WHILE SHE SLEEPS (A Thriller Novel). Ethel Lina White

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      Miss Pitt changed the subject, since she felt too prejudiced to argue politely.

      'Would you like me to keep an eye on your animals while you are away?' she asked.

      'I was hoping you would offer. You are an angel...But please be tactful, because Elsie is so sensitive. Do you know her taste is so delicate she can't eat "insides"—not even sweetbreads?'

      'I'll make a note of it for the next time she comes to dinner. "No sweetbreads for Miss Loveapple's maid."...By the way, you will miss the Garden Fête.'

      'I know. I'm on my way to the Rectory, to break it to Mrs Bosanquet...Good-bye.'

      'Good-bye. Don't forget to travel light and wear your oldest clothes.'

      'I shall wear my shorts.'

      Agatha Pitt concealed her shudder, for in her code 'cut' ran neck-to-neck with Cleanliness, to come in second to Godliness.

      'If I don't see you again, "Good luck,"' she said.

      'I shall get that,' declared Miss Loveapple confidently.

      Although she had been the herald of personal good fortune, her triumph had proved faintly bittersweet. As she followed Scottie across the green, some residue of doubt kept rising to cloud her satisfaction. She was reminded that the village afforded opportunities for friendship of which she was not able to avail herself. Owing to her constant migrations, she had lost touch with the natives.

      For example, there was Agatha Pitt. Apart from an inability to appreciate Elsie properly, she had excellent qualities. She had just proved herself not only free from envy, but cheerfully ready for personal service.

      A small scarlet sports car shot by, packed with golf-sticks, dogs, two large young men and a girl who was driving. They all bowed to her with the formality due to a superior adult, instead of greeting her with shouts or waves.

      'I can't be much older than that girl,' reflected Miss Loveapple, 'but I'm always paired with Agatha Pitt and her gang...Odd.'

      Then the burnt grass of the misnamed green made her think of snow-mountains and her usual happiness returned.

      'Rectory, Scottie,' she said.

      The small dog immediately led her towards the long flight of stone steps which led up to the church.

      Any one who lived in Highfield was qualified to take a postman's job, since much of the village was built on elevated ground and was reached only by climbing stairs. As Miss Loveapple mounted the hollowed treads, on either side of her were picturesque cottages, overgrown with creepers and nasturtiums.

      Half-way up, she paused on a broad paved landing and, turning to the right, passed through tall wrought-iron gates. The shady grass square inside, with its clipped yews, was somewhat like a monastery garden; but the illusion was shattered, as she drew near the front door of the Rectory, by a clamour of shrill feminine voices.

      The rector's wife was holding a Mother's Meeting in the dining-room. Before her marriage, she had been matron of a Cottage hospital, so she was in her element as she laid down the law on the subject of hygiene. She ruled the Parish with kindly efficiency, but she had never grown accustomed to the absence of her cap. That afternoon, in spite of the heat and the fact that she was in her own house, she wore a hat with strings tied under her chin to mark an official occasion.

      She liked Miss Loveapple, for she saw in her the ideal probationer, after she had been subdued by drudgery and snubs; but all the same, she challenged her unauthorised entrance.

      'Since when have you become a mother? Produce the infant—or you'll get no tea.'

      'You know perfectly well I have two fur sons,' said Miss Loveapple. 'Besides, I've not come to cadge.'

      At that moment, the cook appeared to announce the tea interval, so the rector's wife was free to listen to Miss Loveapple's explanation about her absence from the Garden Fête.

      She made no secret of the fact that she was very annoyed by the news.

      'It is most discouraging,' she said, 'after all my efforts to make the Fête a success. Lady Pontypool has promised to open it, and naturally I want to pay her the compliment of a full muster of parishioners.'

      'Lady Pontypool,' echoed Miss Loveapple in surprise. 'Why—she's big.'

      'No. About eight stone.'

      'I mean—rich, important.'

      'She's not important to me. I nursed her when she had pleurisy. My hospital loaned me...Surely you can put off your visit to Switzerland?'

      'No, I've made my arrangements to go up to London tomorrow.'

      The rector's wife saw that her mind was made up, so turned back to her mothers. 'I'll keep an eye on Elsie,' she muttered automatically.

      Hot and thirsty, Miss Loveapple hurried homewards to her tea. On her way she was fortunate enough to meet Captain Brown—her rival at many flower shows. He was a mild little man, who had endured a martyrdom of malarial exile with sufficient fortitude to win the V.C. on Active Service.

      His eyes gleamed when he promised to look after her garden in her absence.

      'I warn you, I shall take plenty of loot,' he said. 'One has to be drastic. Before I go away, I cut off every flower and every bud in my garden. Put it to sleep, you know. If I didn't, everything would bloom and seed—and the garden would be finished.'

      Although he was advocating only a temporary measure of precaution, Miss Loveapple objected to the wholesale destruction of her beloved plants.

      'I think you follow the book too closely,' she said. 'You told me to dig three spades deep for my sweet-peas and to coat the seeds with red lead to keep the mice from nibbling them...Well, I didn't. And my sweet-peas beat yours at the show.'

      Captain Brown, who was the best horticulturist in the district, writhed at the thrust.

      'You do everything wrong,' he complained. 'Yet your flowers come up. You must have green fingers.'

      'Yes, I'm lucky.'

      'You certainly were over your house. Can't imagine why any one should want to stay in London in August.'

      'It was because I wanted to go to Switzerland. Things always turn out for me...But I must hurry home. I've got to pack. I've only got one more night here.'

      Only one more night in which she could sleep in safety...At that moment, it seemed as though Miss Loveapple's luck had lost the game.

      CHAPTER FOUR. The Empty House

       Table of Contents

      Early next morning, Miss Loveapple climbed the wooden stairs leading to the elevated railway station. She lugged a heavy suitcase, packed to capacity, while Elsie carried the small bag which contained oddments for the night.

      During the walk, the maid had СКАЧАТЬ