Patricia Wentworth - The Alington Inheritance

She said gravely, “I suppose not.”

“From what we have collected about the girl, I should say that she wasn’t. They have a row, and he knocks her down and then strangles her.”

Miss Silver turned to him with a look of attention.

“Say that again, Frank.”

“He knocks her out with a blow on the temple and then strangles her.”

“That is what happened?”

“That is what happened.”

“I did not know that. Do you not see that it makes all the difference? A young man not given to violence might conceivably strike an initial blow, but I find it quite impossible to believe that he would follow up that first blow with such determination that death would be inflicted. I have only had the elder Mr. Mottingley’s account of what happened, and he was so much distressed that I left the details for the moment. I knew that I should get them, and probably with less bias, when I came down here. If there was a first blow, I find it impossible to believe that Jimmy Mottingley was the murderer.”

Frank Abbott turned his head for a moment. He knew his Miss Silver very well. If she said she found it impossible to believe a thing, he might not share her view but he respected it.

“Well then, we know where we are,” he said. “I’m sorry we’re not on the same side, but what have you?”

Miss Silver’s expression deepened from gravity to reproof.

“My dear Frank,” she said, “antagonism between those who are seeking the truth is an impossibility. I am not for Jimmy Mottingley, neither are you against him. We are both, I hope, earnestly determined to seek for the truth of the matter, lay blame where it should be laid, and keep that open mind which alone can discern the truth.”

Frank, feeling quite unable to reply to this formidable peroration, was thankful to have come in sight of the two houses half way up the hill.

“Here we are,” he said. “The first house is Miss Danesworth’s. The next one is Mrs. Merridew’s. The murdered girl was her cousin, and was staying with her. I don’t mind telling you that Mrs. Merridew is a tough proposition.”

“Miss Caroline Danesworth?” enquired Miss Silver turning an interested face upon Frank.

“I believe so. Don’t tell me you know her!”

“I had the pleasure of meeting her last year. She was a friend of Mrs. Lucius Bellingdon’s. You will remember her as Mrs. Scott.” [* The Listening Eye.]

He nodded.

“A very charming person. Well, well, do we see her first? Or do you wish to make your enquiries privately? In which case I have an errand to Mrs. Merridew.”

“That I think will be better.” Miss Silver smiled graciously and got out. “I do not know at all how long I shall be. Perhaps we should say good-bye.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll give you a little time, and then I’ll come in. Mrs. Merridew is an acidulated person. I have an errand to her, but it won’t take me very long.”

As Miss Silver stood knocking at the door of Miss Danesworth’s house, her thoughts recurred to the strange case of the Listening Eye. She had met Lucius Bellingdon and his wife occasionally since the time when the whole house-party had been shaken by the strange events which led up to the tragedy on Emberley Hill and the deaths of Clay Masterson and Moira Herne. Sally Foster, too, now Mrs. David Moray. She had seen her and her young husband at her friends’, the Charles Morays. It really was a very small world, and it was pleasant to meet again, and in happier circumstances, those with whom one had lived and worked during cloudy and storm-threatening days.

She knocked for the second time, and the door was opened to her by a young girl of a most charming appearance. This would have been Miss Silver’s own description of her. She had dark curling hair and very clear brown eyes.

Miss Silver said, “I wonder if I can see Miss Danesworth. My name is Silver-Miss Maud Silver.”

Jenny led the way to the sitting-room. Under her bright look of welcome there was something disturbed. Miss Silver wondered whether she had known the dead girl well. Two girls of very much the same age, living next door to one another-no, the dead girl was three or four years older, but that was no great matter. It would be natural enough for them to be friends. In any case the shock of this sudden and tragic death would be bound to affect a sensitive girl.

Miss Silver had remained standing. She turned as the door opened and Miss Danesworth came in.

“My dear Miss Silver, I am so pleased to see you!” she said.

Miss Silver smiled and responded.

“But I must tell you that I am here on business.”

“This Mottingley case-it’s dreadful, isn’t it? I met the boy in the summer. I can’t believe that he would commit a brutal murder. He always seemed such a quiet lad-gentle and rather repressed. But do sit down, won’t you?”

Miss Silver seated herself. She said,

“You interest me very much. I should make it clear at once that I am here on behalf of the Mottingleys. They have engaged me to go over the case, and to see what can be said for the young man who is accused.”

Miss Danesworth was silent for a moment. Then she said,

“I don’t know that you ought to ask me about it, for if ever I disliked a girl in my life it was that unfortunate girl who was murdered.”

Miss Silver looked at her gravely.

“Miss Danesworth, will you give your own account of what happened as far as the circumstances are known to you? I am not asking you for a weighed and balanced account. I want simply to know how the whole thing seemed to you. I am not asking you to be fair, or to weigh your words. I want to know just how the affair struck you at the time. Will you do that for me?”

Miss Danesworth met Miss Silver’s eyes, and experienced what so many people had experienced in similar circumstances. She felt a great many things that she could not have put into words. The truth-that was what mattered, and it was the only thing that did matter. The conventions did not matter. The only thing that mattered was the truth. She said,

“Yes, I’ll tell you the truth as far as I know it. But I don’t know very much-” She paused for a moment and then went on. “I have a nephew staying with me. His name is Richard Forbes. He is in love with the girl who let you in. She is Jenny Forbes, and she is a very distant cousin of his. They are not engaged, and there is nothing given out. I know that you will be very discreet-they have only known each other for ten days. I don’t ask any questions, but I can see how things are with them. But that’s another story. This girl who was murdered came down to stay on Friday-last Friday. She came in with Mrs. Merridew-that is her mother’s cousin who lives next door-and she talked to Richard all the time, not to Jenny. She was that sort of girl. I remember she talked about the children in the carriage coming down. They ate peppermints, and she said there was something sickening about children who ate in trains. Oh, I don’t know-I didn’t like the way she talked-that’s all. She was just trying to make up to Richard. And he did rather lead her on, I suppose. You know the way men do when they don’t really like a girl. Jenny was angry about it-I could see that. I think they quarrelled afterwards-but you won’t be interested in that.”

“I am interested in everything,” said Miss Silver. “Pray go on.”

Caroline was silent for a moment or two. Then she said,

“You want to know everything, so I’ll tell you. Jenny went to bed early, and Richard talked to me. He said he was in earnest about Jenny, and that he had rushed things. Apparently he had kissed her, and she had turned as white as a sheet and gone out of the room. Well, in the morning they were just beginning to talk, when Miriam came in. She said she had come with a message from Mrs. Merridew to ask them to lunch. And Richard said he couldn’t come because he was going over to see his friend Tommy Risdall. Tommy is in the Navy, and his people live at Tillingdon, which is about five miles away. Well, Miriam asked if Tommy wouldn’t come too, and when Richard said he was afraid that was out of the question she said, ‘What about tomorrow?’ And when Richard said that would be Sunday, she said did that matter? And he said yes, it did, and that the only excuse for not going to church was a bed of sickness. I wasn’t there, you know, but I’ve heard about it since. So then she said, ‘What about Monday?’ and he said, ‘All right,’ and she went away. Nothing more happened until the evening. Richard was away. I left Jenny here with a book and went to see a neighbour who isn’t well. When I got back we had tea and just sat on talking until it got dark. Then Miriam came. She said her cousin had gone to a meeting. She said wasn’t Richard back-she wanted to see him. And I said he wasn’t back yet, and that I never expected him until I saw him. And she said, ‘That’s not very convenient, is it?’ Then she said to Jenny that it wasn’t very complimentary to her his going off for the day like that. She said she wouldn’t feel flattered if she was visiting in a house and the young man made off. Oh, I suppose I oughtn’t to say it now that she’s dead in that dreadful way, but she really was a most odious girl. Well, then she sat there talking about the last place she had been in, and how sorry they were to lose her. And then suddenly she looked at the clock and asked if it was right. When I said that it was, she jumped up and said she must go. She said to tell Richard that she wanted to see him, ‘Not tonight- I’m doing something else. But if he likes he can come round in the morning.’ And she was out of the door whilst she was speaking. And gone.”