Mr. Jocelyn took his time. Presently he shook his head and let his wife have the papers.
“I might hazard a guess on the colour of the ink, but certainly not on the writing.”
Emmeline took her time too. There was one whole letter which began “Dear Mr. Codrington,” and ended “Yours very sincerely, Anne Jocelyn.” In between, a few lines thanking him for the despatch of some papers unspecified.
She took up the next sheet. Three or four lines to conclude another letter. The weather was very damp-she did hope it would clear soon. And once more she was his very sincerely.
There were two more letters, one asking for a copy of her will, and the other thanking him for having sent it.
Emmeline began to say, “I suppose-” then checked herself and passed the letters to Milly Armitage, who had seen them before and pushed them over the table to Inez Jocelyn. She made a great rustling with them, snatching them up, only to discard one, pick it up again, and finally arrange the four sheets like a hand at cards.
“Of course the two about her will must have been written before she went to France. Not a very good choice, if I may say so. She could hardly have been making a will since her return-could she?” That very unpleasant laugh of hers rang out. “I thought of that at once. You can’t expect us to think of nothing but the writing, you know. The subject-matter is evidence too, Mr. Codrington.” With a toss of the platinum curls she relinquished the letters to Perry, who shook his head over them and said they all looked alike to him.
As Mr. Codrington resumed possession of them he said drily,
“The two letters about the will were written a couple of days ago to my dictation.”
Mrs. Thomas Jocelyn allowed herself to smile. Then she addressed Philip.
“Well, we had to get that out of the way. What I want to ask you now is about the night you went over to France. I want to know how those two girls were dressed. Because unless their clothes were alike, I don’t see how you could have taken one for the other.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t notice very much. It was dark. They were the sort of things girls wear-the sort of things you don’t notice-a tweed skirt and a jumper. Afterwards, I suppose, they had coats on.”
“Was Anne wearing her fur coat?”
“I don’t know-I didn’t notice.”
Anne said quick and low, “Yes, I was wearing it. I’ve got it-I came home in it.”
Emmeline said, “Oh-” And then, “It was a very valuable coat-mink, if I remember. Milly would know if it was Anne’s coat. Is it, Milly?”
“There isn’t any doubt about that,” said Milly Armitage.
Emmeline said “Oh-” again. Then she went on with her questions.
“We’ve got to clear up this business about the clothes, because it’s very important. The girl who died in the boat- the one you thought was Anne-how was she dressed? You identified her, so you must have seen her next day.”
Perry felt Lilla wince. Thomas Jocelyn was aware of an inarticulate bleak anger. Lyndall looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap.
Philip said, “Yes, I saw her. But I’m afraid I don’t remember about her clothes, except that they were wet and a good deal stained-the sea kept breaking over us. I’m afraid it’s no good, Aunt Emmeline. We’ve been over this clothes question before, and it doesn’t lead anywhere.”
“Where was Anne’s jewelry-those rings and her pearls? The pearls were real.”
Again it was Anne who answered.
“They were all in my handbag. I was carrying it.” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “All except my wedding-ring. I took it off when I quarreled with Philip about going to France. When I knew he had come over to fetch me, I put it on again.”
“Did you know she had taken it off, Philip?”
“Yes.”
“If I may ask something-” Inez Jocelyn’s tone was edgy. “Of course only if Emmeline has quite finished. I think we ought to know what this quarrel was about. Anne would be able to tell us, but probably Annie Joyce would not.”
Anne gave her an unsteady smile.
“Of course I can tell you. It was all very stupid-quarrels generally are. Cousin Theresa wrote and asked me to come over to France. She said she had made a will in my favour when she came over to the wedding, and she wanted to talk to me about personal mementoes for the family. Philip was very angry. He said she had no business to leave the money away from Annie Joyce, and he said I wasn’t to go. Of course he was perfectly right about the money, and I wouldn’t have taken it-though I didn’t tell him that, because I was angry too, and I didn’t like being dictated to. So we quarrelled, and I took off my wedding-ring and went to France without making it up.”
Inez Jocelyn turned her pale eyes on Philip, protruded her pale chin.
“Is that true?”
He said, “Perfectly true,” and then looked suddenly at Anne. “Where did we have this quarrel?”
Their eyes met, his very cold, hers very bright. Something in them eluded him.
“Where?”
“Yes, where? In what place, and at what time of the day?”
She said very slowly, and as if it pleased her to dwell upon the words,
“In the parlour-in the afternoon-after lunch.”
That cold gaze of his held against the spark of triumph in hers. It was she who looked away.
He said, “Perfectly correct.”
There was a silence. Mr. Elvery wrote upon his pad.
“Annie Joyce wouldn’t have been very likely to know that!” said Inez Jocelyn. She gave her jarring laugh. “But I suppose Anne might have told her. Not very likely of course, but girls do tattle. Only I suppose there’s a limit. Of course, you never know, but-Why don’t you ask her where you proposed to her, and what you said? I shouldn’t have expected her and Annie to be such bosom friends that she would have told her that.”
Philip glanced across the table and spoke.
“You heard what Cousin Inez said. Do you feel inclined to answer her?”
She looked back at him in a softer way than she had done before.
“We’re not to be allowed to have any privacies-are we?”
“Is that what you are going to plead?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, no. It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Then, turning towards Inez, “He proposed to me in the rose-garden on the seventh of July, nineteen-thirty-nine. It was a romantic setting, but I’m afraid we were not very romantic about it. We had been talking about all the things Philip would have liked to do to the house if he had had enough money. He said he wanted to pull down the bits my grandfather built on. He called them expensive hideosities, and I said I thought so too. Then I said I’d like to do things to the garden, and he said, ‘What kind of things?’ So I told him I’d like to make a lily-pool and get rid of the ramblers out of the rose-garden- things like that. And he said, ‘All right, you can if you want to.’ I said, ‘What do you mean by that?’ and he put his arm round me and said, ‘I’m asking you to marry me, stupid. What about it?’ And I said, ‘Oh, what fun!’ and he kissed me.”
“Is that right?” Inez Jocelyn’s voice rang stridently.
Philip said, “Oh, yes.”
When he had said these two words his lips closed hard.
Inez leaned right forward, crowding Lilla.
“Well, there must be plenty of other things that you can ask her-things which only you or she can know anything about. After all, you had a honeymoon, didn’t you?”
Thomas Jocelyn looked round sharply. Mr. Codrington put up a restraining hand. But before anyone could speak Anne pushed back her chair. Still smiling and without hurry, she passed round the end of the table and laid a hand on Philip’s shoulder. When she spoke her voice had a note of tender amusement.