Part 7 (1/2)
”But why on earth not?” demanded Henrietta. ”Lots of children are adopted these days.”
”True.” The Rector hesitated. ”There are other possibilities, of course.”
”I'm just beginning to work them out,” dryly.
”She might have had you by a previous marriage...”
”No. It wasn't that.”
”Or even-er-outside marriage.”
”Nor that,” said Henrietta tonelessly. ”The police said so. She wasn't anybody's mother-ever.”
”I see. There will be reasons, you know.”
She sighed. ”I could have understood any of those things but this just doesn't make sense.”
”It is an unusual situation.” Mr. Meyton gave the impression of choosing his words with care.
”Grace Jenkins brought me up as a daughter,” said Henrietta defiantly, ”whatever anyone says.”
”Quite so.”
”And I swear no one could have been kinder...”
”No.” He said tentatively, ”Perhaps-had you thought- most likely of all, I suppose-that you were a child of your father's by a previous marriage.”
Mrs. Meyton who had been sitting by, worried and concerned, put in anxiously, ”That would explain everything, dear, wouldn't it?”
”I had wondered about that,” said Henrietta.
The Rector stirred his tea. ”It is a distinct possibility.”
Henrietta stared into the fire. 'That would make me her stepdaughter.”
”Yes.” He coughed. ”It might also account for the strange fact that following his death she didn't tell you.”
”She didn't,” said Henrietta vigorously, ”behave like a stepmother.”
”That's a fiction, you know,” retorted the Rector. ”You've been reading too many books.”
Henrietta managed a tremulous smile, and said again, ”Grace Jenkins brought me up as a daughter. I know she loved me...”
”Of course she did,” insisted Mrs. Meyton.
”Perhaps that's the wrong word,” said Henrietta slowly. ”It was more than that. I always felt...” She looked from one of them to the other struggling to find a word that would convey intangible meaning, ”... well, cherished, if you know what I mean.”
”Of course, I do,” said Mrs. Meyton briskly. ”And you were. Always.”
”It wasn't only that. She made great sacrifices so that I could go away to university. We had to be very careful, you know, with money.” She pushed her hair back from her face and said, ”She wouldn't have done that for just anybody, would she?”
What could have been a small smile twitched at the corners of the Rector's lips but he said gravely enough, ”I think we can accept that-whoever you are-you aren't-er-just anybody.”
”But am I even Henrietta?”
”Henrietta?”
”Henrietta Eleanor Leslie-those are my Christian names...”
”Well?”
”I thought I was my mother's daughter until this morning.”
”You're looking for proof that...”
”That at least I'm Henrietta.”
”If you had been baptised here...”
”I wasn't then?”
The Rector shook his head. ”No. Your mother...”
”She wasn't my mother.”
”I'm sorry.” He bowed his head. ”I was forgetting. It isn't easy to remember...”
”No.” Very ironically.
”Mrs. Jenkins told me you were already baptised.”
He did remember then. Aloud Henrietta said, ”That's why the bureau was broken into then. I can see that now.”
”You think there must have been something there?”
”I do.”
The Rector frowned. ”It does rather look as if steps have been taken to conceal certain-er-facts.”
Henrietta tightened her lips. ”It's not going to be easy, is it?”
”What isn't?”
”Finding out who I am.”
Sloan and Crosby saw Constable Hepple soon after they had forked left at the Post Office. He had brought a plan with him.
”You can't see the chalk lines any more, sir,” he said, ”but deceased was lying roughly here.”
”I see.”