The Paying Guests(113)

But at that, her mother gave an awkward laugh. ‘We can’t expect Mr Lamb to sit and watch you do that!’

‘No, I wouldn’t dream of putting you to the trouble,’ Mr Lamb said, laughing too.

He was as embarrassed as her mother, embarrassed at having caught them out in their economies over coal and servants; and the smallness of it all, the aching drab simplicity of it, after the violence of what she had been through, nearly pushed her off balance. They chatted for another minute or two, but she grew ever more wooden and unnatural. The strain in her muscles was like a howl. There was a wet patch in the folds of her cuff, where she had soaked away a bloodstain. She could feel the perspiration rising on her lip, and was afraid to draw attention to it by wiping it away.

Anyhow, they could hardly all stand there in the hall. Her mother, moving towards the front door, said, ‘I’m afraid you shall have to have your whisky some other time, Mr Lamb. Thank you so much for seeing me home. Do give our love to Margaret.’

When the door was closed behind him she began twitching off her gloves. ‘Really, Frances. You might make a little more effort. What on earth’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing’s the matter,’ said Frances, wiping her mouth at last. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, poor Mr Lamb —’ But now her mother’s fingers had slowed and she was looking at Frances oddly. ‘Is something the matter?’

Frances smiled, or attempted to. ‘I was on my way to bed. I wasn’t expecting visitors. I might have been in my dressing-gown!’

‘Well, he was kind enough to walk with me. I felt I had to ask him in. It isn’t half-past ten yet, is it?’

‘I don’t know what the time is. – No, leave the locks.’ Her mother had gone back to the door, to fasten the chain and draw the bolt. ‘I haven’t put out the milk-can. And besides —’ Her heart fluttered; she could hear the flutter in her voice. ‘Leonard isn’t home yet.’

Her mother let the chain fall. ‘Oh, isn’t he?’ She spoke with dismay.

But then she grew still, and looked at Frances in a sharper way. ‘Mr Barber has been out all evening? But Mrs Barber’s been at home?’

Frances stumbled over the little word. ‘Yes.’

Her mother said nothing. But it was plain what she was thinking. It was plain what she was supposing, about how Frances had spent her time. And the gap between even the worst of her suspicions and the hideous nightmare reality was again almost too much. Frances felt an urge to step towards her, catch hold of her hand. ‘Oh, Mother,’ she wanted to say, ‘it’s frightful! Oh, Mother, make it better!’

She forced herself to turn away, and went, with bowed head, to the kitchen.

For there were still the bedtime chores to see to, even tonight: the stove to be riddled, the breakfast things to be put out. Her eyes were darting the whole time, looking for marks, for splashes of blood. When her mother followed her along the passage and headed out to the WC she thought of the lavatory pan, remembering how hastily she had cleaned it. That was Lilian’s blood, of course, incriminating in a different way. God, there’d been nothing but blood, all day! The house felt as though it were swimming in it! If her mother should see some trace of it —

But, no, it was too dark for that. Her mother returned from the yard in silence. She poured herself a glass of water and said a chill good night.

Once Frances had shut off the gas in the hall she went softly back up to the sitting-room and leaned weak-kneed against the arm of the sofa. Lilian, seeing her pose and expression, whispered, ‘What? What is it?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘What did they say? They haven’t guessed?’

She answered in a hiss. ‘No, of course they haven’t guessed! How could my mother ever guess such a thing? It was only foul, to have to stand there and pretend that nothing was wrong, when all the time —’

She didn’t finish. Lilian’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Please don’t start to hate me now.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ said Frances with an effort. ‘I just —’

‘You don’t wish we hadn’t done it?’

‘Yes, I wish we hadn’t done it! I wish you hadn’t hit him, Lilian! But what does it matter what I wish? We’ve done it, and that’s that. We’ve done it, and can’t undo it, and —’ She saw the gingham apron, still lying in a heap on the floor. She bundled it up and threw it on the fire. ‘If only we might have more time! I can’t believe there isn’t something to give us away. But we can’t keep looking. My mother will hear us moving about, and start to wonder. We must go to bed —’

Lilian looked terrified. ‘You won’t make me go to bed on my own?’

Frances sagged. ‘Lily, you must. We must do just what we would do on an ordinary night. It’ll look odd, otherwise. We mustn’t do anything to raise suspicion. The police will want to know, when they come —’ A fresh wave of panic rose in her. ‘But we haven’t talked about this at all! We have to be sure to say the same thing. There mightn’t be time to discuss it in the morning.’

‘Let me come into bed with you, then. We can talk about it there. Please don’t make me sleep on my own tonight. I can’t do it. Please, Frances.’