Pursuit of a Parcel

by Patricia Wentworth

  Delia wanted to laugh about Cousin Mervyn being obstinate. So frightfully good for Cousin Leonora. She wondered why he didn’t do it oftener. He had put down his foot about the girls’ names. His family might spring from the soil, whilst the Lutons went back a thousand years, but his eldest girl would get his mother’s name, and the other two would be called after his grandmother and the little sister who had died when she was ten years old and whom he never forgot. If there had been a son he would have been Gwilym, but there was no son to carry on the name of the grandfather who had driven a pick in a Welsh mine and conducted a prize-winning choir. His business was sacrosanct. Once, and once only, had Leonora attempted to interfere.

  No one knew quite what had happened, but she never did it again. For the rest, he was a little, dark, wiry Welshman with a fine baritone voice, and he still liked singing hymns on Sunday evening.

  It was one of the nicer things about Cousin Leonora that she let him do it, except when there was a very unsuitable house-party and the girls went on strike.

  Lunch was not all that Delia had fondly hoped it was going to be. Instead of talking to Antony she had to listen to Lady Maddox. So had Antony, who couldn’t be expected to feel even a remote interest in the probable condition of Plas-y-Maddox after housing evacuees in bulk. Interest or no, the subject served until it was succeeded by the full history of a dispute with the local council.

  They took coffee in the drawing-room. It had been obvious to Antony from the word go that he was not going to be allowed to see Delia alone. He could, of course, have walked her out of the room, but Lady Maddox was quite capable of walking after them. There was also the impressive fact that if Philip Merridew was to die, Lord Maddox would be Delia’s sole guardian for the next two years. Besides, it is a mistake to quarrel with your wife’s relations if you can possibly help it. He exerted himself to charm Lady Maddox, and succeeded in raising the social atmosphere quite sensibly above freezing point.

  At half past two he rose to go. Delia cast him a despairing look. He shook hands with Lady Maddox.

  “I really came down to discuss a small business matter with Delia. It’s about a parcel which my brother sent me, and which she has very kindly been taking care of. Will you excuse me if I just ask her about it?”

  Lady Maddox inclined her head.

  “Certainly. It is not, I imagine, a private matter.”

  The unregenerate man in Antony would have liked to say, “Yes, it is, and be damned to you!” He curbed the base instinct, murmured “Oh, no,” and turned to Delia.

  “Did Cornelius come down?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Delia was feeling quite sick with disappointment. Antony had only kissed her once—they had a million things to say. How could she tell him about the parcel with Cousin Leonora listening to every word? She was in despair. It just couldn’t be done.

  Antony’s eyes seemed to be saying “Buck up!” but it was no use. His voice said quite cheerfully,

  “Did he want you to go to the bank and get the parcel out?”

  “Yes, he did. And when I said you were coming down, he said he couldn’t wait.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? What time was that?”

  Delia said, “A quarter to ten,” and saw his face change and become alert and interested.

  “How sudden of him! After all, the bank wouldn’t be open till ten o’clock. It sounds almost as if he didn’t want to see me.”

  “He didn’t—he said so.”

  He paused for a moment, then said, “Well, well—” and held out his hand.

  “Goodbye, my dear—take care of yourself.”

  He was gone, and Delia could have cried with pure rage. Instead she had to gird herself in defence of her liberties, which, it now became plain, were being threatened in a most menacing fashion.

  It was quite impossible according to Cousin Leonora that she should remain in her present unchaperoned position—“Quite out of the question.” And when Lady Maddox said “Quite out of the question,” it made the words sound as if they were spelled in capitals at least two feet high. Unfortunately, owing to the influx of secondary schoolboys—and staff—Plas-y-Maddox would really be hardly suitable. “In fact, for all I know, your Cousin Mervyn may have doubled the number by now—he is in that kind of mood. But perhaps Cousin Emilia—”

  Delia shuddered to her very core. Cousin Emilia was Cousin Leonora’s eldest unmarried sister. She lived a hundred miles from anywhere, and always kept a young guest from feeling bored by setting her to darn the sheets and pillowcases of an outworn day. If she wished to escape Cousin Emilia she must fight.

  The conflict was just beginning to die down, when Parker came respectfully into the room.

  “If you please, Miss Delia, Mrs. Parker wished me to ask if you would see her for a moment.”

  The interruption was really not unwelcome to either of the protagonists. Lady Maddox had been astonished at the quality of Delia’s defence. Having been forced to a compromise, she welcomed the break. Delia provided her with the Times, and followed Parker across the hall and through the green baize door which led to the kitchen wing.

  At the end of the passage the door to the pantry stood ajar. Delia entered, heard it close behind her, and for the second time that day ran into Antony’s arms. They hugged each other like a couple of children—a radiant little girl Delia, and a mischievous schoolboy Antony. And then grown-up lovers again—and held one another and kissed, but not for long.

  “Angel, we must be quick, or she’ll track you down. I say, darling, she’s grim! She’s not going to drag you away and herd you with the schoolboys, is she?”

  Delia gave a soft, breathless laugh.

  “She isn’t sure if there are enough beds, because there might be more coming and Cousin Mervyn won’t listen to reason. And she wanted me to go to Cousin Emilia in the wilds and darn all the ancestral linen—you have to if you go there, and if you don’t do it nicely you have to unpick it and do it again—but I’ve fought her off, and I’m to have Simmy here instead.”

  “Who’s Simmy?”

  “Miss Simcox. She was the girls’ governess—Dilys and Enid and Bronwen, you know—and she’s rather a pet, so I don’t mind. Anyhow, anything is better than Cousin Leonora snatching me away and worrying the life out of me about marrying Lewis.”

  “What!”

  Delia rubbed her cheek against his softly.

  “She wants me to marry Lewis West because he’s going to be a duke.”

  “My sweet, you’d make a very pretty duchess.”

  “I should make a perfectly idiotic duchess.” Her voice breathed heartfelt conviction. “Look here, let me tell you about the parcel quick. Mr. Holt brought it down here and gave it to me after having his house burgled like I told you. Well, I was having the work-party, and I think somebody followed him down and looked in through the study window—I could see the mark of his boots there next morning. And I think he didn’t see my face, only the top of my head and the colour of my dress, but I think he saw me go out of the room with the parcel. And you know Miss Murdle—you know how maddening she is about copying me—well, she had on the green dress she’d made to be like mine, and—oh, darling, they found her in the lane down by her cottage with her work-bag all turned out.”

  “Dead?”

  She felt his hands tighten on her.

  “No, she wasn’t—I mean she isn’t. I mean Dr. Kyrle says she’ll get over it, but only because she’s got such an extraordinarily thick skull. But, Antony, I did feel awful, because I’m sure the man who did it was after the parcel, and he thought he’d just seen Mr. Holt give it to her.”

  Antony gave a long, low whistle.

  “So what?” he said.

  “So I took it down to the bank next day,” said Delia. “And a man followed me on a motor-bicycle and saw me go in. I rather dangled that parcel at anyone who might be watching to see what I did with it, because I thought it would settle their minds to know that it was safely in the b
ank. But—”

  There was the tinkle of a bell from the row of bells overhead. With a soft flurried knock Mrs. Parker surged into the room.

  “Oh, Mr. Antony—the study bell. Parker was to ring it if her ladyship came this way, and he won’t be able to hold her not more than a minute.

  Delia was kissed and Antony out of the window before the words were out of her mouth.

  Lady Maddox found her young cousin in a housewifely conference about ration cards. There were a few gracious words on the excellence of the lunch, after which there was a stately return to the drawing-room.

  “What a high colour that poor woman has,” Lady Maddox remarked as they crossed the hall. “Really quite alarming, but I suppose it comes from bending over the kitchen fire.”

  Delia supposed it did.

  XII

  Antony went back to town, dropping the Daimler en route. As soon as he got back to the flat he rang up Colonel Garrett in his office.

  “Would you like me to come round and see you, sir?”

  “No, I shouldn’t!” The celebrated bark was at its rudest. “I’m busy! Have you got the parcel?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “That’s what I thought I might come round and tell you about.”

  “All right, all right—come along!” The thump of the receiver jarred the line.

  Antony put on his hat and went out again.

  He found Garrett terrifying a new typist. Girls in the office being his pet abomination, he was not attempting to restrain himself. The wretched child gave Antony a look of passionate gratitude and fled. It was now so late that with any luck she might hope for a night’s interval before she had to face any more of Colonel Garrett’s dictation.

  Antony shut the door after her, observed that girls worked better when they weren’t bullied, and waited for the explosion. But Garrett only looked surprised.

  “Who bullies them?”

  Antony grinned.

  “You do.”

  Garrett made the most frightful of his repertory of faces.

  “Did you see her nails—half a yard long and bright scarlet? Revolting!”

  “The girl’s a nervous wreck. She’ll have hysterics on you right here if you go on shouting at her like that.”

  Colonel Garrett’s eyes became fixed in a steely gaze.

  “Come here to lecture me on my office manners?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then sit down and tell me about this damned parcel!”

  Antony told him.

  “I thought it wasn’t any good having a pitched battle—attract too much attention for one thing. Lady Maddox is just the sort of woman who goes screaming all over the place about how I’d dragged her husband into some mysterious affair about a parcel and all the rest of it, and I thought I’d rather leave it over until she was gone. I can go down again tomorrow.”

  Garrett gave a grunt.

  “Comes of having young women mixed up with things—that’s what I say. Fatal! And they bring them into my office! Tchah!”

  “Tchah it is! You don’t suppose I want Delia mixed up in this rotten show? I’ll go down tomorrow and bring the parcel back. What I can’t understand is, why wouldn’t Cornelius meet me? He went away at a quarter to ten, as soon as he heard I was coming down. Why? We parted on the most friendly terms. Why won’t he meet me?”

  Garrett looked up sharply.

  “Wants to get away with the parcel. Don’t want to come and see me. Not too comfortable in his mind about what he’s been up to and what we’re likely to do about it. That’s my guess. Have you got a better?”

  “No, I don’t know that I have. It feels funny—that’s all. What about No. 11 Silverthorn Road—did you get anything there?”

  Garrett humped a shoulder.

  “What did you expect? Told you there wouldn’t be anything.”

  “And there wasn’t.” There was the faintest tinge of irony in Antony’s voice.

  “There was an empty house. Plenty of empty houses knocking about these days. Old crater out behind and not much back wall left. Plenty of that sort of thing too. Furniture’s been cleared out.”

  Antony frowned.

  “Then they weren’t living there?” Garrett shook his head. “Then what were they doing—waiting for Con to come along? It might be that. We don’t know where he was living, but it looks as if they did. Looks as if they knew he’d be passing along Silverthorn Road and they’d got someone tailing him just to make sure. Then there was that crump. I wonder what was due to happen if Jerry hadn’t dropped a couple just then. I wonder what did happen—” His voice trailed away.

  Garrett looked up at him sharply.

  “What’s eating you? Nothing happened to Cornelius anyhow. Turned up bright and punctual on the girl friend’s doorstep this morning, didn’t he?”

  Antony nodded.

  “And didn’t wait to see me—left like a streak of greased lightning as soon as he heard I was coming down. I can’t fit that in, Frank. It doesn’t feel right.”

  Garrett leaned back in his chair. He sucked at his foul old pipe. Then he said out of the side of his mouth,

  “Don’t want to meet me. Don’t want to meet you, because he’s afraid you’ll hale him here to see me. Wants to get off with the bit of blackmail he’s got in that parcel.”

  Antony leaned both hands on the table and said,

  “Why?”

  Garrett stared at him.

  “How do you mean, why?”

  “Why should he want to get away with the parcel? It was sent to me for a reason, and the reason still holds good. He wanted someone to hang on to it whilst he made his getaway. He’s told them that if he was laid by the heels or molested in any way, the parcel would get going—and from what I’ve heard of the doings over here it looks as if they believed him. Somebody’s been trying very hard to get hold of that parcel, but I can’t see why Cornelius should want to get hold of it. It seems to me that as far as he’s concerned it’s all right where it is.”

  Still out of the side of his mouth, Garrett said,

  “Forgetting about being dead, aren’t you? Told the girl friend you were a corpse, didn’t he? Quite a good reason for retrieving his parcel, I should say. If you were dead, he’d want to find someone else to hold the stakes whilst he cleared out.”

  The shadow passed from Antony’s face. He straightened up.

  “I suppose he would. He wants to get away to America. Can it be done?”

  Garrett shrugged.

  “Don’t ask me. Has been done. Lots of things get done that no one knows anything about, but you needn’t say I said so. I want to see him first, that’s all I know, but up to the present you and this girl of yours are the only people who’ve seen hair, hide or hoof of him. I’d have sent someone down to Wayshot if I’d thought you were going to make such a mess of getting there.” He grinned malevolently.

  “If you’d given me a nice motor-bike and some petrol, there wouldn’t have been any mess,” said Antony with his charming smile. And then, “Con oughtn’t to be difficult to find—he’s too big to be lost in a crowd.”

  “How much accent has he got?”

  “Oh, none—none at all. He’s not even too correct, which is where most Dutch people slip up. You see, he grew up speaking nothing but English. It’s not a language he’s ever had to learn.”

  “Oh well, we’ll find him,” said Garrett easily. “I’ve been on to the Dutch about him. They say he dropped in on them from the blue—wanted a permit to stay here until he could get off to America. That was a couple of days ago. He left an address. Small hotel in Bayswater.”

  “Well?”

  “Not particularly. He only stayed there two nights.”

  “Which nights?”

  “Didn’t come back last night. Left his bag. Nothing in it. Toothbrush. Pyjamas. Change of linen. All new.”

  “But, Frank—”

  Garrett stared.

  “Don’t be a fo
ol! He went down to Wayshot.” He removed his pipe and banged it on the edge of the table. “Wake up, young ’un! Whatever happened or didn’t happen at 11 Silverthorn Road last night, Cornelius rolled up to see your Delia Thingumajig this morning.”

  The natural colour came back to Antony’s face.

  “So he did. Just for a moment—” He broke off, laughed, and said, “The name is Merridew.…”

  Antony went to bed and slept the perfect dreamless sleep. His mind emptied itself of all its worries. Delia was not being snatched away to stay with antagonistic relations. Cornelius was alive and kicking. Garrett was supplying him with a car and petrol for tomorrow’s excursion. All was for the best. And so to sleep.

  He did a ten-hour stretch, and woke to the sound of the telephone bell. Delia’s voice, all in a soft hurry.

  “Antony, is that you? Did I wake you up? Antony, she’s come!”

  “Who has?”

  “Simmy. You know—Miss Simcox, Cousin Leonora’s old governess. She’s come!”

  “At this hour in the morning?”

  “No, last night. Darling, Cousin Leonora is a Master Mind—she is really. And what Uncle Philips’ telephone bill is going to be like just won’t bear thinking about.”

  “Don’t let’s think about it,” said Antony.

  He heard her laugh.

  “I’m not. But, darling, you should have seen her—Cousin Leonora, I mean. She just sat there in front of the telephone, and first she rang up Bronwen for Simmy’s address, and when Bronwen hadn’t got it she rang up Dilys in Cheshire, and when she found out that poor Simmy was having a holiday with an old pupil near Oxford she rang her up and routed her out and told her to hire a car and come here straight away, and never budged till she got here, so it wouldn’t have been any good your waiting about. And oh, darling, when am I going to see you again? Wasn’t yesterday foul?”

  “Damnable!” said Antony. “But I’m coming down this morning—orders—to collect my property. I suppose your Miss Simcox will allow you to accompany me to the bank?”