Vanishing Point

CHAPTER 34

Miss Silver, conscious of having neglected a kind hostess, did her best to make amends. A good deal to her relief, she found on returning to the drawing-room that Mrs. Merridew had fallen into a comfortable doze from which she did not immediately awake. When at last she opened her eyes and sat up she really had no idea of the time, and it was not until quite half an hour later that she looked at the clock and exclaimed. Even after that there was some lingering conversation. By the time the round of the house had been made and doors and windows tested it was well on the way towards midnight.

Refreshed by her sleep, Mrs. Merridew was pleasurably shocked. She really didn’t know when she had been up so late. From an irresponsible past she recalled an illicit feast in the dormitory at school, and how Cecilia had so narrowly escaped being caught.

“Do you remember, Maud?”

Miss Silver remembered-disapproval tempered by indulgence.

“It is all a very long time ago.”

Mrs. Merridew sighed.

“Yes-I suppose so. But sometimes it doesn’t seem as if it were. We haven’t really changed very much, have we-any of us? Not in ourselves. Of course we don’t look the same-but then you change so gradually that you don’t notice it. But I really should have known you anywhere-and Cecilia too, though we used to call her Cissie and she has grown rather stout.”

The good-nights finally said, Miss Silver closed her bedroom door and prepared to embark upon the settled routine of undressing. Advancing to the bedside table, she took off the watch which she wore pinned to the left-hand side of her dress, wound it, and laid it down. The next step should have been the removal of the hair-net which she wore in the day and its replacement by the much stronger sort which she assumed at night. No matter at what hour alarums and excursions might occur-and Miss Silver’s experience had included some of a quite violent nature-she had never yet been seen with a single hair out of place. The arrangement at night would be different, the plaits a little tighter, but order and neatness would prevail. Tonight she had got as far as putting up a hand to remove the hairpins which controlled the net, but at that point something stopped her. The hand came down again, the hairpins remained where they were.

She stood where she was for several minutes and became immersed in thought. It might be Marian Merridew’s talk about the old days when a rule could still be a challenge, or it might be something a good deal more important than that. There was a sense of uneasiness, of urgency. She looked at the comfortable bed which was waiting for her, and knew that it could offer her no rest until this disturbance in her thought was quieted. It came to her that there was a not too difficult course which might afford relief. Marian Merridew was not at all deaf, but she did not possess the acute hearing that Miss Silver herself enjoyed. Her bedroom looked to the back of the house. It had a delightful view of the garden. There would be no difficulty about a careful descent of the stairs or the opening of the front door. It would, in fact, be perfectly possible to leave the house without having to embark upon an explanation of her movements.

At this point in her meditations Miss Silver picked up her watch and pinned it on. After which she assumed her coat, her second best hat, and a pair of outdoor shoes. Fastening the aged fur tippet, cherished companion of many winters, firmly about her neck, she extinguished the light in her bedroom and found her way down the stairs and out of the house without making any sound at all. The air was cold, but there was no sign of rain. Miss Silver felt gratitude for her tippet and for the fact that the night was fine, but even if it had been raining heavens hard, she knew now that her errand would have taken her out in it. Before she could sleep she must at any rate walk past the Dower House and look up at the windows. She did not know what she was to do when she got there. By now the house should all be dark. Darkness did not mean safety. A phrase from the Scriptures slipped into her mind-“They that are drunken are drunken in the night.” There was more than one sort of drunkenness. Men could be drunk with pride, with passion, or with power. They could be drunken with hatred, or with the lust of gain.

She walked down the dark and silent street and made no plan. If there was something for her to do, when the time came she would know what it was. The entrance to the Dower House was not more than a few yards away when she heard a step behind her. There was no moon, but the night was clear. Someone large loomed up. The height and breadth induced her to take a chance with his name.

“Mr. Lester-”

Even in his astonishment he could not mistake her voice.

“Miss Silver! What are you doing here?”

She said composedly…

“I might ask you that, might I not?”

He laughed.

“I didn’t feel like sleeping. I thought I would come out and walk.”

He wondered if she would guess him fool enough to go up to Crewe House and gaze at the dark square of Rosamond’s window, appropriately barred since Miss Crewe would not have considered it safe to sleep on the ground-floor without taking every precaution. He did not really mind whether Miss Silver thought him a fool or not. A bridegroom is entitled to wear motley if he will. He was in the mood to shout Rosamond’s name abroad, or to carve it on the trees. This was his hour- and hers. He heard Miss Silver say,

“I have been feeling extremely uneasy about Miss Cunningham.”

He was taken completely by surprise. Rosamond and himself-Jenny and Miss Crewe-to any of these his response would have been instant. But Lucy Cunningham-He stared through the dark and said,

“Why?”

“I believe that an attempt was made on her life last night. I did not feel that I could sleep without coming as far as the house.”

He said bluntly, “What can you do?”

“I do not know. I shall at least feel that I have done what I can.”

They were standing still in the shadow at the side of the road, their voices muted, the last cottage behind them and all the village asleep. He said quickly,

“What do you mean? There’s been an attempt on her life!”

She told him plainly and precisely.

“But that would be someone in the house.”

“Yes, Mr. Lester.”

He gave a faint half laugh.

“That damp dreep Henry! I can imagine his being crooked. He’s the sort to slide down the drain, but I shouldn’t have thought he would hurt a fly. That leaves Nicholas. She brought him up. It’s not pretty.”

“Crime very seldom is, Mr. Lester.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“Miss Cunningham was kind enough to take me over the house this afternoon. Her room is at the back. There are two windows. She informed me that she always slept with them open. If her light is out and they are open now it will be some indication that things are normal. In the ordinary way I should not anticipate that a second attempt would be made so soon, but there might be some special reason for silencing her without delay, and I could not disregard my own uneasiness.”

Some of it seemed to have communicated itself to Craig. He had found himself startled, sceptical, and now a good deal disturbed. He said,

“I’ll come with you if I may.”

There was a slight but significant pause. He was being weighed. A laugh just touched his voice as he said,

“I shan’t make any noise. I can walk like a cat if I want to.”

“Then I shall be very glad of your company.” The Dower House had no drive leading up to it. It stood fronting onto the road with a stone wall screening it and the Victorian edition of a glazed passage covering the bare dozen feet from the gate to the front door. As Craig lifted the latch and stood aside for Miss Silver to pass, the church clock struck the quarter after midnight.