Inspector Stoddart's Most Famous Cases. Annie Haynes

      Chapter XII

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      "Ready for church, Hilary? No? Well, hurry up, then, or we shall be late."

      Miss Lavinia was pulling on her gloves as she came into the sitting-room at the private hotel.

      "I don't feel like going to church this morning, Aunt Lavinia," Hilary returned lazily.

      She was sitting beside Fee's couch at the window, watching the passers-by in the street.

      "Well, whether you feel like it or not, you are coming," Miss Lavinia retorted brusquely. "You don't intend to have me go to church by myself, I presume?"

      Hilary looked disinclined to move.

      "If I come with you, Fee will be all alone. And I never knew you were fond of going to church, Aunt Lavinia."

      "I dare say you didn't. But then you don't know everything about me," her aunt replied. "I was a most regular church-goer when I was young. And now, with all the bother about this deposited prayer-book, I think it my duty and the duty of all Church people, to go and enter their protest."

      "Aunt Lavinia," interrupted Fee, "why do they call it the deposited prayer-book?"

      "Oh, ask me another, child!" the spinster retorted. "Because they have stuck it down somewhere or other, I suppose. But I don't pretend to understand the ways of the modern parson. Long may their blessed book remain deposited. That is all I have to say."

      "Don't you like it?" questioned Fee with interest.

      "Like it!" Miss Lavinia uttered scornfully. "When I go to church I like to hear the words I have always heard and that my father and mother and their fathers and mothers heard before me. I don't want to hear the service mumbled and jumbled by a lot of popinjays got up to look like mediaeval saints, which they are not—anything but, most of them, from what I hear. Bowdlerizing the marriage service too! As if the present-day young woman with her bare back, tearing off to immoral plays and reading indecent books, couldn't stand a few home-truths when she got married. But I have found a quiet little church I like and I am going to it, and so are you, Hilary. The parson behaves like a reasonable man. So make haste and get your hat on."

      Hilary was still smiling when she obeyed. Miss Priestley was as good as a tonic to her.

      But Hilary's mourning was by no means satisfactory to Miss Lavinia. She sniffed audibly as she looked at her niece. Hilary's black frock was lightened by a collar of tucked valenciennes, and her silk stockings and suede shoes were of the palest shade of grey. She wore a pale grey chiffon scarf too, and her small black hat had a large chou of grey velvet ribbon at one side. Grey, also, were the gloves she was wearing.

      But though every line in Miss Lavinia's countenance was expressive of disapproval, she made no remark upon her niece's get-up as she turned to the door.

      "Well, good-bye, Fee," she said as she motioned to Hilary to precede her. "We shall not be long and soon you will be coming out with us."

      "Aunt Lavinia," Hilary said reproachfully as they went downstairs, "what is the good of saying things like that to Fee? Even if Dr. Blathwayte's treatment were able to effect a cure, which I cannot help doubting, I don't think we could possibly afford it. I can't see a chance of it."

      "My good girl, if you used your common sense, Blathwayte's expenses would soon be paid," Miss Lavinia remarked shortly. "But we will not discuss that now. We must get on as fast as we can to St. Alphege's or we shall be late."

      Somewhat to Hilary's surprise, in the lounge her aunt told the porter to summon a taxi.

      "False economy to walk to church, especially if there is any prospect of rain," Miss Lavinia remarked as they got in.

      There did not appear to be any prospect of rain, so far as Hilary could see, but she made no comment.

      She thought St. Alphege's a dull, bare-looking edifice, and marvelled at her aunt's taste in churches, as they were marshalled into a narrow, straight-backed seat. The service strictly followed the lines Miss Lavinia had indicated. The organ was badly played, the choir sang out of tune, the parson had a dull voice and read with a lisp. Hilary was not surprised the congregation was small almost to vanishing point. In the lessons her attention wandered and she gave herself up to blissful day-dreams of a future to be spent with Basil Wilton.

      From it she was abruptly roused by the parson's voice when he had regained his reading desk after the second lesson.

      "I publish the banns of marriage between James Williams, widower, of the parish of Brentfell in the county of Durham, and Mary Sophia Freeman, spinster, of this parish. This is for the second time of asking. Also between Basil Godfrey Wilton, bachelor, and Iris Mary Houlton, spinster, both of this parish. This is for the third time of asking. If any of you know any just cause or impediment why these persons may not severally be joined in holy matrimony ye are now to declare it."

      The dull, old church seemed to rock with Hilary. For a moment everything went dark before her eyes, then she rallied her pride to her aid and rose, her head erect, with the rest of the congregation. But of the remainder of the service and of the laboured, stuttering sermon she heard nothing, though she looked as usual, save that her colour was a little higher.

      At last it was over and like an automaton she followed her aunt into the sunlight outside.

      Miss Lavinia hailed a passing taxi.

      "I see why you like St. Alphege's, Aunt Lavinia," Hilary said with a fine smile when they had settled themselves.

      Miss Priestley had the grace to look ashamed of herself.

      "Well, my dear child, I knew it was no use my talking. You would never believe a word I said against Wilton. So I thought you should be convinced by the evidence of your own ears."

      "How did you know?" Hilary asked.

      "A—a friend of mine who is a member of the St. Alphege's congregation told me. It—it was the fact that both the names had been mentioned in the papers of late and their proximity here that made them noticeable of course. Otherwise we might never have heard anything until the marriage had taken place."

      "That wouldn't have mattered," Hilary said quietly. "I think it would have been better to have been quite open with me, Aunt Lavinia."

      Miss Lavinia made no rejoinder. But Hilary was not minded to let the rest of the drive pass in silence. She talked away in a fashion that her aunt had not heard since Dr. Bastow's death. When they reached the hotel, however, Hilary sprang out with a feeling that an intolerable strain was over.

      As she turned to make some remark to her aunt, she collided with a man passing on the pavement.

      He raised his hat with a murmured apology, then paused with a sharp exclamation of surprise.

      "Miss Bastow!"

      Hilary's recognition was instantaneous, in spite of the alteration the past few weeks had made in the dark face of the man hesitating before her.

      "Dr. Morris!"

      "Yes," he said quietly.

      He did not attempt to shake hands, but his eyes wandered from the girl's face to Miss Lavinia's, then with a gesture that was very familiar to Hilary he snatched off his concealing glasses.

      Seen thus Hilary had