MARIE BELLOC LOWNDES - British Murder Mysteries Collection: 17 Books in One Edition. Marie Belloc Lowndes
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back to the hostel which was her only “home” between her cases.
She had already learnt, and great was her dismay thereat, that she would become an important witness for the Crown, should the mystery be so far cleared up as to bring about a trial for murder. Small wonder that today she felt too upset and too disturbed to eat, and she watched, with surprise, Ivy’s evident enjoyment of the good luncheon put before them.
The nurse was the more secretly astonished at the newly made widow’s look of cheerfulness because she was well aware that “little Mrs. Lexton” was most uncomfortably short of money.
All that morning, and especially during the latter half of that morning, there had come a procession of tradespeople to the flat requesting immediate payment of their accounts. Some of them had been interviewed by the cook, others by Nurse Bradfield herself. As for Ivy, she had absolutely refused to see any of them. “I have no money at all just now,” she had observed sadly. “But of course everybody will be paid in time.”
Nurse Bradfield had even begun to wonder if she would ever be repaid a certain ten pounds which she had lent Mrs. Lexton a few days before. But she was not as much troubled by that thought as some of Ivy Lexton’s fairly well-to-do friends might have been. She even told herself that, after all, she was now receiving far more than ten pounds’ worth of comfort and quiet.
As if something of what she was thinking flashed from the nurse’s mind to hers, Ivy said suddenly, “I shall have plenty of money soon, Nurse. And the moment I’ve got anything I’ll give you back that money you were kind enough to lend me.”
There was a tone of real sincerity in her voice, and Nurse Bradfield felt reassured.
“I only want it back,” she said quietly, “when you can really give it me conveniently, Mrs. Lexton. Of course ten pounds is a good deal of money to me. But now that I know poor Mr. Lexton was not insured, I realise that things must be very difficult for you.”
“It’s going to be quite all right,” exclaimed Ivy impulsively.
Oh! what a difference to life Rushworth’s cable had made! She felt almost hysterical with joy and relief.
And then, as there came a ring at the bell, she said quickly to the maid who was waiting at table, “Do tell whoever it is that I shall be able to pay up everything soon—I hope even within the next few days.”
But this time the visitor was not an anxious tradesman. He was a tall, thin, elderly man, with a keen, shrewd face, who gave his name as “Mr. Oram.”
After a few moments spent by him in the hall, he was shown into the drawing-room, there to wait for the lady concerning whom he already felt a keen curiosity.
Chapter Thirteen
John Oram was an old-fashioned solicitor of very high standing. His firm had always managed all the private business of the Rushworth family, and he was a personal friend of the client from whom he had received a long and explicit cable about two hours ago. The receipt of that cable, and above all the way it had been worded, had induced Mr. Oram to come himself to Duke of Kent Mansion, instead of sending one of his clerks. He felt intensely curious to see this newly made widow in whom Miles Rushworth evidently took so intimate and anxious an interest.
Rushworth’s cable to John Oram had been nearly three times the length of his cable to Ivy; and the purport of it had been that the solicitor was to help Mrs. Lexton in every way in his power. The last words of the cable had run: “Find out from Mrs. Lexton the name of her bankers, and place two thousand pounds to her credit.”
After reading the cable, Mr. Oram had sent for his head clerk, an acute, clever man named Alfred Finch, who was some twenty years younger than himself.
“Can you tell me anything of some people of the name of Lexton, who live in Duke of Kent Mansion? I gather there’s some sort of legal trouble afoot.”
The answer had been immediate, and had filled him with both surprise and dismay.
“Yes, sir, I know all there is to be known. It’s not very much, yet. A Mr. Jervis Lexton died some days ago in one of the Duke of Kent Mansion flats. And, as the result of a post-mortem, it has been discovered that death was occasioned through the administration of a large dose of arsenic.”
The speaker waited a moment. His curiosity was considerably whetted, for he had seen a look of astonishment, almost of horror, come over his employer’s usually impassive face.
Alfred Finch went on, speaking in a more serious tone:
“This Mr. Jervis Lexton must have been a man of means, for you may remember, sir, that he drew up the lease of a flat in Duke of Kent Mansion for the Misses Rushworth about eighteen months ago.”
“Aye, aye, I do remember that. I think the rent of their flat was four hundred a year, and the two ladies had to pay a considerable premium on going in. As you say, the Lextons must be well-to-do.”
Mr. Finch allowed himself to smile.
“There’s only one of them now, sir—the dead man’s widow. She’s said to be very attractive, and well known in smart society.”
“I see. That will do.”
It was no wonder that John Oram, while waiting in the drawing-room of the flat for Ivy to join him, gazed about him with a good deal of interest. Then, all at once, he recognised a fine picture which he knew to be the property of the Misses Rushworth, his clients, and Miles Rushworth’s cousins. In a moment what had appeared a mystery was to his mind cleared up. There must be, there was, of course, some sort of connection between the Rushworths and the Lextons; and the rich, precise, old-fashioned maiden ladies, who, he now remembered, were wintering abroad, had lent their flat to these family connections.
That would explain everything—Miles Rushworth’s urgent cable, as also his evident anxiety that everything should be done to help and succour Mrs. Lexton in her distress.
Just as he came to this satisfactory explanation of what had puzzled and disturbed him, the door of the drawing-room opened, and Ivy walked in.
She held out her little hand. “Mr. Oram?” she cried eagerly, “I’m so glad to see you! I had a cable just before lunch from Mr. Rushworth, telling me that you were going to help me. Everything is so dreadful, so extraordinary, that I feel utterly bewildered, as well as miserable——” and then tears strangled her voice.
For a moment her visitor said nothing. He was amazed at her exceeding loveliness, puzzled also, for he was very observant, by the expression which now lit up the beautiful face before him. Though tears were running down her cheeks, it was such a happy expression.
“Won’t you sit down?”
Her tone was quite subdued now; the hysterical excitement which had been there had died out of her voice.
He obeyed her silently, and there shot over Ivy Lexton a quick feeling of misgiving. Mr. Oram looked so grave, so stern, and he was gazing at her with so curiously close a scrutiny.
“It’s very kind of you to have come so soon,” she said nervously.
“I am anxious to help you in every way possible, Mrs. Lexton,” he answered quietly.
Though the old solicitor was exceedingly impressed by Ivy’s beauty, instead of being attracted, he felt, if anything, slightly repelled, by her appearance.
For one thing, he was sufficiently old-fashioned to feel really surprised, and even shocked, by her “make-up.”
Ivy had made up more than usual this morning, and before coming into the drawing-room just now she had used her lipstick quite recklessly. So it was that while Mr. Oram asked her certain questions, each one of which was to the point, and allowed for but very little prevarication on her part, he avoided looking straight