Our fair visitor flushed.
“Forgive me, Mr Pons. I am forgetting the threads. It has been such a terrifying and confused night and the day has been hardly less so. I hardly know where to begin.”
“You said, I think, that your uncle changed toward you. Miss Brentwood?”
“About three years ago, after a visit by Mr Marcus. The visit itself was extremely unusual and I can remember only one other occasion, in my childhood, when the lawyer came to the house.”
Solar Pons pulled thoughtfully at the lobe of his right ear.
“That is extremely interesting, Parker.”
“I do not see why, Pons.”
“Because you do not carry things through to their logical conclusion. It was a rarity. Twice only in twenty years! Surely it has great significance.”
“You may be right, Pons.”
“I am right, Parker. Continue, Miss Brentwood.”
“As I have said, Mr Pons, my uncle was always savage-tempered and difficult. After this he became morose and sometimes even violent towards me.”
“He never struck you?”
“No, Mr Pons, but he would smash things in his temper and I lived in fear of him. If it had not been for our old housekeeper. Mrs Bevan, I think I would have run away years ago.”
Solar Pons had a sympathetic look in his eyes.
“But you never tried to do so?”
“No. Mr Pons. I had no other living relative, no money and nowhere to go. And even in my miserable state I could see that it was essential for me to complete my education in order that I could take my proper place in society when I became of age and inherited my estate.”
“What do you consider your proper station in society?”
The girl looked surprised.
“I do not really know, Mr Pons. I had hoped — still hope. I suppose — that there would be some letter from my parents, some explanation when the will came to be read. That was why I was so excited at a third visit by Mr Marcus a few days ago, with my inheritance only six months away, as it were. But before I come to that I wish to speak of other things which have puzzled and terrified me over the years.”
“They all stem from the period you mentioned, three years ago?”
“I believe so, Mr Pons. On that occasion Mr Marcus came to visit and stayed two days. That in itself was quite unprecedented. Though nothing specific was said I believed the visit to be connected with my inheritance, for Mr Marcus brought deed boxes and briefcases with him and was closeted with my uncle for long hours. There appeared to be some argument and there were loud voices raised. Mrs Bevan was quite agitated at times and I know she fears my uncle.”
“You have no other servants or helpers at the house, Miss Brentwood?” Pons interjected suddenly.
The girl shook her head.
“No, Mr Pons. It was my uncle and his temper, you see. No-one would stay, not even the gardener.”
“I fear you have had an extremely lonely life. Miss Brentwood,” I said, all my sympathies roused. “Have some more tea.”
I rose to pour for her and after accepting the re-filled cup with a grateful smile our visitor continued with her story.
“This is all very strange and disconnected, I am afraid, Mr Pons, but in the terrible events of the last few days I have been forced to look back right to the beginning.”
“It is essential that you should do so. That is the only way to get the complete picture.”
“Well, Mr Pons, I was naturally disquieted and more upset than ever over these quarrels but imagine my surprise when I went down to breakfast on the second day to find my uncle smiling and affable. Mr Marcus had gone back to London on an early train — I thought it curious but I did not dare ask about it, particularly as my uncle was in an unusually jovial mood — and certain legal difficulties over which they had quarrelled had been cleared up.”
“My uncle disappeared somewhere after lunch and I took my dog Pip out for a walk as was my custom. We returned near tea-time and I was surprised to see my uncle working in the garden. My uncle told me the gardener had left after a violent quarrel and he had decided to attend to the garden himself in future. He disliked gardening normally with the result that the grounds were badly neglected after that.”
Solar Pons’ eyes were very bright now and he leaned forward in his chair, fixing his gaze intently in Miss Brentwood’s face.
“There is a high hedge at the side of The Priory which divides the orchard area from the more formal part of the garden which contains lawns and a rose-garden which is one of my favourite places to walk. Pip had gone on ahead and when I passed through the gate in the hedge I was surprised to see that some of the rose bushes had been taken up at the far end and a new terrace laid along the middle to join the two sections of paving. My uncle was hot and in an ill temper and not too pleased to see me. I thought.
“He got angrier and angrier when I started asking questions about the work and Pip was running up and down the beds and rooting about among the roses. Uncle Edmund roared at the dog and threw a piece of paving stone at him and I became extremely upset. That evening, at dinner Uncle Edmund was strangely quiet and he did something he rarely did.”
“And what was that, Miss Brentwood?”
“Apologised for his outburst of temper, Mr Pons. He said he had much to occupy him over the affairs of my inheritance and his quarrels with the lawyer had upset him more than he cared to say.”
“He did not particularise as to what they were?”
“No, Mr Pons. My mind was a little more relieved after this but the following morning Mrs Bevan came to me very white in the face to say that my little dog was lying dead in the driveway. He had been seen in the wood thereabouts, in some difficulty, and had dragged himself home, poor little thing. He was quite dead when I got to him. It was my belief he had been poisoned somehow; the farmers in the district are extremely careless about this sort of thing when laying down bait for vermin — and my distress could be imagined. Even my uncle was affected and insisted on burying Pip himself in the rose-garden. I would not have another dog for fear of a repetition of the tragedy.”
“Hmm.”
Solar Pons was silent for a moment, his eyes brooding and far away.
“There are a number of interesting points about Miss Brentwood’s narrative so far, Parker.”
“Are there not, Pons,” I returned. “I am so sorry, Miss Brentwood. You have had an unfortunate and difficult life, it appears.”
“You may well say so, Dr Parker. However, I have not wanted for material things, unlike some people, so I should not perhaps make too much of my life with my uncle. As I have already indicated, things have got worse of latter years, my uncle becoming increasingly morose and irritable. Sometimes he would sit and then start at a knock at the door, as though he feared for something. In the summer-time he took to sitting for hours together on a bench in the rose-garden. I have often seen him staring at the spot where Pip is buried, as though contemplating my little pet’s fate and have sometimes thought that with all his rough and primitive ways, I have perhaps judged him over-harshly.”
“Perhaps,” said Solar Pons succinctly.
“This was the situation which obtained until recent times, Mr Pons. Then, one day about a fortnight ago, my uncle mentioned that we were to have another visit from Mr Marcus.”
“He did not give you the details?”
Our client shook her head.
“Not in so many words, Mr Pons. But as I said it had occurred to me that, with my twenty-first birthday only six months away, it might have something to do with the legacy.”
“Quite so.”
“Mr Marcus arrived the day before yesterday. Though it was some three years since I had seen him, I found him much changed.”