What Timmy Did

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

  CHAPTER XXVI

  Since she had had the horrid accident which had laid her up, Timmy hadnot gone to see his old Nanna nearly as often as he ought to have done.Nanna herself, however, with the natural cunning of those who love, hadmade certain rules which ensured her a regular, daily glimpse of thestrange little being she had had under her charge, as she would haveexpressed it, "from the month." Nanna did not desire his attendancebefore breakfast for she would not have considered herself fit to beseen by him till she herself was neat and tidy. Like all the women ofher class and generation, the Tosswills' old family nurse was full ofself-respect, and also imbued with a stern sense of duty. Timmy stoodfar more in awe of her than he did of his mother.

  One of the stated times for Timmy's visits to the old night nurserywas just before he had to start for church each Sunday, and on thisparticular Sunday, the day after that on which had occurred Dolly'sengagement, and Mrs. Crofton's return from London, he came in a fewmoments before he was expected, and began wandering about the room, doingnothing in particular. At once Nanna divined that he had something on hismind about which he was longing, yet half afraid, to speak to her. Shesaid nothing, however, and at last it came out.

  "I want you to lend me your Bible," he said, wriggling himself about. "Iwant to take it to church with me."

  This was the last thing Nanna had expected the boy to ask, for, ofcourse, Timmy had a Bible of his own, a beautiful thin-paper Bible, whichshe herself had given him on his seventh birthday, having first asked hismother's leave if she might do so. The Bible was in perfect condition. Itstood on a little mat on his chest of drawers, and not long before heraccident Nanna had gone into his bedroom, opened the sacred Book, andgazed with pleasure on the inscription, written in her own large,unformed handwriting, on the first page:

  Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill on his seventh birthday from his loving nurse,

  Emily Pew.

  All this being so, his mother, or even his sister, Betty, would at oncehave enquired, "Why don't you take your own Bible to church?" But somehowNanna thought it best not to put this question, for a lie, shocking onany day, is more shocking than usual, or so she thought, if uttered on aSunday. So, after a moment's hesitation, she replied: "Certainly, MasterTimmy, if such is your wish. But I trust you will be very careful withit, my dear."

  "I will be very, very careful!" he exclaimed. "And I will bring itstraight back to you up here after church."

  He threw her a grateful look. He did more, and Nanna felt amply rewardedas he climbed up on her bed and, putting his arms round her neck, kissedher on each cheek.

  "I hope," she said impressively, "that you are going to be a good boy inchurch--a boy that Nurse can be proud of."

  Nanna never called herself "Nanna" to the children.

  "I am always very good in church," cried Timmy, offended. "I don'tsee why you should go and spoil everything by saying that!" Withthese cryptic words he slid off the bed, taking with him the largeold-fashioned Bible which always lay by Nanna's bedside.

  Dolly, and Rosamund, who was Dolly's stable-companion, were attending theservice held by Dolly's fiance, Lionel Barton, in the next parish. As forBetty, her heart was very full, and as she did her morning's work andwhile she dressed herself for church, she still felt as if she was livingthrough a wonderful dream.

  Jack, who did not always go to church, had elected to go to-day; so hadTom and Godfrey; and thus, in spite of the absence of the two youngergirls, quite a considerable party filed into the Tosswill pew.

  All the people belonging to Old Place were far too much absorbed in theirown thoughts on this rather strange Sunday morning to give any thought toTimmy. So it was that he managed, after a moment's thought, to placehimself between his father and his godfather. He judged, rightly, thatneither of them would be likely to pay much attention to him or to hisdoings.

  When the rather nervous young rector had got well away with his sermon,and had begun to attract the serious attention of Mr. Tosswill and ofGodfrey Radmore, Timmy very quietly drew out of his little, worn tweedcoat a long sharp pin. Wedging the Bible, as he hoped reverently, butundoubtedly very securely between his knees, he thrust the pin firmly inthe middle of the faded, gilt-edged leaves of Nanna's Bible, where therewere already many curious little brown dots caused by similar punctures,the work of Nanna herself.

  Having done this, Timmy carefully lifted the Bible from between his kneesand let it fall open at the page the pin had found. The text where thepoint rested ran as follows:

  Deliver my soul from the sword; my darling from the power of the dog.

  His father's eyes flickered for a moment and fixed themselves on Timmywith a worried, disturbed expression. As a child he himself would havebeen sternly reproved for reading, even the Bible, during a sermon, buthe supposed that Janet knew better than his own mother had done. Timmycertainly loved Janet far, far more than he, John Tosswill, had loved hisown good mother. So he averted his eyes from his little son, and tried toforget all about him.

  But John Tosswill did not know his Janet. Though three off fromTimmy, she had become aware that her son was bending over a very big,shabby-looking book, instead of sitting upright, listening sedately. Shegave him one glance, and Timmy, with a rather confused and guilty look,hurriedly shut Nanna's Bible, and turned his mind to the sermon. He hadseen what he wanted to see; and further, he had made a mental note of thepage and place.

  At last the service was over, and the congregation streamed out ofchurch. Timmy hung back a little, behind his mother. He did not wishher to see that he had Nanna's Bible instead of his own, but she wasfar too full of her own exciting and anxious thoughts to give anyattention to her little boy. Rather to her surprise, she found her minddwelling persistently on Enid Crofton. It was at once a relief and adisappointment not to see the young widow's graceful figure, and herheart ached when she saw the cloud come down over Jack's face.

  All at once she felt a detaining gesture on her arm, and turning, shefound Miss Pendarth at her elbow. They generally had a little talk afterchurch, for it was often the only time in the week when these two, bothin their several ways busy women, felt that they had a few minutes tospare for gossip.

  "I wonder if you could come in to Rose Cottage for a minute? I want toshow you something which I think will interest you as much as it has me."

  Neither of them noticed that Timmy had crept up quite close and waslistening eagerly. In a village community the gossip holds a place apart,and Olivia Pendarth, though by no means popular with the young people ofOld Place, nevertheless had her value as the source of many thrillingtales.

  Janet Tosswill hesitated. "I wish I could come back with you," she saidat last, regretfully. "But I promised to go straight home this morning."

  She debated within herself whether she should say anything here and nowabout Dolly's engagement; then she made up her mind not to do so yet.

  Miss Pendarth, slightly lowering her voice, went on: "Perhaps I mightcome in this afternoon, and bring what I want to show you with me? It's afull report of the inquest held on Colonel Crofton."

  Janet looked up quickly. "I confess I should very much like to readthat," she exclaimed, and then she added, "but I shan't be in thisafternoon. I've promised to go over to Oakford."

  That much information she would vouchsafe her old friend.

  A slightly satirical look came over Miss Pendarth's face. She toldherself how foolish it was of Janet to suppose for a single moment thatthat good-looking young clergyman was ever likely to make an offer totiresome, stupid, untidy Dolly Tosswill!

  "I wonder if you would lend me the paper?" Janet suggested hesitatingly."Timmy could go for it now, and I would send it you back the moment I hadread it."

  "Very well," said the other, not very graciously. "I suppose Timmy can betrusted to be careful of it? I went to great trouble to get a copy, and Idon't think I should be able to get another." She added slowly: "I got itat the request of Colonel Crofton's sister, but I have not yet sent it toher be
cause I thought it would distress her too much."

  * * * * *

  A few minutes later Timmy was gazing round the hall of Rose Cottage witheager, inquisitive eyes. Miss Pendarth did not care for children, andthough Timmy frequently came to her door with a note, he was very seldominvited inside the house.

  Even now his hostess said rather sharply: "Run out into the garden,Timmy, while I go upstairs and find an envelope big enough in which toput the paper for your mother. I daresay I shall be away five minutes,for I want you to take her a note with it."

  The boy went through the glass door into the garden. He walked briskly upthe path, kicking a pebble as he went, and then he sat down on the benchwhere, not so very long ago, Olivia Pendarth and Godfrey Radmore had satdiscussing the curious and tragic occurrence which still filled MissPendarth's mind.

  Timmy asked himself what exactly was the meaning of the word inquest? Whyhad a paper printed what Miss Pendarth called a full account of theinquest on Colonel Crofton's death? Was it "inquest" or "henquest"?His agile mind swung back to the mysterious words he had heard Mrs.Crofton's ex-man-servant utter in the stable-yard of The Trellis House.

  At last Miss Pendarth opened the door giving into the garden, and Timmy,jumping up, hurried down the path toward the house. He then saw that sheheld a neat-looking brown paper roll in her hand, and over the roll wasslipped an india-rubber band.

  "I thought it a pity to waste a big envelope," she observed, "so I havedone up the newspaper and my note to your mother into a roll. Will youplease ask your mother to put it back exactly as it is now--with theindia-rubber band round it? These bands have become so very expensive.She need not send it back. I will call for it to-morrow morning abouttwelve. Mind you give it to her at once, Timmy. I don't want to have athing like that left lying about."

  Timmy slipped into Old Place by a back way often used by the youngpeople, for it was opposite a garden door set in the high brick wallwhich gave on to one of the by-ways of the village.

  But instead of seeking out his mother, as he ought at once to have done,he went upstairs and so into what had been the day nursery. There helocked the door, and having first put Nanna's Bible on the big, roundtable, at which as a baby boy he had always sat in his high chair, hewent over to the corner where Josephine was peacefully reposing with herkittens, and sat down on the floor by the cat's basket.

  Very carefully he then slipped the india-rubber band off the roll ofbrown paper which had been confided to him by Miss Pendarth. He spreadout the sheet of newspaper, putting aside the brown paper in which it hadbeen rolled, as also Miss Pendarth's open letter to his mother. And then,with one hand resting on his cat's soft, furry neck, he read through thelong account of the inquest held on Colonel Crofton's death. As he workedlaboriously down the long columns, Timmy's freckled forehead becamewrinkled, for, try as he might, he could not make out what it was allabout. The only part he thoroughly understood was the description ofColonel Crofton's last hours; the agony the dying man had endured, theefforts made by the doctor, not only to save his life, but to force himto say how the virulent poison had got into his system--all becamevividly present to the boy.

  Timmy felt vexed when he realised, as he could not help doing, that Mrs.Crofton had looked very pretty when she was giving evidence at theinquest; in fact, the descriptive reporter had called her "the dead man'sbeautiful young widow."

  And then, all at once, he bethought himself of Miss Pendarth's letter tohis mother.

  Now Timmy was well aware that it is not an honourable thing to readother people's letters; on the other hand, his mother always left MissPendarth's notes lying about on her writing table, and more than once shehad exclaimed: "Betty? Do read that note, and tell me what's in it!"

  And so, after a short conflict between principle and curiosity, in whichcuriosity won, he began to read the letter. As he did so, he realisedthat it formed a key to the newspaper report he had just read, for MissPendarth's letter ran:

  My dear Janet,

  I am longing to talk over the enclosed with you. I was lately in Essex, and when we meet I will tell you all that was said and suspected there at the time of Colonel Crofton's death.

  _Someone we wot of got off very lightly._ You will realise from even this rather confused report that _someone_ must have put the bottle of strychnine into the unhappy man's bedroom--also that he absolutely denied having touched it. No one connected with the household, save of course Mrs. Crofton, had ever seen the bottle until after his death.

  It is a strange and sinister story, but I remember my father used to say that Dr. Pomfrett (who for fifty years was the great medical man of _our_ part of the world) had told him that not one murder in ten committed by people of the educated class was ever discovered.

  I think you know that Mrs. C. has had a very handsome offer for The Trellis House from that foolish Mrs. Wallis, but I believe that up to yesterday she had not vouchsafed any answer.

  Your affectionate,

  Olivia Pendarth.

  P.S.--Please burn this note as soon as read. I don't want to be had up for libel.

  Timmy read the letter twice through. Then he very carefully folded up thenewspaper in its original creases, put Miss Pendarth's letter inside, andmade as tidy a roll as he could with the help of the brown paper. Finallyhe slipped on the india-rubber band, and scrambling up from the floor,unlocked the door. Taking Nanna's Bible off the round table, he went intohis own bedroom and there laboriously copied out, with the help of a veryblunt pencil, the text where the pin had rested in church. Then he tookthe Bible into Nanna's room.

  "What's that you're holding?" she asked suspiciously.

  "It's something I have to give to Mum."

  Somehow the sight of Nanna, sitting up there in her big armchair, madehim feel extremely guilty, and he was relieved when she said mildly: "Yourun along and give it to her, then."

  He found his mother in his father's study, and they both stopped abruptlywhen he came in. Timmy supposed, rightly, that they had been speaking ofDolly and her engagement.

  Janet took the roll of paper from her boy and slipped off the bandabsently: "What's this?" she exclaimed. And then, "How stupid of me! Iremember now." She turned to her husband. "It's an account of the inquestheld on Colonel Crofton. What a tremendous long thing! I shall have toput it aside till after lunch."

  She did, however, read through Miss Pendarth's letter.

  "Oh! John," she said, smiling, "this letter is _too_ funny! OliviaPendarth may be a good friend, but she's certainly a good hater. Shesimply loathes Mrs. Crofton." Then, deliberately, she went over to thefireplace and, lighting a match, set fire to the letter.

  Timmy watched the big sheet of paper curling up in the flame. He was gladindeed that he had read the letter before it was burnt, but he made uphis mind that when he was a grown-up man, he also would burn any letterthat he thought the writer would prefer destroyed. In a way Janet was herson's great exemplar, but he was apt to postpone following the example headmired.