CHAPTER 13

Miss Silver was greeted with the news when she came down to breakfast. She had already been aware of some unusual commotion. The Croft was visible from her bedroom window. When first one car and then another stopped before the gate, she supposed that parents must be delivering their children at the school. It was a little early of course, but that might be accounted for by other engagements-a father proceeding to his office in Ledlington for instance. But when the car remained stationary and there was still further evidence of activity, this supposition had to be abandoned, and at a quarter past nine when she came downstairs Miss Wayne informed her in a shocked voice that Connie Brooke had been found dead in her bed.

“It seems quite impossible to believe that it is true-it does indeed! You saw her at the rehearsal only yesterday afternoon. She was the substitute bridesmaid-the rather plain girl in the homemade red cardigan. So very becoming-but oh dear, I oughtn’t to say that now, ought I? Poor Connie, I didn’t think she looked at all well. In fact, you know, I thought she looked as if she had been crying, but of course I never dreamed there could be anything really wrong. Such a shock-and poor Penny Marsh finding her like that! She has her own key, and she let herself in, and there was poor Connie dead on her bed! She came running for Mettie Eccles, and they got the doctor, but it wasn’t any use. Mettie says there wasn’t any hope right from the start-she must have been dead for hours. Of course, my room being at the back, I didn’t hear anything till Mettie came in just now and told me. But perhaps you-” She rubbed the pink tip of her nose and gazed hopefully at Miss Silver.

It appeared that at half past eight Miss Silver was in the bathroom and had heard nothing. Miss Wayne went on being shocked and telling her about what Miss Mettie had said, and what Dr. Taylor had said, and that, most shocking of all, the police had been sent for!

At the Manor Valentine was ringing up Gilbert Earle. From the call-box at the George he heard her voice, quiet and serious.

“Will you come up here as soon as you can?”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to see you until we met in church.”

“I think you must come.”

“Val-has anything happened?”

She said, “Yes.” And then, “Just come straight up to my sitting-room. I want to see you alone.”

She was telephoning from the study. When she had rung off she went directly upstairs to wait.

She had settled in her own mind exactly what she was going to do, and she didn’t want to see anyone else until it was done and couldn’t be undone. She had had an emotional interview with Maggie Repton in which the news of Connie’s death had been imparted and wept over.

“Such a terrible thing, and of course we must all feel it. But we can’t let it make any difference-it wouldn’t be right. My dear mother always used to say that nothing ought to be allowed to interfere with a wedding-not even the death of a near relative. Poor Connie is only a connection, and whatever Dr. Taylor may say, I cannot believe that I am in any way to blame. She looked terrible-you must have noticed it yourself. And she said she hadn’t been sleeping, so I gave her my own sleeping-pills with the dose quite clearly marked on the bottle. At least I suppose it was-they generally are. And it is quite ridiculous for Dr. Taylor to expect me to remember just how many tablets there were, because I can’t, and that is all there is about it.”

The scene had broken down in tears, after which Maggie Repton had been persuaded to lie down for a little. Valentine emerged with a sense of complete unreality. None of the things that seemed to be happening were really happening. They were not the sort of things that did happen, but as long as they seemed to be going on you had to play your part and do the best you could. She stood looking out of the window in her sitting-room and waited for Gilbert Earle. She heard his step in the passage and turned to meet him. When he had shut the door he saw that she had put her hand up, as if to keep him away. He took a step towards her, and she said,

“No. I told you that something had happened. We have got to talk.”

That halted him. But the news of Connie’s death had reached the George-it had reached him just after Valentine rang off. Of course it was a frightful shock to her and everyone. He supposed there might be some idea that the wedding ought to be put off until after the funeral. He said,

“I know-I’ve just heard. What on earth was it? Mrs. Simpson at the George said something about an overdose of sleeping-draught. They don’t think she took it on purpose, do they? And you won’t let it make any difference, surely? I mean, it isn’t as if she was a close friend or a near relation.”

She had gone back a step or two. Her hands rested on the back of a tall chair. She said,

“I didn’t ask you to come up here to talk about Connie.”

He stared.

“But it’s true, isn’t it-she’s dead?”

“Oh, yes, it’s true. We can make it an excuse if you like. You see, I can’t marry you, Gilbert.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t marry you.”

The stare had become a very angry one.

“What do you mean, you can’t marry me? You’ve left it a bit late in the day, haven’t you?”

“Yes, it’s late, but it isn’t too late. There are things I could use for an excuse, but I’m not going to use them. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think it would be fair. I’m going to tell you the truth. I can’t marry you, because Jason has come home.”

“And what the devil has Jason got to do with your marrying me?”

She said quite simply,

“I’ve always loved him. We belong. I oughtn’t ever to have said I would marry you. But he didn’t say anything, and he went away.”

He came a step nearer.

“Look here, Valentine, you can’t treat me like this! Do you know what people will say? If you don’t, I can tell you. It will be one of two things. Either you’ve found out something about me, or I have found out something about you. That’s the sort of mud that sticks, you know. And it will be a damned sight worse for you than it is for me, because as far as I’m concerned they’ll probably only credit me with a mistress, but it’s a hundred to one they’ll say it came out that you were going to have a baby, and that I turned you down. Pull yourself together and use some common sense!”

She shook her head.

“It’s no use, Gilbert. It doesn’t matter what anyone says or anyone does, I can’t marry anyone but Jason. I ought to have known that all along. I’ve been so unhappy that I didn’t seem to be able to think. We can just say that the wedding is put off. Everyone will think it is because of Connie.”

Gilbert lost his temper with a crash.

“Don’t be such a damned nitwit! What everyone will do is try and pin her suicide on to me. And if that doesn’t make me a laughingstock-”

The colour came suddenly, vividly to her face.

“Gilbert!”

“Connie Brooke-that fatuous white rabbit! I see myself!”

He gave a furious laugh.

She hadn’t meant to show him the letter, she hadn’t meant to shelter behind it in any way. If she loved him, she wouldn’t have believed it. If she had loved him, she wouldn’t have shown it to him. And if he had left Connie alone, she wouldn’t have shown it to him. But Connie hadn’t ever given him a thought, and Connie was dead. She was going to show it to him now.

She went over to her writing-table, took out the letter from between the leaves of the account-book where she had laid it for safety, and came back with it in her hand, her mind so concentrated on what she was doing and why she was doing it that it had no knowledge of whether Gilbert had gone on talking or not. When she held it out to him he said angrily, “What’s that?” and she put it into his hand.