She found what she was looking for in the second book-case. It was a shabby old volume by the Reverend Thomas Jenkinson, a former Rector of St Jude’s. He appeared also to be the author of works on Old Inn Signs and Some Interesting Epitaphs. The book which Miss Silver took from the shelf was entitled Residences of the Nobility and Gentry in the Neighbourhood of Grove Hill, with Some Remarks on the Families Residing there during the Eighteenth Century, and the date upon the title page was 1810. Miss Silver moved to an aged but quite comfortable chair and sat down to read.
The Reverend Thomas Jenkinson was one of those authors who incline to be diffuse. He had what he himself might have described as a Partiality for Capitals, and it was obvious that he revelled in the titles of the Nobility. Persons of the highest rank came and went upon his pages. There were Anecdotes sometimes verging on the scandalous. Miss Silver was obliged to consider many of them as quite unsuited to a clerical pen.
She had been turning the pages for about twenty minutes, when she came upon the name of Warren – Mr Henry Warren, a wealthy and charitable Brewer. Her attention fixed, she read on and learned that the Grove Hill Estate with a number of Profitable Farms had been purchased by this gentleman in 1749. He then proceeded to build himself a fine Mansion on the crown of the hill, to which he gave the name of Grove Hill House. There was a good deal more about Mr Warren, his two marriages, his nine children of whom not one survived him, his increasing wealth. Here Mr Jenkinson permitted himself to moralize, and Miss Silver was able to skim lightly over several pages. The Gordon Riots were dealt with at some length, Mr Jenkinson greatly deploring the Excesses of the Mob and the horrifying destruction of Property, Mr Warren’s fine Mansion having been completely wrecked and destroyed, and Mr Warren himself fatally injured by some of the falling masonry.
There followed a passage which had been faintly underlined in pencil. Miss Silver perused it with attention. ‘It is said that the unfortunate Gentleman had made strenuous efforts to save the more valuable of his Pictures. It was, in fact, during this endeavour that he met with his tragic End. Paintings to the value of many thousand pounds were entirely consumed in the Fires which had broken out. A better Fortune may have attended the rescue of some valuable Plate and the Jewels belonging to his late wife, all of which were in the house at the time of its Destruction. Since no trace of the Plate could be discovered among the Ruins, it is thought possible that he was able to remove it to a place of safety before being overtaken by the Fatality which terminated his Existence. His only surviving descendant being an Infant, no great search was made. It is, of course, possible that the Rioters removed the gold Plate which was of great value, but the late Mr D – L – with whom I had the Opportunity of conversing when I first came to this Parish assured me that he did not believe this to have been the case. Though he was then close upon eighty years of age he was of a perfectly sound mind and clearly remembered the excesses committed by the Rioters. He had a brother who was a Physician and who was called in to attend the unfortunate Mr Warren. He informed Mr D – L – that he found Mr Warren in articula mortis, but not quite gone. He said the dying man constantly muttered to himself some such phrase as “The gold is safe,” or, “I have saved the gold.” The Physician inquiring of him, “What have you done with it?” and “Where is the gold?”, Mr Warren gazed about him as if having no knowledge of his surroundings and muttered words which were only partly intelligible. Not long afterwards he passed into a state of Insensibility from which he did not rally. Mr D – L – maintained that the Truth of the foregoing could readily be established, since there were several persons present, including a young woman afterwards married in Yorkshire. This person, Mrs M – n, after an absence of many years is now returned and is a parishioner of my own. On referring to her for corroboration of Mr D – L – ’s story, he being now deceased, she confirmed it in every particular, even to repeating some of the words let fall by Mr Warren when he lay a-dying. These I do not feel should be set down in print lest they should give rise to false hopes or to the Cupidity of unprincipled persons.’
Here the account ended, the Reverend Thomas branching off into speculations concerning a spring in the Long Meadow, said to be one of the superstitiously named Trouble Waters which were supposed to indicate by their flooding the approach of some National Calamity. Interesting as this subject might prove, Miss Silver did not pursue it. Instead, she got up and went to stand immediately under the unscreened electric bulb which lighted the attic. Even at some distance she had thought she could discern faint pencil marks between the initial M and the final N of the name by which the Reverend Thomas Jenkinson had designated the lady who had married in Yorkshire and afterwards returned to his parish. Held immediately under the light, there was no doubt that this was the case. The name had been filled in, but by whom? If by Mr Jenkinson, the addition must have been made a good deal more than a hundred years ago, if by Mr Graham possibly no more than twenty. The letters were not easily legible. They faded into a page already discoloured by age and damp. But they made a certain impression upon the eye.
Miss Silver looked away and then back again several times. The impression became stronger. The pencilled letters between M and N certainly suggested a name, and that name was Martin.
THIRTY-THREE
ON THE FOLLOWING morning, Althea being provided with the company of Nicholas Carey, Miss Silver took a bus into the town. She got out half way down the High Street and made her way to the offices of Martin and Steadman, House-Agents. Asking for Mr Martin by name, she was presently ushered into his pleasant room at the back of the house. The day being very mild, a glass door stood wide upon a garden which fairly blazed with autumn flowers. If Miss Silver’s exclamation of admiration and pleasure was not quite uncalculated, it was entirely genuine. She had, it is true, been informed by Althea Graham that praise of his garden was the one sure way to Mr Martin’s heart, but her appreciation was perfectly sincere. The display of dahlias, chrysanthemums, late roses, carnations, and michaelmas daisies, was quite a dazzling one. There was warmth in her voice as she said,
‘What a lovely garden!’
Mr Martin accepted the tribute. It was a not unaccustomed one, but repetition had no power to render it less pleasing. In the course of a short interchange on the subject of suburban gardening she informed him with regret that she herself could not speak from experience, since she lived in a flat.
‘But the gardens here are delightful. The soil must be good. I am staying with Miss Althea Graham at The Lodge, Belview Road.’
Mr Martin’s look changed to one of concern.
‘Then perhaps you can tell me how she is bearing up. I was very much shocked by Mrs Graham’s death. We attended the same church, and I usually pass the house on my way to business. I have known Miss Graham since she was a child. I am glad too, that she has someone staying with her. There are no near relatives, I believe.’
‘I believe not. I am very glad to be here. My name is Silver – Miss Maud Silver. Miss Graham has told me how kind you have always been.’
He moved a paper on his desk and said with a trace of embarrassment,
‘I have tried to do my best for her. I expect she will have told you that I have a client who has been very anxious to purchase the house. It is perhaps too soon to expect Miss Graham to come to any decision in the matter, but from the business point of view it might be better if she did not delay too long. Mr Blount’s last offer was a very handsome one, but I cannot be at all sure that it will stand. A tragedy like this – a murder – well, there is nothing which can so depreciate the value of a property. In Mr Blount’s case his reason for being willing to make such a good offer for the house was the fact that Mrs Blount, who is more or less of an invalid, has taken the greatest possible fancy to it. She seems to be very difficult to suit. He doesn’t want to be too far out of London, and he tells me they have looked at above a hundred houses, first in one suburb and then in another, and that Mrs Blount has turned them all down. He said he could hardly believe it when she took such a fancy to The Lodge. “I give you my word, Mr Martin,” he said, “if I can get her into a house that she likes and she’ll settle down there, it will make the whole difference to my life. Peace and quiet, that’s what I want, and I’ll pay anything in reason to get them.” And of course when you come to think of it, what is the good of anything if you can’t have a bit of peace in your home?’