Frankie felt very sorry for him. The amount of gossip and curiosity created by a suicide in a family she could imagine only too well. Tommy appeared and she devoted herself to amusing the child.
Bobby brought the car round at half-past ten, Frankie’s luggage was brought down. She said goodbye to Tommy and left a note for Sylvia. The Bentley drove away.
They covered the distance to the Grange in a very short time. Frankie had never been there before and the big iron gates and the overgrown shrubbery depressed her spirits.
‘It’s a creepy place,’ she observed. ‘I don’t wonder Moira gets the horrors here.’ They drove up to the front door and Bobby got down and rang the bell. It was not answered for some minutes. Finally a woman in nurse’s kit opened it.
‘Mrs Nicholson?’ said Bobby.
The woman hesitated, then withdrew into the hall and opened the door wider. Frankie jumped out of the car and passed into the house. The door closed behind her. It had a nasty echoing clang as it shut. Frankie noticed that it had heavy bolts and bars across it. Quite irrationally she felt afraid – as though she was here, in this sinister house, a prisoner.
‘Nonsense,’ she told herself. ‘Bobby’s outside in the car. I’ve come here openly. Nothing can happen to me.’ And, shaking off the ridiculous feeling, she followed the nurse upstairs and along a passage. The nurse threw open a door and Frankie passed into a small sitting-room daintily furnished with cheerful chintzes and flowers in the vases. Her spirits rose.
Murmuring something, the nurse withdrew.
About five minutes passed and the door opened and Dr Nicholson came in.
Frankie was quite unable to control a slight nervous start, but she masked it by a welcoming smile and shook hands.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘Good morning. Lady Frances. You have not come to bring me bad news of Mrs Bassington-ffrench, I hope?’ ‘She was still asleep when I left,’ said Frankie.
‘Poor lady. Her own doctor is, of course, looking after her.’ ‘Oh! yes.’ She paused, then said: ‘I’m sure you’re busy. I mustn’t take up your time, Dr Nicholson. I really called to see your wife.’ ‘To see Moira? That was very kind of you.’ Was it only fancy, or did the pale-blue eyes behind the strong glasses harden ever so slightly.
‘Yes,’ he repeated. ‘That was very kind.’ ‘If she isn’t up yet,’ said Frankie, smiling pleasantly, ‘I’ll sit down and wait.’ ‘Oh! she’s up,’ said Dr Nicholson.
‘Good,’ said Frankie. ‘I want to persuade her to come to me for a visit. She’s practically promised to.’ She smiled again.
‘Why, now, that’s really very kind of you. Lady Frances very kind, indeed. I’m sure Moira would have enjoyed that very much.’ ‘Would have?’ asked Frankie sharply.
Dr Nicholson smiled, showing his fine set of even white teeth.
‘Unfortunately, my wife went away this morning.’ ‘Went away?’ said Frankie blankly. ‘Where?’ ‘Oh! just for a little change. You know what women are, Lady Frances. This is rather a gloomy place for a young woman. Occasionally Moira feels she must have a little excitement and then off she goes.’ ‘You don’t know where she has gone?’ said Frankie.
‘London, I imagine. Shops and theatres. You know the sort of thing.’ Frankie felt that his smile was the most disagreeable thing she had ever come across.
‘I am going up to London today,’ she said lightly. ‘Will you give me her address?’ ‘She usually stays at the Savoy,’ said Dr Nicholson. ‘But in any case I shall probably hear from her in a day or so. She’s not a very good correspondent, I’m afraid, and I believe in perfect liberty between husband and wife. But I think the Savoy is the most likely place for you to find her.’ He held the door open and Frankie found herself shaking hands with him and being ushered to the front door. The nurse was standing there to let her out. The last thing Frankie heard was Dr Nicholson’s voice, suave and, perhaps, just a trifle ironical.
‘So very kind of you to think of asking my wife to stay. Lady Frances.’