wished, I know, to leave several legacies. Since she died without making a will, the responsibility of carrying out her wishes rests on me. I have consulted with Mr. Seddon, and by his advice we have drawn up a schedule of sums for the servants according to their length of service, etc.'
She paused. 'You, of course, don't come quite into that class.'
She half hoped, perhaps, that those words might hold a sting, but the face she was looking at showed no change. Mary accepted the words at their face value and listened to what more was to come.
Elinor said, 'Though it was difficult for my aunt to speak coherently, she was able to make her meaning understood that last evening. She definitely wanted to make some provision for your future.'
Mary said quietly, 'That was very good of her.'
Elinor said brusquely, 'As soon as probate is granted, I am arranging that two thousand pounds should be made over to you – that sum to be yours to do with absolutely as you please.'
Mary's color rose. 'Two thousand pounds? Oh, Miss Elinor, that is good of you! I don't know what to say.'
Elinor said sharply, 'It isn't particularly good of me, and please don't say anything.'
Mary flushed. 'You don't know what a difference it will make to me,' she murmured.
Elinor said, 'I'm glad.'
She hesitated. She looked away from Mary to the other side of the room. She said with a slight effort, 'I wonder – have you any plans?'
Mary said quickly, 'Oh, yes. I shall train for something. Massage, perhaps. That's what Nurse Hopkins advises.'
Elinor said, 'That sounds a very good idea. I will try and arrange with Mr. Seddon that some money shall be advanced to you as soon as possible – at once, if that is feasible.'
'You're very, very good, Miss Elinor,' said Mary gratefully.
Elinor said curtly, 'It was Aunt Laura's wish.' She hesitated, then said, 'Well, that's all, I think.'
This time the definite dismissal in the words pierced Mary's sensitive skin. She got up, said quietly, 'Thank you very much, Miss Elinor,' and left the room.
Elinor sat quite still, staring ahead of her. Her face was quite impassive. There was no clue in it as to what was going on in her mind. But she sat there, motionless, for a long time.
Elinor went at last in search of Roddy. She found him in the morning-room. He was standing staring out of the window.
He turned sharply as Elinor came in.
She said, 'I've got through it all! Five hundred for Mrs. Bishop – she's been here such years. A hundred for the cook and fifty each for Milly and Olive. Five pounds each to the others. Twenty-five for Stephens, the head gardener; and there's old Gerrard, of course, at the lodge. I haven't done anything about him yet. It's awkward. He'll have to be pensioned off, I suppose?'
She paused and then went on rather hurriedly: 'I'm settling two thousand on Mary Gerrard. Do you think that's what Aunt Laura would have wished? It seemed to me about the right sum.'
Roddy said without looking at her, 'Yes, exactly right. You've always got excellent judgment, Elinor.' He turned to look out of the window again.
Elinor held her breath for a minute, then she began to speak with nervous haste, the words tumbling out incoherently:
'There's something more. I want to – it's only right – I mean, you've got to have your proper share, Roddy.'
As he wheeled round, anger on his face, she hurried on: 'No, listen, Roddy. This is just bare justice! The money that was your uncle's – that he left to his wife – naturally he always assumed it would come to you. Aunt Laura meant it to, too. I know she did, from lots of things she said. If I have her money, you should have the amount that was his – it's only right. I – I can't bear to feel that I've robbed you – just because Aunt Laura funked making a will. You must – you must see sense about this!'
Roderick's long, sensitive face had gone dead white. He said, 'My God, Elinor, do you want to make me feel an utter cad? Do you think for one moment I could – could take this money from you?'
'I'm not giving it to you. It's just – fair.'
Roddy cried out, 'I don't want your money!'
'It isn't mine!'
'It's yours by law – and that's all that matters! For God's sake, don't let's be anything but strictly business- like! I won't take a penny from you. You're not going to do the Lady Bountiful to me!'
Elinor cried out, 'Roddy!'
He made a quick gesture. 'Oh, my dear, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying. I feel so bewildered – so utterly lost.'
Elinor said gently, 'Poor Roddy.'
He had turned away again and was playing with the tassel of the window blind. He said in a different tone, a detached one, 'Do you know what – Mary Gerrard proposes doing?'
'She's going to train as a masseuse, so she says.'
He said, 'I see.'
There was a silence. Elinor drew herself up; she flung back her head. Her voice when she spoke was suddenly compelling: 'Roddy, I want you to listen to me carefully!'
He turned to her, slightly surprised. 'Of course, Elinor.'
'I want you, if you will, to follow my advice.'
'And what is your advice?'
Elinor said calmly, 'You are not particularly tied? You can always get a holiday, can't you?'
'Oh, yes.'
'Then do – just that. Go abroad somewhere for – say, three months. Go by yourself. Make new friends and see new places. Let's speak quite frankly. At this moment you think you're in love with Mary Gerrard. Perhaps you are. But it isn't a moment for approaching her – you know that only too well. Our engagement is definitely broken off. Go abroad, then, as a free man, and at the end of the three months, as a free man, make up your mind. You'll know then whether you – really love Mary or whether it was only a temporary infatuation. And if you are quite sure you do love her – well, then, come back and go to her and tell her so, and that you're quite sure about it, and perhaps then she'll listen.'
Roddy came to her. He caught her hand in his.
'Elinor, you're wonderful! So clear-headed! So marvellously impersonal! There's no trace of pettiness or meanness about you. I admire you more than I can ever say. I'll do exactly what you suggest. Go away, cut free from everything – and find out whether I've got the genuine disease or if I've just been making the most ghastly fool of myself. Oh, Elinor, my dear, you don't know how truly fond I am of you. I do realize you were always a thousand times too good for me. Bless you, dear, for all your goodness.'
Quickly, impulsively, he kissed her and went out.
It was as well, perhaps, that he did not look back and see her face.
III
It was a couple of days later that Mary acquainted Nurse Hopkins with her improved prospects.
That practical woman was warmly congratulatory. 'That's a great piece of luck for you, Mary,' she said. 'The old lady may have meant well by you, but unless a thing's down in black and white, intentions don't go for much! You might easily have got nothing at all.'
'Miss Elinor said that the night Mrs. Welman died she told her to do something for me.'
Nurse Hopkins snorted. 'Maybe she did. But there's many would have forgotten conveniently afterward. Relations are like that. I've seen a few things, I can tell you! People dying and saying they know they can leave it to their dear son or their dear daughter to carry out their wishes. Nine times out of ten, dear son and dear daughter find some very good reason to do nothing of the kind. Human nature's human nature, and nobody likes parting with
