“The truth?”
Miss Silver smiled benignantly.
“I shall ring the bell and say that a gentleman very kindly gave me a lift and recommended their hotel.”
The Chief Inspector’s eyes bulged a little. Frank permitted himself to laugh.
“And what exactly are you doing getting lifts and arriving after dark at strange hotels? It’s going to look funny, isn’t it?”
Miss Silver beamed.
“I tell the simple truth—I have a professional engagement in the neighbourhood.”
The week between being interviewed by Jacob Taverner and travelling down to Cliff was of a very variable emotional temperature as far as Jeremy and Jane were concerned. It was, in fact, like some of our more versatile weather forecasts, including gales, bright intervals, frost in places, and fog locally. There were some sharp clashes, a major quarrel, a reconciliation which was not without its softer passages. But in the end there was not very much real change in their relations, since Jeremy continued to disapprove of the whole Taverner connection and proposed marriage as an alternative to acquiring what he described as a lot of riffraff cousins and Jane continued to observe with varying degrees of firmness that it wasn’t any good his putting his foot down, that she meant to have her hundred pounds, and that everyone said cousins oughtn’t to marry.
When the Saturday afternoon arrived there was what might be described as a fine interval. Since Jeremy possessed a car known to his friends as The Scarecrow, they were going to drive down to the Catherine-Wheel, and it did seem a pity to waste a fine afternoon quarrelling. As Jane pointed out, Jeremy would probably make himself frightfully disagreeable over the week-end, and there was no point in taking the fine edge off his temper before they got there.
“It would be a pity if you ran out of frowns and things half way through Sunday just through being extravagant with them now.”
Jeremy said briefly that he wasn’t in the least likely to run out, after which he suddenly burst out laughing, kissed her before she had time to stop him, and informed her that he would probably be the life and soul of the party.
“Wait till you see me putting down cocktails in the bar with dear Geoffrey and our attractive cousin Al! When I’m well and truly lit I shall make love to Call-me-Floss. When just on the edge of passing out I may even get as far as whispering rude nothings in dear Mildred’s maiden ear. I say, what do you think she’d do if I really did?”
“Drop her bag and blush a deep pure puce.”
“Well, you watch me!”
Jane giggled.
“You’d better watch yourself. Either Mildred or Floss might feel that they’d like to get about and see places with the Army.”
They were driving down the Great West Road. A pale winter sun shone overhead. The sky was turquoise blue, the air fresh without being cold. Jeremy took his left hand from the wheel and flicked Jane lightly on the cheek.
“I shall be protected by our engagement.”
“We’re not engaged.”
“Darling, you can’t refuse to protect me. There shall be no misunderstanding. We shall advance hand-in-hand into the bar and announce that we are affianced. The clan will then drink our health in bumpers of synthetic port, after which we shall all expire, the family ghost appearing when we are at the last gasp to mutter, ‘You had been warned.’ ”
Jane put her chin in the air, but the corners of her mouth quivered.
“We are not affianced. And if it’s going to be fatal as quickly as that—”
“Darling, I have a plan. We will pour the lethal draught on to the aspidistra, then everyone else will expire, and we will run the family pub. What shall we do with it? It’s had a shady past, so I think we might give it a decorated future. What shall it be—a gambling hell, or a dope den?”
Jane said primly, “I was very nicely brought up. I once got a good conduct prize. It was a bowdlerized edition of The Vicar of Wakefield with all the bits about lovely woman stooping to folly cut out. I think we’d better make it a tea-garden.”
“Jane, you can’t have tea in a garden in England—at least hardly ever.”
“You don’t. You have a sort of leaky verandah—only it sounds better if you call it a loggia. The rain drips down your neck and the earwigs get into your tea, but it gives you a nice out-for-the-day sort of feeling, and if the cakes are really good, you just can’t keep people away. I make frightfully good cakes. Gramp said I had a natural aptitude. He said I’d inherited it from his mother who was the world’s best cook. He made me have really good lessons.”
Jeremy took his hand off the wheel again. It caught hers and held it in an ecstatic clasp.
“When can we be married? I can’t wait. I knew that you were lovely and talented, but what’s that to the solid worth of a really good cook?”
They went on talking nonsense very comfortably.
The daylight was fading when they passed through Ledlington and took the long flat road out of it which runs through Ledstow to the coast. It is a seven mile stretch, but the old coast road takes off just short of Ledstow and bears away to the right. It is quite easy to overshoot it, because it isn’t much used and the trees have grown in and made it narrow. After a mile the ground rises. There are no more trees, and the hedges are low and bent by the wind off the sea. Cliff is quite a small village, and very few trains stop there. That the railway passes it at all is due to the fact that the land was Challoner property, and at the time the railway was built Sir Humphrey Challoner was someone to be reckoned with. He had married an heiress. And he represented Ledlington in Parliament.
As they ran through Cliff and out at the other side, Jeremy slowed down and looked about him.
“What is it?”
He said, “Nothing. I just wondered—there’s a place my grandfather used to talk about here. As a matter of fact I know the man it belongs to now—Jack Challoner—a very good chap. It’s a frightful white elephant of a place. It ought to be somewhere along here. Well, I’d better be lighting-up.”
A moment later the headlights picked out two figures walking in the road—a girl with a handkerchief over her head, and a big man, bare-headed with a shock of fair hair. Their arms were linked.
Jane exclaimed, “It’s John Higgins! Jeremy, I’m sure it is! Do stop! Perhaps he’s coming after all—they might like a lift.”
Jeremy said, “I shouldn’t think so.”
But he ran slowly past them, drew up, and got out.
“John Higgins, isn’t it? I’m Jeremy Taverner. Jane Heron and I are on our way to the inn. Can we give you a lift?”
Jane arrived in a hurry.
“I do hope you are coming.”
“That’s nice of you, Miss Heron, but—why, no.”
“Oh, but you mustn’t call me Miss Heron, when we are cousins.”
She could just see that he was smiling and shaking his head. The girl holding his arm spoke up. She had a very pretty voice with something like the ghost of a brogue.
“Miss Jane Heron?”
Jane saw her pull at John Higgins’ sleeve. He said, “Yes,” and turned to Jane.
“This is Eily Fogarty. You’ll be seeing her at the inn. She’s related to Mr. Castell. My Aunt Annie brought her up.”
“We’re terribly short-handed,” said the pretty lilting voice.
Jane could see no more of her than the oval of the face, with the handkerchief hiding what seemed to be dark hair and tied under the chin. There was an effect of charm, but perhaps that was just because she had such a pretty voice.
If John Higgins had not seen his Aunt Annie in ten years, he seemed to manage to see his Aunt Annie’s protégée. The little bare hand never let go of his arm. Jane thought it would be a nice strong arm to hold on to. She said,
“We’d love to give you a lift if you’d like one.”
John Higgins said, “Would you, Eily?”
The hand plucked at his sleeve. Jane saw him smile.
“Thank you, Miss Heron, but I think we’ll have our walk.”
Just as they reached the car Jeremy went back.
“What was that for?” said Jane when he returned.
“I thought I’d ask John about the Challoner place. He says the entrance is about a hundred yards farther on.”
Her little quick frown of surprise came and went unnoticed in the dusk.
“You’re very interested in the Challoners, aren’t you?”
Jeremy said nothing. He was watching for a pair of tall stone pillars. When they loomed up he slowed the car right down. They hardly broke the encroaching darkness. Iron gates held the space between. Something like an eagle topped the right-hand pillar. The left-hand capital was broken and the bird gone. A few stunted trees and huddled shrubs made a black background. Jeremy whistled and said,
“Poor old Jack!” And then, with a laugh, “Better him than me.”
The old Catherine-Wheel loomed up on the edge of the cliff, like a bank of cloud. Someone had set a lantern on the wide flagstones in front of the door. There was something dazzling about that circle of light in what was now a dusk so deep as to be more bewildering than actual darkness. There was moss between the flagstones. One of them was cracked in a black jagged line running cornerways. The crack glistened under the light as if a snail had crawled there. The house stood up, an irregular bulk.
Now that they were out of the car, the sound of the sea came to them. They stood on the cracked flagstone. Jeremy pulled the bell. Almost at once the door was opened. The man who stood back from it appeared in silhouette against the light of an oil lamp which hung from the ceiling. Jeremy looked, frowned, and said,
“Miller, isn’t it—Al Miller?”
And then, as the man turned and the yellow glow struck across the right side of his face, he wasn’t so sure. There was a very strong likeness, but this man had a different manner— hardier, bolder, more assured. He was wearing a waiter’s grey linen jacket. There was the least trace of a laugh in his voice as he said,
“No, I’m not Al. The name is White—Luke White.”
Jeremy remembered that Luke Taverner had left assorted offspring unrecognized by the law. This was probably some irregular descendant come home to roost. The whole thing took on an added shade of fishiness as he grasped Jane by the arm and followed Luke White along an extremely narrow passage. Jeremy had the idea that it might have been convenient in the smuggling past. It was noticeable that the narrowness had, as it were, been ministered to and increased by such things as a very large stand for coats and hats and a great awkward chest. Where a flight of rather steep stairs ran up the passage widened into a small hall with doors opening to left and right. The right-hand door was ajar, and from the room beyond there came the sound of voices. Luke pushed the door and stood aside to let them pass.
They came into a fair-sized, fusty room with curtains drawn, oil-lamps adding their flavour to a smell compounded of old drinks, old smoke, old heavy furnishings. There was an immense stuffed fish in a glass case over the mantelshelf flanked by two very large blue china vases. There were framed oleographs of Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort. There was a long table with drinks.
Jacob Taverner sat on the arm of a chair by the fire with a glass of whisky and water in his hand. The entire cousinhood were assembled, and in the midst of them stood Mr. Fogarty Castell, diffusing an aroma of cigars and extreme gratification at this happy reunion of his wife’s relations.
Jane and Jeremy were barely allowed to greet Jacob before Fogarty had them each by a hand.
“Captain Taverner—Miss Heron—I cannot at all express how delighted I am! My wife’s relations are my relations. Ah—not to intrude, you understand. No, no, no, no, no—a thousand times—but to welcome, to serve, to entertain, to offer the hospitality of the house. What will you drink—Miss Heron—Captain Jeremy—on this auspicious occasion? You are the guests of our friend Mr. Taverner—everything is on the house. A whisky-soda—a pink gin—a cocktail? I make the very good cocktail.” He gave a deep-throated chuckle. “There is one I call the Smugglair’s Dream. You will try it—yes—please? Very appropriate, do you not think, since this was a great haunt of smugglairs a hundred years ago. It is a joke—not? I will tell you something, my friends. If you have a shady past, do not cover it up—make a feature of it. Here are your Smugglair’s Dreams. As for my wife, your Cousin Annie, accept for the moment my excuses. We are very short-handed—she is in the kitchen. Oh, but what a cook! What a fortune to marry a woman who cooks like Annie Castell! Is it any wonder that I adore her?” He spoke over his shoulder to Luke White. “Where is that Eily? Send her to me quick! The ladies will wish to go to their rooms. Where is she?”
“Not in, guvnor.”
“Not in? Why is she not in?”
“Mrs. Castell sent her out for somethin’ she wanted.”
Jane and Jeremy stood back and watched. The round beaming face with its dark skin and small bright eyes had changed like a landscape overtaken by storm—darkness suffused by anger. The fat, paunchy body balancing jauntily upon small carefully shod feet had become taut. He looked as if he might do some barbaric thing—scream, spring, shout, dash down a glass and stamp his heel upon it. And then all at once the effect was gone. The large face beamed again, the voice was rich with good humour and with its own peculiar blend of accents.
“Ah, my wife Annie—no one can have every virtue. She is an artist, and the artist does not think beforehand—he does not plan, he does not say, ‘I shall do this or that.’ He waits for his inspiration, and when it comes he must have what he needs for the masterpiece. Annie will without doubt have had an inspiration.” He bounded from the room.
Jane felt a little sorry for Annie. She hadn’t cared very much for that moment of threatened storm. She saw Jeremy go and speak to Florence Duke, and was herself caught hold of by Marian Thorpe-Ennington.
“Jane—you are Jane, aren’t you? I’m so dreadfully bad at names.”
“Yes—Jane Heron.”
Lady Marian gazed at her soulfully.
“And the man you came in with?”
“Jeremy Taverner.”
“You’re not married to him—or divorced, or anything? I mean, it’s so much better to know straight away, isn’t it, instead of suddenly saying something one shouldn’t, and always at the worst possible moment. I’m always doing it, and Freddy hates it, poor sweet. Oh, you haven’t met him yet, have you? Freddy, this is my cousin Jane Heron.”
Freddy Thorpe-Ennington had been leaning mournfully against the mantelpiece sipping the last of a series of Smuggler’s Dreams. He had a vague impression—he had reached the stage when all his impressions were vague—that the world was full of creditors and relations, and that it might be a good plan to put his head down on somebody’s shoulder and burst into tears. He was a small fair man, and, when sober, very kindly and confiding. At the moment he was so obviously beyond the reach of conversation that Jane went and sat down beside Jacob Taverner.
“So you’ve come,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Jeremy didn’t want you to.”
“No.”
“What brought you?”
Jane said, “That.”
“And the hundred pounds?”
“Yes.”
“Do anything for a hundred pounds?”
Jane shook her head.
“Not anything—reasonable things.”
“As what?”
“Coming down here.”
He gave a small dry chuckle.
“Thus far and no farther—is that it?”
She looked at him. It was a look that was at once smiling and cool. He was reminded of a child bathing, a bare foot exploring cold water to see just how cold it was. He thought she would go a little farther if she were tempted. He said,
“Well, well, let’s talk about something else.”
“What shall we talk about?”
“Your grandfather, Acts Taverner. How much did you really know of him?”
Jane said soberly, “I lived with him.” Something in her voice said, “I loved him,” though she didn’t use the words.
Jacob was quick in the uptake. He nodded.
“Ever tell you stories about the old place?”
“Yes—lots of them.”
“As what? Suppose you tell me some of them.”
He was aware that she withdrew.
“Why do you want to know, Cousin Jacob?”
He chuckled again.
“Well, I’ve given up business—I must have something to do. I might have a fancy to write down all I can get hold of about the old family place. It would make quite good reading. What did Acts tell you?”
She answered without any hesitation.
“He said there was a lot of smuggling in the old days, and it went on right down to his father’s time. He used to tell me stories of how they outwitted the customs officers.”
Jacob nodded.
“Quite a lot of that sort of thing in the eighteenth century, and well on into Victoria’s reign. There was a lot of lace, and silk, and French brandy landed all along this coast.”
“How did they do it?”
All this time she was in the lap of the chair, and he on the arm looking down at her. He cocked his head sideways and said,
“Didn’t he tell you?”
Jane looked about her. Everyone was talking hard except Freddy Thorpe-Ennington, who propped the mantelpiece and gazed at his now empty glass after the manner of a medium consulting the crystal. Whatever he saw, it had no reassuring effect. He appeared drowned in gloom, and at intervals shook his head in a despondent manner.
Jane dropped her voice.
“He said something about a passage from the shore—”
“What did he say?”
“He said nobody would find it unless they were shown. He said that it had beaten the Preventive men time out of mind. That’s what they called the customs officers in the eighteenth century.”
“And a good bit after. Well, this is getting interesting. Go on.”
Jane’s eyes widened.
“There isn’t any more.”
“Didn’t he tell you where the passage came out?”
“On the shore.”
“But this end—didn’t he tell you that?”
“I don’t suppose he knew. They wouldn’t tell the children.”
Jacob cackled.
“Surprising what children’ll know without being told. Sure that’s all he told you?”
Jane smiled sweetly.
“I expect he was making most of it up anyhow. He used to tell me a bit of a story every night after I was in bed. Sometimes it was dragons, and sometimes it was pirates, and sometimes it was smugglers. And of course it made it much more exciting to hang the stories on to a real place like the Catherine-Wheel—”
The door opened and Fogarty Castell came into the room with a bounce. He had a girl by the shoulder.
It was the girl who had been walking with John Higgins on the cliff road. Without the frieze coat and the handkerchief over her head she could be seen to have a slim figure and a lot of black hair drawn up into a knot at the back of her head. She wore a dark blue indoor dress, and her eyes were exactly the same colour. She was extremely pretty but at the moment rather pale. Behind the black lashes the eyes had a startled look.
Fogarty Castell took her up to Lady Marian, to Florence Duke, to Mildred Taverner. He kept his hand on her shoulder.
Jacob finished his drink and said drily,
“Fills the room, doesn’t he? A bit of a mountebank, our Cousin Annie’s husband. But why not? It pleases him so much more than it hurts us. Half Irish, half Portuguese—and under all that nonsense quite an efficient manager. And here he comes.”
He came up with a flourish.
“This is Eily Fogarty—me grandmother Fogarty’s second cousin twice removed, but she calls me uncle, and she calls your Cousin Annie aunt, seeing it’s all the uncles and aunts she’s got, and all the fathers and mothers too. And if there’s anything you or the other ladies are wanting, you’ll ring your bells and Eily will see to it. Or if you’d like to go to your rooms—”
Jane felt quite suddenly that she had had enough of Jacob Taverner. She said, “Yes, I would,” and saw the look in Eily’s eyes change to relief. She thought, “She was afraid I was going to say I had seen her before.” And then she was out of her chair and crossing the room.
The door closed behind them, and they went up the stair. Eily said in a quick whisper,
“You didn’t say you’d seen me?”
Jane shook her head.
“Aren’t you supposed to go out with John Higgins?”
“No—no—I’m not.”
“Why?”
They had come out on a square landing. There was a side passage with four irregular steps going up to it—doors on either side of it, and a passage going off to the left—two steps up, and two steps down again farther along. All very bewildering.
Eily turned into the right-hand passage. At the top of the steps she opened a door, disclosing a large gloomy bathroom with worn brown linoleum on the floor and a painted Victorian bath profusely stained with rust and furnished with a broad mahogany surround.
“It’s the little room next door I’ve given you. Lady Marian and her husband are beyond, and Captain Jeremy and Mrs. Duke and Miss Taverner opposite.”
She stood aside to let Jane enter a small room almost entirely taken up with a very large double bed. It was lighted, like the bathroom, by a wall-lamp which diffused a warm oily smell. It was a forbidding little room. A battered chest of drawers painted mustard yellow, a tarnished looking-glass standing on it, two chairs, and a shabby washstand, were all the furniture. There was a huge flowered ewer in a small plain basin. Half a dozen rickety hooks behind a yard or two of limp chintz supplied the only hanging accommodation. The window curtains of the same material swayed in an unseen draught. The pattern of the carpet had long ago been obliterated by dirt and age.
Eily shut the door and said,
“It’s no place for you at all. John said to tell you that.”
Jane had so much of the same feeling herself that she found this rather undermining. She put out a quick thought in the direction of the hundred pounds, and said with spirit,
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you? What’s the difference?”
Eily said in her pretty, mournful voice,
“He doesn’t like my being here.”
“Then why do you stay?”
“I can’t be leaving Aunt Annie.” A pause, and then after a dreadful sigh, “I’d not dare. He’d have me back.”
Then, before Jane could say anything at all, she was gone, opening the door and slipping out without any sound.