they had chosen very pretty, and then turned to go back to the drawing-room. She had to pass the downstairs cloakroom—but she did not pass it. Such a distressing choking sound met her ear that after a moment of alarmed hesitation she tried the door, found it unlatched, and went in. Lois Latter, grasping and retching, was bent forward over the lavatory basin.
Shocked and distressed beyond measure, Minnie did all the kind offices that were possible, and when the spasm had passed, tidied up in her quiet, methodical way. Lois sat where Minnie had guided her, on the small hard chair which was all that the place could offer. She was as white as her dress, her features sharp, the fine skin drenched with sweat, but as Minnie turned round from the basin, she drew a long breath and said,
“I’m all right now.”
“Shall I help you upstairs?”
Lois took another of those breaths, moved a little, and said,
“No, I don’t need help. I’m all right now. Just wait a minute.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“A little water—” She took two or three sips, and straightened up. “I’m all right—that’s going to stay. I can’t think what came over me.” Her brows drew together in a frown. “It must have been the mushrooms. Mrs. Maniple must have been careless. The fact is, she’s getting past her work. I’ll have to speak to Jimmy.”
Minnie Mercer knew better than to make any comment, but she couldn’t help looking grieved, and it needed no more than that. Lois let her temper go.
“Of course you’ll stand up for her! Even if she poisons me! But it mightn’t have been me, you know—it might have been Jimmy! You wouldn’t be quite so calm about it then, or quite so sorry for Mrs. Maniple!”
“Mrs. Latter—” Minnie’s gentle protest got no farther than that.
Lois got up, steadying herself by the chair.
“I really don’t feel fit to have an argument. I’m going up to my room… No, I shan’t need you. You’d better go back to the drawing-room. And you’re not to say a word to anyone—do you hear? Not one single word. If I don’t come down in ten minutes, you can come up. But it’s over—I’m sure about that. Only I can’t go back looking like this.”
It was really no more than ten minutes before she opened the drawing-room door and came in, her white dress trailing, a faint clear colour in her cheeks. To Jimmy and to Ellie Street she looked just as she had looked at dinner. Even to Minnie there was very little trace of what had passed. Julia thought, “Damn it all—she’s lovely!”
Antony gave her a hard scrutinizing look as she went past him. If that was her own colour, he’d eat his hat. But in the dining-room it had been her own—he was quite positive on that score. He allowed himself to wonder—
CHAPTER 6
Julia put out the light, waited for the darkness round her to clear, and went surefooted through it to the window. She drew the curtains back across the bay and stood there looking out. The three windows were open, casements wide and the night air coming in like a soft enchanting tide. The room looked to the side of the house. There was a clear sky, but no moon yet. Beyond a small formal garden there were the black mysterious shapes of trees. There was no wind. Nothing moved under that clear sky.
She came to the bed beside Ellie’s and got in, humping the pillows at her back, because this was what they had both been waiting for—Ellie to talk and she to listen. As she settled down, Ellie’s hand came out and clutched hers.
“Oh, Julia—” It was a sigh of utter relief. And then without any warning Ellie began to cry.
All day long, and for many days, the tears had lain cold and heavy at her heart, and at night she had kept them frozen there because she did not dare to let them fall. It would be like letting go, and she didn’t dare to let go, because she mightn’t be able to take hold again. Only now that Julia was here it was different. She could cry, and Julia