She went over what she had done herself on that morning. She had been out all day – to the bank, shopping. And then she remembered that she had been very tired, so tired that she had … What had she done? Try as she would, she couldn’t remember.
And then quite suddenly it was there, just when she turned away and thought, ‘I won’t go on. It doesn’t matter.’ She saw herself walking down the passage, putting in the key, and opening the door. And there was the note on her dressing-table: ‘I’m going round to see someone. I’m going with – I won’t say who. I’ll tell you in the evening. It’s all very exciting. I’m going to number 109 Greyville Road. Anne.’ She saw herself reading it through – reading it three times. The note must have been given to that nice girl the chamber-maid. She saw herself standing, turning the note round, and then seeing the little squiggle of writing in the corner: ‘Perhaps I’ll tell you now. One of them is a man called Maxton. I don’t like him very much. The other is our cousin Ross Cranston. I’m meeting them there.’
She had met them, and she had met her death. She saw herself in front of the dressing-table, reading the words.
What had she done with the letter? She remembered putting it somewhere. Where? It wasn’t on her after her visit to Greyville Road. But she had dropped her bag there. That was how they had known that she had followed Anne. That was how Maxton had come on her track to Haleycott. It wasn’t in the bag that she had dropped, she felt quite sure about that. And then she remembered that she had put the letter into her handkerchief-case. She didn’t know why she had done that, but she had. She could see herself standing there with the drawer open, putting the letter away. She didn’t know why she had put it away so carefully, she only knew that she had. And then, tired as she was, she had gone downstairs again and walked to the corner and taken a taxi. She even remembered that she had asked the driver whether he knew Greyville Road, and when he said he did she asked to be put down at the corner. Why had she done that? It seemed quite a rational thing to do at the time. She remembered that. Well, then she ought to be able to remember why it had seemed so sensible. She thought it was because she didn’t want to be too obviously following her little cousin. Yes, that was it. She had paid off her taxi at the corner and walked along to number 109, and she had gone up the steps and found the door unlatched. Why was it unlatched? And the answer to that came too. It was because her cousin Anne lay dead in the cellar. It was the last, cruellest trick. It was the trap to involve whoever came next to this door, honest man or thief.
And she herself had walked into the trap.
FORTY-NINE
ANNE GOT TO her feet. She must go down. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life. It had got to be done. She must go down and eat her breakfast, and she mustn’t show that she had remembered. She wondered at their bringing her here, but they had got to take her somewhere, and they didn’t know that it would mean anything to her. They didn’t know that her memory would come back. She mustn’t let them know about that. She mustn’t stay up here any longer, or they would get suspicious. She must watch every word, every look. She must watch her very thoughts. She felt a sudden rush of courage and of hope. Without giving herself time to think or be afraid she went down the stairs and into the dining-room.
Ross was watching the door. He said, ‘You’ve been a long time,’ and he said it in a complaining sort of voice.
She said, ‘I felt queer. I’m all right now. I think I want my breakfast.’
Maxton was eating hot buttered toast. He waved it at her and said, ‘We’re not starving you. Come along and have breakfast.’
It was a curious meal. There was no attempt to make her take anything apart from the general stock. She could cut from the loaf and she could boil herself an egg. She could drink tea out of the teapot and milk from the milk-jug. She made a good meal, and felt better for it. What next?
What was their plan? They must have one. She had eaten in silence, but when she had finished she pushed back her chair and got up.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ she said.
Maxton swung round to look at her. He did not get up. She would not look at him. She looked instead at Ross Cranston – her cousin Ross Forest Cranston. That was one thing that she had – she knew that Ross was her cousin, she knew that his middle name was Forest, and he didn’t know that she knew these things. She must keep her head. They mustn’t know that she had got her memory back. It was dangerous enough for them to know who she was, but once they knew that she had got her memory back it would be the end – for her.
All these thoughts were in her mind together. They were quite distinct and clear. They took no time at all. They were there.
It was Maxton who spoke. She did not look at him, but she knew that he was smiling as he said, ‘Brought you here? Now I wonder why we did.’
She put up a hand and passed it across her eyes.
‘Why did you?’ she said, and her voice trembled in spite of herself. It wasn’t deliberate, but she thought afterwards that she couldn’t have done better. The thought slid into her mind and out again.
Maxton laughed.
‘We thought it would be a nice quiet place for you to make up your mind in. It’s the fortunate girl you are, you know, to have two men to choose from and perfect peace and quiet to do it in.’
She spoke quickly, unguardedly.
‘What do you mean?’
She was looking at him now. Her eyes hated what they saw. He smiled, and it was all she could do not to throw anything she could reach at him. If she were to give way to that, it would be the end, and she knew it. Their eyes met, clashed. She looked away. She looked at Ross. He sat sullen, not looking at her, and drew on the tablecloth with his fork. She spoke to him.
‘What does he mean?’
But it was Maxton who answered her.
‘I mean that you’re a lucky girl. You’ve got a choice. You can take the one of us you like best, and after a month’s honeymoon, or maybe longer if you’re obstinate, we’ll get a special licence, and we’ll make it all quite legal and moral for you in your aunt’s own parish church. Whichever of us you choose, he’ll be man enough to see you don’t change your mind. Now which is it to be – your cousin Ross or myself? You can have the day to make up your mind. And it’s no good thinking you can run away, because we’ll both be here waiting anxiously for your decision.’
She went back a step, her two hands at her breast, her eyes on Ross. He was jabbing the fork into the cloth. She said faintly, ‘What does he mean?’
Ross turned away from her, turned to Maxton and said, ‘I told you she doesn’t know.’
Anne held on to herself. Of the two she was much, much less afraid of Ross. It might be possible – she didn’t know … She said in a wondering, frightened tone, ‘Are you my cousin?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’ She turned to face him. ‘What does he mean?’
Ross didn’t answer. He was looking at Maxton. She moved back a step. Maxton nodded carelessly.
‘Go along and think it over,’ he said. ‘You can have your cousin Ross, or you can have me. That’s more choice than many would give you, and more choice than many would get. You can have him, or you can have me, and you can have a day to think it over – not any longer. If you don’t choose, we’ll toss for you and let the best man win.’
She went backwards step by step as he spoke. He filled her with such fear and disgust that she could not be sure that she would not faint. She looked at Ross and saw that there was no help in him. There was no help in anyone except herself. She reached the door and put out her hand behind her to open it. She went out without turning, and so to the stairs. Then she turned with a slow and stiff motion and went up to her room and locked herself in.
FIFTY
‘IT’S ABOUT FORTY miles,’ said Frank Abbott. ‘There’s no particular reason why they should be there, you know.’
‘There’s no particular reason why they should be anywhere,’ said Jim. He stood looking out of the window i
n Frank Abbott’s room, plainly beyond all thought or reason, actuated solely by a frantic desire for action.
Frank turned to Miss Silver. She sat very upright at the far side of his table. She wore the black coat which had endured for many years and would not be discarded whilst it endured. Her neat, pale features were perfectly composed, the lips firmly set, the eyes attentive. The hands in their black gloves were crossed firmly on the handle of a worn black handbag. Her second-best hat of black felt, adorned by a large bow of black and purple ribbon, was tilted a little more over her face than she usually wore it. To Frank Abbott her appearance and demeanour were the clearest indications that she had made up her mind. He might go, or he might stay, but Miss Silver was going down to Swan Eaton. All that depended upon him was whether she went alone, or whether she went accompanied and protected by the forces of the law. He said, ‘I suppose you have made up your mind?’
Miss Silver replied in a most decorous manner.
‘I believe that it would be a good plan to go down to Swan Eaton.’
‘And suppose they are not there?’
That we can consider if the occasion offers.’
‘You really think—’
‘I think that there are indications in that direction. I think that we must explore them. And I think that there is no time to be lost.’
Jim swung round on them.
‘Do you realize what may be happening whilst we are talking? Either you go at once, or I go alone! They may be murdering her!’
Miss Silver rose to her feet.
‘It would be better if you would come with us, Frank,’ she said, ‘but Mr Fancourt and I are leaving immediately.’
Frank Abbott nodded.
‘All right, you win. Give me a quarter of an hour, and I’ll collect Hubbard and a car.’
It was a little more than a quarter of an hour before they started. The clock on Frank’s mantelpiece stood, in fact, at eleven-thirty before they left the room. Jim endured. Every moment was an hour of torment. Whilst they fleeted away the time – time went on. It passed – it would not come again. What was happening happened. The dead would not come back to life. They were gone. Jim stood at the window and stared out with eyes that saw nothing. ‘Anne – Anne – Anne – Anne!’ He half cried out her name. He heard nothing else, was aware of nothing else. Time went by.
The first thing he knew was Miss Silver’s hand on his arm and her voice saying, ‘We are quite ready now, Mr Fancourt.’
It was a relief to be in motion. Frank Abbott sat in the front of the car with young Hubbard. Jim and Miss Silver were at the back. She did not speak, but sat there with her hands crossed upon her bag and her face pale and still. Jim did not notice her at all. He sat upright, his hands clenched. However fast the car went, he was pushing it a little faster. When Hubbard slowed down to the traffic, he was pushing with all his strength to get him on again. And all the time his mind ran ahead and called on Anne.
Anne lay on her bed in the room where she had slept as a child. She had prayed, and she had come into peace. She didn’t even know what was going to happen, but she wouldn’t believe that evil would have the victory – she couldn’t believe that. She didn’t know how she would be saved. She only knew that something would save her. She lay on her bed and watched the changing light and the shadows of the trees outside. Presently she slept.
Down in the village the car stopped to ask the way.
‘Yew Tree Cottage?’ That was Frank Abbott.
The first person he asked did not seem to know. He began, ‘I’m a stranger here—’ but Frank did not wait for anything more.
He tried again, and this time got an answer.
‘Yew Tree Cottage? Oh, yes. But there won’t be no one there. Empty, that’s what it’s been these three years ever since Miss Forest was murdered.’
Jim’s hands tightened. The nails dug into the palms of his hands. She wasn’t here – she wasn’t anywhere. Where was she? Anne – Anne – Anne!
The man, who was chewing a straw, went on chewing it.
‘Oh, yes, I can tell you how to get there. But no one’s lived in the house since Miss Forest was murdered. It belongs to her niece, and she’s abroad … Oh, she’s back, is she? Well, she hasn’t been down here.’ He was interminably slow, but in the end they got the direction.
What was the use? She wasn’t here, she wasn’t anywhere. He had missed his chance. Her name came and went in his mind like a voice calling.
Someone else was calling that name. Anne woke up. For a moment she did not know where she was. She had been in a dream. It had been pleasant in her dream. She walked in a cool wood. There was heat abroad and she was aware of the sounds of traffic, but she was in a quiet place. She heard the sound of wheels, but where she was there was peace and silence.
With the first of her returning sense the sound was clearer. The shadow of the trees wavered and was gone. She opened her eyes and saw a room, windows, the dark branch of a yew tree, and the clock on the mantelpiece. The clock said a quarter past one. The sound of wheels which had waked her had stopped. Her heart quickened. She was here, in Aunt Letty’s cottage, in great danger. That was the first thought. And then there was a second. Had she really heard a car, and if so, what car?
She jumped up and went to the window. The car had stopped. There was a murmur of voices. What voices? Whose?
Downstairs the two men sat frozen. They had heard a car draw up. The car in which they had come was in the garage, with the door shut. Was it shut? Maxton had been in, and had come out, and had shut the door. He was sure about that. What he wasn’t sure about was whether Ross had been in since. He fixed his eyes upon him, and Ross shook his head. He’d do that anyhow. Neither of them spoke. It wasn’t any good. The kitchen fire was on. The coal was damp. It was smoking. No one would believe the place was empty.
Maxton got up and went to the door. He opened it a little way and said, ‘What is it?’
Three men and an elderly woman. Three men, and one of them Fancourt. He said roughly, ‘What is it?’
Frank Abbott was out of the car. The other two men were getting out. Maxton kept hold of the door and nearly closed it. Anger burst in him, leaving no room for fear.
Jim Fancourt said, ‘Where’s Anne?’ and Maxton raised his eyebrows.
‘Why ask me?’ he said.
Jim Fancourt repeated what he had said before.
‘Where is Anne?’
Maxton heard the door of the room upstairs open – the door of Anne’s room. He banged the front door in Jim’s face and sprang backwards. Anne came out on the landing and stood at the top of the stairs looking down. He called ‘Ross!’ but there wasn’t any answer.
Frank Abbott left the car standing and ran round the house. He got in at the back door, to see Maxton charging up the stairs with a pistol in his hand, and Anne standing on the top step looking down. As his feet sounded in the hall, Maxton looked back, his face mad with anger, his pistol in his hand. He fired. The noise of the shot seemed to fill the hall.
Jim Fancourt left battering at the front door and broke the drawing-room window. Inside, Anne ran quickly down the three or four steps which separated her from Maxton and pushed at him with all her might. If he had been still facing her she might have pushed in vain, but he was turned from her, his feet on two levels as he had turned at the sound of Frank Abbott’s rush, and the unexpected thrust pushed him off his balance. He lost it, clutched at her, missed, and fell sprawling. The pistol flew from his hand, knocked on the balustrade, and fell into the hall. By the time Jim emerged from the drawing-room he lay in a heap at the foot of the stairs with Frank Abbott and Hubbard bending over him.
Miss Silver, descending from the car without haste, was aware of the noise. She heard the fall – the shot, and she had reached the broken window, when she became aware of Ross Cranston edging round the house. She did not know him, but he had a guilty look. She turned and spoke.
‘What are you doing here?’
He swore,
and ran away. Into the wood, tearing his clothes on the brambles, thinking of nothing but how he might get away.
Miss Silver watched him out of sight and turned back to the house. From what she could hear, the fight was over. Listening at the broken window, she discerned Jim’s voice speaking to Anne. It was a voice broken with emotion no doubt perfectly satisfactory to its recipient. Frank Abbott’s voice was also audible. It was addressing remarks of a hostile nature to Mr Maxton.
Miss Silver considered it highly unnecessary that she should either remain outside or take the risk of cutting herself upon the broken glass of the window. She advanced to the door and rapped upon it with the knocker.
FIFTY-ONE
IT DID NOT take long to find Ross Cranston. He had fallen and sprained an ankle in the wood and there was no fight in him. They put him handcuffed into the car with Frank Abbott between him and Maxton and drove to the nearest place with a secure lock-up, Swan Eaton having nothing to boast about in that respect. The three who remained behind were left to the realization of their deliverance.
Anne got up from the stair on which she had sunk during the struggle. Miss Silver, coming into the hall, saw her half-way down, her hands in Jim’s hands, her eyes seeing no one but him. She withdrew into the kitchen, but having assembled the meal, she returned to say briskly and firmly that lunch was ready and they had better have it. It was a quarter to two, and it was not to be supposed that any of them had made a good breakfast.
It was a strange meal. Anne had the feeling that she had died and come back to life again – a new life, a very happy life. She had her memory back, and after all this lonely time she had Jim. Everything settled into its place. She knew now the motive behind the attack upon her. She told Jim and Miss Silver what she now remembered.
The Girl in the Cellar (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 32) Page 19