THE STORY OF IVY (Murder Mystery). Marie Belloc Lowndes
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father was a friend of my father’s. But I had not seen him for years till I ran across him, in town, about three months ago. The last time I had seen him was early in the war, when his father had just died, and he had been given a fortnight’s leave. He’s what Jack calls quite a good sort; but it’s bad for a young man to become his own master at twenty. He seems to have married this lovely little thing when he was twenty-two. That’s six years ago.”
“They seem to get on very well,” observed Lady Flora.
“I think they do, though I’m afraid they’ve muddled away most of his money in having what Ivy considers a good time. He must have come into a fair fortune, for his father had sold their place just before the war.”
“What fools young people seem to be today—I mean compared to the old days!” exclaimed Joan Rodney harshly.
She went on: “John Oram—you know, Mary, the big solicitor—once told me that of ten men who sell their land at any given time, only two have anything of the purchase-price left at the end of ten years.”
“Jervis Lexton won’t be one of those two men,” said his hostess regretfully. “Ivy told me today that they’re fearfully hard up.”
“People often say that when it is laughably untrue! It’s the fashion to pretend one’s poor. Mrs. Lexton dresses beautifully. She must spend a great deal of money on her clothes,” interjected Joan Rodney.
“I’m afraid there was no pretence about what Ivy told me this morning. She looked really worried, poor little thing! I do hope she will get something good for Jervis out of Miles Rushworth.”
“She makes most of her frocks herself; it’s so easy nowadays,” said Lady Flora. And then she added: “She was telling me today about her girlhood. Her father failed in business, through no fault of his own, and for a little while she was on the stage——”
“Only a walking-on part in a musical comedy,” observed Joan Rodney, “if what her husband, who strikes me as an honest young fellow, told me is true. However, I’m surprised, even so, that she didn’t do better for herself in what I have heard described as the straight road to the peeresses’ gallery, to say nothing of ‘another place.’”
“Joan! Joan!” cried Mrs. Hampton deprecatingly.
Miss Rodney got up and came across to where her hostess sat under a heavily-shaded lamp.
She put her left elbow on the marble mantelpiece, and looking down into the other’s now upturned face, “I don’t like your little friend,” she said deliberately. “I’ve been studying her closely ever since she arrived on Thursday afternoon, though she didn’t seem aware of my existence till after lunch today. When I was in America last year, they’d invented a name for that sort of young woman. She’s out, all the time, for what she can get. ‘A gold-digger’—that’s the slang American term for that kind of young person, Mary. I know what I’m talking about.”
“How can you possibly know?”
“By instinct, my dear! If I were you I should give pretty Mrs. Lexton a very wide berth.”
And then, rather to the relief of the other two, she exclaimed, “Having done what’s always foolish—that is, said exactly what I think—I’m off to watch the champion billiard-player.”
After she had left the room, Mrs. Hampton said slowly, “It’s sad to hear a good woman, for Joan is really a good woman, say such cruel, unkind things.”
“It’s odd, too, for no one can show more real understanding sympathy when one’s in trouble,” answered Lady Flora in a low voice. She was remembering a time of frightful sorrow in her own life, when Joan Rodney had been one of the few friends whose presence had not jarred on her.
“Ah, well! She’s devoted to you. Also, you’re an angel, Flora, so there’s no great merit in being kind to you. What Joan Rodney can’t forgive in another woman is youth, happiness——”
“And, I suppose, beauty,” interjected Lady Flora. “Yet to me there is something so disarming, so pathetic, about Mrs. Lexton.”
“Then Joan has such a poor opinion of human nature,” went on Mrs. Hampton in a vexed tone. “You heard with what delight she quoted that horrid little bit of doggerel. Still, quite between ourselves, Flora, I must admit that, in a sense, she is more right than she knows about Ivy Lexton.”
Lady Flora looked dismayed. “In what way, Mary?”
“Ivy is very fond of money, or rather of spending it. In fact she is idiotically extravagant. She is dancing mad, and belongs to the two most expensive night clubs in town. It’s her fault that they’ve frittered away a lot of Jervis Lexton’s capital. Also, there’s a side to her, for all her pretty manners, that isn’t pretty at all.”
“How d’you mean?” and the other looked puzzled.
Mrs. Hampton hesitated. Then she smiled a little ruefully. “My maid told me that when Ivy arrived she was quite rude to Annie—you know, my nice old housemaid?—because there was no bottle of scent on her dressing-table! There was one, it seems, last time she was here. It had been left by some visitor—I don’t undertake to provide such luxuries.”
“That doesn’t sound very nice, certainly,” Lady Flora looked naïvely surprised.
“Then, if I’m to be really honest, my dear, there’s no doubt that one reason why Joan Rodney has taken such a ferocious dislike to Ivy Lexton is owing to the fact that I stupidly told Ivy this morning of Joan’s marvellous bit of luck—I mean of that big legacy from the American cousin. I’m afraid that’s why Ivy, who behaved all yesterday as if Joan hardly existed, began at once to make up to her! But pretty ways are very much lost on our Joan.”
She began to laugh. She really couldn’t help it, remembering the way her friend had received the younger woman’s overtures of friendship.
Lady Flora looked disturbed, for she was one of those rare human beings to whom it is a pain to think ill of anybody.
“After all, Joan’s money is of no good to anyone but herself, Mary? I don’t see why you should suppose poor little Mrs. Lexton made up to her because of that legacy.”
The other looked at her fixedly.
“Ivy Lexton has a good deal in common with the heroine of Jack’s favourite drawing-room story.”
“What story?” asked Lady Flora. Her host’s rather sly sense of humour had never appealed to her, though they were quite good friends.
“The story of the lady who said to her husband, ‘Oh, do let’s go and see them; they’re so rich!’ to be met with the answer, ‘My dear, I would if it was catching!’”
Lady Flora looked a little puzzled. “He was quite right. Money is not catching, though I suppose most people wish it were.”
“A great many people are convinced that it is, Flora, and our little Ivy is among them. I’m sure she feels that if she rubs herself up against it close enough, a little will certainly come off. And I’m not sure, in her case, that she’s not right!”
But Lady Flora could be obstinate in her mild way.
“I like Mrs. Lexton,” she said gently. “I’m going to call on her when we’re all in town again. She’s promised to take me to a nice quiet night club. I’ve always longed to see one. I want my sister-in-law, I mean Jenny, to know her. Jenny loves young people. She gives amusing little dances——”
“I think you’ll make a mistake if you introduce Ivy to the Duchess.”
“I don’t see why, my dear? After all, Mary, your little friend has been very sweet to me, and that though she knows I’m really poor.”
The other woman gave a quick look at her friend. Sometimes she thought Flora Desmond too good, too simple, even for human nature’s daily food.