Vanishing Point

CHAPTER 15

Mrs. Merridew’s drawing-room suffered from the fault of all rooms which have been furnished with the treasures of a much larger one. There were a number of fine pieces, but no space to display them. There were too many pictures on the walls, a sizable antique mirror on the chimney-breast, and a great deal too much china everywhere. The chairs and a very deep sofa, though much too large, were extremely comfortable, and the loose chintz covers, in spite of being a good deal faded, went very well with a worn but valuable Persian rug and the curtains which had once adorned the morning-room at Dalling Grange. Miss Silver considered the whole effect to be pleasing, and was particularly appreciative of the fact that the windows fitted extremely well. Old houses were often so sadly draughty, but in this case there was nothing to complain about. A pleasant fire burned on the hearth, and the room was so comfortably warm that she was able to wear the blue dress which she had bought at Cliffton at the end of the previous summer. She had hesitated a little over the price, but her niece Ethel Burkett had persuaded her. “Such good style, Auntie. I am sure you would never regret it.” She wore it now with a large mosaic brooch representing an Italian scene-cupolas against a very bright blue sky. The material, being dark, threw up the vivid colouring of the brooch in a decidedly pleasing manner. She felt modestly satisfied with her own appearance, and wished that dear Marian would take more trouble. So much hair and so badly controlled, and her figure really too large for that tight mauve jumper. The colour too, not at all becoming, but Marian had always been fond of it, even at school.

Mrs. Merridew who, having once acquired a garment, never thought about it again but continued to wear it until either Florrie or some candid friend intervened, was now discoursing placidly about the friends she was expecting to tea.

“Lucy Cunningham I feel sure you will like. She has had a difficult life, but she is wonderfully cheerful as a rule-devoted to her nephew and to poor Henry, and a good deal taken up with her hens. As I told you, she and Lydia Crewe are great friends, but I purposely didn’t ask her yesterday, because Lydia does ride rough-shod over everyone, and when she is there she doesn’t give Lucy a chance. I asked Henry too. I always do, but he never comes. Such a pity to shut himself away like that- don’t you think so?”

Miss Silver opined that men very often seemed not to care about tea-parties.

“I know-but such a pity. There are so few ways left in which one can entertain. I really hesitated to ask Mr. Lester, but he seemed quite pleased to come. As I told him, we knew his uncle very well indeed. And then, I’m afraid, I did just drop a hint that I had asked Rosamond Maxwell. They are certainly on very friendly terms, and Lydia may say what she likes, but when young people are on friendly terms they like to be asked to meet one another. It’s really shocking how Lydia keeps that girl mewed up. I used to think that perhaps she and Nicholas-but of course there isn’t any money there, and Jenny needs so much care-” She broke off as the sound of footsteps and a murmur of conversation announced that two of the guests were coming up the flagged path to the front door. She had just time to say, “That will be Rosamond and Mr. Lester. Lucy is always late,” when Florrie opened the door and showed them in.

Rosamond had left her coat in the hall and taken off the scarf which had been tied over her hair. Her blue jumper threw up the colour of her eyes. Miss Silver thought her a most attractive girl. She also thought that she had something on her mind. It was, of course, quite obvious that Mr. Lester was in love with her. He made no attempt to hide the fact. But in Miss Silver’s opinion it was not the pleasing disturbance of a love affair which had brought that anxious look to Rosamond Maxwell’s face.

Lucy Cunningham walked in without ringing the bell, a habit to which Florrie ought to have been accustomed, but which never failed to annoy her. She followed with an air of protest and set the tray down in front of Mrs. Merridew with what was almost a clatter.

Miss Cunningham, having hung her largest coat on a peg in the hall, was now divesting herself of a voluminous cardigan and three scarves.

“I’m sure I don’t know how you can sit in such a hot room, Marian, but I shall be all right when I get some of these things off. The temperature must be at least sixty-five. There-I’m down to my jumper! I made it myself, and Nicholas is very rude about it, but I like the colour-it reminds me of moss. Of course Henry never notices what one has on. Well, my dear Marian, I’m sorry if I am late, but just as I was putting on my hat I saw that dreadful cat of Mrs. Parson’s sharpening its claws on the standard Alberic Barbier which Nicholas gave me for Christmas-one of those weeping ones, you know. So of course I had to go out and shoo him away… Oh, yes, I’ve met Miss Silver. Don’t you remember, you introduced us at the bus stop. How do you do? You and Marian were at school together, weren’t you? So nice to meet one’s old friends.”

It was clear that when not held in check by Miss Crewe, Lucy Cunningham could be depended upon to keep any conversation from flagging. The broody hen which she had borrowed from Mrs. Stubbs was settling down nicely with her clutch of eggs- “My own cross, Rhode Island Red and White Leghorn. Nothing like it!” And she actually discoursed for at least ten minutes upon its virtues whilst at the same time disposing of three scones and a slice of cake before Miss Holiday’s name cropped up.

Rosamond was talking to Mrs. Merridew, and Craig Lester was joining in, when Miss Lucy interrupted her own remarks about the very unsatisfactory eggs she had procured for setting last year, “Only three hatched out of the dozen, and I told her quite plainly that they were stale,” to say with a sudden change of voice,

“Oh dear, hasn’t Miss Holiday turned up yet?”

Mrs. Merridew shook her head. Rosamond said,

“No, she hasn’t. It’s the most extraordinary thing. We can’t think what has happened.”

“ Lydia must be dreadfully put out,” said Lucy Cunningham.

It became clear that it was from this angle that she viewed the disappearance, the burden of her remarks being that of course Miss Holiday would turn up, but that meanwhile Lydia was being inconvenienced, and that if you had to go away in a hurry, the least you could do was to let your employer know.

“Only that’s the last thing they ever think about. I suppose she didn’t have words with Mrs. Bolder? A wonderful cook, but oh, my dear, what a temper! It couldn’t have been that could it?”

Rosamond said reluctantly,

“I don’t know-there may have been something. Mrs. Bolder didn’t seem so very much surprised when she didn’t turn up this morning-just tossed her head and said something like ‘Oh, she’ll get over it.’ So I thought perhaps-but that was before we knew about her not having been home all night.”

Miss Cunningham nodded vigorously.

“Well, I daresay they’d had a tiff, but I don’t suppose it amounted to anything. And she’s been coming to you for some time-she ought to be used to Mrs. Bolder by now. It can’t be the first time she’s had the rough side of her tongue. I can’t imagine-I really can’t-what could possibly have taken her away. When there’s a family, of course, you never know, but she hasn’t got a relation in the world-she often said so. And she was quite all right when I met her.”

“Oh, when was that?” Rosamond and Mrs. Merridew spoke together.

Miss Lucy beamed.

“When I was on my way up to you, my dear. You know I couldn’t come to tea, and then I was later than I meant to be because of going in to see Mrs. Stubbs about the broody hen, so it must have been all of half past five if not more-but I don’t suppose that matters-She was just coming out of the drive as I turned in, and she seemed perfectly all right then.”

Miss Silver regarded her with interest.

“Did you speak to her?” she enquired.

Miss Cunningham had a full cup in her hand. She had been about to drink from it when Miss Silver spoke. Somehow the cup slipped and some of the tea splashed down upon the moss-green jumper. Miss Lucy exclaimed, produced a large clean but extremely crumpled handkerchief, and proceeded to dab at the stain. Recourse was had to the hot water-jug. Rosamond ran and fetched a tea-cloth. The overflowing saucer was emptied, the cup replaced, and the opinion expressed that no mark would be left on the bright green wool.

“A most unfortunate accident,” said Miss Silver, “but I believe there will be no ill effects. Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes that poor Miss Holiday. You had met her coming away from her work, and you said she seemed quite as usual. You spoke to her, then?”

“Oh, just a few words,” said Lucy Cunningham.