But when Anna was gone Miss Silver did not proceed to her own room immediately. She closed the door and then went over to the bookcase and examined it. Strictly speaking, it was not a bookcase at all but a set of shelves fitted into the recess between the fireplace and the wall which took the windows. The shelves ran from the floor to within a couple of feet from the ceiling. A strip of carved wood framed them on either side, and a simulated cornice decorated the top.
Miss Silver stood looking at the shelves. Taking out some of the books, she discovered that there was a wooden backing. Candida Sayle had spoken of waking in the night and seeing first a streak of light, and then the opening of a door in this recess. Shelves with a wooden backing could be contrived to mask a door. Candida might have dreamed of that opening door. She took these two possibilities with her to her own room.
Anna’s return with Derek Burdon found her fully dressed, her hair in neatly plaited coils behind and netted fringe in front. She wore the olive-green cashmere now relegated to morning use, and the warm fluffy scarf, so comfortable, so cosy, which had been her niece Ethel’s present to her at Christmas. Shading as it did from lilac to purple, she considered it not only very pleasing in itself but a delicate tribute to the fact that she was now in a house of mourning.
At the sound of approaching footsteps she made haste to open the door. Derek Burdon was in his dressing-gown, an ornate affair which emphasised his pallor. It appeared that the side door by which Miss Olivia had left was not only unlocked but was actually standing ajar. A handkerchief picked up in the courtyard just outside was soaked by the rain which had fallen during the night. Anna identified it as one of a set embroidered by Barbara Sayle during her long illness. It bore in one corner a finely worked capital ‘C.’
Invited to examine the note which had been found in Candida’s room, Derek stared at the uneven writing and said that, so far as he could tell, it would be hers.
Miss Silver looked at him with grave enquiry.
‘You were working with her upon the family papers. You must have seen her writing.’
‘Well, yes, I have – yes, of course – but not so very much of it. We were mostly sorting – we hadn’t really got to the writing stage. There never seemed to be a lot of time. I say, Miss Silver – you don’t really think – she has – gone away?’
She said, ‘It is too soon to make up our minds about that. What I must do at once is to ring up Mr. Eversley.’
Stephen picked up the receiver and heard her voice. He said, ‘Miss Silver – ’ And then she was saying,
‘Mr. Eversley, can you come out here at once?’
He said quickly, ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘There has been a development. I would like to see you.’
‘Is there anything wrong? Not Candida – ’
The primness of her tone was accentuated.
‘I would rather not say any more over the telephone. I would be glad to see you as soon as possible.’
She rang off. He was left in a state of mounting apprehension.
Miss Silver was half way to the door, when the bell rang again. About to lift the receiver, she changed her mind. She had spoken to Stephen from the study. It occurred to her that his second call might more suitably be answered by Anna. Proceeding to the door, she opened it, and at a glance there Anna was, at no distance at all, her hands clasped at her breast, her whole attitude that of one who strains to listen. With her usual calm, Miss Silver said,
‘Will you see who it is?’ and as Anna came forward, she turned and followed her into the room. Standing beside the instrument she could not only hear Anna’s shaky, ‘Who is there?’ but what was unmistakably Olivia Benevent’s voice in reply. It was quite clear and sharp, and it said,
‘Is that you, Anna?’
‘Yes – yes – ’
‘Why do you speak like that? Is anything the matter? You should really pull yourself together! I am ringing up to say that I find I have left a great many things behind me. Joseph will drive me over during the morning, and you had better be ready to come back with us. Have your own things packed by the time I come, and then you can see about mine. I do not wish to see either Mr. Derek or Miss Sayle – you will tell them so! They must respect my wish to be alone whilst I am preparing to leave Underhill. It has been my home during the whole of my life, and – ’ The hard voice checked for a moment and then went on again. ‘I do not suppose that I shall ever see it again. You will make them understand that I am not to be intruded upon!’
The voice ceased. The audience was over. A little click upon the line announced that the connection had been broken. Anna’s hands were shaking so much that the receiver slipped from them and fell.
Chapter Thirty-two
In real life there is no ringing down the curtain between the acts. There are moments when such an interval would be more than welcome, but there is, there can be, no such relief. Beds must be made, meals must be prepared, and however reluctantly, some effort must be made to partake of them. Miss Silver’s invariable common sense imposed this point of view. Rooms were aired and tidied, coffee was made and a meal produced. By the time that Stephen Eversley arrived everyone was steadier.
It was Miss Silver who told him what had happened. She showed him Candida’s note and asked him if he could identify the writing, only to hear that he had never seen it.
‘We met practically every day.’ He spoke with stiff lips, his face grey and rigid as he remembered those meetings. ‘We never wrote – we never had to. What does Derek say?’
‘He says it might be hers. He has only seen an occasional note, made when they were working on the family papers, and mostly in pencil.’
‘Miss Silver, you saw her, you talked to her. She didn’t say anything to make you think she meant to go away?’
She let her thoughts go back to that conversation by the fire. Could she truthfully say that there had been nothing to justify the supposition that Candida might have been overcome by a sudden impulse to leave Underhill? She had received a severe shock, a monstrous accusation had been brought against her. Was it probable or even possible that her common sense and self-control had given way and left her at the mercy of a blind instinct for flight? Most unwise, most ill-judged, was Miss Silver’s mental comment. But when did panic regard either judgment or wisdom?
Stephen controlled himself. He could see that she was thinking. He must give her time. When at last she spoke, it was with gravity and kindness.
‘We sat by my bedroom fire and she talked to me for quite a long time. She told me that the Miss Benevents had been very kind until the night of the Deanery party when Miss Olivia struck her. It was while she was talking about this incident that she said, “I didn’t see how I could stay. I meant to leave in the morning as soon as I was dressed, but Anna persuaded me not to. She said it was just Aunt Olivia losing her temper – she was like that, and I wouldn’t hear any more about it. She said Aunt Cara would miss me.” And then she caught her breath and said, “Oh, why did I listen to her – why didn’t I go?” ’
‘She said that?’
Miss Silver inclined her head.
‘I have given you her exact words.’
‘Was there anything else?’
‘I do not think so, except that she spoke of Underhill with distaste. She said it was an old house, and she supposed there must have been happy people in it from time to time, but that Miss Olivia only seemed to remember the ones who had come to a violent end.’
‘What did she mean by that?’
‘You have heard of the Benevent Treasure?’ Then, as he nodded, ‘There seems to have been some belief that it was unlucky to handle it. The two last Benevents to do so did die suddenly and violently.’