Anna, Where Are You? (9 page)

The Miss Tremletts were very proud of their converted stable. By knocking down partitions between the stalls a large living-room had been contrived, with a kitchenette and a bathroom beyond, whilst a staircase ran up with what they considered a most decorative effect to three bedrooms above.

“So nice to have room to give a party,” as Miss Elaine said. “Our cottage at Wyshmere was most picturesque, but so very small and so very dark. Leaded panes, you know—and quite authentic, so it would have been impossible to replace them, but they let in so very little light. And though, of course, candles or even rushlights would be more in character, we cannot help feeling most grateful for the supply of electricity from dear Peveril’s installation.”

Miss Silver found the room a little too suggestive of a barn. Its plain whitewashed walls did not appeal to her. What she admired was a nice wallpaper with a satin stripe or bunches of flowers. She did not think that the chairs looked as if they would be comfortable. They had angular archaic shapes and were entirely destitute of upholstery. Hand-made rugs strewed the floor. Miss Gwyneth’s loom stood by one of the windows.

Miss Elaine, small and thin in a pea-green smock, and Miss Gwyneth, larger and inclined to billow in a sacklike garment of peacock-blue, were both all that was welcoming and kind. That the welcome was more particularly directed towards Mr. Craddock did not at all surprise Miss Silver, since from the first moment of her arrival in Deep End it had been made perfectly plain to her that everything in Harmony revolved round him. The sisters were polite to her and affectionate to “dear Emily,” but their deference, their enthusiasms, their flutterings centred upon Peveril. They fluttered a good deal, assisted by a flowing of scarves and a jingle of beads. With her pea-green smock Miss Elaine wore a necklet of blue and silver beads from Venice and a long string of Chinese amber, whilst Miss Gwyneth’s peacock curves supported a short row of cornelians and two longer strings, one of pink coral and the other filagree silver and amethyst. Miss Elaine had fair, faded hair in a pre-Raphaelite knot on the nape of her neck. Miss Gwyneth wore hers, which was grey and rather sparse, in a long straight bob to the shoulder which gave her an odd resemblance to some French abbé of the eighteenth century.

Miss Silver’s hand was pressed by Miss Elaine.

“We hope you are going to like being here. We are a friendly Community.”

It was pressed by Miss Gwyneth.

“It is not the best time of year for the country, but each season has its beauty. Are you a nature-lover?”

It being her private opinion that the country was a cold and draughty place and only too apt to be lacking in modern conveniences, Miss Silver found it best to make a noncommittal reply. She was able to say with truth that she had spent a good deal of time in country places.

“And if one is interested in one’s work, surroundings are of secondary importance.”

Miss Elaine said vaguely, “Ah, yes—the children. They interest you?”

“Extremely.”

Miss Elaine fidgeted with her amber beads.

“They are a little uncontrolled, but of course as Peveril says, one can only guide, never thwart the expression of the ego. But if you are interested, that is the great thing. And such a privilege to work with him!”

A little later on it was Miss Gwyneth who, in a louder voice and with greater freedom of gesture, emphasized the privilege alluded to by Miss Elaine.

“I hope you appreciate it, but I am sure you do. Those two girls did not—Miss Ball and Miss Dally. Not the right type at all, either of them—Miss Dally so thoughtless, and Miss Ball so wrapped up in herself. The real teacher must be ready to give—my sister and I feel that so strongly. Now I am sure you— But let me introduce you to Miranda.”

Miss Silver’s hand was taken and held in a clasp which became oppressive.

“We have met!” said Miranda in her deepest voice. She drew Miss Silver aside. “We will not say where. It is not an auspicious spot. You have not brought the children? Perhaps it is as well. The harmony of a social gathering is so easily disturbed. I find Boys a disturbing element. They are crude and violent. But something might be made of Jennifer. There are points of interest, but she is in revolt against her circumstances. Even against Peveril. Strange! He is very patient, very forbearing. He will not thwart her. But his friends cannot help being indignant on his behalf. Such a marvellous opportunity for the child, and she does not appreciate it! Adolescence? Perhaps! It is a time of ferment and revolt! Very trying for poor Emily. The maternal instinct is strong in her, but she is devoted to Peveril.”

Under these rather odd phrases Miss Silver discerned a homely desire to gossip about the Craddocks. Encouraging this, she found herself on a comfortless oak settle with Miranda. The subject of Emily’s maternal instinct was pursued. It appeared that she had been in the habit of going upstairs to kiss her children good-night, and that Peveril had put a stop to it as likely to result in a mother-fixation.

“I do not know that I agree. These psychological terms! A little extreme! And Benjy is only four. It is at these times that a mother wins her children’s confidence.”

It was not in the least necessary for Miss Silver to reply, since Miranda was always ready to go on talking. This was fortunate, because she had no desire to be quoted as disapproving of Mr. Craddock. She listened with interest to a description of his aura, and to the assertion that he was intensely psychic.

“Had he given his mind to it he would have been a wonderful medium. But he resists. I have told him so plainly. I have said, ‘Peveril, you resist,’ and he has not denied it. His work lies in other directions—he has told me so. You know, of course, that he is engaged upon a Monumental Work. It was very good of him to come this afternoon. Most gratifying for Gwyneth and Elaine, but they should not expect him to waste his time at social functions. They adore him of course. Gwyneth wove the stuff of that white smock, and Elaine embroidered it with the Signs of the Zodiac. It is very becoming, but I do not know that Emily was pleased. She is no needlewoman, and does not rise above the mending-basket.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“There is a good deal of mending.”

Miranda was attired in a long black velvet robe. It was low in the neck, and the hanging sleeves disclosed a pair of strong white arms. Her red hair had been combed and was partially confined by a purple fillet. It threatened to break loose now as she made a vigorous gesture.

“There should not be so much. The children wear nothing but shorts and jerseys. Jennifer should do her own mending. Even Maurice could learn to use a darning-needle. Emily has the slave mentality. She allows herself to be Put On.” She contrived to invest this homely phrase with a gloomy significance which persisted through an enumeration of other weak points in Emily Craddock’s character.

“She cannot cook.” Miranda’s tone was tragic. “I have tasted lentils there which were not fit for human consumption. I will not say that I have eaten them. That was Impossible! The position was serious—we feared for Peveril’s health. But Mrs. Masters now prepares the meals before she leaves. She cannot, of course, do the housework as well, and since it is beyond Emily’s strength, I fear that much of it remains undone. Marriage makes more demands upon women than it did. They should learn to cook and to make use of labour-saving appliances. But when I suggested a vacuum-cleaner, Emily asserted that it would use too much current. Now I happen to know that the electric light installation is an extremely powerful one. I said to her, ‘Emily, you are being obstructive,’ and she could not deny it. She is one of those people who appear to yield but contrive to get their own way. In the matter of the electric current she does not know what she is talking about. I do not believe in concealing my opinion. I told her so.”

It was at this moment that a door opened at the head of the stairs and Thomasina Elliot appeared. She wore a grey dress which matched her eyes, and she had a most becoming colour in her cheeks. As it happened, she saw Miss Silver before Miss Silver saw her. Since she had known that they would meet, the sight did not surprise her. Her colour deepened a little, but she continued on her way down. She had in fact reached the seventh step, when Miranda exclaimed and Miss Silver looked up. She did not require the information contained in a contralto whisper, but she undoubtedly sustained a shock. Not only was she quite unprepared for the appearance of Thomasina Elliot, but nothing could have given her less pleasure. With commendable self-control she turned to Miranda.

“You said—?”

“Elaine and Gwyneth’s paying guest. They have one sometimes, but not generally so young. They knew this girl’s aunt in Wyshmere.”

Thomasina had reached the foot of the stairs. She was being introduced to Emily, to Peveril, to the little man in a blue blouse who was Augustus Remington, to Miranda, to Miss Silver herself.

“This is our young friend, Ina Elliot. We have delightful recollections of her aunt, Mrs. Brandon.

Miss Silver took her cue. Since Thomasina was being introduced as a stranger, strangers they would be. She said in a reserved tone,

“How do you do, Miss Elliot? Are you making a long stay?”

Thomasina was not insensitive. She was prepared for disapproval, but she had not known that it would affect her so unpleasantly. She had not felt so much in the wrong since her first year at school. It was most dreadfully undermining. She found herself tripping over her words.

“I d-don’t know. It d-depends.”

Miss Silver continued to look through her. She said,

“Town is, I think, preferable at this time of year, unless there is work that takes one into the country. But that would not be your case.”

Thomasina said, “N-no.” She had not stammered since she was ten years old. She was furious with herself and with Miss Silver.

Miss Elaine struck in.

“We hope that she will stay as long as she can. Such a pleasure. But she must not find it dull. Now I wonder—” she addressed Miss Silver—“if you and the children are walking tomorrow, whether she might join you. She is so very fond of children—are you not, my dear?”

“If I shouldn’t be in the way—” said Thomasina Elliot.

There was a pleading note in her voice, but Miss Silver’s look did not soften. She gave a grave assent and turned from Thomasina to meet Augustus Remington, brought up to her by Miss Gwyneth. He was a slender creature, pale and wispy like a plant that has grown in the dark—hair of the colour called lint-white in Scotland, soft and unsubstantial as a baby’s—slender hands, slender feet—rather indeterminate features. He wore blue corduroy trousers and a belted blouse of the same pattern as Mr. Craddock’s, but without embroidery. He had a whispering way of talking, and used his hands a good deal.

“Miranda has told me about you. She said you were psychic —or did she—I don’t know. Perhaps she said you were not psychic—I have a most distressing memory, and Miranda talks so much. Now are you, or are you not?”

“I have no claim to being psychic, Mr. Remington.”

He threw up his hands in horror.

“Not that formal name! The legacy of ancestors from whom one strives to free oneself! Besides, too, too suggestive of the typewriter! Could anything be more repugnant! What distasteful visions it calls up—rattle, rattle, rattle—click, click, click! Could anything describe me less! No—call me Augustus! It suggests the spacious peace of summer days—mellow pastures —the lap of water—the murmur of bees and of the homing dove. What is your name?”

In the interests of her profession Miss Silver was prepared for many sacrifices, but there were limits. She was not prepared to be called Maud by Augustus Remington. She said primly,

“I prefer to be addressed as Miss Silver.”

You should not have come,” said Miss Silver on a note of severity.

Thomasina’s colour brightened.

“I just felt I had to.”

Ahead of them, Jennifer ran up the sloping path with the other two after her. She was fleet of foot and the boys could not catch her. She had time to stop and wave to them, or hurl insulting names such as Slowworm, Tortoise, Dilly-dally. The afternoon was grey, but in the west the clouds had broken to show a stretch of pale faint blue.

Miss Silver shook her head disapprovingly:

“It is most unwise to give way to impulse. Have you considered that Miss Ball may have spoken of you to the Craddocks?”

“Anna never spoke about people.”

“Or that they may have seen the advertisement you put in the Times—‘Anna, where are you? Do write. Thomasina.’ Anyone who had read that might find the juxtaposition of these two names suggestive.”

Thomasina could not wait for her to finish.

“But that is just why I am calling myself Ina. Even if Anna had talked—and she wouldn’t—Ina doesn’t suggest anything, does it? It’s quite a different kind of name. And it’s not like taking a name that doesn’t belong to me. I did think about doing that, but it gave me a rather horrid sort of feeling and I thought I wouldn’t.”

If Miss Silver felt that she had to be thankful for small mercies, she could at least be relieved that Thomasina had not presented herself under an assumed name. She said,

“It is all most unwise, but now that you are here we must make the best of it. You will, I hope, limit your stay to a very few days.”

Thomasina looked doubtful.

“Well, I don’t know. They are rather pets, you know, Miss Elaine and Miss Gwyneth—and I thought I’d like to learn weaving.”

“It would be most imprudent.”

There was protest in Thomasina’s voice.

“I don’t see why. The longer I stay and the more I learn weaving, the more it will look as if that is what I have come down for. And it’s all quite natural. They did know Aunt Barbara, and they were very fond of her, and I like hearing them talk about her, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t learn weaving if I want to. And please don’t be disapproving, because it spoils everything. Peter was just horrid about my coming here, and if you are going to be angry too—”

Miss Silver was reflecting that the milk was spilled, and that it was no good crying over it. As Thomasina was here, she might as well stay. In point of fact, there was no way of dislodging her. She therefore smiled and said,

“I am not angry.”

Thomasina brightened.

“Peter was horrid,” she said. “And it isn’t his business what I do or where I go. He isn’t even a real relation—he is just Aunt Barbara’s husband’s nephew.”

Saying this seemed to put Peter in his place. It produced a glow of satisfaction—very heartening for the moment, but almost immediately succeeded by a horrid feeling that complete independence with no bothering relations and Peter a long way off was rather a chilly business. The glow faded, and she gave the kind of shiver that makes country people say that a goose is walking over your grave. She spoke quickly,

“Oh, I’ve got a message for you—I was nearly forgetting!”

“From Mr. Brandon? ’ ”

“Oh, no—from Detective Inspector Abbott. I went to see Mrs. Moray like you said, and he was there. He seems to know a lot of the sort of people you wouldn’t expect a policeman to know.”

“He has a great many friends.”

“He didn’t seem a bit like a policeman when he was at Mrs. Moray’s. He asked me out to dinner, and we went to the Luxe and danced. He dances very well.”

“I believe so.”

“That was one of the things that Peter was angry about. And it wasn’t his business. He hadn’t asked me himself, so why should he be angry because Frank Abbott did? I enjoyed myself very much. There was a girl called Daphne there who Frank said was his cousin. I liked her.”

“He has a great many cousins.”

“He said he started counting them once, and when he got up to a hundred he thought he had better stop—but of course that was nonsense.”

Miss Silver was unable to deny that Frank Abbott when off duty was given to talking nonsense. She had reproved him for it too often. She smiled indulgently and said,

“He gave you a message for me?”

“Yes, he did. He said it would be safer than writing. He said letters might be opened and I’d better post them myself and be careful what I said. And I said I shouldn’t be writing to anyone, because after the things Peter said—”

Miss Silver did not permit herself to be impatient. She gathered that Mr. Brandon had not behaved with tact, and that his remarks had considerably stiffened Thomasina’s determination to go down to Deep End and stay with the Miss Tremletts. When she had received a graphic account of the ensuing quarrel she said mildly,

“And Inspector Abbott’s message? Had you not better let me have it?”

Thomasina came back from some way off.

“Didn’t I? Oh, no—I got off on to Peter—I’m sorry. He wants—Frank, I mean, not Peter—he wants to see you. He wants you to meet him in Ledlington. Tomorrow. He says there’s a bus from Deeping that gets there just before three, and will you get off at the station, and he’ll pick you up in his car. He says you can ask for the afternoon off. If you don’t come, he’ll know you couldn’t make it. But he said to come if you can, because he really does want to see you.”

Miss Silver considered all this. To allow any connection between herself and Scotland Yard to appear would be to make her position at Deepe House untenable. She was not convinced that she was accomplishing any useful purpose by remaining there, but Frank Abbott’s message did at least suggest that he might have something useful to communicate. Up to the present the only really suspicious circumstance that had come to her notice was the fact that her letter to Margaret Moray had been opened. She very much disliked the idea that it might have been one of the children who had opened it, but it was possible, and she was too honest to disregard a possibility. As regards Anna Ball, she had discovered no more than that there had been some talk about a Mr. Sandrow, a shadowy and insubstantial person glimpsed in the dusk by Mrs. Craddock and seen, perhaps, by one of the Miss Tremletts.

She had reached this point, when Thomasina said,

“And now you won’t be angry any more, will you? Because I’ve got things to tell you. The Miss Tremletts talk all the time, you know. They just go on, and on, and on. As soon as Elaine stops Gwyneth begins. They sat till half past twelve last night doing it—all about Wyshmere and Aunt Barbara, and weaving and folk-dancing, and how wonderful Peveril was. But I don’t think they think an awful lot about Emily, though they were quite kind. Just pointing out her faults, you know, and saying what a pity it was for Peveril, and how unrestrained the children were, and of course it would be all wrong to repress them, but some people could manage children and other people couldn’t. And they seemed to think you were one of the ones who could. But not Anna or the other girl who only stayed a week.”

Miss Silver smiled.

“I have had considerable experience.”

“Well, I was just getting to the stage when I was missing quite a lot of what they said, when they got to Anna and that woke me up. Do you know, there really was a man.”

“Mr. Sandrow?”

“Oh, you do know about him.” Thomasina’s tone was frankly disappointed. “Who told you?”

“Mrs. Craddock mentioned him, but I really know very little.”

“Well, this is what the Tremletts told me. They said Anna used to slip out quite late at night and meet him, and they didn’t think it was at all nice. Elaine went down to post a letter at the gate because it was a fine night and she wanted, a breath of air and she was going to be busy in the morning. And there were two people standing very close together just off the drive, a man and a girl. The lodge is empty, so she thought it was odd. She said, ‘Who is that?’ and the man turned round and walked away out of the gate. Well, she had a torch and she turned it on, and the girl was Anna. So she said, ‘Who was that?’ and Anna said, ‘Mr. Sandrow.’ Elaine had her letter in her hand, but of course Anna and the young man were much more interesting, so she said, ‘I will walk up the drive with you. Who is Mr. Sandrow?’ And Anna said, ‘Oh, just a friend of mine. Hadn’t you better post your letter, if that’s what you came for?’ ”

“That was not very polite.”

Thomasina said earnestly,

“Oh, but Anna wasn’t. That’s what made it so difficult— about her making friends, you know. She used to be rude, and then she would go on about people not liking her. You see, unless she had a crush on anyone she just wouldn’t bother.”

Miss Silver deplored the expression which Thomasina had used, but she did not feel that this was the time to comment on it. There were points of interest. She said,

“Miss Ball was liable to sudden violent fancies?”

“Yes, but they didn’t generally come to anything. People didn’t really like it—she was too intense.”

“Then she may have taken one of these fancies for this Mr. Sandrow.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did either of the Miss Tremletts see him again?”

“Yes, they did. Gwyneth was in Ledlington, and whilst she was waiting for her bus she saw a car go by. She said Anna Ball was driving it, and there was a man with her. She said he had a red beard and red hair. She really was rather offended, because she thought they might have picked her up and given her a lift back to Deep End.”

“Perhaps they did not see her.”

“She swears Anna did. She has very good sight, and you know, you really can always tell. She says Anna looked straight at her and went by. Of course if I was out with somebody I liked, I don’t suppose I should want to pick Gwyneth up.” Thomasina’s eyes danced for a moment.

Miss Silver repeated the proverb with which Anna Ball had so rudely rebuffed Mrs. Craddock.

“Two is company. But, my dear, all this conversation about Miss Ball—it sounds a little as if the Miss Tremletts were aware that you had an interest.”

“Oh, no—not really.. They talk about everyone. Do you know, old Mr. Masters in the cottage with the post-box is as jealous as he can be because the postman’s father-in-law is going to be a hundred next year and he is only ninety-seven or something. And Mrs. Hogbin who lives next door but two has had thirteen children, and they are all alive and doing well. One of them sends her a parcel every week. And Mr. Tupper who works in a nursery garden the other side of Deeping has had two lots of wisdom teeth.”

“My dear!”

Thomasina nodded.

“And Miranda is a very pleasant neighbour, and of course there’s nothing wrong about it, but they do think it isn’t quite wise to see so much of Augustus Remington—living next door, you know, and running in and out all the time. And then there is Mr. Robinson. So strange that he should live like that—just one man with a whole wing of the house to himself—no one to cook or do anything for him, and half the windows boarded up. And he won’t go anywhere except to watch birds—not even to their parties, which does seem so very strange. They had been going on like that for hours before they got to Anna.”

Maurice came running back to them, red-faced and out of breath.

“Jennifer says we’ll be in the wood, and if you want us you can coo-ee!”

“That will do very nicely, Maurice.”

He ran, off again, kicking his heels and waving his arms.

Remembering the unheralded flight of all three children on their first walk together, it was impossible for Miss Silver not to feel some gratification.

When he had gone she said,

“Miss Ball never mentioned a man friend to you?”

“No, never. I thought she told me everything, but—I suppose she didn’t.”

In Miss Silver’s experience no one ever did.

Thomasina went on speaking.

“And there’s another thing she never told me. I didn’t know that she could drive. I suppose she learned when she was in Germany—she didn’t tell me.”

“And she never mentioned the name of Sandrow?”

“She didn’t mention it, but—I was going to tell you. When I didn’t get any answer to my advertisement, I sent for her box. You know, the one she had forwarded to me when she came down here. It wasn’t any use leaving it up there, and I thought I would go through it again, just in case there was anything that would give a clue. I thought there might be something I had missed.”

“A most sensible course. And you found something?”

“I didn’t think I had—not till Gwyneth and Elaine were talking last night. Now I’m not so sure. I’ll tell you. One of the things in the box was an old handbag. The clasp didn’t hold any more, so I expect that was why she didn’t take it with her. Well, I went through it, and it was empty except for a torn-off piece of paper crushed down behind the mirror, and the glass was broken. And there was this bit of paper crumpled up behind it. It was just a piece off one of those thin blocks, with names scribbled on it—Sandro, spelt the Italian way, S A N D R O. And then with a W tacked on—Sandrow. And then spelled a lot of other ways—I can’t remember them all—things like Sindrow—Sendrow. I just didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now—it’s odd, isn’t it?”

Miss Silver thought it very odd indeed. She said so.

It was on their way home that she had her first sight of Mr. John Robinson, the tenant of the other wing. The children, who had made friends with Thomasina, were all talking at once. They wanted her to come home to tea with them, and when she said that the Miss Tremletts would be expecting her they took her by the arms and ran with her down the slope and across the unkempt grass.

By the time Miss Silver, at a more sedate pace, came up with them they were in the dank courtyard looking up at the blind and mutilated face of the house. Benjy was saying,

“And there’s nothing left inside—only spiders, and dust, and Papa’s study what we mustn’t never go near because of his book that he’s writing, and because of the stones that might fall on us.”

His high childish voice set up an echo. The word “fall” came back from the enclosing wings. The air still trembled with it as John Robinson came round the corner to the left and stood for a moment on the outskirts of the group.