Wicked Uncle

Chapter XXVI

Will you see Miss Moira, my lady?”

Lady Pemberley had breakfasted in bed. She was now reading the paper. She said,

“Miss Moira? She’s very early. Yes, of course. Take the tray, and ask her to come up.”

The paper she had been reading lay tilted to the light. A black headline showed-“Murder in a Country House. Guests Questioned.” When the door opened and Moira Lane came in it was the second thing she saw. The first was Sibylla Pemberley’s face, pale and rather austere under the thick iron-grey hair which she wore drawn back in a manner reminiscent of the eighteenth century. Everything in the room was very good and very plain-no fripperies, no bright colours; a dark oil painting of the late Lord Pemberley over the mantelpiece; a jar of white camellia blooms on the shelf below; a purple bedspread which Moira irreverently dubbed the catafalque; a lace cap with purple ribbons; a fine Shetland shawl covering a night-dress of tucked nun’s veiling. With all these Moira was quite familiar. They made up the picture she expected. Her first glance was for the look on Lady Pemberley’s face, which told her nothing, and her second for the newspaper, which told her a good deal. To start with, it wasn’t the sort of paper Cousin Sibylla read. Headlines and pictures weren’t what you would call in her line. That meant that Dawson had brought it up specially, and if she had, it meant not only that the murder was in it, but that Miss Moira Lane was mentioned.

“Amongst those present was Miss Moira Lane.” Almost a daily occurrence in some paper or another. You got to the point where you took it for granted. “ Attractive Miss Moira Lane ”- “Lord Blank and Miss Moira Lane at Epsom”-“The Duke of Dash, Lady Asterisk, and Miss Moira Lane on the moors”- “ Miss Moira Lane and Mr. Justin Leigh…” Not so good when it was a murder story-“ Miss Moira Lane at the Inquest on Gregory Porlock.”

She came up to the bed, touched a thin cheek with her cold glowing one, and straightened up again.

“Good-morning, Cousin Sibylla.”

“You’re very early, Moira.”

“I had the chance of a lift. Justin Leigh brought me up. He’s fetching papers from his office. We’ll have to get back by one or so. I suppose it’s all in the papers?”

Delicate dark eyebrows lifted. There was no other likeness between the young woman and the old one, but those fine arched brows belonged to both. In Lady Pemberley they gave an effect of severity. The eyes beneath them were grey, not blue like Moira’s. Grey eyes can be most tender, and most severe. In Lady Pemberley’s rather ascetic face they tended to be severe. She said,

“It is very unfortunate-very unpleasant.”

Moira nodded. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m going to tell you what happened.”

The story did not go down at all well. The atmosphere became charged with all the things Lady Pemberley had said in the past. She didn’t say them now, but there they were, quite as insistent as if she had. If you kept to your own set you did at least know by what rules they played the game. If you went outside it you were out of your own line of country and anything might happen. A man could leave his own set and amuse himself elsewhere, but it was folly for a woman to attempt it. These themes, with endless variations, had been so often sounded in Moira’s ears that it needed no more than a single note to recall the whole. She went through to the end.

Lady Pemberley repeated her former remark.

“Very unfortunate-very unpleasant.”

“Epitaph for Gregory Porlock,” said Moira with a tang in her voice.

The eyebrows rose again.

“My dear-”

Moira was looking at her-a straight, dark look.

“Do you know, I meant that.”

“My dear-”

Moira gave an abrupt nod. Her glowing colour had gone. She looked pale and hard in her grey tweeds.

“He was a devil.”

“Moira-”

“He was a blackmailer.” She stood up straight by the bed. “He was blackmailing me. I’ve come here to tell you why.”

There was a brief silence. Lady Pemberley had become paler too. She said,

“You had better sit down.”

Moira shook her head.

“I’d rather stand. Cousin Sibylla, you won’t believe me-I suppose nobody would-but I’m not telling you about it because Gregory Porlock has been murdered. I was coming anyhow. I made up my mind that I would-after I got down there on Saturday-after he tried to blackmail me. I was coming up to tell you. You won’t believe me of course.”

“I haven’t said so. Go on, please.”

The dark blue eyes went on looking at her.

“A little while ago I was in a bad hole-money. I went down for a week-end with some people who played a bit too high for me. I had the most damnable luck. It put me in a hole.”

“Yes?”

Moira set her teeth.

“I came to see you. You remember-it was the first week in November.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to. Everything went wrong. The Lamonts were here. You were vexed.”

“I remember.”

“Mrs. Lamont had made you vexed. She’s always had a down on me.”

“She is one of my oldest friends.”

“She hates me like poison-she always has.”

“You should not exaggerate, Moira.”

“Let’s say she doesn’t love me.”

“I don’t think you have given her much reason to do so- have you? Your manner towards her is scarcely-”

“Oh, I expect I was as rude as the devil! Don’t you see, I wanted them to go, but they stayed, and stayed, and stayed. And then-” She broke off.

“And then, Moira?”

“You sent me to tell Dawson you wanted your jewel-case. You were talking about Molly Lamont’s wedding, and you said you would like her to have a brooch you had worn at your own wedding. You wanted her to have it because Cousin Robert gave it to you and he was her godfather. I brought the case down, and you showed her the brooch, and then they went away. You went on showing me things.”

“Yes, Moira?”

“There was a diamond and ruby bracelet. You began to say something about leaving it to me. Cousin Sophy Arnott was shown in, and you said, ‘Oh, take these things back to Dawson, Moira.’ And I said, ‘Well, I’ll say good-bye,’ because I knew it wasn’t any good-Cousin Sophy’s a sticker.”

She came to a standstill. It was not only difficult, it was impossible. But there were times when the impossible had to be done. This was one of them. Everything in her was stiff with effort. She went on.

“I took the things upstairs. Dawson wasn’t there. I looked at the bracelet again. You said you were going to leave it to me. I was angry-you know I’ve got a foul temper. I don’t think I’d have done it if I hadn’t been angry.”

Lady Pemberley’s face was almost as white as the lace of her cap. She said,

“Why should you have been angry?”

“Mrs. Lamont staying on like that-I knew she’d been saying things. She hates me. I thought you kept her on purpose because I wanted to speak to you.”

“But when she went you did not speak-”

“I was working up for it-and then Cousin Sophy had to come in-I felt as if everything was against me. I took the bracelet.”

There was silence for some time before Lady Pemberley said,

“What did you do with it?”

It was out now. There couldn’t be anything worse. She drew in her breath.

“I meant to pawn it. I had to have the money at once. I meant to pawn it and tell you what I’d done. And then you got ill-I couldn’t.”

“You pawned it?”

Moira shook her head.

“I tried to. I got the wind up-the man asked questions-I should have had to leave my name and address and pay interest. I funked it. I went into Crossley’s and sold it over the counter. They didn’t ask any questions. It seems they knew me, though I didn’t think of that at the time. I couldn’t get at you-you were very ill.”

She heard Lady Pemberley say,

“And you thought that if I died, the bracelet would be yours and nobody would know?”

It was true. She hadn’t any answer to make. She made none.

After a while Lady Pemberley said,

“How does Mr. Porlock come into it?”

“He saw the bracelet. He recognized it. He said it was one of a pair, and that Napoleon gave them to Josephine. He knew they belonged to you. He bought the bracelet and tried to blackmail me. He wanted me to do jackal for him-scavenge for scandals, so that he could carry on his blackmailing business. I told him there was nothing doing. That was on Saturday evening. I made up my mind then to come up to town on Monday morning and tell you. Then after dinner somebody stabbed him.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“No.” She laughed suddenly. “I should have liked to do it myself! But you needn’t be afraid-I didn’t.”

It is possible that Lady Pemberley had been afraid-it is possible that she now experienced relief. It was not in her character to admit to either. She put out a thin, ringless hand and rang the bell on her bedside table.

Dawson came in, elderly, sensible, a little prim. Lady Pemberley spoke to her at once.

“Oh, Dawson -my keys, and the large jewel-case. Miss Moira has one of the ruby and diamond bracelets, and she might just as well have the other. It is a pity to separate them. Get it out and let me have it.”

Moira said nothing at all. It had not often happened to her to find herself without words. It happened now. She stood like a stone whilst Dawson set the jewel-case down on the dressing-table-whilst she unlocked it, lifted out trays, and came over to the bed to put the other bracelet into Lady Pemberley’s waiting hand.

Dawson was a little cross because Miss Moira didn’t speak. She thought she might have said something pretty and given her ladyship a kiss, instead of standing there for all the world like Lot ’s wife. She was locking up the jewel-case again, when Lady Pemberley spoke.

“Just remind me to alter the list of my jewellery, and to let Mr. Ramsay know about taking the bracelets out of my will. It will be much pleasanter to think of Miss Moira wearing them now. Thank you, Dawson, that will be all.”

When the door had shut and they were alone again Moira lifted her eyes. She had the stolen bracelet in her hand. She took a step forward and laid it down on the purple coverlet.

“I can’t take them, Cousin Sibylla.”

Lady Pemberley said gently,

“But I want you to have them.”

Something in Moira gave way. A kind of dizzy warmth swept over her. She sat on the edge of the bed and felt the tears run scalding down.