Miss Silver Comes To Stay

by Patricia Wentworth

  “I’ve kept that photograph-I’ll find him some time. It was just the head and shoulders cut out and the cardboard scraped down at the back to make it fit, so there’s no photographer’s name, but I’ll know him if I meet him.”

  “People don’t go unpunished, Carr. Don’t try and play hangman. It’s not your line.”

  “Isn’t it? I don’t know-”

  There was a silence. Elizabeth let it gather round them. She was leaning back now, watching him between her dark lashes, her long thin hands resting quietly on the green stuff of her skirt. The cream sweater she wore with it came up high about her long throat. There was a small pearl in the lobe of either ear.

  Presently Carr began to speak again.

  “Fancy’s rather like her, you know. She’s been a mannequin. At the moment she’s a show-girl-out of a job. She’s worked very hard and she wants to get on. She hopes for a part in what she calls a regular play. I shouldn’t think there’s a chance in a million that she can act. She has to be rather careful about her vowels, because they pronounce them differently in Stepney where she grew up. I believe Mum and Dad still live there, and she wouldn’t dream of cutting loose, because she’s a nice girl and very fond of her family.”

  “And just where do you come in?” said Elizabeth.

  He looked up with a flash of rather bitter humour.

  “She wants to get on, and she’s considering me as a stepping-stone.”

  “Are you engaged?”

  “I believe not.”

  “Have you asked her to marry you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Carr, you must know!”

  “Well, I don’t, and that’s a fact.”

  She sat up suddenly, her eyes wide open, her hands clasped.

  “You’ve been letting yourself drift and you don’t know where you’ve got to.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Carr, it’s suicidal! You don’t have to marry a girl you don’t care about.”

  He said, “No.” And then, “It’s quite easy to drift that way when you don’t really care what happens. One gets lonely.”

  Elizabeth said very quick and low, “It’s better to be lonely by yourself than to be lonely with somebody else.”

  The pain in his eyes shocked her.

  “Damnably true. I’ve tried it both ways, so I ought to know. But you see, that once-bitten-twice-shy business doesn’t work-you always think it’s going to be different next time.”

  Elizabeth said with energy, “Carr, I could shake you! You’re talking nonsense and you know it. You did go honestly off the deep end about Marjory, but this time you don’t even pretend you care a snap of your fingers about this wretched girl.”

  His old provoking smile flashed out.

  “Darling, she isn’t a wretched girl. On the contrary, she’s a very nice girl, a perfectly good girl, and a devastatingly pretty one-platinum hair, sapphire eyes, lashes about half a yard long, and the traditional rose-leaf complexion. Wait till you see her!”

  CHAPTER 5

  The tea-party went off as well as could be expected. Fancy had kicked a little.

  “But who is this Elizabeth Moore? I’m sure I’ve never heard you speak about her. Does she keep a shop?”

  “Her uncle does. He’s rather well known as a matter of fact. The Moores used to have a big country house out beyond Melling. Three of them were killed in the first world war, and the three lots of death duties smashed them. Jonathan was the fourth. When it came to everything being sold up, he said he’d have a shop and sell the things himself-that’s how he started. Elizabeth ’s father and mother are dead, so she lives with him.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s three years younger than I am.”

  “But I don’t know how old you are.”

  “I’m twenty-eight.”

  “Then-she’s twenty-five?”

  He burst out laughing.

  “Bright girl! How do you do it? Come along-she’s got the kettle on.”

  Mollified by the discovery that Elizabeth was well advanced towards middle age, Fancy followed him. She was ready for a cup of tea all right. Having your head in one of those drying machines made you ever so thirsty. She was still farther reassured at the sight of Elizabeth and the friendly shabby room. Miss Moore might be an old friend and all that, but no one could call her a beauty, and she wasn’t a bit smart. That skirt she had on-well, it wasn’t this year’s cut, nor last year’s neither. And the jumper, right high up to the neck and down to the wrists, not a bit smart. Yet almost at once she began to have a feeling that her own scarlet suit was a bit too daring. The feeling went on getting stronger until she could have burst into tears. She couldn’t say Miss Moore wasn’t pleasant, or that she and Carr did anything to make her feel like a stranger, but there it was, that’s what she felt like. They weren’t her sort. That was nonsense-she was as good as anyone, and much prettier and smarter than Elizabeth Moore. Silly to feel the way she did. Mum would say not to go fancying things. And then all of a sudden the feeling went and she was talking to Elizabeth about Mum and Dad, and how she’d got her first job-all that sort of thing, quite nice and comfortable.

  When Elizabeth took her upstairs before she left, Fancy stood in front of the fine Queen Anne mirror and said,

  “This is an old house, isn’t it?”

  She could see Elizabeth reflected in the mirror-too tall, too thin, but something elegant about her, something that fitted in with the house and the furniture.

  Elizabeth said, “Yes, it’s very old-seventeenth century. The bathroom used to be a powder-cabinet. All horribly inconvenient of course, but quite good for business.”

  Fancy took out her powder-puff and began to touch up a flawless complexion.

  “I like new things,” she said. “I don’t know why people bother about old ones. I’d like to have a silver bed, and a suite of that grey furniture, and everything else blue.”

  Elizabeth smiled.

  “It would be just right for you, wouldn’t it?”

  Fancy pursed up her mouth and applied lipstick with an expert touch. She said, “M-” Then, without turning round,

  “You’ve known Carr a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Do you think he’d be difficult to live with? I mean, he gets these moods, doesn’t he? Did he always use to get them?”

  She could see in the glass that Elizabeth had moved. She couldn’t see her face any longer. Her voice came a little slower.

  “I haven’t seen him for a long time. He’s been away, you know.”

  “Did you know the girl he married?”

  “I saw her once. She was very pretty.”

  “I’m like her, aren’t I? I didn’t exactly know her, but--”

  “You are a little like her.”

  “Same type.”

  “Yes.”

  Fancy put away her powder-puff and lipstick, pulled at the zipper of her scarlet bag. She said in an odd tone,

  “I suppose that’s why-” She turned abruptly. “A girl wouldn’t want to be just a stand-in for somebody else-would she?”

  “No.”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be jealous about her, or anything like that. I knew a girl that married a widower, and she wouldn’t set foot in the house till he’d cleared out all the pictures of his first wife, and I didn’t think that was right, not with her children there. I told Mum about it, and she said, ‘A man that would forget his first wife would forget you-don’t you make any mistake about that.’ That’s what Mum said, and I wouldn’t be like that, but I wouldn’t want to marry a man if I was going to be the photograph, if you see what I mean.”

  “I see exactly what you mean.”

  Fancy heaved a sigh.

  “He’s ever so goodlooking, isn’t he? But when it comes to living with someone-well, it might be a case of handsome is as handsome does. I mean, you’ve got to think before you go into anything, don’t you?” Sh
e gave a little quick laugh. “I don’t know what you’ll think of me, talking like this. You’re sort of easy to talk to, I don’t know why. Well, I suppose we’d better be going.”

  On the way home she said,

  “She isn’t a bit like I thought she was going to be. She’s sort of nice.”

  Carr’s mouth twisted.

  “Yes-she’s sort of nice.”

  He said it as if he was laughing at her, but there wasn’t anything to laugh at. Carr was funny that way. You did your best to brighten him up and make a joke or two, and you might as well have done it to a brick wall. And then all of a sudden he’d laugh when there wasn’t anything to laugh at. However, so long as he did laugh-

  She pursued the theme of Elizabeth Moore.

  “Pity she hasn’t got married, isn’t it? I’d hate not to be married by the time I was twenty-five.”

  He laughed outright this time-and what was there funny about that?

  “Well, my sweet, you’ve got quite a long way to go, haven’t you? What is it-another five years?”

  “Six. And I don’t know what there is to laugh about! A girl oughtn’t to leave it too late-Mum says so. She says you get set in your ways, and it’s no good when you’re married, because the man’ll want things his way. I don’t mean to say she’d think he ought to be given in to all along the line, but where there are two, it stands to reason there’s got to be a bit of give and take, and when the children come along- well, there’s a good deal more giving than taking, if you know what I mean. That’s what Mum says, and she brought up six of us, so she ought to know.”

  Carr had stopped laughing. He had never felt less in love with Fancy, and he had never liked her half so well. He said,

  “Your mother’s a very sensible woman-I’d like to meet her. And I shouldn’t wonder if you didn’t make someone quite a good wife some day, my sweet.”

  “But not you?”

  She didn’t know what took the words off the tip of her tongue, but there they were-she’d said them right out. And he was looking at her with a funny little smile in his eyes and saying,

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Her lovely rose tints deepened. The big blue eyes looked honestly back at him.

  “I know what you mean. We both thought perhaps it would do, but it won’t. I knew that as soon as I saw you with that Elizabeth girl. You’ve been fond of her-haven’t you?”

  His look went bleak.

  “A long time ago.”

  “I’d say you’d been very fond of her-I’d say you were pretty fond of her still. You seem to sort of fit in together, if you know what I mean. Were you engaged?”

  He used the same words again.

  “A long time ago.”

  They walked on in silence. Fancy thought, “We can’t go the best part of two and a half miles and never talk. I should scream, and he’d think I’d gone batty. It’s so quiet in these country lanes-you can pretty well hear yourself think.” She spoke to break the silence.

  “She’s fond of you too-I could tell that.”

  He was frowning, but he wasn’t angry, because he put his hand on her shoulder and patted it.

  “You can always start a marriage agency, if you don’t get off yourself. And now we’ll stop talking about me, and you can tell me all about Mum and the other five of you.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Catherine Welby looked round at her sitting-room and thought how pretty it was. Some of the things were shabby, but they were all good, because they had come from Melling House. The little Queen Anne writing-table would fetch a couple of hundred pounds any time she liked to ask for it.

  Like the Persian rugs it had been a present from Mrs. Lessiter-or so nearly a present that no one was likely to dispute it. Mrs. Mayhew would remember hearing Mrs. Lessiter say, “I’m letting Mrs. Welby have those rugs and the little desk out of the Blue Room.” She had added, “They might as well be used.” But there would be no need for Mrs. Mayhew to remember that, nor would she do so unless encouraged, and it wasn’t Catherine Welby who would encourage her. Nearly all the furniture in the Gate House had come to her on the same slightly debatable tenure. She meant to make no bones about it with James Lessiter. It was, in fact, one of the reasons why she was now expecting him to coffee. The contents of the Gate House were to be exhibited to him in the guise of his mother’s gifts.

  She looked round her with gratitude and appreciation. Aunt Mildred had certainly meant her to have the things. Why, the curtains had been cut down from an old put-away pair dating from goodness knows when-faded, but what a heavenly brocade, with its dim rose background and formal wreaths just touched with blue and green. There had been enough of it to cover chairs and sofa, and the cushions repeated the colouring of the wreaths.

  Catherine dressed to the room. A mirror over the high mantelshelf reflected her dull blue house-gown, her pretty hair, the turn of her head. All at once she heard the step she was waiting for. She went out into the narrow space at the stair foot and threw open the front door.

  “James-come in! How nice! Do let me look at you! We mustn’t say how many years it is, must we?”

  He was bare-headed, in a dark suit without coat or scarf. As she went before him into the lighted room, he laughed and said,

  “It mightn’t be any years at all so far as you are concerned. You haven’t changed.”

  She had a radiant smile for that.

  “Haven’t I?”

  “You’re prettier, but I expect you know that without my telling you. What about me-do I get anything?”

  She looked at him with genuine amazement. He had been a goodlooking boy. At forty-six he was a much handsomer man than anyone could have expected. The photograph Aunt Mildred had been so proud of really hadn’t lied. She went on smiling and said,

  “I expect you’ll do very well without any more conceit than you’ve got.” Then, with a ripple of laughter, “Oh, James, it is nice to see you! Just wait one moment and I’ll fetch the coffee. I only have a morning girl, you know.”

  He looked about while she was out of the room. Very familiar stuff, all this furniture-some of it good. He supposed his mother had put it in for her. He’d have to see Holderness and find out where he stood from the legal point of view. If he was going to sell the place, the Gate House would go with it, and he would have to give vacant possession. But if Catherine had it unfurnished and paid rent for it, it might not be possible to turn her out. The bother was, there was probably no set agreement, and nothing to show whether the presence of the Melling House furniture constituted a furnished let. If it did, he could give Catherine notice, but if his mother had given her the furniture, he probably couldn’t. Pretty woman Catherine-prettier than she had been twenty-five years ago-a little too plump in those days. He wondered about Rietta. Just on the cards she might have put on weight-those statuesque girls did sometimes. She must be forty-three.

  Catherine came back into the room with the coffee-tray and the name on her lips.

  “Have you seen Rietta?”

  “No-not yet.”

  She put the tray down on a little table with a pie-crust edge. A valuable piece-he remembered it. He thought Catherine had done herself pretty well, and a little more than that.

  “It would be fun if we could get her to come over, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll try. There’s one thing, she won’t be out.”

  “Why?”

  Catherine laughed.

  “My dear James, you must have forgotten what Melling is like. It hasn’t changed.”

  She was lifting the receiver as she spoke. He came across and stood by her side, heard the click as the receiver was taken off, heard Rietta’s voice-like Melling, quite unchanged.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Catherine. Listen, Rietta-James is here… Yes, right beside me. And we both want you to come over-and if you’re going to make Carr and that girl of his an excuse, I shall know exactly what to think, and so will James.”

  Rietta again, quietly.

&n
bsp; “I shall be pleased to see James again. Don’t keep any coffee for me-I’ve had mine.”

  Catherine rang off and turned a laughing face.

  “I thought that would fetch her! She wouldn’t want you to think she minded meeting you.”

  “Why should she?”

  “No reason in the world. It’s funny neither of you has married, isn’t it?”

  He said rather abruptly, “I’ve had neither the time nor the inclination. One travels much faster alone.”

  “You’ve travelled fast?”

  “Tolerably.”

  “Got where you wanted?”

  “More or less. There are always new horizons.”

  She gave him his coffee with a sigh.

  “You must have had wonderful times. Do tell me about them.”

  Rietta Cray came into the little square space at the foot of the stair and laid her coat across the newel. She was angry because Catherine had trapped her into coming. She had said “No,” and she had meant “No,” but to say it again with James Lessiter listening was just one of the things she couldn’t do. It must be as plain to him as to everyone in Melling that she met him with friendly indifference. She glanced at her reflection in the old wall mirror. Anger had brought the colour to her cheeks quick and bright. She had come over just as she was, in the old red dress she wore at home. The shade was becoming, the long classic folds suited her. She opened the sitting-room door to hear Catherine say,

  “How marvellous!”

  James Lessiter got up and came to meet her. He said,

  “Well, Rietta?”

  Their hands touched. She felt nothing. The anger went out of her, the tightness relaxed. Because this wasn’t a ghost come back out of the past to trouble her-it was a stranger-a handsome, personable, middle-aged stranger.

  He and Catherine had been sitting one on either side of the hearth. She took the chair between them and sat down, an alien figure in Catherine’s pastel room. All at once it had a crowded look-too many small things lying about, too many pale, delicate colours. She said,

  “I’ve only just come over to say how do you do. I mustn’t stop. I have Carr and a friend of his staying with me.”