The Benevent Treasure

‘You will come in. He will carry the cases. I have a half-crown for him. The ladies, they wait you in the drawing-room. I will show you. There – across the hall – the first door. Go in. I see to everything.’

Candida crossed the hall. It was hung with tapestry which gave out a mouldy smell. For the most part the subject was lost in gloom and grime, but from a rather horrid glimpse of a sword and a severed head she conjectured that this was perhaps just as well. She came to the door to which she had been directed and opened it.

There was a black lacquer screen, and beyond it a blaze of light. She came round the screen into the room. There were three crystal chandeliers. The candles for which they were made had been replaced by electricity, and the effect was brilliant beyond belief. The sheen dazzled upon the white and gold panelled walls and was reflected back from a ceiling powdered with golden stars. There was a white carpet, white velvet curtains fringed with gold, and chair and sofa covers of thickly ribbed ivory corduroy. The rest of the furniture consisted of gilded cabinets and marble tables with carved and gilded legs placed in stiff symmetry along the walls.

As Candida stood blinking on the threshold, the Misses Benevent rose from two small golden chairs placed on either side of the hearth.

Against all that white and gold they looked very small and black – two little dark women in black taffeta dresses with spreading skirts and tightly fitting bodices. The dresses were exactly alike, and so were the collars of old lace, each fastened by a diamond star. Candida saw the dresses first, but they were not the only things which were alike. There was the strongest possible resemblance of figure, face, and feature. Both were little and thin, both had small features, neatly arched eyebrows, and black eyes, and, most remarkably, neither of them appeared to have a grey hair. They were her grandmother’s sisters but the small erectly carried heads were covered with shining black hair quite elaborately dressed. Grey would have been kinder to the little pinched faces and the sallow skins.

They did not move to meet her, but stood there against the background of a portentous marble mantelpiece. Walking up to them was rather like being presented at Court. She had to repress the feeling that a curtsy would be appropriate. Her hand was briefly taken, her cheek was briefly touched. Twice. Each Miss Benevent said, ‘How do you do?’ and the ceremony was over.

There was a little silence whilst they looked at her. From over the mantelpiece a mirror in a gilt frame reflected the scene – Candida in her grey coat, her bright hair showing under a matching beret, and a flush on her cheek because the room was hot and strange and she changed colour easily, and the little black ladies looking at her like a pair of puppets waiting to be jerked into life by an unseen string. They stared at her, and the string jerked. The one on her right said,

‘I am Olivia Benevent. This is my sister Cara. You are Candida Sayle. You do not resemble the Benevents at all. It is a pity.’

The voice was clear, formal, and precise. There was nothing to soften the words. Miss Cara echoed them on a note of regret.

‘It is a great pity.’

Seen close at hand the likeness to her sister was that of a copy which has been too often repeated and is blurred at the edges.

Candida wanted to say ‘Why?’ but she thought she had better not. She was unable to feel sorry that she was not thin and black and dry, but she had been nicely brought up. She smiled and said,

‘Barbara said I was like my father.’

The Miss Benevents shook their heads regretfully. They spoke in unison.

‘He must have taken after the Sayles. A very great pity.’

Miss Olivia stepped back and pressed a bell.

‘You will like to go to your room. A

A

‘He is an impudent one, that driver. Do you know what he said to me? “Foreign, aren’t you?” – just like that. Impudence! “British subject,” I said to him. “And nothing for you to look saucy about either. I’ve lived longer in England than you, my young man, and that I will tell anyone! Fifty years I have lived here, and that is a great deal more than you have done!” And he whistled and said, “Strike me pink!” ’ Miss Olivia tapped with her foot on the white hearth-rug. ‘That is enough, A

A

‘And we will have tea immediately. Joseph can bring it.’ Candida followed A

‘Of all houses this is the most inconvenient. All the time you must look where you are going. See, here there are three steps up, and presently there will be two steps down again. They must have wanted to break someone’s neck when they built like this. Now we go round the corner and up four more steps. Here on the right is a bathroom. This is your room opposite.’ She threw open a door and switched on the light.

The room which sprang into view was oddly shaped. It ran away into an alcove on one side of the hearth, and the whole of the recess was lined with books. Perhaps it was this which made the place seem dark, or perhaps it would have been dark anyhow with its low ceiling crossed by a beam, curtains and bedspread of a deep shade of maroon, and a carpet whose pattern had become indistinguishable. The walls were covered with what she afterwards found was a Morris paper. At first sight it merely presented an appearance of general gloom, but by the light of day and a more particular inspection it disclosed a pattern of spring flowers massed against a background of olive green. She was glad to see that a small electric fire had been imposed on the narrow Victorian grate. A

‘You will turn it on when you want. Thank God, we have a good supply. For ten years I lived with paraffin lamps. Now, no thank you – I have better things to do with my time! You will turn on the fire, and so you will not find it cold. It was put in specially for you. Three years since anyone slept here, but with this good little fire you will not be cold.’ Candida looked past the fire at the alcove. ‘What a lot of books! Whose room used it to be?’ There was the sort of silence which you can’t help noticing. Something made Candida ask her question again.

‘You said it hadn’t been used for three years. Whose room was it before that?’

A

‘It was Mr. Alan Thompson’s room. He has been gone three years.’

‘Who was he?’

‘He was the ladies’ secretary. They were very fond of him. He was ungrateful – he disappointed them very much. It will be better you do not speak of him – it is better no one speaks.’

But Candida went on speaking. She didn’t know why. It just seemed as if she had to.

‘What did he do?’

‘He ran away. He took things – jewels – money. He took them, and he ran away. Their hearts were broken. They were ill. They went away and they travelled. The house was shut up. They do not speak of him ever – we should not have spoken of him. But you are of the family – perhaps it is better you should know. And they are happy again now. Mr. Derek makes them happy – he is young, he is gay. They do not think about that Alan any more. He is gone, and for us too. I speak too much – they have always said so. See, here is the bell. If you want anything, you ring it and Nella will come. She is my great-niece, just as you are to Miss Olivia and Miss Cara. But she has been born in England – she does not even speak Italian any more. She speaks like a London girl, and sometimes she is saucy. She is one of the new-fashioned ones – service is not good enough for her. She only comes because I say so, and because I have money saved and she does not wish me to leave it to my brother’s grand-daughter in Italy. Also the wages are very good. There is a young man whom she wishes to marry, and he encourages her to come. “Think what everything costs,” he says, “and think how you can save – good money coming in every week and not a pe