As her voice rose loud and shrill, Miss Silver reflected how quickly fear and anger can strip off the veneer of breeding. The languid, graceful woman with her tones modelled to the current fashion was gone. Instead, there was a London girl who knew what it was to fight for her own hand and was perfectly capable of doing so. Her colour had come back with a rush.
Mettie Eccles stood as if she had been turned to stone. The anger had gone out of her. Her limbs were heavy and her eyes dazzled. All she wanted now was to sit in the dark and weep. But she came of a fighting stock – she would not go back on what she had said. She repeated it with a dry tongue.
‘You killed him—’
It was at this moment, and just as Lady Mallett was about to close the door, that Maggie Repton had come down the hall. There had been a whisper of talk, and it had reached her. If Roger was ill, she must go to him. It didn’t matter if she felt ill herself, she must go to Roger. She saw Nora Mallett, but she was not to be stayed.
‘Maggie—’
‘If Roger is ill, I must go to him.’
She walked past her, and saw what was to be seen – Roger lying sprawled across his desk, and the three people who were standing there and were not doing anything to help him—
Miss Silver who was so kind – but she was a stranger.
Scilla, who was his wife, his unfaithful wife.
And Mettie who loved him.
Why were none of them doing anything to help Roger? She heard Mettie Eccles say, ‘You killed him—’ and she saw Scilla Repton step forward and strike her across the face.
TWENTY-FOUR
MAGGIE REPTON LAY on her bed with the eiderdown drawn up to her chin. Like everything else in the room it was old and rather shabby. Miss Repton remembered her mother buying it at the Army and Navy Stores in Victoria Street. The cover was only cotton, but the down was of the very best quality, and it had cost £2 10s 0d., which in those days had seemed quite a large price for an eiderdown. It was still very warm, and light, and comforting. She became aware of a hot-water bottle at her feet. That was comforting too. And there was something else – kindness and the sense of a reassuring presence. It was getting dark outside. A small shaded lamp stood on the washstand. It was beyond her range of vision, so that it did not dazzle her, but the light was pleasant in the room. She turned her head on the pillow and identified the presence which she found consoling. Miss Silver sat beside her knitting.
For a little while the warmth, the soft light, the sense of comfort and security, were between Maggie Repton and the things that had happened at the Work Party. Then they came back – Roger lying dead across his own writing-table – the smashed glass and empty decanter – poor Mettie calling his name, accusing Scilla, and Scilla striking her. She put out a long hand and said with a gasp, “Oh, no, it isn’t true!’
Miss Silver laid down her knitting and took the hand.
‘Yes, my dear, it is true. You must be brave.’
Two slow, weak tears rolled down Miss Maggie’s cheeks. Her thoughts moved slowly too. Roger was dead. She must be a very bad, unloving sister, because it didn’t mean very much when she said it. She didn’t seem to be able to feel anything. She said that aloud.
‘I don’t seem to be able to feel anything.’
‘That is because it has been a shock.’ Miss Silver’s hand was warm and steady. Maggie Repton clung to it.
‘I was speaking to him just before the people arrived. He said it was the end. You don’t think he meant – you don’t think—’
Miss Silver looked at her gravely.
‘You will have to tell the police just what was said.’
‘I ought not to have left him,’ said Miss Maggie. ‘But I never thought – indeed I never thought—’
‘What did you think he meant, my dear?’
‘He was talking about Scilla. They had had a terrible quarrel. He said she had been having an affair with Gilbert Earle. Such a dreadful, wicked thing – because Gilbert was going to marry Valentine, you know, and it has all been broken off. Roger talked about a divorce, a thing I never thought we should have in our family, but he said he couldn’t go on. It is all so dreadful. It doesn’t seem as if it could possibly have happened.’
It had become a relief to talk, to pour it all out. After a little Miss Silver drew her hand away and began to knit again. When she rose from her chair, Miss Maggie said with a sob, ‘You’re not going?’
‘Not if you wish me to stay.’
‘Oh, if you could—’ The weak voice faltered and broke. ‘Valentine is a dear child, but she is young, and – and Scilla’ – she jerked herself up in the bed – ‘She is an unfaithful wife – Roger was sending her away. There ought to be someone here with Valentine, and Mettie – it wouldn’t do for Mettie to come. Scilla hit her, didn’t she? What a dreadful thing! Poor Mettie couldn’t come here after that! Scilla hit her, and then I don’t seem to remember what happened.’
‘You fainted, my dear.’
‘Oh dear – I oughtn’t to have done that – it must have given so much trouble.’ Then, on a faint and trembling note, ‘Did they – did anyone – send for the police? You said – I thought you said—’
‘Yes, my dear, they are here. I am sure you will find them all that is kind and considerate.’
The door was opened a little way. Valentine Grey first looked round it, and then came in. Seeing that Miss Maggie was awake, she bent down to kiss her. Miss Silver, withdrawing to the window, was aware of a murmur of words.
After a little Valentine came to her. Her starry look was gone, and she was white and distressed, but quite sensible and controlled. She said very low, ‘She is better?’
‘She will do very well now.’
‘The Chief Constable is here. He said to ask you whether she is fit to see him. He said he wouldn’t press it if you thought not.’
Miss Silver turned back to the bed.
‘Let us ask her. It may be better for her to get it off her mind.’
Miss Maggie had drawn herself up against the pillows. She discovered to her surprise that she was in her nightgown, with the pretty blue bed-jacket which Valentine had given her for her birthday.
‘Did you say Mr March was here? Does he want to see me? I don’t know – I don’t feel that I can get up and come down—’
Valentine bent over her.
‘No, darling, of course not. He would come up here.’
She murmured, ‘How good of him. I am sure he is very kind to come like this. A man is such a help. And if you think he wouldn’t mind – Only, my dear, am I quite tidy?’
The customary pins had been removed from the wispy hair which they so often failed to control. It lay now neat and flat on either side of the narrow brow. With a lace scarf thrown over it, nothing could have been more decorous. Miss Silver was most reassuring on this point.
‘And you will stay?’ said Miss Maggie, beginning to flutter. ‘I do know Mr March – he is always so nice. But you won’t leave me, will you? Renie Wayne was telling me you know him quite well. She told me you went over to tea there on Friday. Mrs March is so very good-looking, is she not – and they have two lovely children.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You know, when things go wrong, as they have with us, it is a help to think about the people who are really happy.’
Randal March came into the room and took the chair which had been set for him. Nothing could have been kinder than his voice and manner as he told her how sorry he was to disturb her, and how much he regretted the reason.
‘But if you do not mind answering a few questions. Time may be of importance, and Miss Silver will see that I don’t tire you. We are old friends, you know.’
Miss Maggie showed a definite interest.
‘Oh, yes, Renie Wayne told me. Miss Silver has been so kind – so very kind.’
He said warmly, ‘She is the kindest person I know.’ And then, ‘Now, Miss Repton, will you tell me when was the last time you saw your brother – I mean the last time before you came
into the study and found him there with Miss Eccles and Miss Silver and Mrs Repton?’
Miss Maggie gazed at him.
‘Nora Mallett was there too. She is a cousin, you know, and so is Mettie Eccles.’
‘Yes. Now when did you last see Colonel Repton before that – and where?’
She said in a distressed voice, ‘It was in the study, just before all the people came. We had the Work Party here – I suppose they told you. And Roger was dreadfully angry. Oh, not about the Party – it wasn’t that at all. It was – Oh, do I have to say?’
Miss Silver had drawn up a chair at the other side of the bed. She said gently but firmly, ‘I am afraid so, my dear. Mr March will have heard already that there was trouble between your brother and his wife.’
‘Yes, Miss Maggie, you had better tell me. Was that what he was angry about?’
‘Oh, yes. He said he had come to the end.’
Randal March looked at Miss Silver, who very slightly shook her head. She said, ‘I think Mr March will want to know just how that was said. He had told you that his wife was going away for good, had he not, and the word divorce had been mentioned?’
Miss Maggie caught her breath.
‘Oh, yes, it had. He thought she had been – had been – unfaithful.’
‘With Gilbert Earle?’
‘Yes – yes—’
‘He really said she was leaving him, and he spoke of a divorce?’
‘Oh, yes – poor Roger.’
‘Then how did he say that bit about having come to the end? Will you see if you can give me his exact words?’
‘Oh, I don’t know – it seems so dreadful to repeat them.’
March looked across at Miss Silver.
‘I think she should understand what is involved. You will explain it better than I can.’
She took her cue mildly, but with authority.
‘Dear Miss Repton, I know it is distressing for you, but a good deal depends on just how these things are said. If the words “I have come to the end” are taken by themselves, they would seem to point to suicide.’
Miss Maggie’s ‘Oh, no—’ was only half articulate.
Miss Silver went on.
‘If you do not think he meant that, you must try to remember what else was said at that time. A man who intends to commit suicide would not be thinking of divorce. You are sure that he did mention divorce?’
A little faint colour had come into Miss Repton’s face. She said in quite a strong voice, ‘Oh, yes, I am quite sure he did, because it shocked me dreadfully. We have never had such a thing in our family. And Roger would never have taken his own life – he had a great deal too much principle.’
March said, ‘Then just how did he say those words about having come to the end?’
Maggie Repton put up her hand to her throat.
‘He said Scilla was going away and not coming back. He said, “She’s been having an affair with Gilbert Earle – if that’s the worst of it.” And then he said, “I’ve come to the end. She must go.” And then he went out of the room and banged the door.’
Randal March looked across at Miss Silver and nodded.
‘There you have it. Three words, and they make all the difference. Had come to the end of his patience with his wife. The “She must go” makes that perfectly clear – if that is how it went. You’re quite sure about it, Miss Maggie?’
Oh yes, she was quite sure. Now that it was said it had relieved her very much. She repeated it all again quite slowly, and when he had written it down she signed her name.
TWENTY-FIVE
MISS SILVER WENT downstairs with the Chief Constable. As soon as they had come out upon the landing he said, ‘I want to see that girl Florrie. Crisp has taken a statement from her. I want to go over it with her, and I should very much like you to be there. In the case of a young girl I think it is always advisable that another woman should be present. Do you think she would be likely to object?’
Miss Silver made a slight movement of the head.
‘I have found her all that is pleasant and helpful. Perhaps you would like me to let her know that you wish to see her. My presence would then be brought about in quite a natural manner.’
He went into the study, and after telling Valentine that Maggie Repton was alone, and that she considered that some light nourishment would now be beneficial, Miss Silver acquainted her with the Chief Constable’s desire to interview Florrie Stokes. The bell was rung. Florrie appeared to answer it, and far from showing any objection to Miss Silver’s presence, evinced a disposition to cling to her. She had been crying and was obviously in a frightened and emotional state, which made March congratulate herself on Miss Silver’s presence. The Inspector, who had encountered her before, responded to her greetings in the briefest and most formal manner.
Colonel Repton’s body had been removed. The room had been aired, but the heavy smell of smoke remained. The broken glass, the decanter, the cup and saucer and plate conveyed to the dead man had been taken away. There was a damp patch on the already much worn and stained green leather of the writing-table. When it dried there would be nothing to show that it had given mute evidence of a violent death. Where Roger Repton had sprawled the Chief Constable now sat with Florrie’s statement in his hand, whilst Crisp on his left kept pencil and notebook ready.
Florrie sat on the couch beside Miss Silver. She was upset, but she was excited too. It was an awful thing to have happened, but it would be something to talk about for the rest of her life. The Chief Constable was ever so good looking, and so was Mrs March. Miss Silver was ever so kind. She was glad she hadn’t got to talk to that Inspector Crisp again. Jumped down your throat something awful, for all the world like one of Joe Blagdon’s terrier dogs when it was after a rat. She didn’t like rats, but she didn’t like to see anything killed.
March took her through her statement, which began with her coming into the hall on the Saturday and hearing Colonel and Mrs Repton quarrelling on the other side of the study door. The quarrel was about Mr Gilbert Earle. She had told the story so often that it was like something she had got by heart, and she could repeat it and scarcely vary it by a word. The Colonel had said that Mrs Repton had been carrying on with Mr Gilbert – he had had one of those letters about her. They had been meeting at her friend Mrs Foster’s flat, and he would be able to get evidence about it and divorce her.
March said, ‘You heard him mention the word divorce?’
‘Oh, yes, I did.’
‘You are quite sure about that?’
‘Oh, yes, sir.’
He went on, ‘Now, about these anonymous letters – you say Colonel Repton spoke of them?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘He said he had had one?’
‘Yes, sir – and so he did, for I took it up to him myself.’
Inspector Crisp lifted his head with a jerk. March said, ‘You took it up to him?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. There was one for him and one for Miss Valentine.’
‘And how did you know what kind of letters they were?’
Florrie was more at her ease every moment. If there was a subject that had been thoroughly discussed in Tilling Green, it was the subject of the anonymous letters – the cheap white paper on which they were written, the flimsy envelopes which matched it, the large awkward writing. Sam Boxer, who was the postman, had given far too particular a description of these points for her to be in any doubt about them, and she had actually seen the one which Mrs Pratt had had, because she had been there when Mrs P. came in and showed it to Mum and Dad – a homed spiteful letter about her Joe having been had up in court over breaking a shop window. And he wasn’t a bad boy really, only a bit wild. But the letter said everyone hoped he would go to prison and he was bound to come to a bad end anyhow. And Mrs Pratt had taken on something dreadful.
Florrie explained all this with artless confidence.
March turned to Crisp.
‘Did the police know about this letter?’
/> Crisp really did resemble the terrier of Florrie’s fancy. At the moment he was the terrier whose rat has been killed by another dog. He was at his most abrupt as he said, ‘No, sir.’
March had a moment of exasperation. How could you help people if they wouldn’t help themselves? They would talk endlessly to each other, but when it came to reporting anything to the police a tomb-like silence engulfed them. Sam Boxer having already stated that the Colonel, Miss Valentine, and the Vicar had each received a letter answering to the description of the poison-pen letters, he himself having delivered them with the first post on Thursday morning, March decided that Florrie’s evidence could be considered to establish the fact that the letter addressed to Roger had certainly reached him, though he had not seen fit to admit that it had. Since it appeared to have dealt with the subject of his wife’s unfaithfulness, this was not surprising.
Florrie maintained that the Colonel had not only talked about the letter, but that he and Mrs Repton had quarrelled very bitterly about it, and that in the course of this quarrel the Colonel had said that he knew who had written the letters. And had gone on to say that perhaps it was Mrs Repton herself.
‘You are sure he said that?’
She repeated the words in her statement.
‘Mrs Repton said it was all lies, and the Colonel said it was a filthy letter about a filthy thing, and he knew who wrote it. And Mrs Repton said, who was it then? And the Colonel said wouldn’t she like to know, and perhaps she had done it herself, because that would be one way of breaking off Miss Valentine’s marriage, wouldn’t it, and one way of getting out of her own. And what did she and her friends care about divorce, he said. Only she had better make sure that Mr Gilbert would marry her before she walked out.’
She might almost have had the statement in front of her as she tripped through the quarrel which had taken place in this very room. Both March and Miss Silver received a clear impression of how it had gone – suspicion turned suddenly to certainty and blazing up into an anger which defied control, followed by what the Chief Constable, but not perhaps Miss Maud Silver, would have described as a slanging match. And then a certain cooling down, so that what had begun with a demand that Scilla Repton should get out and leave his house then and there seemed to have concluded with a realization of the scandal which such a course must provoke, and a desire to keep on the right side of public opinion.
Poison in the Pen (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 29) Page 14
