Patricia Wentworth: Lonesome Road

Miss Silver said, “I see-” She went on knitting. When she thought the pause had lasted long enough she spoke. “I would rather hear the whole story before we examine the details. I suppose you did not come here just to tell me about these letters. There has been something further-” The pause extended itself. Miss Silver continued to knit.

In the end Rachel Treherne managed two words.

“Something-yes-”

“Then will you please tell me about it.”

Miss Treherne dropped her brow upon her hand in such a fashion as to screen her eyes. When she spoke, it was in a low, even voice.

“A day or two after the last letter I had a narrow escape from falling downstairs. I had been washing my dog, and I was carrying him. I didn’t want him to shake himself until I could get him downstairs, so I was hurrying. And just as I came to the top step my own maid, Louisa Barnet, caught me by the arm. ‘Oh, Miss Rachel!’ she said, and she pulled me back. We have been together since we were children and she is very devoted to me. I could see that she was white and shaking. She held on to me and said, ‘You’d have got your death if I hadn’t stopped you. I nearly got mine coming up, but you going down and your hands taken up with Neusel-oh, you wouldn’t have had a chance!’ I said, ‘What do you mean, Louie?’ and she said, ‘Look for yourself, Miss Rachel!’ ”

“And what did you see?” inquired Miss Silver in an interested voice.

“The stairs go down in a long, straight flight from a half-way landing. They are of oak and uncarpeted. I was on the landing when Louisa stopped me. I don’t allow the stairs to be too highly polished, but when I looked I could see that the first three treads were like glass. Louisa had just come up. She said her feet went from under her as if she had been on ice. She came down on her hands and knees, and just saved herself by catching at one of the banisters. With the dog in my arms I should have been quite helpless. I mightn’t have been killed, but I should certainly have been very badly hurt. The housemaid is a local girl, steady and not too bright. She said she had done the stairs just as usual.” Rachel Treherne gave the ghost of a laugh. “I’ve never had to complain of her polishing anything too much!”

“And when did you come up those stairs yourself-or when had anyone else been up or down?”

“Not all the afternoon so far as I know, but I didn’t want to make a fuss or ask questions. The house was full. I was in my room writing letters. My sister was resting. The girls were somewhere in the garden. Everyone else was out. I finished washing Neusel at half past four, and I shouldn’t think anyone had come up or down since three o’clock.”

“Plenty of time to polish three steps,” observed Miss Silver.

Rachel Treherne made no answer, but after a moment she went on speaking.

“I shouldn’t have thought of it again if it hadn’t been for the letters. I tried very hard not to attach any importance to it, but I couldn’t get it off my mind. You see, the stairs would be done before breakfast, and if they had been like that all day, someone would have slipped on them long before half-past four. But if they were polished in the afternoon when everybody was out of the way, then it was done on purpose to make someone fall. And after those letters I couldn’t help thinking that I was the someone. I couldn’t get it off my mind.”

“What polish had been used? Could you tell?”

“Oh, yes. It was some the housekeeper got to try-a new stuff called Glasso, but I wouldn’t have it used on the floors because it made them too slippery.”

There was another pause. Miss Silver laid down her knitting and wrote in the shiny exercise-book. Then she said,

“Is that all?” and Rachel Treherne took her hand from her eyes and cried,

“Oh, no-it isn’t!”

Miss Silver gave a little cough.

“It will be much easier if you will go straight on. What happened after that?”

“Nothing for about a week. Then Louisa Barnet found the curtains on fire in my room. She beat the fire out, and there was not much damage done, but-it couldn’t have been an accident. There was no open flame in the room, or any way the curtains could have caught. I wasn’t in any real danger, I suppose, but it wasn’t a pleasant thing to happen on the top of everything else.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“A fire is always unpleasant,” she pronounced.

Miss Treherne sat back in her chair.

“The worst thing happened four days ago. It is what brought me here, but I’ve been wondering whether I could tell you about it. It’s so vile-” She said the last words in a slow, almost bewildered manner.

Miss Silver picked up her pink ball and unwound a handful of wool.

“It would really be much better if you did not keep breaking off,” she said in her most practical manner. “Pray continue.”

At another time Rachel Treherne would have been tempted to laugh. Even now a flicker of humor crossed her mood. She said,

“I know. I will tell you about it as quickly as possible. On Saturday I did some shopping in Ledlington. One of the things I brought home was a box of chocolates. I am the only one in the family who likes soft centers, so I chose a good hard mixture, but I made them take out just a few and put in some of the ones I like myself. The chocolates were the sort that have the name stamped on them so that you can tell what you are taking. I handed them round after dinner, and they were very good. I had two with soft centers, and enjoyed them. I took the box up to my room because Louisa Barnet is fond of chocolates too. She is like me, she doesn’t care for the hard centers. She was with me when I bought them, and I knew she would expect her share, so I told her to help herself. She took one, and almost immediately ran into the bathroom and spat it out. When she had rinsed her mouth she came back. She was terribly upset. She said, ‘That chocolate was as bitter as gall-there’s someone trying to harm you, Miss Rachel! You can’t get from it.’ She brought the box of chocolates over to me, and we examined them thoroughly. The ones with hard centers were all right, and we put them aside. There were about a dozen left with soft centers. Three of these had had a little hole made in the bottom and filled up again. It was quite cleverly done, but you could see it. I touched the filling of one of these chocolates with my tongue, and, it had a strong bitter taste. I burnt all the chocolates that were left.”

“A very foolish proceeding,” said Miss Silver briskly. “You should have had them analysed.”

Rachel answered with a hopeless gesture and a single word. Her hand lifted from her knee and fell again. She said,

“Impossible.”

Miss Silver waited. No other words followed. She knitted to the end of her row, and then remarked,

“This is for Hilary Cunningham’s baby. A sweet color- so very delicate.”

Rachel Treherne’s dark eyes rested for a moment upon the pale pink wool. She said in an absent voice,

“I didn’t know that Hilary had a baby.”

“Not till January.” Miss Silver began another row. “And now, Miss Treherne, I think we had better proceed. I asked you to tell me three things. Firstly, why should anyone want to kill you? You have not really replied to this, unless your statement that you are Rollo Treherne’s daughter, and that he has left you discretionary powers over his very large fortune, is an answer.”

Miss Treherne said without looking at her,

“It might be.”

“I asked you, secondly, whether any attempt had been made on your life, and if so, in what circumstances. To this you have replied very fully. Thirdly, I inquired who it was that you suspected. It is very necessary for me to have an answer to that third question.”