Ladies’ Bane

by Patricia Wentworth

  Miss Silver agreed in her own way.

  “She is perhaps inclined to vehemence. When she first spoke to me I was doubtful about taking the case, but on reflection it seemed to me that I could do no possible harm by coming down here for a week. If I found that Miss Bowden’s fears were groundless, that Mrs. Trent was living happily with her husband, and that no undue pressure was being put upon her in the matter of the Ladies’ House, then Miss Bowden’s fears would be relieved, and I felt she would consider that I had earned my fee. If, on the other hand, there was anything wrong, it would be as well that someone who had Mrs. Trent’s interests at heart should know of it.”

  Ione was looking at her earnestly.

  “And what conclusion did you come to?”

  “I became aware that your sister was taking drugs.”

  The colour rushed into Ione’s face.

  “I know! But she is better, Miss Silver, she is really better. Someone must have persuaded her to take the stuff in the rush before the wedding. Geoffrey discovered it on their honeymoon. He has told me all about it. He took her to a French doctor, and he thought she was cured, but it has cropped up again. Today he told me that he had found out where she kept her supply, and that he and Doctor Whichcote were weaning her from it with diminishing doses. She is very, very much better than when I arrived-I couldn’t think what had happened to her then. Of course it explains why she wouldn’t meet me and everything.”

  Miss Silver said, “Yes.” Then she folded her hands in her lap and looked very directly at Ione.

  “Miss Muir, are you in your own mind quite satisfied about the death of Margot Trent?”

  CHAPTER 21

  There was a sense of tingling shock. The colour which had risen so brightly as she spoke of Allegra now faded out. She said in an uncertain voice,

  “What do you mean?”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “It could doubtless have been an accident. The girl was careless, and not possessed of any high order of reasoning. She has been described to me by a number of people, and I have been left with the impression that, so far as mental development went, she was an irresponsible child of seven or eight years old. Does this agree with your own judgment?”

  “Yes-I think so. But many children of seven or eight would have a great deal more sense. I don’t think she had any.”

  “That being the case, what do you suppose would have been her reaction if someone had suggested to her that she should take one of those old ropes and practice some kind of climbing trick upon the quarry face?”

  “Miss Silver!”

  “Would it have appealed to her?”

  “Of course it would. She would have jumped at it. Anyone who knew her would know that. But no one-no one would do such a thing! It is horrible to suggest it!”

  Miss Silver agreed mildly.

  “But I believe that it may have happened. I will tell you something which I had not meant to repeat. As you say, the suggestion is horrible. But Margot Trent is dead, and if it had not been for a most curious and unexpected interposition Mrs. Trent might have met with the same fate. It is not possible at the moment to relate these two matters more closely than that, but after what happened this morning I feel that I ought not to keep any information back from you.”

  “Yes-” said Ione.

  There was a sound in her voice which moved Miss Silver’s heart. She gave Miss Muir the smile with which she had been wont in the schoolroom to encourage a hesitant pupil. It had never yet failed of its effect, and it did not do so now. There was a sense of support, and a promise that difficulties would be overcome. She continued to look kindly in Ione’s direction as she said,

  “Old Humphreys, the gardener at the Ladies’ House, came down to see Miss Falconer last night. I was at the other end of the room, and I am sure now that he did not realize I was there, but of course that did not occur to me at the time. He had been forcing some hyacinths for her, and they were just coming into bloom-three lovely bowls with four bulbs in each. Miss Falconer was doing her best to be vexed and telling him he ought not to use Mr. Trent’s bulbs and the heat of his greenhouse to force things on for her, and Humphreys was being very downright about it. Of course everyone knows how devoted he is to Miss Falconer, but he really was quite rude.”

  “He probably remembers her when she was a little girl.”

  Miss Silver smiled, but retained a faint shade of disapproval in her voice.

  “Oh, yes, he has been fifty years in the place, and so was his father before him. He quite flared up and said, ‘You don’t need to think nothing about it, ma’am! What’s a few bulbses to Mr. Trent?’ And I put it to him straight when he come-Miss Falconer she’ll have her bulbses brought along same as she’s always had them. And he says, ‘That’ll be all right, Humphreys.’ ”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Ione.

  “Miss Falconer said she would thank him, and Humphreys said a very curious thing. You must remember that I was on the other side of the room in one of those deep armchairs, and I realize now that he could have had no idea that I was there. He said, ‘Mr. Trent don’t want to be thanked, ma’am, and least said soonest mended. I kept my mouth shut at that there inquest. Never did hold with lawyers asking a lot of questions, and none of their business.’ ”

  “What did he mean?”

  “I was very much startled, and so, I am sure, was Miss Falconer. She said at once what did he mean, and that if he had not told all he knew at the inquest, it was very wrong of him. He just stood there shaking his head and saying his tongue was his own and he didn’t hold with lawyers. Then he said there were some that were better out of the way, and Miss Falconer became very much distressed. I could see she was afraid the old man might have done something to the girl himself. I think Humphreys saw that too, because all of a sudden he changed his tone. ‘Now don’t you take on, ma’am,’ he said, ‘for there’s no call. I told the Crowner that mischeevious girl let fly a piece of cheek at me. Well, he never asked me what it was, did he? It weren’t for me to tell him if he didn’t ask, so I kept a still tongue. But I’m telling you, ma’am, because I don’t want you to think no such thing as I can see you’re a-thinking. I up and says to that girl, “There’s one of my ropes you’ve got under that coat of yours, for I can see the end a-dangling.” And she makes a face at me and calls out, “Geoffrey says I can have it,” and off with her, laughing fit to bust herself.’ ”

  Ione drew in her breath sharply.

  “Miss Silver, he couldn’t!”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “We do not know that he did. She had been caught taking something out of the gardener’s shed. Would it not be quite natural for her to say that she had authority from Mr. Trent?”

  “I don’t know. It would have been very awkward for Geoffrey if it had come out at the inquest.”

  Miss Silver agreed.

  “It would not have looked well. Miss Falconer was a good deal upset. She said yes, yes, she thought Humphreys had been quite right to hold his tongue. It was just the kind of thing a naughty girl might say, and most likely not true in the least, and she hoped he wouldn’t repeat it to anyone, because it would be very painful to Mr. Trent. And Humphreys said, ‘That’s just what I thought, ma’am,’ and he went away.”

  There was a long odd silence. Then Ione said,

  “Why did you tell me this?”

  “I think you know why, Miss Muir.”

  “Yes, I know why. But you-I don’t know why you should have thought it necessary. You see, there is something I haven’t told you.”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Yes, I must.”

  Miss Silver listened attentively to her story of being lost in the fog, and the conversation she had heard after her fall down the steps of an unknown house.

  “I could only hear one side of the conversation, because the person on the inner side of the door never got beyond a whisper. But the other one spoke quite loud. He said he was a very dependable perso
n and he had never failed anyone. He said his word was his bond. He had a strong Scottish accent and he rolled his r’s. And he had his foot in the door. He said he would take it out when he was ready, and not before. The person on the inside was in a hurry to get rid of him, and no wonder, but he just stood there and talked. He wasn’t drunk, but he had had as much whisky as was good for him, and this is what I heard him say. ‘If you think it’s reasonable to turn a man out in a fog like this you can just consider who’ll do your dirty work for you if I’m run over. And I haven’t said I’ll do it yet, but I’ll give it my careful consideration and let you know. But you’ll have to think again about the remuneration. I’ll not do it for any less than two thousand, and it’s my opinion I’d be a fool to do it for that. It’s my neck I’ll be risking, and I’ll not risk it for a penny less than two thousand pounds.’ And he went off up the road whistling ‘The Bluebells of Scotland.’ ”

  Miss Silver’s expression was one of alert attention.

  “What did you do?”

  “I followed him. I was quite lost, and he seemed to know where he was going.”

  She told about the meeting with Jim Severn, and how the three of them went into the empty house of which he had the key and sat on the stairs waiting for the fog to lift.

  “I am afraid I went to sleep with my head on Jim’s shoulder, but I did wake up once when the Scot was saying his name was Professor Robert MacPhail, and another time-at least I think it was another time-when he was arguing about the old problem of the mandarin in China. You know? Suppose you could benefit three-quarters of the human race by pressing a button and destroying this mandarin. Jim Severn was saying that the button-pusher would be wondering what he was going to get out of it himself, he wouldn’t be worrying about the rest of the human race. They were still arguing about it when I went to sleep again. And when I really did wake up the fog had gone, and so had the Professor. But on that Sunday when Margot was killed Jim and I were lunching here, and Jim ran into him in the coffee-room. He said Robert MacPhail was just his private name, but he was here professionally as Professor Regulus Mactavish or The Great Prospero.”

  Miss Silver said,

  “You interest me extremely. Miss Falconer and I came in to the matinee yesterday afternoon. He is an illusionist, and his act is a very clever one. I recognized him immediately when we were crossing the road to the island.”

  Ione leaned forward.

  “Miss Silver-did he push Allegra-could he have pushed her?”

  Miss Silver shook her head.

  “I cannot tell you whether he pushed her. He certainly could have done so. That roomy Inverness cape would hide the movement of an arm. But if he pushed your sister, why should he have saved her? Do you really believe that it was she whom he intended to push? Did you feel nothing yourself?”

  Miss Silver in her black cloth jacket and her second-best hat, one of those durable felts which survive the buffetings of many winters-her whole safe, kind governessy appearance, receded. They were a long way off, like something seen through a diminishing glass. The worn, yellowish fur tippet discarded because of the warmth of the room and hanging over an arm of Miss Silver’s chair, the strong black woollen gloves neatly rolled up in Miss Silver’s lap, the shabby handbag which had seen so much useful service-these were all present in miniature at the end of a constantly lengthening vista. Everything shook and was unstable.

  Miss Silver’s small, firm hand came out and took her own.

  “Just put your head down, my dear. You will be all right in a moment.”

  Ione did as she was told. Everything was coming back into its place. She said,

  “I’m all right now. It was just-a shock. You asked me if I did not feel anything myself. And of course I did. I felt a kind of glancing blow down my left side. We were being pressed from behind, and I was afraid we might be forced off the island on to the roadway, so I took a step to the right and got hold of the foot of one of those statues. If I hadn’t-”

  Miss Silver said gravely,

  “That blow would have struck you between the shoulders.”

  The silence settled. It was a long time before Ione could bring herself to say,

  “He meant to push me?”

  “If you had not moved, it was you who would have been pushed.”

  “I see-”

  “Miss Muir, will you tell me something?”

  “What is it?”

  “Miss Bowden informed me that both you and your sister have money.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then in the event of your death-”

  “The money would go to Allegra.”

  “And in the event of Mrs. Trent’s death?”

  “Her share would come to me.”

  “Then Mr. Trent would have no possible motive for desiring his wife’s death.”

  “Of course not-Miss Silver!”

  Miss Silver said equably,

  “There would be no motive for Mrs. Trent’s death. There was a motive for the death of that poor girl Margot. She had a good deal of money, had she not, and it passes to Mr. Trent. In your own case there would also be a motive. You have a considerable fortune, and it would pass to your sister.”

  Ione’s pallor was quite unbroken. Her eyes had a wide, dark stare. She said only just above her breath,

  “No-no-it’s too horrible-”

  CHAPTER 22

  Geoffrey Trent was writing letters in his study. He frowned over them and drove his pen hard. A letter to his cousin’s solicitor about probate. A letter to Margot’s old nurse, a silly, fond old woman to whom she was still the healthy bouncing baby of so many years ago. A letter to Iris Morley who had practically written to congratulate him. He had had a passing affair with her, and his gorge rose at it. One of those women who look as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths and go about distilling poison. He would have liked to tell her what he thought of her now, but it wasn’t safe to rouse that deadly tongue. As he signed his name he became aware of Flaxman at his elbow with the coffee-tray.

  “And if you have a moment to spare, sir-”

  When anyone said that, it generally meant something fairly unpleasant-a domestic quarrel, or an intention of giving notice. His heart misgave him. Mrs. Flaxman was a very good cook, and Flaxman a very efficient butler. Their wages were high, but everything ran on oiled wheels. He braced himself to hear that Mrs. Flaxman was feeling unsettled-“after the young lady’s death, sir”-and was relieved to find the conversation opening in quite a different though equally time-honoured manner.

  “I was wondering, sir, if you would consider the question of a rise for Mrs. Flaxman and myself.”

  He had set down the tray and come round to the far side of the table, where he stood in a respectful attitude, his slim figure very neat in the grey linen house-coat, his rather sharp features darkened and thrown into relief by the light from the window behind him.

  Geoffrey said, “Well-” in a tone which he contrived to make as doubtful as possible. They had been with him for the best part of two years, and they had been more than satisfactory. He supposed he would have to give them their rise, or they would be wanting to go elsewhere, but he had no intention of making things too easy, so he put all the doubt he could into his voice,

  “Well, I don’t know, Flaxman-”

  Flaxman went over to the fire and began to make it up.

  “After two years we thought you would consider it. The young lady’s death has been a good bit of a shock to Mrs. Flaxman. Not that either of us is wishful to leave, having your interests at heart the way we have.”

  “That is very nice of you,” said Geoffrey in a half-absent tone.

  “Not at all, sir. Just the motto we’ve always gone on-the employer’s interests first.”

  Geoffrey came back with a start. Was there, or was there not, a meaning note in Flaxman’s voice? He thought there was, and found himself saying sharply,

  “What on earth do you mean, man?”

  Flaxman turned rou
nd from the fire, dusting his hands. He kept his eyes down.

  “The employer’s interests come first,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for me making that my motto, there were things I could have stood up and said at the inquest.”

  “What things? Speak up man!”

  “Well, sir, I’m saying to you what I’m not thinking of saying to anyone else. You’re a gentleman, and you’ll know how to treat us right. The Sunday afternoon Miss Margot had that fall-” He paused, not hesitating, but as if to give time for this preliminary to sink in.

  Geoffrey Trent, very nearly facing the light from the window, was, and perhaps felt himself to be, at a disadvantage. He drove his chair back and turned it so that he now sat sideways to the table. He leaned an elbow upon it and screened that side of his face with his hand. The movements were natural enough, the position he now assumed an easier one.

  Flaxman stood where he was upon the hearth. When Geoffrey said, “Well?” he continued in his previous respectful strain.

  “On the Sunday when Miss Margot had that fall, sir, you will perhaps remember that the morning had been very wet.”

  Geoffrey Trent had certainly not forgotten. He said,

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Flaxman and myself, we were catching our bus-two forty-five from the church. Mrs. Flaxman, she don’t like to be hurried, and we were there by the half hour. And right about then the rain began to clear off, and there she was, with her thick mackintosh over her coat and the sun coming out as hot as you please. Mrs. Flaxman, she says to me she can’t drag those two heavy coats all around Wraydon and I’d have time to nip up to the house and bring her down her light fawn coat instead. She feels the heat, sir, being so stout. Well, I says, ‘I don’t want to miss the bus,’ and we were having what you might call a bit of an argument about it, when Ted Boulter comes by on his bicycle, and he says the bus has had a hold-up at West Eldon and he’s got a message to say it’d be all of three o’clock before they got to Bleake. Well, that meant I had plenty of time, so I took Mrs. Flaxman’s things up to the house and got her the coat she wanted. Very troublesome things ladies’ clothes, if I may say so. I was coming out by the back way, when Miss Margot come running past me. She was laughing to herself, and I thought she was up to something. She called out, ‘I thought you’d gone, Fred. Don’t tell anyone you saw me!’ Well, I looked at my watch, and it wanted a minute or two of the quarter, so I’d a quarter of an hour in hand, and I thought I’d see what she was up to. She was off in the direction of Mr. Humphreys’ potting-shed. Well, I thought he would be wild if she got up to any of her mischief there. She must have known where to find the key, because she was inside when I come along. The church clock went the quarter, and she come out laughing and holding something up inside her raincoat. She didn’t see me, and I didn’t want to start anything that was going to make me late. I was just thinking it wouldn’t be anything that mattered, when Mr. Humphreys come along. He was in a fine taking, but no matter what he said it only made her laugh. I was just going, when he says, ‘That’s one of my ropes you’ve got there, and you’ve no business with it!’ and she makes a face and calls back. ‘Well then, Geoffrey said I could have it!’ And I didn’t wait to hear any more because of not running any risk with the bus.”