The cab drew up at the hotel. ‘Wait, please!’ Entering its discreetly gilded hall, she stood for a moment at a loss. The setting seemed unsuitable for private trouble.
‘Yes, madam?’ said a page-boy’s voice.
‘Could you find out for me, please, if my brother-in-law, Sir Gerald Corven, is in the hotel?’
What should she say if they brought him to her? Her figure in its evening cloak was reflected in a mirror, and that it was straight filled her with a sort of surprise – she felt so as if she were curling and creeping this way and that. But they did not bring him to her. He was not in his room, nor in any of the public rooms. She went out again to her cab.
‘Back to Mount Street, please.’
Dornford and Adrian were gone, her Aunt and Uncle playing piquet.
‘Well, Dinny?’
‘I couldn’t get into her rooms, and he was not in his hotel.’
‘You went there?’
‘It was all I could think of to do.’
Sir Lawrence rose. ‘I’ll telephone to Burton’s.’ Dinny sat down beside her Aunt.
‘I feel she’s in trouble, Auntie. Clare’s never rude.’
‘Kidnapped or locked up,’ said Lady Mont. ‘There was a case when I was young. Thompson, or Watson – a great fuss. Habeas corpus, or something – husbands can’t now. Well, Lawrence?’
‘He hasn’t been in the Club since five o’clock. We must just wait till the morning. She may have forgotten, you know; or got the evening mixed.’
‘But she told Mr Dornford that they would meet again.’
‘So they will, tomorrow morning. No good worrying, Dinny.’
Dinny went up, but did not undress. Had she done all she could? The night was clear and fine and warm for November. Only a quarter of a mile or so away, was that backwater of Mews – should she slip out and go over there again?
She threw off her evening frock, put on a day dress, hat and fur coat, and stole downstairs. It was dark in the hall. Quietly drawing back the bolts, she let herself out, and took to the streets. When she entered the Mews – where a couple of cars were being put away for the night – she saw light coming from the upper windows of No. 2. They had been opened and the curtains drawn aside. She rang the bell.
After a moment Clare, in her dressing-gown, opened the door.
‘Was it you who came before, Dinny?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t let you in. Come up!’
She led the way up the spiral stairs, and Dinny followed.
Upstairs it was warm and light, the door into the tiny bathroom open, and the couch in disorder. Clare looked at her sister with a sort of unhappy defiance.
‘Yes, I’ve had Jerry here, he’s not been gone ten minutes.’
A horrified shiver went down Dinny’s spine.
‘After all, he’s come a long way,’ said Clare; ‘good of you to worry, Dinny.’
‘Oh! darling!’
‘He was outside here when I got back from the Temple. I was an idiot to let him in. After that – oh! well, it doesn’t matter! I’ll take care it doesn’t happen again.’
‘Would you like me to stay?’
‘Oh! no. But have some tea. I’ve just made it. I don’t want anyone to know of this.’
‘Of course not. I’ll say you had a bad headache and couldn’t get out to telephone.’
When they were drinking the tea Dinny said:
‘This hasn’t altered your plans?’
‘God! no!’
‘Dornford was there tonight. We thought it best to tell him you were having a difficult time.’
Clare nodded.
‘It must all seem very funny to you.’
‘It seems to me tragic.’
Clare shrugged, then stood up and threw her arms round her sister. After that silent embrace, Dinny went out into the Mews, now dark and deserted. At the corner leading into the Square she almost walked into a young man.
‘Mr Croom, isn’t it?’
‘Miss Cherrell? Have you been at Lady Corven’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she all right?’
His face was worried, and his voice anxious. Dinny took a breath before answering:
‘Oh! yes. Why not?’
‘She was saying last night that man was over here. It worries me terribly.’
Through Dinny shot the thought: ‘If he’d met “that man”!’ But she said, quietly:
‘Walk with me as far as Mount Street.’
‘I don’t mind your knowing,’ he said, ‘I’m over head and ears in love with her. Who wouldn’t be? Miss Cherrell, I don’t think she ought to be in that place alone. She told me he came yesterday while you were there.’
‘Yes. I took him away with me, as I’m taking you. I think my sister should be left to herself.’