To Love and Be Wise by Josephine Tey

Author:Josephine Tey [Tey, Josephine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
Published: 1950-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

12

Silas Weekly lived in a cottage down the lane that led to the far bend of the river. Or rather, that started off towards the river. The lane, where it met the fields, turned at right-angles along the back of the village, only to turn up again and rejoin the village street. It was an entirely local affair. In the last cottage before the fields lived Silas Weekley, and Grant, ‘proceeding’ there police-fashion, was surprised to find it so poor a dwelling. It was not only that Weekley was a best-seller and could therefore afford a home that was more attractive than this, but there had been no effort to beautify the place; no generosity of paint and wash such as the other cottagers had used to make the street of Salcott St Mary a delight to the eye. No window plants, no trim curtains. The place had a slum air that was strange in its surroundings.

The cottage door was open and the combined howls of an infant and a child poured out into the sunny morning. An enamel basin of dirty water stood in the porch, the soap bubbles on it bursting one by one in slow resignation. An animal toy of soft fur, so worn and grubby as to be unidentifiable as any known species, lay on the floor. The room beyond was unoccupied for the moment, and Grant stood observing it in a kind of wonder. It was poorly furnished and untidy beyond belief.

The crying continued to come from some room in the rear, so Grant knocked loudly on the front door. At his second knock, a woman’s voice called: ‘Just leave it there, thank you. At his third knock supplemented with a call, she came from the darkness at the back and moved forward to inspect him.

‘Mrs Weekley? Grant said doubtfully.

‘Yes, I’m Mrs Weekley.

She must have been pretty once. Pretty and intelligent; and independent. Grant remembered hearing somewhere that Weekley had married an elementary school teacher. She was wearing a sacking apron over a print wrapper, and the kind of old shoes that a woman all too easily gets used to as good enough to do chores in. She had not bothered to put on stockings, and the shoes had left smudges on her bare insteps. Her unwaved hair was pulled back into a tight desperate knot, but the front strands were too short to be confined there for long and now hung down on either side of her face. It was a rather long face and very tired.

Grant said that he would like to see her husband for a moment.

‘Oh. She took it in slowly, as if her mind were still with the crying children. ‘I’m sorry things are so untidy, she said vaguely. ‘My girl from the village didn’t come today. She often doesn’t. It just depends on how she is feeling. And with the children it is difficult — . I don’t think I can disturb my husband in the middle of the morning.

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