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    The Ivory Dagger
    The Ivory Dagger
    The Ivory Dagger
    Ebook360 pages5 hours

    The Ivory Dagger

    By Patricia Wentworth

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    About this ebook

    A jilted fiancé is suspected of murder in the series that offers “some of the best examples of the British country-house murder mystery” (Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine).
     Bill Waring went to America with a bright future ahead of him. In London he had a promising career and the love of a young beauty, Lila Dryden, and there were plans for marriage when he returned from overseas. But then a freak train accident puts their happiness on hold. Bill spends a month in the hospital, and when he finally makes it back to London, there is a still bigger shock awaiting him. Under pressure from a domineering aunt, Lila has become engaged to another. She and her new fiancé—middle-aged, charmless, and rich—are in the country for the weekend. Bill follows, determined to win back Lila’s heart. But when her new betrothed is stabbed to death, blame falls squarely on Bill, and only the brilliant, demure detective Maud Silver can clear his name.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateJul 26, 2011
    ISBN9781453223796
    The Ivory Dagger
    Author

    Patricia Wentworth

    Patricia Wentworth (1878–1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.

    Read more from Patricia Wentworth

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      Book preview

      The Ivory Dagger - Patricia Wentworth

      The Ivory Dagger

      A Miss Silver Mystery

      Patricia Wentworth

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Chapter 40

      Chapter 41

      Chapter 42

      Chapter 43

      Chapter 44

      Chapter 45

      Preview: Through the Wall

      Copyright Page

      Chapter 1

      THE YOUNG MAN IN the hospital bed threw out an arm and turned over. His first conscious thought was that he must have called out, because the sound of his own voice was ringing in his ears, but he didn’t know why he had called out or what he had said. He blinked at the light and got up on his elbow. There was a screen round his bed. The light came in over the screen. He blinked at it, and a nurse came round the edge of the screen and looked at him. She had a good plain face and nice eyes. She said, Oh! and then, So you’ve waked up.

      He said, Where have I got to?

      She came right up to him and took hold of his wrist.

      Now don’t you worry. The doctor will be along to see you in a minute.

      What do I want a doctor for? I’m all right.

      She said, That’s fine. You were in a train smash. You just had a bump on the head.

      He said, Oh— and then, It feels all right.

      She went away after that, and presently she came back again with some sort of milky cereal that tasted like baby food.

      By the time this happened he had made sure that he was all there and in one piece. Actually when she came round the screen he was out of bed seeing if he could stand on one leg. The leg felt shaky, so he wasn’t too sorry to get back and take his scolding. It was part of a nurse’s job to scold when you broke the rules.

      She went away when he had finished the cereal, and he lay there wondering how long he had been in hospital. He had lost muscle, and his hands were a horrid sickly white. You don’t lose a good strong tan in a day or two. He wondered just how much time he had lost, and how he had come to be in a train smash, and where he was now. The last thing he remembered was going to see Jackson in San Francisco. After that, nix, as they said over here.

      It was about twenty minutes before the doctor came—youngish, darkish, efficient. He led off just like the nurse.

      So you’ve waked up?

      This time he was ready to come back with a question of his own.

      How long have I been out?

      Quite a while.

      How long?

      A month.

      Nonsense!

      Have it your own way.

      He took a long breath and said,

      A month—

      The doctor nodded.

      Quite an interesting case.

      Do you mean to say I’ve been asleep for a month?

      Well, no, not asleep—though you managed to put in a good bit of that too. Just no sense—didn’t know who you were. Do you know now?

      Of course. I’m Bill Waring. I came over about patents for my firm, Rumbolds, London. Electrical apparatus—all that sort of thing.

      The doctor nodded.

      Well, you came in here as Gus G. Strohberger and it took us the best part of ten days to find out you weren’t. We had to wait for the Strohberger family to get back from a trip and identify you, and when they said you weren’t Gus we had to start all over again.

      Bill stared.

      What happened to my papers?

      The train caught fire. You’re lucky to be here, you know. Gus didn’t make it, but a grip with his name on it was only partly burned, and the guys who dug you out seemed to think it belonged to you. They got you just before the fire did. I’ll say you’re lucky.

      Bill Waring grinned.

      Born to be hanged, he said cheerfully.

      They didn’t let him have his mail till next day. There was a very decent letter from old Rumbold dated ten days back. Very sorry to hear about the accident. Hoped he was making a good recovery. A pat on the back for having fixed everything up before he let a train smash get him. And he wasn’t to hurry back till he was perfectly fit. There were other letters, but they didn’t matter.

      There was only one from Lila. Not airmail, and dated six weeks ago. It must have been waiting for him in New York when the train went to glory. He read it three times with a frowning intensity which would certainly have made Nurse Anderson adjure him to relax. She wasn’t there, so he read the letter for the fourth time and continued to frown. There wasn’t really anything very much to frown over. The letter wasn’t very long or very informative. Lila Dryden was twenty-two. It might have been written by someone a good deal younger than that.

      He read it a fifth time.

      Dear Bill,

      We have been very busy. It has been rather hot, and it would have been nicer in the country. I get tired in London. We dined with Sir Herbert Whitall and went to the theatre. His house has some wonderful things in it. He collects ivories, but I think most of them are rather ugly. There is a figure which he says is like me, but I hope it isn’t. He is a friend of Aunt Sybil’s and quite old. We are lunching with him tomorrow and going down to his place for the week-end. Aunt Sybil says it is a show place. She seems very fond of him, but I hope she isn’t going to marry him, because I don’t really like him very much. I thought I could go and stay with Ray Fortescue whilst she did the week-end, but she says I must come too, and it isn’t ever any good saying you won’t if Aunt Sybil wants you to. She is calling me, so I must go.

      Lila

      He folded the letter up and put it away in its envelope.

      Chapter 2

      IT WAS A VERY foolish affair, said Lady Dryden. Cake, Corinna?

      Mrs. Longley looked, and fell. She said, I oughtn’t to, and helped herself to the larger of the two slices already cut from the dark rich cake.

      Lady Dryden acquiesced grimly. They had been at school together, and in any case she never minced her words.

      You are putting on.

      Oh, Sybil!

      Definitely, said Lady Dryden. Cake at tea is absolutely fatal.

      Oh, well—

      Of course, if you don’t mind—

      Corinna Longley wanted to change the subject. She had been one of those slim, rather colourless fair girls with a lot of hair, wide sky-blue eyes, and pretty little hands and feet. At fifty the hands and feet were as small as ever. The hair now hovered between a mousy brown and grey, and the slim figure had spread. She minded, but not enough to do without cake at tea. It was all very well for Sybil, who would never put on an ounce or allow anything else to happen which was not exactly planned and provided for. She had always known just what she wanted, and she had always managed to get it. And the thing of all others which she had wanted and managed to get was her own way. It wasn’t just luck. Some people got what they wanted, and Sybil Dryden was one of them. Look at the way she had managed this business of Lila’s. She came back to it partly to get away from the subject of cake, and partly because it was going to be one of the marriages of the autumn and it would be nice to be in the know.

      You were telling me about Lila, she said. Of course she is a very lucky girl. He is quite enormously rich, isn’t he?

      Lady Dryden looked down her handsome nose and said in a repressive voice,

      Really, Corinna! Then, after a slight pause, Herbert Whitall is a man whom any girl might be proud to marry. He has money of course. Lila is not at all suited to be a poor man’s wife. She is not very robust, you know, and a girl has a hard time now if she marries a professional man—all the work of the house to do, all the care of the children, and practically no help to be got. I agree that Lila is extremely lucky.

      Mrs. Longley helped herself to the second piece of cake. She always did feel hungry at tea-time, and perhaps Sybil wouldn’t notice.

      The hope was vain. Lady Dryden’s eyebrows rose. The pale, formidable eyes glanced at her with a momentary contempt. Very curious eyes, neither blue nor grey, but oddly bright between very dark lashes. People used to say she darkened them artificially, but it wasn’t true. Sybil’s eyes had always been just like that, pale and rather frightening, and the lashes really almost black. Corinna Longley said in a hurry,

      I expect you are right. My poor Anne has a dreadful time—three babies, and a doctor’s house, which means meals at all sorts of hours, and not even daily help as often as not. I can’t think how she does it. I’m sure I couldn’t. But she takes after her father—so practical. Now Lila isn’t practical, is she? But I did like Bill Waring.

      Lady Dryden repeated a previous remark.

      A very stupid affair. More tea, Corinna?

      Oh, thank you. Is he still in America?

      I imagine so.

      Did he—did he—how did he take it?

      Lady Dryden set down the teapot.

      My dear Corinna, you really mustn’t talk as if Lila had thrown him over. The whole stupid affair just faded out.

      Mrs. Longley took her cup, and said, Oh, no, thank you to sugar, in the hope that this would be accounted to her for righteousness. Buoyed up with a feeling of virtue, she ventured to say,

      It faded out?

      Lady Dryden nodded.

      A few months’ separation gives young people a chance of finding out whether they really care for each other. Very few of these boy-and-girl affairs stand the test.

      Mrs. Longley reflected that an engagement between a girl of twenty-two and a man of twenty-eight hardly came into this category, but she knew better than to say so. She made one of those murmuring sounds which encourage the person who is talking to proceed, and was duly rewarded.

      Lady Dryden went on.

      I don’t mind telling you that I said a word to Edward Rumbold—he’s the head of young Waring’s firm and a very old friend. So when he told me they were sending someone out to America—something to do with patents—I said, ‘What about giving Bill Waring the chance?’ I don’t know if it made any difference. I believe there was someone else they were going to send, but he was ill. Anyhow Bill went, and the whole thing just faded out.

      You mean he didn’t write?

      Lady Dryden gave a short laugh.

      Oh, reams by every post at first. Too unrestrained. And then—well, just nothing at all.

      Mrs. Longley’s eyes widened to their fullest extent.

      "Sybil—you didn’t!"

      Lady Dryden laughed again.

      "My dear Corinna! You’ve been reading Victorian novels—Hearts Divided, or The Intercepted Letters. Nothing so sensational, I’m afraid. Americans are very hospitable. Bill Waring found himself in a rush of business by day and amusement by night. He was very well entertained, and he didn’t find or make time to write to Lila. She didn’t like being left flat, and Herbert Whitall made the running. That’s the whole story, and no melodrama about it. She is a very lucky girl, and they are being married next week. You got your card?"

      Oh, yes—I’m looking forward to it. I expect her dress is lovely. He has given her pearls, hasn’t he?

      Yes. Fortunately they suit her.

      Mrs. Longley leaned forward to put down her cup. She began to collect a bag, gloves, a handkerchief, talking as she did so.

      Well, I must go. Allan likes me to be in when he comes home. Of course pearls are lovely, but my mother wouldn’t let me wear the little string Aunt Mabel left me—not on my wedding day. She said pearls were tears, and she took them away and locked them up. And of course I’ve been very happy, though I don’t suppose it had anything to do with the pearls.

      At this point she dropped her bag. It opened, her purse fell out and a compact rolled. When she had retrieved it from under the tea-table she felt suddenly brave enough to say,

      He is a lot older than she is, isn’t he?

      Lady Dryden said coldly,

      Herbert Whitall is forty-seven. Lila is an extremely lucky girl.

      Afterwards Corinna Longley was surprised at her own courage. She told Allan all about it when she got home.

      "I just felt I must say something. Of course he’s got all that money, and she’ll have a lovely house, and a proper staff of servants, and everything like that. But he is a lot older, and I don’t like his face, and she was in love with Bill Waring."

      At the time, she fixed swimming blue eyes on Lady Dryden’s face and said with a choke in her voice,

      Is she happy, Sybil?

      Chapter 3

      LILA DRYDEN STOOD LOOKING at herself in the glass which not only gave back the slim perfection of her figure but repeated it in the great wall-mirror behind her. She could see how beautifully her wedding dress was cut. She had wanted something softer and whiter, but that was when she was planning to marry Bill Waring. She didn’t really like the deep, heavy satin which Aunt Sybil had chosen. It reminded her of the ivory figure in Herbert Whitall’s collection. He had brought it out and set it on the mantelpiece for everyone to see and said that it was like her. She hated it. It was very old. She hated being told that she was like something which was thousands of years old. It made her feel as if—no, she didn’t know what it made her feel, but she didn’t like it.

      She looked into the mirror and saw her own slim ivory figure repeated endlessly. She didn’t like that either. It was like a rather horrid dream. Hundreds of Lila Drydens going away down an endless shadowy vista—hundreds of them, all with her pale gold hair and the ivory satin dress which Aunt Sybil had chosen.

      The ivory figure had once had golden hair. The gold had worn away because the figure was so very old, but Herbert Whitall had held it under the light for her to see how the gilding still clung to it here and there. She heard him say in the voice which frightened her most, Gold and ivory—like you, my beautiful Lila.

      These thoughts didn’t take any time. They were there, just as the carpet was there under her feet. The carpet was there, and the floor was solid under it. It was silly to feel as if she was floating away to join all those gold and ivory Lilas in that queer looking-glass world. She heard Sybil Dryden say,

      Do you think it would bear to come in the least possible shade at the waist? And Madame Mirabelle’s instant and emotional reaction, "Oh, but non, non, non, non, non! It is perfect—absolutely perfect. I will not take the responsibility to touch it. Mademoiselle will be the most beautiful bride, and she will have the most beautiful dress—of a perfection, of a simplicity! One would say a statue of the antique!" Her short, stout figure came into the mirror—a hundred Mirabelles going away to a vanishing point, all black, all wonderfully corseted, with waving hands and a torrent of words.

      Sybil Dryden nodded.

      Yes, it’s good, she said, in her calm, unhurried way.

      She stood up and came into the picture too, another black figure, but a slim one. She carried herself with distinction. Everything about her was just as it should be, from the faultless waves just touched with grey at the temples to the slender arch of foot. The black coat and skirt conveyed no suggestion of mourning. There was a flash of diamonds in the lace at the throat. The small hat achieved just the right note of restrained elegance, endlessly repeated by the mirrors.

      Hundreds of Aunt Sybils ... Lila saw them in a swirling mist. She heard Mirabelle exclaim, and the mist broke into a shower of sparks.

      Lady Dryden was nothing if not efficient. She caught the swaying figure as it fell, and since a white sheet had been spread on the floor of the fitting-room, the wedding dress took no harm.

      Chapter 4

      RAY FORTESCUE GOT OFF her bus and walked up the street. She was wearing her new autumn suit, because nothing gives you so much confidence as to feel that you are looking your best. The suit was a success, and so was the little off-the-face hat that went with it. They were perfectly matched, and they were just two shades lighter than her dark brown hair. There was a spray of autumn leaves and berries on the hat, repeating the gay lipstick which went so well with the clear brown of her skin. She wasn’t a beauty, but she had her points, and she knew how to make the most of them. Her eyes were a clear amber with very dark lashes, and they were widely set. Her face showed balance, character, control, and she had the figure which most girls long for. It looked very well in the brown suit.

      She rang the bell at the small house where the window-boxes were gay with asters against very bright green paint. Whatever Lady Dryden said and whatever Lady Dryden did, she was going to see Lila. Lila might call Lady Dryden Aunt Sybil and be well down under her thumb, but when all was said and done they weren’t really relations at all. Old John Dryden had adopted Lila, and then five years later Sybil had married him and more or less bullied him into his grave. She remembered his giving them sweets behind Sybil’s back, a nice woolly old thing and always finishing up with Better not let your aunt know. She thinks they’re bad for you. But— chuckling— we know better, don’t we? Not an awfully good way to bring up a child, but that was the sort of thing that happened under a totalitarian regime.

      Lady Dryden’s elderly parlourmaid opened the door.

      Good afternoon, Palmer. I’ve come to see Miss Lila.

      Palmer looked down her long thin nose. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but with the best will in the world it didn’t really come off. Lady Dryden had the nose for it and Palmer hadn’t, but she went on trying.

      Well, I don’t know, I’m sure, Miss Ray. She fainted this morning after her last fitting, and her ladyship was very particular she should be kept quiet.

      Ray’s spirits soared. Lady Dryden had obviously gone out. A nice colour came up in her cheeks. She smiled her wide, warm smile and walked into the hall.

      Oh, yes—she is doing far too much. Get a big stick and keep out everyone but me! I don’t count, but everyone else can just go home again. Where is she—in her room?

      She was half way up the narrow stair before Palmer could finish a Well, her ladyship said— and round the turn before she gave up with a sniff and went back down the basement stairs. Her ladyship wouldn’t be pleased—she knew that well enough—but how was she going to stop Miss Ray? First cousins are not much different to sisters. And Miss Ray a bridesmaid too. She sniffed again and prepared to be aggrieved.

      Lila was on the sofa. She looked lovely and fragile. She had a make-up box on her lap with samples of lipstick, rouge, and nail-polish. She had just been trying a sample called apple-blossom and was contemplating the result in the ivory hand-glass which belonged to her new dressing-case. She was sorry about its being ivory, but Herbert wouldn’t hear of anything else. All the things were inlaid with a delicately traced initial in pale gold, and everyone admired them very much. She looked up when Ray came in, and said in a languid voice,

      I’m trying all my samples. Do you like this apple-blossom thing?

      Ray sat down and gave the matter her critical attention.

      Yes, it’s very good. You’d better stick to it. The lipstick is a marvellous match.

      They all go together. I’ve just done one nail with the polish. I thought it was good. I look frightful in most of the shades—they’re too bright.

      You can’t stand those bright things. I’ve told you so again and again.

      You wear them. Lila’s voice had a fretful tone.

      Ray laughed.

      Well, if I didn’t decorate the face a bit, no one would look at it. Anyhow it’s not your style. You stick to your apple-blossom, and you can hand me over all those nice barbaric shades.

      Lila pushed the box away.

      I look frightful anyway, she said. I fainted this morning whilst I was having that horrible wedding dress tried on.

      There was just the least trace of satisfaction in the mournful tone.

      Ray took a good deep breath.

      If it’s horrible, why wear it?

      Lila laid down the ivory glass. Her hand shook. Her voice shook too.

      Aunt Sybil chose it.

      Can’t you choose anything for yourself?

      You know I can’t.

      Not even the man?

      Lila began to cry in a gentle, childish manner. The tears welled up in her lovely eyes and trickled down over her lovely cheeks. Her lips quivered.

      You know I can’t.

      Ray fished a clean handkerchief out of the pocket of her brown suit and tossed it over.

      Stop it! she said briskly. What’s the good of going on spilling the milk and then crying because it’s spilt? I’ve come here to tell you something, and you’ve got to dry your eyes and listen.

      Lila dabbed with the handkerchief.

      Wh-what is it?

      I met Mr. Rumbold this morning.

      D-did you?

      He said Bill was coming home.

      Lila stopped dabbing and said, Oh—

      Tomorrow.

      Lila said, Oh— again.

      Boat train from Southampton.

      Lila dropped her handkerchief. Her fingers twined helplessly.

      What is the good?

      Well, there’s really nothing to stop you meeting the train, is there?

      I couldn’t!

      "Oh, yes, you could. You could meet the train. You could tell Bill that Lady Dryden has bullied you into saying you’ll marry Herbert Whitall but you don’t want to, and what about it? I gather Bill’s due for a rise, and it only takes three days to get married. What about it?"

      Lila sat bolt upright. She looked terrified.

      "I couldn’t—I couldn’t—I couldn’t! He didn’t write—he hasn’t written for ages. Aunt Sybil always did say it wouldn’t come to anything, and that just showed. And it wasn’t a real engagement—Aunt Sybil always said it wasn’t."

      Ray’s brows made a stern dark line above eyes that were bright with anger.

      "And what Aunt Sybil says goes? For God’s sake, Lila, wake up! It’s you and Bill who know whether you were engaged to each other, not Lady Dryden. If you were happy, I wouldn’t say a word. If you wanted to marry Herbert Whitall, I wouldn’t say a word. But you’re not happy. And you don’t want to marry him. And you’re of age. You’re perfectly free to walk out of this house and meet Bill Waring’s train. You’re like a rabbit in a trap. Well, the door is open and you can walk out. Are you going to be mesmerized into staying in the trap until the door isn’t open any more and you can’t get out?"

      Lila went on looking terrified.

      He didn’t write, she said.

      He didn’t write because he couldn’t. He was in an accident—he’s been in hospital. Mr. Rumbold told me. But he’s all right again now, and he’s coming home tomorrow. What are you going to do about it?

      Two big tears ran down over the apple-blossom. Lila said faintly,

      I can’t—I can’t do anything—

      You can—if you want to.

      She shook her head.

      It’s too late. All the invitations have gone out—there are three hundred wedding presents. I can’t do anything now.

      On the last word the door was briskly opened and Lady Dryden came in.

      Chapter 5

      BILL WARING JUMPED DOWN on to the platform. He hailed a porter and directed him briefly, but all the time his eyes were on the barrier, looking for Lila. There was a bit of a crowd there—people waiting to get through for the next train. He would see her in a moment. He had sent off his cable and followed it up by a telegram from Southampton, so she was simply bound to be there. The trouble was he couldn’t see her. He hurried the porter, picked out his luggage, and went striding away to give up his ticket.

      But when he had passed the barrier it wasn’t Lila who came up to him with both hands out, but Ray—Ray Fortescue with her shining eyes and her wide, warm smile. She said, Oh, Bill! and before he knew what he was going to do he had kissed her. It happened just like that. Her mouth smiled, her eyes shone, and he kissed her. And why not? They had known each other long enough. She was Lila’s cousin and the best friend in the world.

      He kept his hold of her, a hand on either side of her shoulders, and said,

      Where’s Lila?

      She couldn’t come.

      A first premonitory fear made him say quickly,

      She’s not ill?

      No.

      She’s not in town? But I wired to Holmbury as well—

      Ray Fortescue said,

      "She couldn’t come. Lady Dryden ... Look here, I’ll tell you all about it—there’s been rather a hoo-ha. But we must get away from here. You’re coming back with me. Cousin Rhoda will be

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