Patricia Wentworth - Poison In The Pen

Miss Silver permitted herself to say “Dear me!” and added, “Has she confided in Miss Wayne?”

“She hasn’t told anyone-except me. You know what those poison-pen letters are-very unpleasant. Miss Wayne is a prim, mousey little thing who couldn’t say boo to a goose. There was an elder sister who died some months ago. I gather it was she who invited Joyce to come to Willow Cottage. She was the elder and always took the lead in everything. As far as the village is concerned, she will go on being Miss Wayne to the end of the chapter, and the other little creature will continue to be Miss Renie.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Is there someone who dislikes Mrs. Rodney, or who has any reason to resent her presence in Tilling?”

“I can’t imagine why anyone should dislike Joyce. She is one of those pleasant girls-nice to look at without being a beauty, intelligent without being a brain. In fact there are no extremes-nothing to rouse up the sort of enmity which the letters suggest. People are usually sorry for a young widow. She doesn’t make a parade of her mourning, but she was very fond of her husband and she is devoted to the little boy. Miss Wayne has lived there a long time and knows everyone in the neighbourhood. Joyce says they have all been very kind.”

Miss Silver’s gaze rested upon him mildly.

“You say Miss Wayne does not know about these letters?”

“Oh, no. She is a timid person-it would alarm and distress her very much.”

“Has Mrs. Rodney any suspicions?”

“None whatever.”

“And you yourself?”

His colourless eyebrows rose.

“I was there for four days. I was taken to a jumble sale at the village hall. I attended morning service on the Sunday, and was afterwards introduced to several people whom I had missed at the sale. We were invited to tea at the Manor. I have no reason to suspect the parson, the verger, or any of the estimable middle-aged and elderly ladies who assist them to run the parish. In fact I have no reason to suspect anyone- how should I have?”

She continued to look at him in a thoughtful manner.

“These things do not always depend upon reason.”

His eyes displayed a sardonic gleam.

“Woman’s intuition? I’m afraid I can’t compete. I don’t know the exact figures for the current year, but speaking generally, there are about two million more women than men in the country. Terrifying to reflect that they are all at it day in, day out, exercising this formidable gift!”

Miss Silver considered that he was not really providing her with very much in the way of information. She said in a meditative voice,

“A jumble sale-the Sunday morning congregation-the Manor-that would cover a good deal of ground in a village. What is the family at the Manor?”

He gave her an appreciative glance.

“As you say, quite a lot of ground. The Manor is an old one, and the family has been there a long time. The name used to be Deverell, but somewhere in the last century the male line died out altogether and a Repton came in through a marriage with the heiress. He refused to change his name, so they have gone on being Reptons. They were very nicely to do until the property got split up again about thirty years ago, when the direct line ended with a woman who got all the money and the place went to a male cousin who is the present incumbent. He is Colonel Roger Repton. He is pretty hard up, and he is guardian-the heiress having died-to her daughter, a girl called Valentine Grey, who has come in for the family fortune. Attractive creature fluttering on the edge of matrimony with one Gilbert Earle, a chap in the Foreign Office who will probably be the next Lord Brangston and would certainly be able to do with the money, since the present man has a string of five daughters to provide for. He called them after flowers, and I gather they neither marry nor work for a living. I have met them in my time, sitting out whilst other girls danced. To the best of my recollection they are called Violet, Daffodil, Rosemary, Daphne and Artemisia.”

The last name elicited a mild protest.

“My dear Frank!”

“Cross my heart ma’am, they call her Artie-I swear it!”

She drew on the blue ball.

“Let us return to Tilling Green.”

“By all means. There are also living at the Manor Colonel Roger’s sister, Miss Maggie Repton, the kind of sister who clings to the place where she was born and brought up because it has simply never occurred to her to go anywhere or do anything. She does keep house with a good deal of inefficiency, because young Mrs. Repton won’t do it at all.”

“There is a young Mrs. Repton?”

“There is indeed-the decorative Scilla! One of the things I haven’t discovered is whether she spells it like the flower, or in the classical manner like Scylla and Charybdis. You see, quite a lot might depend on that.”

Miss Silver saw, but she made no comment. He continued.

“Roger was considered to have made a fool of himself when he married her. She is definitely not what you would expect to find in Tilling Green, and she makes no secret of the fact that the country bores her and she yearns for town. I imagine she didn’t know how little money there was going to be- especially when Valentine got married.”

“That will make a difference?”

“Oh, yes. I understand that she contributes very handsomely to the expenses.”

Miss Silver went on knitting.

“Just why are you telling me all this?” she said.

He smiled with a spice of malice.

“Don’t I always tell you everything?”

“Not unless you have a reason for doing so.”

“Perhaps I wanted to talk it out for my own benefit. Putting things into words straightens them out, and-you are always stimulating!”

She said, “I am wondering why you have described the household at the Manor whilst leaving the jumble sale and the congregation undescribed.”

“One can’t describe everyone.”

“But you began with the Manor.”

If he hesitated, it was only for a moment.

“It was probably because one of the letters mentioned Gilbert Earle.”

“What did it say?”

“I didn’t see it-I told you that. Joyce didn’t keep either of them. But as far as my information goes it accused her of trying to attract him-throwing herself at his head, that sort of thing, only I gather in rather more unvarnished language. The anonymous letter writer doesn’t generally worry about keeping the party clean.”

“And does Mrs. Rodney know Mr. Earle well?”

“She knows him. He’s down there constantly at weekends. But as a matter of fact she met him abroad some years ago when she was first married. They have friends and acquaintances in common. He has occasionally seen her home from the Manor or after some village do. There is nothing in it or ever has been, I am sure about that.”

“Would Miss Valentine Grey be equally sure? Or young Mrs. Repton?”

He laughed.

“I don’t know about Scilla Repton, but I don’t think Valentine is in the least likely to object to Gilbert seeing other people home. There doesn’t seem to be a general impression that she is head over ears in love with him. There was someone else-the parson’s nephew, one of the here to-day and gone tomorrow type. He and Valentine were pretty thick. And then he just vanished from the scene. Didn’t come, didn’t write, and Gilbert Earle began to make the running. Now she is going to marry him. Joyce says her heart isn’t in it.”

“Are they friends?”

“Yes, I think they are-” He hesitated. “Joyce hasn’t a great deal of time, you know. What with running the house, taking the child to kindergarten and fetching him again, well-”

Miss Silver murmured agreement.

“I am glad to hear that the little boy is well enough to go to school.”