Lonesome Road (11 page)

I don’t know what girls are coming to,” said Mabel Wadlow in her complaining voice. “You may think yourself very lucky not to have any. What with feeling they’re a failure if they don’t marry, and not knowing who they’ll take it into their heads to marry if they do marry, and out all night at dances, and off for the week-end without so much as telling you where they’re going—well, it isn’t any wonder that my health is such a constant anxiety to Ernest.”

Mrs. Wadlow was reclining upon a couch in the drawing-room. Miss Maud Silver sat in a small armless chair at a convenient angle for conversation and knitted. The expression upon her face was one of almost reverential attention. Seldom if ever had Mabel encountered a more congenial companion. She felt that, for once, here was someone who was really interested in the state of her digestion, the number of hours that she had slept or had not slept the night before, the condition of her heart and pulse, her anxieties about Maurice, and, last but not least, the very troublesome and inconsiderate way that Cherry was behaving.

“I’m sure when I was a girl I would never have dreamt of making myself conspicuous with a man who was engaged to another girl, but Cherry doesn’t seem to care. And she is supposed to be going to be a bridesmaid. Mildred Ross asked her, but of course that was before she had made herself so conspicuous. And now I wonder if the marriage will ever really take place, because of course he can’t be in love with Mildred, and the worst of it is that Cherry isn’t a bit in love with him—she says so herself. Girls are so frank now, aren’t they? They will say anything, even to a total stranger. And Cherry says quite openly that she doesn’t care for Bob—it’s just the money. He is so fearfully rich, and Cherry says she must have money and she doesn’t care how she gets it. Now what would you have said if you had heard a girl talk like that when you were a girl, Miss Silver?”

A reply rose readily to Miss Silver’s lips, but she did not allow it to pass them. She permitted a faintly shocked expression to appear on her face, and remarked in a vaguely sympathetic tone,

“Ah—what indeed?”

Mabel Wadlow thought this a most suitable reply. There was an unwonted color in her cheeks and an unwonted animation in her manner as she said,

“Of course it isn’t all her fault. It is very hard indeed to be brought up with money all round you and not to have any of your own.” She dropped her voice to a confidential tone. “My father made the most extraordinary will. I wouldn’t speak of it to everyone, but I know that you are safe. You will hardly believe it, but except for a very, very moderate settlement made at the time of my marriage I did not receive a single penny from his estate. You may well look astonished. He left everything to my sister Rachel— my younger sister. Not by very much of course, and people often express surprise at hearing that she is younger than I am. But then an unmarried woman tends to age more quickly—don’t you agree? You would think, wouldn’t you, that she would have been glad not to have the responsibility of managing so much money. I think everyone was surprised that she did not hand my proper share over to me immediately. It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble and anxiety, and, as Ernest has always said, what is the good of piling up an immense fortune which is bound to go to somebody else when you die? You see, it isn’t as if she had children of her own, or was likely to have them now even if she were to marry, which is extremely improbable. Rachel is thirty-eight.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“I knew a woman of forty-eight who married and had twins,” she observed in an artless, gossiping voice.

“Well, I can’t think how she did it,” said Mabel Wadlow. “And it would be most unusual. No one in our family has ever had twins. And why anyone should want to have children? I’m sure they wouldn’t if they knew. Night after night I lie awake worrying about Maurice, because when you have only one boy it’s no use anyone saying ‘Don’t worry.’ I’m sure the last book Ernest got out of the library about Russia was too, too dreadful. The sanitary arrangements! I don’t know how they printed some of the things. But of course they don’t mind now, do they? I mean they don’t mind what they print. But naturally after that I couldn’t sleep a wink, and Ernest insisted, positively insisted on my taking a sleeping draught. As a rule I would endure anything, but my pulse was so rapid that he insisted. It is marvellous stuff, you know, and I am very careful, because when it is finished I shan’t be able to get any more. It was that very clever Dr. Levitas whom we met when we were travelling in Eastern Europe who gave me the powders. I had the most alarming attack, and he treated me, and he told Ernest it was one of the most interesting cases he had ever known. He said he had never had a patient who was so highly strung, and he told Ernest that I must never be worried, or thwarted, or allowed to excite myself in any way. But we have only three or four of the powders left now, and we never had the prescription, so we have to be very careful of them. They last a long time of course, because they are very strong and I only take a quarter of a powder at a time.”

Mabel Wadlow went on talking about her powders, and her pulse, and what she felt like when she woke up in the night, and what Dr. Levitas had said about her constitution, and how terribly bad it was for her to be worried, and wasn’t it quite inconceivable that one’s own sister should allow one to have financial embarrassments when she could so easily remove them by simply writing a cheque. She continued until Miss Silver rolled up her knitting and rose.

“Do you know, I have knitted up all my wool. How kind of you to spare me so much time. I must go up and wind another skein.”

But she did not go to her own room. She knocked instead on Miss Treherne’s door, and found her just putting the telephone receiver back upon its hook.

Rachel turned round with a lost look.

“Gale Brandon was coming over. I’ve told him not to.”

“Why did you do that?” said Miss Silver.

“He cares for me—I think he cares a lot. I’ve never had—that. I don’t want it spoilt. I don’t want it—mixed up with all this. I’ve told him not to come.”

“Have you told him why?”

Rachel said “No.” And then, as simply as a child, “He’s angry.”

Miss Silver said, “He will get over that, my dear.” Her voice was brisk and kind. “I think you are quite right. I do not really want Mr. Brandon here at present, though I think we may be very glad of him later on. In their own way men can be quite useful. But just now I wish to talk to you. There are some things which I think you ought to know. Let us sit down.”

Rachel took a chair.

“When anyone says that, it always means something unpleasant,” she said rather wearily,

“I am afraid so,” said Miss Silver.

She was wearing her snuff-colored dress, with thick brown stockings and rather shabby black glacé shoes trimmed with ribbon bows. Her high stuff collar was fastened by a mosaic brooch which represented a pink and yellow temple against a bright blue sky. The eyes with which she contemplated Rachel were full of a keen intelligence tempered by kindness. She said,

“I have been talking to Gladys. I thought it most improbable that she would have stayed in her room mending stockings while the rest of the staff were listening to the wireless. As soon as I heard that Mr. Frith had given her a letter in case anyone should be going to the post I was convinced that Gladys herself had gone out with it, which proved to be the case.”

“It was really very clever of you.”

Miss Silver coughed in a deprecating manner.

“Oh dear, no, not at all. But I am afraid I have to tell you something which may distress you. On her way back she heard Miss Caroline weeping and talking to herself in the dark. The time—which she fixes by the striking of the garage clock—was a quarter to six. Miss Caroline came in through the gate from the cliff path in a state of considerable distress. Gladys heard her say, ‘I can’t do it—I can’t!’

And then she said, ‘She has always been so kind to us,’ and she ran out on to the path again, and Gladys came into the house.”

Rachel smiled with stiff lips. She hoped with all her shrinking heart that Miss Silver did not know how stiff they were.

“And do you ask me to believe that Caroline—Caroline pushed me over the cliff?”

“I don’t ask you to believe anything. I have told you what Gladys told me, because it is one of the things I think you ought to know.”

“One of them?”

“Yes, there are others.”

“Go on.”

“I have also been having a conversation with Mrs. Wadlow. She talked a good deal about her daughter. She said that Cherry would do anything for money. She conveyed to me the picture of a completely ruthless young woman who would take what she wanted whether it belonged to someone else or not. I would be glad to have your opinion as to whether this picture is a true one.”

Rachel’s hand lifted for a moment and then fell again.

“Yes—Cherry is like that.”

“Mrs. Wadlow also spoke about her son. She seems to resent the fact that you are not inclined to provide a sum of money which would keep him in England. May I ask whether Mr. Maurice shares this resentment?”

A gleam of rather bitter humor sparkled in Rachel’s eyes.

“I have no doubt of it. I am a wicked capitalist, and it would be a highly ethical action to relieve me of as much of this wicked capital as possible. ‘Liquidate it’ is, I believe, the expression which he would use. To be really logical, of course, I ought to be liquidated too—” She stopped short on a quick breath, and slowly, very slowly, her hand went up to her throat.

“We will not stress that point,” said Miss Silver, “But I think we will bear it in mind. Now with regard to Miss Comperton—I have some extremely unpleasant information for you. I have here particulars of various sums which you have from time to time extrusted to Miss Comperton for the benefit of certain charitable institutions. I have ascertained through an assistant who has made the necessary enquiries on my behalf that none of these charities has at any time received a larger donation from Miss Comperton than half-a-crown.”

Rachel leaned forward, resting her weight on the arms of her chair. That was what she was chiefly conscious of—weight. Feet cold and heavy as stone, limbs like lead, and a heart as heavy as grief itself.

“Ella?” she said.

Miss Silver said, “I am afraid so. The manner in which she immediately pressed me for a subscription made an unfavorable impression. Greed is a quality which it is very hard to dissemble. I discerned it plainly, and it suggested the advisability of making inquiries.”

“Is there anything else?” said Rachel.

“No—no—I think I may say not. But I would suggest that the time has come when you should inform your family of the fact that a murderous attempt was made upon you last night. I should like you to call them all together and tell them exactly what happened, and I should wish to be present.”

Rachel turned extremely pale.

“Just now—when I was going to tell Richard—you stopped me.”

“Certainly, Miss Treherne. It would have been giving him an advantage over the others. You were about to give him this advantage. You were, in point of fact, assuming his innocence. Now I want to say to you with the utmost gravity that you cannot afford to assume anyone’s innocence in this matter. I do not ask you to assume anyone’s guilt, but I do ask you in every case to adopt the same caution as if you were dealing with a person whom you knew to be guilty.”

“But that is horrible!”

“Murder is horrible,” said Miss Silver.

Upon one pretext or another the family had been assembled in the drawing-room. Outside the day was dark and lowering. Within, though a bright fire burned on the hearth, there was a chill, a feeling of uneasiness.

Richard Treherne was the last to appear. They had waited for him in a silence which no one except Mabel seemed inclined to break. Cosmo Frith picked up the clock from the mantel-piece, remarked that it needed regulating, and busied himself with it.

“Cosmo can’t keep his hands off a clock,” Mabel complained. “I believe he winds his own every time he goes near it.” To which Miss Maud Silver replied that in her opinion clocks should be wound once a week and never touched in between.

Mabel Wadlow, who still reclined amongst her cushions and had apparently neither moved nor attempted to occupy herself, had welcomed her return with effusion. But before resuming her chair Miss Silver drew it back into line with the couch in such a manner as to command a view of Miss Comperton in the armchair on the right of the fire, Mr. Frith now standing fair and square in the middle of the hearth-rug with the Times held out at arm’s length before him, and Rachel Treherne leaning back in the armchair on the left.

Caroline Ponsonby had pulled a low stool close to Rachel. She sat forward with an elbow propped on her knee and her chin in her hand. She had so pale a look that no one could have called her pretty now. Miss Silver thought her very near the breaking-point, and permitted herself to wonder what would happen when it came.

Richard Treherne sat on the arm of Rachel’s chair. Miss Silver saw him stoop down and say a word in her ear, and she saw the answer too, a shake of the head.

Caroline looked round once, and then went on staring past Cosmo at the fire.

Ernest Wadlow brought a chair up to the sofa and leaned over his wife, asking her solicitously how she felt, and whether she had remembered to take her drops.

Miss Silver coughed, and, as if it had been a signal, Rachel Treherne spoke. She turned to Richard and said,

“Will you find yourself a chair? I have something rather serious to say.”

Richard did not start, but he was certainly startled. And there was nothing in that, for, apart from the words, neither Rachel’s voice nor her manner were natural. She was plainly putting a force upon herself. Perhaps even now she had Miss Silver’s words in her mind. Perhaps, instead of. assuming Richard’s innocence, she had for a horrible moment feared his guilt. Miss Silver saw the hand which lay upon her knee contract upon itself until the knuckles whitened. Then, as Richard moved to a chair on the other side of the hearth, she saw the hand relax.

The Times rustled as Cosmo turned a page. He said rather abstractedly,

“Well, my dear, here we are. Do you know—a most extraordinary thing—here’s a man Ferguson who was at school with me marrying a film star. Never heard of her, but they call her a star. The man must be off his head. I beg your pardon, Rachel—what were you going to say?”

“Something serious?” said Ernest Wadlow. He rumpled his hair and looked sideways over the tilted pince-nez. “I hope it is nothing—er—that is to say—nothing—” His voice trailed off without finishing the sentence.

Mabel raised herself on both hands until she was clear of her cushions and said in agitated accents.

“Something has happened to Maurice—I felt sure of it! Oh! Tell me quickly—is it an accident?”

“It’s nothing to do with Maurice,” said Rachel, and in the middle of saying it a shiver took her, because how did she know that it wasn’t Maurice’s hand that had pushed her over the cliff?

Mabel sank back, half sketched a palpitation, and then decided to postpone it until she knew what Rachel had really got to say.

Miss Silver looked at Ella Comperton, and found her nervous—oh dear, yes, decidedly nervous. She was picking at a little bag and missing the clasp, and when she found it, fumbling with it. When she did get it open, all the contents came tumbling out into her lap. The hand with which she extricated a handkerchief and pressed it to her nose was by no means steady. The nose twitched, the handkerchief twitched, the hand twitched. Miss Silver reflected, not for the first time in her career, that it must be very uncomfortable indeed to have a guilty conscience. She looked at Richard Treherne, and Richard said,

“What’s the matter, Rachel? I hope you don’t mean anything really serious.”

“I’m afraid I do.” Rachel was sitting up now with, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I thought you ought to know—all of you—that something very serious did happen yesterday. I thought you ought to know.”

Miss Silver saw all the faces—all except Caroline’s, and Caroline’s face was turned away from her and turned towards Rachel. Miss Silver could see nothing of it. But the other faces showed her, surprise—that was Cosmo Frith; a grave attention—that was Richard; fear—yes, certainly fear— that was Ella Comperton; and a deepening of the lines of habitual worry—that was Ernest Wadlow. Mabel Wadlow’s expression remained a blend of fretful inquiry and her recent relief. If it wasn’t Maurice it didn’t really matter.

It was Richard who spoke again. He said,

“What ought we to know?”

Rachel looked round at them all. Then she said,

“Something happened—when I was coming back from Nanny’s. I said I had had a fall, and that was true. But it wasn’t all that happened. I didn’t fall on the patli—I fell over the cliff. And I fell over the cliff because someone pushed me.”

Once more Miss Silver watched the faces and, more revealing still, the hands.

Ella Comperton said, “Nonsense!” but her hands shook. Cosmo Frith crumpled up the Times and turned with astonishment in every line of his features. Mabel and Ernest Wadlow did exactly the same thing. They both said, “Oh!” and their mouths dropped open. Richard Treherne made a sharp movement and said, frowning deeply, “Rachel! Good God—you don’t mean that!” Caroline made no movement and no sound. Her eyes were fixed on Rachel’s face, and only Rachel herself could see what was in them.

Rachel said quite firmly, “Yes, I do mean it. Someone came up behind me in the dark and pushed me over the cliff.”

There was some sound from everyone in the room—a catch of the breath, a sharp release, something very near a gasp—and from Miss Silver herself a fluttered, “Dear, dear me!”

“But, my dear—” said Cosmo Frith. He let the paper fall and came close. “Rachel, my dear, you can’t mean it! Why didn’t you tell us at once? There must be some madman about—that is, if you really do mean—My dear, the police should have been informed.”

Miss Silver said in her prim, cool voice,

“Perhaps the police were informed. Did you inform them, Miss Treherne?”

She received a protesting look which left her quite unmoved. Rachel said,

“No.”

“But, my dear,” said Cosmo, “they ought to be communicated with at once. Tell me everything you can, and I’ll ring them up—”

Rachel stopped him.

“No—I won’t call in the police—” She paused, and added, “this time.”

If there was anyone in the room who realized the significance of those added words, no sign betrayed it.

“Won’t you tell us exactly what happened?” said Richard Treherne.

“It’s all nonsense!” said Mabel querulously. “Because if you went over that cliff, why weren’t you killed? It really is nonsense.”

Ernest put a hand on her arm.

“Now, now—don’t excite yourself, Mabel. I don’t really think you should have been subjected to a shock like this. But what you say is, of course, perfectly correct.”

Ella Comperton joined the chorus.

“There is surely some exaggeration. You have, I believe, some bruises and a scratch or two, but you cannot expect us to believe that you fell off the cliff on to the rocks and got off with no more than that.”

Rachel sat up a little straighter.

“If I had gone down on to the rocks, you would all be attending an inquest instead of sitting here and telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Cosmo’s hand came down on her shoulder.

“My dear, I think we hardly do know what we’re talking about—any of us. This has been a great shock. Speaking for myself, I—my dear, it’s a terrible shock.” His hand pressed down for a moment, and was withdrawn. He got out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I don’t mind saying that it’s knocked me over.”

“Rachel, please tell us exactly what happened,” said Richard.

She told them without emotion.

“If I had gone down on to the rocks—as I said just now—I shouldn’t be here. I didn’t go down. I caught at a bush, and it held me.”

“Dear me,” said Miss Silver—“most providential!”

“But you couldn’t have been pushed,” said Ella Comperton. “It’s really quite impossible. Besides, who would push you? It is absurd.”

Ernest Wadlow plucked off his glasses with a nervous gesture and set them back upon his nose at a different angle.

“As Ella says—”

“And how did you get up again?” said Mabel in an accusing voice.

Caroline leaned forward and caught a fold of Rachel’s skirt. They heard her whisper something. Richard thought it was “You’re here.”

Rachel’s eyes went from one to another before she said,

“I was certainly pushed. I went over the cliff because I was pushed. The hand that pushed me rolled a stone down over the edge—afterwards—while I was hanging there—to make sure—at least I suppose it was to make sure. One of those big stones—it just missed me. I was able to hold on till Gale Brandon came by. He ran to Nanny’s cottage— and tore up her sheets to make a rope—and got me up. He saved my life.”

Cosmo blew his nose again, and pushed the handkerchief back into his pocket.

“My dear—this is really—I don’t know when I’ve been so shocked. You will forgive me—you must know what we all feel about you. It seems quite incredible that anyone should try to harm you. But we’ve got to be practical. The police should be called in at once.”

“I have nothing to say to the police.”

“Dear me,” said Miss Silver, “I should suppose—of course I am very ignorant about such matters, but surely you must have some idea as to the identity of the person who attacked you.” She looked about her as she spoke, in a manner at once artless and inquisitive. “You must have some idea, surely?”

The room was suddenly silent. It was just as if all the small, usual, unnoticed sounds had ceased, and because they had ceased you noticed them. They left that strained, waiting silence.

Rachel broke it. She said, “None,” and all the sounds began again.

Ella Comperton let go the arms of her chair and sat back. Richard got up in a hurry. Caroline Ponsonby dropped her hand from Rachel’s skirt and pitched sideways off her stool in a dead faint.