“There, my love, there! Come along, then, my dear one, with Loveday!”
“O God, Loveday! O God, Loveday!”
“I know,” she said. “Do you come with me, my love!”
He flung his arm round her, and went with her up the remaining stairs. Below, in the hall, Conrad stared after them, his face as white as Bart’s, an expression of stark hatred in his eyes. Ingram said, in a maladroit attempt to console him: “He’s a bit upset, Con, that’s all. He’ll come round soon enough. I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you.”
Conrad looked at him with bitter contempt, turned on his heel, and strode out of the house.
Ingram went back into the drawing-room, shaking his head over it. “Seems to be no end to our troubles,” he said heavily. “Now it’s the twins! Bart must have heard the news down at the stables. I can see I’m going to have my work cut out, keeping the peace between the pair of them.”
Aubrey looked up admiringly. “Oh, isn’t Ingram wonderful? I’m sure I should find it frightfully difficult to feel like a patriarch without a moment’s warning, but you can see it comes quite naturally to him.”
Ingram cast him a glance of dislike, but was prevented from answering him by the entrance of Reuben, who silently handed him a letter.
“What’s this?” Ingram said, recognising the handwriting. “Where did you find it?”
“It’s a letter from Mr Raymond, as anyone can see,” replied Reuben dourly. “It was on his desk. You’d better open it, instead of standing there gaping at it.”
“Damn your impudence, you old rascal!” Ingram said cheerfully, and tore open the envelope.
The key of the safe dropped on to the floor; he stooped, grunting, to pick it up, before reading the letter. While he read, the others watched him in pent-up silence.
“Well, I’m damned!” he ejaculated, when he came to the end of the letter. "Just like him! Gosh, he was always a cold-blooded devil, but this fairly takes the cake! Here, Eugene, what do you make of this?”
He handed the letter to his younger brother as he spoke, but as Vivian, Charmian, Aubrey, and Reuben all tried to read it over his shoulder, Eugene had some difficulty in mastering its contents. Charmian settled the matter by twitching it out of his hand, and reading it aloud. When she came to the end, there was a moment’s silence. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Vivian burst into tears.
“My pet!” exclaimed Eugene, putting his arm round her.
She groped for her handkerchief, and fiercely blew her nose, saying huskily: “I never even liked him, but I think it’s awful! To write a letter like that, m-making everything as easy as possible for Ingram, not even m-mentioning what he meant to do! Oh, don’t you see how dreadfully tragic it is? Sorry! I’m a bit on edge. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
“Trust Ray to be businesslike up to the end!” Ingram said, holding out his hand for the letter. “Give it back, will you, Char? I shall have to show it to the police. Pretty conclusive, I imagine. With any luck, we ought to be able to get through this affair with the minimum amount of scandal.”
Vivian flushed angrily, and said, stammering a little: “You call Ray cold-blooded! My God, what do you think you are? You stand there talking about the scandal, when this frightful thing has happened! As though that were the only thing that counted!”
“What you all of you seem to be in danger of forgetting,” retorted Ingram, “is that Ray, on whom you’re squandering so much pity, murdered Father!”
“I don’t care if he did!” Vivian cried, unable to contain herself. “It was the best day’s work he ever did in his life, and I only wish he’d got away with it!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bart was no more seen until dinner-time, but he put in an appearance then, and although he ate very little, and said less, he seemed to be quite calm. Ingram had stayed at Trevellin; and as Clifford had returned from seeing Inspector Logan, there was naturally a good deal of discussion on Raymond’s suicide. Bart endured this in silence, only betraying by a folding of his lips how much he disliked the conversation.
Clifford thought there was no doubt that the police would now drop the investigation of Penhallow’s murder; but he had no information to give the family on the nature of Jimmy’s disclosures, the Inspector having made no reference to these, so that he did not even know whether he had yet had an opportunity to interrogate Jimmy. Charmian and Aubrey felt strongly that he ought to have made it his business to find out what Jimmy had said, but he told them that he had had other and more important matters to attend to, and would not, in any case, have thought it a part of his duty to try to pump the Inspector.
Clara did not come down to dinner, but Ingram made a point of visiting her room to assure her that whatever Raymond had intended towards her, he and Myra hoped that she would continue to make Trevellin her home. “I’m not one to want to get rid of my family,” Ingram said, throwing out his chest a little. “I always thought there was a lot to be said in favour of Father’s idea of keeping us all round him. I mean, in these days, when people don’t seem to care any longer for their homes and families — Besides, Trevellin wouldn’t seem like Trevellin without you, Aunt.”
“Thank you, my dear, I don’t know, I’m sure,” she said apathetically. “It’s knocked me over, and that’s the truth, Ingram. First Adam, and now Ray. I daresay I’ll get over it, but I don’t seem able to get my bearings just at present. You go on down, and don’t let any of them worry about me. I’ll just stay quietly where I am tonight. I know you never got on with him, but he was always very pleasant to me, and I don’t feel somehow as though I could bear to see his empty place at table.”
So Ingram went down to dinner without her, and, after hesitating for a moment, took his place at the head of the table, saying that they might as well begin as they meant to go on.
“Speaking for myself,” said Aubrey, “I mean to go on as far from Trevellin as I can contrive to be. Setting aside the unnerving nature of the late events, which have irrevocably spoilt the place for me, my spirit would become too utterly crushed by the platitudinous atmosphere in which you wrap yourself, Ingram dear, for me even to contemplate prolonging my sojourn here. I mean to say! — Too corroding, my dear!”
“Wait till you’re asked!” recommended Ingram brusquely.
“Oh, weren’t you going to ask me?” asked Aubrey, with a maddening air of innocence. “I quite thought you were. In fact, I made sure you’d begun to see yourself as a second father to me already.”
Ingram at once replied in kind, and the bickering might have grown still more acrimonious had nor Reuben, who was handing the vegetables round at the time, called both combatants to order with a severity and a total lack of respect, that made each one feel himself a schoolboy again.
When dinner came to an end, Bart curtly informed Ingram that he would like to have a word in private with him. Ingram took him by the arm with bluff friendliness, and marched him off to the library, telling him that he should have as many words with him as he liked. “I know just how you feel about all this, my boy,” he said. “Shocking business! But Time the Great Healer, you know! Got to keep our chins up, and face the world!”
Bart removed the grip from his arm. “I don’t want to talk about that. How soon can I have Trellick, Ingram?”
Ingram pulled down his mouth. “Well, I don’t know. Of course, we have to get probate, you see, and then...”
“I know all about that,” Bart interrupted. “But I’ve got to clear out. I can’t stick it here. It’s all right for you. You loathed Ray’s guts. I didn’t. I got on all right with him. He was a darned good man to work for. I thought — I never dreamed — But it’s no good going on about that. I know he killed the Guv’nor, but it doesn’t seem to me as though the Ray I knew could have done such a thing! It’s made Trevellin horrible! It’s no use telling me I shall get over it: I daresay I shall, but I’m not going to stay here. I’m going to marry Loveday at once, as quietly as possible, and clear out. It was b
ad enough when the Guv’nor went: it’s a thousand times worse now!”
“Yes, but look here, young feller-me-lad!” said Ingram, with hearty kindness, “I can’t get along without you, you know!”
“You’ll have to. I’m through. I felt at first that I didn’t even want Trellick any longer, but Loveday — well, anyway, I’ll try to carry on, and I expect she’s quite right, that I should never be happy anywhere else. But I’m not staying at Trevellin, Ingram. I should go mad!”
“Now, now, now!” Ingram admonished him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re upset, Bart lad! You’ll see things differently in a day or two.”
“No, I shan’t,” Bart said, his voice cracking. “I shall only see Ray going up there to take a last look at the Demon colt, and — and — O God, what did he do it for?”
He sank down into a chair by the table as he spoke, and buried his face in his arms.
“I’ll tell you what it is, young Bart,” Ingram said, patting him clumsily. “You want a good stiff drink, and a change of scene. I wouldn’t rush into marriage, if I were you. Plenty of time to think about that. After all, old son, the Guv’nor’s not buried yet. Got to think of what people would say.”
“I’ll wait till after the — the funerals, but I won’t wait any longer. Oh, I won’t get married here! I’m going to take Loveday up to London. You can’t stop me, Ingram.”
Ingram heaved a sigh, and shook his head, but he saw that it would be useless to argue with Bart in his present mood, and merely said soothingly that he would see what could be done about installing him at Trellick a soon as possible, and that in the meantime he must try not to let things get on top of him. He disapproved profoundly of the projected marriage, but he could not help feeling that if Loveday could restore Bart to his senses there might be something to be said for it. He did not want to be deprived of Bart’s services, at any rate until his son Rudolph was of an age to fill his place; and he hoped very much that Loveday would induce Bart to perceive the folly of abandoning at least his share in the management of the stables. As Reuben came in just then, to convey the information that Inspector Logan had come up, and wanted to see him, Ingram was obliged to put an end to the interview. Bart went upstairs to his own room, and Ingram went to join the Inspector in the morning-room.
Faith, meanwhile, had dropped into a deep sleep, as the influence of the aspirin she had swallowed took effect upon her system. She did not rouse until the evening was considerably advanced, and then it was to find Loveday beside her with a bowl of chicken-broth.
Loveday tidied her hair, and powdered her nose, and propped her up with extra pillows. She was resistless, and looked so ill that Loveday made up her mind to speak to Charmian about the advisability of requesting the doctor to call in the morning. When Loveday laid the tray on her knees, she said in a faint voice: “I don’t want it. What has been happening? Please tell me!”
“And so I will; my dear, but you must drink a little soup, or we shall be having you ill, and that won’t do.”
She began to coax Faith to take a few spoonfuls of the broth, telling her, as she fed her, that there was nothing for her to worry about. “You’ll be going away soon, you and Mr Clay, and then you’ll be able to forget all this.”
“No,” Faith said, in a mournful voice. “I shall never be able to forget it.”
“Yes, you will, then, my dear. Bart feels the same, for he thought a deal of Mr Ray, and it has hit him cruel, hard, but he’ll get over it, you’ll see.”
“Bart!” Faith said, giving a little start. She turned her horror-filled eyes towards Loveday. “I was forgetting Bart. Is he — very much upset?”
“Well, he is,” Loveday admitted. “Bart’s got a warm heart, and it hurts him bad to think of Mr Ray’s killing Mr Penhallow. It’s like he was being torn two ways, and he’s not one as has known trouble, my Bart. But leave me get him away from Trevellin, and I know I can make him feel better about it all. Then there’s Mr Con. Bart won’t come next or nigh him, and it doesn’t make things easier, the pair of them living under the same roof at daggers drawn, as they say.”
Faith lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “Even the twins!” she said. “Everything spoiled for them too!”
“Well, it was bound to be different, once Bart and I were man and wife,” Loveday said sensibly. “Mr Con’s that jealous, you see. But give him time, and he’ll come round, and my Bart’s not one to bear malice, I’ll say that for him, bless him! I was thinking you should go away from here as soon after the funeral as you can, my dear, for I’ll have to be leaving you, and you wouldn’t be comfortable here with me gone.”
“Oh, Loveday, no! You mustn’t leave me!”
“Yes, but I must,” Loveday said gently. “Bart needs me, and my duty’s to him. He’ll go crazy if he’s kept hanging about here, where every stick and stone reminds him of them that have gone. But I’ll make him happy, never fear!”
“I hope you will,” Faith said wistfully. “I think I could bear it better if l knew that it hasn’t ruined everything for him. Have the police been up? What — what have they been doing downstairs?”
As Loveday had been shut up for the greater part of the time with Bart, she was unable to give Faith much information on this point, so as soon as the supper-tray had been removed from her knees Faith asked her to beg Mrs Eugene to come up and see her, if she had not already gone to bed.
In a few minutes, Vivian tapped at the door, and entered. She said awkwardly that she hoped Faith was feeling much better, and offered to extinguish her cigarette, if the smoke bothered her.
Faith shook her head. “No. Please sit down! It was so stupid of me to faint like that. I want to know — I want to know what has been happening.”
“Well, nothing very much, really,” replied Vivian, pulling up a chair. “Dinner was pretty ghastly, I thought. Ingram took possession of Ray’s place, which made it seem even more ghoulish, and Char held forth as usual, until one wanted to scream. You know, Faith, it’s a funny thing, but I used to think that nothing could be as awful as those evenings we all had to spend in Mr Penhallow’s room, but ever since he was killed, everything has been ten times worse. It seems absurd to say so, but I almost feel as though I should be thankful if I woke up, and found that none of it had ever happened.”
Faith twisted her hands together. “Yes, yes, I know. Go on!”
“Oh, there isn’t much to tell! Bart’s taking it frightfully hard. He swears he won’t carry on with his usual job; and of course that doesn’t suit Ingram’s book.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “And it doesn’t suit mine either!”
“Yours?”
Vivian smoked her cigarette rather viciously for a moment. “Yes, mine. It’s quite funny, if you look at it in the proper light. I can see that. I mean, you know how I’ve always wanted to get away from Trevellin, and go back to London? Why, when I heard that Mr Penhallow was dead, I — I thought all my problems were solved!”
Faith regarded her with dawning dismay. “Yes, of course. But you will go back to London — won’t you?”
“Oh, no, I shan’t!” Vivian replied. “I’m going to be stuck down in the Dower House, where I shall have to remain for ever and ever — or at least until Ingram wants it for one of his boys, by which time I shall be past caring.”
“The Dower House!” repeated Faith. “But why? Why?”
Vivian shrugged. “Well, it’s obvious that even if Bart were willing to carry on he wouldn’t have the time to, once he’s running Trellick. Ingram can’t manage singlehanded, and I suppose he doesn’t want to engage a bailiff. Anyway, he’s asked Eugene if he’ll do all the book-work — accounts, and that sort of thing — and has offered to let him have the Dower House.”
“Oh, Vivian!” Faith cried pitifully. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Can’t you — can’t you persuade him not to accept?”
“No, I — You see, he’d like it, Faith! And Mr Penhallow didn’t leave as much as he’d expected, and he just hasn’t the health to be ab
le to do anything very strenuous. I can’t say I won’t stay here when I know that there’s nothing he’d rather do. It’s just my rotten luck, that’s all. At least we shan’t have to live here any more. Of course, the Dower House is much too big for us, and I suppose I shall have to do half the work myself, but it will be my own house, which is something.”
“I thought you would go away,” Faith said numbly. “I thought everything would be all right for you.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. Only things don’t happen to have gone according to plan. I suppose I ought to be thankful that I’m not being arrested for murder, which looked likely at one time. I never thought Ray had done it, though, did you?”
Faith shook her head, pressing her handkerchief to her lips. “Is it certain — do they all think — the police as well as everyone else — ?”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Vivian said. “Why else should he have shot himself? Besides, he left a letter for Ingram —”
“Not saying he had done it!” Faith exclaimed. “It isn’t possible! Oh, this is a nightmare!”
“No, not mentioning his father’s death, or even his own plans. I must say, I found it pretty upsetting. But it rules out any possibility of its not having been suicide. That’s what I meant. He told Ingram where to find the keys, and all the papers and things, and — oh, don’t let’s talk about it! It absolutely haunts me!”
Faith gave a shiver. She saw how her hands were trembling, and clasped them tightly together. “What was it that Jimmy said?” she asked, almost inaudibly.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see the Inspector myself, and apparently he didn’t tell Ingram. Ingram hasn’t said anything about it, anyway; but to tell you the truth, he’s so busy making glorious plans for the future, and thinking of all the grand things he’ll do now he’s Penhallow of Trevellin, that I don’t really think he cares about much else. I can tell you, the whole atmosphere is fast getting me down. And to make it worse, that horrible old woman, Martha, is going about saying that it’s all for the best, in a perfectly revolting way! Well, I was one of the people in danger of being arrested, but hang it all, I’m not such a callous beast that I could think Ray’s death all for the best!”
Penhallow Page 36
