Lonesome Road Read online

  “Plenty of time to polish three steps,” observed Miss Silver.

  Rachel Treherne made no answer, but after a moment she went on speaking.

  “I shouldn’t have thought of it again if it hadn’t been for the letters. I tried very hard not to attach any importance to it, but I couldn’t get it off my mind. You see, the stairs would be done before breakfast, and if they had been like that all day, someone would have slipped on them long before half-past four. But if they were polished in the afternoon when everybody was out of the way, then it was done on purpose to make someone fall. And after those letters I couldn’t help thinking that I was the someone. I couldn’t get it off my mind.”

  “What polish had been used? Could you tell?”

  “Oh, yes. It was some the housekeeper got to try-a new stuff called Glasso, but I wouldn’t have it used on the floors because it made them too slippery.”

  There was another pause. Miss Silver laid down her knitting and wrote in the shiny exercise-book. Then she said,

  “Is that all?” and Rachel Treherne took her hand from her eyes and cried,

  “Oh, no-it isn’t!”

  Miss Silver gave a little cough.

  “It will be much easier if you will go straight on. What happened after that?”

  “Nothing for about a week. Then Louisa Barnet found the curtains on fire in my room. She beat the fire out, and there was not much damage done, but-it couldn’t have been an accident. There was no open flame in the room, or any way the curtains could have caught. I wasn’t in any real danger, I suppose, but it wasn’t a pleasant thing to happen on the top of everything else.”

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

  “A fire is always unpleasant,” she pronounced.

  Miss Treherne sat back in her chair.

  “The worst thing happened four days ago. It is what brought me here, but I’ve been wondering whether I could tell you about it. It’s so vile-” She said the last words in a slow, almost bewildered manner.

  Miss Silver picked up her pink ball and unwound a handful of wool.

  “It would really be much better if you did not keep breaking off,” she said in her most practical manner. “Pray continue.”

  At another time Rachel Treherne would have been tempted to laugh. Even now a flicker of humor crossed her mood. She said,

  “I know. I will tell you about it as quickly as possible. On Saturday I did some shopping in Ledlington. One of the things I brought home was a box of chocolates. I am the only one in the family who likes soft centers, so I chose a good hard mixture, but I made them take out just a few and put in some of the ones I like myself. The chocolates were the sort that have the name stamped on them so that you can tell what you are taking. I handed them round after dinner, and they were very good. I had two with soft centers, and enjoyed them. I took the box up to my room because Louisa Barnet is fond of chocolates too. She is like me, she doesn’t care for the hard centers. She was with me when I bought them, and I knew she would expect her share, so I told her to help herself. She took one, and almost immediately ran into the bathroom and spat it out. When she had rinsed her mouth she came back. She was terribly upset. She said, ‘That chocolate was as bitter as gall-there’s someone trying to harm you, Miss Rachel! You can’t get from it.’ She brought the box of chocolates over to me, and we examined them thoroughly. The ones with hard centers were all right, and we put them aside. There were about a dozen left with soft centers. Three of these had had a little hole made in the bottom and filled up again. It was quite cleverly done, but you could see it. I touched the filling of one of these chocolates with my tongue, and, it had a strong bitter taste. I burnt all the chocolates that were left.”

  “A very foolish proceeding,” said Miss Silver briskly. “You should have had them analysed.”

  Rachel answered with a hopeless gesture and a single word. Her hand lifted from her knee and fell again. She said,

  “Impossible.”

  Chapter Three

  Miss Silver waited. No other words followed. She knitted to the end of her row, and then remarked,

  “This is for Hilary Cunningham’s baby. A sweet color- so very delicate.”

  Rachel Treherne’s dark eyes rested for a moment upon the pale pink wool. She said in an absent voice,

  “I didn’t know that Hilary had a baby.”

  “Not till January.” Miss Silver began another row. “And now, Miss Treherne, I think we had better proceed. I asked you to tell me three things. Firstly, why should anyone want to kill you? You have not really replied to this, unless your statement that you are Rollo Treherne’s daughter, and that he has left you discretionary powers over his very large fortune, is an answer.”

  Miss Treherne said without looking at her,

  “It might be.”

  “I asked you, secondly, whether any attempt had been made on your life, and if so, in what circumstances. To this you have replied very fully. Thirdly, I inquired who it was that you suspected. It is very necessary for me to have an answer to that third question.”

  Rachel said, “I suppose so,” and then remained silent for quite a long time. Her hands were once more clasped in her lap. She looked down at them, and when she began to speak she did not raise her eyes.

  “Miss Silver, I believe that I can trust you. My difficulty is this-I do not see how you can help me unless I am frank with you, unless I tell you everything. But that is the trouble. With the best will in the world, one can’t tell everything. I look at the problem, at the people, and I look at them through my own temperament, my own mood- perhaps through my own fear, my own doubt, my own suspicion. These things do not make for clear vision. And, not seeing clearly myself, I have to choose, I have to select what I am going to tell you, and then I have to find words to convey these troubled impressions to you, a stranger. You have no check on what I tell you. You don’t know the people or the circumstances. Don’t you see how impossible it is to give you anything except an unfair picture?”

  “I see that you are very anxious to be fair. Now will you tell me who it is that you suspect?”

  Rachel Treherne looked up.

  “No one,” she said.

  “And who is it that Louisa Barnet suspects?”

  Rachel turned abruptly. She faced Miss Silver across the table now.

  “No one,” she said-“no one person. She’s afraid for me and it makes her suspicious. It is because of these suspicions that I have felt bound to come to you. I can’t go on like this, living with people, seeing them constantly, being fond of them, and these dreadful suspicions always there between us.”

  “I see,” said Miss Silver. “If I may quote from Lord Tennyson’s poem of Maud-‘Villainy somewhere! Whose? One says, we are villains all.’ And again:

  ‘Why do they prate of the blessings of peace? We have made them a curse.

  Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its own.

  And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or worse

  Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone?’

  Really very apt, I think. I fear that the lust of gain in the heart of Cain is responsible for a great deal of crime.”

  Rachel Treherne said “Cain-” in a sort of whisper, and Miss Silver nodded.

  “Impossible not to realize that it is some member of your family circle who is suspected by Louisa Barnet, if not by yourself.”

  “Miss Silver!”

  “You had better face it. When it comes to attempted murder, it is no use just letting things slide. I am sure that you must realize this. For your own sake, and for the sake of your relatives, the matter must be cleared up. Your fears may be groundless. The attempt may have come from some other quarter than the one which is causing you so much distress. We will attack the matter courageously and see what can be done. Now, Miss Treherne, I would like full details of your household, the members of your family, and any guests who were staying with you at the time of these attempts.�
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  Rachel Treherne looked at her for a moment. Then she began to speak in a quiet, steady voice.

  “I have a house at Whincliff. My father built it. It is called Whincliff Edge, and it stands, as the name suggests, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. There are very fine gardens on the landward side. It is in fact a kind of show place, and the house is big enough to accommodate a good many guests. I have therefore to employ a considerable staff outside, and a housekeeper and five maids indoors. I don’t employ any men indoors. My housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, has been in the family for twenty years-she is one of the nicest women in the world. The maids are local girls and from no farther afield than Ledlington-I know all about them and their families. Maids generally stay with me until they marry. They are all nice, respectable girls. None of them could have the slightest motive for wishing to harm me. My guests-” She paused, and then went on. “The house is often full. My father built it not just for himself and me, but to be a rallying point for the family. They regard it in this light, and I am very seldom alone there.”

  “You mentioned a sister, I believe.”

  “Yes-my sister Mabel.”

  “A younger sister?”

  “No, five years older. She married young, and my father made a settlement on her then.”

  “He did not leave her anything more in his will?”

  “No.”

  “And was she satisfied?”

  Miss Treherne bit her lip. She said,

  “There was no quarrel. My father did not expect his will to please everyone, but he had his own reasons for what he did.”

  Miss Silver coughed slightly.

  “People’s reasons so seldom appeal to relatives.” she remarked. “Pray continue, Miss Treherne. You said your sister was married. Has she any family and were they staying with you at the time of these occurrences?”

  “Yes. Mabel is not very strong. She had been with me all through August. Her husband, Ernest Wadlow, was coming down for the week-ends. He is a writer-travel, biography, that sort of thing. Their two children were also coming down for the week-ends. Maurice, who is twenty-three, is reading for the Bar, and Cherry, who is nineteen, is engaged in having a good time. The other guests were my young cousin, Richard Treherne, who is a grandson of my father’s brother; a first cousin on my father’s side, Miss Ella Comperton-she has a little flat in town, but she is always very pleased to get away from it; a first cousin on my mother’s side, Cosmo Frith; and his young cousin and mine, Caroline Ponsonby-”

  “One moment,” said Miss Silver. “Which, if any, of these relatives were staying with you on the dates upon which you received the three anonymous letters?”

  “None of them,” said Rachel Treherne, “except my sister Mabel. She was with me all through August and September, but the others only came down for the week-ends.”

  Miss Silver put down her knitting and took up a pencil.

  “I should like those dates, if you please.”

  Rachel Treherne gave them as one who has a lesson by heart.

  “The first letter, Thursday, August 26th-the second, Thursday, September 2nd-and the third, September 9th, also a Thursday.”

  “And the incident of the polished steps?”

  “September 11th.”

  “A Saturday?”

  “Yes, a Saturday.”

  Miss Silver entered these particulars.

  “And the fire in your room?”

  “The following Saturday, September 18th.”

  “And the incident of the chocolates?”

  “Last Saturday, October 30th.”

  Miss Silver wrote that down, then looked up, pencil poised.

  “Nothing happened between 18th September and 30th October?”

  “No. I was away a good deal. I had no guests-” With a sudden realization of what she had said, a brilliant color flushed her cheeks. She looked beautiful, startled, distressed. “You musn’t think-” she began.

  Miss Silver interrupted her.

  “My dear Miss Treherne, we must both think-calmly, quietly, and above all dispassionately. No innocent person will be harmed by our doing so. Only guilt need shrink from investigation. Innocence will be vindicated. Pray let us continue. I have here a list of your relatives, written down as you gave them to me-Mr. and Mrs. Wadlow, your brother-in-law and sister. Mr. Maurice and Miss Cherry Wadlow, their son and daughter. Mr. Richard Treherne. Miss Ella Comperton, Mr. Cosmo Frith, and Miss Caroline Ponsonby, all cousins. You have told me that none of these relatives except Mrs. Wadlow was in the house upon the dates on which the anonymous letters were written, posted, or received by you. I should now like you to tell me which of them was staying in the house on September 11th, the day of the polished steps incident.”

  The color had left Rachel Treherne’s face again. She said, “They were all there.”

  “And on the following Saturday, September 18th, when the curtains in your room were found to be on fire?”

  “They were all there.”

  “And during the six weeks when you had no guests there were no more occurrences of a suspicious nature?”

  “Miss Silver!”

  “Let us be dispassionate. There were, in fact, no more occurrences during that period. But on Saturday, October 30th, there was the incident of the chocolates. Which of these relatives was in the house on that occasion?”

  Miss Treherne repeated the phrase which she had already used twice, but in a tone that was almost inaudible.

  “They were all there.”

  Miss Silver remarked, “Dear me!” turned a page, wrote a heading, and said in a bright, matter-of-fact tone, “Now if you will give me a little information about each of these relatives-just the merest outline, comprising age, occupation, financial position-”

  “Miss Silver-I can’t!”

  Miss Silver looked at her kindly but firmly.

  “Indeed you can, my dear Miss Treherne. It is best for us to speak quite plainly. As matters stand, you are in continual fear of being obliged to suspect one or another of your relations. The situation is quite impossible, and it must be cleared up. If you withold information, I cannot help you. Let us continue. We will begin with your sister Mabel, Mrs. Wadlow.”

  Chapter Four

  Miss Silver’s notes:

  “Mabel Wadlow:-Age 44. Nervous semi-invalid. Reads a great many novels-thrillers. Very fond of husband and children. Some sense of injury over father’s will.

  Ernest Wadlow:-Age 52. Dilettante. Traveler. Writer. Never made much money by his books. Wife’s money not much in evidence. Miss Treherne obviously assists them.

  Maurice Wadlow:-Age 23. Reading for the Bar. Socialistically inclined. Perhaps dearer to his parents than to Miss T. Anxiety on her part to be fair to him very marked. Probably clever, bumptious young man, too pleased with himself to please others. This merely conjecture.

  Cherry Wadlow:-Age 19. Pretty girl. Out for a good time. Rather giddy. Nineteen usually either too giddy or too serious.

  Ella Comperton:-Age 49. Daughter of Rollo Treherne’s elder sister Eliza. Spinster on small income. Small flat, small interests, small life. Some jealousy that younger cousin should be rich woman? Miss T’s tone that in which we speak of someone whom we commiserate but cannot really love.

  Cosmo Frith:-Age 45. Another dilettante, but of a different type. All the talents but no executive ability. Jack of all trades and master of none. Unmarried. Fond of society, fond of pretty faces-Wein Weib und Gesang. Is a first cousin on the mother’s side, and Miss T. has a good deal of affection for him. Finances precarious.

  Caroline Ponsonby:-Age 22. First cousin once removed of Miss T., Mrs. Wadlow, and Cosmo Frith. Miss T. has a great affection for this young girl. Described her in v. warm voice as ‘the dearest child.’ Small independent income.

  Richard Treherne:-Age 26. First cousin once removed on the father’s side, being grandson of Rollo Treherne’s younger brother Maurice. Architect. Foot on bottom rung of ladder. Ambitious. Miss T. has put a c
ertain amount of work in his way. From manner in which she spoke of there being no blood relationship between him and Caroline it is clear that she would welcome a match between them. Lord T. says, ‘In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. ’ Have not noticed that November has any chilling effect. Miss T. very warmly interested in both these young people.”

  Chapter Five

  Having taken down these notes, Miss Silver sat back in her chair and picked up the pale pink coatee.

  “There-that is over,” she said, and began to knit. “And now, I am afraid, I must ask you what financial interest these relatives have in your death.”

  Rachel Treherne met this question calmly, as one meets a long expected shock. She said,

  “I knew you would ask me that, but it is not at all an easy question to answer. The circumstances are very unusual. I think I told you that my father had left me this money as a trust. He made no legal conditions as to how I was to dispose of it, but he told me what he wanted me to do, and I promised that I would carry out his wishes. Miss Silver, I do feel sure that I can trust you-you have really made me feel sure about that-but what I am going to tell you now concerns my father, and you won’t ever speak of it to anyone, will you, or-or write it down?”

  Miss Silver looked at her. Miss Silver said,

  “I will not speak of it, and I will not write it down.”

  Rachel Treherne went on.

  “My father ran away with my mother. She had a little money, and he had none. This is important, because it is what brings in my mother’s relations. Without her money he couldn’t have made a start, and so, in disposing of his fortune, he wished her relations to be considered on the same footing as his own. He took her to the United States, and they had a very hard struggle. They lost their first two children. It was ten years before Mabel was born, and I came five years later. Then my mother died. My father was only just getting along up till then, but the following year he began to make money. Everything he touched turned to gold. Oil was found on some land he had bought for a song. It made him an immensely wealthy man. He came back to this country and died here. The things he asked me to promise were these. It weighed on him that the man who had been his partner in buying the oil-field had not profited from it. There was some quarrel. The land was believed valueless. The partnership broke up, and Mr. Brent walked out. My father made a fortune, and it weighed on him that he ought to have shared it with Sterling Brent. He told me that he had always kept on the right side of the law, but that what mattered when you came to die was whether you had kept on the right side of your conscience. He had tried to find his old partner, but he hadn’t been able to. He told me the sum that was due to him, and he said I was never to touch it, and I was to go on trying to find Mr. Brent or his heirs. That was the first thing.”