‘I really could not say.’
He laughed.
‘Can’t say doesn’t always mean don’t know – does it? I don’t mind betting you could tell a thing or two if you wanted to! Come on – be a pal! It’s nothing but what Mirrie herself would tell me if I could get near enough to talk to her. What about the house? She gets it, doesn’t she?’
Miss Silver’s voice fluttered a little. She said,
‘I believe not.’
He stared.
‘Then who does?’
‘I understand Miss Georgina Grey.’
Sid Turner used a regrettable expression. It passed unrebuked except by a mild ‘Pray, Mr. Turner—’
‘All right, all right. What does she get?’
‘I really could not say.’
He took off the rest of his drink at an angry gulp and set the glass down hard. Miss Silver gave a timid cough.
‘I am sure that he intended to do all that was kind, but I really do not know about the house. Big houses are so very expensive to keep up nowadays. And the associations – so tragic, and Miss Mirrie is quite a young girl. She would not, perhaps, care to be reminded of Mr. Field’s tragic death every time she went into the study, even though it was not she who found him but her cousin Miss Georgina Grey. Stretched on the floor in his own room and shot through the head. Such a shock for a young girl.’
He said, ‘But—’ And then, very quickly, ‘You’ve got it all wrong, haven’t you? The papers said he was sitting at his desk.’
Miss Silver’s manner became uncertain and agitated.
‘Oh, I do not know. One does not care to dwell upon such a painful subject. I certainly understood, but I may have been mistaken. What paper did you say you had been reading?’
‘I didn’t notice. It doesn’t matter that I can see. He’s dead, and we’ve just been seeing him buried, so what’s the odds? All I want to know about is whether Mirrie is going to get her rights.’
Miss Silver did not respond. She appeared unable to detach herself from the tragedy.
‘Such a very sad thing. A man with so many friends, so many interests. His collection – really quite famous. Even at the last he seems to have been occupying himself with one of the albums. Famous fingerprints, you know. A strange hobby to take up. Did your paper mention that the album was found beside him?’
‘I believe it did. I say – that’s a thought! You don’t suppose those fingerprints he collected had anything to do with his being murdered, do you?’
Miss Silver gazed as if in horror.
‘Oh, Mr. Turner!’
‘Well, just look at it. There’s the album, and there’s the old man shot through the heart. Stands to reason the police would be wondering whether someone who didn’t care about having his dabs in an album had bumped him off. You don’t happen to know whether anything had been torn out of the album, do you?’
Now that he had set down his drink he did not know just what to do with his hands. At one moment they were in his pockets, the next he was tapping on the edge of the handsome mahogany sideboard against which they were standing. He appeared, in fact, to be beating out some tune which was running in his head.
Miss Silver permitted herself the use of her strongest expression.
‘Dear me! Was there something about it in the paper you spoke of?’
‘Then a page was torn out?’
‘I could not say, Mr. Turner. I wondered whether you had seen it in the paper. There was nothing about it in the papers that are taken here. Oh, no, nothing at all. But perhaps the police – I suppose they would have looked to see whether any of the pages had been torn out.’
‘If they haven’t, they ought to get on with the job right away – at least that’s what I should think. But of course it’s nothing to do with me. Apt to get a down on anyone who tries to show them how to do their business.’
Miss Silver coughed in a deprecating manner.
‘Oh, but they are so truly competent. I have the greatest respect and admiration for the way in which they carry out their duties. I am sure that they will not have over-looked any clue however slight. And they say, do they not, that murderers always do make some mistake and leave a clue behind them. Detective Inspector Abbott is an extremely intelligent officer, and I am sure he would be most zealous in following up any clues which have come into his hands.’
Mr. Turner’s attention became more concentrated, his tune-tapping more vigorous.
‘Did you say he had a clue?’
Miss Silver allowed a slight perturbation to invade her manner.
‘Oh, no. I really would not like it to be supposed that I had said anything of the sort. My position as a guest in the house would impose the utmost reticence. Anything I knew would be considered as a confidence, and I could not possibly disclose it.’
She was aware of a sharp change in him. His face showed nothing, its smooth pallor did not alter. There was, in fact, no outward manifestation, but she had an impulse to step back. Since she was not in the habit of yielding to impulses she remained where she was, looking up at him and waiting for what would come next. It was he who took that backward step.
The people round them were thinning out and beginning to go away. He saw Mirrie moving in the direction of the door, and turning abruptly, he went after her. She had come out into the hall with some old girl who seemed to be a very important person if the fuss they were making about her was anything to go by – Georgina Grey kissing her – Mirrie being kissed – Anthony Hallam and Johnny Fabian going out to see her off. He came up behind Mirrie and took her by the arm.
‘Who on earth was that? Royalty?’
She turned a startled look on him.
‘It was Mrs. Borrodale. She is Georgina’s godmother.’
He laughed.
‘All that fuss, and not even a title! I suppose she’s got money?’
‘No – I think she’s quite poor. They are all very fond of her.’
He said, ‘I want to talk to you. Where can we go?’
‘Sid, I can’t—’
He said brutally,
‘Do you want me to talk right out here in front of everyone?’
‘Sid, you wouldn’t!’
‘You just watch me! Where can we go?’
She took him into the morning-room, and it was he who shut the door.
‘Now – what’s cooking?’
‘Sid why did you come?’
‘To see you of course! I’ve got to find out how the land lies, haven’t I? And I’m not taking any chances on the phone – people in villages are nosey. I could tell you some stories about that! And as for putting things down on paper – not much!’ He whistled expressively. ‘Not for yours truly!’
‘You told me to write to you.’
She had written, and now she wished so much that she hadn’t. She had told him things, and what had he done with what she had told him?
She went over to the fire and stood drooping beside it. Why had she come in here with Sid? She oughtn’t to have come. He was going to make her tell him things, and when she had told him he was going to be dreadfully, dreadfully angry. She ought to have stayed close to Johnny, and then Sid couldn’t have made her come. But Johnny was out on the steps seeing Mrs. Borrodale off.
Sid came over to the hearth. She used to think he looked wonderful when he leaned against the mantelpiece like that with his elbow on it as if the place belonged to him. What he was thinking was that perhaps it did, and she had to tell him that it didn’t, nor to her either, and the more she thought about it the less she felt as if she could. She risked a glance at him, and wished she hadn’t. He had the black look which had always frightened her.
‘Well, come on, out with it! How much has he left you? I suppose they’ve read the will?’
Mirrie hesitated. He spoke more roughly.
‘That was the lawyer in the car in front of us, wasn’t it? The old woman – Mrs. Fabian, isn’t she – said he was catching a train. Said her son was drivi
ng him to Lenton. Meant me to take the hint and go with him, I wouldn’t wonder, but I put her off. What I want to know is how we stand. The old man told you he was treating you as his daughter, and he told you he had actually made and signed a new will.’
‘Oh, yes, he did. I told you.’
He gave a short laugh.
‘I didn’t wait for you to tell me! I’ve a friend in the lawyer’s office and she tipped me the wink. And you know damned well you’d no business ringing me up like you did. A place like this’ll have extensions all over the shop, I wouldn’t wonder. How do you know there wasn’t someone listening in on the line?’
‘Oh, there wasn’t! They were all in the drawing-room just after dinner before the coffee came in, and everyone busy in the kitchen. You said to let you know, and I was ever so excited because of what Uncle Jonathan had just told me. When he came back from London on Tuesday evening.’
‘All right, but don’t do it again. He said he had made the will, and Maudsley will have told you what’s in it. You get the house?’
That horrid shaking was beginning again, but Sid didn’t like it if you kept him waiting. She had to answer. She said,
‘No – no, I don’t.’
‘Who gets it?’
‘Georgina does.’
‘And what do you get?’
‘I – I—’
‘Come along – out with it!’
‘I don’t – I don’t – get anything. Oh, Sid!’
His hand had shot out and caught her arm above the elbow. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and frightened.
‘What do you mean, you don’t get anything? You wouldn’t be lying about it – not to me, would you? You’d better not!’
‘I wouldn’t! Oh, Sid, you’re hurting!’
‘I’ll hurt you worse than that if you lie to me! He signed the new will. How much do you get?’
A flood of terrified words came stumbling out.
‘It wasn’t my fault. He did make the will – he told me he had. He told me I hadn’t got anything to worry about. And then Georgina went and talked to him after dinner and he tore the new will up and – and burned it.’
Sid had turned a really horrid colour – like a tallow candle, only there isn’t anything frightening about a tallow candle, and there was about Sid. She went on looking at him, because she couldn’t look away. He said in a kind of choked voice,
‘He – burned – it?’
Mirrie burst into tears.
‘It wasn’t my fault—’
There was a moment when Sid Turner thought of so many things to say that they hung back, jostling as it were for first place. It was during that moment that the door opened and Johnny Fabian came in. He saw the perfectly horrible young man who had blown in from London, with a hand on Mirrie’s arm. He saw that Mirrie was crying and he couldn’t get across the room quickly enough.
Sid let go of Mirrie and stepped back. He didn’t like the look in Johnny’s eye, and it was no part of his plan to get let in for a rough house. He said,
‘She’s upset.’
Mirrie sobbed, and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief which had begun the day very smooth and clean and was now a crumpled wreck. Johnny said briskly,
‘It’s been an upsetting day. I’m driving Mr. Maudsley to Lenton for his train in ten minutes. Can I give you a lift?’
The thing hung in the balance. Sid Turner wasn’t sure. He hadn’t known Mirrie as long as he had without finding out how slick a liar she could be. He came down on the side of a check-up on what she had told him.
‘She’s upset because of being let down flat – that’s what. I’m a family connection, I expect she’s told you, and I’d like to know what’s going to be done about getting her her rights.’
Johnny’s eyebrows rose.
‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Mirrie, you’d better go up and lie down.’
‘Not yet, she won’t!’ said Sid Turner. ‘Not till we’ve got this clear! Mr. Field said he was going to provide for her. He told her so. And he told her he’d done it. And now she says somebody burned that will and she doesn’t get anything.’
‘Not somebody – Mr. Field burned it himself.’
‘Sez you!’ His tone was a nasty one.
Johnny went to the door and threw it open.
‘If you want that lift you can have it. And if you want to know what happened about the will you can ask Mr. Maudsley on the way to Lenton. And after that I think it would be a good plan if you were to mind your own business and leave Mirrie alone.’
Sid looked at Mirrie, who went on crying. He looked at the open door and remembered that it was three miles to Lenton. He said,
‘If that’s the way it is I’ll take the lift.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
WHEN THE DOOR was shut behind them Mirrie gave her eyes a last vigorous rub and stood on tiptoe to look at herself in the oval glass which hung over the mantelpiece. It had a faded gold frame, and it didn’t give back a very good reflection. That was one of the things she didn’t understand about Field End, and Abbottsleigh, and the Pondesburys’ place, which was called Reynings. There were a lot of shabby old things in all these houses, and instead of throwing them away and getting new ones the people they belonged to seemed to be proud of how old they were. And they didn’t call them shabby, they said they were antiques. Johnny had said it to her about this very mirror. She couldn’t see herself properly in it at all, but what she did see was enough to make it quite plain that she had better stay where she was until there was a chance of getting away upstairs without meeting anyone. She had really been crying and her eyes were all puffed up. She thought she looked dreadful, and it was no good trying to persuade herself that the glass was to blame, because her eyelids were stiff and sore and even her nose felt swollen. She waited until the sound of voices in the hall had died away and then opened the door a little and looked out.
There was no one in sight but Georgina. She had her hand on the newel-post at the bottom of the stairs and her foot on the first step, and there whilst Mirrie looked at her she stayed. Well, it didn’t matter if Georgina saw her with her eyes swelled up. She came out of the morning-room, and as she did so Georgina moved and went on up the stairs. She had reached the door of her sitting-room and was opening it, when she looked round and saw Mirrie behind her. She was tired, and she was sad, and she wanted desperately to be alone. There had been the inquest in the morning, and short and formal as the proceedings were, it had been a strain.
There had been a business talk with Mr. Maudsley. And then the relations and a few old friends from a distance who had to be given lunch – elderly people for the most part and all meaning to be kind, but expecting to be considered and to have their endless questions answered. Well, it was over now, and the funeral and that rather dreadful gathering of the mourners for tea. It was over and they were gone, and she wanted to be alone and just stop thinking. Anthony hadn’t come near her all the day, or all yesterday after Mr. Maudsley had told them about the will. That was one of the things she wanted to stop thinking about. He looked hard and stubborn, and as unhappy as she was herself. She just wanted to stop thinking about it all.
She turned her head and saw Mirrie a yard or two behind her – a little damp, tousled Mirrie like a kitten that has been out in the rain. It wasn’t in her to go on and shut the door between them. She said, ‘Oh, Mirrie, what is it?’ and Mirrie began to cry again, not loudly, but in a piteous, heart-broken way. There seemed to be only one thing to do and she did it. She took the little sobbing creature in and put her into a chair. When she had shut the door she came back and sat down by her.
‘Mirrie, what are you crying about?’
Mirrie said, ‘It’s all so dreadful—’
‘I know. But don’t go on crying. Uncle Jonathan wouldn’t want you to.’
There was a fresh burst of tears.
‘He was so good to me!’
‘He was very fond of you.’
Mirrie gave a c
hoking sob.
‘Are you going to send me back?’
‘I want to talk to you about that.’
‘Oh, you are! Oh, Georgina, don’t – don’t – please don’t! Uncle Albert and Aunt Grace – and that dreadful Home – you don’t know what it’s like – you don’t really! And I should never see Johnny again! He likes me now, but he’ll forget me if I go away – I know he will! Oh, don’t make me go!’
Georgina said, ‘I’m not making you do anything. I’ve been talking to Mr. Maudsley about you.’
‘What did he say?’ Then, as Georgina hesitated, she went on quickly, ‘He doesn’t like me. He was glad about the will being burned. He won’t let you do anything – I know he won’t.’
‘Listen, Mirrie. Uncle Jonathan was going to provide for you. He burned the will he made on Tuesday because it was made when he was angry with me about something. I don’t really know what was in it – he didn’t tell me. He only said that it was unjust, and that he would make another will which would be just to everyone. Well, he died before he could do that, but I want to carry out his wishes as far as I can. That is what I have been talking to Mr. Maudsley about.’
Mirrie had stopped crying. Her eyes were fixed on Georgina’s face and her breath came quickly. Georgina went on speaking.
‘Mr. Maudsley says I can’t give you any of the capital, because it is left to me in trust. He and Anthony are the trustees. They will pay me the income from the money, but neither they nor I can give you any of the capital. What I can do, and what I mean to do, is to pay you over some of the income as your share of what he meant to leave you. I don’t know how much it will be, because I don’t know how much there will be altogether. There is always a heavy tax to pay when anyone dies, and I don’t know how much that will come to. But there is no question of your going back to your uncle and aunt if you don’t want to, or to the Home.’
Mirrie said, ‘Oh—’ Her mouth made the shape of it, and her eyes were quite round. She said, ‘Oh, Georgina!’ and then, ‘I shall have some money of my own?’
‘Oh, yes. Does that make you feel better?’
Mirrie nodded vigorously.
The Fingerprint (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 30) Page 17