‘… I am so disappointed in her; I have tried to like her, and now I fear it is only too certain that she is one of those creatures of whom the less said the better.’
That these words referred to me I had not the slightest doubt. Yet, while they were still on her lips, presuming on her conviction that they were hidden from me, she nodded and smiled as if she were wishing me a friendly goodnight.
The treachery of it! Now that I am able to look back calmly, I think it was that which galled me most. Her brother, with his gratuitous, horrible lies, had actually been pretending to make love to me – I am sure that was what he wished me to think he was doing. What a fool he must have thought me!
That was a sleepless night. It was hours before I got between the sheets, and when I did it was not to slumber. The feeling that I was so entirely alone, and that there was not a soul within miles and miles to whom I could turn for help, coupled with the consciousness that I had scarcely enough money to pay the hotel bill, and, what was even worse, that Mr and Mrs Travers had gone off with the return-half of my ticket to London, so that I could not go back home however much I might want to – these things were hard enough to bear; but they seemed to be as nothing compared to that man and woman’s treachery. What was their motive, what could have induced them, was beyond my comprehension. It was a problem which I strove all night to solve. But the solution came on the morrow.
I soon knew what had happened when I went downstairs. Miss Goodridge had told her story of the pendant, and Mr Sterndale had circulated his lie about his clerical friend. Everybody shunned me. Some persons had the grace to pretend not to see me; others looked me full in the face and cut me dead. The only persons who were disposed to show any perception of my presence were the Sterndales. As, entering the breakfast-room, I passed their table, they both smiled and nodded, but I showed no consciousness of them. As I took a seat at my own table, I saw him say to his sister:
‘Our young friend seems to have got her back up – little idiot!’
Little idiot, was I? Only yesterday he had called me something else. The feeling that he was saying such things behind my back hurt me more than if he had shouted them to my face. I averted my gaze, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate. I would learn no more of what he said about me, or of what anyone said. I was conscious that life might become unendurable if I were made acquainted with the comments which people were making on me then. Yet, as I sat there with downcast face, might they not construe that as the bearing of a conscience-stricken and guilty wretch? I felt sure that that was what they were doing. But I could not help it; I would not see what they were saying.
Later in the morning matters turned out so that I did see, so that practically I had to see what the Sterndales said to each other. And perhaps, on the whole, it was fortunate for me that I did. I had spent the morning out of doors. On the terrace the Sterndales were standing close together, talking; so engrossed were they by what they were saying that they did not notice me; while, though I did not wish to look at them, something made me. That may seem to be an exaggeration. It is not – it is the truth. My wish was to have nothing more to do with them for ever and ever; but some instinct, which came I know not whence, made me turn my eyes in their direction and see what they were saying. And, as I have already said, it was well for me that I did.
They both seemed to be rather excited. He was speaking quickly and with emphasis.
‘I tell you,’ he was saying, as I paused to watch, ‘we will do it today.’
His sister said something which, as she was standing sideways, was lost to me. He replied:
‘The little idiot has cooked her own goose; there’s no need for us to waste time in cooking it any more – she’s done. I tell you we can strip the house of all it contains, and they’d lock her up for doing it.’
Again his sister spoke; without, because of her position, giving herself away to me. He went on again:
‘There are only two things in the house worth having – I could give you a catalogue of what everyone has got. Mrs Anstruther’s diamonds – the necklace is first-rate, and the rest of them aren’t bad; and that American woman’s pearls. Those five ropes of pearls are worth – I hope they’ll be worth a good deal to us. The rest of the things you may make a present of to our young friend. The odium will fall on her – you’ll see. We shall be able to depart with the only things worth having, at our distinguished leisure, without a stain upon our characters.’
He smiled – some people might have thought it a pleasant smile – to me it seemed a horrid one. That smile finished me – it reminded me of the traitor’s kiss. I passed into the house still unnoticed, though I do not suppose that if I had been noticed it would have made any difference to them.
What he
