Read Online Vanishing Point by Patricia Wentworth - Free Book Online

itself. She hoped that Miss Crewe would not think she had meant in any way to refer to Henry Cunningham, and began in a hurry to speak about something else, only to realize that she had embarked upon a topic which she certainly would not have chosen.
    “No, no—it all depends, doesn’t it? Especially when it is a case of relations. Poor Muriel now—” She turned in explanation to Miss Silver. “Lady Muriel Street—an old friend and near neighbour. Mr. Street owns that big place Hoys just outside the village. I’m sure I sympathize very much with her. I met her yesterday, and she was telling me that she had relations of Mr. Street’s to stay, and they seemed to find the country so dull. They have been accustomed to go abroad in the winter, and now that they can no longer afford it they find the English spring so very trying—the cold winds, and so much rain. And then, of course, they are not gardeners, which provides one with a constant interest, and they do not care for walking. And with petrol the price it is! Muriel is afraid they have been finding their stay very monotonous, and as she says, she would really rather not have had the house so full at the moment.”
    Miss Silver remarked that entertaining was now by no means easy, to which Miss Crewe replied with the one word, “Impossible.” After which she directed her cold glance upon Mrs. Merridew.
    “Since there are twenty bedrooms at Hoys, I can hardly believe that the house has been full.”
    Mrs. Merridew was a large fair lady. In her youth she had had an apple-blossom prettiness. She still had the blue eyes and the rather appealing manner which had made up the youthful picture, but now everything was on a much more ample scale. The once fair hair was an untidy pepper and salt. It strayed in wisps about the neck of a faded mauve jumper and continually shed the hairpins with which she made a harassed attempt to control it. Over the jumper she wore an old black cardigan, now much too tight. At the moment she was quite flushed, since the agonized thought had presented itself that dear Maud whose companionship she was enjoying so much might think that any of the foregoing remarks, hastily thrown up as a smokescreen, could possibly refer to her delightful visit. She took up the teapot and began to pour with rather an unsteady hand as she said,
    “Yes, yes—all those rooms, and hardly any staff—so difficult. I cannot say how thankful I am to have this dear little house, and my good Florrie to look after it so beautifully and to make it so easy for me to see my friends.”
    She turned her large, kind smile upon Miss Silver, who returned it in a way that quite allayed her fears. The flush faded, and she was able, while putting in the milk, proffering sugar, and handing the green Rockingham cups, to pursue the theme of how thankful she had been to hand over Dalling Grange and retire to the modest comfort of the White Cottage. It was only when Miss Crewe accepted one of Florrie’s scones in an affronted manner that she realized that the diversion was not a happy one, since everyone knew that whatever happened to the country, to herself, or to her nieces, Lydia always had been and always would be determined to hold on to Crewe House. The flush mounted, and once more she said what she had not intended to say.
    “Poor Muriel—I really did feel sorry for her—such a disappointment. But I expect she has told you all about it.”
    Lydia Crewe held out her cup.
    “I have no doubt she would have done if I had happened to see her. She never could keep anything to herself, and I don’t suppose she ever will. You have quite drowned me with milk— I only like a few drops… Yes, tea right up to the brim—I have a perfectly steady hand. Well, what is Muriel disappointed about now?”
    “Her brooch,” said Mrs. Merridew—“the one with the large diamonds which was left her by the godmother who died a year or two ago. Quite handsome, you know, but rather heavy. You