Patricia Wentworth - Through The Wall

“It’s rather like every generation putting in their own furniture-some of it’s hideous and some of it’s beautiful, and when you come in yourself you keep the good bits and get rid of the bad ones, and you bring what you’ve got of your own. I was wondering if we couldn’t just do that.”

“You mean you would like to keep the house-live in it?”

“Yes-I think so. Unless you wouldn’t like it. When you said that about the story dying down I thought we could give it a new story-a nice one. A lot of nice people have lived here, you know, as well as some nasty ones. Eliza says Uncle Martin’s wife was an angel. I feel as if I sort of owed it to the nice people to get their house clean and tidy again.”

He got up, came over to her, and put an arm about her shoulders.

“You’re rather a nice person yourself-aren’t you? I’ve got a feeling I’m going to like being married to you.” They kissed.

After a little he said, “What about Ina?”

“You know, I think she’d like to stay. I think she’d find it easier to be where everybody knows and they’re all sorry for her and want to be kind. I think it’s easier than going to a new place where one would always be wondering if people did know. Miss Silver has quite a lot of friends in this part of the world. She wants to ask some of them to come and see us. She says Mrs. March will come for one. And there’ll be Felix and Penny-”

Felix and Penny were up on the cliff. They had been silent for some time, when Penny said,

“Aunt Florence is going away tomorrow.”

He had been staring out over the sea. He turned now, frowning, and repeated her words.

“Going away?”

Penny nodded.

“Directly after the funeral. Didn’t you know?”

He shook his head.

“Why should I? She never tells me anything. How long is she going for?”

Penny said as soberly as she could,

“She isn’t coming back.”

It was difficult to hold on to the lovely light feeling which the words gave her. There must be something wrong about feeling like that when the person who had brought you up and whom you had always called Aunt Florence was going away for good, but the thought of Cove House without that heavy disapproving presence was too much for her. The words very nearly sang themselves.

Felix said, “What!” and she nodded again.

“ London first-somewhere Miss Silver told her about. And then I expect it will be a boardinghouse at Brighton. And I think she means to change her name, because letters are all to go to her bank. And anyhow she’s more or less said she doesn’t want us to write.”

Felix gave a harsh laugh.

“The clean cut! Well, that’s something to be thankful for. My God-how I have disliked that woman!”

She put her hand down over his for a moment.

“Well, you needn’t any more. I tried to love her, but I couldn’t. Let her go.”

She lifted the hand that had covered his and made a light throwing gesture with it. Let it all go-the hating and the gloom, the trouble which they had brought, the terror and the strain.

Felix watched her with a brooding look. Presently he said,

“What are we going to do?”

Penny said, “I don’t know.”

Her eyes were very clear and bright. They looked at him with a confidence which troubled him. His frown became portentous.

“I can make something out of my music. There was that song cycle for Carrington-I didn’t go on with it, but I could. He tried two of the songs, and he was rather all over them- thought they suited his voice. We had a row because I chucked it, but I daresay I could get on to him again. He wanted it for his American tour. There’s money in song writing if you make a hit, and I like doing it. I’ve got plenty of ideas again.”

“Yes-”

“My father left me a couple of hundred a year. That woman has the rest of it for her life, and she’ll probably live for ever, so it’s not good counting on anything from there.”

“You’d be all right with what you could make-”

“Yes. I was thinking about you.”

“Were you?”

He gave a jerky nod.

“Everything here belongs to Marian.”

Penny said softly, “She would let us stay-if you didn’t hate it-”

“Why should I? It’s always been a good place to work. Some places aren’t. I’ve always been able to work here. You mean you think we could stay on as we are? She’s going to marry Cunningham, isn’t she? Won’t they want the whole house?”

“I don’t think so. I think we can have-our bit-if we want it.”

All this time she hadn’t taken her eyes off him. Now she looked away out over the sea. Her eyes dazzled so that the blue of the water was mixed with the blue of the sky.

Felix said in an odd offhand voice, “I suppose-we couldn’t get married-”

“I don’t see why not.”

“You wouldn’t be getting much out of it. There would be very little money.”

Still looking away from him, she said,

“I’ve got some too, you know.”

He was so surprised that he sat up and put a hand on her shoulder.

“You! I always thought you hadn’t a farthing.”

“I hadn’t. Uncle Martin gave me some. He settled it on me. I didn’t know until he told me last year when I was twenty-one. It’s-it’s quite a lot. He said not to tell anyone, so I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to go away, and if they had known it, it would have been very difficult to stay.”

“You didn’t tell me.” His tone accused her.

Her eyelids fell. He saw the lashes wet against her cheek.

“You were away.”

He wasn’t stupid. He knew very well how far away he had been. He wanted her to know that he had come back, and that he never wanted to go away again. He couldn’t find the right words. His grip bruised her shoulder.

“If you’ve got-enough-without me-”

Penny said in a small, quiet voice,

“I’d never have enough without you.”

He said with a groan,

“It would be better for you. When I’m working I shan’t even know whether you’re there.”

“But I’d be there-if you wanted me. And you will.”

“Penny-” He choked on the name. “I’ve got a brute of a temper.”

The wet lashes lifted. She turned round to him with her hands out, laughing and crying.

“Darling, I’ve lived with it for twenty years. I expect I can go on.”

Born in Mussoorie, India, in 1878, Patricia Wentworth was the daughter of an English general. Educated in England, she returned to India, where she began to write and was first published. She married, but in 1906 was left a widow with four children, and returned again to England where she resumed her writing, this time to earn a living for herself and her family. She married again in 1920 and lived in Surrey until her death in 1961.

Miss Wentworth’s early works were mainly historical fiction, and her first mystery, published in 1923, was The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith. In 1928 she wrote The Case Is Closed and gave birth to her most enduring creation, Miss Maud Silver.

[1]Manufacturer based in Stoke. Important producers of Porcelain and various types of earthenware under several different partnerships. 1793 to present.

[2]aka “She was a phantom of delight”) William Wordsworth, Poems in Two Volumes (1807) (separate text file enclosed)

[3]The Diverting History Of John Gilpin, Showing How He Went Farther Than He Intended, And Came Safe Home Again. By William Cowper, 1782 (project Gutenberg e-text enclosed)