Nothing Venture by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online

to offer her, but one of them had asked whether she would care to make a voyage to South America in charge of children. She toyed with the idea over a cup of tea. It was not without its charm. Very, very badly she felt the need of someone to look after. What she really wanted to do was to look after Jervis Weare. She wondered if he was sleeping better. She wondered if he had left town. She wondered who darned his socks. She wondered if he was very much in love with Rosamund Carew.
    Rosamund’s name brought up Rosamund’s picture as she had seen it in the group hanging over the mantel-piece in Jervis’ room. Rosamund was tall, fair, and very good looking. The photograph showed her bare-headed. She had lovely hair and an oval face. She began to wonder about Rosamund Carew—what sort of woman she was; and why, when she might have married Jervis, she had let him go. She wondered where Rosamund was now. Would she have stayed in town, or would she have gone away? It would be quite easy to find out. Mr Page would know. She couldn’t ask Mr Page; there was no need to ask Mr Page. She knew Rosamund’s address well enough, since she had often taken letters for her from Mr Page’s dictation—29 Leaham Road.
    She paid her bill at the tea-shop and walked slowly along. It would be quite easy for her to walk down Leaham Road. It was, of course, very improbable that she would learn anything by doing so. It was irrational to expect to learn anything. It was irrational to want to see Rosamund.
    â€œBut I do want to,” said Nan to herself. “And why shouldn’t I walk down Leaham Road if I want to?”
    She walked down Leaham Road. The door of No. 29 was shut, and the blinds were down. The house had every appearance of being shut up. When Nan had walked to the end of the street, she turned and walked back. This made it necessary for her to pass No. 29 a third time. She had passed it twice on the opposite side of the road, but now she crossed over and walked slowly down the near pavement.
    No. 29 stood at the corner of a small side street, with its entrance on Leaham Road. Nan stood still and looked at the house. The front door was painted a bright dark blue. There were blue window-boxes full of white and yellow daisies. Behind the flowers the blinded windows faced the street. Something came to Nan from the house. She didn’t quite know what it was, but she didn’t like it. She obeyed an impulse that she did not understand and turned into the side street.
    The house had no windows on this side. It stood up over her like a grey wall. And as this thought went through her mind, she saw a taxi coming up the street towards her. As it passed her, it slowed down. She heard it turn the corner behind her, and then she couldn’t hear it at all. The taxi had stopped, and Nan felt as sure as she had ever felt of anything in all her life that it had stopped in front of No. 29.
    She whisked round and ran back to the corner, keeping close in to the blank wall of the house. She was in time to see Rosamund Carew emerge from the taxi and mount the steps which led up to No. 29. Nan received an impression of height, grace, and brilliance. Rosamund Carew was a beautiful woman, and she held herself as if she was very well aware of the fact. She went up the steps, and a man got out of the car and followed her.
    Nan leaned sideways against the wall of the house, and felt it shift and rock. She tried to step back, and the pavement lifted under her foot. The man was Robert Leonard. After ten years, she was just as sure of that as she was that when she had seen him last he had just struck down Jervis Weare and left him to drown—and she was just as sure of that as she was of being Nan Forsyth. She took a grip of herself and looked again. He had gone up the steps after Rosamund Carew. She could not see either of them now. The taxi stood by the kerb with its back to her. The driver was looking straight in front