“Horrible! horrible!” Faith whispered, burying her face in her hands.
“I oughtn’t to have told you, really,” Vivian said, hoping uneasily that Faith was not going to start crying again. “I expect I’d better clear out now, and leave you to get some sleep. Is there anything you want before I go?”
Faith shook her head. Vivian withdrew; and Loveday came in a few minutes later, and made her mistress ready for the night. She offered to sleep on the couch at the foot of Faith’s bed, but Faith thought that she would rather be alone. She saw that it was nearly midnight, and with an effort thanked Loveday for sitting up, and told her to go straight to bed. Loveday left her with the lamp turned low on the table beside her bed, and for a long time she lay staring ahead of her, unable to marshal her thoughts, or to see anything but a vision of Raymond sending his horse home without his bridle, and then shooting himself beside the lonely Pool on the Moor.
At last the oil in the lamp began to run out. Faith roused herself to turn the wick down. Loveday had left the heavy curtains drawn across the windows, and the room became plunged in darkness. She tried to close her eyes, but she could not keep them shut, or remain for long in any one position in the bed. She was hot, and although her body ached with fatigue, she felt so wide awake that it seemed as though she would never sleep again. The image of Raymond remained with her so obstinately that it became an obsession which so possessed her mind that she could almost fancy him in the room. She began to talk to Raymond, as though from the unhappy shades in which his spirit might be wandering he could hear her. She wanted to explain to Raymond, to beg him to forgive her, to tell him that she had never meant to hurt him, and most of all to ask him why — why — why he had killed himself. As she rambled on, saying over and over again the same things, she never thought of her husband. She had to make Ray’s ghost understand why she had killed his father, and how it was that she had not dreamt that anyone would ever call that death in question. “I couldn’t know you’d quarrelled with him, Ray,” she said. “You never told me. I didn’t think anyone would think he hadn’t died naturally. Ray, I thought it would make things easy for everybody! Why did you quarrel with him, Ray? But even if you did, they couldn’t have convicted you! There was nothing to show who did it. Why did you lose your head like that, Ray? I wouldn’t have let them arrest you! You must believe I wouldn’t have done that! I didn’t know it would all turn out like this. You don’t understand, Ray! It was such a little, easy thing to do, and I felt so desperate. It wasn’t as though it hurt him, it wasn’t even as though he was well, or would ever be well again. I didn’t think of it as being a crime, really I didn’t! He was making us all so wretched, and then there was Clay — But I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known, Ray! You must believe I never meant you to suffer for what I did!”
She was roused from this endless monologue by seeing the door open, and a bar of light widen across the floor. She started up on her elbow, half-expecting to see Raymond himself. But it was Charmian who entered, with a candle in her hand.
“Are you all right, Faith?” Charmian asked her. “I thought I heard you call.”
She sank back upon her pillows. “No,” she said dully. “I didn’t call. I’m all right.”
Charmian looked at her narrowly. “Can’t you get to sleep? It’s no good lying there thinking about it, you know. What’s done can’t be undone. It’s pretty grim, I admit, but I’ve been talking to Ingram about you, and we both agree that the sooner you get away from Trevellin, the better it will be for you. He’s perfectly prepared to advance you sufficient funds out of his own pocket to enable you to go away somewhere with Clay. Of course, as soon as we get probate, you’ll find yourself quite comfortably off, and you’ll be able to send Clay back to College, or whatever you like. That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Are they sure — are they quite sure Ray did it?”
Charmian set down the candle, and began to straighten the tumbled bedclothes. “Oh, yes, there’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear! The police are satisfied it must have been Ray. So just you go to sleep, and stop fretting!”
She tucked Faith in securely, and went away, reflecting that such an exaggerated display of emotion was typical of a woman like her stepmother; and deciding that, upon the whole, Raymond’s suicide was perhaps the best solution that could have been found to an appalling situation.
This feeling was not shared either by Inspector Logan, or by the Chief Constable. Raymond’s death came as a shock to both these gentlemen; and the Chief Constable was inclined to blame the Inspector for having allowed such a thing to have happened.
“Sir, there was nothing whatsoever to go on!” Logan said earnestly. “You know yourself I couldn’t have detained Raymond Penhallow on the evidence I had! There wasn’t a shred of real evidence against any one of them, nothing I’d dare put up to a jury, that is. I still can’t make out why he did it.”
“There must have been something behind it that you never discovered, Logan,” the Major said heavily. “I ought to have called in Scotland Yard.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, the cleverest detective in the world couldn’t have found evidence that wasn’t there. There was something behind it all; you’re right there! Again and again I felt it, when I was working on the case. If you ask me, I’ll tell you straight I’ve got a conviction that whatever it was, it was something ugly. Well, I’m not fanciful, I believe, but I got such a feeling in that house that there was a worse trouble hanging over it than I’d any notion of, that there were times when it fairly gave me the creeps.”
The Major shook his head, digging the nib of his pen into the blotter under his hand. “I shouldn’t be surprised. An old devil, Penhallow was. I don’t know. Unprofessional, of course, but one can’t help feeling that perhaps it’s as well it ended as it did.”
The Inspector could not agree with this. “I’d have liked to have got to the bottom of it, sir. If it hadn’t been for the news of Jimmy the Bastard’s arrest, and what he said leaking out, I might have had a chance. But we can’t doubt that it was hearing that this Jimmy had something important to disclose which scared Raymond Penhallow into blowing his brains out. Whatever it may have been that he feared Jimmy was going to tell us, he couldn’t stand up to. That finished him.”
“And the young man didn’t throw any light on it, did he?”
“No, sir, nothing to help us. He thought the butler wouldn’t have told us about the quarrel Raymond Penhallow had with the old man, on account of his being so devoted to the family. He never heard anything worth mentioning, though I don’t doubt he’d have had his ear to the keyhole a lot earlier than he did, if he’d known what was going on, for a nastier piece of work I hope I may never see! But all he heard was the old man saying: "That’s where you are, my boy!" and then Raymond Penhallow saying: "You devil, I’ll kill you for this, do you hear me? I’ll kill you, you fiend, you devil!" Or some such words. I wish he had been in time to have overheard a bit more: I’d give a good deal to know what it was that passed between Raymond Penhallow and his father that made it necessary for him to take the risk of poisoning the old man, on top of having half-choked him to death. It must have been something pretty bad, sir, for, unless I’m much mistaken, Raymond Penhallow wasn’t one to lose his head easily.”
“No,” the Major agreed. “A horrible business, Logan, look at it how you will.”
“You’re right, sir. A very unsatisfactory case,” the Inspector said.
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Penhallow Page 37
