Patricia Wentworth - The Alington Inheritance

In a moment all was confusion. Mrs. Merridew subsided upon a chair. She wept, and all the time discoursed in a high shaken voice.

“I never liked him or-or trusted him. I said so to Miriam-but she wouldn’t listen. Young people never do listen-until it’s too late. And what’s the good of it then, I ask you-what’s the good of anything when you’re dead?” She began to sob very loudly. “I said to Miriam, ‘Be careful what you’re doing,’ and she only laughed and said, ‘He’s nothing but a boy.’ And I told her then-three months ago when she was staying here I told her. She said he was only a boy, and no harm in him, and I told her, ‘That’s what you think,’ I said.”

Caroline Danesworth was appalled, but competent. She told Richard to get Jenny away, and when they had gone she ministered to Mrs. Merridew. It was some time before she discovered what had happened. She hadn’t liked Miriam Richardson, but it was too shocking to think that it was from her house that she had gone to her death. It really didn’t seem possible. She said so.

“But she was here! She came in to see Richard, but he was out and she couldn’t wait. It was dark when she went. She said she couldn’t stay.”

Mrs. Merridew sat up and dabbed at her eyes.

“That was because she had an appointment with this murdering wretch.”

“You knew of it?”

“Of course I didn’t know of it! I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen if I had known-the wicked murdering creature!”

In the next room Richard stood by the window and looked at Jenny. She was trembling a little. He didn’t see how he could bear it. There were things you could bear, and things that you couldn’t. He came across the room to her and knelt down. She was sitting on the sofa, looking down at her hands which were shaking a little. When Richard touched her she looked up. Her eyes were big with unshed tears. Her hands clasped each other tightly, as if she needed something to hold on to.

He said, “Jenny-” in a moved voice, and she spoke in a trembling way.

“She was here. She couldn’t wait. She said so. She wanted to see you, and you weren’t here.”

“Jenny-darling-”

The tears overflowed and rolled down her cheeks. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He put his arms right round her and held her close.

Miss Maud Silver was writing to her niece Ethel. She had just turned the page and sat with her hand poised while she considered how to introduce the subject of Ethel’s younger sister Gladys Robinson. There had been so much trouble with her, and really Ethel had enough anxieties of her own. These recurrent troubles between husband and wife! To be quite candid about it, the marriage had always been an unsuitable one. Gladys was vain, light-minded, and unappreciative. She had been thoroughly spoilt as a child by a silly mother who had dwelt fondly on her looks and entirely neglected the correction of her faults. It was, however, too late to repine over that now. Some kind of peace must be kept between her and her justly exasperated husband. She decided that she would not say anything to Ethel at present. Later on if necessary, but not at this moment when Ethel was sufficiently burdened by the serious illness of her second boy. The dangerous turn of his illness had, thank God, not persisted and he was now doing well, but Ethel should not be subjected to any further anxiety.

She was about to pursue her letter, when the door opened and her faithful Hannah Meadows appeared.

“Will you see Mr. Mottingley, miss?”

Miss Silver did not know the name, and yet it had some fleeting familiarity. She said, “Yes, certainly,” laid down her pen, and got up.

There came into the room one of the largest men she had ever entertained there. It was not only his height, but the width of him. He saw a little lady of an old-fashioned appearance with neatly netted hair and a manner which commanded his respect. He found himself explaining his arrival in a much more subdued manner than he had intended.

“You are Miss Maud Silver?”

“Yes.” Miss Silver came out from behind her writing-table and shook hands. “What can I do for you, Mr. Mottingley? Will you not sit down?”

She indicated a chair with its back to the window. Mr. Mottingley was strongly reminded of his grandmother’s house in Bristol. She had had a lot of furniture like that. You didn’t see it much nowadays. It wasn’t fashionable, and it wasn’t quite old enough to be antique, but it made him feel better. There was something homely about it, as there was about nearly everything in the room. Not the desk though. That was a right-down practical piece of furniture, that was. He fixed his eyes upon Miss Silver and said,

“I can’t make up my mind. I thought I would come and see you and have a talk. I was told about you by Mr. Grimshaw. I have just had a matter of business with him, and he recommended you. Very highly.”

Miss Silver had settled herself in her favourite chair on the other side of the hearth. She recalled the Grimshaw case, a simple affair but one which had necessitated very delicate handling. She smiled and said,

“I have very pleasant recollections of Mr. Grimshaw. I hope that he is well?”

Mr. Mottingley said, “Yes-yes-” with an air of not thinking what he was saying. And then he came to the point. He leaned forward, crushed his great hands together, and said,

“My wife and I, we’ve got a boy-the only one that lived. We lost three, but this one lived. He is twenty-three now-old enough to be putting away childish things and getting down to the business of living. But he’s been a disappointment.”

Miss Silver had taken her knitting-bag from the table beside her and had extracted a baby’s vest of a delicate pink shade. She paused for a moment now and said,

“In what way, Mr. Mottingley?”

“He doesn’t take things seriously. I am a religious man, Miss Silver. Jimmy was brought up to be religious, but that’s one way he’s been a disappointment. And I wouldn’t have you think that he was spoiled. We realized our duty in that respect. Many’s the time we’ve been tempted to pass over a fault because he was the only one we had, but we’ve hardened ourselves for his good-” He came to a stop because he couldn’t go on.

Miss Silver spoke gently.

“And what is the trouble now, Mr. Mottingley?”

“He’s been accused of something he never did. Look, Miss Silver, I’m not one to cover up any faults my son may have. God knows he’s got enough to answer for-I’m not saying he hasn’t. He carried on with this girl, that’s bad enough. But if you ask me to believe that he went down to Hazeldon Heath and murdered her, I say that I don’t believe it. And if you knew Jimmy you wouldn’t believe it either.”

A light broke on Miss Silver. She had placed the name of Mottingley, and the whole story sprang to her mind. If she had not been so taken up with Gladys’ affair she would have got there sooner. Jimmy Mottingley-that was the name of the young man in the Hazeldon Heath murder case, and this was his father. Her expression became even graver than before.

“One minute, Miss Silver. Will you read this letter before you say anything? It will tell you why I have come to you.”

He handed her over a letter in a thick square envelope. As she took it, a memory stirred in her. She unfolded the letter which it contained, and the memory which it conveyed became clearer and stronger. It was a long time since she had seen Miss Twisledon’s writing, but as she read the letter she was back across the years which had elapsed since she had last seen her. She looked up and inclined her head.

“I remember Miss Twisledon,” she said. “She was a most dependable woman.”