The Girl in the Cellar (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 32)

by Patricia Wentworth

  ‘Yes, I thought so too. I was glad you’d locked the door. I thought he was a horror.’ She got off the bed and yawned. ‘Isn’t getting up beastly? But we’d better get going before there are too many people about.’

  Anne got out of bed and dressed quickly. She had ten pounds not broken into, that was her real comfort. Ten pounds. She looked for her bag, and couldn’t see it.

  It wasn’t there.

  She stared about the room, unbelieving. She was still staring when Prissy came back. Anne lifted eyes full of tragedy and said, ‘My money is gone—’

  ‘Oh – when did you have it last?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was in my bag – I can’t see it. It was in notes – ten one-pound notes.’

  ‘When can you remember seeing it last?’

  Anne tried to think.

  ‘Yesterday morning.’ She sat down on the bed, her face white, her hands shaking. ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘Perhaps you left it downstairs.’

  They looked downstairs, but there was nothing there.

  Prissy marched out of the room. Before Anne could get hold of herself she was back again. She had a little bunch of notes in her hand.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said.

  The colour came back into Anne’s face with a rush. She said, ‘Oh, Prissy, I can’t!’

  Prissy screwed up her face.

  ‘Nonsense! Money’s only any good when it’s doing something. This isn’t any good at all, not whilst I’ve got it, because it’s not doing anything but sitting in a box under my nightgowns. If that horrid man of yours had got in last night he’d have taken it.’ She gave a determined little nod of the head. ‘Quite easily. Come along, we’ll have some breakfast. And then we’ll be off to the train.’

  They had cold bacon and bread and marmalade and cocoa for breakfast. And then Prissy went down to the garage and got out the car.

  ‘And suppose the horror is prowling. I think you had better be very quick. In fact I think it would be a good thing if you sort of crouched down in the back seat with a rug over you, so that no one would know I wasn’t alone. And the sooner we get off the better.’

  Anne was stiff with fear. The sense of not knowing who she was, of being naked and open to attack, was strong upon her. All the way to Felsham she clutched the rug round her and thought with horror of letting go of it and stepping out on to the platform.

  When they reached the first houses Prissy said, ‘You’d better come out now. It won’t do to look as if you didn’t want to be seen.’

  That was true. She pushed away the rug, sat up, and tidied her hair. She was more frightened than she had been at all, but she mustn’t show it.

  The car ran down to the station, drew up, and she got out. When she turned round Prissy was getting out too. She said, ‘Go into the waiting-room. It’s just here. I’ll take your ticket.’

  It was a game for Prissy, an exciting game. But for her— And then suddenly there was a rush of courage and hope. She walked into the waiting-room and sat down with her back to the light.

  Prissy came to her there with the ticket.

  ‘Here you are. There’s a quarter of an hour before the train comes in. It sounds horrid, but I think I had better not wait.’

  Anne threw a startled look.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Mrs Brown,’ said Prissy. ‘It’s her day. If she comes and finds me out she’ll talk about it all over the place. As it is, if I go at once I shall just get back before she comes and there won’t be any talk. You’ll be all right.’ She nodded her head and took both of Anne’s cold hands in hers, which were like little warm pies.

  ‘Let me know how it all comes out,’ she said, and was gone.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  PRISSY DROVE BACK in a very good humour. She was pleased with herself. She thought of telling Aunt Hester that they had had a visitor, but decided that she wouldn’t. Aunt Hester was all right, but she was inclined to fuss, and she hadn’t seen Anne. It would be better if she didn’t say anything about her. Aunt Hester wasn’t very practical, yet she had had at least thirty years more of reading the papers than Prissy had. She knew a terrible lot about shady characters and tricks, and all sorts of things which oughtn’t to be but tried to pretend that they were. If you read too many of those things they get in the way of what you really know about people – of what a cat or a dog knows, or a child.

  Prissy considered that she was very good at judging people and knowing what they were really like. That man last night, she had really hated him from the first moment that he knocked on the door. Anne was all right – Prissy had been quite sure about that from the first moment. She was sorry not to have seen her onto the train, but the sensible thing was to come away at once and not let anyone see them together, and then to get home before Mrs Brown came. She went along at a pleasant speed and sang to herself.

  She had locked the garage door and let herself into the house, when it came to her suddenly that she had been very wise. She was quite often pleased with herself, but this time she was very pleased indeed, because not a quarter of an hour after she had let herself into the house there was someone tapping on the front door again. It was too early for Mrs Brown. A quarter past eight was her time, and it was only eight o’clock.

  She went down, and she put the chain on the door before she opened it. It was the first time she had ever used the chain, and she was very glad of it. The door opened as far as the chain would let it, and she saw the man who was standing outside.

  Horrid. Casual. Impertinent. A bad lot.

  She said, ‘What is it?’ He said, ‘Well, I’m looking for a lost lady. I came here last night, but you weren’t very hospitable. Now that it’s quite respectably daylight, don’t you think you might open the door? I’m enquiring for Miss Fancourt, just up the road from you.’

  She wasn’t taken in for a minute. He was a bad lot. She wished she had something to stand on, because he was right up over her head. She stood up as tall as she could and said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. My aunt’s in town, and Mrs Brown won’t be here for a quarter of an hour. Please go away.’

  ‘Well, then I shall just have to wait and see Mrs Brown, that’s all. You’re making a bit of an ass of yourself, you know. If you’ve got the girl here, you can’t keep her. She’s in Miss Fancourt’s charge, and she isn’t right in the head, that’s all. You’re taking a very great responsibility in keeping her away from the people who are looking after her.’

  Just for one awful moment there was a most horrible waggle in Prissy’s mind. Suppose what he said was true. It wasn’t the black dark of night any longer. It was broad daylight – well, not so very broad, because there was a black cloud over them, and it looked as if it might be going to rain at any moment. Everything in her shook.

  And then quite suddenly everything was steady again. She believed Anne, and she didn’t believe a single word this creature was saying. She looked over her shoulder at the hall clock and saw that it was seven minutes past eight. She said, ‘That’s all very well, but I’m not supposed to open the door to anyone when I’m alone like this. You’ll have to wait till Mrs Brown comes.’

  He didn’t want to wait. She heard him say ‘Damn!’ quite distinctly through the door. She said, ‘She’ll be here in about five minutes, I should think. Do you mind if I shut the door?’ and she shut it right in his face.

  It was a very rude thing to do. Part of her was shocked, and part of her was very pleased. There was something extraordinarily gratifying about being rude to someone who couldn’t get at you. She tingled with excitement and backed away from the door.

  It was a very long five minutes, and right in the middle of it Prissy had the most dreadful idea. Suppose that this day, out of all the days in the month and all the months in the year, Mrs Brown shouldn’t come! She was firm with herself. Why shouldn’t she come? She would come – she’d got to come – she always came.

  The voice from the other side of the door broke in, �
�Look here, this is nonsense!’ The man outside was very angry.

  Mrs Brown would be here in a minute. She would be a great help. Prissy went back until her heels struck against the first step of the stairs. The man was banging on the door and shaking the handle. She went up two or three steps and waited for Mrs Brown. When it was over it would be an adventure. In all her eighteen years she had never had an adventure like this before.

  From the other side of the front door she could hear the man stop his knocking. She heard the gate. She heard Mrs Brown say, ‘Why, what’s up?’ and she ran down the three steps and along the passage to the back door.

  ‘Mrs Brown! Mrs Brown!’

  Mrs Brown made short work of him.

  ‘Scaring the life out of a young girl! Really, you should be ashamed of yourself! No, you’ll not come in! If you’ve anything to say, you can say it to Miss Hester Knox when she comes home! There’s no one in the house corresponding to what you say! There’s no one here but myself and Miss Prissy that you’ve scared into a come-over!’

  Prissy listened to her in full blast. She wasn’t in a come-over, but her legs felt a bit waggledy and she was quite pleased to sit down on the stairs and listen to Mrs Brown putting it across the horrid man. She didn’t think she was going to tell Mrs Brown about Anne. She thought she had better not. She didn’t think she was going to tell Aunt Hester. Really, the fewer people who knew the better. Aunt Hester would certainly tell her great friend Miss Ribblesdale, and goodness knew how many people Miss Ribblesdale might confide in. Come to think of it Aunt Hester wasn’t so bad, but Miss Ribblesdale had hundreds of friends absent and present. Absent friends didn’t matter so much. The present ones did. Why, before you could turn round everyone in Haleycott would know. Prissy had a horrifyingly clear picture of Mrs Bodingley, and Miss Escott, and Mrs Town, and the two Miss Bamfields all talking like mad. She shook her head in a very determined way and made up her mind that they weren’t going to talk about her – or Anne. She got up from the stairs and said, ‘Oh, Mrs Brown, what a horrid man! He said he was looking for someone – his niece he said she was. And why he should have come here, I can’t think, with Aunt Hester away and all.’

  Mrs Brown looked shocked.

  ‘Miss Knox is away?’

  ‘Well, just for the night. She’ll be back for lunch – at least I suppose she will.’

  Mrs Brown took off her hat and coat and hung them on the pegs in the scullery.

  ‘You did quite right keeping him in his place like you did, my dear. A horrid low fellow, that’s what he was. I thought as I’d do the dining-room and your aunt’s bedroom this morning – give them a good clear-out. And we’ll have a cup of tea before we start. I’m sure you look quite pale, Miss Prissy.’

  Prissy did feel a little pale.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ANNE SAT IN the train. The escape feeling was strong on her. She had done it. She had got away. Nothing could stop her. All these well-known feelings surged in her and had their way – for about half an hour.

  It was then that she began to think. What was she going to do and where was she going to go? She thought about Jim. Suppose she went to him. Well, suppose she did, and he didn’t believe her. This was a most dreadful thought, and she made herself think about it quietly and steadily. What, after all, did he know about her? Only that she had turned up with his wife’s bag and with an incredible tale of seeing her lying dead in the cellar of a strange house. If she could have given any account of herself, if she could have said where she had come from and what she was doing – if she even knew her own real name— But she didn’t know anything at all except that her Christian name was Anne. Her memory was gone, and she didn’t know if it would ever come back. It might, or it might not – she couldn’t tell. How could she go to Jim? The answer was perfectly plain. If he believed Lilian – and why shouldn’t he believe her – she was lost. Something in her which was proud and independent roused up and took possession of her. Not yet. She must find somewhere where she could be quiet for a little. Jim had left her with his aunts, and she had come away. She wouldn’t go back, no matter what he said or did. And if she wouldn’t go back she must take a little time to consider what she would do.

  She put Jim away from her and thought about Miss Silver. Could she go to Miss Silver? She had to think that out very carefully, because if she couldn’t – if she couldn’t— A spasm of terror swept over her. Her hands came together in her lap and clenched there. Could she go to Miss Silver? And as she put the question she knew very well what the answer must be – she couldn’t. The answer came with a terrible distinctness, and not all the shrinking of her flesh and spirit could interfere with its clarity. Miss Silver was working with Jim. She couldn’t, she mustn’t, risk it. She dared not risk it. If she had had her memory clear – if … What was the good of that? The face of the man who had come to her in the garden came up in her memory. It was fearfully distinct. He might say anything, and she couldn’t contradict him of her own knowledge. He could say anything he liked, and she would be helpless. Her mind showed her one thing after another that he might say, and she would know that they couldn’t be true, but she could not prove them untrue – she couldn’t prove anything at all. Then if she couldn’t disprove his lies, what was she to do? Disappear – vanish into the crowds of London. That was the only safe way until her memory came back. And suppose it never did come back? A tremor ran over her. No use to think about the future.

  Quite suddenly a picture came up in her mind. It was the picture of a little girl eight or nine years old writing in a copy-book. What she wrote was, ‘Manners makyth man’. She had got down about half-way on the page – ‘Manners makyth man’, over and over again. The picture was small and clear. Suddenly the child stopped writing, stretched out her right hand, and gave a deep sigh. The picture vanished. But in that moment Anne had recognised herself. It was Aunt Letty who set those copies, and as the words went through her mind she saw Aunt Letty quite plainly, a mountainous creature, quite old, with white hair and a hard hand that was quick to slap.

  The whole hadn’t lasted a minute. It left her grasping but encouraged. She had remembered. For the first time the curtain had lifted. It would certainly have been of more use if it had lifted on some nearer scene. But curiously enough that picture of herself as a child of eight and a half or nine was most oddly reassuring. To look back and see herself as a child brought the present, as it were, into focus.

  Her hands relaxed, and her mind quietened. She had ten pounds, and she had her freedom. Now that she had started remembering she would go on. There was nothing to be dismayed about. Everything would come right.

  It was curious the effect it had on her. She felt hopeful and encouraged. For the rest of the way her mind was full of plans. She must get work. The money Prissy had given her wouldn’t last her for very long. She must get a room, and she must buy a nightgown and a brush and comb. She would have to pay for her room in advance. Oh, and she must have a case of some sort. Quite a cheap one would do – but no one would take you in without any luggage.

  She went on planning.

  TWENTY-SIX

  JIM RANG UP Chantreys about an hour later.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Anne.’

  There was a curious effect. He couldn’t make out what it was. The nearest he got to it was dismay. It was Lilian who had answered. First she didn’t say anything at all, then she said, ‘Anne—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘I want to speak to her.’

  Lilian didn’t know what to do. She temporized.

  ‘I don’t know that you can.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She – she isn’t here.’

  ‘You mean she’s out?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Lilian, do you mind telling me what you mean?’

  There was a pause. She was greatly tempted to hang up. She could pretend they had been cut off. Her mind, twisting this way and that, boggled at a decision. />
  ‘Jim – something has happened.’

  It was a relief to tell him. He would have to be told. Much better to tell the truth – really—

  ‘What has happened?’

  ‘She – she’s gone.’

  ‘Lilian, what do you mean?’

  ‘She – she’s gone. I couldn’t stop her. I didn’t know she was going.’

  ‘Do you mean that Anne has gone?’

  Lilian’s voice became more and more agitated.

  ‘Yes – yes. And it’s no use your asking me why, for I don’t know any more about it than you do. When we got up this morning she wasn’t here, that’s all – she just wasn’t here. And it’s no good asking why she went off like that, because I don’t know. No one here knows. I said good-night to her, and she went up to bed, and that’s the last I saw of her – the very last.’

  Lilian was quite pleased with herself by now. She had got over the worst of it. Jim couldn’t really say anything. He had deceived her shamefully. She didn’t know whether to say anything about that to him or not. Perhaps better not. What was it that man had said last night – ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ Yes, that was what she had got to remember. When you hadn’t said anything you could always put in a word here and there just as it might be convenient. She became aware of Jim’s voice, very hard and cold – ‘I’m coming down at once.’ And then the click of the receiver being replaced.

  By the time that Jim arrived Lilian was quite persuaded that she could carry everything off just as she wanted to. She was one of those people who can work out a fine plan if there is no one else to call the tune, but with Jim facing her it wasn’t so easy. To begin with, she had never seen him like this before. She had not seen very much of him. He had been brought up by his mother’s family, and on his visits he had been at first the boy and then the rather silent young man. Then he had vanished for three years – they really didn’t know what he had been doing. It was nonsense to think of his embarrassing them, and she certainly wasn’t going to stand it.