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Updated: June 11, 2025
Baxendale entered Wilfrid's room as soon as she had dressed for dinner. He sat at the table, the letter lying open before him. As Mrs. Baxendale approached, he held the sheet to her. 'Then my last conjecture is fruitless, she said, letting her hand fall. 'We cannot doubt her word. 'Doubt it? No. There is nothing for me but to believe all she said.
Baxendale, he said at length, 'I am perhaps doing a very wrong thing in telling you what passed between us, but I feel quite unable to decide upon any course without the aid of your judgment. I am in a terrible position. Either I must believe Emily to speak without responsibility, or something inexplicable, incredible, has come to pass. She has asked me to release her.
Wilfrid did not go straight to the Baxendales'. In his distracted state he felt it impossible to sit through luncheon, and he could not immediately decide how to meet Mrs. Baxendale, whether to take her into his confidence or to preserve silence on what had happened.
It was not, I suppose, by chance that you heard of the meeting? 'No. Wilfrid told me of it. He told me on Sunday Her voice was a little uncertain. 'Give me your hand, dear, said Mrs. Baxendale. 'There, now tell me the rest. Beatrice half sobbed. 'Yes, I can now more easily, she continued, with hurried utterance. 'Your hand is just what I wanted; it is help, dear help.
To look at him one would think Baxendale has never had a day's illness in his life, but as a matter of fact he has never been well since any one can remember. He has always suffered from what one may call ailments, and when one saw him at the club or in Bond Street he would tell you he was not quite the thing he was run down or had lumbago or a bit of a chill on the liver.
Three days after the last reported conversation between Wilfrid and Mrs. Baxendale, it was determined that the latter must take upon herself the office of telling Emily the truth. Mrs.
The task of her life was an inward one, but her nature was not adapted to quiescence, and something must replace the task which had come to an end by her mother's death. Already she had shaped plans, and she dared not allow needless time to intervene before practically pursuing them. In the evening of that day Mrs. Baxendale again came to Banbrigg.
Baxendale had quite ceased to smile. When any puzzling matter occupied her thought she always frowned very low; at present her frown indicated anxiety. 'What reason have you to think she was in London, Beatrice? 'Only her being here now. Beatrice said it with a show of pleasant artfulness, holding her head aside a little and smiling into her aunt's eyes. Mrs.
Later on Baxendale developed a habit of questioning every one as to what they were doing. On one occasion he asked Postlethwaite, who runs a convalescent home at Margate, if there was anything he could do down there. Postlethwaite suggested that he might drive wounded soldiers down to Margate in his car if he liked.
Could it be that Beatrice was suffering from some delusion? Had a chance discovery of Emily Hood's proximity, together perhaps with some ambiguous behaviour on Wilfrid's part, affected her mind? It was an extreme supposition, but on the whole as easy of acceptance as the story Beatrice had poured forth. In pursuit of evidence Mrs. Baxendale drove to the Athels'. It was about luncheon-time.
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