So they all knew. In Lamella they would be talking about my “death.” It would be all over the town. News like that traveled quickly. I was certain that Mr. Hamforth’s trap would have been seen coming to Menfreya. Death at Menfreya! The clock which had not stopped for a hundred years had stopped recently. And now the undertaker was up at Menfreya.
“This is the most extraordinary affair,” I said.
“I’ve never known anything like it before in all my experience, ma’am.”
“No, I don’t suppose you have. But I want to know how it happened.”
“There was a letter came this morning. It was a queer sort of letter. But I didn’t think of that then.”
“A queer sort of letter? Where is it?”
“I brought it with me and showed it to the young lady.”
“To Miss Trelarken?”
“Yes. She was puzzled and asked to see it. You see, I told her that I had come to make the arrangements, and she couldn’t make out what, so I showed her the letter and she said she would take me to you, as Mr. Menfrey was not at home.”
I was relieved. There was a letter. This was some sort of practical joke, and we could get to the bottom of it if there was a piece of tangible evidence like a letter.
“Give me the letter, please, Mr. Hamforth.”
He took out his pocketbook and fumbled through it. He looked puzzled; then that expression lifted and he said: “Of course, the young lady took it and didn’t give it back.”
I went to the bellrope and when a maid appeared said: “Tell Miss Trelarken to come here without delay.”
She could not have been far away for she came almost immediately.
I said: “We want the letter.”
“The letter?” she repeated.
“The one Mr. Hamforth gave you. The one which was sent asking him to call here.”
“Oh yes. But … I gave it bade to you, Mr. Hamforth.”
“No, Miss, you didn’t,”
“But surely …”
They looked at each other in amazement, and I felt a sick fear rising within me.
“It must be somewhere,” I said sharply to Jessica. “Look in your pocket.”
She tried the two pockets of her gown and shook her head. She appeared to be very distressed—or was she putting on a good act? That was the thought that occurred to me then: She was acting.
What did this mean? Had she and Bevil arranged this? Were they together hi some diabolical plot against me? If I were no longer here, there would be no obstacle in her way … and perhaps his.
“It must be somewhere about,” I said. “I am very anxious to see that letter and to know who wrote to Mr. Hamforth telling him to come and bury me.”
We searched the library, and men Jessica said: “But it was hi the hall. I was about to go out into the garden when you came, Mr. Hamforth, and we stood in the hall for a while. It was after you had given me the letter that we came into the library.”
I led the way to the hall and we searched everywhere, but we could not find the letter.
“It’s very strange,” I said, and the terror was growing in me. “At least, you both saw the letter. How was it worded?”
They looked at each other.
“It was written in a hand I did not recognize,” said Jessica. “It asked Mr. Hamforth to come and make arrangements for the funeral of Mrs. Menfrey.”
“There must have been a signature,” I insisted.
“It was, I thought, written by Mr. Menfrey’s secretary,” said Mr. Hamforth.
“By Mr. Lister?”
“It was not written by Mr. Lister,” put in Jessica. “I know his handwriting well. It was signed for B. Menfrey, and there was an initial which I couldn’t read.” ‘I looked from Mr. Hamforth to Jessica.
Who had done it and why? Could it be that someone had chosen this macabre way of warning me?
Bevil came back from London that night. I was hi bed but not asleep. I had been lying awake, going over the events of the day. I kept seeing Mr. Hamforth’s horrified and bewildered face and Jessica’s, not smiling now, but as unfathomable as ever.
Bevil came into the bedroom.
“Wake up, Harriet. I’ve some exciting news. Balfour has invited me to a weekend party. There’ll be several others there.”
“That’s wonderful. But … have you heard about Ham-forth?”
“Hamforth? What’s Hamforth got to do with the Prime Minister’s invitation?”
“Nothing. He came today to measure me for my coffin.”
“What!”
I explained.
“Good God! Who would do such a thing?”
“I should like to know that There was a letter, but Jessica Trelarken put it down somewhere ... and it was lost.”
“But what was the idea?”
“First the clock stopped … and now this. It’s evident mat I’m the victim.”
“Harriet, for God’s sake, don’t even think such a thing.”
“It seems as though someone’s warning me.”
“Well get to the bottom of this nonsense. Ill go and see Hamforth tomorrow.”
“He can tell you no more. If we could find the letter … But, you see, Jessica had it … and lost it It seems so odd.”
“She must have been as unnerved as you.”
“At least they hadn’t come to measure her for her coffin.”
“What a macabre notion of a joke. My poor Harriet.” He had his arms round me soothingly. I wanted to lie against him, to sob out my fears.
He put out the light and came to bed, and we talked for a long time about the Hamforth affair and of what the Prime Minister’s invitation could mean.
Bevil went to Lansella the next day. I didn’t go. I couldn’t bear to face everyone who I knew would be talking about my “death.” I would wait awhile, I promised myself, until the talk had died down.
Fanny came in with my breakfast tray. She said I shouldn’t hurry to get up.
She looked extraordinarily drawn. I was sure that the Hamforth shock had frightened her as much as it had me.
“Fanny,” I said, “you mustn’t worry.”
“Worry!” she said. “I’m well nigh out of my mind for wondering what’s the right thing to do-“
“Do you think we ought to tell about the lemon barley? Everything seems different now.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” said Fanny nodding at the tray. “I went down to the kitchen and cooked it myself.”
“Oh, Fanny, I’m safe while you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t let no harm come to you.”
“You see, Fanny. I’m being warned. Who would warn me?”
Her face screwed as though she were going to cry.
“Did someone stop the clock to warn me? Did they send that letter to Hamforth’s to warn me? Then it looks as if whoever did these things wants me to be prepared. It wouldn’t be the same one who wanted me dead, would it?”
She spread out her hands and stared down at them, shaking her head.
Suddenly she stopped and looked at me sharply. There’s something I’ve got to tell you. It’s that Miss Trelarken. You can always tell. I can see it in her face. It does something to a woman. I know, I tell you.”
“Know what?”
“I went into her room this morning. The little boy came down to the kitchen before she was up. I took him back, and she was there without her dress. In her petticoat she was. She always wears those full skirts, but in her petticoat you could see.”
I stared at Fanny.
“I swear it’s true,” she said, “that Miss Trelarken is going to have a child.”
“Fanny, it’s not possible.”
“I’d say it was.”
“No,” I said. “No.” I felt sick with the horror of it I couldn’t bear to read the suspicions and conclusions in Fanny’s eyes. “It was growing so like that other story that it was becoming like a nightmare. The pregnant governess. The wife in the way. What had she said? “They would hate each other. They would want to murder each other.”