“Yours?”
Vivian smoked her cigarette rather viciously for a moment. “Yes, mine. It’s quite funny, if you look at it in the proper light. I can see that. I mean, you know how I’ve always wanted to get away from Trevellin, and go back to London? Why, when I heard that Mr Penhallow was dead, I — I thought all my problems were solved!”
Faith regarded her with dawning dismay. “Yes, of course. But you will go back to London — won’t you?”
“Oh, no, I shan’t!” Vivian replied. “I’m going to be stuck down in the Dower House, where I shall have to remain for ever and ever — or at least until Ingram wants it for one of his boys, by which time I shall be past caring.”
“The Dower House!” repeated Faith. “But why? Why?”
Vivian shrugged. “Well, it’s obvious that even if Bart were willing to carry on he wouldn’t have the time to, once he’s running Trellick. Ingram can’t manage singlehanded, and I suppose he doesn’t want to engage a bailiff. Anyway, he’s asked Eugene if he’ll do all the book-work — accounts, and that sort of thing — and has offered to let him have the Dower House.”
“Oh, Vivian!” Faith cried pitifully. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Can’t you — can’t you persuade him not to accept?”
“No, I — You see, he’d like it, Faith! And Mr Penhallow didn’t leave as much as he’d expected, and he just hasn’t the health to be able to do anything very strenuous. I can’t say I won’t stay here when I know that there’s nothing he’d rather do. It’s just my rotten luck, that’s all. At least we shan’t have to live here any more. Of course, the Dower House is much too big for us, and I suppose I shall have to do half the work myself, but it will be my own house, which is something.”
“I thought you would go away,” Faith said numbly. “I thought everything would be all right for you.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Only things don’t happen to have gone according to plan. I suppose I ought to be thankful that I’m not being arrested for murder, which looked likely at one time. I never thought Ray had done it, though, did you?”
Faith shook her head, pressing her handkerchief to her lips. “Is it certain — do they all think — the police as well as everyone else — ?”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Vivian said. “Why else should he have shot himself? Besides, he left a letter for Ingram —”
“Not saying he had done it!” Faith exclaimed. “It isn’t possible! Oh, this is a nightmare!”
“No, not mentioning his father’s death, or even his own plans. I must say, I found it pretty upsetting. But it rules out any possibility of its not having been suicide. That’s what I meant. He told Ingram where to find the keys, and all the papers and things, and — oh, don’t let’s talk about it! It absolutely haunts me!”
Faith gave a shiver. She saw how her hands were trembling, and clasped them tightly together. “What was it that Jimmy said?” she asked, almost inaudibly.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see the Inspector myself, and apparently he didn’t tell Ingram. Ingram hasn’t said anything about it, anyway; but to tell you the truth, he’s so busy making glorious plans for the future, and thinking of all the grand things he’ll do now he’s Penhallow of Trevellin, that I don’t really think he cares about much else. I can tell you, the whole atmosphere is fast getting me down. And to make it worse, that horrible old woman, Martha, is going about saying that it’s all for the best, in a perfectly revolting way! Well, I was one of the people in danger of being arrested, but hang it all, I’m not such a callous beast that I could think Ray’s death all for the best!”
“Horrible! horrible!” Faith whispered, burying her face in her hands.
“I oughtn’t to have told you, really,” Vivian said, hoping uneasily that Faith was not going to start crying again. “I expect I’d better clear out now, and leave you to get some sleep. Is there anything you want before I go?”
Faith shook her head. Vivian withdrew; and Loveday came in a few minutes later, and made her mistress ready for the night. She offered to sleep on the couch at the foot of Faith’s bed, but Faith thought that she would rather be alone. She saw that it was nearly midnight, and with an effort thanked Loveday for sitting up, and told her to go straight to bed. Loveday left her with the lamp turned low on the table beside her bed, and for a long time she lay staring ahead of her, unable to marshal her thoughts, or to see anything but a vision of Raymond sending his horse home without his bridle, and then shooting himself beside the lonely Pool on the Moor.
At last the oil in the lamp began to run out. Faith roused herself to turn the wick down. Loveday had left the heavy curtains drawn across the windows, and the room became plunged in darkness. She tried to close her eyes, but she could not keep them shut, or remain for long in any one position in the bed. She was hot, and although her body ached with fatigue, she felt so wide awake that it seemed as though she would never sleep again. The image of Raymond remained with her so obstinately that it became an obsession which so possessed her mind that she could almost fancy him in the room. She began to talk to Raymond, as though from the unhappy shades in which his spirit might be wandering he could hear her. She wanted to explain to Raymond, to beg him to forgive her, to tell him that she had never meant to hurt him, and most of all to ask him why — why — why he had killed himself. As she rambled on, saying over and over again the same things, she never thought of her husband. She had to make Ray’s ghost understand why she had killed his father, and how it was that she had not dreamt that anyone would ever call that death in question. “I couldn’t know you’d quarrelled with him, Ray,” she said. “You never told me. I didn’t think anyone would think he hadn’t died naturally. Ray, I thought it would make things easy for everybody! Why did you quarrel with him, Ray? But even if you did, they couldn’t have convicted you! There was nothing to show who did it. Why did you lose your head like that, Ray? I wouldn’t have let them arrest you! You must believe I wouldn’t have done that! I didn’t know it would all turn out like this. You don’t understand, Ray! It was such a little, easy thing to do, and I felt so desperate. It wasn’t as though it hurt him, it wasn’t even as though he was well, or would ever be well again. I didn’t think of it as being a crime, really I didn’t! He was making us all so wretched, and then there was Clay — But I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known, Ray! You must believe I never meant you to suffer for what I did!”
She was roused from this endless monologue by seeing the door open, and a bar of light widen across the floor. She started up on her elbow, half-expecting to see Raymond himself. But it was Charmian who entered, with a candle in her hand.
“Are you all right, Faith?” Charmian asked her. “I thought I heard you call.”
She sank back upon her pillows. “No,” she said dully. “I didn’t call. I’m all right.”
Charmian looked at her narrowly. “Can’t you get to sleep? It’s no good lying there thinking about it, you know. What’s done can’t be undone. It’s pretty grim, I admit, but I’ve been talking to Ingram about you, and we both agree that the sooner you get away from Trevellin, the better it will be for you. He’s perfectly prepared to advance you sufficient funds out of his own pocket to enable you to go away somewhere with Clay. Of course, as soon as we get probate, you’ll find yourself quite comfortably off, and you’ll be able to send Clay back to College, or whatever you like. That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. Are they sure — are they quite sure Ray did it?”
Charmian set down the candle, and began to straighten the tumbled bedclothes. “Oh, yes, there’s nothing for you to worry about, my dear! The police are satisfied it must have been Ray. So just you go to sleep, and stop fretting!”
She tucked Faith in securely, and went away, reflecting that such an exaggerated display of emotion was typical of a woman like her stepmother; and deciding that, upon the whole, Raymond’s suicide was perhaps the best solution that could have been found to an appalling situation.
This feeling was not shared either by Inspector Logan, or by the Chief Constable. Raymond’s death came as a shock to both these gentlemen; and the Chief Constable was inclined to blame the Inspector for having allowed such a thing to have happened.
“Sir, there was nothing whatsoever to go on!” Logan said earnestly. “You know yourself I couldn’t have detained Raymond Penhallow on the evidence I had! There wasn’t a shred of real evidence against any one of them, nothing I’d dare put up to a jury, that is. I still can’t make out why he did it.”
“There must have been something behind it that you never discovered, Logan,” the Major said heavily. “I ought to have called in Scotland Yard.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, the cleverest detective in the world couldn’t have found evidence that wasn’t there. There was something behind it all; you’re right there! Again and again I felt it, when I was working on the case. If you ask me, I’ll tell you straight I’ve got a conviction that whatever it was, it was something ugly. Well, I’m not fanciful, I believe, but I got such a feeling in that house that there was a worse trouble hanging over it than I’d
