by Richard Hull
‘No. I suppose you only say it behind his back? Well, goodbye, uncle. I’m sorry you aren’t in your dotage yet. I should have enjoyed swindling you. Oh, damn that dog! She isn’t going to let me go away now. The most unreasonable animal I ever met!’
James Warrenton looked at each of his two nephews in turn and then laughed noisily.
‘Take your dog away, Young, and go yourself. Rushton!’ he yelled at the top of his voice.
‘Shall I ring for him, uncle?’ Emily fluttered towards the bell.
‘No. I’m almost certain that he’s been listening outside the door. However, if you must save his face, you can do so.’
After such time as it took him to walk quickly if noiselessly to his pantry and back again, the butler reappeared.
‘Mr Gregory’s left his luggage at the station. Go and fetch it,’ were Warrenton’s abrupt orders.
‘Shall I send the Vauxhall for it, sir, or shall Hamar go and fetch it by hand?’
‘Please yourself, but do it and don’t talk so much, and remember that sometimes you have to do things yourself.’
‘Yes, sir. And would the luggage be heavy, sir?’ Rushton put his employer on one side and turned to Gregory.
‘Just one suitcase, ordinary sort of size. I shall fetch the rest from London later.’
Left by themselves, Malcolm thought it necessary to do what he considered his duty by the Warrenton family.
‘Do you really mean to keep this fellow here, Uncle James? I mean with the character which you have given him, and for that matter the character he has given himself?’
‘I’ve told you before. I shall keep whom I like in my own house.’
‘But — you’ve heard what he intends to do? Get money out of you. And he will! He’s quite as clever as you are, whatever you may think.’
It was the kind of suggestion which Gregory could get away with, but Henry had no chance whatever of propounding successfully. Really, to get rid of his cousin, there were only two courses he could have pursued. He might originally have strongly urged that Gregory should stay, but the opportunity to do so was over long ago. Failing that, he might have threatened to leave himself. It had never occurred to him that such a threat would have been anything other than a bluff which would have been called at once. Actually, in the past it never would have been called, but now there was no certainty. James Warrenton was pleased with his new toy, and he prepared joyfully to play with it — even though it might be fire.
‘I am quite aware that he is as clever as I am and, though you may not realise it, that is almost a compliment. Very few people are as clever as he is. Certainly, you are not. No, he shall stay. For one thing, it will be very amusing to see him putting you in your place, and for another I want to watch what tricks he uses to try to get money out of me. I’ll tell you what, Gregory, I’ll make a sporting bet with you. You can have as long as you like to play your tricks provided you do it through spiritualism. At least you can have up to six months.’
Malcolm groaned.
‘Six months’ free quarters out of you already! He’s not doing badly.’
But James Warrenton took no notice.
‘Through spiritualism, mind you — and you’ve got to learn something about it. We’ll do that together. I’m only a beginner. You can get Emily’s friend the parson to give you the arguments against it, and that humbug Arthur — that’s another cousin of yours — can help with the pros. He doesn’t believe in it, but he thinks it goes down better with me to pretend that he does. Do you know Arthur, by the way?’
‘Arthur Vaughan? Not well. I have met him and his brother Christopher.’
‘Oh, that namby-pamby creature! Tell you what, Emily, get them up here to dinner tomorrow, and the Reverend Cyprian — he’s always on for a free feed.’
‘Oh, Uncle. Don’t be so coarse. Mr Thompson—’
But James Warrenton only laughed. He managed, quite unnecessarily, to make it pretty plain what Emily’s opinions were as to the rector — at any rate, in his not necessarily correct opinion.
Meanwhile Gregory went off to inspect his bedroom. It seemed to him to be an infinitely uncomfortable room, and he particularly disliked the fireplace.
6
Four Gables
Julia Vaughan put down the telephone and patted her hair. It might be going grey and she might be sixty-seven, but she preferred to be presentable even if only her two sons were present.
‘I don’t like it,’ she remarked to nobody in particular.
‘Don’t like what?’ Her younger son looked up from the book that he was reading.
‘The short notice.’ She did not condescend to explain any further. Long experience of listening to her brothers during her youth and to her husband during her married life had convinced her that the only way to get a hearing was to leave things half-said, so that it was necessary for other people to stop talking themselves in order to ask her what she meant.
On this occasion it was Arthur, her elder son, who obliged with the necessary question.
‘Emily rang up,’ she replied. ‘James wants us all to dine with him tomorrow. I fancy that the invitation did not really include me, but Emily put me in. She likes to have one other woman.’
‘And I hope you accepted?’ Arthur looked, quite anxious. ‘I always enjoy seeing Uncle James.’
Christopher uncrossed his legs and put his book down.
‘Now why pretend? You know perfectly well that you like nothing of the sort. You like his food and drink, of course, I admit that, but nobody could really like seeing Uncle James.’
‘Quite the contrary. I find him extremely stimulating.’
‘So is a high explosive shell — which by the way he rather resembles, but really why keep up the pretence with us — unless you regard it as just being good practice? Mother and I are perfectly well aware that you merely feel it desirable to get on well with Uncle James in the hopes of suitable testamentary dispositions.’ The last three words were pronounced as if they were a quotation.
‘Well, I won’t pretend that I do not need more capital for my practice—’
‘We know that,’ Mrs Vaughan remarked gloomily. ‘Precious little of your income comes into this house. If it weren’t for the little I’ve got and Christopher’s royalties—’
‘Oh, shut up, mother. You know nobody even knows I write anything that pays. They think that I only write verse which they are kind enough to assume is sufficiently good to have no commercial value.’ Characteristically he almost sneered by using the word ‘verse’ in order to describe work which in reality he prized very highly.
During all this Arthur Vaughan had been clearing his throat at frequent and regular intervals — an irritating habit of his whenever he was nervous or ruffled.
‘Need we go through all this again? I mean, we know Christopher doesn’t like it, and I am sure that the sentiment reflects the greatest credit on him. After all, I’m sorry that I am obliged to put money back into my business, but I pay my share of the housekeeping—’
‘Just,’ Mrs Vaughan interjected, ‘or if you prefer it, quite just.’
Christopher sighed.
‘Well, anyhow, I shall not go to dine with Uncle James tomorrow.’
‘And I shall. And I hope you will, too, Christopher. It’s only good manners, and those I regard as the most important thing in life. I can’t stand a rude man, like Henry, for instance.’
‘Or Uncle James.’
Arthur conveniently ignored the interruption. He cleared his throat noisily again and inquired if the invitation had been accepted.
‘Yes. I want to see him.’ With no further comment Mrs Vaughan returned to her knitting.
For several minutes nothing more was said, and there was no sound in the small sitting room of Four Gables, the little house on the edge of the village of Amberhurst in which the Vaughans lived, except for Arthur’s constant slight cough and the rustling of his paper, for in the pursuit of the manners on which he prided himself
he did not go as far as to inconvenience himself by any elaborate precautions for the avoidance of noise. But presently it occurred to Christopher that once more his mother had left something unsaid. He stirred uneasily in his chair and at last found the question which he wanted to put.
‘Want to see whom? Not Uncle James?’
‘No, Gregory.’
Arthur sat up at once.
‘Gregory whom? Not Spring-Benson?’
‘Yes.’
Immediately Arthur’s paper was thrown on to the floor.
‘I don’t like it,’ he began.
‘That’s just what I said.’ Mrs Vaughan ignored the fact that nobody could have known that it was what she meant.
‘Yes, but you told us that what you didn’t like was the short notice; you didn’t say a word about Spring-Benson having wormed his way in.’ Arthur jumped up and began to pace up and down the room. ‘I must see about this at once. He mustn’t be allowed to settle down at Amberhurst, or there is no knowing what may happen—’
‘You mean,’ interrupted Christopher, ‘that you are very well aware what you are afraid may happen. None of the rest of us will get a chance. Well, I never had one anyhow, and I’m not quite sure that I want one.’
But Arthur took no notice.
‘We must get rid of him at once somehow. We mustn’t leave Uncle James unprotected like that! I must think of a plan at once, so that when I go there tomorrow I shall know what line to take. Christopher, I think you’re right to stay at home tomorrow. As you say, Uncle James doesn’t really like you, and I think it might upset things. It’s very important that things should go properly tomorrow.’
‘Are you quite sure of yourself?’ Christopher answered lazily. ‘Probably you are, and very likely you are right to be; all the same, I am afraid I shall be there tomorrow after all.’
‘But you said—’
‘I know. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘But I implore you—’
‘No good, Arthur. I wouldn’t miss seeing your meeting with Gregory for worlds. Besides I want to see Gregory again. The only time that I saw him, he seemed as if he might be interesting. People with no morals often are, and someone who makes no pretence of having any always is.’
‘Oh, if you just want copy from him — won’t some other time do?’
‘Not at all. It’s the first reactions of you two to each other will be so entertaining.’
‘Well, I am always of course glad to entertain you, but all the same—’ Arthur trailed off incoherently into a series of coughs. There were moments when the softness of Christopher became strangely unyielding. He began to think of how he had better act.
Julia Vaughan, without apparently raising her eyes from her knitting, followed every thought that unconsciously reflected itself on his face.
‘No, I think you’re quite right not to do that,’ she remarked casually.
‘No, leave that to Henry. He’s sure to take that line.’
Once more Christopher left his book.
‘That’s interesting. I forgot Henry. I wonder what he’s doing about it all. I say, I can’t have quite followed all you two said, so I seemed to come in in the middle of the conversation. What line is it that Henry will have taken and you will avoid?’
‘Henry,’ said Arthur, smiling quietly, ‘will as usual have been quite transparent and very rude. He will have solemnly warned Uncle James of the perfidy of his nephew — as of course he has of us. It’s the principal reason why we are still asked to Amberhurst Place, and of course, once more it will have failed. In all probability, Spring-Benson is well on the way to being firmly established by now.’
Fortunately for Arthur Vaughan, he could not see what was happening at Amberhurst, where his cousin was at that moment enjoying a whisky and soda and an excellent cigar. All the same Arthur’s perception was quite good; nor did he make the same mistake as Malcolm did, namely, that of underrating the abilities of the young man who had reached Amberhurst that day.
Moreover, with a considerable amount of accuracy, he decided that spiritualism was in some way the key, and he began to plot how he was to use it to undo Gregory’s little plans. For he had no doubt that action on his part would be necessary, and he really felt quite aggrieved that he should have to deal with yet one more competitor. He had been getting on so well. He had established a barrier between his uncle and his brother by delicate insinuations. Malcolm, he had encouraged, though very slightly, in all his actions, for that was certain to irritate his uncle, but he had taken great care not to involve himself too deeply. For one thing Malcolm was quite certain to get himself most completely in the wrong if allowed a free hand, and for another he was so naïve that he was quite likely to give the show away unconsciously. Therefore, Arthur Vaughan had taken as little action as possible in that direction. It was unnecessary, it was almost dangerous, and it required a little effort.
Not that he minded taking trouble in his own interest. Very far from it — in fact he definitely enjoyed weaving little spider-web plots, taking care never to appear as a principal in the transactions. There was for instance Emily, a very difficult person against whom to contrive anything, on account of her very negativity. Nevertheless, he had been working up something.
She had, he knew, a great respect for the Reverend Cyprian Thompson, a tiresome man in his opinion, with occasional bees in his bonnet by means of which he could be induced to betray not only himself but anyone who was too loyal to him. And Emily was loyal to a most unnecessary extent, in Arthur’s opinion.
One of Thompson’s particular bees at the moment was a hatred of spiritualism and of all things connected with it. He had always refused to believe in the possibility of the existence of any ghost at Amberhurst, and to have an owner who, as it were, more than believed in it, absolutely infuriated him. He was prepared to go to any lengths to discredit the story.
So, quietly Arthur began by acerbating the feelings of all those concerned. It was with the idea of causing trouble that he had got a paragraph inserted in The New Light. It had taken a good deal of management, but a little string pulling and persuasion in his suavest manner had eventually somehow or another achieved the result. The paragraph had been put in and had come to his uncle’s notice — though he had been forced to take a more open action to ensure that James read it than he had really desired on general principles.
Still, it was done, and it had started to achieve its object. It had annoyed his uncle, he was sure. He guessed quite correctly that plenty of other people would be accused of inserting it and so would be caused inconvenience. That was all to the good. And he was pretty sure that it would never be traced to him. From it he intended to work up a little scheme to snare the impetuous rector.
But he had never intended that one consequence of it should be the arrival of Gregory Spring-Benson. That was altogether inopportune. Still, perhaps good could come out of evil. So long as Gregory had been a factor who remained entirely in the background, there was always a chance that one day he would prove a definite danger. Now things must come to a head and he was sure he could use the situation to his own advantage, even if he had to make terms with Gregory, a man with whom he thought that it might be possible to talk business. Perhaps even he would be able to achieve the great ambition of his life — the elimination of all James Warrenton’s other relations from their relative’s favour.
Arthur wanted James’ money. He wanted it, all of it, and he intended to get it, or at any rate a large part of it. The artificial coughs with which he cleared his throat came at regular and frequent intervals. He was making a series of fascinating interlocking plans.
7
Dinner with James
Whatever else you might say about James Warrenton, he kept a good table. As to the food, the credit for the details must to some extent be awarded to Emily, James confining himself to the general standard that he would not be fed on hogwash, as he put it; but all questions of wine he regarded as his own special province. He kn
ew quite a fair amount about it, and he kept the cellar keys himself, to the intense disgust of Rushton, who characterised it as a suspicious and ungentlemanly action.
At the end of lunch James looked at his newly arrived nephew critically.
‘Know anything about wine?’
‘Quite a lot.’ Gregory did not believe in excessive modesty. ‘Enough to know that I don’t know everything.’
‘It’ll be wasted on most of them tonight, but we may as well have something decent. You and I will enjoy it, anyhow. Red or white, do you think?’
Gregory quite deliberately shuddered.
‘I suppose you put that in to test me, or am I to assume that you permit yourself that rather barbarous generalisation and are prepared to include a good Hock, a bad Sauterne, and a white Burgundy, say a Montrachet, all in the one word “white”?’
Actually, James had very nearly been doing that. At least he had been making a convenient, if somewhat vague, generalisation. However, he was not going to admit it, and the readiness with which he accepted the snub and laughed it off as if he had intended it as a test was viewed with definite apprehension by the other two of the four round the luncheon table. Before, however, Malcolm could brightly remind him that he generally did say ‘red or white’, James had asked Emily what the food was going to be that night.
‘Clear soup, turbot and lobster sauce, golden plover, saddle of mutton, savoury. That is if they can get golden plover. There was a little difficulty this morning about it,’ Emily concisely replied, at the same time anxiously preparing the way for possible disappointment.
Gregory’s eyes went up.
‘Not too bad for the country,’ he murmured. ‘You must have good tradespeople in Periton.’
Emily did not worry to undeceive him as to her methods of shopping by telephone and rail.
‘Great deal too much, in my opinion.’ Malcolm twirled his aggressive sandy moustache.
