The Clock Strikes Twelve

Chapter 29

As on the previous evening, the Ambrose party went home early. With the exception of Frank Ambrose, who had remained taciturn to the point of rudeness, Miss Silver had had a very pleasant conversation with each of them. Soon after their departure she excused herself and went up to the room which had been prepared for her. It was just before she said goodnight that she asked Miss Paradine about the diary.

“You will forgive me if I touch upon a painful subject, but I think your niece mentioned that you had given pocket diaries as New Year’s gifts to your nephews.”

Grace Paradine smiled.

“There is nothing painful about that,” she said.

Miss Silver coughed.

“No, of course not. But I was going to enquire whether you also presented one to your brother.”

“Oh, no.” Miss Paradine sounded surprised. “He didn’t care for that sort of thing. He never used any calendar except a large plain card.”

“Those little diaries are so very convenient. I thought he might have liked one for his pocket, and it is so difficult to find a suitable present for a man.”

“He wouldn’t have used it. He did not care for anything of that sort.”

Miss Silver perceived the subject to be distasteful. She thought it was time to say goodnight.

Her bedroom was comfortable, very cosy, with a floral carpet in which red was the predominant colour, curtains, bedspread and covers of chintz brightly patterned with poppies, cornflowers and ears of corn, red tiles in the fireplace glowing in the light of a small electric fire. The room, as she was aware, was almost opposite the one occupied by Mr. Pearson and next door to Elliot Wray. On the other side, a bathroom-most convenient, most comfortable.

She removed the rather chilly dress of artificial silk and put on a sensible warm dressing-gown crimson in colour. It was trimmed at the neck with handmade crochet and fastened about her waist by a woollen cord rather reminiscent of an antique bell-pull. Comfortable black felt slippers having replaced the glacé shoes with their beaded toes, she sat down in a chair by the fire, and propping the green exercise-book on a cushion laid across her knees, proceeded to make notes in it, using a fountain pen.

She had filled several pages, when there was a knock on the door. She said, “Come in!” and looking up, saw a girl of about sixteen in a short black dress, white apron, and frilled cap. She had fat legs, a plump figure, apple-red cheeks, and bright blue eyes, for all the world like a china doll. She bore a hot-water bottle, and when she saw Miss Silver in her dressing-gown she said, “Beg pardon, miss,” and stopped dead.

“That will be quite all right,” said Miss Silver. “You have come to turn down the bed? What is your name?”

“Polly, miss-Polly Parsons.”

“And this is your first place, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes, miss.”

“This is a sad New Year,” said Miss Silver.

Polly began to take off the chintz bed-cover and fold it up, disclosing a crimson eiderdown.

“Oh, yes, miss-it’s ever so dreadful, isn’t it?”

Miss Silver agreed.

“It must have been a dreadful shock to you all.”

“Oh, yes, miss, it was. I come over ever so funny.” She laid the folded bed-cover across a chair and came back to the bed.

“Does your work take you into the study at all, Polly?”

The girl had her back to her, bending forward to turn the bedclothes down. Right round to the roots of the short brown hair with its curled ends Miss Silver saw the colour run in a hearty blush.

“Only to make the fire up, miss, when they’re at dinner. Mr. Lane’s busy then.”

“Mr. Paradine used to sit in the study after dinner?”

“Oh, yes, miss.”

“And you went in as usual last night to make up the fire?”

Polly was sliding the hot-water bottle into the bed.

“Yes, miss.”

“And what time would that have been?”

Polly turned round.

“I couldn’t say, miss.”

She met a kind look and an authoritative,

“Try, Polly.”

Hardly ever had she wanted to get out of a room as badly as she wanted to now. But it couldn’t be done. She could no more have got past Miss Silver to the door than she could have disobeyed Louisa to her face. It just couldn’t be done. Words came tumbling out in a hurry.

“I was a bit late-I’d to help outside because of the party.”

Miss Silver smiled.

“Then you probably looked at the clock. You would if you were afraid of being late. What time was it?”

“Just on nine, miss.”

“Was everyone still in the dining-room then?”

Polly looked all ways.

“Well?” Miss Silver was gently insistent.

“The ladies came out as I got round by the door going through to the study.”

Miss Silver went on looking at her, quite kindly, quite firmly, sitting up prim and straight in her crimson dressing-gown with the cushion across her knees.

“And how long were you in the study?”

Polly’s cheeks turned from apple to beetroot. She said in a choked voice,

“I’d the fire to see to, miss.”

Miss Silver continued to look at her. Polly continued to blush. At the sound of a step in the passage she gulped and made for the door. On the threshold she stumbled out something that was evidently meant for an apology. The words “Louisa” and “the other bottles” were intelligible. The door shut on her. She could be heard running down the passage.

Miss Silver said, “Dear me!”