“Had you any reason to suppose that she went away with this Mr. Sandrow?”
Emily looked startled.
“Oh, no-of course not. I only thought- She didn’t write, but then why should she? She was only here for such a short time, and she didn’t like us-there was really no reason. But she didn’t write to her friends either. Someone came down only the other day to make enquiries. She hadn’t any relations, I believe, but there was a friend who was worried at not hearing from her. Only people don’t always write, do they, and she may not have wanted to keep up with her friend. She was a moody sort of girl.”
“The friend was trying to trace her?”
“Oh, yes. Someone came down-from the police, I think, only not in uniform. But of course there wasn’t anything we could say.
Miss Silver was picking up run-down stitches on Maurice’s left sleeve, using a darning-needle in a very expert manner. She paused for a moment to look at Emily Craddock and say,
“And now you feel that you ought to have spoken of Mr. Sandrow?”
“There was so little to say,” said Emily in a distressed voice. “I only saw him once-quite at a distance, and it was getting dark. There was a car at the gate, and I just saw him stop and drive on again. She had been out for the afternoon, you know. We walked up the drive together, and she had that excited way with her, but when I asked her whether her friend wouldn’t have come in she changed and said no, he didn’t like a crowd.”
“How extremely rude.”
“Yes, I thought so. And then she laughed and said quite angrily, ‘Two is company, isn’t it?’ She didn’t say any more, and I didn’t like to. Her tone was really quite rude.”
“But she told you his name?”
Emily had her startled look.
“No-no-I don’t think she did. I think it must have been somebody else-perhaps one of the children.”
“She spoke of him to the children?”
“I think she must have done-because of the name… Yes, it was Jennifer, because I thought it sounded as if it might be Italian-Sandro, you know. But she said it wasn’t. She said it was R O W.”
Miss Silver remarked in a meditative voice,
“If Miss Ball was so reserved about her affairs, it seems strange that she should have talked to Jennifer.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We had a governess when I was twelve, and she told me all about being engaged to a young man who was a missionary in China. When you are in love with someone you do want to talk about them. I think the children may have teased her about his being Italian, and that made her explain that he wasn’t and tell them how the name was really spelt.”
“Did they ever see him?”
“I don’t think so. Jennifer did say he was very goodlooking, but I think that was only what Miss Ball had told her. I think Elaine Tremlett saw him once-or perhaps it was Gwyneth. She said he had red hair, which doesn’t sound at all Italian, does it?”
“Did Miss Ball see much of him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She used to slip out in the evenings-it was one of the things I didn’t like. And people talked.”
Miss Silver reflected that they had not talked to Detective Inspector Abbott. It became apparent that Emily Craddock had told all she knew about Mr. Sandrow. Anna Ball had neither said where he came from nor how long they had known each other. After that momentary outburst in the dark drive she had gone back into her silent antagonism, and a few days later had taken her departure, a good deal to Emily Craddock’s relief.
“I did try to be nice to her,” she said in her plaintive voice. “We didn’t like her, but we did try. We gave her a red hat.”
“A red hat?”
“Mr. Craddock thought it would cheer her up,” said Emily.
CHAPTER XIV
The Miss Tremletts were very proud of their converted stable. By knocking down partitions between the stalls a large living-room had been contrived, with a kitchenette and a bathroom beyond, whilst a staircase ran up with what they considered a most decorative effect to three bedrooms above.
“So nice to have room to give a party,” as Miss Elaine said. “Our cottage at Wyshmere was most picturesque, but so very small and so very dark. Leaded panes, you know-and quite authentic, so it would have been impossible to replace them, but they let in so very little light. And though, of course, candles or even rushlights would be more in character, we cannot help feeling most grateful for the supply of electricity from dear Peveril’s installation.”
Miss Silver found the room a little too suggestive of a barn. Its plain whitewashed walls did not appeal to her. What she admired was a nice wallpaper with a satin stripe or bunches of flowers. She did not think that the chairs looked as if they would be comfortable. They had angular archaic shapes and were entirely destitute of upholstery. Hand-made rugs strewed the floor. Miss Gwyneth’s loom stood by one of the windows.
Miss Elaine, small and thin in a pea-green smock, and Miss Gwyneth, larger and inclined to billow in a sacklike garment of peacock-blue, were both all that was welcoming and kind. That the welcome was more particularly directed towards Mr. Craddock did not at all surprise Miss Silver, since from the first moment of her arrival in Deep End it had been made perfectly plain to her that everything in Harmony revolved round him. The sisters were polite to her and affectionate to “dear Emily,” but their deference, their enthusiasms, their flutterings centred upon Peveril. They fluttered a good deal, assisted by a flowing of scarves and a jingle of beads. With her pea-green smock Miss Elaine wore a necklet of blue and silver beads from Venice and a long string of Chinese amber, whilst Miss Gwyneth’s peacock curves supported a short row of cornelians and two longer strings, one of pink coral and the other filagree silver and amethyst. Miss Elaine had fair, faded hair in a pre-Raphaelite knot on the nape of her neck. Miss Gwyneth wore hers, which was grey and rather sparse, in a long straight bob to the shoulder which gave her an odd resemblance to some French abbé of the eighteenth century.
Miss Silver’s hand was pressed by Miss Elaine.
“We hope you are going to like being here. We are a friendly Community.”
It was pressed by Miss Gwyneth.
“It is not the best time of year for the country, but each season has its beauty. Are you a nature-lover?”
It being her private opinion that the country was a cold and draughty place and only too apt to be lacking in modern conveniences, Miss Silver found it best to make a noncommittal reply. She was able to say with truth that she had spent a good deal of time in country places.
“And if one is interested in one’s work, surroundings are of secondary importance.”
Miss Elaine said vaguely, “Ah, yes-the children. They interest you?”
“Extremely.”
Miss Elaine fidgeted with her amber beads.
“They are a little uncontrolled, but of course as Peveril says, one can only guide, never thwart the expression of the ego. But if you are interested, that is the great thing. And such a privilege to work with him!”
A little later on it was Miss Gwyneth who, in a louder voice and with greater freedom of gesture, emphasized the privilege alluded to by Miss Elaine.
“I hope you appreciate it, but I am sure you do. Those two girls did not-Miss Ball and Miss Dally. Not the right type at all, either of them-Miss Dally so thoughtless, and Miss Ball so wrapped up in herself. The real teacher must be ready to give-my sister and I feel that so strongly. Now I am sure you- But let me introduce you to Miranda.”
Miss Silver’s hand was taken and held in a clasp which became oppressive.
“We have met!” said Miranda in her deepest voice. She drew Miss Silver aside. “We will not say where. It is not an auspicious spot. You have not brought the children? Perhaps it is as well. The harmony of a social gathering is so easily disturbed. I find Boys a disturbing element. They are crude and violent. But something might be made of Jennifer. There are points of interest, but she is in revolt against her circumstances. Even against Peveril. Strange! He is very patient, very forbearing. He will not thwart her. But his friends cannot help being indignant on his behalf. Such a marvellous opportunity for the child, and she does not appreciate it! Adolescence? Perhaps! It is a time of ferment and revolt! Very trying for poor Emily. The maternal instinct is strong in her, but she is devoted to Peveril.”