The Silent Pool

by Patricia Wentworth

  Adriana waved it at her.

  ‘Just take this down when you go, and hang it in the cloakroom. I’m giving it to Mabel, and Meriel has been throwing a fit of the sulks about it, so I thought the best thing was to put it downstairs and go on wearing it once or twice myself. Mabel can use it too if she wants to, and then she can just take it with her when she goes and there won’t be any fuss. Meriel is the end when she sets her mind on anything!!’

  Janet made her voice soft and coaxing.

  ‘She really does want it very badly.’

  Adriana gave a dry laugh.

  ‘Did she send you to ask me for it?’

  ‘Well, I said I wouldn’t-’

  Adriana tapped her on the cheek.

  ‘Don’t let people make use of you, or you’ll end up somewhere under foot. You can have no idea what Meriel is like when she wants something she can’t have.’

  ‘And she really can’t have the coat?’

  Adriana frowned.

  ‘No, she can’t, and I’ll tell you why. It’s much too marked, and I’ve worn it too much myself. I don’t choose to have people say I keep Meriel so short she has to wear my cast-off clothes. And they would, you know. Everyone within a ten-mile radius has seen me in that coat, and you must admit that it’s once-seen-never-forgotten – now, isn’t it?’

  As Janet turned to the door with the coat on her arm, Mabel Preston came in from the bedroom in a black and yellow cocktail dress which imparted a most unfortunate resemblance to a wasp. She had pulled her dry red hair into rather wild-looking puffs and she had been experimenting with Adriana’s rouge and lipstick. The result had to be seen to be believed, but it was obvious that she was extremely pleased with it. She came into the room with quite a good imitation of the mannequin’s glide.

  ‘There!’ she said. ‘How’s that? Pretty good, don’t you think? And nobody remembers black, so it will be all right if I wear it to your party tomorrow – won’t it, darling? And shan’t I feel smart! Quite new too! No one would think it had ever been worn – at least not unless you looked right into it, and nobody is going to do that.’

  Janet made her escape. She took the coat along to the nursery, and when she went to fetch Stella from the Vicarage she carried it downstairs with her and hung it in the cloakroom.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ninian stayed the night in town. He rang up at seven, demanded Janet on the nursery extension, and was rather lavish with the time.

  ‘Is the child in bed?… Good! I thought I had calculated rather neatly. Now listen! The linoleum is quite a pleasing shade – wear and tear negligible. And the curtains are a bit of all right. How good will you be at visualizing them from a description? Just turn on the imagination.’

  ‘Meriel told me this morning that I haven’t got any. I’m the fortunate possessor of a perfectly commonplace mind, with none of the perceptions which are such a burden to sensitive people.’

  She heard him laugh.

  ‘Never mind, I’ll come back tomorrow and protect you. Now do your best about the curtains. The bedroom is north-east, and the ones there are a nice creamy yellow with a pattern of hollyhocks. Calculated to give the illusion that the sun is shining even if it hasn’t let out a blink for days. Quite nice to wake up to, don’t you think?’

  ‘Ninian-’

  ‘Darling, don’t interrupt. You are supposed to be listening. I was rather taken with the living-room curtains. A pleasing shade of green, and lined, so they oughtn’t to fade. They really are a good colour – very restful to the eye. So I’ve taken the plunge and told Hemming we’ll have the lot. I hope you approve?’

  ‘Ninian-’

  ‘It will be your own fault if you don’t, because I wanted you to come up with me, and you could have managed quite easily. So when – or shall we say if – you wake up and hate the hollyhock curtains, you will just have to remind yourself that you rushed upon your doom.’

  ‘Ninian-’

  ‘Woman, let be! This is my show, and I want to talk. It is your part to listen – resign yourself to it! I have also said I will take over-’ He proceeded to waste time in enumerating things like a front door mat, a kitchen cupboard. ‘His aunt has things like that built in – superiority of Scottish houses! Also a rack for drying clothes, and two more or less fitted book-cases.’

  As he described all these things in minute detail with comments and interjections obviously designed to draw her fire, Janet considered that she would really be thwarting him better if she just held her tongue. There is nothing quite so damping as to let off fireworks with no one to scream or say ‘Oh!’ when they go up. He had been talking for quite a time before he checked to say,

  ‘Darling, you’re still there?’

  Janet said, ‘Just.’

  ‘I thought you might have swooned with ecstasy.’

  ‘At hearing you talk a lot of nonsense? There’s nothing so very new about that.’

  ‘Darling, that came out pure Scots.

  ‘ “The accents of the Doric tongue

  Upon her lightest murmur hung-”

  ‘I believe those beautiful lines to be original, but I won’t swear they were not written by Sir Walter Scott in one of his more exalted moments.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think it at all likely!’

  ‘Darling, I could listen to you all night, but the pips are mounting up. Oh, by the way, I see in the evening paper that the leading man in Star’s play has been rushed to hospital with a broken leg and the opening is put off. They’re going to fill in with a revival of something or other until he is all right again. Rather a knock for Star – she was building a good deal on this show. I wonder if she’ll come back.’

  ‘Won’t she be in the thing they are putting on?’

  ‘Oh, no, not her line – it’s a Josefa Clark play. Darling, this is a most expensive call. Good-night! Dream about me!’

  The house next day took on all the more trying features of the pre-party rush. Mrs Simmons displayed the temperament upon which great cooking rests as surely as do the other major forms of art. It is sad to reflect that the hand so light upon pastry and soufflé should drag so heavily upon the reins of office. There is a certain flush which when it reaches the forehead may be regarded as a danger signal. There is a tone in the voice at which the boldest of domestic helps hastens upon the errand assigned and does not dream of answering back. Simmons, a husband of many prudent years standing, knew better than to be what his wife would have stigmatized as ‘under foot’. He returned to his pantry, where he marshalled drinks and polished the cocktail glasses until they shone like crystal.

  It was left to Edna Ford to precipitate a storm which might otherwise have been averted. Constitutionally unable to let well alone, she came fretting into the kitchen at a delicate moment in the creation of the cheese straws which were Mrs Simmons’ pride. Undeterred by a portentous frown, she burst into fluttered speech.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Simmons, I hope you are not doing too much. Miss Ford was particularly anxious – I understood she had made it quite clear – those are cheese straws you are making, are they not?’

  In a voice that matched the frown Mrs Simmons said, ‘They are.’

  Edna pushed at a wisp of hair that had straggled down on to her cheek.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘I quite understood that Miss Ford had ordered all the savouries from Ledbury. I know she was most anxious you should not be overburdened.’

  Mrs Simmons’ fingers paused on the pastry knot she was twisting.

  ‘Bought cheese straws is what we’ve never had, not since I’ve been in this house, and if they come in, I tell you fair and square, Mrs Ford, that I go out! Now, if you don’t mind letting me go on with my work-’

  ‘Oh, no – no – of course not. I just came to see if there was anything I could do.’

  ‘Nothing except to let me get on, Mrs Ford, if you don’t mind.’

  Edna transferred her attentions to Mrs Bell who was doing the drawing-room, and succeeded in making her so ne
rvous that she broke a Dresden figure which had been the gift of an archduke in those distant days when there was still an Austrian Empire.

  Over her elevenses Mrs Bell bewailed the tragedy.

  ‘Enough to upset anyone’s nerves, her coming right up behind you and saying, “Oh, do be careful!” And I’m sure there isn’t anyone in the world carefuller with china than what I am. Why, I’ve got my great-grandmother’s tea-set that she had for a wedding present a hundred years ago this spring, and there isn’t a piece so much as chipped. And I’m still using a frying-pan what my grandmother had.’

  ‘Then it’s time you had a new one,’ said Mrs Simmons.

  Janet, asking Adriana whether she could be of any use, was advised to choose the lesser of two evils.

  ‘If you offer to help Meriel with the flowers, she’ll probably stab you with the gardening-scissors. If you don’t help her, the worst she can say is that no one ever gives her a hand. I should advise you to play for safety.’

  Janet looked unhappy.

  ‘Why is she like that?’

  Adriana shrugged.

  ‘Why is anyone like anything? You can pick and choose among the answers. It’s written in your forehead, or in your hand, or in the stars. Or someone thwarted you when you were in your cradle and it struck you crooked. I think I really prefer Shakespeare-

  ‘ “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

  But in ourselves that we are underlings.“

  ‘Of course, what’s wrong with Meriel is that I’ve never been able to lead her aside and tell her she is the romantically illegitimate offshoot of a royal house. If she tries me too high, I shall probably some day tell her what she really is!’

  Janet said, ‘Oh-’ on a caught breath because the door behind Adriana had swung open. Meriel stood there, her face white, her eyes wide and blazing. She came forward slowly, a hand at her throat, and did not speak.

  Adriana made an embarrassed movement.

  ‘Now, Meriel-’

  ‘Adriana?’

  ‘My dear, there’s really nothing to make a scene about. I don’t know what you think you heard.’

  Meriel’s voice came in a whisper.

  ‘You said if I tried you too high you would one day probably tell me what I really was! I ask you to tell me now!’

  Adriana put out a hand.

  ‘My dear, there is nothing much to tell. I have told you that often enough, but you don’t believe me because it doesn’t fit in with your romantic fancies.’

  ‘I demand that you should tell me the truth!’

  Adriana was making an unusual effort at control. She said,

  ‘We have had all this out before. You come of quite ordinary people. Your father and mother were dead, and I said I would look after you. Well, I have done it, haven’t I?’

  Meriel flared.

  ‘I don’t believe you! I don’t believe I come of ordinary people! I believe I’m your daughter, and you’ve never had the courage to own me! If you had, I might have respected you!’

  Adriana said in a quiet voice,

  ‘No, I am not your mother. If I had had a child I should have owned it. You must believe me when I tell you that.’

  ‘Well then, I don’t! You’re lying just to spite me!’ Her voice had risen to a scream. ‘I’ll never believe you – never – never – never!’ She ran out of the room and banged the door behind her.

  Adriana spoke in a voice of cold rage.

  ‘Her father was a Spanish muleteer. He stabbed her mother and himself. The baby was a pretty little black-eyed thing. I took it – and trouble enough with it.’

  Janet stood there, shocked and silent. After a minute Adriana reached out and touched her.

  ‘I’ve never told anyone. You won’t speak of it?’

  Janet said, ‘No.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Stella talked about the party all the way home from the Vicarage.

  ‘I can wear my new dress that Star got me just before she went away, it’s a sort of yellow. I like it because it hasn’t got frills. I hate frills. Miss Page has got a dress with frills – she’s going to wear it this evening. It makes her look all fluffy like a doll on a Christmas tree, only black. She put it on, and Mrs Lenton pinned up the hem, and she said, “Oh, Ellie, you look like a picture!” I think that was a silly thing to say – don’t you? Because there are all sorts of pictures, and some of them are ever so ugly.’

  Janet laughed.

  ‘Mrs Lenton meant that Miss Page looked nice.’

  Stella made a face.

  ‘I don’t like black dresses. I won’t wear one ever. I’ve told Star I won’t. I don’t know why Miss Page has one.’

  ‘Fair people look nice in black.’

  ‘Miss Page doesn’t. It makes her look like that pink dress I had which the colour all washed out of and Nanny said it would have been better if Star had tried a bit of the stuff first and washed it. Joan Cuttle says Miss Page has gone off something dreadfully.’

  ‘Stella, it isn’t very nice to repeat things about people.’

  ‘No – Star says so too. But Miss Page used to be much prettier and nicer than she is now. Jenny Lenton says she cries in the night. She told Mrs Lenton, and she put her and Molly into another room. They used to sleep with Miss Page, but they don’t any more because it kept them awake. Isn’t it nice it’s such a fine warm day? Jenny said you wouldn’t know it wasn’t summer, but I told her that’s silly because of the flowers. You don’t have dahlias and michaelmas daisies in the summer, do you?’

  By dint of encouraging these horticultural speculations it was possible to get home without any more embarrassing confidences on the subject of Ellie Page.

  It was indeed one of those early autumn days which are sometimes hotter than anything conceded by July. Edna Ford, under the necessity of having something to worry about, now concentrated upon the unseasonable temperature.

  ‘Adriana never makes proper lists of who has accepted and who has refused, but I believe she has asked about two hundred people, and if even half of them come the drawing-room will be unbearably hot, because she won’t have the windows open – at least I suppose she won’t. She always says she had enough draughts when she was on the stage and she means to be comfortable now. Only once the curtains are drawn, perhaps she wouldn’t notice if a window was opened behind them. I could ask Geoffrey to see about it. But of course if she did notice, it might make her very angry. You see, as soon as the lights are on inside, the curtains will have to be drawn. There is nothing she dislikes so much as being in a lighted room with the curtains open. It’s quite a thing with her. So really I think I shall have to speak to Geoffrey and see what he can do.’

  By a little after six the drawing-room was beginning to fill. The day was still warm, but it was clouding. Adriana stood to receive her guests, her head high, her pose gracious. Behind her the fine old fireplace was banked with flowers, and an antique carved chair stood ready to support her when she should feel in need of rest. She wore a grey dress of great elegance, with a diamond flower on her shoulder and three rows of exquisite pearls. As the light faded and the great chandeliers were turned on, her hair caught the glow and reflected it. The colour was certainly a work of art, as was the flawless tinting of her skin.

  Poor Mabel Preston came off a very bad second. Since her last visit she had reduced her straw-coloured locks to a messy imitation of Adriana’s deep copper-beech red, and she had been unwisely lavish with powder, rouge and lipstick. The black and yellow dress was a disaster. Ninian, penetrating the crowd and arriving by dint of perseverance at Janet’s side, gave one glance at her and murmured,

  ‘Queen wasp! They should all be destroyed quite early in the year.’

  ‘Ninian, she is pathetic.’

  He laughed.

  ‘She is enjoying herself like mad. You look very handsome, my sweet.’

  ‘Star didn’t think so. She said I was like a brown mouse in this dress.’

  ‘I like brown mic
e. Nice companionable little things.’

  Janet ignored this.

  ‘It’s useful, because no one remembers it,’ she said.

  He was looking across the crowd.

  ‘Hullo, Esmé Trent is very smart! I wonder whether Adriana asked her, or whether she gate-crashed.’

  ‘Why should she?’

  ‘Up-and-coming sort of girl – she might think it a joke.’

  ‘I mean, why shouldn’t Adriana ask her?’

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Dear Geoffrey might be led astray. Or dear Edna might have issued an ultimatum. Some day, you know, she’ll go right off the deep end, and Adriana will be bored stiff. Geoffrey amuses her, but she expects him to keep within bounds. What are the odds he slips into the garden with Esmé as soon as it’s dark enough to be safe?’

  It was later on, when Simmons had drawn the long grey velvet curtains and the dusk was deepening outside, that Janet was making her way back to the table at the end of the room with a tray in her hand. The cheese straws and small savouries she had been offering had run low, and she was coming back to renew the supply. The easiest way to get along was by the wall on the window side. The three recesses afforded elbow-room, and at any rate you could only be bumped from one direction.

  But just by the last of the windows she became hemmed in and could get no farther. A solid block of people was pressed against the table beyond her, all talking at the top of their voices and forming an impenetrable barrier. She was forced up against the curtain, the thick velvet touching her cheek, and beyond it from the window recess voices came to her.

  By some trick of acoustics these voices did not merge with the babel in the room. They were detached and clear. Ellie Page said, ‘Oh, Geoffrey darling!’ and Geoffrey Ford said, ‘My dear girl, do take care!’

  Janet went hot and cold. She couldn’t move away. She couldn’t even put her fingers in her ears because of the tray she was holding. If she coughed or shook the curtain, they would know that they had been overheard.

  Ellie said, ‘Couldn’t we slip out? I heard her asking you to open a window. No one would miss us.’