Miss Silver Comes To Stay by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page A

feels kindly about it and hopes that Cyril has made a fresh start. He was their only one and they spoilt him—a dreadful mistake. Of course it makes it hard for Mrs. Mayhew the Grover boy having turned out so well—that was Mrs. Grover serving Dagmar Ainger at the end of the counter. Allan and Cyril used to be friends. They both took scholarships, and Allan went into Mr. Holderness’s office—a very good opening. But Cyril took a job in London, and that’s what did the mischief. He isn’t a bad boy, but he’s weak and they spoilt him. He ought to have been where he could keep in touch with his home. It’s terribly lonely for boys like that when they first go out into the world, and the only company they can get is just the sort that isn’t likely to do them any good. You know, Maud, I used to be dreadfully disappointed about not having children, and I dare say I missed a great deal, but it’s a tremendous responsibility—isn’t it?”
    Miss Silver coughed and said it was.
    “Even a satisfactory boy like Allan Grover,” pursued Mrs. Voycey. “Well, I wouldn’t say it to anyone but you, and of course it’s too silly for words, to say nothing of being exceedingly presumptuous—”
    “My dear Cecilia!”
    “I was really shocked. And I can’t—no, I really can’t believe that she gave him any encouragement. Of course at that age they don’t need any, and she is a very pretty woman—”
    “My dear Cecilia!”
    Mrs. Voycey nodded.
    “Yes—Catherine Welby. Quite too absurd, as I said. It began with his offering to go and put up shelves in her house, and then he said he would plant her bulbs, and she lent him books. And when she wanted to pay him he wouldn’t take a penny, so of course she couldn’t let him go on. He isn’t twenty-one yet, so she is more than old enough to be his mother.”
    Miss Silver coughed indulgently.
    “Oh, my dear Cecilia, what difference does that make?”
    CHAPTER 8
    James Lessiter sat back in his chair and looked across the table at Mr. Holderness, who appeared to be considerably perturbed. A flush had risen to the roots of the thick grey hair, deepening his florid complexion to something very near the rich plum-colour achieved by the original founder of the firm, a three-bottle man of the early Georgian period whose portrait hung on the panelling behind him. He stared back at James and said,
    “You shock me.”
    James Lessiter’s eyebrows rose.
    “Do I really? I shouldn’t have thought anyone could practise as a solicitor for getting on for forty years and still retain a faculty for being shocked.”
    There was a moment’s silence. The flush faded a little. Mr. Holderness smiled faintly.
    “It is difficult to remain completely professional about people when one has known them as long as I have known your family. Your mother was a very old friend, and as to Catherine Welby, I was at her parents’ wedding—”
    “And so you would expect me to allow myself to be robbed.”
    “My dear James!”
    James Lessiter smiled.
    “How very much alike everyone is. That is exactly what Rietta said.”
    “You have spoken to her about this—distressing suspicion of yours?”
    “I told her there were a good many things missing, and that it wouldn’t surprise me to find that Catherine knew where they had gone, and—what they had fetched. Like you, all she could find to say was, ‘My dear James!’ ”
    Mr. Holderness laid down the pencil he had been balancing and placed his fingertips together. It was a pose familiar to any client of long standing, and indicated that he was about to counsel moderation.
    “I alluded just now to this idea of yours as a distressing suspicion. You cannot wish to precipitate a family scandal upon a mere suspicion.”
    “Oh, no.”
    “I was sure of it. Your mother was extremely fond of Catherine. If there is no evidence to the contrary, there would be a strong presumption that the furniture at the Gate House was intended to be a gift.”
    James