Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster (best free ereader TXT) 📕

She tried to speak, and then went away weeping bitterly.

The two men stared at each other. By a common impulse they ran onto the loggia. They were just in time to see Miss Abbott disappear among the trees.

“What is it?” asked Philip again. There was no answer, and somehow he did not want an answer. Some strange thing had happened which he could not presume to understand. He would find out from Miss Abbott, if ever he found out at all.

“Well, your business,” said Gino, after a puzzled sigh.

“Our business⁠—Miss Abbott has told you of that.”

“No.”

“But surely⁠—”

“She came for business. But she forgot about it; so did I.”

Perfetta, who had a genius for missing people, now returned, loudly complaining of the size of Monteriano and the intricacies of its streets. Gino told her to watch the baby. Then he offered Philip a cigar, and they proceeded to the business.

“Mad!” screamed Harriet⁠—“absolutely stark, staring, raving mad!”

Philip judged it better not to contradict her.

“What’s she here for? Answer me that. What’s she doing in Monteriano in August? Why isn’t she in Normandy? Answer that. She won’t. I can: she’s come to thwart us; she’s betrayed us⁠—got hold of mother’s plans. Oh, goodness, my head!”

He was unwise enough to reply, “You mustn’t accuse her of that. Though she is exasperating, she hasn’t come here to betray us.”

“Then why has she come here? Answer me that.”

He made no answer. But fortunately his sister was too much agitated to wait for one. “Bursting in on me⁠—crying and looking a disgusting sight⁠—and says she has been to see the Italian. Couldn’t even talk properly; pretended she had changed her opinions. What are her opinions to us? I was very calm. I said: ‘Miss Abbott, I think there is a little misapprehension in this matter. My mother, Mrs. Herriton⁠—’ Oh, goodness, my head! Of course you’ve failed⁠—don’t trouble to answer⁠—I know you’ve failed. Where’s the baby, pray? Of course you haven’t got it. Dear sweet Caroline won’t let you. Oh, yes, and we’re to go away at once and trouble the father no more. Those are her commands. Commands! Commands!” And Harriet also burst into tears.

Philip governed his temper. His sister was annoying, but quite reasonable in her indignation. Moreover, Miss Abbott had behaved even worse than she supposed.

“I’ve not got the baby, Harriet, but at the same time I haven’t exactly failed. I and Signor Carella are to have another interview this afternoon, at the Caffè Garibaldi. He is perfectly reasonable and pleasant. Should you be disposed to come with me, you would find him quite willing to discuss things. He is desperately in want of money, and has no prospect of getting any. I discovered that. At the same time, he has a certain affection for the child.” For Philip’s insight, or perhaps his opportunities, had not been equal to Miss Abbott’s.

Harriet would only sob, and accuse her brother of insulting her; how could a lady speak to such a horrible man? That, and nothing else, was enough to stamp Caroline. Oh, poor Lilia!

Philip drummed on the bedroom windowsill. He saw no escape from the deadlock. For though he spoke cheerfully about his second interview with Gino, he felt at the bottom of his heart that it would fail. Gino was too courteous: he would not break off negotiations by sharp denial; he loved this civil, half-humorous bargaining. And he loved fooling his opponent, and did it so nicely that his opponent did not mind being fooled.

“Miss Abbott has behaved extraordinarily,” he said at last; “but at the same time⁠—”

His sister would not hear him. She burst forth again on the madness, the interference, the intolerable duplicity of Caroline.

“Harriet, you must listen. My dear, you must stop crying. I have something quite important to say.”

“I shall not stop crying,” said she. But in time, finding that he would not speak to her, she did stop.

“Remember that Miss Abbott has done us no harm. She said nothing to him about the matter. He assumes that she is working with us: I gathered that.”

“Well, she isn’t.”

“Yes; but if you’re careful she may be. I interpret her behaviour thus: She went to see him, honestly intending to get the child away. In the note she left me she says so, and I don’t believe she’d lie.”

“I do.”

“When she got there, there was some pretty domestic scene between him and the baby, and she has got swept off in a gush of sentimentalism. Before very long, if I know anything about psychology, there will be a reaction. She’ll be swept back.”

“I don’t understand your long words. Say plainly⁠—”

“When she’s swept back, she’ll be invaluable. For she has made quite an impression on him. He thinks her so nice with the baby. You know, she washed it for him.”

“Disgusting!”

Harriet’s ejaculations were more aggravating than the rest of her. But Philip was averse to losing his temper. The access of joy that had come to him yesterday in the theatre promised to be permanent. He was more anxious than heretofore to be charitable towards the world.

“If you want to carry off the baby, keep your peace with Miss Abbott. For if she chooses, she can help you better than I can.”

“There can be no peace between me and her,” said Harriet gloomily.

“Did you⁠—”

“Oh, not all I wanted. She went away before I had finished speaking⁠—just like those cowardly people!⁠—into the church.”

“Into Santa Deodata’s?”

“Yes; I’m sure she needs it. Anything more unchristian⁠—”

In time Philip went to the church also, leaving his sister a little calmer and a little disposed to think over his advice. What had come over Miss Abbott? He had always thought her both stable and sincere. That conversation he had had with her last Christmas in the train to Charing Cross⁠—that alone furnished him with a parallel. For the second time, Monteriano must have turned her head. He was not angry with her, for he was quite indifferent to the outcome of their expedition.