Mr. Morven pauses and sighs. Then he continues: “When Lorna died and no Will was found—except the old one which she had made fifteen years ago—I was surprised and distressed. I knew Lorna well. She was not the sort of person to say one thing and mean another. I made a few discreet enquiries but I couldn’t do anything about it. I had no status; I had absolutely nothing to go on but a few casual words. All I could do was to write to Olivia and tell her that I knew Lorna had intended to make a Will and that she wanted Anne Carlyle to have something. I suggested a small annuity and pointed out that this would cost very little and that it would make a great difference to Anne. I said I was sure she would want to carry out Lorna’s wishes. . . . It was foolish of me, I suppose,” adds Mr. Morven ruefully.
“Miss Stroude was rude to you?” I enquire.
“Exceedingly rude,” replies Mr. Morven. “I don’t think I ever received a more unpleasant letter.”
As our feelings about Miss Stroude are similar we spend a few minutes discussing her; then we discuss the Will and the manner in which it was found. Mr. Morven says Lorna Stroude was very unbusiness-like and any papers she had were always in a mess. He knows, because he used to help her with business matters.
“The drawers of that bureau of hers were always bursting with papers and letters,” says Mr. Morven smiling.
I suggest that it is a mistake to be unbusiness-like but Mr. Morven says, “Lorna was a womanly woman.” And it is obvious that he thinks the fairer sex is all the fairer for having no business acumen.
“But the Will is all right?” I ask anxiously.
“Yes, yes! There is no doubt about that. There are various formalities to be observed before it can be executed but I shall hurry them up. Meanwhile I thought perhaps you would tell Anne.”
“Me!” I exclaim.
“I thought perhaps you would—break it to her.”
“But surely it’s for you to tell her!”
“I couldn’t,” he replies. “I simply couldn’t face it. If you feel you can’t undertake the task it must be done by letter . . . but I hope you will do it, Mrs. Christie. It’s bound to be a shock—a pleasant shock of course, but still a shock—and ladies can do these things more tactfully.” This last remark has an old-fashioned flavour, but the squire is an old-fashioned gentleman so it sounds quite natural upon his lips.
After a few moments’ thought I decide to accept the assignment for it will be better for Anne to hear of her good fortune from me than through the medium of a lawyer’s letter. I promise to break the news gently and to stand by while the recipient adjusts herself.
“Good!” says Mr. Morven with a sigh of relief; and he takes out a large white handkerchief and wipes his brow.
I am now anxious that Mr. Morven shall go, so that I can visit Edmond and see how he is feeling, but Mr. Morven does not go. He talks vaguely about one thing and another, repeating himself several times and showing various other signs of mental stress. Then, suddenly, when I have almost screwed myself up to the point of pushing him out, he looks at me and says, “Mrs. Christie, you know that young man of Susan’s, don’t you?”
I gaze at Mr. Morven, speechless with astonishment.
“You know him and like him, I believe,” urges Mr. Morven.
“Yes,” I reply a little breathlessly.
“Susan said you did. Susan has told me the whole story. She tells me most things, thank God.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Everything,” he replies. “She’s engaged to him—at least she considers herself to be engaged. I gather he hasn’t proposed to her, but Susan intends to marry him quite soon.” Mr. Morven smiles at my astonished looks. “It seems a little odd to me,” he admits. “But of course I’m very old-fashioned. Susan says so. What ought I to do, Mrs. Christie?”
“What ought you to do?” I repeat stupidly.
“Yes,” he says nodding. “You see my wife is away at present and I find myself at a loss. I thought perhaps you would be kind enough to advise me what I should do. I wondered if you had any idea of what the young man felt about it.”
“He would die for her with the greatest of pleasure!”
“He told you that?”
“With his own lips,” I reply, smiling a little at the recollection of Edmond’s distracted condition. “He said he would face mad bulls for Susan, that he would do anything on earth to save her from a moment’s unhappiness.”
“That sounds satisfactory,” says Susan’s father smiling back at me. “The only thing is he hasn’t asked her to marry him.”
“Because he has nothing to offer.”
Mr. Morven nods. “I see,” he says. “But that can’t be helped. Susan intends to marry him. As a matter of fact I like him myself. He has been to the Manor House several times and I found him very agreeable indeed—a young man with good manners and an attractive personality—but even if I had disliked him it would not be the slightest use for me to object. Susan has made up her mind. Don’t mistake me,” says Mr. Morven hastily. “Susan is always charming to me; I have absolute confidence in her judgment. We understand one another perfectly. Susan is a delightful companion and is very fond of me, I know. If I offer her advice on any subject she listens most respectfully and then explains with the greatest patience why her way is so much better than mine.”
I cannot help laughing.
“Yes,” agrees Mr. Morven. “Yes, I know it sounds funny but it’s perfectly true and I feel sure you will be faced with the same problem when your daughter is a few years older. In this matter, for instance,” continues Mr. Morven with his slightly wistful smile. “In the matter of this young man I pointed out to Susan that she was very young to think of marriage, that Alston was studying for his medical degree and that any talk of an engagement might upset him. I suggested that everything should be left in abeyance until he had graduated. Susan said I was wrong and that he would settle down to work more comfortably if the matter were settled.”
“I believe he would.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, but the only thing is . . .” I hesitate, for this is delicate ground.
“How to settle matters?” suggests my visitor.
“That would be easy,” I reply. “No, Mr. Morven, the chief obstacle—if you aren’t an obstacle—”
“I am not an obstacle,” declares Mr. Morven, interrupting me. “I thought I made that clear. I couldn’t be an obstacle if I tried, and I don’t intend to try.”
“Well then, the chief obstacle is Edmond’s mother.”
Mr. Morven’s face changes. “His mother! Do you mean to tell me that any sane woman would object to my Susan as a wife for her son!”
“No, of course not,” I assure him. “Susan is a darling. You know I love Susan. But unfortunately Edmond’s mother isn’t quite sane where her son is concerned.”
“Mrs. Christie—”
“It’s no use your being angry.”
“Angry!” he exclaims in surprise.
“It’s no use,” I repeat. “Being angry will get us nowhere. If we’re going to do anything about it we must face the facts. Mrs. Alston is a possessive mother and will fight tooth and nail to prevent Edmond from marrying anybody.”
“Oh, I see,” says Mr. Morven.
“Mrs. Alston must be removed,” I tell him.
“Removed!” exclaims Mr. Morven in alarm.
“I don’t mean we must poison her—just send her away.”
“Of course,” agrees Mr. Morven in relief. “Yes. As a matter of fact she has gone to London, hasn’t she?”
“She’ll come back.”
“Yes . . . but Susan wants everything arranged before she returns,” explains Mr. Morven. “And that brings me back to where I started: what am I to do?”
“You’ve been sent to arrange it?”
“Yes,” says Mr. Morven uncomfortably.
There is a short silence. The sun is shining brilliantly and the birds are singing madly in the garden. Mrs. Daulkes
is singing too; the dulcet strains of “The Deserted Maiden” come wafting out of the open window of my bedroom and across the lawn.
“She has a good voice,” says Mr. Morven.
“I know,” I reply. “But that’s not the point. You’ve been sent on a definite mission and you’re wasting time. You had better go and see Edmond now, and ask him if his intentions are honourable.”
Mr. Morven smiles. “Wouldn’t that be rather old-fashioned?” he enquires.
“It will be very old-fashioned,” I reply.
He rises and stands looking down at me. “I suppose it would be no good asking you to do it, Mrs. Christie?”
“No good at all, Mr. Morven.”
“One couldn’t expect it,” says Mr. Morven sadly and he goes away.
As there is now no need for me to visit Edmond—his case being in other more capable hands—I spend the rest of the morning in domestic duties. The Small House looks different in my eyes, it looks happier and brighter. Perhaps the house knows that in future it will belong to somebody who appreciates its beauties, or perhaps it is merely due to the fact that I have pulled up all the blinds and the sun streams in, glittering on the brasses and gleaming richly on the polished furniture.
The nice rabbit appears for lunch and I partake of it with appetite. Mrs. Daulkes says I look a lot better and most probably it was “a touch of liver.” Apparently she sometimes suffers from this curious complaint herself.
Tuesday, 21st August
It is most unusual for Annie Bollings to leave the Bull and Bush, and quite unheard-of for her to quit her post in the morning, so when I see her hastening up the front path with a large covered basket on her arm (and note that it is not yet eleven o’clock) I have a sinking feeling that something has gone wrong. But, like so many premonitions, this one is false; Annie is all smiles.
“Now that She’s gone I’m freer,” explains Annie. “You knew She’d gone to London, didn’t you? Well, this morning I suddenly felt a bit fed up with everything,” says Annie cheerfully. “I just thought—well, what a waste! It’s a case of so near and yet so far. I never seem to get a chance of coming along to see you, and when you come to the Bull I never have a moment to sit down. So I just left the lunch to the girl—she’s improving a lot—and out I came! Oh, good morning, Mrs. Daulkes!”
“Good morning, Mrs. Bollings,” replies my faithful henchwoman who has just appeared with a tray of coffee and biscuits.
It amuses me to observe that Mrs. Stroude’s finest china and my very best drawn-thread-work tray-cloth have been produced for Annie’s benefit; I rather think it amuses Annie too, for a faint smile curves her lips as her eyes fall upon the tray-cloth. She knows it well of course; Time Was when she produced it for highly favoured guests, and she washed and ironed it with tender care in the days of long ago.
“I’m not sorry She’s gone,” continues Annie. “The fact is she was a nuisance, really. Not that she complained or asked for things much, but you just felt she was there, looking at you and watching you. It wasn’t a nice feeling. She did things in the house, too. Fred said I ought to be pleased at her helping—making her bed and washing the bath and all that—but I’d rather she’d left things alone. The place feels quite different now that she’s gone. I don’t know how to describe the feeling I had about her except that I felt she was there all the time.”
“How is Mr. Alston?” I enquire.
“He’s all right,” she replies. “He’d be much better if she stayed away—that’s the truth.”
“He isn’t lonely without his mother?”
“Not him. He isn’t the sort to be lonely, besides he’s got good friends. Yesterday Mr. Morven came for him and he spent the whole day at the Manor. He’s sweet on Miss Susan, you know,” adds Annie confidentially. “I don’t wonder, either. Miss Susan is as pretty as a picture.”
“How did he look?” I ask anxiously.
“Mr. Alston? Oh, don’t you worry, he was nice and tidy. He can smarten himself up when he likes.” She smiles and adds, “He was working hard at his books when I came out and he called to me from the window that he would be out to dinner. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Out to dinner? I wonder where you’re going. It wouldn’t be to the Manor by any chance?’ So then he laughed and said, ‘Whatever makes you think that, Mrs. Bollings?’ He’s quite fond of a joke.”
All this sounds very good indeed and I heave a sigh of relief. Of course there will be trouble when Mrs. Alston returns but I have a feeling that Susan, backed up by her father, will be more than a match for Mrs. Alston.
“It’s getting late,” says Annie, glancing at the clock and picking up her basket. “I’ll have to get on, I’m afraid. I’m taking a few things to that poor Miss Carlyle.”
“Miss Carlyle!” I ask, following Annie to the door.
“The school-mistress,” explains Annie. “She’s ill in bed with earache, the girls tell me, and there’s nobody to do a thing for her. I thought she might fancy a bit of cold chicken and a few eggs.”
My heart misgives me and I feel very guilty for I have not seen Anne for a week—not since the dance at Charters Towers. I have been thinking about her of course but I have made no attempt to see her; at first because I was so busy and afterwards because I was afraid I might let out the Great Secret prematurely. Anne, as I already know, is an intuitive person and it would have been difficult for me to talk to her with the secret on my mind. I realise now that although my motives were good their results have been bad and my poor friend has been neglected.
“You wouldn’t know her,” Annie is saying. “She isn’t the sort of lady you would have anything in common with—very clever she is, by all accounts.”
The unintended insult amuses me. Annie is quite innocent of offence and of course she is perfectly correct—Anne Carlyle is not my sort of person at all—but, curiously enough, this fact does not prevent us from being good friends; indeed it seems to give spice to our friendship.
I explain to Annie that I know Miss Carlyle quite well and if she will wait until I change my shoes I will accompany her on her mission; and I add that if we find the patient uncomfortable I shall bring her home with me to The Small House.
“Bring her here!” exclaims Annie in amazement. “But who’ll look after her?”
“I shall,” I reply.
Anne Carlyle is here, in The Small House, but she still has no idea it is her own. It was a little difficult to move her, for she is an independent person, but Annie and I accomplished it between us and she is now upstairs comfortably tucked up in Betty’s bed. Doctor Berry is with her, examining her ear, and I am waiting in some trepidation for his verdict.
This is my first introduction to Doctor Berry, but I know him by sight having seen him tearing about the village in his small sports car. Tall and spare with bushy eyebrows and blue eyes, deeply sunken in bony sockets, he is not the sort of man who could be overlooked or easily forgotten; somehow, although I have discovered that he has no trace of accent, I am fairly certain he is a Scot.
“No need to worry,” says Doctor Berry as he comes into the drawing room. “Miss Carlyle has a small abscess in the ear—probably due to some local infection—it is causing pain and deafness but I’ve prescribed some drops which will help, and it should clear up in a few days.”
“You don’t think it did her any harm to move her?” I enquire anxiously. “She seemed so uncomfortable and forlorn.”
“Forlorn describes her well,” agrees Doctor Berry. “Mrs. Stroude was her only friend.”
“Mrs. Stroude’s death was a great shock to her.”
“Yes, it must have been. Mrs. Stroude was my patient and I had been attending her for a very serious heart condition but she preferred that nobody should be told about it and of course I respected her wishes. She had no relations except her step-daughter and there was no reason why she should be told. I did suggest that Miss Carlyle might be warned but Mrs. Stroude wouldn’t hear of it; she hated being fussed over.”
“Mrs
. Stroude knew about it herself?” I enquire.
“She knew she might die at any moment,” replies Doctor Berry in a low voice. “I don’t think it worried her at all. She was a deeply religious woman and believed implicitly in an afterlife of pure happiness. It was a privilege to know Mrs. Stroude—or so I felt.”
There is nothing to be said, or at least I can find nothing, and after a little pause Doctor Berry pulls himself together and smiles at me.
“Now for Miss Carlyle,” he says. “We’ve got to do our best for her. I’m very glad to think she has found a new friend. It was a masterly move on your part to kidnap her. I don’t know how you managed it for she’s a very determined little person.”
“I just—kidnapped her. There’s no other word for it I’m afraid. I sent for a taxi, packed her into it and brought her here. When I found she hadn’t seen a doctor about her ear I sent for you.”
“Quite so,” agrees Doctor Berry.
“Of course she made all sorts of objections and said she didn’t want to be a nuisance, but I took no notice. I felt I couldn’t leave her there with nobody to look after her. It was very high-handed of me and as a matter of fact I felt a bit worried about it afterwards. I’m rather apt to get carried away and do things without thinking them over properly.”
“You leap before you look?” suggests the doctor.
“I see now that I should have sent for you first, before I moved her.”
Doctor Berry chuckles. “Well, if that’s all your worry, I can set your mind at ease. In my opinion a few days of rest and good food and pleasant company will do her all the good in the world.” He hesitates for a moment, looking at me with his keen blue eyes.
Mrs. Tim Flies Home Page 23