“No, but she left me the house, you see; only the rent is due and I have nothing to pay it with. And she told me to collect any bills that were due for her services, and that she made me a present of the money. So when she was gone I looked in the ledger and found that everything owing to her had been paid up during the last few days, except one account. It was that of Mrs. Vanderstein, the poor lady who was murdered at Boulogne yesterday, as perhaps you have seen in the papers?”
Gimblet inclined his head gravely, and she went on.
“My mother used to go to massage the complexion of Mrs. Vanderstein, and the amount owing was large, over twenty pounds. I was grateful that such a sum should be given to me; but, when I saw the next morning that the lady had disappeared, I made sure it was because she was unable to pay her bills, and it seemed likely that my mother had known this when she was so generous to me. I made sure I should never see a penny of that money, and I was in despair, as I didn’t know what to do about the rent, or even how to live in the meantime. I went up to Mrs. Vanderstein’s house to see if she had really gone, and a kind old gentleman told me the bill would be paid all the same. That was a great comfort, but I knew it would not be for some time, at any rate, and perhaps not till I was starving. It did not really matter so very much,” Julie added loyally, “for I am anxious to enter a religious sisterhood, and they will take me, I am sure, even if I have nothing to bring them. But I can’t bear to go to them as a beggar, and I wish, I wish she hadn’t left me quite destitute without any warning,” she concluded, her eyes filling with tears again.
“Then what did she wake you up to say, early on Tuesday morning?”
“I told you she had a bag in her hand? She took some clothes out of it and gave them to me. She told me to burn them and that she would explain why when she came back. But she said I might keep the linings to make myself petticoats. Such fine petticoats would be no use to me. Still, it was kind of her. And then she took out this and gave it to me to take care of”—Julie put her hand to her neck and pulled out from under her blouse a long string of enormous pearls. “She said that one of her customers had asked her to look after them while she was travelling,” continued the girl, lifting the necklace over her head and holding it out to Gimblet. “I don’t know if they are real, though she told me to be very careful of them and to wear them always. But I think if they had been real she would not have left them.”
Gimblet took the necklace without a word. He was for the moment incapable of speaking.
“That was all my mother said to me,” went on Julie, “but she seemed very pleased about something; and at the same time excited. When I looked out of the window and saw her walking away, she was wearing clothes I had never seen before; they must have been quite new. They were simple, certainly, just a coat and skirt and a small hat; but they were beautifully made and fitted her so well, not at all like what she generally wore. There is something about expensive clothes that makes people look so different. I should hardly have known her if it had not been for a way she has of walking. I could only see the top of her head, but the hat was a very smart one, with a beautiful osprey in it. Somehow she had the air of a person going to a wedding, and I can’t help thinking that perhaps it was her own wedding she was going to. She may have married some one above us in station and not have wanted him to know of my existence. That is what I think, but Bert says not.”
Gimblet cleared his throat. “I wonder,” he said, “if you would mind showing me the clothes you spoke of that your mother gave you before she left.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Julie. “I—you see I had no money—I sold them to a second-hand clothes shop in Victoria Street. Bert wanted to see them too. He thinks my mother must have had some special reason for saying they were to be burnt, but I don’t believe she would have told me I could keep the linings if they had been infectious.”
“What were they like?” Gimblet asked. It needed all his self-control to keep the eagerness out of his voice.