Miss Silver accepted with pleasure. She was admiring the Queen Anne teapot with its attendant milk-jug and sugar-basin, and the fine transparent porcelain of the pretty flowered cups. Miss Falconer might live in what had been a workman’s cottage, her grey tweed skirt and home-made cardigan might be shabby and out of shape, but she had been accustomed to fine silver and delicate china all her life, and it would never occur to her not to use what was left of them now.
As Miss Silver put out her hand for the cup she observed brightly that the journey had not seemed long at all.
“Such agreeable people in the carriage-some well-behaved children going down on a visit to their grandmother in charge of a very pleasant nurse, and a really charming young clergyman recently returned from equatorial Africa.”
Miss Falconer gave an exclamation of pleasure.
“Do you know, I feel sure that must have been my cousin Hope Windling’s youngest boy. She lives just on the other side of Wraydon, and she has been expecting him all this week. It was a terrible heartbreak to her when he decided that he had a call to go to Africa. He was most brilliant, most talented. They said he might have been anything. But we cannot arrange these things for others, can we, and at least he is alive-” Her voice died on a sighing breath.
Miss Silver hastened to restore the conversation to a cheerful level.
“He was most interesting about the native peoples amongst whom he is working.”
After a little more talk about the Rev. Clifford Windling, together with some remarks upon Mrs. Windling’s other sons-“not quite so brilliant or so gifted, but very dear fellows,” and the only daughter-“most happily and comfortably married”-Miss Silver produced her knitting and explained that the useful grey worsted stocking now depending from the needles was for her niece Mrs. Burkett’s eldest boy, Johnny.
“With three of them, and all of school age, it is really quite beyond Ethel herself to keep them in footwear, so it is fortunate that I happen to be a quick knitter, for really a pair hardly seems to be finished before another is required.”
Miss Falconer, who had been dreading the arrival of a stranger, was by now feeling very comfortable in her company. Miss Silver knew dear Clifford, she had nephews of her own, she was interested in missionary work, she was a gentlewoman. Her mild, rather timid nature let down its defences, and she found herself speaking of the tragic accident at the Ladies’ House.
“It seems so terrible that it should have taken place on a Sunday afternoon. But of course that is just what made it possible-I mean, nobody would have heard the poor girl call out or anything. You see, the butler and his wife always catch the two forty-five bus into Wraydon on Sundays, and Florrie Bowyer who is the daily housemaid has the afternoon and evening off. Then in the garden on a week-day there would be old Humphreys. He was with us for more than forty years, and he still brings me plants, dear old man. And two gardeners under him-the charming Americans who were our tenants before the war had four-but of course no one can keep things up in the way they used to. That would be on a week-day, but on a Sunday the two under-gardeners would not be there at all, and Humphreys, who lives in the lodge, likes to smoke his pipe and listen to his wife playing hymns on the harmonium. So, you see, there wouldn’t be anyone about.”
Miss Silver was knitting rapidly, her hands held low in the continental fashion.
“Where were the family?” she enquired.
“Mr. Trent had taken his wife for a drive. It was a very wet morning, but it began to clear soon after half past two. The governess was writing letters, and Miss Muir, who is Mrs. Trent’s sister, had gone out to lunch with Mr. Severn who has also been staying in the house. Margot had gone off into the garden as soon as the rain stopped, and, you see, there was no one about. She must have taken that crazy old bit of rope out of the potting-shed and tried to use it for climbing on the quarry face. She played a very dangerous trick there only the day before, but that was with a good bit of rope. And of course Mr. Trent took it from her.” A slight colour came into Miss Falconer’s face. “You will be wondering how it is that I know so much about it, but Florrie Bowyer who works for them is the daughter of my own kind Mrs. Bowyer who used to be our kitchenmaid twenty-five years ago and comes in every day to look after me now. I really do not know what I should do without her. I have never been clever at things like cooking and housework, and it is not so easy to learn how to do them when you are no longer young.” She leaned confidentially towards Miss Silver and added. “I am afraid I burn things-oven-cloths, and toast, and my fingers-and Mrs. Bowyer says it is very much better for me not to try. So she is here a good deal, and she just tells me things as she goes along. It really seems quite natural that she should.”
Miss Silver could not have agreed more warmly. Florrie would tell her mother whatever went on at the Ladies’ House, and her mother would tell Miss Falconer, who seemed most ready to be confidential. She found herself presently listening to a recital of the different pranks and tricks played by poor Margot Trent upon her family or upon anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be about when she was in a mischievous mood.
“They always said she was as harmless as a child,” said Miss Falconer, shaking her head in a deprecating manner. “But she tied an empty tin to the tail of Miss Randall’s cat, and the poor thing nearly went out of its mind. And there were things like jumping out from behind a bush in the dark-really very startling indeed! Old Mrs. Spray was quite ill for a week. There was a good deal of feeling about it, and people were beginning to say it wasn’t right and something ought to be done. Old Humphreys went round saying she ought to have a stick taken to her, but I believe she never had so much as a scolding. I don’t know how they could be so patient with her, but they were. And now that she is gone, they seem quite broken-hearted.”
“They were fond of her? I should have thought that an invalid like Mrs. Trent would have found that sort of thing very trying.”
“Well, I don’t know about poor Mrs. Trent. She doesn’t really seem to notice things a great deal. Florrie says she will sit for hours just staring into the fire or down at her own hands. I was so glad when I heard that her sister was coming to stay-it doesn’t seem as if she ought to be left alone so much. Of course Mr. Trent is very good to her-he is very good to everyone. I’m sure his kindness to that poor girl, and his grief, and Miss Delauny’s too-you would think Margot had been the apple of their eye. And of course the part that must distress him most is that he comes in for the money.”
Miss Silver continued to knit as she said brightly,
“The unfortunate girl had money?”
“Oh, yes. And she was very fond of telling people about it, and about what she meant to do with it when she came of age. She told Florrie Bowyer she would give her a hundred pounds for a wedding present-but of course it would have been very silly for Florrie to count on it.”
They went on talking about the Trents.
CHAPTER 18
Miss Silver was very glad to find that Miss Falconer had every intention of being present at the inquest on Margot Trent. Her offer to accompany her hostess being most gratefully accepted, she would have a very good opportunity of observing Geoffrey Trent and the members of his household. They would of necessity be under some considerable stress. A young girl for whom they were more than ordinarily responsible had come to a sudden and violent end whilst under their care. However blameless towards her their conduct might have been, they could hardly fail to be terribly aware of their past responsibility and of the defeat which had overwhelmed it. It is at moments like these that points of character become intensified. The controlled become more controlled, the emotional slip into the easy way of tears, the person who has something to hide becomes so much aware of it as to run the risk of attracting the very attention which he is hoping to disarm. Miss Falconer had for too many years been the principal lady in the neighbourhood to have any hesitation in making for what she considered a suitable seat. She murmured, “Thank you-thank you,” but was
really hardly aware of being made way for. At the far end of the third row on the right-hand side of the village hall she stood aside for her guest to pass her and then sat down. Nothing could have suited Miss Silver better. She had a clear view of the platform on which the Coroner’s table had been set, and of the two or three rows on the left of the hall which were being reserved for the witnesses. There was no jury, an indication that the matter was regarded by the police as one of accident.
The hall was a small one, and had been, as Miss Falconer explained, the most kind gift of the Americans who were her tenants in the years immediately preceding the war. “Such a boon for concerts and theatricals and dances. And of course the Women’s Institute meets here too.”
When the party from the Ladies’ House came in Miss Falconer was most kindly informative.
“That is Mr. Trent. Such a very good-looking man-but terribly pale this morning. Such a shock! And then having to have an inquest! I did not think his wife would come, but I see she is here-the little one in a fur coat and a black beret. That is her sister next to her, Ione Muir. She made quite a hit in America, you know, doing monologues and sketches. I don’t know whether you would call her pretty, but there is something rather striking about her, don’t you think?”
Miss Silver agreed. The contrast between Mrs. Trent’s little waxen face, from which all expression seemed to have withdrawn, and that of her sister was indeed noticeable. Ione Muir was pale, but it was the kind of pallor which seems to be lighted from within. The fine eyes shone with intelligence, and, as she bent to say something to Allegra, with affection.
She put a hand on her sister’s and kept it there. No one who saw the gesture could fail to realize that the pressure would be warm and kind.
Geoffrey Trent sat on his wife’s other side. To Miss Silver’s practised eye it was obvious that he was exercising a rigorous control. Beyond Ione Muir was the governess, Miss Delauny, her head slightly bent, her hands very tightly clasped in her lap. She was the only one of the party in unrelieved black, and it gave her a curious air of being chief mourner. She wore no make-up except a very light dusting of powder which served to accentuate the pallor of her skin.
In the row behind the family, planted squarely on the outermost seat, was an old man in his working clothes, with earth on his serviceable boots and more than a suspicion of it on the big hands spread out on either knee.
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Falconer in a fluttered whisper-“he ought not to have come like that-he really ought not! He ought to have changed. It is not respectful to the Coroner-it really isn’t.” She dropped her voice still further. “It’s our old gardener, Humphreys-the one I was telling you about. I expect his wife told him he ought to change, and that would be quite enough to make him go straight in the opposite direction. She is his third wife, and they have been married for at least fifteen years, but she isn’t any better at managing him than the others were-and she was a widow too, so you would have thought she would have had some practice. But I suppose the fact is he is a very obstinate old man.”
As the Coroner came in at this moment, Miss Falconer was obliged to leave the subject of old Humphreys and impart a few hurried facts with regard to Mr. Condon. They had stood up when he came in, and she had no more than murmured,
“He is a solicitor in Wraydon-very much respected,” before he took his seat and they all sat down again.
Mr. Condon was dry and brisk. After the opening of the Court with the traditional “Oyez-Oyez-Oyez!” in its English pronunciation of “O yes-o yes-o yes!” everything became extremely businesslike. Medical evidence. Evidence of Mr. Trent. Evidence of Miss Delauny. Evidence of Edward Humphreys.
Miss Silver listened to it all with interest. She watched every smallest change in face, in voice, in manner. She heard of the tricks which Margot Trent had delighted to play. She heard Miss Delauny describe sadly but calmly the methods by which she had tried to interest her charge in other things. There was a rush of tears to her eyes when the Coroner asked her if any means of correction had been employed-scoldings-punishments. With her black gloved hands still tightly clasped before her and those wet eyes fixed on Mr. Condon’s face, she said,
“Oh, never-never! Those things are all wrong for such cases. If you correct, you only confuse the mind. It is necessary always just to go back to the beginning again and work with kindness, patience, and love.”
The Coroner’s lip tightened. He had four children at home who were growing up in a high state of discipline. He had no patience with the “slide and let slide” school, but it wasn’t his business to say so here. According to the police Superintendent there was a general concurrence of opinion that the girl had been treated a great deal too leniently. There had certainly been no severity such as might have made her think of doing away with herself.
Old Mr. Humphreys made no secret about his opinion.
“A real mischeevious brat! Always up to some of her tricks with my tools or my plants!”
He told his story of seeing her come out of the potting-shed on the Sunday afternoon with a rope humped up under her waterproof.
“And when I went in to see what devilment she’d been up to, there was all the old ropes pulled down and scattered about!… Sound? No, none of ’em was sound, and she didn’t ought to have meddled with ’em! Just a lot of crazy old stuff-comes in handy once in a way when I wants a bit of soft packing for a graft.”
“You didn’t go after her to see what she had taken?”
“I knowed well enough what she’d taken-just one of the old ropes. And it was my Sunday afternoon. She calls out a bit of cheek, and I locks up after her and goes along home.”
The Coroner remarked that there was no doubt that a most regrettable accident had occurred. The ropes had been kept in their proper place under lock and key, and the unfortunate girl had known perfectly well that she had no business to touch them. One end of the rope she took had been found fastened to a tree on the edge of the quarry. She had probably intended to descend the cliff face holding on to it, but not many feet from the top the rope had snapped and she had fallen the rest of the way. Death must have been instantaneous. She was still grasping the parted rope when her body was discovered. He found that no blame attached to anyone.
Everybody trooped out of the hall.
Miss Silver was able so to control her exit as to be just in front of the party from the Ladies’ House. A turn as they came level with the door, and she was looking directly into Allegra Trent’s little colourless face and blank eyes. What she saw there shocked her very much.
Her glance passed to Ione Muir, to Miss Delauny, to Geoffrey Trent. Jacqueline Delauny had a handkerchief clenched in her hand. She raised it suddenly, not to her eyes but to her lips, as if the task of controlling them had become too much for her. As she did so she looked in the direction of the door and became aware of Miss Silver’s scrutiny. The lashes came down over the dark eyes. Miss Silver was left thinking about what she had seen in the instant before they fell.
CHAPTER 19
The funeral was over. Jim Severn had gone back to London, Ione Muir was still at the Ladies’ House. It seemed to her impossible that she should leave Allegra, yet to stay on was the last thing on earth that she desired. If she had disliked the place before, she had a very much better reason for disliking it now, but to her surprise neither Geoffrey nor Allegra appeared to have any such feeling. Whilst Miss Falconer was saying rather sadly to Miss Silver that of course poor Mr. Trent would not now want to go any farther with his plans for buying the house, Geoffrey himself was combating this idea with a good deal of force. He was talking to his sister-in-law, or perhaps it would be more correct to say that she had been talking to him.
“Not buy the house?” He stared at her, his eyes bluer than ever. “Because poor Margot died here? Why, scores of people have died in every old house in England, and nobody suggests that the families shouldn’t go on living there. If you were to look them up, I expect the most appalling things happen
ed in this very place, and nobody thinks about them now.” He looked at her frankly. “Do you know, you surprise me. I should never have given you credit for being morbid about that sort of thing. Why, my dear girl, what would you propose doing after a death in the house? I’ve heard of people who kept the room just as it was-wouldn’t use it, wouldn’t even have it cleaned. And how soon after that do you suppose it is before someone begins to say the place is haunted? I’m not going to have anything like that started about poor little Margot, and I not only hope, I insist, that you shouldn’t put any such ideas into Allegra’s head.”
As it turned out, Allegra had no morbid views.
“I don’t know why you should think I would mind staying on here-because of Margot. After all, nobody can really mind about her very much-can they? She was a terribly inconvenient person to have in the house, and of course the older she got the worse it was going to be. I was always afraid she was going to jump out on me from behind a door. She did once, and that was the only time Geoffrey ever really scolded her. He said if she did it again she would have to be sent away to a very strict home.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, about two years ago,” said Allegra vaguely.
“And she didn’t do it again?”
“No-but I was always afraid she might.”
Ione went in search of Geoffrey, and found him in his study. She went and stood by the fire, and said,
“You were right about Allegra. I don’t think she likes the Ladies’ House, but she doesn’t dislike it any more because of what happened to Margot.”
He sent her a challenging look.
“So you’ve been talking to her about it?”
Her deep voice had a note of impatience.
“Naturally. I had to find out what she felt. Well, I have found out. She is just where she was before the accident happened, except that-she’s better.”
Ladies’ Bane Page 11
