Snare of Serpents Page 16

  “What a good idea!”

  “It’s being on the boards, dear. Lots of people there change their names. Have to sometimes for show business … if not for anything else. Now let’s think. Davina. Well, that is the sort of name people would remember. What about Diana?”

  “Oh yes. That starts with a D.”

  “Diana. Now we want a G.”

  “What about Grey? Diana Grey?”

  “You’re taking my name. I was Miss Grey before I became Mrs. Glentyre.”

  “It’s short and it begins with a G.”

  “I think it goes well. Diana Grey. Well, that’s what you’re going to be while you’re with the parson’s family. It’s better for them and you.”

  “I’ll write to Lilias at once.”

  I went straight to my room to begin the letter.

  My very dear Lilias,

  I want so much to come to you, but it would be unfair to come as I am. I hope your father won’t think this deceitful, but I want to escape from myself. I want to be a different person … and I do not want to bring gossip to you. I am sure people in your neighbourhood would know of the case, so I have decided I shall come as Diana Grey. I’ll keep my own initials, which Zillah says is very wise. I will come if you agree to this deception. I don’t think I could face coming if there was a danger of people’s suddenly remembering.

  I just want you to write and tell me that you approve of this, and then I shall pack my bag and come right away.

  I hope to hear from you soon. With my love,

  DIANA

  I sealed the letter and was surprised to find my spirits had lifted considerably.

  I would take it down to the hall and put it on the silver salver where letters which were to be posted were laid until, at a certain time, Kirkwell would collect them and take them to the post.

  I laid it on the salver and as I stood in the hall I was suddenly startled by the sound of a door being loudly shut. It was followed by an immediate clatter of footsteps. I was not anxious to come face-to-face with any of the servants, so I slipped into the sitting room and half closed the door.

  The footsteps were coming down the stairs. I looked out and to my amazement saw Hamish Vosper. His face was scarlet and distorted with rage. He rushed through the hall and out by the back door.

  What had he been doing in the upper part of the house? I wondered. Had Zillah sent for him because she wanted the carriage? Surely not at this time.

  It was very strange.

  My thoughts however were centered on Lilias. I wondered what she would have to say about my changing my name.

  It would only be for the visit, of course; but the idea had occurred to me that I should get right away … start a new life with a different name. It would mean leaving Edinburgh. Where could I go? It was a wild dream really. But it would be something to discuss with Lilias.

  I WAS IMPATIENTLY WAITING for a reply, but had started to pack for I was sure she would tell me to come soon. Then I had a caller.

  Bess came to my room. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Miss Davina.”

  “A gentleman!”

  “Yes, Miss. I’ve put him in the drawing room.”

  Who was it? I asked myself. Jamie … come to tell me he loved me after all; he was ready to face anything with me? Alastair McCrae?

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “A Mr. Grainger, Miss.”

  I felt a tremor of excitement. Could it really be? What could he want? The case was over as far as he was concerned.

  Hastily I went down to the drawing room. He rose to greet me and took my hand, looking searchingly into my face as he did so.

  “Miss Glentyre, how are you?”

  “I’m all right, thank you. And you?”

  “Well, thanks. It’s … just a little difficult, is it?”

  “Yes, but I’m thinking of going away for a while.”

  “Ah, that would be the best thing.”

  “I’m going to stay with my governess.”

  He looked surprised.

  “Oh,” I said. “I mean the governess I had years ago before …”

  “I see there have been several governesses in your life.”

  “Only two.”

  “And both important to you. Tell me, where?”

  “In England. Devonshire actually. A place called Lakemere.”

  “Devonshire is, I believe, a very attractive county.”

  “I’m going to stay at a vicarage. Miss Milne was a vicar’s daughter.”

  “That sounds ideal.”

  The habit of confiding in him was still with me. When we had been fighting for my life he had let me know that I must hold nothing back, that every seemingly trivial detail might prove to be of the utmost importance. So now I found myself saying: “I’m … thinking of changing my name because it might be uncomfortable for my hosts.”

  “It’s often done in such circumstances.”

  “So you think it’s a good idea?”

  “I do really. You see, there was a great deal of press coverage. It could be uncomfortable, as you say.”

  “Yes, I was thinking mainly of my hosts.”

  “Well, they apparently invited you.”

  “I know, but I imagine Lilias’ father is a little unworldly.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s such a good man … a saint almost.”

  “Do you think the saintly are unworldly?”

  “Not exactly, but if he thought someone needed help he would give it without considering whether it would be inconvenient to him.”

  “He sounds like a most unusual person.”

  “He is. Lilias—that’s Miss Milne—says he is a true Christian. So many talk like them and are not. He was wonderful about Kitty whereas others …”

  I paused.

  “Kitty?” he prompted.

  “She was one of the maids. She was caught in a compromising situation with one of the grooms. She was promptly dismissed whereas the man … because he was a good coachman … was allowed to stay.”

  “That was in this household?”

  “Yes. What I was saying was that Lilias’ father took Kitty in when she had nowhere to go and he found a job for her. And, of course, he was wonderfully understanding when Lilias went.”

  “What happened about Lilias?”

  I felt I was going too far. I was forgetting that he was no longer my legal adviser who had to learn everything about me. His profession made it second nature for him to extract information. Nonetheless I found myself telling him the story of Lilias and the necklace, to which he listened earnestly.

  “So she was dismissed,” he mused. “The parson’s daughter.”

  “Yes, it was terrible. I can’t think how it could have happened. There is only one thing I am certain about and that is that Lilias could not have stolen the necklace.”

  “It seems hardly likely. Did anyone have access to the house from outside?”

  “No. There were only the servants. Why should any of them take and put it in her room? If they had taken it surely they would have wanted it for themselves? It’s worth a considerable amount of money.”

  “It looks as though someone might have had a grudge against her.”

  “I can’t think who. They did not have much to do with her, but none of them disliked her.”

  “Someone wanted her dismissed.”

  “Why should they?”

  “That’s the mystery.”

  “Well, it happened long ago and I don’t suppose we shall ever know.”

  “And meanwhile poor Lilias has been unable to prove her innocence.”

  “Like …”

  He touched my hand gently. “It seems clear that your father took the arsenic himself. The jury thought that.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because there was a shadow of a doubt.”

  “And for the rest of my life, I …”

  “You must not let it hurt you more than you can help. You must grow away from it. Go to this
parsonage. Try it for a while. Your new name will help you to forget. Leave me your address. Perhaps we could keep in touch.”

  “But the case is over for you.”

  “A case such as this would never be over for me. I don’t like the verdict. In my heart I know it should have been Not Guilty. I shall always hope that someday the truth will come to light.”

  “You do not think my father really killed himself?”

  “It’s the most likely possibility, but there remains that shadow of a doubt.” He lifted his shoulders. “However, let me have that address.”

  I gave it to him and he put it into his wallet.

  “So the governess was dismissed,” he went on, “and the new one came: the beautiful Miss Zillah Grey whose surname you are going to use.”

  “Yes.”

  “And in a very short time she was married to your father. That’s very interesting.”

  “I suppose it is. I believe governesses occasionally do marry the widowed fathers of their charges.”

  “It comes about in … a natural kind of way,” he said slowly.

  Then Zillah came into the room.

  He rose and I said: “You remember my stepmother.”

  “But of course.” He had taken her hand and was smiling warmly at her. “We met in court.”

  She returned the smile dazzlingly, and in spite of the fact that I was accustomed to her beauty it struck me forcibly. She seemed to blossom in the society of men—like a flower in the rain.

  “You were wonderful,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for …”

  “I was grateful to you. Your evidence was vital to our case.”

  She sat opposite him, rather carefully, I thought, placing her back to the light as though she did not want to be seen too clearly. She was deferential, as though displaying admiration for him. He liked it obviously and did not appear to question the fact that it might be a little false.

  She immediately engaged him in conversation.

  “Has my stepdaughter been telling you her plans to go away for a while? Do tell me. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

  “I think it’s an excellent idea. I was just saying so to Miss Glentyre.”

  “And did she tell you … ?” she began anxiously.

  “About changing her name? Yes. I think that might be a good idea, too.”

  “I am so glad. It was my suggestion. I was a little worried. I do so want …”

  “To do the best for Miss Glentyre, of course. Yes, I am sure it is a good idea, both to get away and to ensure a little anonymity.”

  “Then I shall feel happier about it now. Davina, my dear, did you offer our guest refreshment?”

  “No, we were talking and …”

  She looked at me with indulgent reproof.

  “It’s very kind of you,” said Ninian quickly. “But I must be on my way. I just called in to see how Miss Glentyre was faring.”

  “How very good of you! So sympathetic and understanding. I often think how lucky Davina was to have you to defend her.”

  “I don’t really deserve so much praise.”

  “You do!” She added almost archly: “And I shall insist on giving it to you.”

  I smiled. I felt he was very pleased that she had joined us. There was a little more chat—mostly between him and Zillah —then he rose to go.

  I felt disappointed in him. He had been so obviously impressed by Zillah’s charms. Of course, I had always known they were considerable, but I would not have thought that he would succumb to them so easily.

  Zillah’s mood changed abruptly when he had gone.

  “Why on earth did he want to come here like that?” she demanded.

  “He said he just wanted to know how I was getting on.”

  “Does he go round visiting all his ex-clients?”

  “I think he regards this as a rather special case.”

  “/ think he is rather inquisitive. He got you off … and that is where the case ends for him.”

  “He very much wanted a verdict of Not Guilty.”

  “Didn’t we all?”

  “Well, he seemed to get on well with you.”

  She allowed a self-satisfied smile to cross her face.

  “Oh well, it’s all over now, and what we have to do, dear, is forget about it.”

  As if I ever could!

  LILIAS’ ANSWER had arrived.

  I am expecting you. We understand about the name. So from the moment you arrive you will be Diana Grey. Don’t worry. No one will know except my father, my sister Jane and myself. We all want to do what we can to help. Dear Davina—but I suppose I must start thinking of you as Diana —rest assured that I have convinced my family that you have been as wrongly suspected as I had. We are a closely knit family and trust one another absolutely.

  It has occurred to me that it is a rather strange coincidence that we have both been wrongly accused. It is almost as though there is some malignant spirit in the house. That’s nonsense, of course, but it does seem odd. Oh, what a lot we shall have to talk about! I am so looking forward to seeing you.

  It’s going to be a long journey for you. You’ll have to come to London first and then take the train to the west country. We’re about three miles from Tinton Crawley, but I’ll be at the station with a dogcart to meet you.

  I can’t wait. With love,

  LlLIAS

  P.S. I am enclosing instructions about the journey, together with the address of the London hotel where I spent the night. It’s small, quiet and near the station.

  I started at once to make my preparations.

  IT WAS WITH GREAT RELIEF that I set out and even as the train steamed out of the Edinburgh station I felt as though a great burden had dropped from me. I believed that I had, to some extent, made a gap between the present and the nightmarish past.

  As we speeded to the Border I looked anxiously at my fellow passengers, for I had the sudden fear that one of them at least might know me. My picture had been in the papers; and there had been one in particular, an “artist’s impression,” which had horrified me. The sketch had been sufficiently like me to be recognisable, but the artist had managed to twist my features into a mask of cunning. At that time the world had made up its mind that I had murdered my father and the artist was fitting the face to what he believed were the facts.

  There was a young couple opposite me, perhaps going on their honeymoon; they seemed entirely absorbed in each other and gave me no qualms; nor did the man intent on his newspaper. But there was a rather garrulous woman in the far corner who was determined to talk to someone, and as the others were obviously engrossed, she turned to me. She was going south to visit her married daughter and was longing for the reunion with her grandchildren. She asked me a few questions about my destination, but rather perfunctorily, I realised. Her thoughts were clearly for her coming visit, and I breathed more freely.

  I need not have worried. My confidence returned. I was just nervous. I must stop imagining that people would recognise me. I was escaping to Lilias, that refuge to which she had returned, confident of love and understanding.

  I spent a night in the London hotel near the station, just as Lilias had explained. It was not a very restful night, but I did not mind. I was on my way.

  The following morning when I caught the train from Paddington Station the sense of relief was growing with every minute. Settling in a corner of the railway carriage, I looked out on the green countryside, noticing that the plants and trees were a little more advanced here than they were in the harsher north. My fellow passengers were agreeable, and there was a little general conversation. I knew that none of them had the faintest idea who I was, and that I had been oversensitive on that score.

  The train steamed westwards; the country had grown even more verdantly lush. I caught a glimpse of the sea. I had seen little villages clustering round churches such as Lilias had often described to me in the old days; I saw the rich red soil of which she had talked, and I knew tha
t we were in the county of Devonshire.

  At last I had arrived. As we came into the station I saw Lilias on the platform and I was happier than I had ever been since the nightmare began.

  We ran together and clung for some seconds. Then she held me at arm’s length. “It’s wonderful to see you. And you are looking better than I expected to see you. Oh, my dear, what a time! But it is over now. Come on. The dogcart is waiting. We’ll get the luggage out.”

  The stationmaster was standing by, smiling at us.

  “Oh, Jack,” she said. “Could you get Jim to put the luggage into the dogcart?”

  “Right you be, Miss Lilias. Jim, Jim! Hi, Jim! Luggage for Miss Lilias.” He smiled at me. “And you be come to Lakemere, Miss. You be staying long?”

  “I … er …”

  “We’re hoping Miss Grey will stay for a long time. There it is, Jim.”

  She took my arm.

  “They are waiting impatiently at home,” she said. “Longing to meet you.”

  Then we were gambolling along lanes so narrow that the hedges almost brushed against us as we passed.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she said.

  “I feel so much better since I left Edinburgh.”

  “Of course. You wanted to get away. It’s the right thing. It’s the only thing. And we can talk. It will be just like the old days.”

  I was overwhelmed by emotion as I sat beside her. She talked animatedly, stressing every now and then how delighted she was that I had decided to come. It was a wonderful welcome.

  “We shall soon be there,” she said. “Oh, look down there! You can see the church tower. Our church is just about one of the oldest in the west country. More than seven hundred years old—a perfect example of Norman architecture, as it says in the guide books. Oh yes, we get visitors. There’s some lovely stained glass, too. My father is very proud of it. I must make sure he doesn’t bore you about it. Jane and I tell him he gets obsessions, and one of them is his dear old church.”

  As we drew nearer I saw the grey stone walls of the church, the graveyard with the old stones leaning a little askew in some places among the yews and the cypresses.

  “Some of those trees have been here for centuries,” Lilias told me. “They have seen many vicars come and go. Aren’t the cypresses lovely? Someone told me they represent eternity and that is why they are so often planted in graveyards. Country lore! I’m preparing you. You’ll get plenty of that from my father. And here we are … the vicarage.”