Still in that indifferent manner, Mark said, “The list is in the safe. I don’t think there’s an earthly chance that anything is missing. My uncle was always having the things out to look at-he liked handling them. We’ll have a valuer in if you want one, but he won’t find anything wrong. You’ll have to look somewhere else for your motive, and the police aren’t going to look any farther than me. If you ask me, they’ll arrest me just as soon as Harrison tells them the extent to which I benefit under my uncle’s will. I get about three quarters of everything, you know-Uncle James’ idea of supporting the family dynasty. That’s the sort of motive a policeman likes-plain straightforward murder for a sizable lump of cash. Just as soon as it occurs to them to ask Harrison about the terms of the will my number will be up. They’ll probably let me open the safe before they arrest me, but that’s about as much rope as I’ll get. It’s now half past twelve-Harrison is to be here at half past two. I’ve got about two hours. Any suggestions as to what I should do with them?”
Miss Silver chose to regard this as a pleasantry, though as a rule pleasantries are not delivered in so bitter a tone. She smiled and said,
“I think you might find it helpful to talk the matter over with Miss Pennington.”
Chapter 39
The next half hour was a busy one for Miss Silver. After spending ten minutes in the study with Colonel Bostock and Superintendent Vyner she returned to her bedroom and found it empty. Polly Parsons, having answered the bell, was asked some questions which resulted in heartfelt sobs and some interesting admissions. Having been bidden to dry her eyes, hold her tongue, and summon Louisa, she departed, still gulping and unfeignedly glad to get away.
Left alone in the sitting-room, Mark stood for some moments looking moodily at nothing. His inward vision was, however, obsessed with the picture presented in Miss Silver’s last words. If he was going to be arrested he had this next half hour in which to see Lydia again. After that the domestic business of lunch would intervene, and then the police would be coming back-if indeed they intended to go. Harrison would arrive, and at any time the balloon might be expected to go up.
Lydia was at Meadowcroft. Normally it took seven minutes to get there by the river path and the foot-bridge. He could cut the seven to five. He went out of the front door and down the steep cliff path at a run.
Meadowcroft stood among the fields on the farther side of the river-a converted farmhouse, mellow and comfortable. He had always considered it wasted on Frank and Irene, who had filled it with jangling modern furniture bought in suites.
He wasn’t thinking about furniture as he let himself in. If Lydia was not in the drawing-room, he would ring the bell and say he wanted to speak to her. Anyone was at liberty to think anything they pleased. He had to see her once more before he stopped being a free man and became the accused.
He walked through the hall without meeting anyone, opened the drawing-room door, and saw Dicky on the far side of the room with his hand on Lydia ’s shoulder and his head bent to kiss her. At any other time this would have halted him. It did not halt him now. He came in, shut the door behind him, and crossed to where they stood together in front of the fire.
Dicky said, “Hullo, Mark!” And then, “Well, I’ll be getting along.”
The words, and the manner in which they were said, went by as if they had not been spoken. As far as Mark was concerned they did not penetrate his consciousness at all. Lydia looked vague, smiled, said something which was just an indistinguishable murmur, and fell silent. Dicky went down the room and out.
As the door shut, Mark moved to the mantelpiece and leaned there, looking down into the fire. After the first moment when he had seen her face lifted for Dicky’s kiss he had not looked at Lydia. He had come to see her, but now that he was here he couldn’t look at her. There was too much to say between them, and now it would never be said. She would marry Dicky and be happy. The family had always planned it that way.
Lydia ’s voice broke in upon these cheerful thoughts.
“Mark-what’s the matter?”
He said without looking up, “I wanted to see you,” and then frowned desperately, because what was the good of saying that now? The impulse which had brought him here had expended the last of its energy as he spoke. It failed, and left him drained.
Lydia said,
“Darling, if you want to see me, it’s no good looking obstinately into the fire. You’ve got the direction wrong.”
He straightened up at that, looked down at her, and found her noticeably pale. In a stumbling sort of way he said,
“Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Pale.”
“Darling, my colour comes out of a box, you know. Makeup isn’t done before the funeral-at least, I gather, that’s the idea.”
“I see-” His tone was quite abstracted now.
“Mark, why did you come?”
“I think they are going to arrest me. I wanted to see you again.”
“Why should they arrest you?”
“I told you. I went back. I left a pocket diary on the study table-the one Aunt Grace gave me. Someone recognized it. I was with him till half past eleven, and he was dead before twelve. I come into most of what he’d got to leave. They’re bound to arrest me. I don’t see what else they can do.”
“Why did you go back?”
“I wanted to get away-from the firm-from Birleton. I’d told him so before. We had a row about it. I thought I’d try again. I told him why I wanted to get away. He said all right, if I still wanted to go in a month’s time he’d do what he could about it.”
“Have you told the police that?”
“More or less.”
“Have you told them why you wanted to go?”
“No.”
“Will you tell me?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter now. I just came-to say goodbye-”
There was a pause. Lydia looked at him, and looked away. She looked into the fire. It dazzled and shimmered in a very bewildering way. She couldn’t remember when she had cried last, but she thought she was going to cry now. Her voice was hot with anger as she said,
“Do stop being stupid! Why should you say goodbye?”
“I told you. I’d better go now. I don’t want to see anyone else. Are you going to marry Dicky?”
Colour that was not out of a box came back in two bright patches. She looked at him and said,
“Why should I?”
“He was kissing you when I came in.”
“Darling, I should be put in prison if I married everyone who kissed me. It just can’t be done.”
“Why was he kissing you?”
Lydia’s very lovely eyes were as innocent as a baby’s. The slight moisture which had made the flames dazzle deepened the green in them.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Her voice fell to a modest murmur.
“I was promising to be a cousin to him.”
“What!”
She nodded. Black lashes veiled the sparkling green.
“A first cousin-by marriage. He’d just been putting a pistol to my head. He said he had asked me to marry him eleven times and he didn’t mind making a round dozen of it, but if I said no again he was through. He’s awfully fond of Daisy Carter and he thought they’d be very happy together, but he’d give me one more chance. So I said, ‘All right, darling, it’s no.’ The kiss was a fond farewell. No hearts broken, and every prospect of Daisy endowing him with the Carter money-bags.”
“You’re not going to marry him?”
The lashes swept up again.
“A little slow in the uptake, aren’t you, darling?” She came up close, stood on tiptoe, and put up her face.
“You love me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Terribly?”
“Terribly.”
“For a long time?”
“Always.”
“That’s why you wanted to go away?”
“I thought you’d marry Dicky-I couldn’t stand it.”
“Never thought of asking me yourself? You seem to have an inhibition or something. You might get Dicky to show you how it’s done. It’s quite easy really.”
He looked at her without speaking. She reached up, put her arms round his neck, and said between laughing and crying,
“Have a stab at it, darling!”
Chapter 40
About ten minutes later Irene opened the door, said “Oh!” in a very startled voice, and hung undecided whether to go or stay. Lydia, with a firm hold upon the arm which Mark had just removed from her waist, remarked with modest pride,
“It’s all right-we’re engaged. Come along and say ‘Bless you, my children.’ And I’m going back to lunch with him at the River House, so you’ll get a chance of saving on my rations. Hurry up with the congratulations, because we’re going to be late, and you know how much Aunt Grace likes that.”
Irene stared, caught her breath, and made the most admired gaffe of her life.
“I thought it was Dicky!”
“Dicky didn’t,” said Lydia crisply. “Mark on the other hand did, but he doesn’t now. You can think up something a little more effusive over the sago pudding, darling. I shan’t be back for ages, so you’ve got plenty of time.”
Lunch was in progress at the River House when they walked in, but it had not got very far. Grace Paradine raised her eyebrows very slightly, Lane set a place beside Mark’s, and the meal went on.
It was whilst he was handing the vegetables that Miss Paradine asked in a low voice, “Where is Louisa?” and received the equally low reply,
“She is not very well, madam.” The hand under the dish from which she was helping herself to potato shook slightly.
Her eyebrows lifted again.
Nobody wished to prolong the necessary business of eating, but in the absence of Louisa the service dragged. Phyllida and Elliot Wray were placed at opposite ends of the table. Elliot looked at no one, ate what was set in front of him, and confined his conversation to Mark, who on more than one occasion answered at cross purposes. Phyllida kept her eyes on her plate. She had a pretty colour, and every now and then her lips trembled into a smile. Grace Paradine, catching one of these looks, stiffened and ate no more.
Mark and Lydia sat side by side. They did not look at one another. Each felt the other unendurably dear. Each experienced an almost terrifying happiness, which might at any moment be snatched away. For Mark to be silent was nothing new, but if everyone else had not been equally preoccupied, the fact that Lydia scarcely opened her lips could not have failed to attract attention. Miss Silver alone appeared to be perfectly at her ease. She conversed pleasantly with Albert Pearson, who for once had very little to say.
Everyone was glad when the meal was over. Mark went to make a telephone call. Lydia left the room with Phyllida. Miss Silver, Albert, and Elliot Wray were following, when Miss Paradine, who had walked over to the windows, turned back and addressed herself directly to Elliot.
“Will you remain behind for a moment. There is something I want to say.”
He shut the door upon the others and waited.
“What is it, Miss Paradine?”
“I would like to know when you propose to leave this house.”
His look had been so hard before that it did not seem as if it could harden any farther, yet this happened. He said,
“I came here at Mr. Paradine’s invitation-his very urgent invitation. I am staying at Mark’s. I shall probably stay until after the funeral. Is that all?”
“No. I should like you to go. You are not welcome here.”
“I am not your guest, Miss Paradine.”
She had been pale, very pale indeed, but now the colour flooded into her face.
“Have you no consideration for Phyllida?”
“Have you?”
“That is insolent.”
Elliot laughed.
“You can’t have it both ways, I’m afraid. If we are being polite, you don’t order me out of Mark’s house. If we revert to the comfortable state of saying just what we think, I can say things too. Do you want to hear them? Or shall we go back to being hostess and guest again?”
With the angry colour in her face she went to the door, but suddenly checked and turned, standing against the jamb. The flush died down, leaving her pale again.
“What have you got to say?”
Her movement had brought them so close together that there was not the stretch of an arm between them. It was too near for Elliot. His anger came up in his throat. He went back until the table stopped him. From this safer distance he said,
“You won’t like it.”
“What have you got to say?”
He stood looking at her for a moment before he answered. All the lines in her face had deepened. Every muscle was tense. Her eyes blazed at him. He said,
“I think you know. You wanted Phyllida for yourself. You tried to separate us, and you thought you’d brought it off. You knew perfectly well that what you told her was a lie. You couldn’t have known that I was helping Maisie without knowing that she was a cripple. You suppressed the letters I wrote to my wife-you sent me a forged telegram in her name. You thought you’d won. Then I came up here on business, and you couldn’t leave well alone. If you had you might have gone on winning-I don’t know. You had the bright idea that the loss of my blueprints might add a breach of business relations to the personal breach with the family. I don’t know what put it into your head. Your brother may have mentioned the blue-prints, or Dicky may have told you that Mr. Paradine had brought them home with him-probably Dicky. Anyhow you took them. I don’t know how Mr. Paradine knew it was you, but he did. He sent for me and made me stay. Then he cast his bombshell at dinner, and you knew you weren’t going to get away with it. You put the blueprints back before we came out of the dining-room- you had the opportunity when you went upstairs to get your presents for the girls. You didn’t see your brother then-he was still in the dining-room. Did you see him later? I heard a door shut upstairs when Albert and I were coming through the hall round about half past eleven. Were you meaning to come down and see him then? If you were, you would have heard us crossing the hall-you would have gone back and waited until we were out of the way and come down later. Did you come down later?”
She stood there and listened. When he had finished she said,
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
She turned stiffly and went out of the room.
Chapter 41
Polly opened the door of Miss Paradine’s sitting-room and saw her at the writing-table. Without turning her head Grace Paradine said,
“Is that you, Louisa?”
“No, ma’am, it’s me.”
“Where is Louisa?”
“She’s not very well, ma’am.”
Miss Paradine sat with a pen in her hand, but she had not been writing. The nib was dry, and the sheet in front of her blank. She said in an abstracted voice,
“Yes-I forgot-” And then, “Go down and ask Mrs. Wray to come up here to me. If she is in the drawing-room, just go to the door and ask if you can speak to her for a moment. Then when she has come out of the room you can give her my message. Can you remember that?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am.”
“Very well.”
She had not turned her head or looked at Polly.
She sat there with the pen in her hand, and did not write. Her body was stiff and motionless. Her mind had never been clearer, or her will more resolute. Behind it there was an anger like ice. Never in all her life had anyone spoken to her as Elliot Wray had just spoken. Never had she felt such determination, such inward power.
When the door opened again and Phyllida came in she was ready to turn to her with a welcoming smile.
“My darling-did I disturb you?”
Phyllida’s “No, Aunt
Grace” was soft and fluttered. She looked distressed.
Grace Paradine said quickly,
“What is it, Phyl? Has he been upsetting you?”
“Oh, no.”
“I think he has. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, my darling. This situation can’t go on. It is most distressing for you-for all of us. God knows we have enough without that.” She took a handkerchief from her loose sleeve and touched her eyes with it. The hand which held it shook a little.
Phyllida said, “Please, Aunt Grace-”
The hand came down and lay upon the other one, still clasping the handkerchief.
“Forgive me, my darling-this has all been such a shock. I did not think that even Elliot Wray would choose this moment to make things worse for me.”
Phyllida said nothing. What was there to say? She didn’t know. She stood looking at Grace Paradine as you look at something in a dream-something which isn’t real.
Grace Paradine got up and came to her.
“I could bear his insulting behaviour if it only affected me, but I can’t and won’t have you exposed to it. I asked him to go-for your sake, my darling- and he told me that he was Mark’s guest, not mine. So I must speak to Mark, but I wanted to tell you first. I don’t want you to think that I would do anything behind your back.”
A shiver went over Phyllida. If it is a dream, you can wake up. If it isn’t a dream, you have to bear it. She said,
“Please, Aunt Grace-it isn’t any good-”
“What do you mean, Phyl?”
The Clock Strikes Twelve Page 20