Poison in the Pen

CHAPTER 16

After a pleasant interlude during which tea was partaken of and the March children were cordially admired Miss Silver returned to Willow Cottage. So far from being reticent about her visit, she expatiated upon it at considerable length.

“Such a charming house. Such charming people. Mrs. March in such delightful looks. She even quoted Lord Tennyson.”

Miss Wayne was all interest.

“I haven’t met her myself, but surely wasn’t there some story?”

Miss Silver smiled.

“There could be no possible story about Mrs. March which did not redound to her credit.”

Miss Renie became extremely confused.

“Oh, no-of course not-I didn’t mean-I had no idea of suggesting-that is the worst of living in a village, people do talk so. And as an old friend of my mother’s used to say, there don’t seem to be enough kind words to go round. I really shouldn’t have alluded to what I am sure was just ill-natured gossip. My dear sister used always to say, ‘Whatever you do, don’t repeat things, Renie,’ but somehow they just seem to slip out. And it’s really only because one does take an interest in one’s neighbours. For instance, if my dear Esther were here now, even she would find it very difficult not to talk about poor Connie. Nothing unkind of course, but one can’t help wondering, can one?”

Miss Silver was winding the red wool which she had bought at Ashley’s. It always kept so much better in balls, and Miss Renie having offered to hold the skeins for her, the two ladies were brought into very close proximity. Nothing could have exceeded the sympathetic warmth of Miss Silver’s attention as she said,

“Oh, no. One cannot withdraw from the life of the community. Injury to one member of it cannot fail to be the concern of all. As St. Paul puts it, ‘Whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it.’ ”

Miss Wayne dropped one end of the skein she was holding in order to apply a somewhat crumpled handkerchief to her nose.

“How well you put it. Oh dear, I’m afraid I have tangled the skein! How stupid of me!”

Miss Silver adjusted the wool with the dexterity of long practice.

“Now if you will just keep it quite taut. I do not really think that you should reproach yourself for being concerned about Connie Brooke. It is a very sad incident, and must be felt by all her friends.”

Miss Renie sniffed.

“I did think she looked as if she had been crying at the rehearsal, but one couldn’t have dreamed-”

Miss Silver said “Yes?” in a manner that made a question of it. The skein dropped again, Miss Renie burst into tears.

“I keep thinking of how she looked. We could all see that she had been crying. They say she must have had something on her mind. If only someone had gone home with her and found out what it was. But no one did, and now it is too late.”

She had withdrawn both hands from the wool and was pressing the handkerchief to her face in a feeble and ineffectual manner.

“It is all these terrible letters.” She peered round the corner of the handkerchief. “But perhaps you haven’t heard about them-or have you?”

Miss Silver replied with composure.

“An anonymous letter was mentioned in an account of the inquest upon Doris Pell. These things can cause great distress.”

Miss Wayne gave a small stifled sob.

“They are terrible! I wondered whether you knew, but I did not like to say anything-only sometimes one feels as if it would be a relief. Joyce is always so afraid of David overhearing something. Which is all nonsense, because how can a child of five know anything about anonymous letters? Why, he wouldn’t even know what the word meant.”

Miss Silver said gravely, “It is surprising what quite young children will pick up, and remember.”

Miss Wayne emerged from the handkerchief with a slight toss of the head.

“Joyce has not been very sympathetic. I used to discuss everything with my dear sister. She would have been quite horrified about these letters. You know, some years ago they had the same sort of trouble at Little Poynton which is only about ten miles from here. Two people committed suicide, and Scotland Yard was called in. That stopped it, but they never really found out who wrote the letters. Some people thought it was the postmistress, but my sister and I could never believe it. She was such a regular church-goer, and always so obliging if you went into the shop. They had a very good grocery counter as well as the post office. An old aunt of ours lived almost next door, so Esther and I were in the way of hearing a good deal about the trouble, and Aunt Marian always said she couldn’t believe anything against such an obliging woman as Mrs. Salt. It is her sister Mrs. Gurney who has the post office here-and I suppose no one would suspect her of having anything to do with the letters people have been getting in Tilling Green.”

Miss Silver’s hands were busy with the red skein. She said,

“Would there be any grounds for such a suspicion?”

Miss Wayne became very much flustered.

“Oh, no-oh dear, no-of course not! Oh dear, what did I say to make you think of such a thing? Of course Mrs. Gurney can’t help knowing a lot about what goes on in the village, because everyone goes in and out, and when they meet their friends they talk to them. My dear sister used to say what a lot of time was wasted in this way. ‘If you are going to shop,’ she said, ‘then do your shopping and come away. Lingering and gossiping go together, and a great deal of mischief is done by it.’ Of course it isn’t always easy to get away, but I do my best-I suppose no one listens to what is being said less than I do. Why until Hilda Price absolutely insisted on pouring it all out to me I had no idea that poor Connie Brooke was supposed to know who had been writing these dreadful letters. Everyone else in the village seems to have known, but I really hadn’t the slightest idea.”

Miss Silver said in a concerned voice,

“What made them think that Connie knew about the letters?”

The story of the telephone call to the Parsonage and Connie’s subsequent visit was reluctantly disclosed, if at first with such remarks as, “I don’t like repeating things,” and “One can really hardly believe it.” Miss Renie’s version did not differ substantially from that communicated by Joyce Rodney. Connie had been crying when she rang up the Parsonage, and she wept as she went away. She knew something about the letters and she had come to tell Mr. Martin what she knew, but had gone away without doing so. Her words as reported by Mrs. Needham were, “Once I’ve said it, I can’t take it back.” To which Mr. Martin replied, “No, you couldn’t take it back, so you had better think it well over. But if you know who has been writing these anonymous letters, you may have a duty.”

“And now,” said Renie Wayne with a sob, “whatever it was she knew, it is too late to find out, because she’s dead! And it all goes to show that if there is anything that ought to be done, it’s better to do it at once. Esther always did say that. She said there was a proverb about it in Latin, but I’m afraid I don’t remember what it was.”

Miss Silver’s Latin extending to some of the commoner proverbs, she was able to supply the words in question- “Bis dat qui cito dat-he gives twice who gives quickly.”