Miss Silver inclined her head.
‘Yes, it might have been that way.’
There was a little pause before Candida spoke again.
‘I can’t help wondering about Aunt Cara – whether she was walking in her sleep when she fell. She might have been. You know, I don’t believe she would have been wandering about in the dark by herself if she had known what she was doing. The storm was so loud, and I think she would have been frightened. I did think she might be frightened. That is why I went along to her room.’
‘When was that?’
‘I didn’t look at the time. The wind was coming in those great noisy gusts. I thought Aunt Cara would be frightened, and I went along to her room.’
‘Did you go in?’
‘Not really. I didn’t want to wake her. I just stood there and listened. Of course the wind was too loud for me to hear anything, but I had put on the light at the end of the passage, and I thought if she was awake she would see me standing there. When I was sure that she must be asleep I shut the door and came away.’
Miss Silver said, ‘Sure?’ on an enquiring note. Her eyes were on Candida’s face. She saw a look of trouble cross it. It led her to amplify the question.
‘You were sure then that Miss Cara was asleep. Are you so sure about it now? Can you even be sure that she was in her room when you stood there looking in?’
The hand that was lying in Candida’s lap closed hard upon itself. She was back in the half-lit passage with the cold of the door-sill under her bare feet, and she was looking into a dark room with the drone of the wind in her ears. The room was perfectly dark, the curtains were closely drawn. She couldn’t see the bed, or the big mahogany wardrobe, or the washstand with its marble top. She couldn’t see anything at all. She said in a stumbling voice,
‘No – I’m not – sure – ’
There was a silence. In the end Candida went on.
‘Miss Silver, the Inspector says she wasn’t killed by falling down the stairs.’ A shudder went over her. ‘You see, she was lying on her face, but it was the back of her head – ’ She broke off, struggling for composure. ‘If she didn’t fall on the stairs, where did she fall – and how? He says someone must have moved her.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘There was dust on her slippers, and a cobweb on the tassel of her dressing-gown – I saw Anna brushing it off.’
Miss Silver spoke quickly.
‘She ought not to have done that.’
‘I don’t think she was thinking about what she did. She was crying. I think it was just that she wanted to do something for Aunt Cara. You know, when anything has happened like that, you don’t think. I didn’t myself – not till afterwards. Then, when the Inspector said she must have been moved, I remembered the cobweb and the dust – and I wondered – about the passages – whether she went into them and fell – and got hurt. You see, there are stories. Aunt Olivia told me about its being unlucky to touch the Benevent Treasure. There was James Benevent in the eighteenth century – he was going to sell some of it. They said he was thrown from his horse at his own front door. His head was dreadfully injured and he died. A long time afterwards his grandson, Guy Benevent, was going to take some of the treasure. He was found quite near the house with his head broken. They said it was footpads. I don’t know why Aunt Olivia told me all this, but she did. And when Derek and I were going through some of the old papers – we were supposed to be doing a family history – there was a rhyme:
‘ “Touch not nor try,
Sell not nor buy,
Give not nor take,
For dear life’s sake.”
‘So when I saw Aunt Cara, and the dust and cobweb, I wondered whether she had been looking – for the treasure.’
Miss Silver looked very grave indeed. She even stopped knitting for a moment.
‘Did you tell the Inspector?’
‘No, I didn’t. He didn’t ask me anything like that.’
Chapter Twenty-nine
Miss Silver did not feel called upon to make any comment. At the moment her connection with the case might be described as tenuous. Her professional assistance had been solicited by Stephen Eversley, but more in the capacity of a chaperone for Candida Sayle than as a private enquiry agent. He was, however, understandably disturbed by Miss Olivia’s unbalanced accusation and anxious to provide Candida with what protection he could. In the circumstances, he could not himself remain at Underhill. So she was there as it were on guard, her position delicate, the scope of her activities quite undefined. So much for Stephen Eversley and Candida Sayle. There was also the fact that Mr. Puncheon had enlisted her services in connection with the disappearance of his stepson Alan Thompson. The link between the two cases was the link between Miss Cara and a young man whom she had loaded with benefits and had even planned to marry. His disappearance had broken her heart. Was it for him that she sought when she walked in the old house at night? Did she walk waking, or sleeping – by known or by unknown ways? And where in this well-kept house had she picked up dust on her slippers and a cobweb on the tassel of her dressing-gown? Miss Silver had been shown over the house. She had traversed a bewildering maze of passages, had looked into rooms used and unused. Everywhere there was neatness and order – polished floors and shining furniture – a smell of beeswax and turpentine before which any spider would have retired – not a speck of dust. What Anna had brushed away could not have come from any of these ordered places.
This old house had its secrets – and kept them. What was it that Cara Benevent went looking for, and by what hidden ways? And what was it that she had found? Death certainly. But death by accident – or by some sudden blow in the dark? And whose hands had lifted and carried her to where she was found at the foot of the stairs?
Miss Silver knitted steadily. As she turned the heel of Johnny Burkett’s stocking she went over the people who had been in the house that night.
Joseph Rossi and Anna, his wife. Old trusted servants – what motive could either of them have? A legacy? Perhaps – murder has been done for such a thing before now. Forty years service in the one case, nearly twenty in the other. Strange things move beneath the surface of the years – an old resentment, a grudge growing slowly out of sight – envy, malice and all uncharitableness? People do not always love one another because they have lived for a long time in the same house. Familiarity may breed hatred.
Derek Burdon. A pleasant, likeable young man – but pleasant, likeable young men have faced a capital charge before now. She recalled what she knew about him. He had succeeded Alan Thompson as the Miss Benevents’ protege – an easy life – almost nominal duties – money in his pocket. And then a sudden break. He had been quite frank about it himself. The Miss Benevents wanted him to marry Candida, and it didn’t suit either of them. She was engaged to Stephen Eversley, and he was engaged to Jenny Rainsford. He had become quite eager about his plans – ‘The old chap she works for wants to retire. He has got a small garage business. It’s been going downhill a bit, but it can be worked up again. I do know something about cars, and of course Jenny has the whole thing at her fingers’ ends. There’s a house too, and we were planning to take it over. Well, yesterday morning it all came out, and there was a most frightful row. Not Miss Cara – she just sat there and hated every minute of it. But Miss Olivia went right off the deep end. She does sometimes, you know, and all you can do is to get under cover and wait for her to come round again. Only this time Miss Cara fainted. Joseph came in in the middle of Miss Olivia telling me I had killed her, and of course he had to go and tell the police what she’d said, so they’ve been asking me a whole lot of questions about whether they were kicking me out, how much I stood to lose if they were, and whether I was down for anything in Miss Cara’s will.’