Patricia Wentworth - The Fingerprint

Sid let go of Mirrie and stepped back. He didn’t like the look in Johnny’s eye, and it was no part of his plan to get let in for a rough house. He said,

“She’s upset.”

Mirrie sobbed, and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief which had begun the day very smooth and clean and was now a crumpled wreck. Johnny said briskly,

“It’s been an upsetting day. I’m driving Mr. Maudsley to Lenton for his train in ten minutes. Can I give you a lift?”

The thing hung in the balance. Sid Turner wasn’t sure. He hadn’t known Mirrie as long as he had without finding out how slick a liar she could be. He came down on the side of a check-up on what she had told him.

“She’s upset because of being let down flat-that’s what. I’m a family connection, I expect she’s told you, and I’d like to know what’s going to be done about getting her her rights.”

Johnny’s eyebrows rose.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Mirrie, you’d better go up and lie down.”

“Not yet, she won’t!” said Sid Turner. “Not till we’ve got this clear! Mr. Field said he was going to provide for her. He told her so. And he told her he’d done it. And now she says somebody burned that will and she doesn’t get anything.”

“Not somebody-Mr. Field burned it himself.”

“Sez you!” His tone was a nasty one.

Johnny went to the door and threw it open.

“If you want that lift you can have it. And if you want to know what happened about the will you can ask Mr. Maudsley on the way to Lenton. And after that I think it would be a good plan if you were to mind your own business and leave Mirrie alone.”

Sid looked at Mirrie, who went on crying. He looked at the open door and remembered that it was three miles to Lenton. He said,

“If that’s the way it is I’ll take the lift.”

WHEN THE DOOR was shut behind them Mirrie gave her eyes a last vigorous rub and stood on tiptoe to look at herself in the oval glass which hung above the mantelpiece. It had a faded gold frame, and it didn’t give back a very good reflection. That was one of the things she didn’t understand about Field End, and Abbottsleigh, and the Pondesburys’ place, which was called Reynings. There were a lot of shabby old things in all these houses, and instead of throwing them away and getting new ones the people they belonged to seemed to be proud of how old they were. And they didn’t call them shabby, they said they were antiques. Johnny had said it to her about this very mirror. She couldn’t see herself properly in it at all, but what she did see was enough to make it quite plain that she had better stay where she was until there was a chance of getting away upstairs without meeting anyone. She had really been crying and her eyes were all puffed up. She thought she looked dreadful, and it was no good trying to persuade herself that the glass was to blame, because her eyelids were stiff and sore and even her nose felt swollen. She waited until the sound of voices in the hall had died away and then opened the door a little way and looked out.

There was no one in sight but Georgina. She had her hand on the newel-post at the bottom of the stairs and her foot on the first step, and there whilst Mirrie looked at her she stayed. Well, it didn’t matter if Georgina saw her with her eyes swelled up. She came out of the morning-room, and as she did so Georgina moved and went on up the stairs. She had reached the door of her sitting-room and was opening it, when she looked round and saw Mirrie behind her. She was tired, and she was sad, and she wanted desperately to be alone. There had been the inquest in the morning, and short and formal as the proceedings were, it had been a strain.

There had been a business talk with Mr. Maudsley. And then the relations and a few old friends from a distance who had to be given lunch-elderly people for the most part and all meaning to be kind, but expecting to be considered and to have their endless questions answered. Well, it was over now, and the funeral and that rather dreadful gathering of the mourners for tea. It was over and they were gone, and she wanted to be alone and just stop thinking. Anthony hadn’t come near her all the day, or all yesterday after Mr. Maudsley had told them about the will. That was one of the things she wanted to stop thinking about. He looked hard and stubborn, and as unhappy as she was herself. She just wanted to stop thinking about it all.

She turned her head and saw Mirrie a yard or two behind her-a little damp, tousled Mirrie like a kitten that has been out in the rain. It wasn’t in her to go on and shut the door between them. She said, “Oh, Mirrie, what is it?” and Mirrie began to cry again, not loudly, but in a piteous, heart-broken way. There seemed to be only one thing to do and she did it.

She took the little sobbing creature in and put her into a chair. When she had shut the door she came back, and sat down by her.

“Mirrie, what are you crying about?”

Mirrie said, “It’s all so dreadful-”

“I know. But don’t go on crying. Uncle Jonathan wouldn’t want you to.”

There was a fresh burst of tears.

“He was so good to me!”

“He was very fond of you.”

Mirrie gave a choking sob.

“Are you going to send me back?”

“I want to talk to you about that.”

“Oh, you are ! Oh, Georgina, don’t-don’t- please don’t! Uncle Albert and Aunt Grace-and that dreadful Home- you don’t know what it’s like-you don’t really! And I should never see Johnny again! He likes me now, but he’ll forget me if I go away-I know he will! Oh, don’t make me go!”

Georgina said, “I’m not making you do anything. I’ve been talking to Mr. Maudsley about you.”

“What did he say?” Then, as Georgina hesitated, she went on quickly, “He doesn’t like me. He was glad about the will being burned. He won’t let you do anything-I know he won’t.”

“Listen, Mirrie. Uncle Jonathan was going to provide for you. He burned the will he made on Tuesday because it was made when he was angry with me about something. I don’t really know what was in it-he didn’t tell me. He only said that it was unjust, and that he would make another will which would be just to everyone. Well, he died before he could do that, but I want to carry out his wishes as far as I can. That is what I have been talking to Mr. Maudsley about.”

Mirrie had stopped crying. Her eyes were fixed on Georgina ’s face and her breath came quickly. Georgina went on speaking.

“Mr. Maudsley says I can’t give you any of the capital, because it is left to me in trust. He and Anthony are the trustees. They will pay me the income from the money, but neither they nor I can give you any of the capital. What I can do, and what I mean to do, is to pay you over some of the income as your share of what he meant to leave you. I don’t know how much it will be, because I don’t know how much there will be altogether. There is always a heavy tax to pay when anyone dies, and I don’t know how much that will come to. But there is no question of your going back to your uncle and aunt if you don’t want to, or to the Home.”

Mirrie said “Oh-” Her mouth made the shape of it, and her eyes were quite round. She said, “Oh, Georgina!” and then, “I shall have some money of my own?”

“Oh, yes. Does that make you feel better?” Mirrie nodded vigorously. “I can give it to Johnny-for his garage.” Georgina ’s voice had been warm and kind. It changed. “Has he asked you to do anything like that?” The little tousled head was shaken.

“Oh, no, he hasn’t-but I’d like to. You see, he told me right away that he was quite poor and he would have to marry a girl with a lot of money. He used to joke about it. I told him about Uncle Jonathan saying he was going to treat me like his daughter, and I said if I had any money I could give some of it to him, and he said it couldn’t be done, because men didn’t take money from girls. I did think I would be having quite a lot of money then, because of what Uncle Jonathan said, and when Johnny told me about the garage he wanted to have-” Her voice broke on a sob. Georgina said in a troubled tone, “Mirrie-when did Johnny tell you all this?”