The Silent Pool (15 page)

Mary Lenton sat in the dark and waited. It had not been very difficult to open Ellie’s door. There were at least three other keys which fitted it. She went in, switched on the light, and saw that the bed had not been stripped of its counterpane. The curtains had been drawn back from the open window. She at once turned out the light. Since they had already made a thorough search of the rest of the house, it was now quite certain that Ellie had left it, and since the outer doors were locked and the ground floor windows latched, there could be very little doubt that she had climbed out of this window. When she came back there must be no light in the room to frighten her away. She went out on to the landing and spoke to John.

‘She isn’t there. She hasn’t undressed. She must have climbed down the pear-tree.’

He said in a voice she would hardly have known, it was so full of a hard anger,

‘Then she will find us waiting for her when she comes back.’

‘Not you, John.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because she will be – very much ashamed.’

‘I hope so. This is no time for softness.’

They spoke in undertones, as if there was someone who might hear them in the empty room. In the end Mary got her way.

John Lenton went back to the study at the other side of the house and sat there writing letters, clearing up his desk, with anger in his mind and an urge to vent it. He had left the bedroom to Mary, but she need not think he would forbear to speak his mind when Ellie came home.

Mary Lenton sat there in the dark. The thing was unbelievable, but it had to be believed. She looked back through all the years of Ellie’s life. She was five years the younger. Mary remembered her very small and pretty in her pram. She remembered the gentle little girl who was always good, the delicate girl in her teens who was never quite strong enough to play games or take long walks. That it should be Ellie who had climbed out of her window to meet a man just did not seem as if it could be true.

She pushed a chair up level with the window and to one side of it, so that when Ellie came back she would not see her until she had climbed right into the room. She did not have to push it far, because it was the chair in which Ellie had sat to watch the road from Ford House. Mary’s mind was so full of unhappiness that she had no sense of the passing of time. She had never seen John in such anger. His household, which should have been a pattern, to become a byword! His home with Mary and his children in it to be the setting for a sordid intrigue! For this time at least there was no room for mercy, and Ellie would get none.

Mary could think of no way out. John would make her send Ellie away. There would be no one to help with the children. He wouldn’t let Ellie teach them any more, he wouldn’t let her be with them. And where were they to send her? There was no one but old Aunt Annabel, and she would want to know why they couldn’t keep her themselves. The longer she went on thinking about it, the more dreadfully difficult it was. If John would only help instead of piling up his anger on the top of everything else. Of course Ellie must be talked to and got to see how wrong she had been. And she must give up meeting Geoffrey Ford, who ought to be ashamed of himself. If she did that, the talk would die down. Mrs Collen was a coarse-tongued woman who thought she could stick up for her daughter by accusing somebody else. It was silly of John to think that he could do any good by going for her about Olive. She would have tried to stop him if she had known, but it probably wouldn’t have been any good. Men were so headstrong, and they always thought they knew best.

Soft as it was, she heard Ellie’s footstep as it came round the side of the house. She had run till there was no more breath in her. She had not known when there was grass under her feet, or when there was gravel. She had scarcely known that it was dark. She had been driven by terror, as a leaf is driven before the wind. She ran from the pool – through the gap in the hedge, and across the lawn, and through the shrubbery, and down the drive of Ford House. She ran out upon the road and along it. But when she came to the Vicarage gate the pace slackened. She came in past the tall shapes of the dahlias – black leaves, black sculptured flowers in a thicket of darkness – and she came, slow and dragging, to the pear-tree under her window. She took hold of it and stood there panting, straining for breath. It had been easy enough to climb down, but how was she going to get up again? There was no strength in her, no breath. She leaned forward over her hands and held on to the pear-tree.

Mary Lenton was on her feet, pressed back against the wall. What had happened – what could possibly have happened? She had not thought that anything could be worse than to sit here waiting for Ellie to come back. But this was worse, far worse. She was afraid to call out, to move, to do anything.

And then, very slowly and with sobbing breath, Ellie set a foot on the lowest branch of the pear-tree and began to climb. Mary moved then. The dressing-table stood across the corner just beyond her. There was a light-switch there. She moved until she could reach it. And waited. Ellie’s hands groped and clung to the stretched boughs, her feet stumbled and slipped, her breath caught in her throat. It was terrible to listen and not help her, but if she were startled Ellie might fall. It came to Mary Lenton then that you can’t always help the people you love – they must help themselves. It came to her that Ellie must find her own way back.

Painfully and very, very slowly Ellie was finding this part of her way. A shadow rose beyond the sill, the laboured breathing was in the room. There was a moment when the dark shape at the window seemed to hang there motionless, there was another moment when it moved again. With the last of her strength Ellie put a knee on the windowsill and dragged herself over it. She caught at the drawn-back curtain and stood there swaying.

And then the light came on. She saw the room, and Mary, her hand dropping from the switch. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them. Mary looked at her, aghast. Her jumper, her cardigan, all the front of her skirt, was soaked and dripping. She said,

‘Ellie!’

Ellie Page stared at her blankly. Her hands slipped from the curtain. The floor in front of her tilted and she went down – down — down.

It took so long to revive her, and the consciousness to which she did eventually return was of so precarious a nature, that John Lenton’s righteous indignation failed him and he agreed without demur to whatever Mary suggested.

‘I can’t leave her, John – she isn’t fit to be left.’

He looked down at the strained white face on the pillow. They had lifted her on to the bed and covered her. She was deathly cold. He had filled hot-water bottles and heated milk. Until this moment there had been no time for anything but fear and haste. Now quite suddenly he said,

‘Why had you taken off her things?’ And then, more sharply, ‘She hadn’t been out like that?’

Mary did not know just what prompted her answer. She was the most candid of women, but – you don’t tell a man everything where another woman is concerned. She didn’t know just why she had taken off the soaked jumper, the cardigan and skirt, and the wet shoes and stockings before she ran for John. There was, perhaps, some vague idea that Ellie might have tried to drown herself, and that there was no need for him to know. She had stripped the wet things off and pushed them out of sight. When John was asleep she could put them down in the kitchen to dry. She looked at him by the light of the candle which he had shaded from Ellie’s eyes and said without a tremor, ‘I thought she would be more comfortable without them.’

It was not Sam Bolton who found the body this time, but the head gardener himself. There was nothing special to take him to the pool, but it was a fine morning after the cloudy night and he was taking what he called a bit of a daunder round the garden before getting on with his autumn seeds. The sun shone out of a blue sky with no more than a streak or two of grey in the west. The sunrise had been too red to promise any continuance of this pleasant state of things. As far as Mr Robertson was concerned, he didn’t trust it a yard, and if Maggie had no more sense than to come telling him what the B.B.C. said about it, he would just have the one word to say to her, and that was, ‘Blethers!’ He hadn’t come to his time of life without having his own ideas.

He passed through one of the arches of the yew hedge and saw the body in the pool. It lay as the other one had lain, tilted forward over the parapet with the head and shoulders under water. It was Meriel Ford, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was dead. It wouldn’t be any business of his to be touching her. He went up to the house and told Simmons without any fuss.

The news spread like a spark in a dry field. It reached Janet when Joan Cuttle came up with her morning cup of tea. It took her all she knew to muzzle Joan and get her out of earshot of Stella. She was whimpering and catching her breath as she went, but not daring to raise her voice.

Janet went to the telephone and rang up Star. She emerged from the nursery half an hour later with her plans made, and ran into Ninian. He said, ‘You’ve heard?’ and she nodded.

‘Look, I’ve got to get Stella away. I’ve just been on to Star about it,’

He gave a slight shrug.

‘And what did Star say? She won’t be keen on having Stella in town.’

Janet had her determined look, brows very straight, eyes very steady.

‘It’s all arranged. Star’s friend Sibylla Maxwell will take them in. She has a nursery, and children about the same age. The Maxwells have a big house at Sunningdale. She has been asking Star to take Stella there, so it fits in beautifully. We’re catching the nine-fifteen from Ledbury.’

He stood there frowning.

‘Stella ought to be out of it – you’re right about that. But I don’t know about you. The police will want to see everyone.’

She nodded.

‘Star is meeting us. I’ll take the next train back.’

‘That would be the eleven-thirty. I’ll meet it. How are you getting to Ledbury? I don’t know that I can get away.’

‘I’ve ordered a taxi. I’m going down now for Stella’s breakfast. Could you possibly stay with her till I get back? I’m not letting her out of the nursery till the taxi comes.’

All the way up in the train Stella chattered about the Maxwells. They had a garden with a wall round it, they had a swimming-pool, they had a swing. They had two ponies, and they had guineapigs, as well as rabbits. Janet had never seen her so animated.

Star, meeting them at the terminus, looked at Janet over Stella’s head with frightened eyes. Then said, ‘What is happening?’

Janet had no answer to give. All her energies had been concentrated upon getting Stella away. When they had got the luggage out of the van Star pulled her aside.

‘Janet – what does Stella know?’

‘Nothing so far. I watched her like a dragon.’

‘I shall have to tell her something.’

‘Yes. Why don’t you just say there has been an accident? She doesn’t like Meriel, and I don’t believe she’ll take a lot of notice – not with swimming-pools and ponies and guineapigs to think about. She has been talking about them all the way up.’

Star held her arm so tightly that she left a bruise.

‘I told you something dreadful was going to happen. I had a feeling about it. That is really why I came back. I could have stayed in New York and had a marvellous time, but I just couldn’t! I kept on being frightened about Stella!’

Janet detached the clutching fingers.

‘Star, you’re making a hole in my arm. And there’s nothing the matter with Stella. Take her away and have a good time with her.’

The return train got into Ledbury at just after half past twelve, and Ninian was on the platform. When they were clear of the traffic he said abruptly,

‘They’ve found a handkerchief belonging to Esmé Trent in the summerhouse.’

Janet made no comment. She watched his dark unsmiling profile.

‘They don’t know why she should have dropped it there, and they don’t know when, but it wasn’t there after the first business, because the police say they went through everything in the summerhouse. And it wasn’t there as late as four o’clock yesterday afternoon, because Robertson didn’t like the way the police had left the chairs and he was in there putting them right. According to him, “There was nae handkerchiefs nor other fancy goods tae be seen then.’”

Janet said,

‘How do they know it is Esmé Trent’s handkerchief?’

‘Oh, rather a conspicuous article – what Robertson would call kenspeckle. Getting on towards orange in colour, with Esmé all across one corner.’

‘And what does Esmé Trent say to that?’

‘I don’t know. They’ve been asking us all a lot of questions. You’ll be for it as soon as you get back – or as soon as they do. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it can be to account for one’s simplest actions. Why, for instance, did Adriana and Edna go up to bed at half past nine? Very suspicious for Adriana to be tired of Edna’s exhilarating company, or for Edna to have had enough of that interminable embroidery of hers! And who is Miss Silver, and what is she doing down here? Geoffrey will have to admit that he went to see the girl friend and stayed there for an indefinite period. Not in itself an offence against the law. And, as we know, Meriel was last seen leaving the drawing-room with the avowed intention of following him to the study. The police naturally wonder whether she followed him farther than that. He says she didn’t. That leaves you and me to give each other an alibi. It is, of course, highly suspicious to have an alibi at all. And why did we sit up until the riotous hour of half past ten, when as far as we knew, the rest of the virtuous household had gone to bed? Also, why didn’t we hear Geoffrey come in? I did point out that this is a big house, and that the study is well away on the other side of it. I also intimated that we were having quite an interesting conversation, but it didn’t seem to cut a lot of official ice. By the way, I furnished them with a brief biography of you and told them we were engaged, so don’t do anything stupid like shaking my credibility as a witness.’

‘You shouldn’t have said we were engaged.’

‘Darling, I’ve been telling you so for days. Hasn’t it penetrated? It really will be a Suspicious Circumstance if you start cavilling at what I’ve said. Honestly, you’d better let it ride.’

Janet was pale and frowning. She said nothing for a minute or two, and then came out suddenly with,

‘What is all this about? Do they think – do the police think it wasn’t an accident?’

His eyebrows rose.

‘How many coincidences do you expect a policeman to swallow before breakfast? Do you suppose there was a hope that they would get this one down? Even if there had been nothing more, there wouldn’t have been an earthly.’

She said, ‘Is there anything more?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m afraid there is. You see, Meriel didn’t just fall into the pool. She was struck on the back of the head with our old friend the blunt instrument.’