Theodora had deliberately and heartlessly smashed the lovely little figurine her friend had carved of her, and her friend had cruelly ripped to shreds the volume of Alfred de Musset which had been a birthday present from Theodora, taking particular pains with the page which bore Theodora’s loving, teasing inscription. These acts were of course unforgettable, and before they could laugh over them together time would have to go by; Theodora had written that night, accepting Dr Montague’s invitation, and departed in cold silence the next day.
Luke Sanderson was a liar. He was also a thief. His aunt, who was the owner of Hill House, was fond of pointing out that her nephew had the best education, the best clothes, the best taste, and the worst companions of anyone she had ever known; she would have leaped at any chance to put him safely away for a few weeks. The family lawyer was prevailed upon to persuade Dr Montague that the house could on no account be rented to him for his purposes without the confining presence of a member of the family during his stay, and perhaps at their first meeting the doctor perceived in Luke a kind of strength, or catlike instinct for self-preservation, which made him almost as anxious as Mrs Sanderson to have Luke with him in the house. At any rate, Luke was amused, his aunt grateful, and Dr Montague more than satisfied. Mrs Sanderson told the family lawyer that at any rate there was really nothing in the house Luke could steal. The old silver there was of some value, she told the lawyer, but it represented an almost insuperable difficulty for Luke: it required energy to steal it and transform it into money. Mrs Sanderson did Luke an injustice. Luke was not at all likely to make off with the family silver, or Dr Montague’s watch, or Theodora’s bracelet; his dishonesty was largely confined to taking petty cash from his aunt’s pocketbook and cheating at cards. He was also apt to sell the watches and cigarette cases given him, fondly and with pretty blushes, by his aunt’s friends. Some day Luke would inherit Hill House, but he had never thought to find himself living in it.
III
‘I just don’t think she should take the car, is all,’ Eleanor’s brother-in-law said stubbornly.
‘It’s half my car,’ Eleanor said. ‘I helped pay for it.’
‘I just don’t think she should take it, is all,’ her brother-in-law said. He appealed to his wife. ‘It isn’t fair she should have the use of it for the whole summer, and us have to do without.’
‘Carrie drives it all the time, and I never even take it out of the garage,’ Eleanor said. ‘Besides, you’ll be in the mountains all summer, and you can’t use it there. Carrie, you know you won’t use the car in the mountains.’
‘But suppose poor little Linnie got sick or something? And we needed a car to get her to a doctor?’
‘It’s half my car,’ Eleanor said. ‘I mean to take it.’
‘Suppose even Carrie got sick? Suppose we couldn’t get a doctor and needed to go to a hospital?’
‘I want it. I mean to take it.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Carrie spoke slowly, deliberately. ‘We don’t know where you’re going, do we? You haven’t seen fit to tell us very much about all this, have you? I don’t think I can see my way clear to letting you borrow my car.’
‘It’s half my car.’
‘No,’ Carrie said. ‘You may not.’
‘Right.’ Eleanor’s brother-in-law nodded. ‘We need it, like Carrie says.’
Carrie smiled slightly. ‘I’d never forgive myself, Eleanor, if I lent you the car and something happened. How do we know we can trust this doctor fellow? You’ve still a young woman, after all, and the car is worth a good deal of money.’
‘Well, now, Carrie, I did call Homer in the credit office, and he said this fellow was in good standing at some college or other——’
Carrie said, still smiling, ‘Of course, there is every reason to suppose that he is a decent man. But Eleanor does not choose to tell us where she is going, or how to reach her if we want the car back; something could happen, and we might never know. Even if Eleanor,’ she went on delicately, addressing her teacup, ‘even if Eleanor is prepared to run off to the ends of the earth at the invitation of any man, there is still no reason why she should be permitted to take my car with her.’
‘It’s half my car.’
‘Suppose poor little Linnie got sick, up there in the mountains, with nobody around? No doctor?’
‘In any case, Eleanor, I am sure that I am doing what Mother would have thought best. Mother had confidence in me and would certainly never have approved my letting you run wild, going off heaven knows where, in my car.’
‘Or suppose even I got sick, up there in——’
‘I am sure Mother would have agreed with me, Eleanor.’
‘Besides,’ Eleanor’s brother-in-law said, struck by a sudden idea, ‘how do we know she’d bring it back in good condition?’
There has to be a first time for everything, Eleanor told herself. She got out of the taxi, very early in the morning, trembling because by now, perhaps, her sister and her brother-in-law might be stirring with the first faint proddings of suspicion; she took her suitcase quickly out of the taxi while the driver lifted out the cardboard carton which had been on the front seat. Eleanor overtipped him, wondering if her sister and brother-in-law were following, were perhaps even now turning into the street and telling each other, ‘There she is, just as we thought, the thief, there she is’; she turned in haste to go into the huge city garage where their car was kept, glancing nervously towards the ends of the street. She crashed into a very little lady, sending packages in all directions, and saw with dismay a bag upset and break on the sidewalk, spilling out a broken piece of cheesecake, tomato slices, a hard roll. ‘Damn you damn you!’ the little lady screamed, her face pushed up close to Eleanor’s. ‘I was taking it home, damn you damn you!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Eleanor said; she bent down, but it did not seem possible to scoop up the fragments of tomato and cheesecake and shove them somehow back into the broken bag. The old lady was scowling down and snatching up her other packages before Eleanor could reach them, and at last Eleanor rose, smiling in convulsive apology. ‘I’m really so sorry,’ she said.
‘Damn you,’ the little old lady said, but more quietly. ‘I was taking it home for my little lunch. And now, thanks to you——’
‘Perhaps I could pay?’ Eleanor took hold of her pocketbook, and the little lady stood very still and thought.
‘I couldn’t take money, just like that,’ she said at last. ‘I didn’t buy the things, you see. They were left over.’ She snapped her lips angrily. ‘You should have seen the ham they had,’ she said, ‘but someone else got that. And the little candies in the little paper dishes. I was too late on everything. And now . . .’ She and Eleanor both glanced down at the mess on the sidewalk, and the little lady said, ‘So you see, I couldn’t just take money, not money just from your hand, not for something that was left over.’
‘May I buy you something to replace this, then? I’m in a terrible hurry, but if we could find
