Poison In The Pen (12 page)

Since she had only seen Jason Leigh in the distance, Miss Silver could do no more than reply that it was extremely difficult to lay down any rules for happiness in marriage, but that kindness, unselfishness and mutual consideration must always be important factors.

“Most people would say that sounded very old-fashioned!”

Miss Silver smiled.

“The institution of marriage has been going on for a very long time.”

“And people still go making a mess of it! Well, some of us are lucky. When I married Tim you’ve no idea the things everybody said!” She laughed with gusto. “I said quite a few myself!—‘He had come up from nowhere,’ and the answer to that was—‘You can’t keep a good man down.’—‘Nobody had ever heard of his people.’ ‘Perhaps not,’ I told them, ‘but they are going to hear about him.’ ‘He’s nothing to look at.’ ‘Well, well,’ I said, ‘I never did care about having everything in the shop window.’ You know, I think that’s why I don’t like Gilbert Earle—there’s such a lot in his shop window that it sets me wondering whether there’s anything in the shop. In my husband’s case there was such a lot put away behind that I’m not through with finding out about it yet. The only thing that hasn’t panned out is the family we were going to have. It just never came along, which I suppose is the reason why Mettie and I have got to have our fingers in other people’s pies. If I’d had half a dozen children to worry about, I shouldn’t have had nearly so much time to run round interfering with my neighbours’ affairs.”

For a moment there was a brightness which might have been moisture in the fine dark eyes. Then she laughed and said,

“Oh well, I’ve got plenty on my plate for one woman. What were we talking about before I got off on to me? Scilla, wasn’t it? I’ll tell you one thing, I don’t wonder she’s bored to death down here. I’m not, and you wouldn’t be, but what about a girl who has never lived where there weren’t lamps in the streets, buses, neon lights, oodles of shops, and a cinema round every corner? Why, even when the war was on those poor women who were evacuated to this kind of place—it only took them about two minutes to get over being blown up in their beds and to start hankering after going back again. And of course one can see their point. As long as they weren’t actually being bombed, the town gave them everything they wanted—company, crowds, the fried fish shop, and lots and lots going on. And what had the country got to give them in exchange—dark frightening lanes, the general shop, no one to speak to, and nothing to do. You see what I mean? And Scilla hasn’t even got the possibility of bombs to put her off that life she used to live. I don’t pretend I like her, but I’m sorry for her all the same!”

They went into the dining-room for tea. As they crossed the hall, Scilla Repton came out of her sitting-room. The word which Lady Mallett had employed to describe her immediately sprang to Miss Silver’s mind—bright. In contrast with the black, grey, and drab of all the other female garments present Mrs. Repton’s appearance might even have been stigmatized as garish. She wore a skirt of an imitation tartan in which the predominant colours were scarlet, yellow and green. Her shoes were red, and her pale shining hair hung down over a jumper of emerald wool. Perhaps it was all these colours which gave her a curiously hard look. It occurred to Miss Silver that without her make-up she might have been pale. She spoke to one or two people, and as she entered the dining-room she came face-to-face with Maggie Repton. Miss Silver, a little behind her, had a most vivid impression of Miss Maggie’s recoil. She not only stopped, but she stepped back and put up a shaking hand as if to ward off any contact. For a moment her face was contorted. It was as if she had suddenly seen something that shocked her. Afterwards, when Miss Repton had given her evidence, Miss Silver knew what it was that she had seen—Roger’s unfaithful wife who was leaving him, the woman who had broken off Valentine’s marriage. She had shrunk away from the sight and felt the room go round with her.

The hand that steadied her was Miss Silver’s. She found herself guided to a chair, and was glad to sink down upon it. A voice that was as kind as it was firm advised her to bend forward.

“If you will drop the handkerchief you are holding and stoop to pick it up, no one will notice anything. Just stay here, and I will bring you a cup of tea.”

During the general movement in the direction of the long table at which tea was being served the incident had passed unnoticed. When Miss Silver returned with a cup in either hand Miss Maggie had recovered sufficiently to thank her.

“How very kind of you. I really don’t know what came over me. You are staying with Renie Wayne, are you not? I think I saw you with her on Wednesday at that unfortunate rehearsal.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Then you will understand that we have had a great deal to trouble us this week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I am afraid I am not as strong as I should like to be.”

Nothing could have exceeded Miss Silver’s sympathetic attention.

“Why do you not just slip away and lie down for a little? Your niece could look after the Work Party, and I am sure that everyone would understand.”

Miss Maggie had got no farther than, “You are very kind—” when Mettie Eccles emerged from the crowd about the tea-table and came towards them. She held a large cup in one hand and a plate with sandwiches and cake upon it in the other. She paused to say briefly,

“I’ll take these in to Roger. Florrie tells me he is in the study. It’s too much to expect him to join such a mob of women for tea.”

“My dear Mettie!”

Mettie Eccles gave a short laugh.

“Well, we are a mob, aren’t we? Men prefer women one at a time, my dear.”

She went on her way, and presently came back again, her face cold and shut down. Miss Maggie made a small vexed sound.

“There—I knew he wouldn’t like it—her taking him in his tea, you know. I’m sure she meant it so very kindly, but I think he would rather she had let it alone. I am afraid she may have noticed that he wasn’t pleased, and it has hurt her feelings. She is a cousin, you know, though rather a distant one, and we have known her always. Dear me, how good you are to me! I am really feeling quite revived. Do you think I could just sit here quietly with you for a little longer? I am finding it so restful. Or do you think it would be remarked?”

Miss Silver smiled benignly.

“What could anyone say or think, except that you were most kindly entertaining a stranger?”

Later on when the tea interval was nearly over Miss Eccles passed them again. She said in a determined voice, “I am going to see whether Roger will have another cup,” and went on and out of the door.

The room had been emptying. Ladies who were going to handle light-coloured needlework made their way to the downstairs cloakroom to wash their hands. Scilla Repton had disappeared. There were not more than half a dozen people left in the dining-room. About as many more were crossing the hall, amongst them Miss Maggie and Miss Silver, when the study door was wrenched open. Mettie Eccles stood on the threshold. She held onto the jamb and her face was ghastly. Her lips moved, but for once she had no words. Then, as Miss Silver went quickly towards her, the words came—

“He’s dead—Roger is dead!”

The sound trembled and died. It is to be doubted whether anyone who was more than a few feet away could have heard it. But it had reached Mettie Eccles herself. The hand that had clutched at the jamb went up to her throat. She turned back into the room. Miss Silver, following her, saw that Roger Repton had fallen forward across his desk. His hands were clenched and his face was hidden. The cup of tea which Miss Eccles had brought him had been overturned. The plate with its sandwiches and slice of sodden cake was awash. To the right of the table there was a miniature decanter. It was empty, with the stopper beside it. A broken tumbler lay in a scatter of glass. There was a cut on Colonel Repton’s clenched right hand, but no blood flowed from it. With one side of her orderly mind Miss Silver took note of all these things. With another and wholly womanly part she felt a deep compassion for Mettie Eccles, who knelt by the dead man, saying his name over and over in a tone of agonized protest.

“No—no—no, Roger! Oh, Roger, no!”

A fire burned on the hearth, the room was full of tobacco smoke. On that warm, still air there floated a smell of almonds. It was not the first time that Miss Silver had encountered it in a criminal case. She had knelt over the body of a woman poisoned by cyanide, and been aware of it. When she laid her steady fingers upon Roger Repton’s wrist she did not expect to find a living pulse. There was none.

As she stood there, a few people had begun to cluster round the door and to look in. Scilla Repton pushed through them.

Walking up to the table, she said abruptly,

“What is going on? Is Roger ill?”

Miss Silver lifted her hand from the dead wrist and turned to meet her.

“Mrs. Repton—I’m afraid—”

Mettie Eccles got to her feet.

“You needn’t be,” she said. “And you needn’t trouble to break it to her, because she knows.”

Scilla’s delicate make-up appeared suddenly ghastly as the natural colour beneath it drained away, leaving her face like a mask with vermilion lips. She said, “What do you mean?” and Mettie Eccles told her.

“You know very well that Roger is dead, because you killed him.”

Lady Mallett had loomed up beside them. She put a hand on Mettie’s arm and said in a horrified voice,

“You can’t say things like that—oh, my dear Mettie, you can’t—”

The hand was shaken off. Those very bright blue eyes blazed at her. Mettie said loudly,

“I shall tell the truth, and no one is going to stop me! She never cared for him, and now she has killed him! Do you suppose I am going to hold my tongue? She is an adulteress, and he found her out! He was sending her away, and he was going to divorce her! So she has killed him!”

Miss Silver said in her quiet voice,

“Lady Mallett, the police must be notified. No one else should come in. I think the door should be locked. Perhaps you will kindly see to it. Mrs. Repton—”

Scilla Repton turned on her.

“Who do you think you are—giving orders in my house! Who does Mettie Eccles think she is—talking like that! Everyone knows she’s been off the deep end about Roger for years and he wouldn’t look at her! A damned interfering old maid with a finger in everybody’s pie! I’ll have the law on her— that’s what I’ll do! You heard what she said, and I’ll make her pay through the nose for saying it!”

As her voice rose loud and shrill, Miss Silver reflected how quickly fear and anger can strip off the veneer of breeding. The languid, graceful woman with her tones modelled to the current fashion was gone. Instead, there was a London girl who knew what it was to fight for her own hand and was perfectly capable of doing so. Her colour had come back with a rush.

Mettie Eccles stood as if she had been turned to stone. The anger had gone out of her. Her limbs were heavy and her eyes dazzled. All she wanted now was to sit in the dark and weep. But she came of a fighting stock—she would not go back on what she had said. She repeated it with a dry tongue.

“You killed him—”

It was at this moment, and just as Lady Mallett was about to close the door, that Maggie Repton had come down the hall. There had been a whisper of talk, and it had reached her. If Roger was ill, she must go to him. It didn’t matter if she felt ill herself, she must go to Roger. She saw Nora Mallett, but she was not to be stayed.

“Maggie—”

“If Roger is ill, I must go to him.”

She walked past her, and saw what was to be seen—Roger lying sprawled across his desk, and the three people who were standing there and were not doing anything to help him—

Miss Silver who was so kind—but she was a stranger.

Sdlla who was his wife, his unfaithful wife.

And Mettie who loved him.

Why were none of them doing anything to help Roger? She heard Mettie Eccles say, “You killed him—” and she saw Scilla Repton step forward and strike her across the face.

Maggie Repton lay on her bed with the eiderdown drawn up to her chin. Like everything else in the room it was old and rather shabby. Miss Repton remembered her mother buying it at the Army and Navy Stores in Victoria Street. The cover was only cotton, but the down was of the very best quality, and it had cost £2.10.0., which in those days had seemed quite a large price for an eiderdown. It was still very warm, and light, and comforting. She became aware of a hot water-bottle at her feet. That was comforting too. And there was something else—kindness and the sense of a reassuring presence. It was getting dark outside. A small shaded lamp stood on the washstand. It was beyond her range of vision, so that it did not dazzle her, but the light was pleasant in the room. She turned her head on the pillow and identified the presence which she found consoling. Miss Silver sat beside her knitting.

For a little while the warmth, the soft light, the sense of comfort and security, were between Maggie Repton and the things that had happened at the Work Party. Then they came back—Roger lying dead across his own writing-table—the smashed glass and empty decanter—poor Mettie calling his name, accusing Scilla, and Scilla striking her. She put out a long, thin hand and said with a gasp, “Oh, no, it isn’t true!”

Miss Silver laid down her knitting and took the hand.

“Yes, my dear, it is true. You must be brave.”

Two slow, weak tears rolled down Miss Maggie’s cheeks. Her thoughts moved slowly too. Roger was dead. She must be a very bad, unloving sister, because it didn’t mean very much when she said it. She didn’t seem to be able to feel anything. She said that aloud.

“I don’t seem to be able to feel anything.”

“That is because it has been a shock.” Miss Silver’s hand was warm and steady. Maggie Repton clung to it.

“I was speaking to him just before the people arrived. He said it was the end. You don’t think he meant—you don’t think—”

Miss Silver looked at her gravely.

“You will have to tell the police just what was said.”

“I ought not to have left him,” said Miss Maggie. “But I never thought—indeed I never thought—”

“What did you think he meant, my dear?”

“He was talking about Scilla. They had had a terrible quarrel. He said she had been having an affair with Gilbert Earle. Such a dreadful, wicked thing—because Gilbert was going to marry Valentine, you know, and it has all been broken off. Roger talked about a divorce, a thing I never thought we should have in our family, but he said he couldn’t go on. It is all so dreadful. It doesn’t seem as if it could possibly have happened.”

It had become a relief to talk, to pour it all out. After a little Miss Silver drew her hand away and began to knit again. When she rose from her chair, Miss Maggie said with a sob,

“You’re not going?”

“Not if you wish me to stay.”

“Oh, if you could—” The weak voice faltered and broke. “Valentine is a dear child, but she is young, and—and Scilla—” she jerked herself up in the bed—“she is an unfaithful wife—Roger was sending her away. There ought to be someone here with Valentine, and Mettie—it wouldn’t do for Mettie to come. Scilla hit her, didn’t she? What a dreadful thing! Poor Mettie couldn’t come here after that! Scilla hit her, and then I don’t seem to remember what happened.”

“You fainted, my dear.”

“Oh dear—I oughtn’t to have done that—it must have given so much trouble.” Then, on a faint and trembling note, “Did they—did anyone—send for the police? You said—I thought you said—”

“Yes, my dear, they are here. I am sure you will find them all that is kind and considerate.”

The door was opened a little way. Valentine Grey first looked round it, and then came in. Seeing that Miss Maggie was awake, she bent down to kiss her. Miss Silver, withdrawing to the window, was aware of a murmur of words.

After a little Valentine came to her. Her starry look was gone, and she was white and distressed, but quite sensible and controlled. She said very low,

“She is better?”

“She will do very well now.”

“The Chief Constable is here. He said to ask you whether she is fit to see him. He said he wouldn’t press it if you thought not.”

Miss Silver turned back to the bed.

“Let us ask her. It may be better for her to get it off her mind.”

Miss Maggie had drawn herself up against the pillows. She discovered to her surprise that she was in her nightgown, with the pretty blue bed-jacket which Valentine had given her for her birthday.

“Did you say Mr. March was here? Does he want to see me? I don’t know—I don’t feel that I can get up and come down—”

Valentine bent over her.

“No, darling, of course not. He would come up here.”

She murmured, “How good of him. I am sure he is very kind to come like this. A man is such a help. And if you think he wouldn’t mind—Only, my dear, am I quite tidy?”

The customary pins had been removed from the wispy hair which they so often failed to control. It lay now neat and flat on either side of the narrow brow. With a lace scarf thrown over it, nothing could have been more decorous. Miss Silver was most reassuring on this point.

“And you will stay?” said Miss Maggie, beginning to flutter. “I do know Mr. March—he is always so nice. But you won’t leave me, will you? Renie Wayne was telling me you know him quite well. She told me you went over to tea there on Friday. Mrs. March is so very goodlooking, is she not— and they have two lovely children.” Her eyes filled with tears. “You know, when things go wrong, as they have with us, it is a help to think about the people who are really happy.”

Randal March came into the room and took the chair which had been set for him. Nothing could have been kinder than voice and manner as he told her how sorry he was to disturb her, and how much he regretted the reason.

“But if you do not mind answering a few questions. Time may be of importance, and Miss Silver will see that I don’t tire you. We are old friends, you know.”

Miss Maggie showed a definite interest.

“Oh, yes, Renie Wayne told me. Miss Silver has been so kind—so very kind.”

He said warmly, “She is the kindest person I know.” And then, “Now, Miss Repton, will you tell me when was the last time you saw your brother—I mean the last time before you came into the study and found him there with Miss Eccles and Miss Silver and Mrs. Repton.”

Miss Maggie gazed at him.

“Nora Mallett was there too. She is a cousin, you know, and so is Mettie Eccles.”

“Yes. Now when did you last see Colonel Repton before that—and where?”

She said in a distressed voice,

“It was in the study, just before all the people came. We had the Work Party here—I suppose they told you. And Roger was dreadfully angry. Oh, not about the Party—it wasn’t that at all. It was—Oh, do I have to say?”

Miss Silver had drawn up a chair at the other side of the bed. She said gently but firmly,

“I am afraid so, my dear. Mr. March will have heard already that there was trouble between your brother and his wife.”

“Yes, Miss Maggie, you had better tell me. Was that what he was angry about?”

“Oh, yes. He said he had come to the end.”

Randal March looked at Miss Silver, who very slightly shook her head. She said,

“I think Mr. March will want to know just how that was said. He had told you that his wife was going away for good, had he not, and the word divorce had been mentioned?”

Miss Maggie caught her breath.

“Oh, yes, it had. He thought she had been—had been— unfaithful.”

“With Gilbert Earle?”

“Yes—yes—”

“He really said she was leaving him, and he spoke of a divorce?”

“Oh, yes—poor Roger.”

“Then how did he say that bit about having come to the end? Will you see if you can give me his exact words?”

“Oh, I don’t know—it seems so dreadful to repeat them.”

March looked across at Miss Silver.

“I think she should understand what is involved. You will explain it better than I can.”

She took her cue mildly, but with authority.

“Dear Miss Repton, I know it is distressing for you, but a good deal depends on just how these things were said. If the words ‘I have come to the end’ are taken by themselves, they would seem to point to suicide.”

Miss Maggie’s “Oh, no—” was only half articulate.

Miss Silver went on.

“If you do not think he meant that, you must try to re-member what else was said at that time. A man who intends to commit suicide would not be thinking of divorce. You are sure that he did mention divorce?”

A little faint colour had come into Miss Repton’s face. She said in quite a strong voice,

“Oh, yes, I am quite sure he did, because it shocked me dreadfully. We have never had such a thing in our family. And Roger would never have taken his own life—he had a great deal too much principle.”

March said,

“Then just how did he say those words about having come to the end?”

Maggie Repton put up her hand to her throat.

“He said Scilla was going away and not coming back. He said, ‘She’s been having an affair with Gilbert Earle—if that’s the worst of it.’ And then he said, ‘I’ve come to the end. She must go.’ And then he went out of the room and banged the door.”

Randal March looked across at Miss Silver and nodded.

“There you have it. Three words, and they make all the difference. He had come to the end of his patience with his wife. The ‘She must go’ makes that perfectly clear—if that is how it went. You’re quite sure about it, Miss Maggie?”

Oh, yes, she was quite sure. Now that it was said it had relieved her very much. She repeated it all again quite slowly, and when he had written it down she signed her name.