Phyllida made some movement, some sound as if she would speak, but the words wouldn’t come. With a new vibration in her voice Grace Paradine went on.
“It’s the only life I’ve had. You can’t understand that, can you? I’m telling you, my darling, because I want you to understand. You have always been loved and wanted, but I haven’t.”
“Aunt Grace!”
Grace Paradine said low and steadily,
“Whatever place I have now I have made for myself.” She looked into Phyllida’s face. “Has anyone ever told you that I was an adopted child?”
Phyllida was most unfeignedly startled.
“Oh, no.”
“I suppose most people have forgotten it-it’s so long ago. James’s mother lost a baby girl, and they adopted me. I believe she was very fond of me, but she died before I was five. The others were quite kind, but I was nobody’s child. I set my heart on having a place of my own. When I got engaged I thought I was going to have one. I suppose you know that I was engaged to Robert Moffat?”
“Yes.”
“A month before my wedding day I found out that there was a girl over at Birstead-somebody told me. He didn’t deny it-he just said it was all over. James and his father wanted me to marry him-they didn’t seem to think it mattered. Phyl my darling, I’m not telling you this to distress you, but to show you why I felt as I did about Elliot Wray.”
Phyllida said in a low voice,
“Yes, I see that. But it’s different-”
“Is it? I don’t think so. My life was broken, and there wasn’t anyone to make it easier for me as I have tried to make it for you, there wasn’t anyone to surround me with love and tenderness. There were ten dreadful, empty years. And then there was you. Everything began again. It was like a new life. You can’t let go of any part of your life without dying a little. That is why I kept all your clothes, all your photographs. I couldn’t bear to part with any of them-it would have been like parting with some of my life. And then Elliot came.”
It was when she said Elliot’s name that Phyllida began to feel as if she couldn’t bear it. She was gentle, but she wasn’t stupid. All this emotion, this pain, was being used as a weapon against Elliot. Emotion which you do not share can become intolerable. To be so near to Grace Paradine, to be actually and physically under the weight of her hand, had become intolerable. But to draw away now-she couldn’t do it.
Grace Paradine had paused as if Elliot’s name had halted her. Now she went on.
“He came-James invited him. If I hadn’t been away, he would never have had the chance of hurting you-I should have taken good care of that. But when I came back it was too late-you were engaged. And James backed him up-I’ve never forgiven him for that. I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust him, but there was nothing that I could lay hold of. I wanted a longer engagement. James took his side again. Then when it was too late and you were married, I got Agnes Cranston’s letter. I can’t tell you how terrible it was to get it like that-too late.”
The hand on Phyllida’s shoulder was cold. She could feel it through the stuff of her dress, heavy and cold. For all her pity she couldn’t bear it any longer. She stepped back. The hand fell. A slow, dull colour came into Grace Paradine’s face.
Phyllida said in a voice which she tried to keep from shaking,
“Please, Aunt Grace-I came here to say something. Won’t you let me say it? It’s no good going over what has happened. We started wrong-we’ve got to begin all over again. Elliot and I are going to. Won’t you? People can begin again. It isn’t wrong to get married and have a home of your own. My real mother would have been glad-”
She could have said nothing more disastrous. An old smouldering jealousy caught and flamed. Phyllida saw a face she had never seen before-control breaking into fury, lips moving over words which came to her in a low, dreadful mutter. She hardly knew what they were. She was aghast and shaken.
When Grace Paradine said “Go!” she ran out of the room with only one thought in her mind, to get out of sight and sound of the storm which she had raised.
Chapter 42
Downstairs in the study Frank Ambrose said in a tired voice,
“Oh, yes, I came back. I don’t mind telling you about it-I suppose it was bound to come out.”
He sat where Mark Paradine had sat, in a chair drawn up to the short side of the writing-table. Miss Silver faced him across its length, placidly knitting. Bent over the blotting-pad, Superintendent Vyner was taking notes. On the opposite side Colonel Bostock sat frowning, and wishing that he hadn’t known all these people for donkey’s years. Dashed awkward situation-dashed awkward case.
It was Miss Silver who coughed and said,
“I think it would be as well, Mr. Ambrose.”
Frank Ambrose squared his shoulders. He looked like a man who hasn’t much left to come and go upon. His big frame was kept upright only with an effort. His large impassive face sagged with fatigue. The fair skin looked grey. He said,
“It is really very simple, but because of my stepfather’s death all the natural, simple things which happen in a family have become suspicious. So you see, I can tell you what happened, but I can’t make you believe it. There is nothing to corroborate my statement. There is only my own unsupported story. I came back because I was greatly disturbed and distressed by what my step-father had said at dinner. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I couldn’t just leave it at that. I made up my mind to go back and talk the whole thing over with him. If you ask anyone who knew us both they will tell you that we were on very intimate terms. In some ways he treated me as a son, in others as a friend. I mean that he would discuss things with me. That’s why I came back. He had a strong, sarcastic temper. I didn’t want him to do anything that would make a permanent breach in the family.”
“How did he take your coming back?” said Colonel Bostock.
Frank Ambrose was silent for a moment. Then he said,
“We talked. I was with him for about twenty minutes. Then I went away.”
Vyner looked up and said,
“Did he tell you that Mr. Wray’s blue-prints were missing?”
There was again that moment of silence. Then Frank Ambrose said,
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you who had taken them?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”
“You can, of course, refuse to answer any questions now, but you may be asked them in another place, when you will be on your oath.”
“Of course I realize that. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more at present.”
When the door had shut behind him Miss Silver said “Dear me!” Colonel Bostock blew his nose loudly.
“Well, what do you make of that? He knows something.”
Vyner was shutting his notebook.
“There isn’t much doubt about that.”
“Looks as if he hasn’t slept for a week. By the way,”-the Chief Constable turned to Miss Silver- “his wife’s out of it-that girl Irene. Glad about that. Nasty thing for a young woman, murder. Not at all the thing. Vyner’ll tell you.”
The Superintendent turned his pleasant blue eyes upon Miss Silver.
“I had some enquiries made at Dr. Horton’s house. The two maids share an attic room to the front. Well, one of them says she looked out somewhere after eleven and she saw Mrs. Ambrose walking up and down like she said she did. You will remember that it was bright moonlight until the rain came on at twelve. She is quite sure about its being Mrs. Ambrose. She made a joke of it to the other girl. It seems she was always ringing Dr. Horton up about the children, and this was the girl who would take the messages, so they made quite a joke of it, and looked out several times to see if she was still there. They were up late because the other girl was going to her sister’s wedding next day and she was finishing her dress. They say Mrs. Ambrose was still there at ten minutes to twelve. I think that’s good enough.”