MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS _Messalina of the Suburbs_ :: :: _By E. M. DELAFIELD_ :: _Author of “Tension,” “The Optimist,” “A Reversion to Type,” etc._ [Illustration] _LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO. PATERNOSTER ROW_ DEDICATED TO M. P. P. MY DEAR MARGARET, We have so often agreed that causes are more interesting than the most dramatic results, that I feel you are the right person to receive the dedication of my story about Elsie Palmer, in which I have tried to reconstruct the psychological developments that led, by inexorable degrees, to the catastrophe of murder. These things are never “bolts from the blue” in reality, but merely sensational accessories to the real issue, which lies on that more subtle plane of thought where only personalities are deserving of dissection. For what it is worth, I offer you an impression of Elsie Palmer’s personality. E. M. D. _August, 1923._ CONTENTS PAGE MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS 11 THE BOND OF UNION 185 LOST IN TRANSMISSION 193 TIME WORKS WONDERS 213 THE GALLANT LITTLE LADY 223 THE HOTEL CHILD 235 IMPASSE 249 THE APPEAL 259 THE FIRST STONE 269 MESSALINA OF THE SUBURBS Messalina of the Suburbs PART I I “Elsie, I’ve told you before, I won’t have you going with boys.” “I don’t, mother.” “Yes, you do. And don’t contradict. Surely to goodness you’re aware by this time that it’s the heighth of bad manners to contradict. I’ve taken trouble enough to try and make a lady of you, I’m sure, and now all you can do is to contradict your mother, and spend your time walking the streets with boys.” “Mother, I never.” “Now don’t tell lies about it, Elsie. Mother knows perfectly well when you’re telling a lie, and you don’t take her in by crocodile tears either, my lady. Don’t let me have to speak to you again about the same thing, that’s all.” Elsie began to cry, automatically and without conviction. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” “Yes, you do, miss. I mean Johnnie Osborne, and Johnnie Osborne’s brother, and Stanley Begg and the rest of them. Now, no more of it, Elsie. Go and give the gurl a hand with washing up the tea-things, and hurry up.” Elsie went away, glad that it was so soon over. Sometimes mother went on for ages. Thank the Lord she was busy to-day, with two new paying guests coming in. As she went past the drawing-room door Elsie looked in. “Hallo, little girl!” “Hallo, Mr. Roberts! Can’t stay, I’ve to go and help the girl wash up or something.” “You’ve been crying!” “I haven’t, then!” She went further into the room and let him see the downward droop of her pouting mouth and her wet eyelashes. She had not cried hard enough to make her nose turn red. “I say, what a shame! What have they been doing to you?”