The Silent Speaker

by Noel Streatfeild

Bernard was trying to remember the words used.

  “He did say it hadn’t been opened, didn’t he?”

  “I think he said it was folded. If Helen had read it and there was something so shattering in it that it made her do that, she wouldn’t have folded the paper. Anyway we girls aren’t much use at folding papers at any time, they always look like a paper chase when we’ve done with them.”

  “Edward was a bit slick with his answers about the paper. There could be something there.”

  “If there is you won’t get it out of Edward. I guess getting information out of him is like getting a clam up out of sand.”

  Bernard held a finger to his lips.

  “Not Edward, darling, but George was there, and dear George is like his namesake Washington, he can’t tell a lie. I was going to give you lunch but I think I’ll try and waylay George before he goes back to Wyster.”

  “Will you call me afterwards?”

  “I’ll do better than that, if George admits Helen had read the paper I’ll skim like a swallow to your flat with last Sunday’s News of the World in my beak.”

  Edward, as he drove towards Eaton Square, glanced at Celia. She was unusually silent, which caused a flicker of amusement to pass across his face.

  “Have you put a foot in it?”

  Celia was glad to confess, for if she had done wrong the sooner Edward knew about it the better.

  “I couldn’t be nice to Selina,” she explained, “she said she must go, she sounded as if she was going to cry. Anthony was leaving so I asked him to do something.”

  “No harm in that. It is one of the occasions when the dull Anthony could be useful. But then you spoke to Olivia and Task.”

  “I didn’t mean to say anything but Bernard seemed disappointed about the inquest, I mean not knowing why Helen did it, so I said I thought Tom would still try and find out because he blamed himself.”

  Edward marvelled, not for the first time, how his dear silly Celia got by with such a bird brain.

  “I wonder why you chose Bernard for that illuminating statement.”

  “I didn’t choose him. He was there. Was it a gaff?”

  “One of the larger ones I shouldn’t wonder. Journalists, especially successful ones like Task, are seldom stupid, and are matchless at putting two and two together.”

  Celia was angry with herself. It was maddening to have said what Edward thought she should not at the very moment when she was getting a grip on herself. But she was not convinced Edward was not making a fuss just because he distrusted Bernard.

  “I don’t see how what I said is going to help Bernard. Nobody knows why Tom blames himself.”

  Edward knew George had told Miriam about Tom and Selina, so presumably it was no longer secret. Perhaps it would be wiser to tell Celia. She might be safer with the truth. As shortly as possible he told her what Tom had told him. Celia heard the story calmly.

  “No wonder Selina looks so ghastly. I wondered why Tom didn’t talk to her at the funeral.”

  “It’s such nonsense,” Edward grumbled. “As if Helen, even if she had found out, would have cared about something which happened so long ago.”

  “She wouldn’t have liked it. I hate hearing about girls you liked before you married me, and this was after they were married, but that wouldn’t be why she killed herself.” She paused to see something in her mind’s eye. When she spoke again it was with authority. “That was something that was done to her, she would only have killed herself because of something she did to someone else.”

  Edward gave Celia a startled glance.

  “Why didn’t you say that before?”

  “To the coroner, do you mean?”

  “Of course not, to me. I asked you if you had any idea why she did it.”

  Celia’s voice had lost its note of authority, she now spoke hesitantly.

  “I hadn’t—not when you asked me. I don’t know why I said that now—I just knew suddenly that was the only reason why Helen could have done it. Now I’ve stopped being sure.”

  Edward took a hand off the wheel and patted Celia’s knee.

  “I feel about you as a soothsayer as Samuel Johnson did about women preachers. He said it was like a dog walking on his hinder legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.”

  Bernard had taken a chance and gone to The Connaught where he knew the Worns usually stayed. He was in luck for it had been a toss up whether they would lunch there or on the road. The Connaught had won because Miriam, with Verily still heading her lost cause list, was anxious to ring up Rattenfield to ask Miss Osborne for news of her. While she was on the telephone George talked to the hall porter, an old friend, and it was there Bernard caught him.

  “Hullo,” said Bernard. “I thought you’d have gone back to Wyster.”

  George explained about the telephone. The morning had tired him or he would have taken the opportunity, since he had Bernard to himself, to talk to him about the services at All Saints, Margaret Street, which he had advised him to attend. Instead he said:

  “I am thankful all this terrible business is behind us.”

  Bernard, in a suitably hushed voice, agreed and suggested a drink. He was always hampered in talking to the Worns by the fact he was not sure if he called them by their Christian names. Behind their backs they were George and Miriam or George and Miriam Worn, but nothing to their faces. However, you did not need to use a name when suggesting a drink.

  George was tired so, leaving a message for Miriam, he followed Bernard to the bar. Bernard felt he had little time so over whiskies and sodas he came to the point.

  “There was one moment when I was a bit fogged at the inquest. Edward Cale said you were with him when he found that copy of the News of the World I gave Helen. Had she read it?”

  George was no actor and even had he been it was hard to deceive Bernard, especially as he could not come out with a brisk lie as Edward would have done. Instead he fumbled, so at once Bernard knew he was right in supposing Edward had been too slick when talking of the paper.

  “I—I don’t know—I mean, it was not I who picked it up.”

  Bernard, having found out what he came for, showed no further interest in the paper. He did not want to suggest to George he was prying.

  “It doesn’t matter. As you say, thank goodness it’s all behind us.”

  A few minutes later when Miriam came into the bar she found George looking more relaxed than he had since Helen died, happily discussing the wording of the burial service with Bernard. Relaxed or not she thought the subject morbid so she changed it.

  “I do think headmistresses are peculiar. I might have been a stranger to the family from the way Miss Osborne spoke to me. However, if she was speaking the truth Verily is all right, she’s back working in school.”

  Bernard, having offered Miriam a drink and had it refused, decided it was time to go.

  “I must be off, I’m lunching with friends round the corner.”

  Miriam looked shrewdly at Bernard’s departing back.

  “I bet he doesn’t have a friend round the corner. He wanted something out of you. What was it?”

  George had temporarily forgotten what Bernard had first said.

  “I don’t think he wanted anything. As you heard, we were discussing the words of the burial service.”

  Miriam knew her George.

  “I know you were, but what did he say when he ran into you, which is how I expect he described your meeting?”

  Then George remembered.

  “We chatted about the inquest.”

  “What about it?”

  “Nothing of any importance.”

  “You’re prevaricating, come on, what did he say?”

  “He asked about the newspaper, if Helen had read it.”

  As if she were back with h
er in the Ladies’ Room Miriam again saw Mrs. Simpson. “Funny about that paper.” “Mr. Cale said he took it up to read in bed.” “Mrs. Wragge did the room. She never threw it away.” Fool that she was to have dismissed that conversation as of no importance. If Helen had read the paper it might contain the missing clue. If she could find Helen’s real motive then this nonsense about Selina and Tom would be finished with and as soon as was decent she could arrange their marriage. But George must not guess she was interested, for he was scared of what he called well-meant interference.

  “I wonder why he was interested in that.” Miriam laid a hand on George’s arm. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

  * * *

  Lunch was on the table by the time Field, having served Tom’s lunch, came back into the kitchen.

  “Sit down, Mr. Field. Did he seem likely to eat?”

  Field sat, he looked and felt gloomy.

  “Peck at it, I shouldn’t wonder, Mrs. S. You can’t talk to him. I’d like to have said ‘A glass of wine would do you good, sir,’ and see he drank it. Or I could have mentioned the pheasant, ever so tasty it smelt, but it’s like talking to a waxwork, in a manner of speaking.”

  Mrs. Simpson believed in food at a time of trouble so she heaped liver and bacon on to Field’s plate and passed it to him.

  “Help yourself to vegetables.”

  Field took the lid off the dish of potatoes but for a moment he did not take any. Instead he looked at Mrs. Simpson in a shamed way, for she would dislike what he was going to say as much as he disliked saying it.

  “It’s my belief he’s got something on his mind, he needs to talk about it or you’ll be calling the doctor.”

  “I’ve got something on mine that I was going to tell you.” While she ate Mrs. Simpson told Field about the missing News of the World. “So directly I got in I asked Mrs. Wragge, just to be sure, but of course it wasn’t there or she’d have brought it down. She has her faults but she’s reliable, I speak as I find so I must say that.”

  Field had valeted too many men not to see how strange Edward’s story had been.

  “If he read it in bed most likely it would have been dropped beside the bed, though of course he could have put it in the waste basket in the morning, but if it wasn’t there he must have taken it away. Why would he take last Sunday’s paper away? It wasn’t as if he had luggage.”

  “That’s what I’m asking. As I see it there must have been something in it he didn’t want Mr. Blair to see.”

  A thought struck Field so startling it made him drop his fork. It clattered to the floor.

  “Or he saw something in it which he thought could have made Madam . . .”

  Mrs. Simpson’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Oh no! She wasn’t the sort to get mixed up in anything nasty.” She stopped abruptly, remembering what Mrs. Wragge had said. “Oh dear, I don’t like talking about the dead but since we’ve said so much I better tell you something else. It was something Mrs. Wragge said.”

  Field’s reaction to the gossip was the same as Mrs. Simpson’s.

  “Helping some poor family like as not.”

  Mrs. Simpson nodded.

  “That’s what I thought, but now I’m wondering. It wouldn’t do any harm if you were to go to the newsagent and order a last Sunday’s copy of the News of the World. I don’t suppose there’s anything about Rotherhithe but we could look.”

  Prying into his employers’ affairs was against Field’s code.

  “I don’t like to do it, Mrs. S. The poor lady’s dead, what good will come of raking up something even supposing there is something, which like enough there isn’t?”

  Mrs. Simpson at heart agreed with him, but she was anxious about her employer. Field saying he believed Mr. Blair had something on his mind had brought half thoughts that had been hovering at the back of her brain to the surface. She knew the ways of the house so had felt there were things that were strange going on, especially in connection with Miss Grierson. She and Field had not again spoken about Selina’s peculiar behaviour on the Tuesday, arriving in such a state and sending a letter to Mr. Blair instead of seeing him. She had kept out of the way as much as possible but she had not missed that a great deal of talking went on behind closed doors, and that conversation stopped or the subject was changed if she was about. Lord Worn and Mr. Cale were used to nice houses and in nice houses staff were treated as if they were furniture, you went on talking as if they could not hear. It had been funny too about the funeral. First his Lordship telling her it was on the Thursday, and then saying it might have to be put off, and then suddenly it was on again, then his Lordship telephoning from Wyster to say it was all over and she was to expect Mr. Blair home in time for dinner. It was nothing you could put your finger on but she had a feeling everyone was acting as if they had something to hide. Now there had been the inquest and nothing had come out, but it was true Mr. Blair did look as if he had something on his mind. Maybe he had rather know why Madam did it than not know. Naturally, supposing there was something in the paper that could have anything to do with what had happened, she couldn’t just show it to Mr. Blair, but she could show it to Mr. Cale, being a legal gentleman he would know if it should go further.

  “I don’t like raking, as you call it, no more than you do, Mr. Field. But no harm will come of looking at the paper. So while I wash up I’ll thank you to slip down to the newsagent.”

  After a quick luncheon Edward went to his Chambers. Although there was a lot of work waiting for him he instructed his clerk he was not to be disturbed. Then he unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out the News of the World. It was folded as he had found it so that it opened at pages 2 and 3. He read both pages with great care. On page 2 he was able to eliminate the main news item for it was about a film star’s fabulous earnings. But the other stories he had to consider. I WISH I HAD THE MOTHER HERE was a headline taken from what a judge had said when sentencing a girl to a long term of imprisonment for house-breaking. The girl, Elizabeth Piltch, had been deserted by her mother at birth so was brought up by the local authority. DRINK WAS A PARSON’S RUIN was, on the surface, unpromising except that the parson was a young man. Edward supposed he had better find out more in case the parson too had been abandoned at birth. Finally there was an account of the workings of a gang of tricksters who had been caught. This was headed THE MEN WHO LOVED CHILDREN. The names of the men and their ages were given so since two were young he decided they could not be eliminated without enquiry. There was only one photograph, it was of the rich film star with the fabulous income.

  Page 3 headlined a young heiress’s runaway match with a man in his fifties. There was a photograph of them clasped in each other’s arms. Edward was sure he had read that item in another paper. But had Helen seen it? It was possible, he supposed. He had never heard that Helen knew the man and it was unlikely that she should have done. He was a bandleader called Andy Digue. Olivia had told Celia she believed some man had let Helen down. It could be enough to send any woman who was in love off her rocker if she came across that picture of him, and learnt for the first time through a paper that he had gone off with a young girl, but he could not connect Helen with the Dago-ish type in the photograph. Still, it was a possibility, so against it he put a star. Only a couple of items could be discarded, HER BIKINI NEVER SAW THE SEA, about a beauty queen who was turned off the beach at Estoril for being improperly dressed, and SHE DIED OF A BROKEN HEART, the story of a woman whose husband had been killed in one of the London air raids, and who had gone steadily to pieces ever since and was finally picked out of the Thames by the river police. The last two items on the page had to be considered, HE PUT OUT A CAT’S EYES was about a youth who had been in a remand home. He had the makings, Edward decided, of that young thug he had talked about at the dinner party. That Helen had an illegitimate child who had turned out badly, and for whom she blamed herself, seemed the most likely solution
. So for the same reason I CAN DO NOTHING WITH HIM had to be on the list. It was about a youth who had run away from a foster home and been picked up half dead from starvation on Dartmoor. It was hard to imagine how you would feel, living in comfort with luxuriously brought up children, if you had kept track of your other child whom you had deserted, and knew to what depths he or she had sunk. If Elizabeth Piltch, one of the two young tricksters, the sub-normal horror who had put out the cat’s eyes, or the wretched lad picked up starving on Dartmoor came from her womb, though it was a coward’s answer it could explain the gas oven.

  “It looks,” Edward decided as he locked the paper back in the drawer, “as if I shall have to see Mrs. Barbara Bell over the week-end. I’m sure there’s a clue in why the courageous Helen in the early days of the war turned her back on London.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “It can only be Andy Digue,” said Olivia. “It’s the first week-end in years when only one heiress has been run away with, so I guess that settles it.”

  They had divided the News of the World in half. Bernard, who was sitting on the floor to read his pages, looked like a half-opened parcel.

  “I suppose you could be right, darling, but I just can’t see Helen with a bandleader.”

  They were in Olivia’s drawing-room. She pointed to the telephone.

  “Get on to your newspaper. Maybe they know if he was mixed up with a married woman.”

  Bernard got first-hand information for his articles, though often the news item which started him off came from his newspaper. So it was contrary to his custom to ask for information, as always the editor rang him with an idea. As he went to the telephone he wondered how he could ask a question about Andy Digue without starting the grapevine moving. Too many people knew he had known Helen, and they all knew the mystery of her death was not cleared up. It would be a scoop if they could connect her with Andy Digue. He decided the only safe person would be his editor. He got through without too much delay.

  “I can’t tell you at the moment why I want to know, but could you put somebody on to finding out if there was anyone else in Andy Digue’s life outside his heiress?”