Duplicate Death Read online

  Unable to bear any more of this excellent creature’s discourse, Mr James Kane rose from the table, with the slight awkwardness peculiar to those who had left the better parts of their left legs to be decently interred in enemy soil. What Mr James Kane secretly thought of his loss he had divulged to none, his only recorded utterance on the subject being a pious thanksgiving to Providence that he had an artificial leg to raise him, in the eyes of his progeny, above the spurious claims to distinction of their Uncle Timothy. But Mrs James Kane, to whom the sight of Daddy Putting on his Leg was not a Treat of the first order, could never see this slight awkwardness without suffering a contraction of the heart, and she now said, quickly, and quite irrationally: ‘Never mind about Timothy! Must you go to town next week?’

  Mr James Kane, perfectly appreciating the cause of this sudden volte face, grinned affectionately at her, limped round the table to bestow a chaste salute upon her cheek, said, Goop! in a fond voice, and departed to pursue his avocation in the neighbouring metropolis. From which Mrs Kane gathered that the loss of a limb was troubling him neither mentally nor physically, that he had every intention of visiting London in the immediate future, and that he would use his best endeavours to dissuade his young half-brother from contracting an undesirable alliance. She was thus able to devote her mind to the domestic problem confronting her, for whatever Jim might say he possessed great influence over Timothy, and would no doubt contrive at least to avert disaster.

  In these comfortable conclusions Mrs James Kane might have been proved to have been right if Lady Harte had enlisted her help rather earlier, or had Mr Kane put forward his journey to London. In the event, Mr James Kane reached London in time only to take part in proceedings of which, as he vulgarly informed his wife, he had already, during the course of a singularly blameless life, had a bellyful.

  Two

  Have an éclair!’ suggested young Mr Harte encouragingly. ‘Probably made with egg-substitute, certainly filled with synthetic cream, guaranteed rather to atrophy than to increase the figure.’

  His companion, who had been sitting in brooding silence for several minutes, looked up, smiled, and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m not afraid of getting fat.’

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ said Timothy. ‘What a repellent joint this is!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘That which repels. A table which is not only too small, but which stands on unequal legs; rout chairs, than which there is nothing less conducive to habits of easy social intercourse; a general atmosphere of mob-cappery; and –’

  ‘Not that. Why is it something that I’m not afraid of getting fat?’

  ‘Oh, merely that it’s the only thing I’ve discovered, to date, which you’re not afraid of !’

  For a moment her rather stormy grey eyes lifted to his in a wide, startled look; then they were lowered, and she said in a hard voice: ‘Don’t be absurd!’

  ‘Of course, I don’t mean that there is nothing else you’re not afraid of,’ said Timothy conversationally. ‘Only that I haven’t yet discovered what these things are. Have some more tea!’

  ‘I’m not going to marry you,’ said Beulah abruptly.

  ‘Announcements like that,’ said Mr Harte, not noticeably abashed, ‘should never be made in crowded tea-shops. Besides, it isn’t true.’

  ‘It is true! I can’t possibly marry you! I ought to have seen that at the start!’

  ‘Why? Have you got a husband who’s an RC and won’t give you a divorce, or any little thing like that?’ enquired Timothy, interested.

  ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘Oh, well, then we needn’t worry!’

  ‘That’s what you think!’ said Beulah crudely. ‘Look here, I – the thing is – There are things in my life you don’t know anything about!’

  ‘Good God, I should hope there were!’ retorted Timothy. ‘I’ve only known you a month!’

  ‘And some of them you wouldn’t like!’

  ‘I daresay. Come to think of it, I can tell you of one thing in your young life I don’t like right now, and that’s Mr Daniel Seaton-Carew.’

  She flushed. ‘He’s not a thing in my life: you needn’t worry!’

  ‘That’s fine. Dissuade him from putting his arm round you, and calling you his little protégée.’

  Her colour was still heightened; she kept her eyes on her plate. ‘It’s only his way. He’s old enough to be my father!’

  ‘Yes, that’s what makes it all the more objectionable,’ said Timothy.

  She bit her lip, but said in a sulky voice: ‘Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘It has everything to do with me. You have plighted your troth to me, my girl.’

  ‘It’s no use. I can’t marry you.’

  ‘Then I shall sue you for breach of promise. Why, by the way, have you had this sudden change of heart?’

  ‘It isn’t possible. I must have been crazy! I can’t think why you want to marry me!’

  ‘Good lord, didn’t I tell you? I love you!’

  She muttered: ‘Yes, you told me. That’s what I – what I don’t understand! Why should you?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry over that, if I were you!’ said Timothy kindly. ‘Of course, if you insist, I’ll enumerate the various things which attract me to you, but they really haven’t got much to do with it. To be thoroughly vulgar, we just clicked. Or didn’t we?’

  Her face quivered; she gave a rather convulsive nod. ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘There you are, then. You know, for an intelligent girl, you say some remarkably stupid things. You’d be properly stymied if I asked you what you saw in me to fall in love with, wouldn’t you?’

  A flicker of humour shone in her eyes. ‘No, I shouldn’t,’ she replied. ‘Anyone can see what I fell for at a glance! Exactly what about fifty other girls have fallen for!’

  ‘You are exaggerating,’ said Mr Harte, preserving his

  sang-froid. ‘Not much, of course, but slightly. Forty-three is the correct number, and that includes my niece. I’m afraid she may not take very kindly to our marriage, by the way. She says she is going to marry me herself, but of course that’s impossible. If we had only lived in medieval times I could have got a dispensation, I expect. As it is –’

  ‘You are a fool!’ interrupted Miss Birtley, laughing in spite of herself. ‘Nor do I think that your niece is the only member of your family who wouldn’t take kindly to our marriage.’

  ‘You never know. It’s within the bounds of possibility that your family may not take kindly to me.’

  ‘I have no family,’ she said harshly.

  ‘What, none at all?’

  ‘I have an uncle, and his wife. I don’t have anything to do with them.’

  ‘What a bit of luck for me!’ said Mr Harte. ‘I was rather funking being shown to a clutter of aunts and cousins. My half-brother says it’s hell. He had to go through the mill. Said his hands and feet seemed too large suddenly, and whenever he thought out a classy line to utter it turned out to be the one thing he oughtn’t to have said.’

  ‘Like me with your mother.’

  ‘Not in the least like that. I distinctly recall that you said how-do-you-do to Mamma, and I seem to remember that you made one unprompted and, I am bound to say, innocuous remark about the evils of progress as exemplified by pneumatic- drills. The rest of your conversation was monosyllabic.’

  There was an awful pause. ‘Well, there you are!’ said Miss Birtley defiantly. ‘I have no conversation!’

  ‘I have no wish to appear boastful,’ returned young Mr Harte, ‘but from my earliest days it has been said of me by all who know me best that I talk enough for two, or even more.’

  ‘Your mother,’ said Miss Birtley, giving him a straight look, ‘wrote me down as an adventuress, and that is exactly what I am! So now you know! My aim is to marry a man of good social standing, independent means, and a background. That’s why I encouraged you to propose to me.’