“You have not been able to trace Mr. Brent?”
“No. It is so long ago that I think he must be dead. If he is not traced during my lifetime, the money is to endow a certain number of scholarships for Americans at Oxford and Cambridge, to be called the Brent Scholarships.”
Miss Silver gave an approving nod.
“Mr. Treherne expressed more than one wish, I think you said.”
“Yes. The other thing that I promised is much more difficult to carry out. He wished his money to come into the hands of those who would use it best. He considered that in the interval between his death and mine there would be changes in the characters and circumstances of the possible heirs. Children would be born, young people would grow up and marry. There might be deteriorations or improvements. There might be deaths. He did not feel able to decide on what was to happen to his money after another generation had passed, so he left the decision to me. That is not so unusual, though I was very young-too young. But what he asked me to promise was, I think, a very unusual thing. I was to make a new will every year. He said most people made their wills and forgot all about them. He wanted to insure that I would keep mine up-to-date. I was to go through it once a year and adjust the legacies in the light of what had happened during that year.”
Miss Silver’s needles clicked and checked. She said,
“Dear me-a very onerous task to lay upon a young girl.”
“I promised, and I have kept my promise. I don’t know that I would make such a promise today. But I was very young. I loved my father, and I would have done anything he asked of me.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“It did not occur to your father that you might marry?”
The color came into Rachel Treherne’s face. Not the brilliant flame of a little while back, but a faint, becoming flush.
“I don’t believe he did. Men are like that.”
Miss Silver was watching her.
“And you?”
Rachel Treherne laughed a little sadly.
“Oh, I thought about it-girls always do. But-well, since we are being so very frank, he thought I had too much money, and I thought he had too little courage. And after that I was much, much too busy.”
“It would have made it all a great deal easier for you if you had had a husband and children. But since you have no natural and undisputed heirs, this arrangement of Mr. Treherne’s must result in maintaining a continual state of excitement and uncertainty in the family-if it is known. Now, Miss Treherne, this is a very important question. Is it known?”
Rachel Treherne frowned. The frown made her look older. She said in a slow, vexed voice,
“I am afraid it is known.”
“How? Who spoke of it? Your father? You? Surely not your legal adviser?”
“My father spoke of it to my sister. He was very ill. I’m sure he wouldn’t have done so if he had been himself. It has always made things very difficult for me.”
“Most unfortunate,” said Miss Silver. “And does everyone in the family know of the arrangement?”
There was a momentary flash of humor in Rachel Treherne’s dark eyes.
“I should think so. You see, it was a grievance, and when my sister and her husband have a grievance, well, they like to share it. I think it is quite safe to say that everyone in the family knows I revise my will once a year in January. Some of them are tactful about it, some of them resent it, the young ones treat it as rather a joke. If only they didn’t know-”
Miss Silver took up her pencil and added a word to her notes on Mabel Wadlow. The word was, “Indiscreet.” She leaned back and said,
“Is it possible that the terms of your present will are known?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know whether there is such a possibility.”
Rachel was silent.
“Have you at any time had a draft of your will in the house?”
“Yes.”
“You are not helping me, Miss Treherne. Would it have been possible for anyone to see that draft?”
“I suppose it would. Oh, one doesn’t think about things like that!”
“I am sorry to distress you, but I am afraid we must think about them. You had the draft in an unlocked drawer?”
“No, locked. But I am careless about my keys.”
“I see. And if I were to ask you who would chiefly benefit if you were to die before you could make this annual revision of your will, would you answer me?”
Rachel Treherne pushed back her chair and got up. She said,
“No, Miss Silver, I couldn’t tell you that.”
Miss Silver remained seated. She was knitting again.
“Do you wish me to take your case?”
Rachel Treherne looked at her. Her eyes said, “Help me.” Her lips said,
“Please-if you will.”
The needles clicked.
“I wonder if you will take my advice,” said Miss Silver.
Rachel’s lips parted in a sudden charming smile.
“If I can,” she said.
“Go home and tell your sister that you took the opportunity of being in town to go through your will, and that your have made considerable changes in it this time. She will certainly inform your other relatives, and for the present there will be no more attempts upon your life.”
All the color went out of Rachel Treherne’s face.
“No-I couldn’t do that.”
“It would be a safeguard.”
“No, I won’t do it! I won’t tell lies-it’s too degrading!”
“Make it true then. See your lawyer, alter your will, and let your relations know that you have done so.”
Rachel stood there silently with her hands on the table edge. She seemed to lean on them. At last she said,
“I will think about it. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. I think of taking a short holiday. Can you recommend me to cottage lodgings in your neighborhood? I should be an acquaintance who is friendly with the Cunninghams. It would then be quite natural for us to meet, and for you to invite me to the house.”
“I can invite you to stay.”
“Without exciting remark? It is very necessary that no one should imagine I am anything but a private visitor.”
Rachel Treherne smiled again.
“Oh, but I am always asking people down-all sorts of people. It will be quite easy. I like having people who can’t afford to go away, and-” She stopped short and colored vividly.
But Miss Maud Silver was not at all offended.
“I shall do very well as a gentlewoman of restricted means,” she observed. “Let me see-I can come down on Saturday. You can just mention Hilary Cunningham, but I should not stress the connection. And I think you had better call me a retired governess.” Most unexpectedly her eyes twinkled. “And that need not trouble your conscience, because it is perfectly true. I was in the scholastic profession for twenty years.” She got up and extended her hand. “I disliked it extremely. Good-bye, Miss Treherne.”
Chapter Six
Miss Treherne was met at Ledlington by her extremely comfortable car. As she was driven through the dark lanes she could not help thinking how secure she must appear. Nobody who saw her drive away with a fur rug over her knees and the steady, responsible Barlow at the wheel, could have believed that under this appearance of safety there was a nightmare of fear, an anguished struggle against suspicion. She looked at Barlow’s solid back, and could hardly believe it herself.
She was glad that the house would not be full-only Mabel and Ernest, and Caroline, who was so much the child of the house that she did not count. She supposed that Richard might turn up, but she was always pleased to see Richard. She was tired, but she would have a clear hour before dinner. The thought of a hot bath was pleasant, and Louie brushing her hair.
She came into the hall, and found it full of people. Ernest, Mabel, Richard, Caroline, and Maurice and Cherry who had apparently just arrived and wished to dine but not
to sleep, because they had to get back to town.
“And this makes quite a good road-house, darling.” Cherry’s light, fleeting laugh had no more warmth than the term of endearment which she applied to everyone she met. Her prettiness had something brittle about it-the very fair hair with a sugar-loaf cap crammed on amongst its curls, the very thin hands with their pointed blood-red nails, the painted arch of the lips. As always when she saw them together, Rachel’s eyes went to Caroline, who came forward, kissed her, and said in that slow, soft voice of hers,
“Are you quite frozen?”
“No, not quite. How many of you are sleeping here? I suppose Mrs. Evans knows. Cherry, you and Maurice had much better stay. Barlow says the roads will be dangerous in another hour-it’s freezing on the melted snow.”
Mabel Wadlow turned round with her hand on her son’s arm. She was a small woman, and had once been as fair as Cherry, but her skin had gone lined and sallow, and her hair as colorless as dried grass. It had something of the same off-greenish tint. She had a high, fretful voice.
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” she complained. “And perhaps Maurice will listen to you. Of course what I say doesn’t matter to anyone.”
Maurice said, “Oh, come!” and slipped an arm about her waist. He had the same small, regular features as his sister, the same rather near-set eyes; but whereas Cherry had seen to it that her lashes were a good half dozen shades darker than her hair, his were still as sandy as nature had made them. He wore a small straggling moustache, and occasionally threatened the family with a beard. He was at the moment quite determined to throw up a legal career in favor of politics. He hoped to induce his aunt to finance this change of plan, but up to date he had found her very unresponsive. He said,
“Well, I would like to have a talk with you, Rachel.”
Rachel Treherne said “Presently” in rather a weary voice.
“You’ve missed Cosmo,” said Mabel Wadlow. “He was seeing someone in Ledlington. He came out here for tea. Oh, and Ella rang up and wanted to know if she could bring a friend over to lunch-you know, that Mrs. Barber she stays with. They came over in Mrs. Barber’s car. I don’t know how all these people afford cars, I’m sure.” Mrs Wadlow’s tone suggested that this was a personal grievance.
Rachel felt a faint thankfulness at having missed Mrs. Barber-one of those people who are obsessed with the excellence of their own good works and are forever thrusting them down your throat. But it appeared that she had rejoiced too soon. Ella Comperton proposed transferring herself from Mrs. Barber’s cottage to Whincliff Edge in time for lunch next day, and Mrs. Barber would drive her over. She couldn’t stay to lunch, but she would drive her over. Mrs. Barber therefore had not been completely avoided. One might perhaps be out shopping, to taking Neusel for a walk. And by the way, where was Neusel?
She had reached the staircase, when with a scurry and a rush a black and tan dachshund precipitated himself down the stairs, giving tongue as he came. When he actually reached her his screams became frantic. He nuzzled an adored ankle, shrieked on a high top note, took a fond bite at a restraining hand, moaned, screamed again, and snatching a glove, raced off with it ahead of her.
“I can’t think how Rachel can bear that noisy dog,” said Mabel Wadlow, with her hand to her head. “Oh dear-just listen to him! Now, Maurice, it’s quite settled that you stay. No, Cherry, it is not the slightest use your making that sort of face. I know no one pays any attention to me, but perhaps you’ll listen to your father. Ernest, tell Cherry that it is all settled, and that they are to stay. And now I really do think we should all go and dress.”
Cherry Wadlow looked across to where Richard Treherne was reading a letter. She laughed and said,
“Richard isn’t staying. Like to drive me up to town, Dicky? You’re not one of the nervous ones.”
Richard Treherne looked up-a dark, strongly built young man with glasses. His best friend could not have called him handsome, and when he frowned as he was doing now he looked formidable, but his voice when he spoke was a remarkably pleasant one.
“Cherry darling, when you call me Dicky I am liable to an attack of homicidal mania. Just as well I am staying here, because if you did it when we were alone together in a car, there might be a nasty accident.”
“In fact I’m not Carrie.”
“And if you call Caroline Carrie, I shan’t wait till we’re alone-I shall just get on with it and murder you here and now.”
“Might be rather amusing,” said Cherry. “Car-o-line, what would you do if a murderer offered you his heart and his blood-stained hand?”
Caroline smiled. She was one of the people who do everything with a kind of slow grace. Richard Treherne once said that she always suggested music off. She was not very tall, or very small, or very dark, or very fair. She had lovely brown eyes and very beautiful hands and feet. People who loved her loved her very much indeed. She smiled now and said,
“I should tell him to wash it.” And went up the stairs without looking back.
At her own door Rachel Treherne was met by Louisa Barnet-and Louisa in not at all a good temper.
“You’ll be frozen, Miss Rachel. What you wanted to go up to town for on a day like this, the dear knows, for I don’t. And that Noisy’s got one of your new gloves.”
Miss Treherne called in a laughing, indulgent voice.
“Noisy! Darling! Not my new glove! Oh, Noisy-please!”
“A good smack is what he wants if you ask me!”
“But I don’t, Louie dear. Noisy-wicked one-give it up-there’s a darling!”
Neusel, thus wooed, advanced with prancing and tail-wagging to drop the glove. He leapt joyously and licked his mistress’s face as she bent down to pick it up.
Louisa frowned severely.
“ ’Orrid creature!” she said. “It passes me how you can let him. And I wouldn’t have him in your room if it was me, because he’ve just been sick.”
Rachel gazed at the sparkling eyes and healthful aspect of the sinner.
“He looks all right.”
“Oh, it didn’t trouble him,” said Louisa darkly.
“He’ll only scream if we shut him out.”
“Then he can scream where he won’t be heard!” said Louisa, picking him up by the scruff of the neck and carrying him off.
Chapter Seven
After dinner when they were all in the drawing-room, Ernest Wadlow piloted his sister-in-law to a sofa at some little distance from the group round the fire. The last thing on earth that Rachel desired was a tête-à-tête with Ernest, but in the twenty-five years of his marriage to Mabel she had learned the impossibility of deterring him from anything upon which he had set his mind. She therefore resigned herself, and hoped that he would say what he wanted to say and get it over. This, however, was hoping against hope. Ernest sat down, straightened his pince-nez, and inquired whether she had been shopping.
Rachel leaned back, said “No,” and awaited developments.
“A very cold day for shopping,” said Mr. Wadlow.
He was a small man and precise in his dress, but for some reason he always wore collars which appeared to be at least one size too large for him, and which afforded the public an uninterrupted view of an unusually large Adam’s apple. For the rest, he had the same near-set eyes as his son and daughter, but his hair and his small worried-looking moustache were quite dark.
Rachel said, “But I wasn’t shopping.”
Ernest Wadlow took off his pince-nez and began to polish the lenses.
“Ah-business,” he remarked. “You have a great deal on your hands. But you mustn’t overdo it.” He replaced the pince-nez. “You really do look very tired.”
Rachel smiled.
“Thank you, Ernest. When a man says that to a woman, what he really means is that she is looking plain.”
Mr. Wadlow appeared shocked.
“My dear Rachel-what an idea! The fact is, Mabel is worried about you.”
“She needn’t be.�
��
“Ah, but she is. And it’s not at all good for her to be worried, as you know. Only this afternoon she had a really alarming attack of palpitations. She said then ‘Rachel is overdoing it. If she doesn’t take care of herself she will have a breakdown.’ I replied, ‘My dear, you know perfectly well and your sister Rachel knows perfectly well, that if she finds the burden of her business affairs too much for her, I shall be only too glad to give her any assistance in my power.’ ”
“I am sure of it,” said Miss Treherne.
Mr. Wadlow straightened his pince-nez. The Adam’s apple quivered.
“ ‘But,’ I said, ‘I am not one to proffer assistance or-er-advice which might expose me to a rebuff.’ ”
Rachel made a sudden movement.
“And was Mabel having palpitations all the time you were saying this?”
Ernest Wadlow stared without offence but with some slight surprise.
“I was relating the conversation which led up to the palpitations.”
Rachel smiled. She disliked her brother-in-law, but it was seventeen years since she had admitted as much to anyone.
“My dear Ernest, all this is waste of time. I am tired tonight, but I am perfectly well. There is no need for Mabel to have palpitations on my account, and there is no need for you to offer me your very kind help with my business affairs. Now if that’s all you wanted to say to me-”
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