Free Dark Threat by Patricia Wentworth Page B

was conscious of annoyance when Miss Janetta said fretfully, ‘There really ought to be a law against people calling their children after film stars. Lesley Freyne has two Glorias amongst her evacuees. It’s bad enough of the Pells, but when it comes to three Glorias in one village!’
    Miss Silver said brightly, ‘I heard of some people called White who had their son christened Only Fancy Henry. So it made Only Fancy Henry White. Not very considerate to mark a child out in that way. Names present a great many pitfalls. There are, of course, such charming ones for girls.’ She smiled at Miss Columba. ‘Your name, for instance—most unusual and attractive. And your sister’s too. But when it comes to boys, I must own to a preference for what is solid and plain—William, George, Edward, Henry—all good names, and all, I am informed, quite out of fashion at present.’
    Miss Columba looked up from a baked apple.
    ‘My father’s name was Henry.’
    Miss Silver gave her the look with which she might have encouraged a diffident or tongue-tied child and said, ‘An excellent name. Has it been passed on to the present generation?’
    There was one of those pauses. Roger muttered something that sounded like ‘Yes—a cousin,’ and Miss Janetta began in a hurry to deplore the prevalence of Peters.
    ‘I’ve nothing against the name, but there really are too many of them.’
    Miss Silver agreed.
    They went on talking about names.
    As they talked, Miss Silver’s eyes went from one to another, seeing all that was on the surface and searching for what might lie beneath. When Robbins came and went she watched him too. Such a secretive face—but a well trained manservant will look like that for no reason at all. In his own way a good-looking man—straight regular features and an upright carriage. Perhaps off duty and in his own quarters he could relax and be off guard. The word kept coming back to her. He was on guard. Over what? It might be his professional good manners, his dignity as an old family servant, or it might be something else. She felt a good deal of interest in Robbins.

ELEVEN
    M ISS C OLUMBA CONDUCTED her school friend all round the house next morning. She did it with an air of gloom, because it is impossible to take anyone over an interesting old house without more conversation than she cared about. It was also an exceptionally good day for the garden and she wished to put in a row of early peas. Pell said it was too soon, but she didn’t intend to let him down her. If the weather was to change over night, it would give him a very unfair advantage, and he would certainly make the most of it. She knew her duty, and she did it without a protest, but certainly not in any spirit of cheerfulness, and she wore her gardening slacks and fisherman’s jersey so as to be ready to go out and confront Pell at the first possible moment.
    The house had three stories, and they began at the top. In her capacity as showman Miss Columba was obliged to talk. As a matter of fact, once the ice was broken and she had made up her mind to it, Pilgrim’s Rest was the one topic upon which she could if she chose find words. She would not be prodigal of them, but she could produce enough to serve the purpose in hand.
    As they emerged upon the top landing, she said, ‘The hall used to run right up to here. It was sealed over in the early eighteenth century to make the rooms below. These used to be one large garret. They were partitioned off at the same time.’
    Miss Silver looked about her with the bright interest of a bird who hopes to breakfast on the early worm. The ceilings were low, the rooms small. There were a great many of them, and none in use except the largest, which was apparently occupied by the Robbins. Mrs. Robbins came out of it as they passed.
    Miss Columba said, ‘Good-morning. I am showing Miss Silver the house,’ and added, ‘Mrs. Robbins has been with us for a great many years—how many is it,