Mystery at the Rectory (Musaicum Vintage Mysteries). Dorothy Fielding

perhaps you'll believe me that she's in love with Byrd?" Grace said, laying down a letter she was reading.

      "I confess I'm beginning to think you may be right—about whom it was she really cared for. Though, mind you, all I was certain of was that Anthony was in love with her. I never pretended to be sure about her feelings."

      Grace let this pass. She looked very uncertain about something.

      "She wants to earn a good reference for her work," Doris said after a little pause. "Rather pathetic considering how near she was to being a wealthy woman."

      "I understand Lady Revell and Gilbert intend to settle The Causeway on her for life, and a sufficient income to keep it up," Grace said.

      "Yes. And Violet-May says that Mrs. Green is doing her best to put a spoke in that wheel. She wants to buy The Causeway herself it seems."

      Doris did not pay any attention to any speeches of Lady Witson's. She was notoriously inaccurate, to put it politely, though there were those who called her plainly an awful liar.

      "You have no objection to my taking on Olive?" she asked, "frankly she would be a tremendous help just now. It would save my having to find a secretary who knows my ways, and is as clever as Olive is."

      "She's very clever," Grace said hesitatingly, "very capable. You never have to tell her anything twice. And her loss makes one terribly sorry for her. I mean merely her loss of position and wealth. I really don't know what to say, Doris. Try her by all means—but—I'm not sure whether I ought not—" she stopped uncertainly. "You might ask John—" she suggested.

      Doris was glancing at some letters. She had only heard the first words. She looked up.

      "Well, I'll try Olive, partly because I want to see what's her object in staying on in the house. Oh, I know what she says. But what's behind her words?"

      "To be near Byrd," was Grace's confident reply. "I don't think that you understood the position at all, Doris. Anthony may have been in love with Olive, but she was, and is, in love with Byrd, who in his turn doesn't care in the least for her. To make the circle complete, of course, he ought to be in love with Mrs. Green," she wound up regretfully.

      Downstairs in his study the rector was talking to Mr. Smith, the Coroner.

      "I was sorry you weren't at the reading of the will this morning," Mr. Smith was saying. "We couldn't get it out of the bank in time on Saturday." He had invited the rector to be present. "Everything was left to Gilbert. Bar a few legacies. There was one for you. I've dropped in to tell you of it."

      "His stamp collection?" Avery asked.

      "No, his Vauxhall. Insurance paid to the end of the year. A very lively car apparently, judging from the time he drove her here from Derbyshire the day before yesterday, stopping in at town on the way too. I understand she does a hundred in the shade. Anyway, it's his fastest car."

      "It was a kind thought," the rector said gratefully. "My own car is very slow. He told me years ago that he was going to leave me one of his cars in his will, but I thought that that was only a joke. Who gets his stamp collection?"

      "It's not mentioned specifically. The Gartsides may, since they're to choose as souvenirs any four articles which are in his house at the time of his death—bar furniture or family portraits. Is his stamp collection a good one?"

      "Not as far as I know. But he was talking of it when he dined here a week ago—only a week ago, Smith!—I have some boys in the clubs I run who collect—what they can. Unwanted stamps are always welcome therefore, and he said he'd let me have his albums to distribute when he got back, as he'd given up collecting years ago. As a matter of fact, the very last thing he did was to leave some stamps that he had mentioned, here at the door, before he drove on up to town."

      The two talked very kindly of the dead young man.

      "I suppose," Smith said finally rising and reaching for his hat, "I suppose—eh—you were at the inquest—eh—strange affair, that death!"

      "Terribly," Avery said.

      Mr. Smith still lingered, pinching the crown of his felt hat in quite a spiteful way. Then he seemed to decide that there was nothing more to be said, and held out his hand. He himself looked rather troubled as he walked away after telling the rector that the car would be sent around when certain formalities were completed, which would probably be in about a month's time.

      Grace looked in on her brother when he was alone.

      "Olive wants to become a secretary, and Doris is willing to try her out. I haven't said anything. I've missed nothing more. I don't know what's the right thing to do?

      "Olive's to have a fresh chance? Good," said Avery kindly. "I sometimes think that interesting work could cure any criminal, Grace. And a companion's life is not a normal one for a girl...We'll see how she shapes with Doris."

      The rector did not add that there would be no question of stolen articles not being instantly missed by Doris. Olive must know this. Supposing Grace to have made no mistake—of which the rector did not feel at all sure—it looked as though—if a pilferer in the past—Olive meant to go straight now, or she would not have asked to work for keen-eyed, business-like Mrs. Richard Avery, who had no old ties of friendship to blind her.

      CHAPTER FIVE

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      Two weeks passed and apparently left no trace of their going except that by a tacit agreement Anthony Revell was rarely mentioned. His ending was too sad for his name to be spoken easily, and the result was that to a stranger it was as though he had never been. The Causeway still belonged to a Revell, only the first name of the owner was Gilbert instead of Anthony. But Mrs. Green never came to paint in it, and Olive avoided it after a week of daily visits. It was when coming away from the last of these, that she almost walked into Mrs. Green, who was standing by a stile with folded hands staring straight before her. At Olive's startled exclamation, she turned slowly, and looked at her from between narrowed lids.

      "Some one told me to-day that there is and always has been some talk of 'your marrying Mr. Byrd," she began. Her voice was harsh and threatening.

      "There is no question whatever of my marrying any one—now," Olive said tersely. "Don't agitate yourself again—needlessly."

      Mrs. Green's face worked. Then she continued with at least outward calm. "In that case, I should agitate myself, as you call it, and not needlessly. For I know something that I haven't told the police, nor the Coroner, about the death of Anthony. But I will tell it you now. I know that you met Anthony Thursday night, the night that he—died."

      "Never!" burst vehemently from Olive.

      Mrs. Green looked as though she could have rent her limb from limb. "He told me so himself. I met him driving into The Causeway late that night. I wanted to get a sketch of the house by moonlight, and had no idea he was anywhere near. He told me that he had hurried home to see you about something tremendously important—to you. And he was never seen alive again! I don't claim to understand your motive. If I had, I should have told the police my story at once. You never loved him, never!"

      "Told them what? That you were up, and at The Causeway the night that he was shot?" Olive asked, and there was venom in her tone too. "They would have been interested, Mrs. Green, much more so than in the ridiculous story you are telling me. It was not to my interest to shoot Anthony, whether I loved him or not. I didn't as it happened. You're right there. But he loved me. And that would be quite enough to make a revengeful woman who wouldn't believe that he was not attracted to her, shoot him rather than let him marry some one else. Or rather than let him finish telling her what his real opinion of her was!"

      Olive stopped. Mrs. Green looked as though she were fainting, but jerking herself away from Olive's very perfunctorily steadying hand she gave her a terrible look, and turned down the lane beside them. For a long moment Olive hesitated.