Anna, Where Are You?

by Patricia Wentworth

  Peter took Thomasina back to the Miss Tremletts, and Miss Silver returned to the Craddocks’ wing. The study was left with a couple of constables in charge.

  Thomasina and Peter walked across the park in silence. When there is too much to say it is easier to say nothing at all. They did not speak. Thomasina was alive, and she might so very easily have been dead. There could have been two bodies in the ambulance now on its way to Ledlington. As often as Peter wrenched his mind from this thought, it swung back again.

  Thomasina did not think about how narrowly she had escaped. She thought about Anna Ball. Those twisting hands, and the cold misery in her voice when she said, “He’s gone-”

  Coming to the Miss Tremletts was like coming into another world. They wept, they talked, they were avid for every possible detail, they were instant with cups of tea. By the time they had reached the second brew they were beginning to be quite sure that they had always thought there was something odd about Augustus Remington.

  Mr. John Verney had a word with Miss Silver before he too went back to his own wing.

  “You’ll tell Emily-”

  “About Mr. Craddock’s death-yes. As to your identity, Mr. Verney, I think you must be aware that she recognized you, and that that was why she fainted. Your disguise was a very good one. The loose untidy clothes, the beard, the country drawl-all these were a most efficient barrier to recognition. But when Mr. Craddock was speaking you broke into quite spontaneous and natural laughter. She recognized your laugh.”

  “He was being so pompous-”

  “It has been a very great shock.” Miss Silver’s tone held a note of reproof. “Mrs. Verney is not at all strong. She is going to need care.”

  “I know, I know. I’ve been a deplorable husband. That was why-I wanted to be sure- You’ll do your best for her, won’t you?” He took her hand, held it very hard for a moment, and then dropped it abruptly.

  They went their way to their separate wings.

  CHAPTER XL

  It was Augustus Remington’s violet smock that gave him away, in spite of the coat with which he had covered it and the dark wig which concealed his pallid hair. He had to stop for petrol, because Anna hadn’t done what he had told her to do. She was not going far, and she had either forgotten to have the tank filled up, or she had not thought it necessary. When the gauge showed how low the petrol was, there was nothing for it but to chance the first all-night station. And when he stretched out a hand to pay, a long pointed end of violet cuff came out of the coat sleeve and hung there dangling.

  Since all petrol stations had been warned, it was enough. The man in charge was a brawny fellow. He put a hand on Augustus Remington’s arm and said, “Just a moment, sir,” and the game was up. There never was a chance to use the revolver which was found in the coat pocket.

  Frank Abbott dropped in to see Miss Silver a few days later.

  “Of course he never intended to make a get-away, or he wouldn’t have been wearing those ridiculous clothes, and he wouldn’t have let himself run out of petrol. It was Anna Ball who was to disappear, but she wasn’t to go far, so I suppose she didn’t bother. He had to have her up at Deepe House in case he couldn’t stage a convincing suicide for Craddock. I don’t know what had passed between the two men, but there’s no doubt that Craddock had become a danger and was to be eliminated. Anna Ball’s pleasant little monologue in the garage makes that clear, and if Augustus couldn’t make it look as if Peveril had shot himself, they were going to put him in the car and run him over Quarry Hill with enough petrol to make sure that there wouldn’t be any clues. And of course Augustus couldn’t have shifted the body by himself. Anna had to be there to give a hand-she’s quite a hefty wench. And when it was all over Augustus was going to fade back into his art needlework, whilst Anna put in time somewhere not too far away. He seems to have trusted her completely. All the notes from the Ledlington robbery and about half the Enderby Green ones were stowed away in the car. There were false backs to both the cubby holes in the dashboard, as well as one in the boot. That’s where they found Anna’s golden wig. There was a red one too and a beard, which is what Augustus wore for the Enderby Green affair, and when they gave the Sandrow story a build-up by letting Miss Gwyneth see them in Ledlington. Anna drove the car at Enderby Green. She was dressed as a boy. We found the whole outfit.” Miss Silver said soberly,

  “Then she did know him before she came down here.”

  “Oh, yes, a long time before that. Some of it’s guesswork still, but we’re getting it straightened out. Cables to Major and Mrs. Dartrey out east-you remember she was with them in Germany. Telephone calls to the British Occupation Zone, and quite a lot of interesting stuff to hand. We’re pretty sure it’s going to link up with a couple of sensational jewel robberies in Germany. Anna Ball was on the spot-and who was going to suspect Mrs. Dartrey’s English governess? What we haven’t tracked down, and perhaps never will, is just where Augustus came in. He may have been the frail old Frenchwoman who was trying to trace a missing grandson and who took such a fancy to the Dartrey child. Or he may have been somebody else. He is certainly an adept at disguise. What is significant is that very shortly after the second robbery Mrs. Dartrey paid a short visit to France to her great-aunt, the Comtesse de Rochambeau. She took the child, and Anna went along. What would be easier than to have got that jewellery over the frontier, packed among the little girl’s things? We shall never be able to prove it, but that’s how I believe it was done. And then the Dartreys go out east, and it’s time for a change of scene. I don’t know if Augustus had worked with Craddock before, but I expect he had. You don’t fix that sort of thing up on a half hour’s acquaintance. Craddock had been doing a small business in forging notes-getting his hand in, as you may say. He had the idea of taking over a derelict country house and setting up something more ambitious there. Mrs. Verney and her money came in very handy. He made a great parade of his occult studies and the Colony he was going to found, and put in the powerful electric installation which immediately attracted your attention.”

  Miss Silver was knitting a useful pair of socks for Maurice. Her needles clicked briskly as she said,

  “Mrs. Verney remarked on it to me-quite innocently of course, poor thing.”

  “Oh, yes, she and the children were very good camouflage. And so were the Miss Tremletts-perfectly respectable spinster ladies with a streak of the crank and a disposition to admire the egregious Peveril. Then there’s Miranda-we haven’t been quite sure about Miranda, but I don’t really think she knew anything. She’s a bit of a charlatan of course. She owned to faking a trance in order to get Thomasina off the map, but she says she only did it because Augustus said she disturbed his vibrations-and I’m afraid she is pretty fond of Augustus.”

  “Yes, I am afraid so. I have been to see her. She is very unhappy.”

  Frank leaned forward.

  “Most esteemed preceptress, you know everything. Can you tell me why at least two women should fall for that miserable little rat? And I rather think Miss Gwyneth has a soft corner for him too.”

  “Not now,” said Miss Silver. “She is too much shocked. As to Miranda and Anna Ball, it is, and always has been, quite impossible to account for the violent attraction which some criminals appear to exercise. The victims are as a rule lonely women who have failed to make other ties. It is a tragic spectacle, and one which would be avoided if these people would realize that their craving for affection defeats its own ends. If they were willing to give instead of merely wishing to receive, they would form genuine ties of friendship and not fall a prey to the first adventurer who plays upon their vanity.”

  Frank received this with respect. What in an irreverent moment he had been known to allude to as Maudie’s Moralities never failed to delight him, but under the mockery there was not only affection but a very real respect. Because Maudie was herself a Case in Point. She not only preached, but she practised. Going out into the world as a penniless governess, a position so undefined as
to be exposed to tne condescension of the employer and the formidable dislike of the domestic staff, she had won her way to a comfortable independence, and in the course of doing so had acquired a very large circle of admiring and devoted friends. And this had been done by the exercise of intelligence, courage and devotion to duty. She had thought of others before she thought of herself, she had sought justice and loved mercy, and walked humbly in the sight of what she called Providence. She had her reward, not because she had sought it, but because it had been earned. He smiled at her and said,

  “Miranda will get over it. She strikes me as having a fundamental streak of common sense. She didn’t mind obliging Augustus with a fake trance, but she would probably always have drawn the line at forged notes, and the bank murders have really shocked her to the core.”

  Miss Silver continued to knit placidly. She said,

  “The Verneys will return to Wyshmere. It is indeed fortunate that her house there was only let and not sold. She told me that she could not bear to part with it as all her children had been born there, and since her tenant wishes to return to London she can go back whenever she likes. Mr. Verney has shown much good feeling. She needs kindness, and he will supply it. The children are already devoted to him, and Jennifer is a different creature. The Miss Tremletts would also like to return to Wyshmere, and I gather that they will be able to arrange to do so. Deep End is really not at all congenial. Miss Elaine has missed her classes for folk-dancing, and both are longing to see their friends again. They have a chance of securing a larger and airier cottage, and I believe they will avail themselves of it.”

  “And Thomasina Elliot? ‘’ said Frank. “Do you know, I feel sorry for Thomasina. She took the bit between her teeth and ran head-on into a good deal more than she expected.”

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

  “She acted from the most conscientious motives.”

  Frank cocked an eyebrow.

  “I know. It is invariably fatal. Consider the consequences. Instead of remaining quietly in town, a course commended by both of us, accepting the benevolent counsel of a rising police officer, dining out with him discreetly and, who knows, making steady progress in his affections, she rushes violently into the middle of a murder case, very nearly gets herself bumped off, and will probably end by marrying that chap Brandon.”

  Miss Silver smiled benevolently.

  “They will suit one another very well,” she said.

  CHAPTER XLI

  Thomasina was very unhappy. She would have liked to put four hundred miles between her and Deep End. Or, failing Scotland, she would have liked to bury herself in London and not see anyone she knew for a very long time. Most particularly she did not want to see Peter Brandon. He had said, and everyone else had said, that she would get herself into a mess if she insisted on coming to Deep End, and now there was nothing to stop any of them-or Peter-from saying, “I told you so.” Except their kind hearts. And she was just as certain as she could be of anything that Peter hadn’t got that sort of heart at all. He would not only say, “I told you so,” but he would probably go on saying it for the rest of their lives, and she couldn’t bear it. But whether she could bear it or not, she would have to stay at Deep End with the Miss Tremletts till after the inquest on Peveril Craddock. That would be only a day or two now. After it was over she could go back to town, but when the trial came on she would have to give evidence.

  The thought was a nightmare. Augustus Remington would be tried for the bank murders and the murder of Peveril Craddock, and Anna Ball would be tried with him. You couldn’t let murderers go free, but when you knew people they weren’t just murderers, they were people you knew. The only comfort she had was that she would be able to pay for Anna’s defence, and perhaps it might be possible to prove that she was insane. Because of course she must be. Nobody who said the things Anna had said in the garage could be anything but mad, and if she was mad they wouldn’t hang her. She shuddered away from the word.

  The Miss Tremletts were much concerned. The bright bloom which they had admired was gone. Dear Ina got up pale and heavy-eyed in the mornings, and they were sure that she did not sleep. She refused to be tempted with Gwyneth’s breakfast scones or Elaine’s Olde Tyme marmalade.

  “And it stands to reason that a cup of tea is not enough to take you through the morning even if you eat a good lunch, which she doesn’t-just goes on saying not to give her so much and pushing it under her fork. We are very much distressed, Mr. Brandon-” Miss Gwyneth broke off to consider that Mr. Brandon also looked as if he had not been able to face his breakfast.

  Miss Elaine echoed her sister.

  “We are very much distressed.”

  “But she won’t see you,” said Miss Gwyneth. “It’s no use, Mr. Brandon, she really won’t.”

  “She has locked her door,” said Elaine.

  They sat side by side in the quietest of their smocks. The absence of bead necklaces proclaimed the deference due to a tragic occasion. They gazed earnestly at Peter, but they had no help to give him. Thomasina was locked in her room, and she wouldn’t come out.

  This went on for three days.

  On the fourth day the inquest was to take place, and immediately after the inquest Thomasina was going back to town to see a solicitor and arrange about Anna’s defence.

  On the evening of the third day, having reconnoitred and observed that there was a light in Thomasina’s window, Peter walked into the house without ringing, took the stairs as cautiously as any burglar, and came in upon Thomasina, whom he found in the act of changing her dress for the evening meal. As the folds of soft grey wool happened to be entirely covering her face and head, she had no means of knowing why the door had opened and shut again. The dress was beautifully warm, and quite comfortable when it was on, but it was always a devil to get into, and it chose this moment to stick. She was still wrestling with it when a firm hand pulled it down on either side and her head came through the opening.

  Peter gave the folds a final pull. Then he stepped back and said in his most aggressive voice,

  “I can’t imagine why women wear such insensate clothes.”

  Something that had been cold and sick in Thomasina warmed a little. The warmth was anger-at least she thought it was- but it was better than the cold sickness. She found herself saying,

  “They don’t! And at any rate we don’t have all those buttons and things!” And then, “Go away, Peter!”

  He retreated to the door, set his back against it, and said,

  “Not on your life!”

  “Peter!”

  “It’s not the slightest bit of good. I’ve been coming up here three times a day, and you won’t see me. You won’t see me! I never heard such a pack of damned nonsense in my life! I don’t know how much longer you expected me to go on standing for it, but I’m through! You are seeing me now, and you are going to go on seeing me until we’ve had this out!”

  When Thomasina’s face came through the opening of the grey dress, Peter had found himself suddenly angry. She looked as if she had been out all night in the rain-and cold January rain at that. He was now a good deal braced by the fact that her natural colour had returned. Her eyes did not exactly sparkle, but they looked as if they might be going to do so at any moment. A secret and horrid fear that something irrevocable had happened between them, he didn’t quite know how or why, just faded out. If this was going to be a row, he was all set for it. They always had had rows, and he supposed they always would. And they didn’t matter a bit, because under all the sparring there was something enduring and strong-very, very strong. They clashed because they were both proud, and independent, and honest, and because they knew it didn’t really matter. A bout between them was not a duel, it was a fencing-match. At any moment they could drop their points and go off hand in hand. But this time-this time he had been afraid. Now he wasn’t afraid any more. He stood with his back to the door and said,

  “Tamsine, don’t be a fool!”

  Al
l this time he hadn’t called her Tamsine once-all this horrible time at Deep End. It did things to her, and she was betrayed. The proud anger in her melted, and when Peter stopped propping the door and came over and took her in his arms she could do nothing but cry. And, like everything else she did, Thomasina didn’t cry by halves.

  Miss Gwyneth, who had been standing outside the door for some time, was alarmed to the point of opening it. Not wide of course, but just far enough to make sure that nothing dreadful was happening. She saw Thomasina weeping vehemently on Mr. Peter Brandon’s shoulder, and she heard her say between sobs, “Oh, Peter, I’m so unhappy!” To which Mr. Brandon replied, “Darling, what you want is a hanky. Here, take a good blow and you’ll feel a lot better.” This reassured her so much that she closed the door and withdrew, followed by Miss Elaine, who had been looking over her shoulder.

  When they were at a safe distance she said in the tone of one who admires some unaccountable phenomenon,

  “Men always do seem to have a handkerchief. I suppose it is all those pockets!”

  Miss Elaine turned an indignant face upon her.

  “How can you be so unromantic, Gwyneth? Handkerchiefs indeed, when you ought to have been thinking of orange blossom! Oh, I do hope they will ask us to the wedding!”

  Patricia Wentworth

  Born in Mussoorie, India, in 1878, Patricia Wentworth was the daughter of an English general. Educated in England, she returned to India, where she began to write and was first published. She married, but in 1906 was left a widow with four children, and returned again to England where she resumed her writing, this time to earn a living for herself and her family. She married again in 1920 and lived in Surrey until her death in 1961.

  Miss Wentworth’s early works were mainly historical fiction, and her first mystery, published in 1923, was The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith. In 1928 she wrote The Case Is Closed and gave birth to her most enduring creation, Miss Maud Silver.