The Alington Inheritance (8 page)

Meg was the first of the children to wake at Alington House. It was only half past six, and she wasn’t supposed to wake Joyce until a quarter past seven. She wasn’t really supposed to wake her up then, especially when they had been out to tea the day before. Joyce was not really supposed to be waked up before half past seven. A quarter past was as far as Meg would go, and if she was awake earlier—well, there were ways. You couldn’t say she was waking Joyce up if she got out of bed and pulled out a drawer and then shut it again with a good vigorous push. She tried this twice, and Joyce just lay there and slept. It was too aggravating.

Suddenly she thought about Jenny. She would open her own door very softly and creep across to Jenny’s door and open that, and there she would stay. She would get into Jenny’s bed, lovely and warm. And it would serve Joyce right if she woke up and found she was alone. She wouldn’t like that.

She got out and went tiptoe to the door and across the passage. She wouldn’t feel safe until she was inside Jenny’s room with the door shut. And she must go slowly, slowly. It was all she could do to restrain herself, especially when she got near the door to Jenny’s room, but she managed it.

She was well inside the room with the door shut behind her before she saw that Jenny wasn’t there. She stood just a yard inside the door. She had stopped to turn round and fasten the door very carefully. She had been so intent on what she was doing that she hadn’t noticed the bed. And it was empty. There was no Jenny. It was empty, and the bed was made. It was quite made. The eiderdown was on and a chintz coverlet over it. Meg came slowly forward and put her hand on the blue roses of the coverlet. They were quite, quite cold. There was no warmth left in the bed. Jenny must have been up a long, long time.

Meg was frightened, and she didn’t know why. If she had known why, it wouldn’t have been so frightening. She didn’t know she was frightened, but she was frightened. She stood quite still and thought. It was Sunday morning. Perhaps Jenny had gone to church. Then she remembered that she had asked Jenny if she was going to church early, and Jenny had said no. Perhaps she had changed her mind. Perhaps she had gone to church after all.

She hadn’t. She hadn’t gone to church. Meg knew it. And then her eyes fell on the clock which stood on the mantelpiece. It was an old-fashioned clock in a brown leather case, and it said half past six. The early morning service wasn’t till eight o’clock. She had waked up early, and Jenny had been earlier still. Where had she gone to? Where had Jenny gone?

Meg was shivering. She went to the dressing-table. Jenny’s comb and brush were gone. They had been her mother’s, and the brush had a little J.H. on the back. The comb had a silver ridge, but no initials. Meg looked in the drawers. She looked desperately, but she did not find anything. Jenny had gone. Her washing things were gone too—her toothbrush, her nailbrush, her nail-scissors. And her shoes.

It was no use looking any more. Jenny had gone away. She hadn’t said she was going, and she hadn’t said good-bye. She had just gone.

Meg crept back to her room.

Things you can’t understand are always the hardest to bear. To know why is the first step to consolation. Meg didn’t know anything at all except that Jenny had gone. It seemed like the end of the world. She lay and cried until she couldn’t cry any more.

The house woke slowly. Carter brought Mrs. Forbes her tea at half past seven. As she passed the little girls’ door on her way back she saw Meg standing there barefoot and trembling.

“What is it? Meg, what is it? What’s the matter? Is Joyce ill?”

Meg shook her head. The tears came rushing from her eyes again.

“No, not Joyce. She’s still asleep. How she can! It’s Jenny—she’s gone!”

It was a shock. Carter’s temper flared.

“What nonsense are you talking, Meg? And Jenny had better be more punctual in the mornings, or she’ll have your mother after her!”

Meg dissolved into helpless weeping.

“She’s gone! Oh, Carter, she’s gone! Oh, Carter!”

Carter ran across the landing and opened Jenny’s door. Its neatness, its silence, its emptiness, seemed to paralyse her. It looked as it had before Jenny came there to live. It just wasn’t Jenny’s room any more.

As they stood there together, Mrs. Forbes opened the door of her room. She wore an expensive dressing-gown, and her hair was as neat as if she had spent the preceding hours at a ball. She frowned, told Meg to go to her room, and asked Carter what she was looking for. Meg, with her door opened a chink, listened, ready to run and get into bed if her mother’s attention should turn her way. At the moment it was all taken up with Carter.

“Where’s Jenny?” she asked sharply.

“I don’t know.”

“What nonsense is this? Isn’t she with the children? She ought to be!”

Carter shook her head dumbly.

“She’s—she’s gone,” she said.

A cold fear sharpened Mrs. Forbes’ voice. She said quickly,

“What do you mean?”

“Her brush and comb’s gone, and her washing things. Oh, ma’am, I think she’s gone!”

“Nonsense!”

At the tone of her mother’s voice Meg trembled and ran for safety to her bed. Out on the landing Mrs. Forbes pushed past Carter, who was too dumbfounded to get out of her way, and herself made a quick and thorough search of the room. When she had finished she knew very well that Jenny was gone, and she knew what she had taken with her. That meant a case. Jenny had brought up a case with some of her things in it. It had been in the cupboard. It was not there now. Without a word she turned and went along the passage to Mac’s room.

He was awake, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. Mrs. Forbes shut the door and came to the foot of the bed.

“She’s gone!”

When she spoke the anger came up in her so strongly that she could have killed Jenny. For a moment she knew it and exulted in it. The next she commanded herself. She was even a little shocked. She must take care. Yes, she must take care.

Mac did not move. He said in a voice which he kept lazy with an effort,

“What did you say?”

“I said Jenny has gone.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I don’t think anything. It’s the plain fact.”

“I asked you what made you think that she had gone.”

His eyes were on her. He was the stronger of the two. She threw out her hands in a gesture and said,

“I don’t think anything about it. I know she has gone. She has taken the small case that she brought here with her night things in it. Her brush and comb have gone, and her washing things. Her bed has not been slept in, but the dress she wore last night is hanging in the cupboard. Her coat is gone. She has gone.”

There was a pause. Then he said,

“Why?”

Mrs. Forbes stared.

“How should I know?”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“You didn’t come into her room last night and say anything?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

Their eyes met. She sustained his look and was inwardly thankful that she had nothing to hide. Mac took his hands from behind his head and got up.

“I’d better get dressed,” he said. “She can’t have gone very far. What money has she got?”

“I don’t know. Not very much.”

“You don’t know how much?”

“No, I don’t.”

“All right, I’ll get dressed, and then we can decide what to do. We shall have to be careful. If she’s Jenny Hill, we have no control at all. But if she’s Jenny Forbes—”

Mrs. Forbes said, “Hush! Are you mad?”

He laughed.

“No, I’m not mad. It just wants thinking about, that’s all. Now go along and let me get dressed.”

She turned and went out of the room. There were things she wanted to say, but she did not say them. She was a strong highhanded woman, but there were times when her eldest son frightened her. This was one of those times. She turned and went.

All that was on Sunday morning, and no one heard anything until Tuesday. Mac and Alan went back to London on the Sunday evening. It was a relief, though Mrs. Forbes would not have admitted it. It was not what Mac said, for he said very little, and it was not what he did, for there was nothing remarkable about that. She could have borne it better if he had been upset. He was not, so far as she could see, the least upset. And that frightened her. She didn’t know why, but it did.

And then on Tuesday morning she went into the village. She had been uncertain as to whether she would go, and then it came over her that it was important she should show herself—let people see her—see that she wasn’t upset—that Jenny’s going had made no difference to her. And why should it make a difference—could anyone tell her that?

She put on a new tweed coat and skirt. It was oatmeal-coloured, and it set off her golden hair and the smooth tints of her complexion. No one but herself knew just how much assistance the complexion and the hair required. No one ever saw her until that assistance had been applied. She put on a golden brown felt hat and a scarf and gloves that matched it and set out for the village.

It was no more than half a mile, but as she walked, the feeling of dread which had been upon her lifted. Mac had been sensible about it, and she hadn’t been sensible at all. There was no need to suppose that Jenny had found out about anything. How could she have? If she had ran away, it was probably for some ridiculous schoolgirl reason of her own. There had been some love affair, some quarrel, perhaps a row with Mary the house-parlour maid, and she had lost her head and run away. This last theory relieved her mind very much. It set Jenny where she belonged, on a level with Mary. She hoped very heartily that they had seen the last of her. Her spirits rose, and she turned into the main street of the village with a lighter heart than she had had for two days.

She went first to the general shop, where you could buy everything from bootlaces, the strictly utilitarian kind, to sweets. She came into the shop and was aware from outside of lively conversation that died away as she opened the door and went in. A tall woman in a shabby draggled raincoat was the only one left talking. She had her back to the door and did not see Mrs. Forbes. She said in a high dogmatic voice, “And as I say, there’s no smoke without fire—” And there she stopped, firmly checked by Mrs. Boddles, a large comfortable woman with a spreading bosom and an imperturbable calm.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Forbes,” she said, “and what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?”

The tall woman swung round with her mouth open. The other people in the shop stood still and listened with all their ears. Mrs. Forbes didn’t hurry herself. She came up to the counter and said with a beaming smile,

“Good-morning, Miss Crampton. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

Miss Crampton rallied.

“Oh, Mrs. Forbes,” she said in her jerky way, “I didn’t see you.”

“No?”

“No, I didn’t. I had my back to the door.”

“Yes?”

Miss Crampton was recovering. She remembered what she had said. There was nothing that anyone could take hold of—nothing at all. She said,

“How are you, Mrs. Forbes? Well, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you.” Mrs. Forbes turned back to Mrs. Boddles.

Miss Crampton was angry. No way to behave—no way at all! Mrs. Forbes should remember that she was the late Vicar’s daughter! She wasn’t to be treated with this cool impertinence in front of a shopful of villagers! She would show her that she wasn’t to be treated like that! She turned, an ugly woman with harsh features not improved by a crushed black felt hat on the back of her head and the drab-coloured raincoat which accentuated her height and her thinness. She turned, and she said in her loud strident voice,

“I thought you might be glad to have news of Jenny.”

Mrs. Forbes said,

“Of Jenny?”

“She’s at Hazeldon, isn’t she? I had a letter from my cousin there this morning, and she mentioned having seen her.”

Mrs. Forbes said, “Oh. It was Jenny?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But she’s calling herself Jenny Forbes. She shouldn’t really do that, you know.”

A scorching anger shook Mrs. Forbes. She dared! Here—in the shop— with three pairs of listening ears attentive! She commanded herself with an effort and said coldly,

“It was certainly very foolish. These things make talk.”

Miss Crampton was delighted. For once she had got in under that icy guard, that air of being so much better than other people. As if she was —as if she could be! Dear Papa… She said,

“Of course, if it hadn’t been for my cousin living next door to his aunt and being on such very friendly terms with her—”

“Whose aunt are you talking about?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?”

“I didn’t say that. You must excuse me, but I have my shopping to do. We are keeping everyone waiting.”

“I’ve finished mine,” said Miss Crampton. She smiled. It wasn’t a very pleasant smile. “I’ll wait for you.”

Mrs. Forbes turned back to the counter.

“In a real temper she was, too,” as Mrs. Boddles explained to her family afterwards.

Her son Jim said, “Well, I wouldn’t work for her, not if she was to pay me a guinea an hour. How old Jackson stands it I don’t know.”

Mrs. Boddles gave a little crow of laughter.

“Mr. Jackson just takes his own way. He says, ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am,’ and then he just does as he chooses. A very opinionated man is Mr. Jackson. But he knows his work, and Mrs. Forbes she don’t know a thing about gardening. It was her husband that had it all at his fingers’ ends.”

“Ah—he was a gentleman, the old Colonel was,” said Jim.

At the time Mrs. Forbes continued her shopping. She bought what she had to buy, queried a price which was a penny dearer than the Stores in London, and finally withdrew, only to find Miss Crampton waiting for her outside the shop.

“So difficult to talk with your shopping on your mind and those women listening to every word,” she said. “They are such a gossipy lot. My father always said that gossip was the prime sin of the English village.”

There was an easy retort to this, and Mrs. Forbes was sorely tempted to avail herself of it, but she resisted. If she let fly, Miss Crampton would take offence, and that might quite easily result in the sudden closing of the conversation. And she had to find out more. She said, “That’s very true,” and waited.

Miss Crampton nodded.

“Oh, yes, he was wonderful at sizing people up. I’ve often thought that it was quite a pity I did not take more notice when he said things like that. They would have been so valuable written down and—and preserved.”

Mrs. Forbes came to the point.

“Could you let me have Jenny’s address?”

Miss Crampton stared.

“Do you mean to say you haven’t got it!”

Mrs. Forbes assumed her best manner. It cost her a considerable effort, because what she really wanted to do was to box Miss Crampton’s ears for her—now in the middle of the street for everyone to see. She said,

“Well, girls are so careless. It seems she went off without leaving it. I thought she had given it to Carter, but it seems that she forgot.”

Miss Crampton stared.

“How very extraordinary! Even in these days I should have thought— but of course it’s not my business.”

“No,” said Mrs. Forbes. “And as the silly child has left half her things behind, I shall be grateful for her address.”

“Well, I don’t know the name of Miss Danesworth’s house, but my cousin is Mrs. Merridew and she lives next door—Mrs. Merridew, Ambleworth, Hazeldon. I’m sure she’d be only too pleased to be of any use. She’ll see that Jenny gets the parcel, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Forbes made herself give a civil answer. She was about to turn away, when Miss Crampton said,

“Of course you know this Richard Forbes?”

Mrs. Forbes was too taken aback to be altogether wise. She said, “What Richard Forbes?” and she said it more sharply than she should have done.

Miss Crampton was delighted. Her smile bordered on the genial as she said,

“Why, don’t you know him? How very extraordinary! He is Miss Danesworth’s nephew. She has the house next to my cousin Mrs. Merridew, and Jenny is staying with her. You surely knew that!”

Mrs. Forbes said firmly, “Oh, yes. Yes, of course. You confused me. Oh—so Jenny is with Miss Danesworth—and the nephew is staying there, too—”

Miss Crampton didn’t know when she had felt so pleased and excited.

“My dear Mrs. Forbes, they arrived together! He and Jenny arrived together at seven o’clock in the morning! What do you think of that?”

Mrs. Forbes was brought to a standstill. Her tongue burned with the things which she must on no account say to Miss Crampton. How she restrained herself, she did not know. She stood quite still and gathered herself together.

“A most inconvenient time to arrive anywhere,” she said. “The young man is a cousin of ours of course, but a very distant one. I’ve never met him myself, but I believe that Jenny has. I forget where. It may have been with those friends she made at school, but I really forget.”

Miss Crampton was enjoying herself. She said, “Oh, really?” and Mrs. Forbes said, “Yes,” in her most decided voice. And then,

“Well, I’ll be getting home. Good-morning, Miss Crampton.”

.Miss Crampton went home and sat down and wrote a letter to her cousin Mrs. Merridew.

“My dear Laura,

Your letter has interested me very much indeed. I met Mrs. Forbes in the village shop this morning, and I don’t think there is the slightest reason to suppose that she knew where Jenny had gone. It is really the most extraordinary thing, and I can only imagine that the girl had run away. You know, you didn’t meet her when you were here with me two years ago, because she was still at school then. And you didn’t meet Mrs. Forbes either. But I spoke to you about the girl, and you seemed quite interested. Only you seem to have forgotten that her name is not Forbes at all. She is the illegitimate child of the Richard Forbes to whom Alington then belonged. He was killed in the war. And Jenny’s mother came back to her old governess Miss Garstone, right at the gates of Alington House. I must say Miss Garstone behaved in a very peculiar way about the girl. No one was allowed to see her. Miss Garstone said she was ill. And I did hear that she never spoke. Not from Dr. Horton, who was most aggravating about the whole thing. He was attending my dear Father at the time—it was during his last illness— and you would have thought he would have spoken freely to me. But no! Not at all! He simply said, ‘Ah, Miss Crampton, sad things do happen during a war.’ And he went on to say that the only thing to do was to leave the girl alone. Alone! She wanted rousing—I said so all along. And I was perfectly right, because she died when the baby was born. Which shows! But to return to this girl Jenny. From what you say, it looks to me as if she was pretending to Miss Danesworth and to this Mr. Forbes that she was legitimate. That is to say, if you are right about her calling herself Jenny Forbes. It doesn’t do to make a mistake about that sort of thing. Please write again without delay and let me know on this point. If Jenny is really passing herself off as a Forbes, Miss Danesworth should be informed and the fraud exposed.

Your affectionate cousin

Melita Crampton.”

Mrs. Forbes walked home. At first indignation lent her a certain force. She moved quickly and with a very determined tread. And then, as she got out of the village, her step slackened and she began to walk slowly and yet more slowly. She had felt as if the time taken to walk up to Alington House was too long. She couldn’t wait to get on the phone to Mac, and to tell him what she had just been told.

And then, as her first fury died down and her step slackened, a change came over her mood. The girl in the telephone exchange—she would be listening. Mrs. Forbes didn’t see her missing a call at this juncture. She would know all about Jenny going off, and she would listen her very hardest to any call from Mrs. Forbes to Mac. She came slowly up the drive and into the house. She must write—that was what she must do. She mustn’t do anything to show alarm. She must write to Mac.

It was unlucky for Meg that she chose this moment to intrude.

“Mother—”

Mrs. Forbes turned.

“What are you doing here?”

Joyce would have run away, but Meg stood her ground.

“I only wanted to know—about Nanna’s kitten. It’s the dearest little thing—black with greeny blue eyes—and it will be ready to come away from its mother in a fortnight. But Nanna wanted to know, because her niece would have it if we don’t.”

Mrs. Forbes turned a quite uncomprehending look upon her little daughter. She simply didn’t know what the child was talking about. Her temper had begun to rise.

“What is it—what is it?”

Meg began again. Grown-up people were very stupid. She had put it quite plainly.

“It’s Nanna’s black kitten—the one she was keeping for us—for Joyce and me. It’s got a white star on its chest, and it’s the dearest little thing —it really is. Please, Mother, do let us have it.”

Mrs. Forbes turned on her.

“I thought I told you to go up to the schoolroom! Don’t you know enough not to disobey me?”

Meg knew danger when she saw it. She saw it now. It was not the time to continue the conversation about the kitten. She scuffled away, and Mrs. Forbes turned and went into the writing-room. She wrote:

“Dear Mac,

I have just had a very unpleasant experience. I was down in the village at Mrs. Boddles’, and that Miss Crampton was there. She is a most impertinent woman, and I have never had more to do with her than I could help, but on this occasion there was no avoiding her. She informed not only me but Mrs. Boddles and everyone else in the shop that Jenny was staying next door to her cousin Mrs. Merridew at a place called Hazeldon in the next county. It seems that she arrived at seven o’clock on Sunday morning with a young man. Goodness knows how or where she picked him up. His name, if you please, is Richard Forbes. He is probably no connection, but on the other hand I do seem to recollect your father saying something about a cousin —quite a distant one—who was killed in an air raid with his wife. They left a boy. I remember your father saying something ridiculous about seeing him through his schooling, and then later on saying it wouldn’t be necessary, as there was quite a lot of money and his mother’s sister was willing and anxious to look after the boy. That would be this Miss Danesworth whom Miss Crampton mentioned. She said that Jenny arrived next door to her cousin with this man at seven o’clock in the morning! And she said further that Jenny was calling herself Jenny Forbes! If this is a fact, it can only mean one thing—Jenny knows! How she can, I can’t imagine. I think you should come down for the week-end.