Eternity Ring by Patricia Wentworth

she’d be a cut above Joseph.”
    “That’s what poor Joe was given to understand, and not at all politely.”
    He looked at her, frowning.
    “Look here, Monica, I think she’s got a lover. I want to know who he is, and I want to know as quickly as possible. I can give you a few pointers about him. He’s probably not Deeping born and bred. He’s served in the Army. And he’s got a cast-iron reason for keeping this affair with Mary dark. Can you help me out?”
    Her eyes wandered from his. With characteristic irrelevance she exclaimed,
    “But Frank—who hasn’t?”
    “Hasn’t what?”
    “What you said—served in the Army. But as to anything else, I don’t know why you think I know about the Stokes girl’s affairs, because I don’t.”
    “Perhaps Mrs. Bowse and Miss Alvina will.”
    “They know a great many things that never happen,” said Monica Abbott. “Cis had better go and practice the organ— she can’t stand them.” She gave a not very happy laugh. “Well, at any rate whilst they’re talking about Mary Stokes they’ll be giving Cis and Grant a rest.”
    The tea-party was a great success. Miss Silver imparted a very pretty knitting stitch to both ladies, and was promised Mrs. Caddie’s recipe for strawberry jam.
    “That is, of course, if I can coax it out of her,” said Miss Alvina. “I have been in the kitchen when she has made it, but you know how it is, if you are not doing a thing yourself you don’t take a great deal of notice. So I couldn’t tell you what she does to make it quite, quite different from anybody else’s and so very superior. She won’t give the recipe to anyone in Deeping, and she won’t make it for anyone but me. She might be persuaded if I said it was for a lady from London, but of course I can’t promise—”
    Mrs. Bowse, a handsome, florid forty-five, came down on Miss Vinnie’s twitterings with sledgehammer common sense.
    “Promise? I should say not! And as to getting a recipe out of Ellen Caddie—” she spread large weatherbeaten hands to the fire—“what a hope! She’s one of the sort that would rather die than part with any of her belongings. After all, why should she? She hasn’t got so many that she can afford to. That wretched Albert of hers may be slipping through her fingers, but at least she can hold on to her recipe for strawberry jam.”
    Miss Silver coughed, and remarked that Albert was a name which had gone very much out of fashion—“But perhaps in a village like Deeping—”
    Both visitors began simultaneously to inform her that Deeping had not been responsible for Albert Caddie or his name, the robust voice of Mrs. Bowse giving her an unfair advantage. It was she who in the end completed the Caddie saga.
    “Served in the Commandos, and got a job as chauffeur to old Mr. Harlow. Then when his nephew Mark came in for the property he kept him on. I believe he’s very handy about the place, but he’s a lot too good-looking, and Mark will always have trouble with him—I told him so the other day, and he only laughed. Of course you can’t expect a young man to take that sort of thing seriously. Poor Ellen Caddie did a bad day’s work for herself when she married him—more fool she. Must be at least ten years older than he is, and never was anything to look at. What does she suppose he married her for? Her savings, and what Lady Evelyn left her! It’s as plain as a pikestaff—I told her so myself. ‘Ellen,’ I said, ‘you’re a fool.’ And she made a face like a mule and said she’d a right to do what she liked. ‘That’s as may be,’ I said. ‘But what is he marrying you for—you ask yourself that!’ ”
    “She’s a very good cook,” said Miss Vinnie.
    The sledgehammer came down again.
    “And he lets her go out to cook for you instead of staying at home and doing it for him! I tell you there’s something wrong when a man lets his wife go out to work like that. I told her so straight out. ‘He’s getting good