The Silent Pool

by Patricia Wentworth

  ‘Gertie – you listened!’

  Meeson bridled.

  ‘Well, I’d got to get the door open, hadn’t I? And if you’re going to start and have secrets from me, what’s the good? Which is what I told that Meriel, and that’s when she had the cheek to call me what she did! Tale-tattling spy! I was clean ashamed of her, and so I told her! With Mr and Mrs Geoffrey coming out of their rooms, and Mr Ninian and Simmons down in the hall! What they could have thought!’

  When she had gone, Miss Silver spoke in a tone of extreme gravity.

  ‘Miss Ford, you came to me for advice, but when I offered it you were not disposed to give it any consideration. Since then there has been a tragedy. You have summoned me with great urgency, and I am here. After only a few hours in the house I am not in a position to offer a solution of the events which have occurred, or to dogmatize upon the situation, but I do feel obliged to offer you a warning. There are elements which may produce or precipitate some further explosion.’

  Adriana directed a hard stare upon her.

  ‘What elements?’

  ‘Do I need to point them out to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Miss Silver complied.

  ‘You have in your household three persons in a state of mental conflict. One of them displays considerable emotional instability. Miss Preston’s death occurred at some time between, shall we say, six o’clock and shortly after eight. You have told me that you saw her yourself certainly as late as six o’clock. You have also told me that Miss Meriel was in evidence until about the same time.’

  Adriana said in her deep voice,

  ‘You can put it as late as half past six for both of them. I spoke to Meriel myself at about twenty past, and poor Mabel – well, she was making herself heard, even in all that din. One of those high metallic voices.’

  ‘Then that narrows the time to something under an hour and a half. During that period Miss Preston and Miss Meriel were both down by the pool. We do not know what took either of them there, but it is certain that they were both within that enclosing hedge. There is, of course, no evidence to prove that Miss Meriel’s visit coincided with that of Miss Preston. It may have done so, or it may not. Whether it did, or whether it did not, she is now aware that her presence there is known, and other members of your household are also in possession of this fact.’

  ‘What other members?’

  ‘You heard what Meeson said – Mr and Mrs Geoffrey Ford were on the landing when Miss Meriel was accusing her of telling tales. The fact that a piece of stuff torn from her dress had been found caught up in the hedge which surrounds the pool was clearly mentioned. They must have heard what was said. Mr Ninian Rutherford and Simmons were in the hall below. They also must have heard. Meeson, in fact, intimated that they had done so. Do you suppose that by tomorrow there will be anyone under this roof who will not be aware of Miss Meriel’s presence at the pool? Or can you believe that the knowledge will remain confined to this household?’

  Adriana said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you wish me to tell you?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Miss Silver spoke in a quiet, level voice.

  ‘It is entirely possible that Miss Meriel’s visit to the pool had nothing to do with Miss Preston’s presence there, or with her death. She could have come and gone without seeing her. It is also possible that she did see Miss Preston and witnessed the fatality which caused her death. It is possible that she participated in it. It is possible that, herself unseen, she witnessed the participation of another person. I need not point out to you that, in such a case, she might be in a position of considerable danger.’

  Adriana said abruptly, ‘Isn’t all this a little intense?’

  Miss Silver gave a slight reproving cough.

  ‘There is sometimes such an intensification of the emotions of fear and resentment as to precipitate a tragic event.’

  Adriana said harshly. ‘I should like to say “Rubbish!” ’

  ‘But you cannot?’

  ‘Not quite. What do you want me to do?’

  Miss Silver said soberly,

  ‘Send Miss Meriel away on a visit and go away yourself. Let all this strain and emotion die down.’

  There was a silence between them. When it had lasted a long time Adriana said,

  ‘I don’t think I’m very good at running away.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A pleasant evening could hardly be expected. There was too much that was discordant, apprehensive, and resentful in the thoughts of the six people who sat round the dinner-table and presently adjourned to the drawing-room. With the grey velvet curtains drawn and the grey carpet under foot, it was rather like being enclosed in a fog. Not the kind which steals close and takes your breath, but the watching kind which stands a little way off and waits. Time was when Adriana could have warmed and lightened it, but not tonight. She wore grey velvet with some dark fur on it, and matched the room too nearly. Silent during dinner, she remained throughout the evening without words to waste, a book on her knee which she did not appear to be reading, though every now and then she turned a page. When spoken to she made some brief reply and went back again into an abstracted silence.

  Meriel had changed into what Miss Silver took to be the old green crape referred to slightingly by Adriana. In this artificial light it certainly had a dingy effect and did nothing to mitigate its wearer’s air of gloom. She herself was wearing the neat dark blue crêpe-de-chine which her niece Ethel Burkett had induced her to buy during that summer holiday a year ago. It had cost a great deal more than she was accustomed to pay, but Ethel had urged her, and Ethel had been right. ‘You really never will regret it, Auntie. Such good stuff and such good style. It will last you for years, and you will always feel and look well dressed.’ Brightened by the large gold locket which displayed a monogram of her parents’ initials in high relief and contained the treasured locks of their hair, she admitted to herself that it looked extremely well. She had sustained a gentle flow of conversation all through dinner. Now in the drawing-room she opened her knitting-bag and took out the large needles from which depended some three or four inches of the shawl designed for Dorothy Silver’s extra twin.

  She had placed herself next to Mrs Geoffrey, who sat with an embroidery frame on her lap and plied a mechanical needle. When the coffee came in she drank two cups of it without milk and went back to her embroidery again. Her old black dress hung upon her and was unrelieved by so much as a brooch or a string of pearls. Her feet were placed side by side in a pair of old frayed shoes with a single strap. They had rather large steel buckles, and they were very much worn. One of the buckles was loose and moved whenever she did. It was evidently not her habit to use make-up. It would in fact have done very little, if anything, to mitigate that look of fatigue and strain. But she could still talk, and continued to do so. The small trivial details of day-to-day housekeeping in the country flowed from her pale, pinched lips.

  ‘Of course we grow our own vegetables, or I do not know what we should do. But it is no economy. On the contrary, Geoffrey worked it out once – and was it half-a-crown or three shillings that you reckoned every cabbage came to? Which was it, Geoffrey?’

  Geoffrey Ford, on his feet by the coffee-tray, glanced over his shoulder and smiled.

  ‘My dear, I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.’

  Edna’s voice sharpened.

  ‘The cabbages – you worked it out once how much they cost – and of course the cauliflowers and all the other things as well. It was either half-a-crown or three-and-sixpence.’

  He laughed.

  ‘I don’t think I ever got as far as working it out to the last pea! Naturally, home-grown vegetables are an extravagance, but what a pleasant one.’ He set down his cup. ‘Well, I must write some letters.’

  Edna Ford put a stitch into the formal pattern of her embroidery and said,

  ‘Who are you writing to?’ Then, as he looked at her wi
th a momentary flash of something very near dislike, she added quickly, ‘I was just thinking that if it was to Cousin William, you had better give him my love.’

  ‘And what makes you think I should be writing to William Turvey?’

  Her hand shook.

  ‘I – just thought-’

  ‘It’s a bad habit.’

  He went out of the room and shut the door. Meriel laughed.

  ‘Geoffrey and his letters!’ she said, and left it at that. Edna began to talk about the price of fish.

  Janet and Ninian came in together. Their arrival distracted Meriel’s attention.

  ‘Your coffee will be cold. Where on earth have you been?’

  It was Ninian who answered her.

  ‘We went up to say good-night to Stella.’

  She said rudely, ‘She ought to be asleep!’

  ‘Oh, she was. So what?’ His voice was gay.

  Janet had coloured a little. She looked young and rather sweet in her brown frock with the little old-fashioned pearl brooch fastening it. She said,

  ‘Star rang up. She won’t be back tonight.’

  Meriel laughed.

  ‘Well, now you’re here, let’s do something! I’ll put on some records and we can dance.’

  Ninian looked at Adriana. She lifted her eyes to his for a moment and turned a page. Oh, well, if that was the way she wanted it- But if Meriel thought he was going to dance with her all the time and leave Janet odd man out, she could think again.

  Meriel had other ideas. She put down the record she had taken and turned to the door.

  ‘I’ll get Geoffrey back. It’s nonsense his going off to write letters. Besides, does anyone believe in them? I don’t! Or perhaps Esmé Trent gives him a hand!’

  She went out too quickly to see the displeased look which Adriana turned upon her.

  Edna neither moved nor spoke. Her hands rested upon her embroidery frame, and just for a moment she closed her eyes. When she opened them again Miss Silver was addressing her.

  ‘How fortunate it is for Stella that there is this class at the Vicarage. The little girls there are about her own age?’

  ‘Jenny is a little older, and Molly a little younger.’

  ‘There is a little boy too, is there not?’

  ‘Not at the Vicarage.’

  ‘Indeed? But he lives quite near?’

  ‘Quite near.’

  Adriana looked up from her book and said in her decided way,

  ‘He lives with his mother in the lodge of that big empty house nearly opposite the Vicarage. She is a widow – a Mrs Trent. She neglects the child, and we don’t care for her very much.’

  If this was meant to save Edna Ford it had the opposite effect. She spoke in a shaking voice.

  ‘She is a wicked woman – a horribly wicked woman. We ought not to have her in the house.’ Her pale eyes stared at Adriana. ‘You shouldn’t have asked her to your party. It was quite, quite wrong. She is an immoral woman.’

  Adriana shrugged.

  ‘My dear Edna, I’m not a censor of morals!’

  The extreme dryness of her tone reminded Miss Silver of some of the things which had been said about Adriana Ford nearly forty years ago. But Edna was beyond consideration or tact.

  ‘She’s bad through and through. She doesn’t care for anyone except herself. She doesn’t mind what she does so long as she gets what she wants.’

  Adriana threw her a contemptuous glance and said,

  ‘Really, Edna! Need you be quite such a fool?’

  Over by the gramophone cabinet at the other end of the room Ninian spoke under his breath.

  ‘It looks as if the peace of the morgue was being rudely disturbed. Do we keep out, or do we butt in?’

  Janet looked up at him gravely. With the light shining down into them her eyes were of exactly the same brown as her hair. He considered it an agreeable shade. He didn’t really hear all she said, because his thoughts were otherwise engaged, but he gathered that she was in favour of keeping out. The last words registered.

  ‘It really hasn’t got anything to do with us.’

  It was absurdly pleasant to have her bracketing them together like that. For a young man who had been taking things so very much for granted the pleasure was surprising. It even surprised himself. He had a horrid feeling that his colour had risen, and he found himself with nothing to say. Janet felt some satisfaction. It was years since she had seen Ninian out of countenance, and she found it heartening.

  Meriel took her way to the study and walked in. She found Geoffrey in the act of opening the glass door to the terrace and immediately enquired where he was going, to which his laconic reply was, ‘Out.’

  ‘I thought you were going to write letters!’

  He laughed angrily.

  ‘The well-known formula for getting away from the family circle! Have you never used it yourself?’

  She put on her tragic look.

  ‘I’ve got no one to write to.’

  ‘You might try a pen-friend.’

  ‘Geoffrey – how can you! I suppose you are going to see Esmé Trent?’

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘Only that I know why.’ As he turned away with a frown she repeated the words with emphasis. ‘I tell you, I know why.’

  He was arrested.

  ‘My dear girl, I haven’t got time for a scene.’

  ‘Haven’t you? What a pity! Wouldn’t you like to have a towering row, and then kiss and be friends?… No? Well then, you’d better run along to Esmé. You won’t forget to give her my love, will you, and tell her I saw you both down by the pool on Saturday evening?’

  His hand was on the door. He turned abruptly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What I said. You went behind the curtains and out through the window. Well, I followed you. It was frightfully hot, and I thought I would see what you were up to. Who knows, Edna might want to get rid of you some day, and a spot of evidence would come in useful! So I followed you, and you went through to the pool and into the summerhouse. And I tore my dress on the hedge as I came away. You knew that, didn’t you? You and Edna came out on the landing when I was telling Meeson off. She’d been tattling to Adriana about my dress, and you must have heard what I said – both of you! What about my telling Edna about the summerhouse? Or Adriana? Or both of them? It might be quite amusing, don’t you think? Or perhaps not so amusing – for you! People might think you had given poor old Mabel Preston a push in the dark!’

  ‘And why should I have done that?’ His voice was rough.

  She laughed.

  ‘Oh, darling, don’t be dull! You don’t know why you should have pushed her? Because she was wearing Adriana’s coat, and you thought she was Adriana. That’s why!’

  ‘What a foul thing to say!’

  She nodded.

  ‘You mean, what a foul thing to do. But clever, darling, clever – if you had chosen the right person to push! With Adriana gone, we would all have been in clover. You could have snapped your fingers at Edna and gone off with anyone you chose – couldn’t you?’

  He said in a sudden flat tone of bewilderment,

  ‘You’re mad! Or else you did it yourself – I don’t know which.’

  Back in the drawing-room Ninian found a gramophone record which was not jazz. Turned down low, it made a good excuse for staying at this end of the room and was no serious bar to conversation. After that moment of confusion he was himself again, and he had plenty to say. He always did have plenty to say to Janet. He had just had a very good idea for a book, and as a listener she was both inspired and inspiring. If she had no sparks of her own, she presented a surface from which he could produce them in showers. He was developing this theme, when the record came to an end and he had to find another one.

  ‘A nice soft sugary tune beneath the bough,

  A cup of Mrs Simmons’ coffee and thou

  Beside me listening in the wilderness,

  And wilderness were solitude enow! />
  ‘As Omar didn’t say. You really are the goods, you know, darling.’

  The brown eyes sparkled.

  ‘And what do I say to that?’

  ‘You show a proper appreciation, and you go on listening.’

  ‘I don’t say anything?’

  ‘Well, it would depend on what you wanted to say.’

  He kept on telling her about his idea.

  Adriana sat in her carved chair. It had cushions of a deep violet colour. In spite of Meeson’s careful make-up the grey of her dress and of the room appeared to have invaded her skin. Her book lay on her knee. The hand which turned an occasional page had a bloodless look. The quite discreet red of the nail-polish was too apparent. The places of her mind were full of images. They came up out of the past and went by in a wan light which took from them all the colour and brightness which they had had for her. Some of them had brought her a flaming joy, and some of them had brought her bitter pain, and she had taken the joy and the pain and fed her art with them. She looked at the images and let them go. They belonged to something she had left behind. What she had to consider was, not the past, but this present now. A verse from the Bible came into her mind and stayed there – ‘A man’s foes shall be they of his own household.’ She had had enemies in her time. She had gone on her way without heeding them. They had never done her any lasting harm because she had never really let them touch her. She had not stooped to fight back, she had not let herself hate. She had held her head high, and she had gone on her chosen way. But the foes of one’s household were too near to be ignored. They sat at your table, they compassed your path. They could slip death into your cup, they could set a snare for your feet or strike a blow in the dark.