Miss Silver Deals With Death

CHAPTER 12

Mrs. Smollett told Bell all about it over an elevens in the basement. She was a large woman with hard apple red cheeks and little dark eyes which saw everything. As she sipped from her cup of tea she observed that the skirting under the dresser had not been dusted, and that one of the eight keys was missing from its hook. When she remarked upon the key, Bell told her about Miss Underwood coming down to fetch it.

“She’s got something to get out for Mrs. Spooner seemingly.”

Mrs. Smollett took a lump of sugar out of a screw of paper and dropped it in her tea. War or no war, tea without sugar was a thing she couldn’t abide. She stirred vigorously and said,

“Well, that wasn’t where she was coming out of, Mr. Bell. Miss Roland’s flat she was in, and both doors open right through to the lounge so I could no more help hearing what they was saying than if I was in the room with them. And ‘Giles and I are all washed-up’, she said-that was that Miss Roland. And, ‘Didn’t he tell you about me?’ she says.”

Bell shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have listened, Mrs. Smollett-you really shouldn’t.”

Mrs. Smollett set down her cup with a bang.

“Oh, I shouldn’t, shouldn’t I? Then perhaps you’ll tell me what I ought to ha’ done! Put cotton wool in my ears which I hadn’t any handy, or gone away and got all behind with my scrubbing?”

“You could ’ave coughed.”

“And give myself a sore throat? Not likely! If people don’t want you to hear what they’re saying they should shut their doors! Here, this Giles, he’ll be Major Armitage-he’ll be Miss Underwood’s fiongsay, won’t he? Fancy it’s turning out he’s been carrying on with Miss Roland!”

“It’s none of our business, Mrs. Smollett. She’s a very nice young lady that Miss Underwood, and I’m sure I wish them happy.”

Mrs. Smollett gave a loud snorting laugh.

“Likely, isn’t it, with them two girls both wanting ’im and ready to scratch each other’s eyes out! ‘We’re engaged,’ says Miss Underwood, and, ‘I’m Mrs. Armitage,’ says Miss Roland, and she gives her a letter to read.”

“Oh dear me, you shouldn’t say things like that-you really shouldn’t.”

Mrs. Smollett tossed her head.

“It wasn’t I that said them! It was them two. ‘I’m Mrs. Armitage,’ Miss Roland says, and Miss Underwood says, ‘He don’t love you.’ And when I heard her coming out I got down to my scrubbing so as not to upset her by letting her know I could hear what was going on. And she turns right round in the doorway and calls out to Miss Roland something about hating her, and then off down the stairs all in a flash. Funny ain’t it- I mean that Miss Roland calling herself Mrs. Armitage. I mean that would be bigamy, wouldn’t it? Or do you suppose it’d make a difference him having lost his memory? What do you think, Mr. Bell?”

Bell pushed back his chair and got up.

“I think I got my work same as you got yours.”

There was distress in his wrinkled, ruddy face. A talker, that’s what Mrs. Smollett was. And he’d no objection to talk provided there wasn’t any tittle-tattle or nastiness about it, which he didn’t hold with and never would-taking away people’s characters and such.

“I got a nice lot of hot water on the stove for you. I’ll just fill your pail,” he said.

But when he had filled it, Mrs. Smollett was in no hurry to go.

“Funny how Miss Garside stopped having me in to clean up her place, wasn’t it? She don’t have anyone else, I suppose- evenings when I’m out of the way?”

Bell shook his head. He wasn’t any too happy about Miss Garside, and he didn’t want to talk about her affairs.

Mrs. Smollett flounced-if the word can be applied to so large a woman.

“Well, I’ve got the right to know whether I give satisfaction, haven’t I? Used to have me in regular three times a week, and stopped dead as you may say. ‘I shan’t be wanting you any more, Mrs. Smollett,’ she says, and, ‘Here’s your money for today,’ and goes into her room and shuts the door.” She bent to the handle of the pail but straightened up without lifting it. “ Here, Mr. Bell-did she ever get those bits of furniture of hers back again? Told me they’d gone to be mended but I couldn’t see anything wrong with them myself. Very nice pieces they was, like what you see in the antique shops-walnut cabinet and writing-desk, and a set of chairs with backs like a lot of ribbon plaited. Funny if they all wanted mending together, isn’t it? Here now, you might as well tell us, has she had any of them back again?”

Bell looked distressed. This was tittle-tattle. He didn’t like it… He said as sharply as he could bring himself to speak,

“I got something else to do than take notice of what people has mended. And water don’t stay boiling, Mrs. Smollett- yours will be cold.”

He got a toss of the head.

“I’ve no call to scald my fingers, have I?” She lifted the pail. “Nasty marks those things left where they’d been standing- that wallpaper isn’t half faded, only you didn’t rightly notice it till they’d gone. And if you ask me, Mr. Bell, I’d say she’d sold them.”