Ladies’ Bane

by Patricia Wentworth

  He nodded.

  “I’ve found where she keeps her stuff. There are some hiding-places in this old house, you know. I daren’t cut it off all at once, but I’m managing so that the amount is being diminished gradually. The tablets she’s taking now are not what she thinks they are. I’m in touch with Whichcote about it, and he has been very helpful. I’m glad you notice the difference.”

  She stooped forward over the fire as if to warm her hands, and said as easily as she could,

  “I suppose Miss Delauny won’t be staying on here now?”

  She was not looking at him, but she was aware of his being startled.

  “Jacqueline! Why? Has she said anything to you? She doesn’t want to leave, does she?” Ione stood up and turned round. He was looking at her with a troubled and distressed expression.

  “Well, Geoffrey, she was Margot’s governess, and her job has come to an end.”

  He said very warmly indeed,

  “I can’t agree about that, you know. Allegra needs her just as much as Margot did, and she will have more time to give to her now. Don’t you see, it’s exactly what we need-someone to give Allegra the constant care and companionship she ought to have, and to make sure that she doesn’t get hold of any more of that wretched stuff.” Ione was reminded, and disagreeably reminded, of something she could not immediately place. And then she did place it. Geoffrey was speaking of Jacqueline Delauny and the benefits her companionship would confer upon Allegra in the same tone and with very much the same enthusiasm as he had brought to his panegyrics on the Ladies’ House. The impression was the more startling because ever since Margot’s death he had been silent and very evidently under the influence of shock. There had been no trace of his former good humour and easily stirred enthusiasms until now, when Jacqueline Delauny called them up. Ione refused the implication. Geoffrey was like that-easily cast down, and as easily roused by some fresh project. He was pleased at Allegra’s improvement, and regarded Miss Delauny as an adjunct to a more complete recovery. She said,

  “I certainly don’t think Allegra ought to be alone. All that sitting about is bad for her. She needs to do things. I was thinking we might go into Wraydon this morning and do a little shopping.”

  His face clouded.

  “Well, I don’t know-I have a good deal of business to get through this morning-I couldn’t drive you-” Ione laughed.

  “That is just what I mean, Geoffrey. Allegra needs to do things for herself, not to have them done for her all the time. There isn’t the slightest necessity for you to drive her. We shall take the bus from the church, and the whole thing will do her a lot of good. You want to get rid of the cottonwool wrappings, you know. She wasn’t brought up like that any more than I was. And by the way, if she’s pleased and interested, we shall probably have lunch at the George.”

  She carried the day, but there was a certain undercurrent of disapproval, and in the end, to her disappointment, he announced that he would put his letters on one side and take them to Wraydon in the car.

  “You can come back in the bus if you want to, and I think that will be enough of an experiment for today.”

  When she and Allegra came down to get into the car Ione was surprised and not at all pleased to find that Jacqueline Delauny intended to accompany them. She had planned a little cosy shopping of trifles with Allegra-the kind of thing which may be used to recall expeditions which have been shared in the past. She definitely did not want a third person, and a stranger, to give Allegra a chance of slipping into one of her abstracted moods. The face which was so expressive upon the stage must have showed at least some trace of this feeling, for Miss Delauny made haste to say,

  “I won’t be in your way, Miss Muir. I have just the one place to go to, and Mr. Trent very kindly offered me the lift.”

  She got off at the station; and Ione and Allegra, where Cross Street turns into the High Street. It was a pleasant day with a hint of February softness in the air. There were actually a few snowdrops and a yellow crocus or two in the little sheltered gardens in Cross Street where half a dozen old cottages have managed to linger on. Due for demolition before the war, the housing shortage has for the moment deferred their doom. They have no amenities, but they are easy on the eye, and the snowdrops were coming out bravely. Allegra actually noticed them, and stood for a moment to look.

  The High Street is like a great many other High Streets. There are the large shops which have swallowed their neighbours, and the little ones not yet quite squeezed to death. The elegances are advertised by the plate-glass window where a single hat like some exotic flower is displayed against a length of shimmering brocade. The exiguous purse is attracted by the scarlet and gold front of a famous emporium. There is the usual conglomeration of prams on the pavement, bicycles propped at the kerb, and motor-buses pursuing their rather dashing way along the crowded street.

  The principal shop in the High Street is Kenlow’s. From small beginnings it has expanded into one of those glittering glass-fronted affairs with a department for almost everything you can think of. Everything for the bride, everything for the baby, everything for the schoolboy, the schoolgirl, the home-it does not matter what your need may be, Kenlow’s can always, or nearly always, supply it.

  Ione was thinking of a small flat in London. The idea was to interest Allegra in materials for curtains. Mentally reflecting that she could always give the stuff away if she felt that she couldn’t bear it, she was preparing for a certain amount of self-immolation. A good deal to her surprise, she found that this would not be necessary. Kenlow’s really had lovely materials, and at not unreasonable prices. Allegra began to sit up and take notice. She pulled off a glove to finger the stuffs, asked to have them held up to the light, and was so much the old Allegra that Ione’s heart was warmed.

  “And you know, darling,” Allegra was saying, “I wouldn’t decide anything in a hurry if I were you. Are you sure of the flat?”

  “Yes. It is Louisa Blunt’s. She can’t afford to stay on, but she isn’t in a hurry to get out, so I don’t have to make up my mind till I want to.”

  Allegra was quite animated.

  “Then I’ll tell you what you must do! Go up to town and measure everything properly. They will give you patterns of these lovely stuffs, and you can look at them on the spot, which is always a great help, and then come back and give your order.” She turned to the salesman. “You would let us have the patterns, wouldn’t you?”

  Kenlow’s was delighted to do anything that would please the customer.

  It was surprising how much time had already passed. It was a quarter to one, and the idea of lunch at the George was pleasant.

  As they emerged upon the pavement, Allegra said,

  “I’m rather surprised that Jacqueline wanted to come with us.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, she’s in a fuss you know-about those things of Margot’s that have gone missing.” Her tone was the usual dreamy one. It gave the impression that she really cared nothing at all for what she said.

  “Ally, I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

  Allegra looked at her vaguely.

  “Oh-didn’t I tell you? That tiresome girl used to keep some kind of a diary-just now and then, you know, when the fancy took her. I saw a bit of it once, and it might have been written by a child of eight-frightful spelling mistakes and all that. She was writing in it that very afternoon before she went out and fell over the quarry, and Jackie is worried because she doesn’t know what she may have put in it.” Ione said a little contemptuously,

  “Why, what could she have put?”

  Allegra could not have looked less interested. Her voice was indifference itself.

  “Oh, I don’t know. She was very angry with Geoffrey because he took away her rope-she might have put down something frightful about him.” She gave Ione one of those odd sideways looks. “Or about me.”

  “What could she possibly say about you, Ally?”

 
Allegra said angrily,

  “She found something I had put away to keep it safe. She was a dreadful child. You don’t know how glad I am that she is dead.”

  “I wouldn’t say that to anyone else, Ally.”

  Allegra flushed.

  “I’m not-I’m saying it to you! And I don’t want to go on talking about it anyhow. And I wouldn’t have said anything about it now if I hadn’t wondered why Jackie didn’t stay at home and go on having a good look for those torn-out pages. You see, she has got an idea that Margot may have hidden them in your room. She was awfully fond of going in there, you know, and of course it would be much easier to have a good look for them if you were out of the way.”

  It was things like this that brought it home to Ione how far from normal Allegra still was. She was surprised at her own anger-not against poor Ally, but at just the bare idea of Jacqueline Delauny searching her room. And for what? An abnormal girl’s scribblings. She said quickly,

  “You say these were just some torn-out pages at the end. But what about the rest of the diary? Has Geoffrey got it?”

  Allegra shook her head.

  “Oh, no, Jacqueline and Geoffrey burned it,” she said in a perfectly matter-of-fact kind of way.

  They walked on down the sloping pavement in silence.

  There is a four-cross-way at the bottom of the High Street which is the centre of all that is busiest and noisiest in Wraydon. A frightful clock-tower rears itself upon an island in the middle. It is supported by symbolic statues. Like most efforts of this kind, the less that is said about them the better. Fortunately, very few people ever notice them. They are too much taken up with getting safely across to the island, and from there to the opposite side of the four-cross-way.

  Allegra held Ione tightly by the arm.

  “It’s the worst crossing in the world-I really do think so. I can’t ever remember which way the traffic goes when the lights change.” Ione laughed.

  “Don’t bother! There’s getting to be quite a crowd. Nobody is going to run us down if we all keep together.”

  There really were more people on the island than it was intended to hold. Ione and Allegra, in the front rank, were not only squashed together but in some danger of being pushed off the kerb. But the lights were due to change at any moment, and they would get across. Thinking it over afterwards, Ione was to puzzle over just what the people behind could have seen. They would see that she and Allegra were being pressed together in the crowd, but would they be able to see that it was Allegra who was holding on to her, and not she to Allegra? That was the point which was to keep on coming back. She did not think that the people behind would have noticed Allegra’s clutch on her arm. She was so much smaller, and her hold was so low down. She did not think it would be seen. She did not think-but she was never to be sure.

  What happened was violently, bewilderingly sudden. The lights were due to change at any moment and a large double-decker bus came hurrying by. Just before it was level with them Ione felt the impact of a blow. It took her glancingly on the side to which Allegra clung, and it loosened her grip. Whilst Ione braced herself to avoid being dislodged from the kerb Allegra was sent staggering forward right in the path of the bus.

  CHAPTER 20

  Two women screamed, there was a man’s warning shout, the ranks of the crowd divided, and before Ione could recover her balance a tweed-covered arm shot out and a stick with a large open crook linked itself about Allegra’s outflung arm. It jerked her back. She took a stumbling step or two and went down. The lights changed, people crowded round. Ione sat on the edge of the kerb with Allegra’s head in her lap. The tweed-covered arm and the crooked stick had disappeared. Amongst the murmur of voices one reached her with a note of calm and kind authority.

  “Miss Muir, I have managed to procure a taxi. Miss Falconer informs me that the George is a good and quiet hotel. If we could take your sister there we could ascertain whether a doctor should be sent for, but I believe she has only fainted from the shock.”

  With feelings of deep gratitude Ione looked up and saw that she was being addressed by the little governessy person whom she knew to be Miss Falconer’s paying guest.

  With the assistance of the taxi driver and another man Allegra was lifted into the car. As they drove away, Ione felt no surprise at finding that Miss Silver was still with them. The name had come back to her, though she had not been able to recall it in the first shock. But she remembered it now, and Miss Falconer making the introduction in the village shop-“Miss Silver who is so kind as to come and stay with me at this bleak time of the year. It is nice to have a guest who is not afraid of the winter.”

  It came to Ione to wonder whether Miss Silver would be afraid of anything. With everybody else gasping, crowding, and exclaiming, she had not only presented an appearance of perfect calm but she had conjured up a taxi. With her fingers at Allegra’s wrist, she now gave a slight cough as if to command attention and said,

  “Her pulse is quite steady. I am sure there is no cause for alarm.”

  As she spoke, Allegra opened her eyes, gave a faint cry, and attempted to sit up.

  “Oh, what has happened?”

  Ione said,

  “Nothing. We were pushed off the kerb, and you had a fall.”

  “I can’t-remember. Am I-hurt?”

  “I don’t think so. Do you feel as if you were?”

  She did sit up this time, turning her head and moving her arms and legs. In the end she said in an almost disappointed tone.

  “No, I don’t seem to be, do I?” She looked down at her hands. “Oh, I’ve split my glove!”

  By the time they arrived at the George she only needed Ione’s arm to steady her, and was presently able to come into the dining-room for lunch.

  Warmly pressed to stay, Miss Silver did so. There were things she wished to say, and she hoped that she might have an opportunity of saying them. It came when the excellent lunch had been disposed of and they had withdrawn into a comfortable small sitting-room with the assurance from the manageress that no one would disturb them there. She even produced a rug to cover Allegra if she cared to rest upon the sofa. Ione tucked her up, and by the time the others had finished their coffee she was deeply asleep.

  Ione moved a little nearer to Miss Silver and dropped her voice.

  “What happened? Were you behind us? What did you see?”

  Miss Silver shook her head regretfully.

  “Very little, I am afraid. There was a very big man in front of me wearing one of those old-fashioned Inverness capes. It was he, of course, who saved your sister’s life. No one could have reached her in time, but he caught her arm with the crook of his stick.” Ione drew in her breath.

  “I didn’t see him,” she said-“only his arm-and the stick. He must have gone away.”

  Miss Silver said in a non-committal voice,

  “He may not have wanted to be thanked.”

  Ione said very earnestly indeed,

  “Did you see him? Could you describe him?”

  Miss Silver’s gaze dwelt on her with interest.

  “He was a big man, and of course the cape made him look bigger. I did not at that time see his face. But there are two small points to which I may perhaps draw your attention-”

  Ione broke in upon what promised to be a leisurely sentence.

  “Yes-what were they? Oh, please forgive me, but you don’t know how important it is!”

  Miss Silver smiled at her kindly. Youth is always in a hurry.

  “He had quite a broad Scottish accent,” she said.

  “You heard him speak?”

  “To a child who asked him the time. He replied, ‘Look up at the clock-tower, laddie.’ ”

  Ione felt as if she had been waiting for a door to open. Now, of all things in the world, she wanted it to stay shut. And it wouldn’t-not for her or for anyone else. She said in a lagging voice,

  “You said there were two things-what was the other?”

  “I was behind him
as we crossed the street to the island. He was humming to himself.”

  “Did you know the tune?”

  “Oh, yes, it was one of the better known of the Scottish airs. I knew it at once. It was ‘The Bluebells of Scotland.’ ”

  The door was opened with a vengeance. What lay beyond it was terrifying and incomprehensible. Every instinct spoke of danger, and connected that danger with the Professor. She knew him to be in Wraydon. She knew him to be The Great Prospero whose presence was advertised on every hoarding, and she could have no doubt that it was he who had crossed the road humming ”The Bluebells of Scotland” and had stood on the island behind her and Allegra. When she had heard him bargaining over a life in the fog, whose life was it? Was it Allegra’s life? But he had saved Allegra. It was the crook of his stick which had snatched her back from the impending death. Had he pushed her, and then had his moment of remorse? There are mysterious promptings under which we snatch back the not quite spoken word, recall the not quite accomplished act. Had Allegra been saved because of such a prompting? But that would mean that it was Allegra’s life she had heard bargained about in the fog. The clear, hard voice of common sense said, ”Nonsense!” And something else said, “Margot died.” She was what is called an encumbrance. Perhaps Allegra was an encumbrance too.

  She was aware of Miss Silver’s scrutiny. It was deep and searching. She felt as if a light was being turned upon her thoughts. It was a kind and beneficent light, but very keen. The curious thing was that she did not resent it. She said,

  “Miss Silver, I think I had better tell you that I know why you are here.”

  Miss Silver retained her kindly expression.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Josepha Bowden wrote and told me. She is an erratic, interfering person, and I was-angry.”

  “Very naturally so, Miss Muir.”

  “And then I met you. I could see that you were not at all the sort of person I expected. Josepha had really no right to butt in on a delicate family matter, but she is, and always has been, devoted to Allegra, and if you love anyone, it is hard to stand by and not know how it is with them. I don’t want you to think that Allegra’s family has been neglectful. The cousin who brought us up has had an illness, and I could not leave her. I had been out in the States, and returned to find her between life and death. Then, when she was better, every plan to see my sister fell through. There was always a perfectly reasonable excuse, but-we didn’t meet. I was getting desperate, when this visit of mine was proposed, and this time it actually came off. Apparently Josepha was getting desperate too, and when she is desperate she really can be very alarming. I am always expecting her to get mixed up in a libel action, or a slander case or something, because she doesn’t care what she says.”