“Darling darling Jenny, why did you go away? We miss you dreadfully. At least I do, and if Joyce has any sense she does too. You never know with Joyce, and I didn’t want to make her cry which isn’t good for her, so I didn’t ask her. But I miss you quite dreadfully. Why did you go away? Please, please tell me. I don’t want to be a bother, and I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, but do just write to me. You can’t have forgotten about us all in such a short time. I will never forget you. I promise most faithfully that I won’t, and that I’ll never tell anyone that you wrote. It’s quite horrid without you here, it really is. Mary says you are called Jenny Forbes now. She didn’t want to tell me, but I made her, so you won’t give her away, will you? She said you are really our cousin, which is very exciting and I am so glad. She says the whole village is talking about it, so it isn’t a secret any more. She says it was a secret that your father was married to your mother, and that no one knew about their being married, because he was killed when his aeroplane crashed in the war and she had an accident so that she couldn’t speak. And she died the day you were born, so no one knew. It’s a very sad story, isn’t it? I would have cried if I hadn’t been so interested. When you are very interested you can’t cry somehow, but I feel as if I could cry now. Please, Jenny, write and say that you haven’t forgotten me, and that you’ll come back and let us be all together again. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.
Your loving Meg.
P.S. Please send the answer to Mary’s house. I think you had better put two envelopes, the one inside to me and the outside one to Mary. Her name in case you have forgotten is Miss Mary Stebbins, Alingford. Goodbye. I do love you. Please, please do write to me.”
Richard, coming in, found Jenny crying.
“Darling what is it?”
She put Meg’s letter into his hand.
“She’s such a dear, and she really does love me. What can I do?”
He read the letter and whistled.
“Well, it’s out,” he said. “You must write to Mrs. Forbes.”
“I don’t want to,” said Jenny, looking up with drenched brown eyes.
“Darling, you really must. Caroline would say the same.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Now, Jenny-”
She turned to him, clutching at his hand, his arm. “Oh, Richard, no-no! I don’t want to tell them where I am-I don’t want them to know. It-it frightens me.”
“My dear child-” He put his arms round her, and she sobbed and clung to him. When she was a little calmer he said,
“Can I see the child’s letter?”
“Yes, yes. Oh, anything you like.”
He read Meg’s artless letter, and failed to see why Jenny should have been so much upset by it. He said so.
“She’s a nice child and very fond of you. I don’t know why it should upset you.”
“I don’t know why either, but it did-it does.”
“I can’t imagine why it should.”
She took the letter from his hand and read it through. Then she turned a puzzled glance on him.
“Richard-”
“What is it, darling?”
“I don’t know why it upset me so much. I don’t know why.”
“As long as it doesn’t go on upsetting you-”
“No, it doesn’t-not now. It was just one of those things. I opened the letter, and first of all I was pleased because Meg had written to me. And then quite suddenly I was most dreadfully afraid. It was just as if there was something shut up in the letter and I had opened the door for it to get out. I’ve never had a feeling like that before. It was quite dreadfully strong. It-it frightened me.”
He was watching her intently.
“You’re not frightened now, are you?”
“Not like I was. No, I’m not frightened-not any more. But I still don’t want to write to Mrs. Forbes.”
“You must,” he said. And with that Caroline came into the room with the bacon.
They had breakfast without any more discussion, but when they had finished Richard said,
“Jenny has had a letter from one of the little girls. It’s from Meg. She knows that Jenny is here.”
Caroline looked up.
“That’s due to Mrs. Merridew of course,” she said. “You couldn’t hope to keep it a private matter with her writing to her cousin at Alingford- and she’d be bound to do that. You say the letter is from the child?”
“Yes,” said Jenny. “It’s from Meg.”
“Well, I think that you ought to write to Mrs. Forbes, Jenny. It won’t be easy of course, but it hasn’t been really right-” Her voice trailed away.
Jenny was looking at her.
“No,” she said. “None of it’s right, is it?”
She wrote to Mrs. Forbes after breakfast. She sat for a long time with the pen in her hand before she got going. In the end she dipped the pen again and wrote:
“Dear Mrs. Forbes,
I heard what Mac said to you the night I went away. I couldn’t stay after what I heard. I didn’t mean to listen. I was in the window seat behind the curtain, and I thought that you would just look in and go away. But you didn’t. When I heard what you had to say I couldn’t get up and show myself. I suppose I ought to have done it, but I couldn’t. I heard everything. You can’t be surprised that I went away. I couldn’t stay. I don’t think you will want to see me. I am here with Richard’s aunt, Miss Danesworth. I met Richard when I was running away, and he brought me here. He is Richard Alington Forbes, and he is a cousin. Richard went to Somerset House in London and got a copy of my father and mother’s marriage certificate.
Jenny Forbes.”
When she had finished writing she put her letter in an envelope and addressed and stamped it. Just before she shut it up she went into the kitchen and showed it to Caroline and Richard.
“Is it all right?” she said. “I can’t write it again-I really can’t.”
Caroline read it, kissed her without speaking, and went out of the room. Jenny was left with Richard. He, too, read the letter.
Jenny was watching him.
“There’s nothing else to say, is there? Nothing at all?”
He put the letter back into her hand.
“No, there’s nothing else,” he said.
Chapter XXXVIII
Miss Silver had come down to Hazeldon. One or two points had arisen at the inquest, and she had a strong feeling that Hazeldon would bear to have a magnifying glass turned on it. For one thing, she believed Jimmy Mottingley’s story. She found it impossible to do otherwise. Now, if Miriam Richardson had got up to go at seven o’clock, she must have been there on the Heath a few minutes later-a very few minutes. And Jimmy Mottingley was still in his mother’s drawing-room listening impatiently to her conversation with old Mrs. Marsden at either six-fifteen or six-thirty. To have accomplished the drive in three-quarters of an hour would have been a clear impossibility. To have covered the same distance in a quarter of an hour’s extra time would have been just barely possible.
According to the evidence of the stranger, Mrs. Marsden, the time at which he left was just short of ten minutes past six, but his mother put it twenty minutes later. In the circumstances her evidence would be gravely suspect, and in view of Jimmy’s statement that the clock was to say the least of it erratic, no reliance could be placed upon it. If he had really left at ten minutes past six and had driven as fast as possible, he might have been at the place where Miriam met her death by, say, ten past seven. That is, ten minutes after she left Miss Danesworth’s house. Miss Silver thought that she might try and find out whether anyone in Hazeldon had noticed the arrival of Jimmy Mottingley’s car. If they had, and if they had any idea at what time they noticed it, it would certainly be a help.