The Case Of William Smith (13 page)

Katharine sat in one of Miss Silver’s curly walnut chairs and told her about the loosened wheel, and about Emily Salt being ill in bed and not knowing anything about cars. After which she repeated Mr. Tattlecombe’s observations about his own accident and the chapel Social.

When she had finished she sat looking at Miss Silver, who was wearing the same dark green dress and tucked net front but a different brooch. This one had a heavy gold border with a centre of smoothly plaited hair under glass. Some of the hair was fair, and some was dark, the two shades belonging in fact to Miss Silver’s grandparents, and by them bequeathed in this portable and enduring form. There was a good deal more of the blue knitting — little Josephine’s coatee had made good progress. The busy needles clicked. Miss Silver looked across them and said,

‘You are very much troubled, are you not?’

‘Yes. If he had gone out into the traffic in that car there would have been an accident. He might very easily have been killed.’

Miss Silver let that stand without comment. She continued to knit. She did not fail to observe that Mrs. Smith remained consistently pale, and that she was undoubtedly suffering from strain. She allowed the silence to do its work. Katharine broke it.

‘You said not to come back unless I made up my mind to trust you. But you see, it isn’t as simple as that. I think someone is trying to kill William. I thought it would be fair to ask you to find out whether it could be Emily Salt. She is — peculiar. She is angry about Mr. Tattlecombe’s will, and the two attacks on William took place when he was coming away from Selby Street. But the attack on Mr. Tattlecombe and this wheel business — well, it doesn’t seem as if she could have had anything to do with them. If I bring in other people, you may come across things which you wouldn’t feel justified in keeping to yourself. That’s my position now — I don’t know if I’m justified in not speaking — I don’t know if I’m justified in speaking. If I tell you things — I can’t take them back again. You may think they’re all nonsense, or you may think they’re so serious that you can’t keep them to yourself. I’ve thought about it all until I can’t be sure I’m thinking straight. And I’m frightened about William. You were quite right when you said I wanted to think it was Emily Salt. I did — I do. She’s a stranger, and she isn’t right in her head. But now it doesn’t seem as if it could be Emily.’

Miss Silver inclined her head.

‘You have put it very clearly.’

Katharine took a quick breath.

‘I don’t feel clear. I’ve come back because I’m so frightened about William. When you’re frightened you can’t think straight.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘You said just now that if you told me certain things, I might feel it my duty to go to the police. If that would be my duty, would it not be your duty also?’

A long sighing breath was released. Katharine said.

‘Yes — ’

‘Your telling me would not add to your obligation. It would merely serve to clarify it.’

‘Yes — ’

‘And you believe your husband’s life to be in danger.’

A shudder went over Katharine. She said, ‘Yes — ’ again. And then, ‘I don’t know where to begin.’

Miss Silver’s needles clicked, the blue coatee revolved. She said in an encouraging voice,

‘If you will make a start, I think you will find it is easier to go on. It is the first step which seems so difficult.’

Katharine said, ‘Yes — ’ again. She was sitting up very straight with her hands clasped in her lap. ‘I think I had better begin on the sixth of December, the day before Mr. Tattlecombe had his accident. I think I’ve told you William designs toys. They are very good indeed. Up to now they’ve been making them in a place behind the shop — William, and an old man, and a boy, and, after I went there, me. Well, of course, they ought to be much more widely known. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a firm called Eversleys. They are manufacturers on a big scale. One of the things they do is toys. William persuaded Mr. Tattlecombe to agree to his approaching them with a view to getting them to make his Wurzel toys under licence, and on the sixth of December he had an appointment to go and see them. It was rather a late appointment — six o’clock. He went there, and he saw the senior partner’s secretary — her name is Miss Jones. She has been there for fifteen years, and she is highly competent. The partners are Cyril and Brett Eversley. They are first cousins. Miss Jones is Cyril’s secretary. I should say she knew a good deal more about the business than he does. She saw William, and she told him that she didn’t think they would be interested in the Wurzel toys. A few days later she wrote and confirmed this.’

Katharine came to the end of what she had started out to say. She came to an end, and she stopped.

Miss Silver said, ‘Yes?’ on an enquiring note.

Katharine drew in her breath again.

‘It doesn’t get easier — it gets more difficult.’

‘Nevertheless I beg that you will continue.’

Katharine bent her head. However difficult it was, she must go on — she knew that. She went on.

‘When William came out into the street he almost ran into someone who was coming in. He didn’t know who it was, but I do. It was Mr. Davies, the Eversleys’ head clerk. He has been with them for about thirty years. When he saw William he nearly dropped down in a faint. He caught at William’s arm to steady himself. I don’t know what he said — William couldn’t make anything of it. He held him up till the giddiness went off. The first thing he really said was, “Who are you?” William said, “I’m William Smith — Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, Ellery Street.” Mr. Davies said “What?” and William repeated it. He wanted Mr. Davies to go in and sit down, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to see anyone, he wanted to get away. He went to a call-box and rang me up.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘Mr. Davies rang you up?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t in the flat I’m in now — I was in my own flat.’ Her voice went down low. ‘The telephone bell rang — just like any telephone bell ringing. I lifted the receiver, and there was Mr. Davies telling me he had just seen William — ’

Miss Silver said, ‘Yes?’

Katharine looked at her, but she didn’t really see her. She saw a room with a shaded lamp, and her own hand lifting the receiver. She heard Mr. Davies’ shaken voice. Her own voice shook as his had done.

‘He said, “I’ve just seen Mr. William.” I said, “What do you mean?” He said, “I took hold of his arm, and it was real. It was in the street outside the office. I nearly dropped. I took hold of his arm to save myself, and it felt real. But he didn’t know me — he didn’t know me at all — not at all.” He kept on repeating that. I said, “You’re not well,” and he said, “No — it’s been a shock — it’s been a great shock. He didn’t know me at all — we were there, right under the light, and he did’t know what I said. I’d some kind of idea I was seeing a spirit — but his arm felt real. I said, ‘Who are you?’ and he said, ‘William Smith — Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, Ellery Street.’ That’s what he said. I couldn’t have thought of that if he hadn’t said it, could I? He said he was William Smith, Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, Ellery Street. And he didn’t know me at all. He wanted to take me into the office, but I wouldn’t go. I didn’t want to see anyone — I wanted to get away. When I’d walked a little, I thought about you.” ’ She took a long breath. ‘I told him to go home and rest.’ She stopped again.

Miss Silver did not speak. Her needles clicked above the pale blue wool.

Katharine said, ‘I don’t know how I lived until the morning. I knew I couldn’t do anything till then — the shops would all be shut — I knew I must wait. I went down to Ellery Street at half-past nine. The Toy Bazaar had a window full of William’s toys. As soon as I saw them I knew that Mr. Davies hadn’t made any mistake. William always liked drawing queer animals. There was a draper’s shop on one side and a cleaner’s on the other. The girl in the cleaner’s was quite pleased to talk — it’s a boring job waiting for people to come in. I asked about having something dyed and looked at patterns. And then I asked about the toys in the window next door, and she told me all about William, and how he’d worked the business up. She said he’d been in a Prisoners of War camp with Mr. Tattlecombe’s grandson who died there, and she said he’d lost his memory, and Mr. Tattlecombe thought the world of him. I asked her whether there would be any chance of getting a job there, and she said there might be. She thought they were short-handed. So I went home and made my plans.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘What plans did you make?’

Katharine smiled — a brief, rather tremulous smile.

‘I rang up a friend who was looking for a flat and told her she could have mine. And I rang up another friend who was just going abroad and asked if I could have hers. I told her I didn’t want anyone to know where I was, and she said, “All right.” I told my relations I had let my flat and was taking a job, and I didn’t say where. And I wrote to Mr. Davies at his private address and told him not to say anything to anybody, because it was my affair and I wanted to manage it my own way. In the afternoon I drove to Victoria Station with my luggage, and when the taxi had gone I took another to Carol’s flat in Rasselas Mews. And then I went to Ellery Street to ask if they wanted an assistant at Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar. And it was Thursday — I’d forgotten all about Thursday being early closing in those outlying places. All the shops were shut. I didn’t feel as if I could bear it, but there just wasn’t anything to be done. I had to go back and get through another perfectly interminable night. That was the night Mr. Tattlecombe had his accident — but of course I didn’t know about it until afterwards. That left them very short-handed indeed. In the morning I went back to Ellery Street and went into the shop to ask if they wanted an assistant. There was a Miss Cole there.’ Katharine gave a little laugh. ‘She didn’t like me a bit — it stuck out all over her. And then’ — her voice checked, steadied, and went on again — ‘William came in.’

There was rather a long silence. Then Katharine leaned forward and said,

‘He didn’t know me, but — he fell in love with me. He didn’t remember me, but he remembered loving me.’

Miss Silver looked across her knitting and smiled the smile which had won her many confidences, many friends. The dowdy little governess wasn’t there any more. Intelligence, understanding, a sustaining and comprehensive sympathy, just blotted her out. It was rather like seeing the light come through a stained-glass window.

Katharine experienced a sense of release. It wasn’t going to be difficult any more. She could say anything, and what she said would be understood — she could let go and say just what came into her mind. Everything in her was quieted. She said,

‘Miss Cole was horrified because William engaged me on the spot. She couldn’t help seeing that he had fallen for me, and she thought I was a vamp. I went to work next day. William and I painted toys together. We were frightfully happy.’

‘Yes?’

‘I gave my real name, Katharine Eversley. Cyril and Brett are — distant cousins. Even the name didn’t mean anything to William — things that happened before ’42 just don’t exist. But he fell in love with me all over again.’

Miss Silver looked at her.

‘Why did you not tell him?’

The bright colour came up.

‘How could I? He’d forgotten me. I couldn’t say, “You loved me — you’ve forgotten.” That was at first. Then when I knew that he was loving me again, I thought if he remembered that, he would remember me. Every time he kissed me I thought he would remember. And then I didn’t care. I only wanted us to have this time together. You see, when he knows who he is there will be a lot of business, a lot of worry. It’s going to be a shock to the people who thought he was dead, and who won’t be particularly glad to find that he is alive — ’ She broke off with that startled glance. ‘I oughtn’t to have said that — I don’t know that it would be like that. Things come into your mind — you can’t help it. If you put them into words it makes too much of them. You see, I haven’t anything to go on. I don’t know that they wouldn’t be glad, so I oughtn’t to say so.’

Miss Silver gave her slight cough.

‘You are speaking of Mr. Cyril and Mr. Brett Eversley?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mrs. Smith — who is your husband?’

The startled look was intensified. Katharine coloured vividly, but she answered at once and with complete simplicity.

‘He is William Eversley. He is their first cousin.’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘I thought so. Pray continue.’

‘His father was the eldest of the three brothers who built up the firm. He was the senior partner and the driving force, and he owned sixty per cent of the shares. He didn’t marry till he was fifty, which is why William is so much younger than Cyril and Brett. He died in ’38, when William was twenty-three and had been a partner for a couple of years. William joined up in ’39, and was missing in ’42. The firm turned over to Government work during the war, and I don’t think they’ve been very successful in getting back to ordinary conditions. Cyril isn’t a business man. He likes a quiet, pleasant life without too much to do. He paints in watercolour rather well, he collects eighteenth-century miniatures and snuff-boxes, he fancies himself at interior decoration. His house at Evendon is really very charming. He has always given me the impression that business bores him to tears.’ She paused, frowned, and went on again. ‘Brett’s different — younger — plenty of vitality, but—’ she laughed a little — ‘I should say he thought the business was there to provide him with an income. He enjoys himself a lot — has a great many friends, gets asked everywhere. He is very goodlooking, very charming, very good company.‘

Miss Silver coughed.

‘You have quite a gift for description.’

Katharine took a quick breath.

‘Have I? I’ve known them all my life. My father was an Eversley too, quite a distant cousin. But he and my mother were killed in a train smash when I was a baby, and William’s father and mother brought me up. I’m two years younger.’

Miss Silver got up and went over to the writing-table, a massive block with pedestal drawers and leather top. From a drawer on the left she extracted an exercise-book with a bright blue cover, spread it out flat upon the blotting-pad, and wrote. Presently she looked up.

‘It is as well to fix facts firmly whilst they are fresh in the mind. Perhaps you will now give me some particulars about Miss Jones.’

She turned back to the exercise-book to write the name, adding the words: ‘Secretary — 15 years’ service — efficient. Interviews William Smith December 6th.’

When she had finished she read them aloud.

‘Is there anything you would care to add?’

Katharine had come over to the table. She leaned upon it lightly with one hand and said in a troubled voice,

‘Care? Oh, yes. I don’t like her — I never have. It’s always easy to say things about people you don’t like.’

Miss Silver sat with the pencil in her hand.

‘Pray sit down, Mrs. Eversley.’ Then, as Katharine took the chair which so many clients had occupied, ‘Why do you not like Miss Jones?’

She got a sudden flash of humour.

‘She doesn’t like me — she never has. I’ll tell you about her as fairly as I can. I don’t how how old she is, but she doesn’t look it. She’s very — handsome. She’s Cyril’s secretary and she runs him. I shouldn’t think there’s anything about the business she doesn’t know, and of course that gives her a pull. She’s efficient. Cyril never could be, and Brett doesn’t bother. The result is you are apt to get the impression that she runs the firm. In a secretary it’s irritating. You must allow for that, because if someone irritates you, it just isn’t possible to be quite fair.’

‘Miss Jones irritates you?’

Katharine nodded.

‘Intensely. She has always treated me as if I was an illiterate black beetle, if you know what I mean. It doesn’t encourage a friendly feeling.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘What are her relations with Mr. Cyril and Mr. Brett?’

Katharine lifted her hand from the table and let it fall again.

‘I don’t know. There was some talk about her and Brett a year or two ago. He took her about a bit. I ran into them at a road-house once. Stupid, because that sort of thing always gets out. I don’t suppose there was anything in it. And he’s a bachelor — it would be nobody’s business. Cyril’s wife died five years ago. His daughter married last year. He isn’t the flirtatious kind, but he depends on Miss Jones a good deal.’

‘Will you give me her Christian name?’

‘Mavis.’

Miss Silver wrote it down.

‘And now, Mrs. Eversley, will you continue. What makes you think that Mr. William Eversley’s return would inconvenience the firm?’

‘He inherited the controlling interest — sixty per cent of the shares.’

‘Yes. What happened to them when his death was presumed?’

‘Half of them were divided between Cyril and Brett — half of them came to me in trust. There was also government stock.’

‘Who were the trustees?’

‘Cyril, Brett, and Admiral Holden, who is a very old friend of the family.’

‘And have you been getting your dividends?’

‘There was a hold-up in the autumn. It left me rather short of money. Admiral Holden had been ill for nearly two years — nobody thought he was going to live. Then he made a marvellous recovery. When I heard I wrote to him about my affairs, and he came bumbling up to town to see the Eversleys. That was about ten days ago. The first thing that happened was that my dividends were paid in — the whole lot of them. Cyril asked me to lunch with Brett and Bunny Holden at his club. Everyone was charming. Afterwards Bunny and I went off in a taxi together, and he told me he thought there had been a bit of a mix-up, but it would be all right now. He told me he gathered that Mr. Davies had muddled the accounts — that he’d been getting past his work for some time, and that his death had left things in a state of confusion.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘That was the elderly clerk who encountered Mr. William E versley after his visit to the firm on the sixth of December?’

‘Yes. I was very much upset. I didn’t know that he was dead. After I wrote and told him not to say anything about seeing William I had no communication with him. I didn’t want anyone to know where I was or what I was doing. But he never got my letter.’

Miss Silver looked at her searchingly.

‘How do you know that, Mrs. Eversley?’

‘It wouldn’t be delivered until the evening of the seventh. He never got it. I ought to have told him not to tell anyone when he rang up, but I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think about anything except William.’

‘When did Mr. Davies die?’

‘On the seventh of December. Bunny didn’t know, but as soon as I got in I rang up Eversleys. I got Miss Jones. She said oh, yes, Mr. Davies was dead. She wasn’t very forthcoming, but I pressed her. I wanted to know what had happened, and when he died. When she saw I was going on until I got what I wanted she went away, and came back and said that the last day Mr. Davies was at the office would be the seventh of December. He was knocked down in the street on the way — home and died without recovering consciousness.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘How extremely shocking!’

Katharine made an impulsive movement.

‘Miss Silver — all these accidents — I can’t believe in them! Can you? On the sixth of December William goes to Eversleys and Mr. Davies recognizes him. On the seventh Mr. Davies goes to the office as usual. We don’t know what he said or whom he said it to — Cyril — Brett — Miss Jones. On his way home he is knocked down and killed. At half-past ten that night Mr. Tattlecombe is “struck down” outside the Toy Bazaar. With the light the way it was, it would be easy to mistake him for William. Then William is attacked twice. And now there’s this business of the wheel on his car. I just can’t believe in a run of accidents like that.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘Very succinct — very clearly put. But the last three can hardly be described as accidents. Do you want my advice?’

‘That is why I am here.’

The small nondescript-coloured eyes contemplated her gravely.

‘Tell your husband what you have just been telling me.’

Katharine caught her breath.

‘I know — I must. I wanted just a little longer. I thought — I hoped — he would remember.’

Miss Silver said, ‘How long have you been married?’

Katharine’s colour rose, pure and bright.

‘Last Saturday — ’

Miss Silver stopped her.

‘I do not allude to any ceremony you may have gone through then. I think you married Mr. William Eversley in ’39, did you not?’

Katharine said, ‘July. We had a month, and then one or two short leaves. He was missing in ’42. How did you know?’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘There were a number of indications. That party at the Luxe at which Frank Abbott remembers seeing your husband — he spoke of a girl in a gold dress. That was you, was it not?’

‘Yes. We got engaged that evening.’

‘A cousin of Frank Abbott’s was there — a Miss Mildred Abbott and her fiancé. She is now Mrs. Darcy. She has just come home from the East. She remembers the party, and Bill as they all seemed to call him, and you in your gold dress. She couldn’t remember his surname or your names, but she said an aunt of hers wrote afterwards and told her she had been at your wedding. She said she had given you a tea-set.’

Katharine nodded.

‘Old Mrs. Willoughby Abbott. It was a lovely set. And all that crowd called him Bill. I never did.’

‘When you spoke of Frank Abbott I knew that you must at least have been in contact with friends of his.’

‘Yes — it was a slip. I never really met him, but I knew a good many of his friends and relations. There was a lot of chaff and talk about his being a policeman. His grandmother, Lady Evelyn Abbott, was supposed to have cut him out of her will, but the young ones all thought it was a joke. Miss Silver, you say I ought to tell William, but don’t you see how difficult it’s going to be if the Eversleys just dig their toes in and say they don’t recognize him? They might, you know.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘From that point of view the second marriage ceremony was unwise.’

Katharine gave a shaky little laugh.

‘William wouldn’t have felt married without it. And think how shocked Mr. Tattlecombe would have been.’

Miss Silver looked grave.

‘I quite see your point of view. But you have taken a good deal of responsibility, Mrs. Eversley. It was, in fact, this readiness to take responsibility on his behalf which convinced me that your marriage was no new thing.’

Katharine said slowly, ‘I thought when we were married he would remember that we had been married before. If he got his memory back it would be all quite easy. There’s just one more thing I can do. He has a recurrent dream — he’s had it all these years. It’s about a house in a village street — three steps up and into a panelled hall, and a staircase going up on the right, with the newel-posts carved with the four Evangelists — a lion and an ox at the bottom, and an eagle and a man at the top. I thought if I could take him down there and into the house, he might remember.’

‘It is a real house, with associations for him?’

‘Yes. It belonged to his grandmother. We used to go there a lot when we were children. She left it to William, and he left it to me. It’s at Ledstow. It’s called the Cedar House. We spent our honeymoon there. Mr. Tattlecombe has given us Saturday afternoon off. I want to take William down there this weekend and see if he remembers.’ She stopped, her eyes shining, her look intent. ‘I think it’s a real chance. He wouldn’t have that dream about it if it didn’t mean something to him — something special. It’s as if it was the one sensitive spot. I’ve got a sort of feeling that his memory might come back to him there.’

Miss Silver said, ‘Yes. These cases of loss of memory are strange. Sometimes a mental or a physical shock will bring the lost faculty back. Your plan is, I think, worth trying. But pray do not be too much disappointed if it does not succeed. In that case I must urge you most strongly to lose no more time. Your husband has a right to decide for himself what is best for him to do. His own family and his own firm are involved. You cannot continue to take the sole responsibility.’