The Benevent Treasure Read online

  Candida looked up with a startled widening of her dark blue eyes.

  ‘The Benevent Treasure?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard about it? Everyone in Retley has. There was an ancestor who ran away from Italy with the family plate and jewels in the seventeenth century. He or his son built the house, and the Treasure is supposed to be hidden in it somewhere. My informant is an old cousin of mine who lives here – the sort of old pet who knows all the stories about everyone in the county and has them patched together and embroidered on to a quite incredible extent. There isn’t a dull moment, but you can’t bring yourself to believe that any of it is really true. Which is just as well, because most of the stories are pretty scandalous. Amazing, isn’t it, how old ladies who have never done anything wrong in their lives can believe and repeat the most awful things about their neighbours.’

  ‘Does your cousin know the great-aunts?’

  ‘She knows everyone. Her father was a Canon at the Cathedral, and his father was a Bishop. It’s a sort of aristocracy of the Church, and the Miss Benevents condescended to a visiting acquaintance. My cousin’s name is Louisa Arnold. At the moment she is entertaining a female sleuth who is a relation on the other side of the family. I am bidden to sup with them tonight. I met her in the street, and she asked me at point-blank range. Bye the bye, she wants to know whether the Miss Benevents have ever had any news of Alan Thompson. He was their secretary before Derek took it on.’

  Candida said, ‘Oh!’ And then, ‘Yes, I know! He ran away with some money and a diamond brooch, and nobody is supposed to mention him.’

  ‘But they mentioned him to you?’

  ‘No, it was Anna. She let it out, and then she said I mustn’t ever speak about it, because they had been dreadfully upset.’

  ‘Well, Louisa wanted to know if they’d had any news of him, because her sleuth, whose name is Maud Silver, had met an old boy in the train who said he was Alan Thompson’s stepfather and he was a good deal worried about him.’ He broke off to laugh. ‘It sounds a bit like “The stick began to beat the dog, the dog began to bite the pig, the little pig jumped over the stile, and so the old woman got home that night,” doesn’t it?’

  Candida laughed too.

  ‘Can you say it all through? I used to be able to.’

  ‘I don’t know – that bit just came into my head. It works up to a butcher killing an ox and water quenching fire, as far as I remember. Anyhow, to get back to Alan Thompson’s stepfather, there’s a good deal of hush-hush about it all, but he wants to know whether anyone has ever heard anything since what may be called the official disappearance.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so from what Anna said.’

  ‘Well, if you get an opportunity you might ask her. It must be tolerably unpleasant to have a relation disappear into the blue with a suspicion of theft tacked on to him.’

  Stephen duly supped with Louisa Arnold, and was introduced to ‘My cousin, Miss Maud Silver’. It turned out to be a very distant connection indeed, and he had to listen while Miss Arnold traced it out through her mother’s step-brother’s marriage to a Miss Emily Silver who was first cousin once removed to Miss Maud Silver’s father. As all this information was embellished and diversified by a considerable fund of anecdotage, it took the most of the way through supper. There was an alarming story of the ghost seen by an uncle of the step-brother in question, an apparition so horrifying that he was never able to describe it, and its exact nature had therefore to be left to the imagination of the family. There was the romantic story of the step-sister who met and married a shy and tongue-tied young man and discovered on her return from the honeymoon that he was the heir to a baronetcy and a fortune. There were other beguiling tales.

  Miss Silver, contenting herself with an occasional sensible remark, enjoyed the excellent food provided by Louisa Arnold’s cook, an old retainer inherited from the Canon, well up in years but still able to invest the post-war ration with the glamour of the now almost mythical years before the war.

  It was not until after supper, when they had moved to a drawing-room cluttered with furniture and gazed upon by generations of family portraits, that Stephen found himself invited to a place on the sofa beside Miss Silver. She was wearing the dark blue crêpe-de-chine bought at the instance of her niece Ethel during a visit to Clifton-on-Sea. The price had shocked her, but, as Ethel had insisted, both the material and the cut were of a very superior nature, and she had never found herself able to regret the purchase. She had filled in the ‘V’ at the neck with a net front and wore to fasten it a brooch in fine mosaic which depicted an oriental building against a background of bright sky-blue. A work-bag lay between them, and she was engaged with four steel needles and a boy’s grey woollen stocking. It did not appear to be necessary for her to watch her work, for when Stephen addressed her she looked at him in a very direct manner. They were for the moment alone, Miss Arnold having disclaimed all offers of assistance and retired to make the coffee.

  Stephen said, ‘I hear that you are anxious for news of Alan Thompson, but I am afraid that I have none to give you.’

  Miss Silver gave the slight cough which indicated that she had a correction to make.

  ‘It is his step-father who is anxious for news of him. He thought it possible that the Miss Benevents might have heard something.’

  ‘If they have they don’t speak of it.’

  Miss Silver pulled on a ball of grey wool.

  ‘There was a song which was very old-fashioned even when I was a girl. It began:

  ‘ “Oh, no, we never mention her,

  Her name is never heard.

  Our lips are now forbid to speak

  That once familiar word.”

  ‘It would seem to describe the situation?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I have been lunching today with a niece who is staying with them, and she says he really isn’t supposed to be mentioned. The old maid told her he had run off with money and a diamond brooch, and she mustn’t speak of him because the Miss Benevents had been so dreadfully upset about it.’

  Miss Silver was silent for a moment, after which she asked no more questions about Alan Thompson, but to his subsequent surprise he somehow found himself talking to her about Candida. He did not realise the fact that he had arrived at the point where it was not only extremely easy to talk about her, but quite difficult to avoid doing so. To this frame of mind there was added an as yet undefined uneasiness on her account. The Miss Benevents depressed him, Underhill depressed him. To think of Candida in association with them produced a feeling of repulsion. Old thoughts, old images rose from the deep places of his mind. They did not quite break surface, but they were there – something about children of light and hidden works of darkness – all very vague, coming up out of the depths and going down into them again.

  Miss Silver said, ‘You do not really like her being there, do you?’ and he had no more than time to say, ‘No, I don’t!’ when the door opened and Louisa Arnold came in, pushing an elegant tea-wagon. Stephen sprang up. Louisa was voluble on the subject of how long the kettle had taken to boil, and it was only afterwards that it occurred to him that Miss Silver had taken a great deal for granted. She had, for instance, assumed that he had not only a special but a proprietary interest in Candida, and his reply had admitted as much. The odd thing about it was that not only did he not resent this admission, but that it should give him a feeling of exhilaration. All the time Louisa Arnold was explaining that the coffee service was Georgian and quite valuable, and that the cups had belonged to the Canon’s mother, this feeling persisted.

  ‘She was a Miss Thwaites and she came from Yorkshire. That is her portrait over the bookcase. Those tinted drawings were all the fashion in the 1830s and ’40s – just a little colour in the lips and eyes, and some dark shading in the hair. Ladies used a stuff called bandoline to get that very smooth effect. You see it in the very early portraits of Queen Victoria. My grandmother had naturally curly hair, but her daughter, my
Aunt Eleanor, never discovered it until her mother was over eighty. She had kept it banded down all her life, and do you know, it still curled! My aunt persuaded her to let her fluff it up, and I can remember her with lovely silver waves under a lace scarf.’

  It was some time before Stephen could stem the tide, but they reached the Miss Benevents in the end. Once there, she was profusely reminiscent.

  ‘Oh, yes, we used to play together as children. They were brought up in rather a peculiar way, you know. Their mother had one of those long illnesses, and their father was rather a frightening person – so different from my own dear father, who was the soul of kindness. Olivia always had the upper hand of poor Cara, even though she was nearly three years younger. Candida used to stick up for her, but it wasn’t much good, you know. When anyone has such a yielding disposition you can’t really do much for them, can you? Candida was the middle one. She wasn’t much like the other two – taller, and not so dark. I liked her much the best of the three. But she ran away with a curate who came to do temporary duty at Stockton, which is just on the other side of the hill. Papa’s friend, Mr. Hobbisham, was the Vicar, and he was dreadfully upset about it. Now what was the young man’s name – would it have been Snail?’

  Stephen laughed.

  ‘I expect it was Sayle!’

  His Cousin Louisa beamed upon him. She had pretty white hair, surprisingly blue eyes, and a pink and white complexion.

  ‘Yes – so it was! How clever of you, my dear boy! Candida met him at a concert which was got up by the Dean’s sister in connection with a Chinese mission. He had a very nice tenor voice, and she was playing all the accompaniments. Candida, I mean of course, not Miss Wrench, who was a woman I never did care about and a terrible thorn in Papa’s side, because nobody could possibly help seeing that she was doing her best to marry him, and she was such a determined person that there was always a chance she might succeed, poor darling – and I’m sure it would have killed him. Now let me see – where was I?’ The blue eyes gazed at him trustfully.

  ‘Candida Sayle.’ It gave him pleasure to say the name.

  ‘Oh yes – of course! She married Mr. Sayle, and Mr. Benevent quite cut her off. I know Papa considered it very harsh of him, because Candida was of age, and there was nothing against Mr. Sayle’s character. He even had a little money of his own – not very much, but enough to help them along until he got a living. I believe he had the promise of one when they were married. But Mr. Benevent wouldn’t allow Candida’s name to be mentioned, and I didn’t see so much of the other two after that, because she was always the one whom I liked the best. And if it is her grand-daughter who is staying at Underhill I should very much like to see her.’

  Stephen felt tolerably certain that he had not mentioned Candida whilst Louisa Arnold was in the room. He said, ‘Oh, yes,’ and waited for more. It was forthcoming.

  ‘Now who was it was telling me? Someone at the Ladies’ Guild – not Miss Smithers or Mrs. Brand – I think it must have been Miss Delaney, because it is connected in my mind with a knitting-pattern for a cardigan, and it was Miss Delaney who gave me that. She said the quarrel must be made up, and about time too, because the girl was staying at Underhill and she had her grandmother’s name. Now of course she would be able to tell us what Maud is anxious to find out on behalf of Mr. Puncheon, whether anything has been heard about Alan Thompson. Living in the house, she would know whether they speak of him at all.’

  ‘I gather they don’t.’

  Louisa Arnold opened her blue eyes very wide indeed.

  ‘How very extraordinary! But Olivia had a most determined nature. He must have offended them very much, for they really were quite foolishly devoted to him. In fact people did say – well, I hardly like to repeat it, Papa was so very strict about gossip and there is always a good deal in a cathedral town – but they did say that no one would be surprised if Cara were foolish enough to marry him.’

  Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’

  Louisa Arnold nodded.

  ‘There was quite a lot of talk – I heard it myself. Of course there was the difference in age, but you do hear of such things, do you not? There was the Baroness Burdett-Coutts – I remember Papa telling us how displeased Queen Victoria was. And to come down to quite a different walk of life, old Mrs. Crosby who had the sweet shop in Falcon Street was married again within the year to quite a young man who came round as a traveller. They ran the business together and made a very paying thing of it. People said it wouldn’t come to any good, but they seemed to get on quite well. But Olivia would never have let Cara do anything foolish. And now of course there is this other young man, Derek Burdon, but I believe he calls them Aunt, which is a great deal more suitable. Only of course it wouldn’t be easy for them to provide for him unless they can do it out of their savings, because if anything happened to Cara, this grand-daughter of Candida’s would come in for everything.’

  Miss Silver stopped knitting for a moment. Her hands rested on the four steel needles and the half-finished stocking.

  Stephen said sharply,

  ‘Not Miss Olivia?’

  Miss Arnold shook her head.

  ‘Oh, no, I believe not. It has always been a sore point. Everything was quite strictly tied up by their grandfather. I remember Papa saying that it was all very well for Mr. Benevent to talk of cutting Candida off, but nothing he could do would prevent her or her children inheriting if Cara died without marrying and having children. So he said the quarrel was not only unchristian but foolish.’

  Miss Silver said quietly,

  ‘It is not an easy position for Miss Olivia.’

  ‘Oh, well, it is quite all right for her as long as things go on as they are. Underhill and most of the money may belong to Cara, but it is Olivia who manages everything. I don’t suppose poor Cara would have the least idea about what to do. As a matter of fact, I happen to know that Olivia makes out all the cheques and Cara just signs them.’

  Miss Silver gave the slight cough with which it was her custom to indicate disapproval.

  ‘Not at all a satisfactory practice, Louisa.’

  ‘Oh, no. Papa did not approve of it at all. He always said Olivia had too much influence. And now, you know, they do say that she has got this young Candida Sayle here to try and marry her to Derek Burdon. You see, it would provide for him if anything happened to Cara, and Olivia would naturally expect to go on having a say in everything.’

  Stephen said in a voice of cold fury,

  ‘What a perfectly monstrous idea!’

  Miss Louisa looked surprised.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, my dear. He is a very good-looking young man, and not as spoiled as Alan Thompson. They might take a fancy to each other. But of course it might not turn out at all as Olivia hoped. There was that rich Mr. Simpson at Ledford – he made over his house and nearly all his money to his son in order to escape the death duties. He was quite old and beginning to be infirm, and he made sure they would look after him, but almost at once the daughter-in-law began to treat him as if he didn’t matter. She was very gay and smart, and she filled the house with a very fast set. Papa said it was a most shocking case, and just like King Lear! But it all goes to show that you can’t tell what young people will do, so it might not turn out at all as Olivia had planned.’

  It was at this moment by the light of a blinding flash of anger that Stephen became aware he was in love with Candida Sayle.

  Chapter Eight

  It was next day that Miss Silver met Mr. Puncheon in the street. He was hurrying along and had already passed her in a short-sighted manner, when he seemed suddenly to recollect himself and turned back.

  ‘Miss Silver – I really beg your pardon’t I have been wanting to see you – I was immersed in my thoughts. Indeed I was hoping very much to see you. I suppose you could not spare a little time? My shop is just here. I had only stepped out to post a letter – the answer to an enquiry about a somewhat rare book.’

  Miss Silver’s errand not
being of a pressing nature, and her own thoughts having been to some extent occupied with Mr. Puncheon’s Problem and some kindred subjects, she acquiesced in her most gracious manner and found herself presently entering a shop with a gabled front and every appearance of having been there for some hundreds of years. Inside it was dark and crowded with books from the uneven floor to the low black beams overhead. Mr. Puncheon took her through to still gloomier depths at the back, where he opened a door and disclosed quite a tidy office with a modern writing-table and some comfortable nineteenth-century chairs. After allowing her to precede him he paused on the threshold to address an elderly woman in black.

  ‘I shall be a little time, Ellen. Do not disturb me unless it is really important.’ After which he came in and shut the door.

  A gas fire burned on the hearth. Miss Silver having seated herself, he took the opposite chair, made a small vexed sound, and remarked that he had left the fire on again.

  ‘And of course it is no economy if you do that. But having been always used to a coal fire, I find that I go out and leave it, and of course that annoys my sister.’

  Miss Silver smiled.

  ‘It is not so easy to form new habits. I find the fire very pleasant. Was there something you wished to ask me, Mr. Puncheon?’

  He took off his glasses and looked at her in a defenceless manner.

  ‘Oh, yes. I want to ask you whether you would advise and help me professionally. What you said in the train – I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.’

  ‘And what was it that I said, Mr. Puncheon?’

  ‘It was in reply to something that I said myself. We were talking about Mrs. Harbord who had worked for the Miss Benevents. I said she had told my sister that my stepson Alan never went away from Underhill. It was a strange thing to say, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Very strange.’