Dark Threat (10 page)

‘But there is something more. You said she was dead.’

He nodded. Now that he had got going he seemed to have lost his reluctance. He said, ‘Yes. It was in the blitz—January ’41. I’d been down on leave. Robbins told me he’d heard that Mabel was in London. He said he was going to see her. We travelled up together. I had to go to the War Office, so I was staying with a chap I knew. There was a raid in the late afternoon. Getting on for midnight Robbins walked in looking ghastly, poor chap, and told me Mabel was dead. The baby was killed right out, but she lived to be taken to hospital, and he saw her there. He said he would have to tell his wife, but he didn’t want anyone else to know. He said they’d got over it and lived it down as much as they ever could, and it would rake it all up again. I could see his point. I said I thought my father ought to know, and he agreed with that, but we didn’t tell anyone else. I hope you won’t tell anyone. It would be very rough luck on the Robbins if it was all raked up again now.’

Miss Silver looked at him gravely and said, ‘I hope it may not be necessary to speak of it. But since you have told me so much, will you tell me who was responsible for Mabel Robbins’ disgrace?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do the Robbins know?’

He gave her the same answer—‘I don’t know.’

‘Major Pilgrim, suspicion is not knowledge. Have you, or have they, no suspicion in the matter? It is not pleasant to have to ask you such a question, but I must do so. Had the Robbins any reason to suspect a member of your family, or did they suspect anyone without perhaps having a reason at all? I do not suggest that there was a reason, but I must know whether such a suspicion existed.’

He turned a horrified face to her.

‘What are you driving at? If you think—’

She put up a hand.

‘Pray, Major Pilgrim—I think you must give me an answer. I will put my question again, and more plainly. Did the Robbins suspect anyone?’

‘I tell you I don’t know!’

‘Did they suspect you?’

He swung round with an angry stare.

‘Would they have stayed on if they had?’

She coughed.

‘Perhaps—perhaps not. Did they suspect Mr. Jerome Pilgrim?’

‘Why should they?’

‘I do not know. Did they suspect Mr. Henry Clayton?’

Roger Pilgrim turned round and walked out of the room.

B
Y THREE O’CLOCK
that afternoon the house was settling into silence. It was the Robbins’ afternoon off. Lunch being at one, they could just get through in time to catch the Ledlington bus at two-forty-five. Judy watched them depart, he in a black overcoat and bowler, she also in black, with a formidable trimmed hat which might once have had coloured flowers on it but was now given over to a waste of rusty ribbon bows and three dejected ostrich tips.

They were hardly out of sight, when Lona Day followed them in a fur coat and a bright green turban. She too was going to Ledlington. Jerome Pilgrim liked his books changed at least once a week, and she had shopping of her own to do as well.

Roger Pilgrim had gone for a ride, Miss Columba was in the greenhouse, Miss Janetta and Penny were resting, Miss Silver writing letters, and Gloria finishing the pots and pans in the scullery, when a tall woman walked down the street and rang the bell at Pilgrim’s Rest.

Judy knew who it must be before she opened the door. She saw good brown tweeds and a dark brown country hat. Between the brim and the coat collar a line of dark hair, a strong, well modelled brow, and good grey eyes—in spite of which Lesley Freyne was a plain woman. The face was square, rather high on the cheek-bones, rather heavy in the jaw, and the mouth too wide, too full. But when she spoke there was something that was attractive—a deep musical note in the voice, an honest, friendly look in the eyes.

‘I think you must be Judy Elliot. I am Lesley Freyne. I have been wanting to meet you. Frank Abbott wrote and told me you were going to be a near neighbour.’

Judy took her to the morning-room, where they talked about Frank, about Penny, about Miss Freyne’s evacuees, reduced now to a mere ten.

‘Nearly all little ones, and such dear children. I wonder if you would like to let your little Penny join them in the mornings. We have a little nursery school. Miss Brown who is helping me has all her certificates. I thought perhaps it would be a help to feel that she was off your hands and out of mischief whilst you were busy, and it would be company for her.’

Judy found herself accepting with so much relief that the feeling startled her. When they had talked a little more Lesley said,

‘I should like to go up and see Jerome. He doesn’t sleep in the afternoon, does he?’

Judy said, ‘I don’t know.’ And then, ‘You know so much more about them all than I do. Frank said I could talk to you if I needed anyone to talk to—’

She hadn’t meant to say any of this. It was as if something had run away with her.

Lesley Freyne said, ‘And do you?’

Judy’s colour rose.

‘I think I do. It’s all—I don’t know what Frank told you, but he didn’t want me to come down here.’

‘No—I can understand that.’

Judy faced her resolutely. It was quite horribly difficult to say, but she meant to get it said.

‘It doesn’t matter about me. It’s Penny—is there any real reason why Penny shouldn’t be here?’

Heaviness closed down over Lesley’s face. Her words came heavily too.

‘I—don’t—know—’

Judy made herself go on.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something? I mustn’t take any risks about Penny. She has taken a very great fancy to Captain Pilgrim. She goes in every morning when I’m doing the rooms round there. They talk, and he tells her stories.’

Lesley Freyne’s face had lighted up.

‘How very good for him!’

‘That’s what I thought. But Miss Day wants me to stop Penny going in. She says it’s too exciting for him, and he mustn’t be excited. She says the stories he tells Penny might set him off wanting to write again. It sounds nonsense to me. I mean I think it would be a very good thing if he did start doing anything that would take him out of himself.’

Lesley’s face was grave and controlled as she said, ‘It isn’t easy to go against the nurse who is responsible for a case.’

Fear pricked Judy on.

‘Miss Freyne, will you tell me the truth? About Penny—Miss Day said, “Don’t leave her alone with him.” I want to know why she said that. I want to know if there’s any reason. Please,
please
, won’t you tell me?’

The strong, deep colour came up under Lesley Freyne’s brown skin. She set her jaw and kept her mouth shut for a full half minute before she said, ‘Jerome would
never
hurt a child.’

Reassurance and comfort flowed in on Judy. She cried out,

‘That’s what I feel—but I wanted to hear you say it. He wouldn’t—would he?’

Lesley said, ‘No.’ And then, ‘I don’t know what is going on here. There’s something. There was that ceiling, and the burnt-out room, and there have been other things as well. I don’t think it’s a house for a child, Judy. That’s one of the things I came here to say if you gave me an opportunity. Frank’s Miss Silver is down here, isn’t she? Perhaps I shall see her before I go. He believes she may be able to clear things up. I only hope he is right. But meanwhile why not let Penny come to me on a visit? We could say that it was to give you a chance of settling down and catching up with some of the work.’ She smiled suddenly and delightfully. ‘And it would all be perfectly true, because I expect everything is simply inches deep in dust since Ivy went. Gloria isn’t a bad child, but she couldn’t begin to get through with the work on her own. Now, what do you say?’

Judy didn’t know what to say. She had never liked anyone better on a short acquaintance, but it was too sudden—too soon.

Perhaps Lesley saw all this in her face, for she said very kindly,

‘You’d like to think it over, wouldn’t you? Don’t feel you’ve got to give an answer at all. Bring her round about half past nine for the morning’s play, and I’ll send her back in time for lunch. Then you’ll see how she likes it, and if you want her to come on a visit you need only bring her along. And now I’ll go up and see Jerome.’

Jerome Pilgrim was in his chair with a writing-pad on his knee and a pencil in his hand. He looked up with so much pleasure when Judy said, ‘Miss Freyne is here to see you’, that she went away wondering why he should not have this pleasure more often. That the occasions for it were few and far between seemed clear from his words as Lesley came in.

‘I thought you had forgotten me. It’s weeks since you’ve been in.’

Miss Freyne stayed to tea, and brought Jerome down with her. It was very evident that the whole family liked her. Roger’s moody brow smoothed out as he greeted her with a ‘Hullo, Lesley!’ Miss Janetta and Miss Columba kissed her with affection. She was introduced to Miss Silver, and created the best possible impression by saying presently that she had always admired Tennyson and felt sure that he would some day come back into his own. After which the tea-party became pleasant and cosy to the last degree. Penny behaved as every fond relation hopes its child will behave when strangers are present. She ate tidily and perseveringly, managed her cup with elegance, and only spoke when spoken to.

Lona Day, coming in when tea was nearly over, expressed her own pleasure at the comfortable scene.

‘It is turning so cold outside. I’ve been thinking of this warm room and a nice hot cup of tea for the last half hour.’ As she slipped into a chair by Judy, who had made room for her, she went on in a lowered voice, ‘How nice that Miss Freyne was able to come in. I was worried about Captain Pilgrim being alone, but if she was with him he wouldn’t be dull. Only he must go upstairs and rest between tea and supper, or he won’t sleep to-night. He loves to see his friends, but I’m afraid he pays for it afterwards.’

She threw him a troubled glance. Then, with a sudden bright smile, she began to talk about her shopping. Judy thought she looked tired and strained. She wondered, and not for the first time, whether a nurse staying on year after year with a private patient didn’t become over-anxious, over-concentrated. She thought Miss Day might be the better for a change, and so might Captain Pilgrim.

J
UDY WAS A
long time getting to sleep that night. There were all sorts of things in her mind, walking up and down there, talking in whispers, talking aloud, arguing with each other, and coming to no conclusion at all. She became so much provoked by them that she arrived at the point of wishing with all her heart that she had taken Frank Abbott’s advice. She found this humiliating enough to produce a reaction upon whose tide she presently drifted into sleep.

It seemed like only a moment, but actually it must have been nearly two hours later when she waked up to a dreadful clamour of sound. She had never heard a man’s scream before, but she heard it now as she tumbled out of bed and ran to the door. The corridor was in darkness. The scream had died on the shaken air, but there was a dreadful groaning broken by sharp cries.

She ran as she was, in her night-gown, to the switch that controlled the passage light, feeling her way along the wall. As the light came on, a door opened behind her and Miss Silver emerged in a crimson flannel dressing-gown adorned with hand-made crochet and tied about her waist with a woolly cord, her hair neat and unruffled, her expression interested but calm. Judy was so glad to see her that she could have cried. She said, ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

And with that Jerome Pilgrim’s door was flung violently open, and in the same moment the dreadful groaning stopped. Jerome stood on the threshold, his pyjama coat torn open, his hands groping until they caught the door-posts. As he stood there, breathing like a man who has run up hill and staring at the light with wild unseeing eyes, Miss Silver put a hand on Judy’s arm.

‘Go back and put on your dressing-gown, my dear, and stay with Penny. I will come back.’

For the life of her Judy could get no farther than the door of her room. Penny hadn’t moved—thank God for that. She stood there and watched Jerome Pilgrim, and Miss Silver’s brisk advance. But before she could reach him Lona Day came out of the room opposite. She was in a dressing-gown too, her auburn hair loose about her neck, but she was very much the nurse as she laid a hand upon his arm and said, ‘Why, you’ve been dreaming again, Captain Pilgrim. Come along back to bed, and I’ll give you something to settle you down. Look—you’ve disturbed Miss Silver!’

The staring eyes turned as if with an effort. A shaking voice said, ‘So— sorry.’ Shaking hands dragged at the open jacket. With Lona’s hand on his arm he went stumbling back into his room and the door was shut.

Miss Silver stood where she was for a minute, and then came slowly back. Passing her own door, she came to Judy’s and shook a reproving head.

‘My dear, your dressing-gown—pray put it on. Shall we wake Penny if I come in?’

‘Oh, no—nothing wakes her. I’ll put on the bedside light. It’s screened on her side.’

She was shivering as she slipped into her dressing-gown.

‘Most imprudent,’ said Miss Silver. ‘You should have put it on at once. I am afraid you have been a good deal startled. I think Miss Day will probably look in as soon as she can leave her patient. I imagine this is one of the attacks of which we have heard. Most distressing. But I do not think there is any real cause for alarm. Captain Pilgrim has had a bad nightmare. When we first saw him he was not fully awake, but when Miss Day told him he had disturbed me he made a very pathetic attempt to apologize. He also became aware that his clothing was disordered and tried to set it to rights. The ability to recover self-control in this manner is evidence of sanity. I think you should not allow yourself to feel alarmed.’

It was no good. Everything in Judy shook, and went on shaking. She said things to herself like ‘Despicable worm!’ but they didn’t seem to produce any result. Aloud she said, ‘It was horrible. I shan’t be able to stay—I can’t keep Penny here. Miss Freyne offered to have her—I’ll take her round tomorrow. Suppose she had waked up, or suppose I’d been downstairs—’