Latter End

by Patricia Wentworth

  Frank looked at her with a sparkle in his eyes.

  “The Perfect Moral Tract!” Then, rather hastily, “How much do you suppose Antony had to do with it? Did she go off the deep end about him, or was she just fed to the teeth with Jimmy Latter?”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “You want to know more than I can tell you. I am inclined to think that she was thoroughly disappointed in her marriage and beginning to realize that however much her husband adored her, there were some things she could not make him do. He would not leave Latter End and live in London, and he did not like her friends. At the time she married him she was, I gather, financially embarrassed and very uncertain as to the outcome of the case which was pending over her first husband’s will. If she had been certain of the money she would, I feel sure, have preferred Antony Latter. She did not care enough for him to take him as he was, but once she was financially secure she wished to get him back. The fact that he was no longer in love with her, and that he was quite obviously attracted by Miss Julia roused up all the wilful obstinacy of her nature. Everyone to whom I talked had the same thing to say about her. They put it in different ways, but this is what it amounted to-if she wanted a thing she had to have it.”

  Frank reached for the last sandwich. After a moment he said,

  “Did you ever take Mrs. Maniple seriously?”

  “Oh, my dear Frank, I took her very seriously indeed. Not, of course, as a principal in the murder. But as a Contributory Circumstance-oh, dear me, yes.”

  Mrs. Maniple as a Contributory Circumstance was very nearly too much for Sergeant Abbott. He escaped choking by a very narrow margin. He straightened his face with difficulty and contrived to utter the single word,

  “Perpend.”

  Miss Silver was not unwilling to do so.

  “I found it quite impossible to believe that the person responsible for those preliminary attacks had any design on Mrs. Latter’s life. The effects were much too slight and too transitory. But as soon as I began to suspect Mrs. Latter herself I saw how these attacks would bring the idea of poison quite vividly before her mind. They would suggest the method of administering it, and the fact that she was genuinely uneasy on her own account may have had its share in urging her to put an end to the situation. This is, of course, mere speculation. I myself am inclined to wonder whether-” She broke off, leaving the sentence unfinished, a thing so unusual as to arouse Frank Abbott’s liveliest curiosity.

  “Come-you can’t leave it at that! What did you wonder?”

  Miss Silver set down her knitting on her knee, looked at him gravely, and said,

  “There have been moments when I have wondered whether her first husband died a natural death.”

  Frank shook his head at her.

  “You know, the Chief really does suspect you of keeping a private broomstick. He was brought up on tales of witches, and you revive them quite uncomfortably.”

  Miss Silver smiled.

  “A most respectable man. We are on excellent terms. But I think you have something to tell me.”

  “Well, not very much, but here it is for whatever it’s worth. The Chief sent me down to make a few enquiries. I saw the doctor who attended Doubleday. I could see that he had had some uncomfortable moments. Doubleday was ill, but he wasn’t all that ill. He might have died the way he did, but- it was a bit unexpected. The doctor himself was away, and a young partner was called in. It was just the sort of case that would be all right ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but the hundredth time there could be something fishy about it. Well, of course no doctor on earth wants to upset his private practice for a hundred-to-one chance like that. I don’t think he thought very much about it until it began to leak out that Doubleday had just signed a new will very much in Mrs. Doubleday’s interest, and that the relations were going to contest it. I think that’s when he had his uncomfortable moments, but he hadn’t really anything to go on and he held his tongue. Presently he heard with considerable relief that the case had been settled out of court. He’d have been called as a witness of course, and I imagine he wasn’t looking forward to it. Of course you’ll understand he didn’t tell me any of this, except that Doubleday had died when he was away, and that it was all according to Cocker. I had to read between the lines with a pretty strong microscope, but I came away with quite an idea that Mrs. Latter had played the game before. They say the poisoner always perseveres.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “Once you become convinced that your wishes and desires are of more importance than a human life, there will not fail to be further opportunities of carrying that conviction into practice.”

  Frank gazed at her with delight.

  “ ‘Reason in her most exalted mood!’ ” he declaimed, adding rather quickly, “The poet Wordsworth.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Julia dropped three pairs of stockings into a drawer and shut them in. She was back in London again, and she felt hot and tired, and quite desperately flat. Unpacking is a slightly less sordid occupation than packing, but there isn’t much in it, and whether you are going or coming, you always leave something behind. Julia had left her toothpaste, and that meant she would have to go out and buy some. When you have recently been living through a tragedy in a state of extremely high tension there is something paltry about being depressed about toothpaste.

  She had opened all the windows but the room felt hot and airless. There seemed to be an extraordinary amount of dust. She got out a mop and a duster and began to clean up. By the time she had finished she wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better to leave the dust where it was-such a lot of it seemed to have collected on her hands and face.

  She had made a start with the hands, because it’s no use washing your face if your hands are going to come off on it in damp black patches, when the door-bell rang. She took a hasty look in the glass. The face was dirty, but not so very dirty-more, as it were, submerged in a general murk. Or perhaps it wasn’t dirty at all, perhaps that was just the way she looked. Anyhow she decided that it would have to do. She dried the partly washed hands, observed that they left a black mark on the towel, and went to the door.

  Antony, beautifully tidy, stepped inside, gazed at her with mild surprise, and enquired why she was spring-cleaning. Of course it would be Antony! If she sat waiting for him in her most becoming dress, for ninety-nine days out of a hundred she wouldn’t see hair, hide or hoof of him, but on the hundredth day, when she was inked to the elbows and more or less negroid with dust, the flat would draw him like a magnet. She said,

  “You always come when I’m filthy-but I was just getting it off.”

  “There must have been a great deal to start with.”

  “Well, there was. You’ll have to wait-unless-I suppose you wouldn’t like to go out and get me a tube of toothpaste? I’ve left mine.”

  “I’d hate to, but I will.”

  It would give her time to change. She really was perfectly clean and tidy by the time he came back.

  He produced the toothpaste with a flourish.

  “Bridegroom to bride!”

  If he expected Julia to laugh he was disappointed. She took the tube away into the cubby-hole which concealed the bath, and came back with one-and-tenpence-halfpenny in a hand still damp and pink from scrubbing.

  He said, “What’s this for?”

  “The toothpaste. Take it, please.”

  “Darling, it was a handsome present-bridegroom to bride-part of the worldly goods with which I’m going to thee endow.”

  There was rather a thundery pause. Julia had the sort of temper which can take the bit between its teeth. It was touch-and-go whether it got away with her now.

  The moment passed. She put the coins down on the edge of the writing-table and said,

  “Just as you like. You can call it a Christmas present in advance, then you won’t have to wander round wondering what you can give me in three months’ time.”

  Antony hit back rather hard.

&nbs
p; “Do I give you a Christmas present?”

  She said, “Not since our Christmas tree days.”

  Why had she said that? The words were no sooner out than it came over her with a rush how immeasurably good those days had been, and how immeasurably far removed. It was like looking back at a small bright picture a long way off. She turned very pale, and heard Antony say with an odd note in his voice,

  “Are we obliged to talk standing up? You look just about all in.”

  She was glad enough to feel the sofa under her and a cushion at her back. For one idiotic moment she hadn’t quite known what she was going to do. She might have burst into tears-she might have buckled at the knees. Either alternative simply too humiliating to bear thinking about. She found herself saying,

  “It’s too hot for housework.”

  Antony was frowning. They had not met since that early morning funeral a week ago. Frightful! Why couldn’t she think about something else? Nobody who was there would ever want to think about it again. But of course that was just the sort of thing you couldn’t get out of your head. She wished Antony hadn’t come to see her. She wished that he had come and gone. She wished she could feel quite sure that she wasn’t going to cry. There wasn’t anything she could do about it.

  Antony broke in on a note of sharp exasperation.

  “My darling child, the ship isn’t a total wreck. There are some survivors-you, for instance, and I. Is it necessary for you to look at me as if we were not only dead but buried? Snap out of it! How did you leave the other survivors?”

  He was pleased to observe that a little of her colour came back. She said in a hurry,

  “I’m sorry-I don’t mean to do it. If my eyes were blue it would be all right.”

  “Darling, you’d look foul with blue eyes.”

  “I know. But I shouldn’t give people the pip when I looked at them. I’m always getting told about it, and it’s so difficult to remember.”

  Antony laughed.

  “I shouldn’t worry. It’s the clutch-at-the-heartstrings touch that does us in. Nobody really likes having their heartstrings clutched. An occasional smile assists us to bear up. Try it! How’s Jimmy?”

  She answered with relief.

  “Oh, definitely better. He isn’t going to keep Lois’ money, you know.”

  “I didn’t think he would.”

  “No. He’s written to the solicitors and told them to make arrangements for handing it back to the Doubledays as soon as they get probate. That’s set him up a lot. And then Minnie’s awfully good with him. She keeps flying to him with things which can’t possibly be decided without the superior male intelligence-new washers for the bathroom taps, how to word an advertisement for a butler, how much extra on the laundry bill is five per cent, and will he please come at once and remove the largest spider ever from the sink in the housemaid’s cupboard, because Mrs. Huggins has gone, and she and Ellie just can’t cope. It’s what she used to do, and it’s frightfully good for him. Of course he ought to have married her years ago.”

  “I don’t suppose he ever thought of it.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t. But just think what a lot we’d all have been saved if he had. This time, I don’t mind telling you, I’m going to make it my business to see that he does think.”

  Antony laughed, but he didn’t stop frowning.

  “You’d better leave them alone.”

  “Oh, I shan’t do anything yet. They’ll be all right as long as Ellie and Ronnie are there, but when it comes to Ronnie going off to his job and Ellie going with him, then someone will have to point out to Jimmy that Minnie can’t possibly stop on and keep house for him. Too, too compromising.”

  “Rubbish!”

  “Oh, no-not in a village. Besides, all that matters is that Jimmy should be induced to think. She’ll make him frightfully happy, and he deserves something to make up for all this. So does she.”

  “Women haven’t any consciences at all. All they think about is getting the wretched man where they want him- in the bag.”

  “It’s an awfully nice bag,” said Julia, her voice deep and soft.

  “Oh, yes-that’s the way you get us into it. All the comforts of home and a ring through the nose-a nice strong, unbreakable wedding ring. You’ve had millions of years of practice, and you’re awfully good at it, darling.”

  When Antony said “darling” something took hold of Julia’s heart and twisted it. The pain made her sit up straight and say,

  “Well, I haven’t a bag, and I haven’t a ring-your nose is perfectly safe. And the sooner you tell everybody that we’re disengaged, the better I shall be pleased.”

  Antony put up a finger.

  “Temper, darling! Always count up to a hundred before you speak. It may slow conversation down a little, but all the best medical authorities agree that our lives are shortened by the fevered rush of the machine age.”

  “In spite of which everyone lives a great deal longer than they used to. Do you know that Mr. Pickwick was only forty-three, and they all talk about him as a dear old gentleman?”

  “Darling, this is not a Dickens Society. And we are not discussing Mr. Pickwick. At the moment when you dragged him across the trail I was about to go down gracefully on one knee and ask you to name the day. After which you would of course blush becomingly, swoon gracefully, and recover sufficiently to consult an almanac.”

  So far from blushing, Julia was quite monumentally pale. She said,

  “I wish you would stop talking nonsense. There is no point in our going on pretending to be engaged.”

  Antony agreed cheerfully.

  “None whatever. Engagements are damnable anyhow. I don’t think you’ve been attending, darling. I wasn’t asking you to go on being engaged, I was asking you to marry me.”

  Her eyes were turned on him with a flash of anger.

  “And I was telling you that I simply won’t go on with this pretence any longer! I wouldn’t have done it for anyone but Jimmy!”

  He met the flash with rather a searching look.

  “Oh, it was for Jimmy, was it?”

  “You know it was! And there’s no need for it any longer, so will you please let everybody know.”

  He leaned forward, his hands clasped about his knee.

  “Are you supposed to have jilted me, or am I supposed to have jilted you? I’d better know, hadn’t I?”

  Julia said, in a composed voice,

  “Neither. We’re breaking it off because 1 think being married would interfere with my writing. But of course we’re going to go on being friends.”

  Antony burst out laughing.

  “The great Career motif! Darling, it’s quite dreadfully out of date. The modern woman can take a husband, several careers, a family, and a staffless home all in her stride, without turning a hair. But I think we’d better have a service flat-I seem to remember Manny being rude about your cooking.”

  “I do all the right things, but it turns out like lead,” said Julia gloomily. “Look here, Antony, it’s no good dodging I won’t go on with this sham.”

  He was silent for a moment. Then he came nearer and took her hands. She had said that she was hot, but he found them icy cold. He held them rather hard and said,

  “What about the real thing, Julia?”

  Where Julia got enough breath from, she had no idea, but she said,

  “No.”

  “Is that for me, or for you?”

  She said, “Both.”

  Because everything in her was shaking, the word shook too. She jerked at her hands to get them away, and he let them go.

  “You don’t love me? Or I don’t love you?”

  “We don’t-neither of us does-”

  “Darling, you lie in your teeth! I love you-very much. Didn’t you know?”

  “You don’t!”

  “Don’t I? Do you remember, I asked you what you would say if I told you I loved you passionately. All right, I’m telling you now. I love you-passionately-and every other w
ay. If you weren’t colossally stupid you’d have known without my telling you. Come here and stop talking!”

  It was some time later that she said in a protesting voice,

  “You simply haven’t bothered to ask me whether I care for you. Perhaps I don’t.”

  “Then you oughtn’t to be letting me kiss you.”

  “Don’t you want to know?”

  Antony kissed her.

  “Darling, I’m not colossally stupid.”

  Patricia Wentworth

  Born in Mussoorie, India, in 1878, Patricia Wentworth was the daughter of an English general. Educated in England, she returned to India, where she began to write and was first published. She married, but in 1906 was left a widow with four children, and returned again to England where she resumed her writing, this time to earn a living for herself and her family. She married again in 1920 and lived in Surrey until her death in 1961.

  Miss Wentworth’s early works were mainly historical fiction, and her first mystery, published in 1923, was The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith. In 1928 she wrote The Case Is Closed and gave birth to her most enduring creation, Miss Maud Silver.

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