Pilgrim’s Rest

chapter 21

Randall March hung up the telephone receiver and looked up as Jerome Pilgrim came into the room. When he saw who it was he pushed back his chair and went to meet him. For a moment the official manner fell away. He said,

“My dear fellow!” And then, “Look here, are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Yes-but I’ll have a chair.”

He got down on to it and took a moment.

March said, “Do you object to Miss Silver being present? I don’t know if you know that she is a private detective, and that Roger-”

Jerome put up a hand.

“Yes-he told me. She had better stay. I hear you’ve been searching the cellars.”

“Yes.”

“Well-I hear you’ve found Henry.”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

March told him.

Jerome said, “Then it was murder. He was murdered.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“We’ll know more about that after the post-mortem. The indications are that he was stabbed in the back. There’s a slit in the stuff of the coat. The clothes are pretty well preserved. There’s no weapon present. Now may I ask who told you we had found him?”

Jerome was sitting forward in the chair, his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. He said,

“Judy Elliot.”

“And who told her?”

“I don’t know. You’d better ask her. She’s in the hall.”

March went to the door, opened it, and called, “Miss Elliot!” She came in holding Jerome’s outdoor things. March took them away from her and went and sat down at the table. A little to his left, in the prim Victorian chair which might have come out of her own flat, Miss Silver was knitting.

Judy didn’t know what to make of it. She supposed there was something she oughtn’t to have done. She stood waiting to find out what it was. The nice-looking policeman had offered her a chair, but she didn’t feel like sitting down. You feel taller and more important when you are standing.

“Miss Elliot-Captain Pilgrim says you told him that Mr. Clayton’s body had been discovered in the cellars. How did you know?”

She told them about meeting Mrs. Robbins on the back stairs-“And she said, ‘They’ve found Mr. Henry.”’

“Was that all she said?”

They were all looking at her. The sick feeling had begun to come back. She shook her head because it was easier than talking.

“Will you tell me just what she said?”

Now she would have to speak. She found Mrs. Robbins’ words, one, and two, and three at a time. It was dreadfully difficult to say them.

“ ‘Buried in an old tin trunk. And Alfred says it fare to serve him right.’ ”

“Are you sure she said that?”

Judy nodded.

“Yes-she said it again at the end. She said she didn’t care what he’d done, she wouldn’t want him buried like that. She went on saying it, and at the end she said again, ‘But Alfred says it fare to serve him right.’ ” She looked at March, her eyes suddenly dark and distressed. “I went on upstairs. I was feeling-very upset. Captain Pilgrim saw me. He asked me- what was going on.”

Jerome lifted his head.

“Oh, leave the child alone! She was looking green, and I dug it out of her. She didn’t want to tell, but you could hardly expect me not to know that something was going on. I’m not deaf, and your constabulary are heavy on their feet.” He got up. “Thank you-that’s all I wanted to know at present. We can talk again when I come back. I’m going to see Miss Freyne now.”

The thing hung in suspense for a moment. Then March let it go. He dropped the official manner to say,

“You’re sure you’re up to it?”

“Yes, thank you. My coat, Judy. You can come along, and see Penny.”

They went out together.

Miss Silver continued to knit. Randall March turned to her with an exasperated expression.

“Well?”

“I do not know that I have anything to say, Randall.”

“I couldn’t very well stop him going to see Miss Freyne.”

“No.”

“What did you think of Robbins as reported by Mrs. Robbins via Judy Elliot?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I think that Judy repeated what she heard. The turn of the words is unusual. She was repeating what she had heard Mrs. Robbins say.”

“Yes.”

Judy and Jerome Pilgrim made their way down the glass passage and came out into the street. It was so many months since he had set foot outside that everything had a strangeness. When you haven’t seen things for a long time you see them new. There were grey clouds with rifts of blue between. There was a light air that came against the face with a touch of damp in it. The winter had been dry and the runnel of water on the other side of the street had fallen low. On any other errand his mind would have been filled with these impressions and a hundred more, but now it was like looking at everything through a darkened glass.

They had gone about half the length to the stable gate, when there were running footsteps behind them. Lona Day came up, flushed and distressed.

“Oh, Captain Pilgrim!”

He stood leaning on his stick.

“Please go back, Lona. I am going to see Miss Freyne. I shan’t be long.”

She stared at him.

“I saw you out of Miss Janetta’s window. I simply couldn’t believe my eyes. You are not fit for this. Please, please come back! Judy, you shouldn’t have let him-it was very, very wrong of you.”

“Leave Judy out of it, please. It has nothing to do with her, and I shall be obliged if you will stop making a scene in the street. I shan’t be long.” He began to walk on again.

After a moment Lona turned and went back to the house. It certainly wouldn’t do any good to have a scene in the street. She looked about her in a smiling, easy way. You never knew who might be looking out of cottage windows. There was enough for the village to talk about without giving them any more. All anyone need think was that she had run after him with a message.

Lesley Freyne looked up in surprise as the door opened and her elderly maid announced,

“Captain Pilgrim-”

She came to meet him with both hands out.

“Jerome, my dear-how delightful!”

He had left his outdoor things in the hall. He leaned his stick against a chair and took her outstretched hands.

“Let’s sit down, Les-here, on the sofa.” Then, when they were seated and her expression had changed to one of grave enquiry, “My dear, I’ve come to tell you something.”

Her colour failed a little.

“What is it, Jerome? Miss Columba rang me up about Jack.”

“It isn’t Jack, my dear.”

He was still holding her hands. She felt him press them strongly. She said quite low,

“Then it’s Henry-”

“Yes.”

She drew her hands away, looked down at them, and said,

“He’s dead.”

“Yes, my dear.”

A minute went by before she spoke again.

“Will you tell me?”

“Les, he’s been dead a long time.”

“How long?”

“Three years.”

She looked up at him then and caught her breath.

“Since that night?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Les, you’re so awfully brave-”

She said, “Tell me.”

“He was murdered. They think stabbed.”

“Oh-” It was just a long, shaken breath.

“They’ve found his body. March had the cellars searched. He was there-in the little cellar at the far end, behind the furniture.”

He took her hands again, and she let him hold them.

“All this time-” she said. “Oh, Jerome!”

There was a long pause. Before either of them moved to end it a knock came at the door. Lesley got up and went to it. Jerome heard her speaking in a quiet, ordinary voice. He couldn’t hear who spoke to her, or what was said, only Lesley’s voice making its quiet answer,

“No, I can’t come just now. I have Captain Pilgrim here… Tell her she mustn’t do that. It would disappoint me very much. Tell her to remember what she promised.”

She shut the door and came back to him.

“Jerome-who did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who would have done it? I can’t think. I don’t seem to be able to think or to feel. It’s-it’s such a shock. It doesn’t seem possible. I thought he was dead-I’ve thought that for a long time now-but I never thought of this.”

“My poor dear!”

She looked at him steadily.

“No-don’t be too sorry for me. It isn’t like that. I want to tell you-I wasn’t going to marry him.”

“You weren’t?”

“No. Something happened-it doesn’t matter now. I felt I couldn’t go on. If he had come to see me that night, I should have told him so. But he didn’t come.”

“Does anyone else know this?”

“No.”

“Then I should keep it like that.”

“I’ll see. I won’t say anything if I can help it. But they’ll ask questions. I won’t lie about it.”

“You told them before that the disagreement between you wasn’t a serious one.”

“It wasn’t-in itself. And then something happened-I felt I couldn’t go on. When Henry rang up and said he was coming round to see me I made up my mind to break our engagement. Then when he disappeared and it was all so public I thought what was the good of making it any worse. It wasn’t as if I had actually broken with Henry-he didn’t even know I was going to, so it didn’t account for his going. It was just in my own mind. I’ve never told anyone but you.”