Patricia Wentworth - The Key

And I don’t know – I don’t know what happened after that.’

‘Then we must find out,’ said Miss Silver in a brisk, and cheerful voice.

WHO IS EZRA Pincott?’ enquired Miss Silver. She had the mild expectant look of a teacher addressing her class. For the moment this consisted of Miss Fell, Major Albany, and Miss Janice Meade. Miss Brown had been persuaded to go to bed. Her absence was felt to be a relief.

All three of them said, ‘ Ezra Pincott?’

‘Dear me,’ said Miss Silver, ‘there seems to be a great many Pincotts in Bourne.’

There was nothing in her manner to show that she had already acquired a considerable amount of information about the Pincotts in general and about Ezra in particular.

Miss Sophy stopped pouring out tea, but kept the teapot poised.

‘Oh, yes ,’ she said. ‘Old Jeremiah Pincott had eighteen children. Susannah Bush is one of them, and they have mostly had large families themselves. Not Susannah – she has only two without counting the twins who died. Jeremiah was a well-to-do farmer, but Ezra is the son of his brother Hezekiah who ran away to sea.’

‘He’s the local bad hat,’ said Garth.

Miss Silver accepted a cup of tea, produced her own bottle of saccharin, and dropped in one tablet.

‘I see-’ she said. And then, ‘I should like very much to speak to him.’

Garth laughed.

‘Then you’d better let me catch him for you tomorrow before the pubs are open.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘He drinks?’

‘As much as he can get. What do you want him for?’

He wondered if he was going to be snubbed, but it appeared that the teacher would answer his question.

‘I hear he was boasting last night in the Black Bull that he knew something that would put money in his pocket. No names were mentioned, but I received the impression that the reference was to Mr Harsch and the manner of his death. You do not think it would be possible for me to see him before tomorrow?’

‘I don’t think so. You see, he’s by way of working for Giles who farms the land on the other side of the Church Cut. The minute he gets off he goes down to the Bull and stays there till it shuts. The only time I could get hold of him for you would be during his dinner hour – that is, if you want him sober.’

Miss Silver looked grave.

‘I should prefer it. I should also prefer to see him today, but it cannot be helped.’ She coughed and continued, ‘I should also be glad to have some information about Gladys Brewer.’

Miss Sophy looked mildly shocked. She helped herself to a rock bun and said in a soft, distressed voice, ‘Not at all a satisfactory girl, I am afraid. She does daily work up at Giles’, and her mother has very little control over her.’

Janice leaned forward with an appealing look.

‘I don’t really think she’s as bad as they make out.’ She turned to Miss Silver. ‘She’s one of those giggling, bouncing girls who get themselves talked about. She likes boys, and she’ll do anything for a lark, but she’s not bad – really.’

‘I would like very much to see her,’ said Miss Silver. ‘I wonder if it could be managed. When is she likely to be free – about six o’clock?’

‘Yes, I should think so.’

‘She lives with her mother?… Then perhaps we might take a walk in that direction and look in.’

‘Oh, yes, but-’ Janice hesitated ‘-I wouldn’t like to get her into trouble.’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘There is a country proverb which says, “If you don’t trouble trouble – trouble won’t trouble you.” ’

Garth Albany gave her a direct look.

‘What do you mean by that?’

She turned the smile on him.

‘Gladys won’t get into trouble – from the law – if she hasn’t broken the law. I do not for a moment imagine that she has done so, but if she was in the churchyard on Tuesday night she may have seen or heard something. I should like to know whether she did.’

Janice said, still in that hesitating voice, ‘I could take you to see Mrs Brewer. I know them quite well.’

At a little before six Miss Silver and Janice turned off the main street into a narrow lane where half a dozen old cottages mouldered. They were of the kind which are called picturesque, with old tiled roofs, minute windows, and a general air of dilapidation. Mrs Brewer’s cottage was the smallest and the most delapidated. It had sunflowers and hollyhocks in the garden, and a few ragged gooseberry and currant bushes. The doorstep was freshly whitened.

When Mrs Brewer opened the door Miss Silver thought she looked rather like the cottage, battered, and as if time had been too much for her. She had lost most of her front teeth, the late Mr Brewer having knocked them out when ‘under the influence’. She had told Janice all about it whilst obliging at Prior’s End. She seemed to feel a kind of gloomy pride in her husband’s prowess – ‘Life and soul of a party he was, and no harm in him as long as he wasn’t crossed. And Gladys is as like him as two peas, but a bit tiring, if you know what I mean, miss.’

She invited them into her spotless kitchen. The door opened directly upon it, and disclosed very old uneven flagstones on the floor, and very old sagging beams not very far overhead. In the corner a narrow ladder-like stair led up to the bedroom. With the exception of a lean-to at the back to hold fuel and store vegetables, there were only these two rooms. Bathrooms and indoor sanitation were unguessed at when these cottages were built, and the petrifying dictum was that what was good enough in the past was good enough for the present had never been disputed.

Mrs Brewer pulled forward a couple of chairs and invited her visitors to be seated.

‘Was it about me coming up to Prior’s End, miss? If there was anything extra, I’d be very pleased-’

But even as she spoke, the horrid fear took hold of her that Miss Madoc might have sent to say that she needn’t come any more, and then she’d be two days short, and nowhere to fill them unless she went back to the Miss Doncasters that never stopped telling you what to do and what not to do until you didn’t know one from the other. And as like as not some of the china got broken. There was a cup with a blue border and little bunches of flowers the last time she was there, and such an upset as never was.

But Miss Janice wasn’t saying anything like that. It was just, ‘Miss Silver is staying with Miss Sophy, and I was showing her the village. She was saying your cottage must be very old.’

Mrs Brewer looked relieved.

‘Mr Brewer’s grandfather lived here,’ she said, as if imagination could go no farther back. She turned to Janice. ‘Oh, miss, what a dreadful thing about Mr Madoc! I’m sure I never slept a wink after I heard. Oh, miss, he never done it!’

Janice said, ‘No, we don’t think he did.’

And with that the door swung in with a clatter and Gladys Brewer bounced into the room – a large plump girl with a bright colour and a fine head of chestnut hair piled up in front and hanging in a bush behind. She had bright blue eyes, very good teeth, and an exuberant air of health and jollity.

She said, ‘Hello, Mum!’ and then caught sight of the visitors and giggled, voice and laugh at full stretch. ‘Hello, Miss Janice!’ She giggled again.

Miss Silver said, ‘How do you do?’ and then went on talking to Mrs Brewer about the cottage.

‘So picturesque – but sadly inconvenient.’

Gladys let off another loud giggle.

‘I’m sure you’d say so if you’d bumped your head as often as I have going upstairs! Well, I’ll go up and change. I’m going out. You can expect me when you see me. We’re going into Marbury to the pictures.’