Mrs Brewer fidgeted with her fingers, twisting them in and out. She looked from Gladys to Miss Silver.
‘Oh, miss – she don’t want any encouragement with the boys!’
Gladys seemed to take this as a compliment.
‘Oh, get on with you, Mum!’
Miss Silver continued to smile indulgently.
‘I am afraid you have spoiled her, Mrs Brewer.’
By this time Gladys was in high good humour.
She felt herself the centre of attention, and was duly flattered. She thought Miss Silver ever such a kind old lady. Most of them expected a girl to behave as if she was dead and buried. That there Miss Doncaster with her ‘Does your mother know you’re out, Gladys?’ – she never had no boyfriends in her life. You could tell that as easy as easy – looked as if she’d been brought up on vinegar and never got rid of the taste of it.
Miss Silver’s voice came in amongst these meditations. Quite a low voice it was, but something about it you couldn’t help taking notice of.
‘When you were in the churchyard on Tuesday evening, Gladys-’
‘Who says I was in the churchyard?’
The interruption came so quickly as to suggest practice.
‘There would be no harm in it if you were – I am sure of that. You are not that sort of girl, are you? But you do sometimes go in there with a friend on a fine night, don’t you? I expect there are places where you can sit and talk.’
Gladys giggled.
‘And I think you were there on Tuesday night. You were, were you not?’
Mrs Brewer fairly wrung her hands.
‘Oh, no, miss – she wouldn’t do a thing like that! She’s a good girl.’
‘I am sure she is,’ said Miss Silver. ‘I am quite sure that there was no harm in it. Come Gladys – you were there, were you not?’
The blue eyes met Miss Silver’s and found that they could not look away. She made you feel like a kid at school again, when you were called out in front of the class and you dursn’t hold your tongue, no matter how much you wanted to, or what you were asked.
‘What if I was?’ Her voice was half defiant, half afraid.
Miss Silver said equably, ‘Well, then, my dear, I would like you to tell me just what you saw or heard.’
‘I didn’t hear nothing.’
‘But you saw something, didn’t you?’
‘Who says I did? There wasn’t nothing to see!’
Miss Silver’s smile was gone. Her look was steady and grave.
‘Have you ever done a jigsaw puzzle, Gladys?’
The girl’s shoulder jerked. She stood where the stair came down, holding to the old newel-post, dark and smooth from all the hands which had touched it, lightly, lingeringly, heavily, for more than three hundred years.
‘Course I have! My Auntie Brewer, she’s nuts on them.’
‘Well then, you will know how all the little bits fit in to make the picture. You may have a piece which does not look as if it was important at all, but if you get it in its right place you are able to see your way.’
Gladys stared, then brightened.
‘She’d one like that last time I was there. A little bit of red it was, and when we got it down you could see where the next bit ’ud got to come.’
Miss Silver inclined her head.
‘That is very well put. Now what you saw in the churchyard on Tuesday is just like one of those pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. It may be a very little bit and you may not think that it matters, but it may be just the piece which is needed to save a man’s life. What would you feel like if an innocent man was hanged because you kept back something that would save him?’
Gladys stared with all her might.
‘You have seen pictures about an innocent man being suspected. What would you feel about a girl who did not speak when she might save him?’
Gladys shifted from one foot to the other.
‘It wasn’t nothing like that.’
‘You might not know.’
‘Well then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t nothing. Only Mum goes on so. I suppose she never went for a walk with a boy!’
Mrs Brewer said, ‘Oh, Glad!’
Gladys let go of the newel and sat down on the third step from the bottom.
‘All right, all right – it wasn’t nothing to make such a fuss about!’ She looked angrily at her mother. ‘I went up to Mrs Bowlby’s like I told you I was going to, and we listened to the wireless for a bit, and then Sam and me went for a walk.’
‘Oh, Glad!’
‘Come off it, Mum! A girl can’t sit indoors all the time, nor a boy neither. What’s the good of saying, “Oh, Glad!”? It was ever such a lovely night, and we went for a walk. And when we come back we went into the churchyard and sat down for a bit, but we didn’t see nothing nor nobody but Mr Bush, and he didn’t see us – not that time, though he’s always on the look-out. He was in a hurry and went off quick. So what’s all the fuss about?’
Janice had been sitting quite still. She moved now. Bush – yes, of course Bush would have done his usual round on that Tuesday night. She hadn’t thought of it before. She supposed nobody had. Bush going round the churchyard every evening at ten o’clock was as much a part of the day’s routine as moonrise and sunset, and as little to be considered. She heard Miss Silver say, ‘You saw Mr Bush. What was he doing?’
Gladys stared.
‘Going his round.’
Miss Silver coughed.
‘Oh, yes. But what exactly was he doing when you first caught sight of him?’
‘He was coming out of the church.’
Janice had a choking sensation. There was no air. She took a quick, shallow breath. Miss Silver’s even voice went on without any change.
‘I see. It was bright moonlight, was it not?’
‘Oh, yes, it was ever so bright.’
‘And where were you sitting with your friend?’
Gladys giggled.
‘Right up against the Rectory wall. There’s a tree comes over. We were sitting on Mr Doncaster’s grave. It’s got a nice flat stone on it.’
‘So you could see the church door quite plainly, but Mr Bush couldn’t see you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And Mr Bush was coming out of the church?’
‘That’s right. He come out and he locked up, and he went off quick – didn’t come spying round like he does.’
Miss Silver coughed.
‘What time was this?’
‘I dunno.’
‘But the church clock strikes, does it not? Did you not hear it strike whilst you were in the churchyard?’
Gladys nodded.
‘That’s right – it struck ten.’
‘Before Mr Bush came out, or afterwards?’
‘Oh, afterwards.’
‘How long after?’
‘It wouldn’t be more than a minute or two. He went off round the church, and then the clock struck.’
‘There are three gates to the churchyard, I believe – one leading to the Green, one to the Church Cut, and one to the village street. Which way did Mr Bush go?’
‘Right out to the street. That’s his way home.’ She got up. ‘I’m going to be late for the pictures. I’m going to change.’
Miss Silver got up too.
‘Just a moment, Gladys. Where did you go for your walk?’
‘Oh, just round the Green.’
‘How long had you been in the churchyard before you saw Mr Bush?’
‘Oh, I dunno – about five minutes’
‘Did you hear a shot at any time during your walk?’
‘I dunno. Mr Giles, he shoots at the foxes – there’s often shots – I didn’t take any notice.’ She went up a step or two, then turned. ‘I told you it wasn’t nothing – any of it. And I’m going to be late.’ She giggled with a return of her easy good nature. ‘Do Sam good to keep him waiting, but I don’t want to miss the picture.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
GARTH ALBANY CAME knocking on Miss Silver’s door before she was dressed next morning. She opened it in a warm red flannel dressing-gown trimmed with hand-made crochet, her hair rather flat but perfectly neat in spite of the absence of a net. He slipped inside, shut the door behind him, and said, ‘Ezra Pincott has been found dead. The milk boy brought the news – Mabel has just told me. I thought you ought to know at once.’