The Gazebo

THIRTY-TWO

MISS SILVER WAS up in the attic at The Lodge. Mrs Justice had rung up just before lunch and asked whether Althea would feel equal to seeing her if she came round at two o’clock. It was impossible to refuse so old and kind a friend.

Miss Silver left them together and climbed the attic stairs. Since yesterday it had been on her mind that she would be glad of an opportunity to look through the books of which Althea had spoken and see whether there was indeed one which dealt with the history of Grove Hill, but until this moment the opportunity had not presented itself. But Louisa Justice was a motherly person and could be safely left with Althea. After a warm expression of sympathy she would not continue to dwell upon the tragedy. She had already informed Miss Silver that she had received some excellent snapshots of Sophy’s twins and thought it might interest Althea to see them. Miss Silver could therefore devote herself to a search among Mr Graham’s books.

The attic was airy and well lit, and the books were not packed away. A couple of large bookcases which had previously darkened the dining-room had been moved up here after Mr Graham’s death. It would have annoyed him very much, but his widow had felt that she could now do as she pleased. The cases accommodated most of the books, and the rest stood in piles upon the floor. History appeared to have been the main interest. There were eighteenth-century memoirs, both French and English – Boswell’s Life of Johnson in an old edition, books with fine engravings of cathedrals, an odd volume of Ancient Abbeys and Castles, Le Notre’s Romances of the French Revolution, Lady Charlotte Bury lapping over into the nineteenth century, and the memoirs of the Comtesse de Boigne. These books were all together in the lower shelves of one of the bookcases. Miss Silver was encouraged to hope that what she was seeking might be amongst them, but this did not seem to be the case, and since she had no idea either of the title or the author’s name, the task upon which she had embarked was not an easy one. All that she had to go on was Althea’s remark that her father’s books were up in the attic, and that she believed there was one amongst them which dealt with the history of Grove Hill.

She found what she was looking for in the second book-case. It was a shabby old volume by the Reverend Thomas Jenkinson, a former Rector of St Jude’s. He appeared also to be the author of works on Old Inn Signs and Some Interesting Epitaphs. The book which Miss Silver took from the shelf was entitled Residences of the Nobility and Gentry in the Neighbourhood of Grove Hill, with Some Remarks on the Families Residing there during the Eighteenth Century, and the date upon the title page was 1810. Miss Silver moved to an aged but quite comfortable chair and sat down to read.

The Reverend Thomas Jenkinson was one of those authors who incline to be diffuse. He had what he himself might have described as a Partiality for Capitals, and it was obvious that he revelled in the titles of the Nobility. Persons of the highest rank came and went upon his pages. There were Anecdotes sometimes verging on the scandalous. Miss Silver was obliged to consider many of them as quite unsuited to a clerical pen.

She had been turning the pages for about twenty minutes, when she came upon the name of Warren – Mr Henry Warren, a wealthy and charitable Brewer. Her attention fixed, she read on and learned that the Grove Hill Estate with a number of Profitable Farms had been purchased by this gentleman in 1749. He then proceeded to build himself a fine Mansion on the crown of the hill, to which he gave the name of Grove Hill House. There was a good deal more about Mr Warren, his two marriages, his nine children of whom not one survived him, his increasing wealth. Here Mr Jenkinson permitted himself to moralize, and Miss Silver was able to skim lightly over several pages. The Gordon Riots were dealt with at some length, Mr Jenkinson greatly deploring the Excesses of the Mob and the horrifying destruction of Property, Mr Warren’s fine Mansion having been completely wrecked and destroyed, and Mr Warren himself fatally injured by some of the falling masonry.

There followed a passage which had been faintly underlined in pencil. Miss Silver perused it with attention. ‘It is said that the unfortunate Gentleman had made strenuous efforts to save the more valuable of his Pictures. It was, in fact, during this endeavour that he met with his tragic End. Paintings to the value of many thousand pounds were entirely consumed in the Fires which had broken out. A better Fortune may have attended the rescue of some valuable Plate and the Jewels belonging to his late wife, all of which were in the house at the time of its Destruction. Since no trace of the Plate could be discovered among the Ruins, it is thought possible that he was able to remove it to a place of safety before being overtaken by the Fatality which terminated his Existence. His only surviving descendant being an Infant, no great search was made. It is, of course, possible that the Rioters removed the gold Plate which was of great value, but the late Mr D – L – with whom I had the Opportunity of conversing when I first came to this Parish assured me that he did not believe this to have been the case. Though he was then close upon eighty years of age he was of a perfectly sound mind and clearly remembered the excesses committed by the Rioters. He had a brother who was a Physician and who was called in to attend the unfortunate Mr Warren. He informed Mr D – L – that he found Mr Warren in articula mortis, but not quite gone. He said the dying man constantly muttered to himself some such phrase as “The gold is safe,” or, “I have saved the gold.” The Physician inquiring of him, “What have you done with it?” and “Where is the gold?”, Mr Warren gazed about him as if having no knowledge of his surroundings and muttered words which were only partly intelligible. Not long afterwards he passed into a state of Insensibility from which he did not rally. Mr D – L – maintained that the Truth of the foregoing could readily be established, since there were several persons present, including a young woman afterwards married in Yorkshire. This person, Mrs M – n, after an absence of many years is now returned and is a parishioner of my own. On referring to her for corroboration of Mr D – L – ’s story, he being now deceased, she confirmed it in every particular, even to repeating some of the words let fall by Mr Warren when he lay a-dying. These I do not feel should be set down in print lest they should give rise to false hopes or to the Cupidity of unprincipled persons.’

Here the account ended, the Reverend Thomas branching off into speculations concerning a spring in the Long Meadow, said to be one of the superstitiously named Trouble Waters which were supposed to indicate by their flooding the approach of some National Calamity. Interesting as this subject might prove, Miss Silver did not pursue it. Instead, she got up and went to stand immediately under the unscreened electric bulb which lighted the attic. Even at some distance she had thought she could discern faint pencil marks between the initial M and the final N of the name by which the Reverend Thomas Jenkinson had designated the lady who had married in Yorkshire and afterwards returned to his parish. Held immediately under the light, there was no doubt that this was the case. The name had been filled in, but by whom? If by Mr Jenkinson, the addition must have been made a good deal more than a hundred years ago, if by Mr Graham possibly no more than twenty. The letters were not easily legible. They faded into a page already discoloured by age and damp. But they made a certain impression upon the eye.

Miss Silver looked away and then back again several times. The impression became stronger. The pencilled letters between M and N certainly suggested a name, and that name was Martin.