Vanishing Point (8 page)

Miss Holiday had no relations—at least there were none that anyone had ever heard of. She had been personal maid to old Lady Rowena Thorne, who had allowed her, so everyone declared, to get into dreadfully muddly ways. But then Lady Rowena was a dreadfully muddly old thing who looked like a ragbag and lived in a cottage full of clutter and cats. There was very little money, and out of what there was she left Miss Holiday an annuity of fifty pounds a year, since when she had lodged with Mrs. Maple and gone out to work by the day but never staying anywhere for long. She was, in fact, too incompetent to be tolerated except in a case where there was no one else to be had. All this, which was common knowledge, Mrs. Merridew imparted to her guest.

Having become aware of Miss Silver’s professional activities through the mutual friend in whose house they had met after so many years, she readily acceded to a request that she should not speak of them. Since she had from the time of her marriage been a person of some consequence in the county, she was in fact rather more than willing to give the desired pledge. Detection did not appear to her to be at all a suitable career for a gentlewoman, and she had no wish that it should be obtruded. At the same time, with poor Miss Holiday disappearing like this, she found herself discussing the affair in a very interested manner, deferring to Miss Silver’s opinion as to an expert, and very ready to communicate any particulars which might prove helpful.

Florrie went grimly about her work and contributed nothing more, except to remark in tones of gloom that those that hadn’t turned up by now wasn’t going to, and no use saying any different. Mrs. Maple was understood to be of the same opinion, and was already beginning to turn over in her mind the rival merits of two prospective lodgers.

The Melbury police, to whom the disappearance had been reported, had sent over a constable to make enquiries, but rumour had it that he had found it quite impossible to induce Mrs. Maple to hear his questions. It being well known in the village that she didn’t hold with the police and could at any time be as deaf as she chose, nobody was surprised. It was, in fact, considered that Constable Denning had taken an unfair advantage by submitting a set of questions in writing, and Mrs. Maple’s defensive action in mislaying her glasses and declaring that she couldn’t read a word without them was warmly approved.

Meanwhile there was quite a lot going on behind the scenes. There were consultations on a gradually ascending scale, arriving ultimately at what are termed higher levels. Never could Miss Holiday have supposed that she would be the subject of so much speculation and interest. Hazel Green communicated with Melbury, and Melbury with the Chief Constable of Melshire, who got busy with Scotland Yard and with the Security people. The affair might be negligible or it might not—it might be of the utmost importance. But there must be no publicity, no headlines in the press. The greatest discretion must be observed. Hazel Green might buzz with gossip and come to its own gloomy conclusions, but, at any rate for the present, the official attitude must be that it was a purely local matter, and that Miss Holiday had probably taken it into her head to go off and visit a friend.

The village did not take kindly to this theory. Mrs. Stubbs spoke for everyone when she enquired with a toss of the head,

“And what friends has she got, poor thing? None that ever I heard tell about, nor anyone else either! In to Melbury for the pictures and back again, that’s all the outings she ever had— and she wouldn’t go there of a Sunday. And if she went anywhere by bus, someone would have seen her, wouldn’t they? As to getting a lift in a car, well, anyone that knew her wouldn’t talk so silly—she’d have been frightened to death!”

Craig Lester had got a little tired of the subject by the time he set out for Crewe House. With the church clock striking four as he went up the road, he could make sure of being on hand to walk back again with Rosamond, who like himself had been bidden to tea at the White Cottage.

Since none of the windows commanded the drive, which, to tell the truth, was a good deal overgrown, it was his intention to remain in its shelter until Rosamond appeared. As he waited he thought how badly the whole place needed attention. Trees and shrubs crowded one another in a struggle for light and air. The undergrowth was a mere tangle. The leaves of many seasons lay rotting where they had fallen. Moisture dripped upon them from above, though there had been no rain since lunch. A grey sky and more rain to come. Damp air moving overhead.

Rosamond came into view, hurrying a little because Lydia Crewe had rung her bell just as she was starting. She wore an old tweed coat and a blue scarf over the dark clusters of her hair. It brought up the blue in her eyes. She was almost running, but when she saw him she slowed to a walk.

“Oh—I’m going out!”

“To tea with Mrs. Merridew? So am I. I thought I would walk down with you. If you hadn’t any real objection.”

She gave him a wide friendly smile.

“How nice of you. But we ought to hurry, because I think I’m late. Aunt Lydia wanted me.”

“What for?”

“Oh, just—something she wanted. It didn’t take long, but I had run it rather fine talking to Jenny.”

He said deliberately,

“They are both quite good at seeing you don’t get too much time off, aren’t they? If one of them isn’t holding on to you, the other is. You know, you’re going to make Jenny just as selfish and exigeant as Miss Crewe if you’re not careful.”

“Craig!”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

She said in a protesting voice,

“She has been so ill. They thought she was going to die.”

“Well, they don’t think so any longer. Wake up, Rosamond and use your common sense! You know as well as I do that Jenny isn’t leading a normal life, and she could—” He paused and added, “now.”

He saw the startled colour rise as she turned towards him.

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well. She is too much with grown-ups and with books. She ought to be learning and playing with children of her own age.”

She opened her lips to speak, but the words didn’t come. He slipped a hand inside her arm.

“All right—go on and say it. It’s not so easy to think of Jenny as a child—that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? And you stopped yourself because it gave your case away. As a matter of fact, my sweet, you haven’t got a case, and it’s no use your trying to cook one up. Neither you nor Jenny has any business to be at Crewe House, and you know it.”

She still had that startled look, but there was anger as well.

“You want to send Jenny to school, and you want to get me away from here!”

“I certainly do. And I certainly think that Jenny would be better at school.”

“She isn’t nearly strong enough.”

Another turn of the drive and they would be within sight of the road. Instinctively she stopped.

“Craig, you mustn’t—you mustn’t really! Don’t you know it’s what Aunt Lydia wants—to get rid of Jenny, so that I can do more, and more, and more for her and for the house?”

He said coolly,

“It may be what she means, but it isn’t what is going to happen. You give her a month to find someone else, and then you marry me, and you take Jenny away. After which we decide what is the best kind of school for her.”

“She isn’t fit for it.”

At least she hadn’t said that she would not marry him. Perhaps she had merely overlooked his assumption that she would. He left the point to be settled later.

He said, “Has it occurred to you that Jenny can walk a great deal better than she makes out?”

She pulled away from him.

“No, of course it hasn’t!”

“Well, it has to me. As a plain matter of fact she limps when you are there, and she doesn’t when you are out of the room.”

Her eyes were bright and angry.

“She is proud and sensitive. She doesn’t like to let a stranger see her limp.”

“Rubbish! She puts on an act for you, and she doesn’t bother about it for me.”

“Why should she?”

“Oh, she has to outbid Aunt Lydia.”

“Craig!”

“When did the specialist see her last?”

“Two months ago.”

“Did he say she could walk?”

“Well—”

“I see—he did. Did he want to see her again?”

“He said—” The words broke off.

“He didn’t!”

She took a step away from him.

“It isn’t only the limp. If she does too much—it hurts.”

“Not very seriously, I think.”

All her colour was gone. She said in a stranger’s voice,

“I think we had better stop talking about it. Mrs. Merridew won’t like it if we’re late.”

“I suppose not. Why don’t you ask me why I’ve been saying all this?”

Something in his tone arrested her. The startled look returned. She said in a voice like an echo,

“Why—”

Craig Lester said,

“I think we must keep Mrs. Merridew waiting whilst I tell you. I couldn’t sleep last night—it’s always fatal to start thinking after midnight. In the end I dressed, got out of one of the back windows, and went for a stroll. It was about a quarter past one. I walked up in this direction, and someone was getting over the stile just across the road from where the drive comes out. There was a car coming, and whoever it was stood still and waited for it to pass. As it came round that little bit of a bend, the lights picked up the hedge and the person standing there. Well, it was Jenny.”

“Jenny? Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes, it was Jenny all right. There’s no mistaking that hair. Besides I saw her face.”

They both had the same picture—Jenny in the beam of the headlights, her bright hair glowing. Rosamond said on a gasp,

“Craig, she looked—there was something different about her this morning. I couldn’t think what it was—as if—as if—oh, I don’t know. She must have been walking in her sleep.”

He shook his head.

“Oh, no, she wasn’t! Anything but! As soon as the car had gone by she laughed and came skipping across the road. Then she ran off up the drive. I followed at a discreet distance and saw her go in at the side door. When I had heard her lock it I went back to the Holly Tree. But I thought you had better know.”

“But why—why?”

“I imagine she slips out because she wants to walk and skip, and she doesn’t want anyone to see her because she doesn’t want to be packed off to school. I think it’s quite simple. And there’s no need for you to look as if the roof had just fallen in. It can be dealt with all right. And now perhaps we had better put our best foot forward and save our faces with Mrs. Merridew.”

Mrs. Merridew’s drawing-room suffered from the fault of all rooms which have been furnished with the treasures of a much larger one. There were a number of fine pieces, but no space to display them. There were too many pictures on the walls, a sizable antique mirror on the chimney-breast, and a great deal too much china everywhere. The chairs and a very deep sofa, though much too large, were extremely comfortable, and the loose chintz covers, in spite of being a good deal faded, went very well with a worn but valuable Persian rug and the curtains which had once adorned the morning-room at Dalling Grange. Miss Silver considered the whole effect to be pleasing, and was particularly appreciative of the fact that the windows fitted extremely well. Old houses were often so sadly draughty, but in this case there was nothing to complain about. A pleasant fire burned on the hearth, and the room was so comfortably warm that she was able to wear the blue dress which she had bought at Cliffton at the end of the previous summer. She had hesitated a little over the price, but her niece Ethel Burkett had persuaded her. “Such good style, Auntie. I am sure you would never regret it.” She wore it now with a large mosaic brooch representing an Italian scene—cupolas against a very bright blue sky. The material, being dark, threw up the vivid colouring of the brooch in a decidedly pleasing manner. She felt modestly satisfied with her own appearance, and wished that dear Marian would take more trouble. So much hair and so badly controlled, and her figure really too large for that tight mauve jumper. The colour too, not at all becoming, but Marian had always been fond of it, even at school.

Mrs. Merridew who, having once acquired a garment, never thought about it again but continued to wear it until either Florrie or some candid friend intervened, was now discoursing placidly about the friends she was expecting to tea.

“Lucy Cunningham I feel sure you will like. She has had a difficult life, but she is wonderfully cheerful as a rule—devoted to her nephew and to poor Henry, and a good deal taken up with her hens. As I told you, she and Lydia Crewe are great friends, but I purposely didn’t ask her yesterday, because Lydia does ride rough-shod over everyone, and when she is there she doesn’t give Lucy a chance. I asked Henry too. I always do, but he never comes. Such a pity to shut himself away like that— don’t you think so?”

Miss Silver opined that men very often seemed not to care about tea-parties.

“I know—but such a pity. There are so few ways left in which one can entertain. I really hesitated to ask Mr. Lester, but he seemed quite pleased to come. As I told him, we knew his uncle very well indeed. And then, I’m afraid, I did just drop a hint that I had asked Rosamond Maxwell. They are certainly on very friendly terms, and Lydia may say what she likes, but when young people are on friendly terms they like to be asked to meet one another. It’s really shocking how Lydia keeps that girl mewed up. I used to think that perhaps she and Nicholas—but of course there isn’t any money there, and Jenny needs so much care—” She broke off as the sound of footsteps and a murmur of conversation announced that two of the guests were coming up the flagged path to the front door. She had just time to say, “That will be Rosamond and Mr. Lester. Lucy is always late,” when Florrie opened the door and showed them in.

Rosamond had left her coat in the hall and taken off the scarf which had been tied over her hair. Her blue jumper threw up the colour of her eyes. Miss Silver thought her a most attractive girl. She also thought that she had something on her mind. It was, of course, quite obvious that Mr. Lester was in love with her. He made no attempt to hide the fact. But in Miss Silver’s opinion it was not the pleasing disturbance of a love affair which had brought that anxious look to Rosamond Maxwell’s face.

Lucy Cunningham walked in without ringing the bell, a habit to which Florrie ought to have been accustomed, but which never failed to annoy her. She followed with an air of protest and set the tray down in front of Mrs. Merridew with what was almost a clatter.

Miss Cunningham, having hung her largest coat on a peg in the hall, was now divesting herself of a voluminous cardigan and three scarves.

“I’m sure I don’t know how you can sit in such a hot room, Marian, but I shall be all right when I get some of these things off. The temperature must be at least sixty-five. There—I’m down to my jumper! I made it myself, and Nicholas is very rude about it, but I like the colour—it reminds me of moss. Of course Henry never notices what one has on. Well, my dear Marian, I’m sorry if I am late, but just as I was putting on my hat I saw that dreadful cat of Mrs. Parson’s sharpening its claws on the standard Alberic Barbier which Nicholas gave me for Christmas—one of those weeping ones, you know. So of course I had to go out and shoo him away… Oh, yes, I’ve met Miss Silver. Don’t you remember, you introduced us at the bus stop. How do you do? You and Marian were at school together, weren’t you? So nice to meet one’s old friends.”

It was clear that when not held in check by Miss Crewe, Lucy Cunningham could be depended upon to keep any conversation from flagging. The broody hen which she had borrowed from Mrs. Stubbs was settling down nicely with her clutch of eggs— “My own cross, Rhode Island Red and White Leghorn. Nothing like it!” And she actually discoursed for at least ten minutes upon its virtues whilst at the same time disposing of three scones and a slice of cake before Miss Holiday’s name cropped up.

Rosamond was talking to Mrs. Merridew, and Craig Lester was joining in, when Miss Lucy interrupted her own remarks about the very unsatisfactory eggs she had procured for setting last year, “Only three hatched out of the dozen, and I told her quite plainly that they were stale,” to say with a sudden change of voice,

“Oh dear, hasn’t Miss Holiday turned up yet?”

Mrs. Merridew shook her head. Rosamond said,

“No, she hasn’t. It’s the most extraordinary thing. We can’t think what has happened.”

“Lydia must be dreadfully put out,” said Lucy Cunningham.

It became clear that it was from this angle that she viewed the disappearance, the burden of her remarks being that of course Miss Holiday would turn up, but that meanwhile Lydia was being inconvenienced, and that if you had to go away in a hurry, the least you could do was to let your employer know.

“Only that’s the last thing they ever think about. I suppose she didn’t have words with Mrs. Bolder? A wonderful cook, but oh, my dear, what a temper! It couldn’t have been that could it?”

Rosamond said reluctantly,

“I don’t know—there may have been something. Mrs. Bolder didn’t seem so very much surprised when she didn’t turn up this morning—just tossed her head and said something like ‘Oh, she’ll get over it.’ So I thought perhaps—but that was before we knew about her not having been home all night.”

Miss Cunningham nodded vigorously.

“Well, I daresay they’d had a tiff, but I don’t suppose it amounted to anything. And she’s been coming to you for some time—she ought to be used to Mrs. Bolder by now. It can’t be the first time she’s had the rough side of her tongue. I can’t imagine—I really can’t—what could possibly have taken her away. When there’s a family, of course, you never know, but she hasn’t got a relation in the world—she often said so. And she was quite all right when I met her.”

“Oh, when was that?” Rosamond and Mrs. Merridew spoke together.

Miss Lucy beamed.

“When I was on my way up to you, my dear. You know I couldn’t come to tea, and then I was later than I meant to be because of going in to see Mrs. Stubbs about the broody hen, so it must have been all of half past five if not more—but I don’t suppose that matters—She was just coming out of the drive as I turned in, and she seemed perfectly all right then.”

Miss Silver regarded her with interest.

“Did you speak to her?” she enquired.

Miss Cunningham had a full cup in her hand. She had been about to drink from it when Miss Silver spoke. Somehow the cup slipped and some of the tea splashed down upon the moss-green jumper. Miss Lucy exclaimed, produced a large clean but extremely crumpled handkerchief, and proceeded to dab at the stain. Recourse was had to the hot water-jug. Rosamond ran and fetched a tea-cloth. The overflowing saucer was emptied, the cup replaced, and the opinion expressed that no mark would be left on the bright green wool.

“A most unfortunate accident,” said Miss Silver, “but I believe there will be no ill effects. Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes that poor Miss Holiday. You had met her coming away from her work, and you said she seemed quite as usual. You spoke to her, then?”

“Oh, just a few words,” said Lucy Cunningham.