A Brighter Tomorrow by Maggie Ford (read with me .txt) 📕

the door on his guests, having seen them safely into their coach. Doctor and Mrs Sedley were old friends. He and Howard Sedley had been at medical college together and had something else in common. Both had married into moderately good families. Both looked with envy upon others whom they felt had done even better than they. Both had wives who tended to feel awkward in other people’s company, and thus got on well together.

It had been a good evening, as always with the Sedleys, and for a while had swept away his present worries. Young Chambers had conducted herself admirably, waiting at table, and he intended to tell her so. It would make the girl feel well pleased with herself.

He slowly mounted the stairs to his room. Mary had gone up before him. In the hall, the long-case clock sombrely struck ten thirty. Mrs Jenkins was still bustling about down there. Once the house settled down she would turn down all the gaslights and retire to her own bed.

Reaching Ellie’s door, he paused, then tapped on it with the knuckle of his forefinger – very lightly so as not to alert Mary. It occurred to him that Ellie might be in need of company for just a short while before settling down to sleep, having been on her own the whole evening. Very often they enjoyed a little chat during the evening, usually earlier than this, except of course when he and Mary were entertaining friends or out being entertained by them. Then, as tonight, he would tap on her door and enquire how she was. She would come to the door and allow him in. He would recline for a while in her little silk armchair while she sat on her bed. They’d talk until she yawned, he taking the hint that it was time to leave.

This time there was no answer to his knock. Softly he called her name. Maybe she was already asleep. It was rather late. The last thing he would have dreamed of doing would be to walk in unbidden. Would she still be in her studio at this time of night? Mounting the stairs to the attic, he stole past the maids’ room to tap on the studio door. Getting no reply, he opened it and peeped in, feeling at liberty to do so, it not being a place where she slept.

Finding the room dark and vacant, he retraced his steps to her room. There was still no response to a fractionally firmer rap. Standing undecided, he gathered she must be asleep. Yet something didn’t feel right – maybe it was the quality of the silence from the room, maybe just a feeling, a premonition; he wasn’t certain, but there came an urge to speak to her.

‘Ellie, my dear, are you asleep?’

A foolish question: if she were asleep, would he expect an answer? But if she were asleep, she wouldn’t be aware of him if he crept into the room just to make sure. Biting his lips, he did just that, opening the door cautiously to peep round it. The curtains were drawn but the gas jet on the wall had been turned down to a spluttering glimmer behind its glass shade, just enough to see by. Ellie liked to sleep with some light in the room.

Bertram peered towards the bed. Suddenly he knew why he’d had that strange feeling about there being no answer to his knock: the bed was empty. For a second, alarm spread through him. Had Michael Deel come to the house and she’d stolen out to meet him? It was the only possible answer. But it was late. Surely they wouldn’t still be out.

With a sense of panic Bertram hurried to the landing window. If they were outside, he’d see them. When she came in he’d demand to know what she thought she was up to. But there was no one there. It was nearly eleven.

Panic began to grow. They had got wind of his meeting with Michael’s father and run away together. But who would have told them? Who could? A name hit him: Mary! But of course! She had always wanted to see the back of young Ellie. How could she have done this to him, knowing how he felt about the child?

Fury consumed him. This was absolutely the last straw with his wife. But before he tackled her, he would telephone Doctor Deel, though what he was going to say at this time of night he had no real idea.

The clipped tone of Henk Deel had no sleepiness in it. Bertram felt almost a childish relief. ‘Bertram Lowe here,’ he began tentatively. ‘So sorry to trouble you this time of night, but would your son Michael be at home?’

There was a short silence on the other end of the wire, then the man’s voice, a little surprised: ‘Yes, he is; do you wish to speak with him?’

‘No, not really.’ Flustered, Bertram forced his brain to work fast. ‘I merely wanted to confirm that he will not be tutoring Miss Jay from now on.’

‘That is correct. But we spoke of this when we met.’

‘Yes, we did. Of course we did. I forgot. But has your son posed any objections?’

Another small silence, then: ‘I have spoken to him at length. I have explained the situation to him as it stands and he understands – that, and also where his duties lie. And now I think that is all we need to say on the matter, Doctor Lowe. It is closed.’

This last was said unusually tersely, a sharp reminder of the awkward meeting that had taken place.

‘I’m – I’m sorry to have bothered you at so late an hour,’ Bertram stammered. Muttering, ‘Thank you,’ he replaced the earpiece on its hook.

Glad to have done with the telephone call, his relief at having found Michael Deel at home was immediately clouded by anxiety. If not with Michael Deel, then where was Ellie?

With all sorts of awful thoughts going through