The Gazebo

by Patricia Wentworth

  ‘And what are Jack and Althea supposed to think about it?’

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I don’t give a damn!’

  ‘Perhaps I do.’

  She sat down on the end of the bed. Her voice dropped.

  ‘I meant that, you know – all of it! I suppose you haven’t been here all this week without tumbling to it that Jack bores me stiff? Well, you don’t. We could have a good time together, you know. I like travelling – going places. We’d get on like a house on fire if you’d only let yourself go. And you needn’t bother about Jack – all he really wants is what he calls a quiet life. But I haven’t got any use for being poor. If I swear you were with me on Tuesday night it’ll clear you, but Jack will probably divorce me – and I should have to reckon on that. If I don’t do it, you’ll probably hang, and it would be up to you to see I didn’t suffer for saving your neck, wouldn’t it? We could go abroad till it all blew over – travel and have a good time.’

  Oh, they could travel, could they? He found his thought straying to some of the places to which he might conduct Ella Harrison and dump her. There was an Asian desert scourged by Polar winds. There were leech-infested swamps. There was a tribe of head-hunters. He said in a perfectly civilized voice,

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing doing, Ella. You see, if it hadn’t been for Mrs Graham’s death Althea and I would be married by now.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  AS HAS ALREADY been said, the Miss Pimms were in the habit of spreading their net as widely as possible. Even if they caught the same bus down into the High Street and took the same bus back, they would after alighting each take her separate way, dividing the errands between them and neglecting no chance of conversation. Lily, who was the middle Miss Pimm, was as a rule the least enterprising and successful of the three. She had neither Miss Mabel’s keen nose for a scandal nor Nettie’s passionate and persistent attention to detail. Her only gift was, in fact, one which seldom survives the impact of education. She could reproduce word for word a conversation which she had overheard, or a communication which had been made to her. It is to this faculty that we owe the great traditional tales and ballads which have been handed down by word of mouth through countless generations. Most literates have lost it, most children possess it. Miss Lily Pimm, distressingly impervious to the efforts of the excellent Miss Sanders, their one-time governess, had retained it. She entered a greengrocer’s shop, where she bought apples and a cauliflower. She met the youngest Miss Ashington and inquired solicitously after her mother, to which Louisa replied that she was very well, thank you. She seemed in a hurry to get away, so Miss Lily let her go, a thing which neither of her sisters would have done. Mabel’s louder voice and dominant manner would have compelled a more satisfying answer, Nettie’s bright darting questions would have extracted one, but Lily Pimm, though quite as well aware that Mrs Ashington was now practically off her head, could manage nothing better in the way of delaying tactics than a word and a smile which had no effect at all.

  She bought soap in a packet at a grocery store, and toilet soap from the old-fashioned chemist’s shop at which her parents had always dealt. She met Mrs William Thorpe who wanted to find homes for three female kittens of uncertain looks and ancestry, Miss Brazier who was earnestly trying to collect enough money to provide somebody’s eleventh child with a school outfit, and old Mr Crawley who was telling everyone he met what his newspaper had that morning told him about foreign affairs. Since this was not the sort of gossip which interested the Pimm family, she got away from him as soon as she could and went to stand in the fish queue, where she was overtaken by a horrid uncertainty as to whether Mabel had told her to get fresh haddock or finnan. If she had been listening at the time she would have remembered, but that was the trouble – she had allowed her thoughts to wander, and if she bought the wrong sort Mabel wouldn’t be pleased.

  And then, there in the fish queue, a bare-headed woman in a shabby coat said to the woman in front of her, ‘I don’t rightly know what to do about it, and that’s a fact.’ The other woman had on slacks and a headscarf and she was smoking a cigarette. She said, ‘Fancy that, Mrs Traill!’

  Lily Pimm’s memory began to record what they were saying. By the time she had reached the head of the queue and bought fresh haddock and got half way to the bus stop and then remembered that Mabel really had said finnan and gone back and changed it, Mabel and Nettie were waiting for her and not too pleased about it. Each had already asked the other more than once how on earth Lily managed to take so much longer over her shopping than they did. Her arrival almost at a run and with flushed cheeks did nothing to placate them. If they had missed the bus it would have meant another half hour’s wait.

  Fortunately they had not missed the bus. All the way up the hill Lily Pimm sat hugging herself with pleasure. What she had got to tell her sisters as soon as they got home really was news, and the woman in the fish shop had been able to give her Mrs Traill’s address. She hoped Mabel would realize how clever it was of her to have thought of getting it. Mabel and Nettie always treated her as if they didn’t think she was clever at all. Everyone always treated her like that, but this time she had been very clever indeed, and they would have to admit it.

  She didn’t say anything as long as they were on the bus, just sat there and hugged herself. They got off at the end of Warren Crescent as they always did, but she hadn’t a chance of beginning about the fish queue then, because Nettie was telling Mabel about seeing Mrs Stock at the butcher’s. ‘And do you know, the meat she was getting was the very cheapest they had – and if she meant to make it do the four of them for even one day, no wonder they always looked half starved!’

  Lily offered the suggestion that there might have been something left over from the Sunday joint, to which Nettie replied, ‘Rubbish!’ but without any rancour, and went on talking about the Stocks. Lily had to wait until they were inside their own hall door before she got a chance to say,

  ‘I heard the most dreadful thing in the fish queue.’

  ‘About Mr Browning breaking his leg? I always did say he would have an accident if he went on climbing up ladders at his age!’

  Lily shook her head.

  ‘Oh, no, it was something much worse than that – something about Mrs Graham being murdered – something dreadful!’

  Mabel opened the drawing-room door and beckoned the others in. As she shut it behind them she said in a cautionary tone,

  ‘Doris Wills listens! I’ve always been sure she did. If she wasn’t such a good worker…’ She broke off and came directly to the point. ‘What did you hear in the fish queue?’

  This was Lily’s moment of triumph. They were both waiting for her to speak – listening with all their ears. She felt warm and pleased like a purring cat.

  ‘Well, there was a woman in front of me. I know her by sight, but I didn’t know her name until the other woman said it. She is quite an elderly person and rather untidy. She had a very shabby old coat on with a worn place on the elbow. She was talking to the woman in front of her, that Mrs Rigg who goes about everywhere in trousers and never has a cigarette out of her mouth. The first thing I heard, Mrs Traill was saying, “I don’t rightly know what to do about it and that’s a fact,” and Mrs Rigg said, “Fancy that!” Mrs Traill sounded quite cross. She said “No fancy about it, it’s what I heard – I know that! What I don’t know is what I ought to do, and when I asked my husband all he could say was not to let myself get drawn in to things that weren’t any business of mine.” That Mrs Rigg laughed – she’s got a silly sort of laugh, like a child that’s showing off – and she said, “That’s all men ever do say, isn’t it – keep your own side of the fence – don’t get mixed up in things – mind your own business! And what I say is you might as well be dead!” Mrs Traill said, “Yes, you might.” And then she dropped her voice right down and I shouldn’t have heard what she said only for leaning forward as far as I could without touching her and then it was all I could do, but
I heard her say, “I just can’t get it out of my mind, Mrs Rigg, and that’s the fact. First thing in the morning and last thing at night it comes back to me, that poor thing calling out like she did, and me hearing her and not doing anything about it.” ’

  Nettie Pimm said, ‘Oh, Lily!’ her voice twittering. But Mabel said, ‘Go on!’

  Lily Pimm went on.

  ‘Mrs Rigg said, “Gosh! Whatever do you mean, Mrs Traill?” And Mrs Traill told her she was baby-sitting for that Mr and Mrs Nokes on the top of Hill Rise. She expected to be there until twelve o’clock because the Nokes were going to the cinema and supper with a friend afterwards. But it seems Mrs Nokes had a headache coming on, so they cried off the supper and came along home. There wasn’t anything for Mrs Traill to stay for after that, so she got her money and came away down Hill Rise. It was twenty past eleven when she came out of the front door, because she looked at the clock in the hall and made out she would catch the bus at the corner of Belview Road. But just as she came to where the path runs along by the Grahams’ garden she heard someone call out from the other side of the hedge.’

  Lily Pimm looked first at one of her sisters and then at the other. She looked first at Mabel, because Mabel was the eldest and she always came first in everything. Mabel’s bony nose jutted out from her long thin face, her eyes were avid and her mouth was tight. She looked at Nettie, the smallest and youngest of the three. Nettie’s head was cocked a little on one side and her eyes were bright, like a bird that is just about to peck at a worm. For once in a way it was Lily who had something worth the telling, and she couldn’t tell it fast enough to please them. They urged her, and she went on.

  ‘Mrs Traill said it was Mrs Graham she heard calling out, and then she stopped and said she didn’t know that she ought to say any more. Mrs Rigg said, “Oh, but you can’t stop here. Come on, Mrs Traill, be a sport!” and she went on in a kind of whisper and said what she heard was Mrs Graham calling out, “Nicholas Carey – how dare you!” ’

  Mabel Pimm repeated the name.

  ‘Nicholas Carey!’

  Nettie said ‘Oh!’ in a frightened voice. And then, ‘She didn’t say that right out in the fish queue!’

  Lily nodded. She was the plump one of the family. She had a round pale face and round pale eyes and a little button nose like a baby.

  ‘Yes, she did! And there wasn’t anyone to hear her except Mrs Rigg and me, because the next one beyond Mrs Rigg in the queue was old Mr Jackson, and he is as deaf as a post. And she wouldn’t know I was listening, because I don’t think she as much as knew I was there, and she was whispering, so she wouldn’t think anyone would hear what she said, only you know how quick I am that way. And what she said was that she heard Mrs Graham calling out and saying, “Nicholas Carey – how dare you!” Mrs Rigg gave a sort of scream and said, “Oh, she never!” And Mrs Traill said, “Oh yes, she did, poor thing, and I can’t get it out of my mind do what I will. It gave me a real start, and what with that and hearing the bus coming, I took and ran and caught it by the skin of my teeth. But I just can’t get it off my mind. That poor thing calling out and me only the other side of the hedge! And when I seen in the paper what’s happened to her it come over me if I’d called out something it might have saved her.” And Mrs Rigg said, talking back over her shoulder, “More likely he’d have murdered you too, Mrs Traill.” And just then Mr Jackson had got to being served by the young man in the shop, and the woman came over to Mrs Rigg, so she started buying kippers and Mrs Traill didn’t talk to her any more. She waited outside the shop though, and they went away together, but I don’t suppose there was anything much more for Mrs Traill to tell.’

  Her voice fell to a deprecating tone. She didn’t see how she could have managed to find out any more than she had. She was used to being blamed by Mabel and Nettie when things went wrong, but in this case she really had felt sure of being praised. She looked at Nettie, and Nettie shook her head. She looked at Mabel, and Mabel said in her firmest voice,

  ‘You should have followed them.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  IT WAS EARLY the same afternoon that Miss Silver looked across the second of the vests she was knitting for Dorothy Silver’s little Tina and said,

  ‘My dear, I think you will just have to make it a duty to eat.’

  Her mind had been on her knitting and upon the pretty fair-haired child who was to wear the vest. Pinks vary a good deal, but this was really a particularly pleasing shade. She looked up from it now and saw Althea Graham in profile. She had a book upon her knee, but it was a long time since she had turned a page. Her face was colourless and there were dark smudges under her eyes. The eyes themselves looked as if she had not slept. In reply to Miss Silver’s remark she said in a soft, indifferent voice,

  ‘Oh, I’m all right, thank you.’

  The needles clicked briskly.

  ‘It is possible to starve for quite a long time without being aware that one is doing so. The mind is occupied, food has become distasteful, there is a complete loss of appetite. It all happens unnoticeably. And then suddenly when one is called upon to confront an emergency one finds oneself at a loss. The mind is not active, and the judgement not to be depended upon. I should like you to promise me that you will eat an egg with your tea.’

  Althea looked up with the ghost of a smile.

  ‘How very, very kind you are. But you needn’t worry about me – I am really very strong.’

  Miss Silver produced what Frank Abbott would have acclaimed as one of her Moralities.

  ‘Strength is given to us when we are trying to do what is right, but we are better able to avail ourselves of it if we do not neglect a proper allowance of food and sleep. You have eaten nothing all day. If I make a nice cup of tea, will you not please me by drinking it – perhaps with a beaten-up egg?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t. I don’t like them raw.’

  Miss Silver beamed.

  ‘Then I will boil it lightly and cut a little thin bread and butter. I assure you that you will feel a great deal better when you have taken it.’

  All at once it had become too much trouble to go on saying no. Miss Silver produced the egg, the tea, the thin bread and butter with the minimum of fuss, and when Althea had taken the first mouthful she found herself suddenly hungry. She ate the egg, the bread and butter, and some cold milk pudding pleasantly sprinkled with brown sugar, and whilst she ate Miss Silver conversed in a manner which somehow managed to be soothing without being dull. She seemed to be interested about Grove Hill.

  ‘It is not of any very great age as a suburb, I believe?’

  ‘No, I don’t think it is.’

  ‘These houses would be – about how old?’

  ‘I think they began to be built about 1890. This is one of the older ones.’

  ‘Before 1890?’

  ‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean that. But I think it was the first house built on what used to be called the Grove Hill Estate. Grove Hill House just above here, where the Harrisons are, was really an old country house. It was built somewhere about 1750. Our gazebo was in the grounds. It must have had a lovely view before everything was so built over. The house was wrecked and partly burned down in the Gordon Riots. It belonged to a Mr Warren who was a Roman Catholic, and the rioters were looting and burning all the Catholic houses. Mr Warren was a wealthy brewer. He had a fine collection of pictures and a lot of beautiful furniture and things. He was warned about the rioters but he wouldn’t go away. He tried to save what he could, but I think nearly everything was burned, and some of the masonry fell in on him and killed him. Nicky’s great-greatgrandfather bought the estate from Mr Warren’s grand-daughters.’

  Miss Silver was gazing at her with rapt attention.

  ‘How extremely interesting! Mob violence is a terrible thing. We now hardly know what it is in this country. Charles Dickens has left a very vivid picture of the Gordon Riots in his novel Barnaby Rudge. It is extraordinary to reflect that the rioters attacked the Bank of England, burned d
own the prison of Newgate, and destroyed and pillaged at will, practically without a hand being raised to stop them.’

  As she spoke she noticed with approbation that Althea was making good progress with the egg and bread and butter. Having contributed a Morality on the subject of religious intolerance, she said,

  ‘This is all most interesting. Pray continue.’

  ‘I don’t think there is very much more to tell. My father liked going into the history of the place. There are some books of his up in the attic – there is one about Grove Hill. I think the High Street and the shops and the railway station were built somewhere between 1850 and the end of the century. The houses came farther and farther up the hill. Nicky’s great-grandfather began to sell some of the land on the Grove Hill Estate. His grandfather sold everything except Grove Hill House and the garden round it. Nicky used to spend his holidays there with his aunt, Miss Lester. While he was away in the East she sold the house to the Harrisons who are cousins and went to live with a sister in Devonshire. That is why Nicky came here – the attic was full of his things and he had to sort them. It is Jack Harrison who is the cousin, not Ella.’

  She spoke in a gentle, colourless manner, as if she were reciting a lesson so often repeated as to have lost its meaning. She had finished the bread and butter, and in the same almost mechanical manner she was now helping herself to the cold rice pudding. Miss Silver noticed the improvement in her colour with satisfaction and continued to talk upon such harmless and improving topics as the tendency of towns to expand and absorb the villages of an earlier day, with especial reference to London.