The Alington Inheritance by Patricia Wentworth Page A

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