Читать книгу The Benevent Treasure - Dora Amy Elles - Страница 9

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The Retley train jogged on without any uncomfortable effect of hurry. Miss Silver, in a corner seat with her back to the engine, was really finding it very restful. Third-class carriages were sometimes badly crowded, but her only companion was a quiet elderly gentleman who was immersed in a book. Even if she had been nervous, his aspect would have been reassuring, to say nothing of the fact that it was a corridor train. She felt able to relax and watch the soothing if rather monotonous countryside go sliding by in a procession of fields and hedgerows, country paths and lanes, a farmstead here and a cluster of cottages there, with an occasional pond or stream to brighten it.

After about half an hour she opened a capacious knitting-bag which lay on the seat beside her and took out four steel needles from which depended about six inches of grey stocking. Her niece Ethel Burkett’s three boys, now all of school age, were continual in their requirements, and Ethel had never yet been obliged to buy them a single pair of stockings or of socks. Removing her gloves, she settled herself and began to knit easily and rapidly, her hands held low in the continental fashion.

On the opposite seat Mr. Puncheon was observing her over the top of his book. He had been doing this for some time, but he hoped that she had not noticed it. It would be really dreadful if she were to imagine that he had any intention of annoying her. It was perhaps foolish of him to have followed her into this carriage, but when he had recognised her at the terminus it really did seem as if it was an Opportunity. He had followed her, and he had said to himself that if nobody else got into the compartment he would take it as a Sign. But now that they were alone together a natural diffidence caused him to hesitate. If she were to consider that he was taking a liberty—a lady travelling alone—

He looked at her over the top of his book, and was reminded of a great-aunt of his own now many years deceased. She would, of course, have been a great deal older than Miss Silver if she were still alive, but he was very strongly reminded. There was the black felt hat trimmed with loops of purple ribbon, and there was the small bunch of purple flowers of some species not easily identified. Mr. Puncheon was an enthusiastic gardener, and even in the preoccupation of his mind he refused to accept them as violets. He could dimly remember Aunt Lizzie with a similar bunch upon her bonnet. The hat ought not to have reminded him of the bonnet, but it did. Then there was the black cloth coat, the kind of garment which looks as if it had never been new, and as if it would never wear out. And the tippet of yellowish fur grown pale with age. He could not remember that Aunt Lizzie had had a tippet, but all the same he was very strongly reminded.

The precious moments were slipping away. The Opportunity was escaping him. He looked out of the window and sought for a Sign. If there was a haystack before he could count up to sixty, he would speak. There was no haystack. If there was a house? There was no house. If there was a black and white cow? There were three black and white cows in a field. He turned his head with a jerk and said,

‘I beg your pardon, madam—’

Miss Silver gazed at him in a mildly enquiring manner.

Mr. Puncheon, having taken the plunge, struck out for the shore.

‘If you will forgive me for addressing you. You will not know me, but I recognised you immediately.’

Miss Silver continued to knit and to maintain the enquiring gaze.

‘Yes?’

‘You are Miss Maud Silver, are you not? I used to see you when you were staying with Mrs. Voycey at Melling at the time of the Melling murder. I had a bookshop in Lenton, and you were pointed out to me. It was said that it was due to you that the matter was cleared up. My name is Puncheon—Theodore Puncheon.’

Miss Silver observed him. He was of medium size and he stooped a little. He had thick grey hair, and he wore old-fashioned pince-nez with steel rims. Behind them were a pair of good brown eyes with an anxious expression. She said,

‘Yes, Mr. Puncheon?’

He took off the glasses and rubbed them with a silk handkerchief.

‘If you will excuse me for addressing you—when I saw you like that on the platform and you got into the Retley train, it did seem like an Opportunity. So I got into the same compartment, and when no one else got in—I hope you will not think me superstitious, but I felt that it must be meant.’

Miss Silver’s slight cough was of the kind intended to recall a speaker to the point.

‘In what way, Mr. Puncheon?’

He laid down his book upon the seat.

‘Well, you see, I have a Problem, and speaking as a professional man myself, and without wishing in any way to intrude, I did understand that you were consulted professionally in the affair of the Melling Murder—you will correct me if I am wrong.’

‘No, Mr. Puncheon, you are not wrong.’

There was a discernible sigh of relief.

‘Then will you kindly allow me to consult you professionally?’

Miss Silver pulled on the ball of wool concealed in her knitting-bag.

‘I am going down to Retley to stay with a connection. She is not very robust, and she has a good deal of family business on her hands. I do not know to what extent my time may be taken up.’

Mr. Puncheon adjusted his glasses, and left them crooked.

‘I feel that it would be of great help to me if you would allow me to talk to you about my Problem. I do not know if there are any steps that could be taken, but I feel that it is laid upon me to find out if there is anything that can be done. So the Opportunity having occurred—’ He paused and looked at her in a hopeful manner.

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

‘Perhaps if you would tell me what your problem is—’

Mr. Puncheon allowed himself to relax. He leaned forward, his stoop a little more pronounced.

‘I told you that I had a bookshop in Lenton, but I have lately moved to Retley. My wife died about a year ago—she had been a sad invalid—and at about the same time my sister was left a widow. Her husband had a bookshop in Retley, and she suggested that I should sell my business and join her. As she said, why should we both be lonely when we might be together?’

‘A very sensible remark.’

‘My sister is a very sensible woman. To cut a long story short, I did sell my business and I joined her. She is a very good cook, and we could be very comfortable together were it not for the Problem. You see, my late wife had a son.’

‘You mean that he was your stepson?’

‘Exactly—her son by her previous marriage with a Mr. Thompson, a solicitor’s clerk.’

‘And this son is the problem?’

Mr. Puncheon sighed.

‘You might put it that way. His father died, and his mother spoiled him. She had a soft heart, and he was a very good-looking boy. At the time of her marriage to me he was fifteen and it was too late to control him. He was a bright boy at school, and as he grew older he proved very attractive to young women. I don’t blame him entirely, because they ran after him, but it ended in a scandal and he left Lenton. He was about two-and-twenty at the time. He didn’t write, and my wife took it very much to heart. And then, after some months, we had news of him. He had got a job as a secretary to two old ladies near Retley. It was through my sister that we heard about it. These Miss Benevents came into the shop with him, and she said they were in a fair way to spoiling him as much as his mother did. It was Alan this and Alan that, until she said it would have done her good to box his ears. Mind you, he hadn’t seen her since he was a child, and he didn’t connect her with us, or they wouldn’t have got him into the shop. But she knew him all right. We had sent her snapshots from time to time—to say nothing of the way they were calling him by his name. It was, “Alan dear!” and “Dearest boy!” and, “Mr. Thompson would like to see what you’ve got in reprints of so-and-so’s novels!” My sister said she didn’t know how she bore it, but she thought it best not to say anything. Well, his mother wrote off at once, and Alan wrote back as cool as you please. He had found himself a good job and he was in a fair way to doing very well for himself, and he didn’t want his relations coming round and interfering. The old ladies had high ideas, and it wouldn’t do him any good to have it known that he was connected with trade.’

Miss Silver used her strongest expression of disapproval. She said,

‘Dear me!’

‘Well,’ said Mr. Puncheon, ‘I don’t mind saying that I was angry, and my poor wife took a turn for the worse. Then about six months later my sister wrote and said it was the talk of the town that Alan had helped himself to things that didn’t belong to him and run off, and not a word as to where he had gone. I went down to Retley, and I went to see the Miss Benevents. They’ve got an old house called Underhill about three miles out. Yes, they said, Alan had run off. He had taken money and a diamond brooch. They had trusted him as if he were one of the family, and he had deceived them. They wouldn’t prosecute him, because they were too upset. They were going off abroad to try and get over it, and they hoped never to see or hear of him again. Well, I felt rather the same way myself. I went home and told my wife, and I think it killed her—not just at once, you know, but that’s what it amounted to.’

Miss Silver looked at him kindly.

‘It is a very sad story, Mr. Puncheon, but not I fear an uncommon one. The loving mother who spoils her child is preparing an unhappy future for both of them.’

Mr. Puncheon said, ‘Yes.’ And then, ‘But that is not all. If it had been, there would be no Problem to trouble you with. It has arisen quite lately, since I have come to Retley.’

‘Something has happened?’

Mr. Puncheon adjusted his glasses.

‘I suppose you might put it that way. My sister is a good Chapel member. A little while ago it came to her knowledge that a Mrs. Harbord who attends the same Chapel was lying ill and in a bad way and asking to see her. So Ellen went. There was a daughter-in-law looking after her, and what you would call sufficient care, but the woman had something on her mind. When she was alone with my sister she began to cry and to say that she had got it on her conscience to have let a young man’s character be taken away. Ellen said what did she mean, and she said wasn’t it true that she was in a way connected with Alan Thompson? Ellen wasn’t best pleased, and she said, “My brother was married to his mother, if that is what you call being connected.” Then Mrs. Harbord said was it true that I was coming to live with her and taking over the business, and she began to cry and said she didn’t know he had relations in Retley. Ellen has a quick tongue, and I suppose she came out with something about not having any reason to be proud of the connection, and Mrs. Harbord catches her by the wrist and says, “You think he stole those things and ran away, but he didn’t!”’

‘How did Mrs. Harbord come to know anything about it?’ said Miss Silver.

Mr. Puncheon gazed at her mildly.

‘Didn’t I tell you that? Of course I should have done. How very stupid of me. You see, Mrs. Harbord obliged the Miss Benevents—went up every day on her bicycle and did housework and cleaning for them until she got ill—so of course she knew Alan quite well. And when she said about his stealing and running away I’m afraid my sister took her up pretty sharply, and then she couldn’t get any more out of her. Mrs. Harbord just lay there and cried and said he never did it. And the daughter-in-law came in and said she couldn’t have her upset, and would Ellen please go, and she went. Well, she didn’t tell me about it until getting on for a month ago, and I don’t seem to get it off my mind. Ellen says it means no more than that he’d made the same kind of fool of Mrs. Harbord as he had of his mother and of any other woman that was fool enough to let him, and it was no good my thinking she was one of them, because she wasn’t. I told you she had a sharp tongue.’

Miss Silver said quietly,

‘In what way was it on your mind, Mr. Puncheon?’

‘In the way of thinking that we may have done Alan an injustice—taking what those old ladies said without any question. Afraid—that’s what we were, and we swallowed it all down and sheered off in case of anything worse coming to light. And that isn’t justice—now is it? A man may be a thief and he may be a liar, but it ought to be proved against him before you believe it and go cutting him off. Well, we didn’t ask to have it proved to us—we believed it right away. Even his mother believed it, and it killed her. Perhaps if I had gone into it more, she wouldn’t have believed it and she wouldn’t have died. And it began to come to me that I ought to try and do something to make amends. If Alan didn’t steal and run away, it wasn’t right for people to go on thinking that he did. I began to feel I’d got a duty to get back his good name for him. You see, he was all the world to his mother, and even if she wouldn’t know about it I came to feel that it was something I could do for her.’ Mr. Puncheon let his glasses fall and looked at Miss Silver with sad, defenceless eyes. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I was very fond of my wife.’

Miss Silver returned the look with kindness.

‘When did all this happen, Mr. Puncheon?’

He seemed a little surprised, as if it was incredible that there should be anyone who did not know what had made so great a difference to himself.

‘Do you mean about Alan? It was three years ago in February.’

‘And when did Mrs. Harbord speak to your sister?’

He put on his glasses again.

‘It would have been about three months ago, because it was before I took over the business, and I made the move to Retley over the Christmas holidays, so it would have been sometime late in December.’

‘And after your sister had told you what Mrs. Harbord had to say, did you try to see her?’

‘Oh, yes, I did, but the daughter-in-law wouldn’t let me in. She said my sister had made quite enough of an upset without having any more of the family coming around. So what could I do?’

‘Then you do not really know whether Mrs. Harbord had any grounds for what she said?’

He shook his head.

‘Only what I have told you. Ellen said she just kept saying over and over that he never went away from Underhill.’

Miss Silver stopped knitting for a moment.

‘You did not tell me that.’

‘Oh, didn’t I? That is what she kept on saying.’

‘Mr. Puncheon, if that was true, have you thought what it would mean?’

He looked startled.

‘How could it be true? Why should the Miss Benevents say he was not there if he was?’

She said gravely,

‘I think Mrs. Harbord ought to be asked to answer that question.’