the bridge, and the ivy-covered
hotel, and the gold-lettered board. She sat as if crushed in her seat in
the cab, staring out at the hotel with an expression of strain and
eagerness. Beside her Gaga, tired by the journey, yawned behind his long
hand, his hat tilted over his eyes, and his mouth always a little open.
It was a strange return, and Sally had ado to preserve any lightness of
step and tone as she jumped down from the cab and went into the hotel.
As before, she noticed the silence and emptiness of the small bar, and
the room beyond; and as she tapped loudly Mrs. Tennant came from another
room. This time it was Sally who took charge of everything. Gaga drooped
in the background, a feeble figure. But he gathered strength to smile at
Mrs. Tennant and to greet her.
"I'm not well, Mrs. Tennant," he said. "I've come to get ... get ... get
well. My wife's ill, too. You ... you must be very kind to us."
"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Tennant, in a fat voice of concern. Her swollen
lips were parted in dismay. "But you _both_ look so bad! Of course: you
can have the same room you had before. Come up!"
She led the way. Sally again caught a glimpse of the drawing-room carpet
in its brilliant mixture of reds and blues and yellows, and was
immediately afterwards drawn into the old dark bedroom opening upon the
glass-covered balcony. She stood in dismay, suddenly regretful that they
had come to be stifled there.
"Can we have some lunch?" she asked. "My husband's...."
"Of course." Mrs. Tennant's geniality was benignant. But in her eyes
there remained that unappeasable caution which Sally had previously
noticed. "At once."
Sally slipped out of the room with her. They stood in the narrow drab
passage--two black-clothed figures notably contrasted in age and
development. Mrs. Tennant was so stout, and Sally so slim, that the
difference between them was emphasised by the similarity of clothing.
"My husband's mother's dead. He was awfully fond of her. He's been ill
ever since, and the doctor said he'd better come away."
"You're ill yourself, you know, Mrs. Merrick," exclaimed Mrs. Tennant.
"I've been nursing him a month--night and day. He's not strong. We'd
barely got back when she died. What with his illness, and the
business--it's been terrible!"
Sally was watching Mrs. Tennant--she did not know why. She felt
defensive. All was the result of her own position and the dreadful
knowledge which she had of her last night's temptation. She looked like
a young girl, but so pale and hollow-eyed that she would have aroused
pity in any woman of experience.
"But it's _you_. I know Mr. Merrick. I've often seen him queer. But
you're so changed. When you were here before...."
"I know. I'm ill."
"I said to my sister how strong and bright you were. We both thought
you'd make a--well, a _new_ man of Mr. Merrick."
"It's only his mother's dying like that. He was worried about her, and
then she died; and he just went to pieces. He had to be put to bed at
once. I'll put him to bed again as soon as we've had something to eat.
He's so _weak_. It's the change he wants, and the fresh air."
"And you too, my dear." Mrs. Tennant seemed really to be kind.
"When he's asleep I'll go for a walk. I'll soon be well." Sally was
reassuring; but she was made aware of her own weakness by having had
attention drawn to the appearance of it.
They parted with smiles. Sally made as if to re-enter the bedroom; but,
instead, she went through the drawing-room and on to the balcony. The
river was running swiftly up-stream, so that the thick mud was hidden.
Back along its course came little floating masses of collected material,
like miniature islands in progress up and down the river. Sally stood
watching one of these masses, until it grew indistinct as the result of
her intentness. The sun was making the houses beyond the river glitter
anew, and the whole town was beautified in its light. A feeling of great
misery seized Sally. She stared down at the discoloured stream, and her
eyes filled with tears. She was again consumed with a sense of
loneliness; and a faint horror of the returning tide caused her to break
once again from her contemplation, to walk back through the
drawing-room, and to rejoin Gaga. He was sitting upon the bed, regarding
with a vacant expression the two dressing-cases which had been brought
up to the room and which stood together against the wall. The room was
cold and dark. Sally impulsively went to the French windows opening upon
the balcony and drew back the curtains.
"There now," she said. "You're going to get better. You can see the
sun."
Gaga smiled gently. Sally came back to him and stood with her hand
ruffling his thin hair. She too smiled, but with abstraction. She was
numbed by illness and horror and the journey and her vision of the dirty
merciless water.
xx