“He advises me, as is very right and proper, that Mrs. Ashley is already several hundred pounds overdrawn on her account.”
I felt myself go cold. I stared back at him; then the tension snapped, and the color flamed into my face.
“Oh?” I said.
“I don’t understand it,” he continued, pacing the floor.
“She can have few expenses here.
She is living as your guest, and her wants must be few.
The only thing that occurs to me is that she is sending the money out of the country.”
I went on standing by the fire and my heart was beating against my ribs.
“She is very generous,” I said, “you must have noticed that, tonight.
A present for each one of us.
That cannot be done on a few shillings.”
“Several hundred pounds would pay for them a dozen times over,” he replied.
“I don’t doubt her generosity, but presents alone cannot account for an overdraft.”
“She has taken it upon herself to spend money on the house,” I said.
“There have been furnishings bought for the blue bedroom.
You can take all that into consideration.”
“Possibly,” said my godfather, “but nevertheless the fact remains that the sum we decided to give her quarterly has already been doubled, nearly trebled, by the amount she has withdrawn.
What are we to decide for the future?”
“Double, treble, the amount we give her now,” I said.
“Obviously what we gave was not sufficient.”
“But that is preposterous, Philip,” he exclaimed.
“No woman, living as she does here, could possibly desire to spend so much.
A lady of quality in London would be hard put to it to fritter so much away.”
“There may be debts,” I said, “of which we know nothing.
There may be creditors, pressing for money, back in Florence. It is not our business.
I want you to increase the allowance and cover that overdraft.”
He stood before me, with pursed lips.
I wanted the matter over, done with.
My ears were awake for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“Another thing,” he said, uneasily.
“You had no right, Philip, to take that collar from the bank.
You realize, don’t you, that it is part of the collection, part of the estate, and you have not the right to remove it?”
“It is mine,” I said; “I can do what I like with my property.”
“The property is not yet yours,” he said, “for a further three months.”
“What of it?”
I gestured.
“Three months pass quickly.
No harm can come to the collar in her keeping.”
He glanced up at me.
“I am not so sure,” he said.
The implication in his words drove me to fury.
“Good God!” I said.
“What are you suggesting?
That she might take that collar and sell it?”
For a moment he did not reply. He tugged at his mustache.
“Since going to Exeter,” he said, “I have come to learn a little more about your cousin Rachel.”
“What the devil do you mean?” I asked.
His eyes went from me to the door, then back again.
“It happened that I came across old friends,” he said, “people you would not know, who are great travelers. They have wintered in Italy and France over a period of years.
It seems that they met your cousin when she was married to her first husband, Sangalletti.”