The Massingham Affair Part 14

THE Ma.s.s.e.xGHAM AFFAIR.

For the rest of the day he pondered on the problem in the intervals of coping with Harris in the office and Flo over the tea-cups-a Flo still mercifully ignorant of how near she had come to being bereaved. All her talk was of a bazaar shortly to be held in Smedwick to raise funds for some worthy cause, the details of which escaped him, though his own part in it as escort to his elder sister and Geor-gina seemed already to have been settled. When he tried to back out he was met with the flexibility that Flo always showed in the cause of charity: "Of course you must go. Mrs Deverel is a patroness and the d.u.c.h.ess will be there. Really I should have thought you would have heard of it already, dearest, if you didn't bury your head in that office and think of nothing else. Don't you realise there are unfortunates in the world who need your help? Mr Gilmore is speaking."

At that, he p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. "Gilmore?"

"Yes, he is coming up from London specially: a Q.C. and a Member too, and busy though he is. I suppose his family connections with Smedwick bring him-and naturally the Cause."

"Naturally," said her brother, thinking hard.

"And if he can spare the time to come, how can you excuse yourself?"

"Oh quite, I can't."

"You mean you'll take us?" Flo exclaimed, astonished by the ease of her victory.

"Yes, if you and Georgina wish it."

"Naturally we Mash it but I thought ... I didn't quite expect . . . Really, dearest, you have made me very happy. It would have pleased Papa and Mama so much. Dearest, you are so good to us."

Justin had the grace to blush, and this sense of shame and the knowledge that he was deceiving natures in every way superior to his own persisted on the day of the bazaar as he handed Flo into the hired carriage and set off up the Warbury Road for his Georgina. It was an atrocious morning with the rain teeming down, so that his fiancee's beautiful blue taffeta dress suffered some damage before he even got her inside on the plush cushions, chill with the damp of a coach house, and at the hall there was a delay while grander carriages were directed to the door ahead of them. By the time they had arrived in the auditorium among the cane chairs Georgina's emotions had reached a very high pitch, and they broke out the second they were separated in the crush from Flo- "I might have known it. Really you are not to be trusted to arrange anything nowadays. That awful cab! There was damp everywhere. It had run down on the seat, and that is what you must choose for me-me, if you please! You have quite ruined my dress."

Always solicitous, he began to search anxiously for the proofs of damage, murmuring condolences which were interrupted by a far fiercer whisper: "Stop it! You are making me ridiculous. Have you no sense at all? Sometimes I think you take pleasure in humiliating me in public, and my family too. You have greatly displeased Papa."

"Displeased him? How?" cried Justin, appalled by this news.

"Something you've done, something interfering and unprofessional; you can hardly expect me to know the details."

Fortunately at this moment Flo joined them and there was a stirring up on the platform, which was suddenly filled with people of importance, ranging from the d.u.c.h.ess to Mr Lumley in the wings, wedged between a piano and an alderman of intimidating size.

Then Gilmore rose. He had the practised air. He congratulated the audience on its good fortune in having achieved a platform so distinguished. He would except himself. (Laughter.) But he would except no one-no one-horn the charitable duty that had brought them all together that morning. Let them consult their consciences and turn out their pockets. (Laughter.) He himself had done so. (Renewed laughter.) He had found little in them, but in his experience that was habitual. Were wives to blame? (Much laughter.) The money went somewhere. On worthy objects, no doubt. And what worthier object-or Cause, as it would be more happily described- than the one for which they were all gathered together in that place? He would commend it and sit down.

During the applause that followed, Justin sat groaning inwardly and commending all charities and politicians to the Devil. Of the success of the speech, however, there could be no doubt. Collection boxes were being handed out and a subscription list in a book bound in calf and tooled in gold was being flourished under his nose by a rampagious matron in a hat with feathers that soared heavenwards. "You will be generous, dearest?" he heard Flo murmur as he looked round for rescue, seeing far off the figure of Mr Lumley moving down from the platform through the throng, a sliver of white starched linen around his neck, for he had put on his dog collar for the occasion. "Where's Georgina?" he demanded, searching for her too.

127.

THE Ma.s.sIKGHAM AFFAIR.

"She has her box, dearest. I've mine here."

He pressed a sovereign into the slot. Over her shoulder as she turned away Mr Lumley was seen approaching. "A ghastly scrimmage," muttered Justin, scowling rather horribly around him as Ins friend came up mopping the sweat which the least exertion brought out on him. "Do you really have to run charities this way?"

"People seem to like it."

"They like their own importance."

"Of course, my dear chap. Don't you? How severe you've become all of a sudden. I hope you've signed the book."

Justin laughed and most of his ill temper vanished. "Where's Gil-more?" he asked.

"Our worthy opener? With Her Grace, presumably." It was by now impossible to see into the centre of the hall, where a solid block of humanity had got itself wedged like bees in a hive. "How they crowd around to be sure; such enviable enthusiasm. She is a very good and patient lady. And our Q.C. spoke well, don't you think?"

"Most professionally. Was he your selection?"

"In a sense," replied the Vicar, smiling. "I suppose I can claim some part of him."

"Then do so. Show him Sugden's statement. I have it here."

The Vicar glanced hastily around, fearing an imprudence, but the tide had receded from them and they were now alone, out of earshot of anyone. "If you think it wise," he answered slowly.

"I do indeed. He's the very man for us. He knows the case and he believed those men were innocent. Besides, I'm sure he resented that verdict, resented it personally. Even after all these years he might give something to overturn it and pay Garrowby out."

"Hardly a very estimable wash," objected the Vicar.

"But human, surely, if he still is human, which remains to be seen. Will you have a shot at him?"

There was a pause and then the Vicar answered: "Perhaps you'd better do it, my dear chap. He might listen to you better. Don't think I'm dodging anything."

"I'll be the one doing the dodging," replied Justin with a conviction that could be felt. "I've Flo here, and Georgina for that matter. Will you keep your eye on them?"

"My dear fellow, a most enviable task, but don't you think ... I mean, is it quite wise? A weak vessel."

But Justin had already detached himself and was working his way through the crush. Collection boxes were rattled at him, people stopped him to remark on the success of the bazaar or the heat inside the hall which was stupendous, and, as fast as he advanced towards it, the official party kept pace with him in its retreat towards the doors and a mercifully early lunch. Behind him he saw the Vicar hovering solicitously on the outskirts of a melee containing Flo and a blue taffeta dress, but he had no time to do more than regret these dependents as he elbowed his way into the street in the wake of the d.u.c.h.ess and Gilmore, Q.C., who was now sporting a top hat of almost supernatural glossiness. He could see it like a beacon above the heads of the crowd that had jostled forward to catch a glimpse of the great lady as she drove off, and tracking purposefully he came up with it just as its owner was about to step into a hansom cab on his way to the station.

"Mr Gilmore."

The man who swung round towards him had a decidedly testy look. No doubt he was in a hurry and anxious to escape, but the bony, patrician face was covered with a network of lines radiating downwards from the eyes and corners of the mouth in a way that suggested that this was now its natural expression.

"Probably you don't remember me," Justin ventured, feeling regretful, for he had liked and admired Gilmore.

"Remember you? Why yes I do. Didn't we meet some years ago? But you'll excuse me. Train to catch," he added, climbing into the cab and raising his hat the bare minimum of inches from his handsome greying hair.

"It was at the Moot Hall," Justin reminded him, getting a good hold of the handle to prevent the cab door from closing. He had never required much converting to a belief in firm measures.

"I remember. Those poachin' fellers."

"It's about them I'm here."

"Interesting. But train won't wait, you know. Most regrettable. Some other time perhaps," Gilmore replied, and knocked with the k.n.o.b of his cane on the part.i.tion in front of him.

"Would you mind if I came along with you?"

"Well really, sir!" the Q.C. exclaimed, lifting his saturnine eyebrows in astonishment, though even he had no conception of the full scandalous nature of that remark.

"Shall I whip 'er up, sir?" came the cabby's voice from above them.

129.

"Just a moment. Better let this gentleman in. He seems to insist on it."

The solicitor in fact, lost to every social decency, was half-way in already, and subsided on to the cracked leather seat as the cab started off with a fearful jolt and began to clatter through the streets. "Very kind of you," he murmured, reaching for Sugden's confession in his breast pocket. 1 might from the look of it be serving a writ on him,' he thought as he got it out. The idea amused him and it was all he could do to prevent himself from slipping the thing into Gil-more's hand in the lubricated manner perfected by generations of writ-servers, who are born, not made.

"Now will you tell me what it's all about?" Gilmore enquired in a suffering voice.

"Gladly. Those poaching fellows, as you said."

"But wasn't Rees their solicitor?"

"Mr Rees is dead."

"Oh. Have you inherited?"

"I've this, if you'll look at it."

Gilmore took the confession from him and Justin waited, glancing out of the window at the rain that was still falling in torrents, sending rivulets down the dirty gla.s.s. He heard the crackle of the sheets, the occasional grunt of approval or disapproval-he could not tell which-and then he saw the Q.C. glancing up at him, head slightly on one side, speculatively.

"What is this-a Dying Declaration?"

"The man may have thought he was dying," he replied.

"But you knew better, eh? Was it made voluntarily?"

"I don't say we didn't have to fish for it a bit at first, but yes, it's voluntary."

"We?"

"I was working with the man's vicar-Mr Lumley, you may know him."

"Indeed I know him. Who doesn't? Can you tell me how the statement came to be made?"

"Sugden's bad conscience, I suppose."

"No threats or inducements?"

"You might call them exhortations. There were a few of those."

Gilmore allowed a bleak smile to appear on his face as he answered: "Exhortations-yes, that has a definite sound of Mr Lumley. Have you checked the statements made here?"

"Yes, and the result's impressive. The interior of the Rectory is still exactly like he says. You see he even describes Miss Verney's seal-the little gilt eagle with the ruby in its claws-though that was never mentioned in detail at the Moot Hall; it was just called 'a seal'. Significant, I feel."

"Most interesting," Gilmore said, handing back the confession and taking out his watch, which was a very handsome hunter in a gold case worn thin with age. "Most interesting," he repeated, glancing out of the window to see how near to the station they had got.

"I'm glad you think so."

"Oh, I do, most certainly. If I'd had that evidence eight years ago . . ."

"You have it now."

"In a sense that's true."

"Then you'll take up the case?"

"Now, my dear Deny, whatever are you talking about?" Gilmore said, "What case? I know of none. You have shown me a statement, and very interesting it is. It is always interesting to see how people tiy to incriminate themselves, but as to why they do it . . . ?" He shrugged his elegant shoulders. "How should I know? Perhaps he's mad. People often are: far more than the public realises or the Lunacy Commissioners can take to their bosoms. Perhaps he has a rage to impress himself on the folklore of the district, or just be anxious to please. What he says may even conceivably be true, but suppose it is, what can one make of it after all these years?" He broke off and remarked as he replaced his watch in its chamois-leather pouch: "He's made excellent time, this fellow."

They got down. The train was already standing at the platform, belching its importance in clouds of steam. The stationmaster bustled up in a top hat noticeably less glossy than Gilmore's to conduct the great man to his seat, while Justin followed, suppressing a desire to commit some memorable atrocity. He had not given up, however, and as the Q.C. turned in the doorway of the carriage and held out his hand, he said to him: "It's true, you know. I'll prove it one day. I'll find this other man."

"That might be helpful," Gilmore said.

The engine gave a hoot, and far down the platform the guard was brandishing his flag. Justin came to the window, looking up into the face above him which in these last moments had seemed much more 131.

like that of the junior in the stuff gown who had fought Garrowby on that distant afternoon. "You mean you'd take it then?" he said.

"I might. Your lunacy is quite infectious. Faith. Hope. Don't expect Charity from your neighbours, by the way, as I expect Mr Lumley's told you. You're a bold fellow."

The train had begun to move, and though Gilmore was still speaking Justin could hear no more above the hiss of steam and the clanking of couplings. He felt bold no longer. He had just remembered his Georgina marooned with a collecting box in a rapidly emptying hall.

He returned as fast as he could to town-not to his office, for he rather imagined that Georgina might be there, but to St Bede's Vicarage, in the hopes of finding a cleric more or less in one piece. Nor was he disappointed. The Vicar had survived the morning, if hardly in his usual state of health, to report on his stewardship: "My dear fellow, your dear sister was kindness itself to me, but I fear Miss Deverel was not pleased. It was not easy to explain why you should have dashed off like that without warning, and then of course there was the carriage."

"What about the carriage? I know it leaked."

"My dear fellow, it did not come. We were left waiting at the door, and the weather being most inclement, we were marooned there until Mrs Deverel, who must have guessed our plight, came back in her carriage to take us off."

"Never!"

"Well, that is what happened," said the Vicar mildly. "I won't pretend that Miss Deverel was as grateful as I was. Apparently she had been asked originally to accompany her mother but had chosen to go with you instead, and I fear she found me inadequate as a subst.i.tute for either of you."

"Was anything said?"

"Well, yes," admitted the Vicar truthfully. "Things were said, though I don't think they were intended. In the throes of disappointment I find people often say things they don't really mean, and that would even be true of young ladies. A peace offering, howev( r, might not come amiss."

Justin had already thought of that. 'Flowers. Ma.s.ses of them,' he said to himself, remembering successes in that line at other fateful moments in his relationship with Georgina. There was a flower shop in the market-place not far from his office, and with a few heartfelt words of thanks to encourage his ally, he hurried off through the rain.

Facing him at the entrance to the market-place was Coates's jeweller's shop.

He walked past it; stopped; walked on a few paces; then gave a sigh as he recognised the need to think extravagantly, and turned back to gaze through the window at the rings in their satin- and plush-lined boxes. Coates's was the most fashionable jeweller's shop in Smedwick. Georgian teapots stood armorially inside the door. Small silver porringers awaited the arrival of G.o.dparents bidden to Christenings. There was an array of coffee-spoons, salvers, clocks, necklaces, tiepins, brooches, watches and chains with sinuous, richly glistening links, worth 20, some of them, though surely there was a limit to what bad conscience could do to a man. A locket? That was more his weight. There was one in the gla.s.s display-case directly ahead of him as he went in. The ticket said -5. And next to it was a ruby in a gold clasp beneath a tiny gilt bird with outstretched wings.

XIV.

"You mean it has been there all this time!" cried the Vicar in amazement.

"Since '93. It was brought in about two years after the crime. Coates had no means of knowing it was stolen. Perhaps he didn't enquire as closely as he ought. It was in the window for some months -yes, actually in the window, where Miss Verney must have pa.s.sed it dozens of times-but no one bought it, and Coates was thinking of having it reset and wearing it on his chain."

"Astonishing! Quite astonishing! What a strange Providence led you there. And the person who brought it?"

"Coates can't recall who it was. Thinks it may have been a woman. He's trying to remember."

The Vicar was standing by the window turning the seal over and over in his hand. "A pretty thing," he observed over his shoulder. "A very pretty thing. Who is the owner of this very pretty . . . ?"

"We know that, fortunately."