idiotic if she didn’t tumble to the fact that Bill Waring was the centre of things as far as Ray Fortescue was concerned, and she wasn’t reckoning on Miss Silver being anything of the kind. By just what imperceptible degree she was passing, or had passed, from wondering why Lady Dryden had sent her on such an apparently futile errand to an almost desperate anxiety that Miss Silver should be induced to come down to Vineyards, she could not have said. The originals of all those photographs smiling from their old-fashioned frames could have told her that they too had travelled the same way.
Ray sat there and wondered at herself. She had cried in front of a woman whom she had never seen before. She had as good as told her she was in love with Bill. And she didn’t care. She had no idea why, but she didn’t care. It might have been the gentle ordinariness of Miss Silver’s manner, with its domestic background and its effect of taking the most surprising things for granted. It might have been the touch of fireside authority carrying her right away back to nursery days. It might have been the pink knitting. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She went on telling Miss Silver everything she knew. It gave her the most extraordinary sense of relief. When she had finished she felt weak, and empty, and quiet.
Miss Silver coughed in a very kind manner and said briskly,
‘And now, my dear, we will have some breakfast. Emma will have it ready for us. Fish-cakes—and do you prefer tea or coffee?’
‘Oh, Miss Silver, I couldn’t!’
Miss Silver was putting the knitting away in a flowered chintz bag. She said with great firmness.
‘Indeed you can, my dear. And you will feel a great deal better when you have had something to eat. Emotion is extremely exhausting, and Emma makes very nice fish-cakes. And perhaps you would like to wash your face.’
Ray washed her face, and it made her feel a good deal better. She also ate a fish-cake and some toast and drank an excellent cup of coffee. The horrible things which she had been on the point of accepting lost some of their substance and became incredible again. Someone in Alice through the Looking-glass had said she could believe two impossible things before breakfast. Or was it three—she couldn’t remember. What she did feel perfectly sure about was that it was much easier to believe any number of impossible things before breakfast than afterwards. There didn’t seem to be nearly so much room for them when you had had a fish-cake, and toast, and coffee.
Miss Silver was coming to Vineyards. She said a beautiful piece straight out of a book about not coming down to prove that anyone was innocent or that anyone was guilty, but just to discover the truth and serve the ends of justice. And then she looked up trains, and went away to pack a bag, and told Ray to ring up Lady Dryden.
It was rather horrid to get a policeman at the other end of the line. Ray had to go on saying, ‘Please, may I speak to Lady Dryden?’ for quite a long time before anything happened. The policeman went away, and the telephone bill totted up, but in the end Lady Dryden was produced. She sounded so exactly like herself that Ray felt it had been worth waiting for.
‘Twelve-thirty at Emsworth? My dear, do speak up! It is twelve-thirty?… And she is coming? None of you young people speak into the mouthpiece… She is?… I will arrange for you to be met. Now, Ray, don’t go away! I want you to listen. There will be the inquest, and the funeral, and Lila must have some black. I am all right, because I came down in a black coat and skirt and my fur coat, but she had nothing. I am ringing up the flat, and Robbins will have a suit-case all ready for you to bring down. There is the black coat and skirt from Mirabelle, only do make sure that Robbins has put in the white crêpe-de-chine blouse and not the shell-pink. And the black wool dress with high neck and long sleeves. It will do for afternoon or
Ray sat there and wondered at herself. She had cried in front of a woman whom she had never seen before. She had as good as told her she was in love with Bill. And she didn’t care. She had no idea why, but she didn’t care. It might have been the gentle ordinariness of Miss Silver’s manner, with its domestic background and its effect of taking the most surprising things for granted. It might have been the touch of fireside authority carrying her right away back to nursery days. It might have been the pink knitting. She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She went on telling Miss Silver everything she knew. It gave her the most extraordinary sense of relief. When she had finished she felt weak, and empty, and quiet.
Miss Silver coughed in a very kind manner and said briskly,
‘And now, my dear, we will have some breakfast. Emma will have it ready for us. Fish-cakes—and do you prefer tea or coffee?’
‘Oh, Miss Silver, I couldn’t!’
Miss Silver was putting the knitting away in a flowered chintz bag. She said with great firmness.
‘Indeed you can, my dear. And you will feel a great deal better when you have had something to eat. Emotion is extremely exhausting, and Emma makes very nice fish-cakes. And perhaps you would like to wash your face.’
Ray washed her face, and it made her feel a good deal better. She also ate a fish-cake and some toast and drank an excellent cup of coffee. The horrible things which she had been on the point of accepting lost some of their substance and became incredible again. Someone in Alice through the Looking-glass had said she could believe two impossible things before breakfast. Or was it three—she couldn’t remember. What she did feel perfectly sure about was that it was much easier to believe any number of impossible things before breakfast than afterwards. There didn’t seem to be nearly so much room for them when you had had a fish-cake, and toast, and coffee.
Miss Silver was coming to Vineyards. She said a beautiful piece straight out of a book about not coming down to prove that anyone was innocent or that anyone was guilty, but just to discover the truth and serve the ends of justice. And then she looked up trains, and went away to pack a bag, and told Ray to ring up Lady Dryden.
It was rather horrid to get a policeman at the other end of the line. Ray had to go on saying, ‘Please, may I speak to Lady Dryden?’ for quite a long time before anything happened. The policeman went away, and the telephone bill totted up, but in the end Lady Dryden was produced. She sounded so exactly like herself that Ray felt it had been worth waiting for.
‘Twelve-thirty at Emsworth? My dear, do speak up! It is twelve-thirty?… And she is coming? None of you young people speak into the mouthpiece… She is?… I will arrange for you to be met. Now, Ray, don’t go away! I want you to listen. There will be the inquest, and the funeral, and Lila must have some black. I am all right, because I came down in a black coat and skirt and my fur coat, but she had nothing. I am ringing up the flat, and Robbins will have a suit-case all ready for you to bring down. There is the black coat and skirt from Mirabelle, only do make sure that Robbins has put in the white crêpe-de-chine blouse and not the shell-pink. And the black wool dress with high neck and long sleeves. It will do for afternoon or
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