The Clock Strikes Twelve

Chapter 20

Miss Maud Silver was shopping. Even in wartime, and with all the difficulty about coupons, children must be warmly clothed. She was planning to make a jersey and pull-on leggings for her niece Ethel’s youngest, who would be three next month. Ethel would provide two coupons, but that would not be enough. She would have to break in upon her own spring supply. It was of no consequence-her last summer’s dress was perfectly good, and she had plenty of stockings. Of course it was very difficult for the girls who wore those extremely thin silk stockings. Really you had only to look at them to see that they couldn’t be expected to last. Her own sensible hose were a very different matter, ribbed grey wool in winter, and good strong thread in summer. A great deal more durable.

Having settled the matter of the coupons, she had to decide upon the most suitable wool. There were very good shops in Birleton, really quite equal to London. Hornby’s was a very good shop, but of course no one had much choice in wool nowadays. You couldn’t really expect it.

The girl at the wool counter, who looked about fifteen, could only offer Miss Silver a choice between dark grey, vivid magenta, and a very bright emerald green. Miss Silver looked disapprovingly at all three of these shades, and for a time seriously considered the question of a wool substitute-very heavy and cottony, in fact not wool at all, but to be obtained in a number of most pleasing colours. It was very seldom indeed that she found it difficult to make up her mind. With the worst of the winter in front of them, warmth should come first, and yet that green was really too bright-quite blinding. And dark grey for a child of three-oh, dear me, no.

As she stood by the counter in this unwonted state of hesitation, voices reached her from the other side of a display of brightly coloured scarves. The voices were lowered to that sibilant whisper which has a carrying quality all its own.

“The most shocking affair! Mr. Paradine of all people!” That was one voice.

Another, higher and with the suspicion of a lisp, responded eagerly.

“They say it’s murder.”

“It can’t be!”

“They say it is.”

“Oh, no!”

“Well, my dear, Mrs. Curtin-you know, she works for me-”

“Yes?”

“Well, her niece Gladys is kitchenmaid at the Paradines’, and she says all of them are as sure as sure that he’d never have fallen if he hadn’t been pushed.”

“Ssh!”

“Well, I’m only telling you what she said-but of course people do gossip so-”

“Yes, don’t they? It’s dreadful.”

“Isn’t it? Ssh! There’s Lydia Pennington coming this way.”

Miss Silver made up her mind suddenly. Little Roger should have a dark grey suit with collar, cuffs and belt of the emerald green. She gave the order crisply, handed over her card to have the coupons cut off, and turned to look down the length of the department.

Lydia Pennington was coming towards her dressed in a dark grey coat and skirt. The black felt hat which she had just bought was pulled well down over her red curls. The brim threw a shadow across her small, pale face. There was no colour in her cheeks, and her lips were as little made-up as was consistent with her ideas of decency. It is possible that Miss Silver, who had only met her once, might not have known her if it had not been for those whispering voices on the other side of the scarves.

Lydia, on the other hand, would have known Miss Maud Silver anywhere. The tidy, dowdy figure in the black cloth jacket and the elderly fur; the hat with its bunch of purple pansies; the neat mousey hair; the neat, inconspicuous features; the air compounded of mildness and self-possession-these, once seen, had somehow impressed themselves and were immediately recognized.

Miss Silver heard her name, and found her hand being shaken.

“Miss Silver! Do you remember me? No, of course you don’t. But I did meet you about a month ago. You were with Laura Desborough, and she introduced us. She’s a friend of mine. I’m Lydia Pennington.”

Miss Silver gave her little dry cough.

“Indeed I remember you very well, Miss Pennington.”

Lydia said quickly, “What are you doing here?” Her thoughts were racing, racing. The colour had come into her face.

In her driest manner Miss Silver replied, “I am buying wool.”

Lydia’s colour brightened still more. She lowered her voice.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant are you on a case?”

Miss Silver looked at her with attention.

“Oh, no. I am staying with my niece, Mrs. Burkett. Her husband has been transferred to the Birleton branch of his bank. He joined up, you know, but he is not very strong and they have sent him back to his work. So delightful for Ethel. They are such a devoted couple, and they have three children, all boys. They very kindly asked me for Christmas, but I was unable to come to them then, so I have been spending the New Year with them instead.”

As she spoke Miss Silver observed the fluctuation of Miss Pennington’s colour and the manner in which she kept herself rather rigidly turned away from the other shoppers. She was not, therefore, much surprised when Lydia said,

“Miss Silver-could I speak to you-would it be possible?”

“There is a nice tea-room here. We could have a cup of tea.”

“I don’t know-I don’t think so-too many people know me. I just came in to get myself a hat. I hadn’t got a black one, and there’ll be the inquest, and the funeral. Where are you staying? Could I walk there with you?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“We could walk-yes, certainly. My niece has a flat in Birleton Mansions.”

“What!”

“They are quite new and most convenient-a restaurant on the ground floor, and most reasonable. But of course, with the children, my niece will do most of the cooking upstairs. There is a very up-to-date kitchenette. Perhaps you know the flats?”

“I know someone who has one.”

“Then I will just pay for my wool, and we will walk in that direction,” said Miss Silver.