The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

“Oh, all right. Then I’ll come back at five.”

He nodded and went out. Susie read the brief note once more, and asked herself if it could possibly be true. The callousness of it was appalling. She went to Margaret’s room and saw that everything was in its place. It did not look as if the owner had gone on a journey. But then she noticed that a number of letters had been destroyed. She opened a drawer and found that Margaret’s trinkets were gone. An idea struck her. Margaret had bought lately a number of clothes, and these she had insisted should be sent to her dressmaker, saying that it was needless to cumber their little apartment with them. They could stay there till she returned to England a few weeks later for her marriage, and it would be simpler to despatch them all from one place. Susie went out. At the door it occurred to her to ask the concierge if she knew where Margaret had gone that morning.

“Parfaitement, Mademoiselle,” answered the old woman. “I heard her tell the coachman to go to the British Consulate.”

The last doubt was leaving Susie. She went to the dressmaker and there discovered that by Margaret’s order the boxes containing her things had gone on the previous day to the luggage office of the Gare du Nord.

“I hope you didn’t let them go till your bill was paid,” said Susie lightly, as though in jest.

The dressmaker laughed.

“Mademoiselle paid for everything two or three days ago.”

With indignation, Susie realised that Margaret had not only taken away the trousseau bought for her marriage with Arthur; but, since she was herself penniless, had paid for it with the money which he had generously given her. Susie drove then to Mrs. Bloomfield, who at once reproached her for not coming to see her.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been exceedingly busy, and I knew that Margaret was looking after you.”

“I’ve not seen Margaret for three weeks,” said the invalid.

“Haven’t you? I thought she dropped in quite often.”

Susie spoke as though the matter were of no importance. She asked herself now where Margaret could have spent those afternoons. By a great effort she forced herself to speak of casual things with the garrulous old lady long enough to make her visit seem natural. On leaving her, she went to the Consulate, and her last doubt was dissipated. Then nothing remained but to go home and wait for Arthur. Her first impulse had been to see Dr. Porhoët and ask for his advice; but, even if he offered to come back with her to the studio, his presence would be useless. She must see Arthur by himself. Her heart was wrung as she thought of the man’s agony when he knew the truth. She had confessed to herself long before that she loved him passionately, and it seemed intolerable that she of all persons must bear him this great blow.

She sat in the studio, counting the minutes, and thought with a bitter smile that his eagerness to see Margaret would make him punctual. She had eaten nothing since the petit déjeuner of the morning, and she was faint with hunger. But she had not the heart to make herself tea. At last he came. He entered joyfully and looked around.

“Is Margaret not here yet?” he asked, with surprise.

“Won’t you sit down?”

He did not notice that her voice was strange, nor that she kept her eyes averted.

“How lazy you are,” he cried. “You haven’t got the tea.”

“Mr. Burdon, I have something to say to you. It will cause you very great pain.”

He observed now the hoarseness of her tone. He sprang to his feet, and a thousand fancies flashed across his brain. Something horrible had happened to Margaret. She was ill. His terror was so great that he could not speak. He put out his hands as does a blind man. Susie had to make an effort to go on. But she could not. Her voice was choked, and she began to cry. Arthur trembled as though he were seized with ague. She gave him the letter.

“What does it mean?”

He looked at her vacantly. Then she told him all that she had done that day and the places to which she had been.

“When you thought she was spending every afternoon with Mrs. Bloomfield, she was with that man. She made all the arrangements with the utmost care. It was quite premeditated.”

Arthur sat down and leaned his head on his hand. He turned his back to her, so that she should not see his face. They remained in perfect silence. And it was so terrible that Susie began to cry quietly. She knew that the man she loved was suffering an agony greater than the agony of death, and she could not help him. Rage flared up in her heart, and hatred for Margaret.

“Oh, it’s infamous!” she cried suddenly. “She’s lied to you, she’s been odiously deceitful. She must be vile and heartless. She must be rotten to the very soul.”

He turned round sharply, and his voice was hard.

“I forbid you to say anything against her.”

Susie gave a little gasp. He had never spoken to her before in anger. She flashed out bitterly.

“Can you love her still, when she’s shown herself capable of such vile treachery? For nearly a month this man must have been making love to her, and she’s listened to all we said of him. She’s pretended to hate the sight of him, I’ve seen her cut him in the street. She’s gone on with all the preparations for your marriage. She must have lived in a world of lies, and you never suspected anything because you had an unalterable belief in her love and truthfulness. She owes everything to you. For four years she’s lived on your charity. She was only able to be here because you gave her money to carry out a foolish whim, and the very clothes on her back were paid for