Patricia Wentworth - The Alington Inheritance

“I asked you what made you think that she had gone.”

His eyes were on her. He was the stronger of the two. She threw out her hands in a gesture and said,

“I don’t think anything about it. I know she has gone. She has taken the small case that she brought here with her night things in it. Her brush and comb have gone, and her washing things. Her bed has not been slept in, but the dress she wore last night is hanging in the cupboard. Her coat is gone. She has gone.”

There was a pause. Then he said,

“Why?”

Mrs. Forbes stared.

“How should I know?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“You didn’t come into her room last night and say anything?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

Their eyes met. She sustained his look and was inwardly thankful that she had nothing to hide. Mac took his hands from behind his head and got up.

“I’d better get dressed,” he said. “She can’t have gone very far. What money has she got?”

“I don’t know. Not very much.”

“You don’t know how much?”

“No, I don’t.”

“All right, I’ll get dressed, and then we can decide what to do. We shall have to be careful. If she’s Jenny Hill, we have no control at all. But if she’s Jenny Forbes-”

Mrs. Forbes said, “Hush! Are you mad?”

He laughed.

“No, I’m not mad. It just wants thinking about, that’s all. Now go along and let me get dressed.”

She turned and went out of the room. There were things she wanted to say, but she did not say them. She was a strong highhanded woman, but there were times when her eldest son frightened her. This was one of those times. She turned and went.

All that was on Sunday morning, and no one heard anything until Tuesday. Mac and Alan went back to London on the Sunday evening. It was a relief, though Mrs. Forbes would not have admitted it. It was not what Mac said, for he said very little, and it was not what he did, for there was nothing remarkable about that. She could have borne it better if he had been upset. He was not, so far as she could see, the least upset. And that frightened her. She didn’t know why, but it did.

And then on Tuesday morning she went into the village. She had been uncertain as to whether she would go, and then it came over her that it was important she should show herself-let people see her-see that she wasn’t upset-that Jenny’s going had made no difference to her. And why should it make a difference-could anyone tell her that?

She put on a new tweed coat and skirt. It was oatmeal-coloured, and it set off her golden hair and the smooth tints of her complexion. No one but herself knew just how much assistance the complexion and the hair required. No one ever saw her until that assistance had been applied. She put on a golden brown felt hat and a scarf and gloves that matched it and set out for the village.

It was no more than half a mile, but as she walked, the feeling of dread which had been upon her lifted. Mac had been sensible about it, and she hadn’t been sensible at all. There was no need to suppose that Jenny had found out about anything. How could she have? If she had ran away, it was probably for some ridiculous schoolgirl reason of her own. There had been some love affair, some quarrel, perhaps a row with Mary the house-parlour maid, and she had lost her head and run away. This last theory relieved her mind very much. It set Jenny where she belonged, on a level with Mary. She hoped very heartily that they had seen the last of her. Her spirits rose, and she turned into the main street of the village with a lighter heart than she had had for two days.

She went first to the general shop, where you could buy everything from bootlaces, the strictly utilitarian kind, to sweets. She came into the shop and was aware from outside of lively conversation that died away as she opened the door and went in. A tall woman in a shabby draggled raincoat was the only one left talking. She had her back to the door and did not see Mrs. Forbes. She said in a high dogmatic voice, “And as I say, there’s no smoke without fire-” And there she stopped, firmly checked by Mrs. Boddles, a large comfortable woman with a spreading bosom and an imperturbable calm.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Forbes,” she said, “and what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?”

The tall woman swung round with her mouth open. The other people in the shop stood still and listened with all their ears. Mrs. Forbes didn’t hurry herself. She came up to the counter and said with a beaming smile,

“Good-morning, Miss Crampton. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Miss Crampton rallied.

“Oh, Mrs. Forbes,” she said in her jerky way, “I didn’t see you.”

“No?”

“No, I didn’t. I had my back to the door.”

“Yes?”

Miss Crampton was recovering. She remembered what she had said. There was nothing that anyone could take hold of-nothing at all. She said,

“How are you, Mrs. Forbes? Well, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you.” Mrs. Forbes turned back to Mrs. Boddles.

Miss Crampton was angry. No way to behave-no way at all! Mrs. Forbes should remember that she was the late Vicar’s daughter! She wasn’t to be treated with this cool impertinence in front of a shopful of villagers! She would show her that she wasn’t to be treated like that! She turned, an ugly woman with harsh features not improved by a crushed black felt hat on the back of her head and the drab-coloured raincoat which accentuated her height and her thinness. She turned, and she said in her loud strident voice,

“I thought you might be glad to have news of Jenny.”

Mrs. Forbes said,

“Of Jenny?”

“She’s at Hazeldon, isn’t she? I had a letter from my cousin there this morning, and she mentioned having seen her.”

Mrs. Forbes said, “Oh. It was Jenny?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But she’s calling herself Jenny Forbes. She shouldn’t really do that, you know.”

A scorching anger shook Mrs. Forbes. She dared! Here-in the shop- with three pairs of listening ears attentive! She commanded herself with an effort and said coldly,

“It was certainly very foolish. These things make talk.”

Miss Crampton was delighted. For once she had got in under that icy guard, that air of being so much better than other people. As if she was -as if she could be! Dear Papa… She said,

“Of course, if it hadn’t been for my cousin living next door to his aunt and being on such very friendly terms with her-”

“Whose aunt are you talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t say that. You must excuse me, but I have my shopping to do. We are keeping everyone waiting.”

“I’ve finished mine,” said Miss Crampton. She smiled. It wasn’t a very pleasant smile. “I’ll wait for you.”

Mrs. Forbes turned back to the counter.

“In a real temper she was, too,” as Mrs. Boddles explained to her family afterwards.

Her son Jim said, “Well, I wouldn’t work for her, not if she was to pay me a guinea an hour. How old Jackson stands it I don’t know.”

Mrs. Boddles gave a little crow of laughter.

“Mr. Jackson just takes his own way. He says, ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am,’ and then he just does as he chooses. A very opinionated man is Mr. Jackson. But he knows his work, and Mrs. Forbes she don’t know a thing about gardening. It was her husband that had it all at his fingers’ ends.”

“Ah-he was a gentleman, the old Colonel was,” said Jim.

At the time Mrs. Forbes continued her shopping. She bought what she had to buy, queried a price which was a penny dearer than the Stores in London, and finally withdrew, only to find Miss Crampton waiting for her outside the shop.