Patricia Wentworth - Pilgrim’s Rest

It was now between three and a quarter past. After an interview with Jerome Pilgrim, March got into his car and went back to Ledlington, leaving Frank Abbott and the sergeant to conduct a search of the bedrooms.

Everything that happened during the afternoon was to be important-even the little things. When murder is abroad it is not easy to say which are the little things. A grain or two of dust, the smear of a damp finger, a speck of blood, a shred of torn paper-these weigh down the balance against a man’s life. The murderer does not walk an easy path. He must keep the dust from his shoes, the stains of crime from his garments. He must not touch, he must not handle. But he must not only glove the bare skin lest it leave the mark of his guilty sweat- he must hood his thoughts and heed his tongue, he must mask his eyes from being the mirror of his mind, and walk the naked edge of danger easily. What to others are little things, sifted out afterwards by patient question and answer, are to him all the time an ever-present menace-the teeth of the trap which may at any moment spring to and catch him. He must watch everything and everyone. He must not appear to watch at all. With thought at its most abnormal, all that he looks, or says, or does must be so normal as to merge into an accustomed background and provide nothing that will catch even the most scrutinizing eye.

As Miss Silver stood at her open door to watch Maggie Pell cross to the back stair just over the way, Jerome Pilgrim came along the corridor. He looked pale and haggard, but she discerned a new air of resolution, as if the shocking events of the past few days had roused him-given him some needed impetus. He was wearing a coat and muffler, and informed her as he passed that he was going out into the garden. Miss Silver commended this intention, observing that the air was quite springlike, but that it would be cold as soon as the sun went in.

He had a faint smile for that.

“Lona will be after me long before then. If it were not for my Aunt Janetta, she would be after me now.”

Miss Silver hoped politely that Miss Janetta was not feeling worse. He replied that she was completely prostrated, and went on his way. It was Miss Silver’s opinion that the more complete the prostration, the better for Captain Pilgrim. She considered him to be in some need of emancipation, and was pleased to observe that he was taking steps in that direction. She hoped that Miss Janetta would continue to absorb the greater part of Miss Day’s attention.

As Jerome came through the hall he was aware of Robbins at the front door, his hand just rising to open the catch. At the tap of the stick Robbins turned, stepped back, and said in a voice that sounded aloof and cold,

“Is it by your orders, sir, that the police are about to search the house?”

Jerome said, “Certainly.”

Robbins persisted.

“Have they your permission, sir?”

“Yes, they have.” Then, as if he thought he had been too abrupt, he turned back to say, “The sooner they get down to it, the sooner they’ll leave us alone. They asked my consent, but if it had been refused, they would have brought in a search-warrant.”

“What do they expect to find, sir?”

Jerome said, “I don’t know. I’ve said they had better begin at my room, and then I can get back there.” He went on into the morning-room. “If there’s someone at the door, hadn’t you better see about it?”

From where he stood he could hear the catch click back. A cold air came in, and Lesley Freyne’s voice, speaking to Robbins. He came back into the hall at his best pace and called to her,

“Come in, Les!”

She had a momentary impression of Robbins looking- what was the word? It teased her because she couldn’t get it. And then, when he had turned away and gone silently back across the hall and Jerome was taking her into the morning-room, it came to her. Remote-yes, that was it-as if he was a long way off and you couldn’t reach him. It came and went again.

Jerome shut the door, dropped coat and muffler, and they went over to the fire and sat down on Miss Janetta’s big couch. He said,

“The police are searching the house. Aunt Collie’s in the garden, and Aunt Netta’s in her room. But you don’t want them, do you? Will I do?”

She gave him her wide, warm smile and said,

“This is very comfortable, I think.”

She was not prepared for his look.

“You are very comfortable, Les.”

“Am I?” Her voice was rather sad.

“Yes. You are a halcyon creature-you have a circle of summer round you, very warm and comforting.”

“ St. Martin ’s summer, I’m afraid-”

“ ‘Expect St. Martin ’s summer, halcyon days’? But we’re not quite into November yet, my dear. I shouldn’t put us farther than July myself.”

“I’m forty-three, Jerome.”

“So am I, as near as makes no difference. It’s a hoary age, but there is worse to come. You’ve no grey hairs, whilst I have thousands.” His tone, half bantering, changed abruptly. “Les-don’t let anyone keep you away from us.”

“I won’t if I can help it.”

He said, “I don’t know how it is-I feel as if I’d been in a dream. Now I’ve waked up. I want you to help me not to go back into the dream again. I think you can. When all this frightful business is over I want to get back to something like a normal life. Lona’s been very good, but I think it’s time she went. Aunt Netta doesn’t need her, and nor do I. There is really no reason why I should be so much of an invalid. I’ll get gradually back to doing things. There’ll be a lot of business to see to-” He broke off. “Some day I’ll write again. I feel as if I’d got a lot of ideas stored up, and they’re beginning to knock on the door and want to get out.”

“I’m so glad. I always thought-”

He said, “Do you think about me, Les?”

“Of course I do.”

“How?”

“As my friend.” Her voice went deep on the word.

He turned a little away from her.

“We were friends-great friends, I thought. And then Henry came, and he was something more than a friend.”

She lifted her steady brown eyes to his averted face.

“He wasn’t in love with me-never.”

“Then why-”

She said,

“I’d like to tell you-it’s all so long ago-I’d like to. You know what Henry was-he made you feel you were the only person in the world. I don’t think he put it on-at least not much. Do you remember when we were children, if we wanted anything we used to put Henry up to ask for it. He only had to smile and everyone said yes. It didn’t matter who it was-Mr. Pilgrim, the aunts, my father and mother, Mrs. Robbins-it was all the same, and it was very, very bad for him. I ought to have known better, but when he smiled at me, I said yes too.”

“Did you care for him, Les?” The words were almost inaudible.

Her voice dropped too.

“Not with my heart. I was charmed and flattered, and-I was very, very lonely. The man I cared for didn’t care for me, and-” the low voice shook-“I got tired of being unhappy and alone. I wanted a home of my own, and a life of my own, and children of my own. So when Henry smiled at me, I said yes. Only when it came to the point I couldn’t do it, Jerome. Mabel Robbins stuck in my throat.”

He looked round startled.

“Was it Henry?”

“Oh, yes. It came out when we were talking about a case in the papers. I don’t mean that he told me-it just came to me. It sounds stupid, but all at once I could see that it wasn’t just Mabel. It was something in Henry-he was like that, he had to have what he wanted, it didn’t matter about anyone else. There would always be women like Mabel, and it wouldn’t matter about any of them any more than it had mattered about her-any more than it would matter about me. The only person who ever had mattered, or ever would matter, was Henry. And I just felt I couldn’t do it. I should have told him so that evening-only he didn’t come-”