Rosamond had left her coat in the hall and taken off the scarf which had been tied over her hair. Her blue jumper threw up the colour of her eyes. Miss Silver thought her a most attractive girl. She also thought that she had something on her mind. It was, of course, quite obvious that Mr. Lester was in love with her. He made no attempt to hide the fact. But in Miss Silver’s opinion it was not the pleasing disturbance of a love affair which had brought that anxious look to Rosamond Maxwell’s face.
Lucy Cunningham walked in without ringing the bell, a habit to which Florrie ought to have been accustomed, but which never failed to annoy her. She followed with an air of protest and set the tray down in front of Mrs. Merridew with what was almost a clatter.
Miss Cunningham, having hung her largest coat on a peg in the hall, was now divesting herself of a voluminous cardigan and three scarves.
“I’m sure I don’t know how you can sit in such a hot room, Marian, but I shall be all right when I get some of these things off. The temperature must be at least sixty-five. There-I’m down to my jumper! I made it myself, and Nicholas is very rude about it, but I like the colour-it reminds me of moss. Of course Henry never notices what one has on. Well, my dear Marian, I’m sorry if I am late, but just as I was putting on my hat I saw that dreadful cat of Mrs. Parson’s sharpening its claws on the standard Alberic Barbier which Nicholas gave me for Christmas-one of those weeping ones, you know. So of course I had to go out and shoo him away… Oh, yes, I’ve met Miss Silver. Don’t you remember, you introduced us at the bus stop. How do you do? You and Marian were at school together, weren’t you? So nice to meet one’s old friends.”
It was clear that when not held in check by Miss Crewe, Lucy Cunningham could be depended upon to keep any conversation from flagging. The broody hen which she had borrowed from Mrs. Stubbs was settling down nicely with her clutch of eggs- “My own cross, Rhode Island Red and White Leghorn. Nothing like it!” And she actually discoursed for at least ten minutes upon its virtues whilst at the same time disposing of three scones and a slice of cake before Miss Holiday’s name cropped up.
Rosamond was talking to Mrs. Merridew, and Craig Lester was joining in, when Miss Lucy interrupted her own remarks about the very unsatisfactory eggs she had procured for setting last year, “Only three hatched out of the dozen, and I told her quite plainly that they were stale,” to say with a sudden change of voice,
“Oh dear, hasn’t Miss Holiday turned up yet?”
Mrs. Merridew shook her head. Rosamond said,
“No, she hasn’t. It’s the most extraordinary thing. We can’t think what has happened.”
“ Lydia must be dreadfully put out,” said Lucy Cunningham.
It became clear that it was from this angle that she viewed the disappearance, the burden of her remarks being that of course Miss Holiday would turn up, but that meanwhile Lydia was being inconvenienced, and that if you had to go away in a hurry, the least you could do was to let your employer know.
“Only that’s the last thing they ever think about. I suppose she didn’t have words with Mrs. Bolder? A wonderful cook, but oh, my dear, what a temper! It couldn’t have been that could it?”
Rosamond said reluctantly,
“I don’t know-there may have been something. Mrs. Bolder didn’t seem so very much surprised when she didn’t turn up this morning-just tossed her head and said something like ‘Oh, she’ll get over it.’ So I thought perhaps-but that was before we knew about her not having been home all night.”
Miss Cunningham nodded vigorously.
“Well, I daresay they’d had a tiff, but I don’t suppose it amounted to anything. And she’s been coming to you for some time-she ought to be used to Mrs. Bolder by now. It can’t be the first time she’s had the rough side of her tongue. I can’t imagine-I really can’t-what could possibly have taken her away. When there’s a family, of course, you never know, but she hasn’t got a relation in the world-she often said so. And she was quite all right when I met her.”
“Oh, when was that?” Rosamond and Mrs. Merridew spoke together.
Miss Lucy beamed.
“When I was on my way up to you, my dear. You know I couldn’t come to tea, and then I was later than I meant to be because of going in to see Mrs. Stubbs about the broody hen, so it must have been all of half past five if not more-but I don’t suppose that matters-She was just coming out of the drive as I turned in, and she seemed perfectly all right then.”
Miss Silver regarded her with interest.
“Did you speak to her?” she enquired.
Miss Cunningham had a full cup in her hand. She had been about to drink from it when Miss Silver spoke. Somehow the cup slipped and some of the tea splashed down upon the moss-green jumper. Miss Lucy exclaimed, produced a large clean but extremely crumpled handkerchief, and proceeded to dab at the stain. Recourse was had to the hot water-jug. Rosamond ran and fetched a tea-cloth. The overflowing saucer was emptied, the cup replaced, and the opinion expressed that no mark would be left on the bright green wool.
“A most unfortunate accident,” said Miss Silver, “but I believe there will be no ill effects. Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes that poor Miss Holiday. You had met her coming away from her work, and you said she seemed quite as usual. You spoke to her, then?”
“Oh, just a few words,” said Lucy Cunningham.
CHAPTER 16
The tea-party broke up rather early. Rosamond was uneasy about Jenny, and Lucy Cunningham about Mrs. Parsons’s cat.
“I did ask Henry to keep an eye on the garden, but you know what men are, they become immersed. And cats are so determined. If it wants to sharpen its claws on that particular tree it will persevere.”
“Well, I don’t see how you are going to stop it, my dear.”
“A squirtful of water,” said Miss Cunningham firmly. “If I get back now there will be just enough light.”
When they had gone Mrs. Merridew allowed herself a little indignation.
“I can’t imagine why Lucy should expect the Parsons’s cat to be sitting there waiting for her to come home and fill a squirt. It seems ridiculous to me, and I very nearly told her so. Dear me-who on earth can this be!”
She had been looking in the direction of the window to watch Miss Lucy go. She now saw a tall, elegant young man come up the flagged path and disappear behind the jasmine on the porch. Miss Silver had a premonition. She was therefore not really surprised when Florrie looked round the edge of the door, a habit of which Mrs. Merridew had tried in vain to break her, and announced that Mr. Abbott had called to see Miss Silver- “and I put him in the dining-room.” Had Frank but known it, this was an almost unexampled tribute. If Florrie knew anyone she showed him in. If she didn’t she left him standing in the hall, or in an extreme case upon the doorstep. Mrs. Merridew had laboured in vain. In this, as in a good many other directions, Florrie took her own way.