Poison In The Pen by Patricia Wentworth Page B

never been able to share it. She found herself wishing that Miss Wayne did not so often remind her of them. She hastened to explain Rietta’s call.
    “The Marches are old friends. Mrs. March has very kindly invited me to tea tomorrow. Her husband was once a pupil of mine. No one would ever think so to look at him now, but as a little boy he was considered too delicate to go to school, so he shared his sisters’ lessons.”
    Miss Wayne quivered with interest.
    “Do you mean the Chief Constable? Such a fine looking man! No one would ever think that he had been delicate. Now let me see—I am afraid you will have to start rather early, but if you take the three o’clock bus and change at the Merry Harvesters… No, we had better look it up—I am not quite sure about the connection. I hope we have a really up-to-date timetable. My dear sister was so methodical about these things.”
    Miss Silver explained that Mr. March would call for her— he had business in this direction.
    Miss Renie dabbed her nose.
    “Oh dear—do you suppose that it would be something to do with poor Connie? It seems so terrible that people should think it could be anything except a dreadful, dreadful accident! I won’t say it wasn’t foolish of Maggie Repton to let poor Connie have those sleeping-tablets, because I suppose it was. Esther was always so very particular about things like that. Prescriptions should never be passed on, she used to say, because of course what agrees with one person may not agree with another. Let them go to the doctor themselves and not go borrowing, she used to say. So Maggie Repton ought not to have done it, but I’m afraid poor Connie must have been careless too. But I can’t see why the police should be interested. Mettie says poor Maggie Repton is quite prostrated. They keep asking her how many tablets there were in the bottle, and of course she has no idea. As if one counted things like that!” She gave a little tittering laugh and then dabbed her nose again. “Oh dear—I didn’t mean—of course one ought not to make a joke of it.”
    Miss Silver went on talking about the March family.
    “I have always kept up with them. The girls are very happily married.”
    She discoursed upon the theme at some length—Isobel’s children—Margaret’s services during the war—the valued friendship of the elder Mrs. March.
    There was a moment after supper when she and Joyce Rodney were alone. Plates and dishes had been cleared, and Joyce was washing up whilst Miss Silver, always anxious to be helpful, dried for her. In the dining-room Miss Wayne was engaged in setting out the breakfast things. The door through to that part of the house being shut, Joyce said quick and low,
    “I am taking David to a friend of mine in Ledlington tomorrow. I don’t want him to hear anything—about Connie. Penny means to go on with the school, but it will have to be at Lower Tilling. Her mother has a biggish house there, but it would be a good deal farther for David to go—I should have to take him on my bicycle. Anyhow I thought if I could get him away until after the inquest and the funeral—”
    Miss Silver registered approval.
    “A very sensible idea. Your friend has children?”
    “Two—and such a nice Nannie. David loves going there, and I shall be much happier about him.”
    Miss Silver polished a tablespoon and laid it down on a baize-covered tray.
    “People are sadly incautious about what they say in front of children,” she observed.
    “They are frightful! Hilda Price was here this morning— you know, she comes to Aunt Renie on Wednesdays and Fridays—and I’m sure as far as getting on with her work was concerned she might just as well have stayed at home, because all she could do was talk about Connie. I told her when she came that I didn’t want David to hear anything, and she agreed with every word, and then about five minutes later there she was, talking to Aunt Renie at the top of her voice, going over some