Georgina said, “What is it, Mirrie? Is it that man? Because if you don’t want to come down-”
“No-no, I must. He wouldn’t like it if I didn’t-”
“Are you afraid of him? You needn’t be, you know. We’ll have tea, and then Anthony or Johnny will drive him into Lenton to catch a train. Let’s go down and get it over. The relations and people will be coming in.”
Downstairs Sid Turner had made it quite plain that tea was not his idea of a drink after a funeral. He was given a whisky and soda, and Johnny kept him company.
Tea was being served in the dining-room. Sid’s eye flicked over the silver on the sideboard and the family portraits on the walls. It was a slap-up place, and no sign of the seen-better-days kind of look there was about so many big houses now. He had done some buying at auctions in his time. You could turn a bit there if you were in the know-commission from a dealer who didn’t want to be seen bidding himself, or an inside tip that there was something worth spotting at an otherwise dull country sale. If you got round a bit there were always chances, and he knew how to make the most of them.
He began to see pretty soon that it wasn’t going to be easy to get a word with Mirrie. She would know how she stood by now, and he wasn’t committing himself till he knew too. She was a pretty little thing and rather fetching in her black, though he liked a bit of colour himself. But it was the other girl who was the beauty. Class, that’s what she’d got-class. With her height and figure and all that light hair she’d be right in the big money if she went in for modelling. She might be glad to do it too if the cash had really all been left to Mirrie. He wondered just how much it would work out at. It wasn’t going to be easy to get near her. A good many people had come back for tea and she was hemmed in.
Chapter XXVI
SID TURNER found himself rather a fish out of water amongst all these people who were using Christian names and talking about their family affairs, and he didn’t like the feeling. In his own surroundings he was very much accustomed to playing the lead. Boys copied his shirts and ties and the way he had his suits cut, and girls waggled their eyelashes and their hips at him. He began to hate all these people, none of whom took any more notice of him than if he had been a bit of furniture.
And then all at once a voice was saying, “I am afraid that no one is looking after you, Mr. Turner.” He looked round and saw the dowdy little woman who had driven back with them from the cemetery. He thought she seemed very much at home, offering him tea or coffee, or another drink if he would care about it. Since she had taken off her hat, he supposed that she was staying in the house-governess or something like that. Yes, that would be it, Georgina Grey’s old governess. He said he could do with a drink, and whilst he was waiting for it it occurred to him that it might be a good plan to get her to talk a bit. Old maids were nosey and generally knew everything that was going on, and they liked the sound of their own voices. It would please her no end to be taken a bit of notice of, and he might quite easily pick up a useful tip or two. A modified version of the smile which made girls waggle was turned upon Miss Silver.
“You the governess or something?”
There is no one better qualified than Miss Maud Silver to set impertinence in its place. It is done in the simplest manner, and like all simple things it is best described by its effects. The offender is aware of a noticeable drop in the temperature. Miss Silver appears to recede to a rather awful distance and he develops sensations of embarrassment which he believed to have been left behind with his early schooldays. Even Chief Inspectors have been known to have this experience. That Mr. Sid Turner escaped it was due to the fact that Miss Silver desired to converse with him. She had noted his approach to Mirrie at the graveside and her reception of it. She had watched his manner to her, and hers to him, during the drive back to Field End. She therefore replied mildly that it was now some years since she had retired from the scholastic profession.
Sid Turner was pleased with his own acumen. The old governess-that was what she was. He was smart at sizing people up. He said,
“Well, I’m a kind of relation of Mirrie’s. Her Aunt Grace’s step-brother, that’s me. Thought I’d come down and see her through the funeral, but there doesn’t seem any chance of getting anywhere near her, not for the moment. I suppose the old man has done the right thing by her?”
Miss Silver gave a hesitant cough.
“The old man?”
“Mr.-Jonathan-Field, if you like it better that way. He said he was going to treat her like a daughter, didn’t he? Told her he’d made a will in her favour. I expect you know all about it. Does she get the house?”
Miss Silver permitted a puzzled look to cross her face.
“I really could not say.”
He laughed.
“Can’t say doesn’t always mean don’t know-does it? I don’t mind betting you could tell a thing or two if you wanted to! Come on-be a pal! It’s nothing but what Mirrie herself would tell me if I could get near enough to talk to her. What about the house? She gets it, doesn’t she?”
Miss Silver’s voice fluttered a little. She said,
“I believe not.”
He stared.
“Then who does?”
“I understand Miss Georgina Grey.”
Sid Turner used a regrettable expression. It passed unrebuked except by a mild “Pray, Mr. Turner!”
“All right, all right. What does she get?”
“I really could not say.”
He took off the rest of his drink at an angry gulp and set the glass down hard. Miss Silver gave a timid cough.
“I am sure that he intended to do all that was kind, but I really do not know about the house. Big houses are so very expensive to keep up nowadays. And the associations-so tragic, and Miss Mirrie is quite a young girl. She would not, perhaps, care to be reminded of Mr. Field’s tragic death every time she went into the study, even though it was not she who found him but her cousin Miss Georgina Grey. Stretched on the floor in his own room and shot through the head. Such a shock for a young girl.”
He said, “But-” And then, very quickly, “You’ve got it all wrong, haven’t you? The papers said he was sitting at his desk.”
Miss Silver’s manner became uncertain and agitated.
“Oh, I do not know. One does not care to dwell upon such a painful subject. I certainly understood, but I may have been mistaken. What paper did you say you had been reading?”
“I didn’t notice. It doesn’t matter that I can see. He’s dead, and we’ve just been seeing him buried, so what’s the odds? All I want to know about is whether Mirrie is going to get her rights.”
Miss Silver did not respond. She appeared unable to detach herself from the tragedy.
“Such a very sad thing. A man with so many friends, so many interests. His collection-really quite famous. Even at the last he seems to have been occupying himself with one of the albums. Famous fingerprints, you know. A strange hobby to take up. Did your paper mention that the album was found beside him?”
“I believe it did. I say-that’s a thought! You don’t suppose those fingerprints he collected had anything to do with his being murdered, do you?”
Miss Silver gazed as if in horror.
“Oh, Mr. Turner!”
“Well, just look at it. There’s the album, and there’s the old man shot through the heart. Stands to reason the police would be wondering whether someone who didn’t care about having his dabs in an album had bumped him off. You don’t happen to know whether anything had been torn out of the album, do you?”
Now that he had set down his drink he did not know just what to do with his hands. At one moment they were in his pockets, the next he was tapping on the edge of the handsome mahogany sideboard against which they were standing. He appeared, in fact, to be beating out some tune which was running in his head.