Free The Alington Inheritance by Patricia Wentworth Page A

in her voice.
    Without a word he pushed open the door and got out. He shut the door behind him, leaned against it, and said,
    “Well, here I am. Take a good look and make up your mind.”
    She said,
    “It’s you who have to make up your mind, isn’t it?”
    They stood looking at one another in the bright, clear moonlight. He heard her draw in her breath.
    “Who—who are you?” she said.
    “My name is Richard Forbes.”
    She echoed him in a faint whisper, “Richard Forbes—”
    “That is my name.”
    Jenny stood still. It was unbelievable, but it had happened. Unbelievable things did happen. This one had happened. He stood there with the moonlight across his face, and she saw feature for feature the Richard Forbes who had built Alington House. The Richard Forbes in the picture had had long curling hair, and he had worn fine clothes, not a raincoat and slacks. But it was the same face, it was the same expression— the laughing look in the eyes, the humorous querk of the mouth. And then the humour faded. He had the air of being very much in earnest, and he said,
    “Why do you look at me like that?”
    Jenny said, “Because I’ve seen you before.”
    “Where? When?” He had never seen her before, he was prepared to swear to that.
    “All my life. You’re the portrait in the hall—the picture of Richard Alington Forbes.”
    He caught his breath and said,
    “But that’s my name.”
    He saw her colour rise, not as colour, but as a shadow, because they were all black and white in the moonlight. He could only just catch the tremor in her voice when she said,
    “Is it?”
    “Yes. What’s yours?”
    “I’m Jenny Forbes. I’m from Alington House.”
    It was the first time she had given her name as Jenny Forbes—the very first time. She had been Jenny Hill all her life, but she wasn’t Jenny Hill any more. She was Jennifer Hill’s daughter, but she was Richard Forbes’ daughter too—Richard Alington Forbes. She was their lawful daughter. She held her head up and looked Richard Forbes in the face and said his name.
    Something in that straight look of hers got through. He said in a puzzled voice,
    “I don’t understand. I thought the sons were grown up, but the daughters—they’re little girls, aren’t they?”
    “Yes. I don’t belong to that family. I’m the daughter of Richard Forbes, the one who was killed at the beginning of the war. They said he wasn’t married to my mother. She was ill. There was an air raid—it was the day my father was killed. Her head was hurt—she didn’t talk. She came down here to Garsty.” She went on looking at him straight. He had never seen such truthful eyes. “Garsty had been her governess. She came to her because that was her home—she hadn’t any other. That’s how she met my father. But no one knew they were married. I only found out last night.”
    “What did you find out?”
    She had put down her case on the ground. She put out her hands with the little shabby bag in them and said,
    “Don’t you believe me? I’m telling you the truth because you’re Richard Forbes. I wouldn’t tell about this to anyone else—I wouldn’t really. But you are different.”
    That struck home in a most curious way. He felt it with every nerve of his body. And he felt it because it was true. There was a deep relationship between them—kinship, and something more than kinship. They were two of a kind. That was the difference which she spoke of.
    She was speaking again.
    “I’ll tell you—because you’re Richard Forbes. I was upstairs in the schoolroom, and Mac came in and his mother.”
    “That’s the eldest son?”
    “Yes. I was behind the window curtains. The room was dark. I’d been crying because of something that had happened, and I didn’t want to see anyone, or anyone to see me… Where was I?”
    He said gravely, “Mac had just come into the schoolroom.”
    She nodded.
    “Yes. I thought he’d come to see me. I didn’t want to see him, so I stayed