“An actress.” She blushed more hotly than ever.
“Good; an actress. And did he tell you who left me all the money you’re all pining after so? Tell me that.” She waited, beady eyes fixed on Priscilla, who looked as if she was praying for the earth to open and swallow her. Beside her, her mother, an even more faded blonde, opened her mouth like a fish, closed it again and looked appealingly at her husband, who faced his mother from the foot of the table.
Joseph ignored the look and burst into a hearty laugh. “Not much sense of shame about you, is there, Ma? I’m not sure the nursery isn’t the best place for the children when you come down to meals. You’ve shocked your protegee, too. Don’t worry, Patience, you’ll get used to it; we all have. And at any rate, the money’s there; you oughtn’t to complain of its being left to you.” He seemed to find this a great joke. It was odd, Patience thought, but none of them seemed in the least put out by the announcement about Mrs Ffeathers’ will; in fact she thought she had caught a look of actual pleasure on Josephine’s face. But presumably these changes were everyday affairs in this curious household.
She looked down the long table. Mrs Ffeathers was cross-examining Josephine about everything she had done, and every penny she had spent in London, while Mark, who sat between them, put in an occasional semi-comic remark in his mother’s defence. Beyond Josephine, Priss and her mother Emily were concentrating pallidly on their turbot. Seward tapped out a dreary tune on the tablecloth with his fork, while Joseph shouted at his sister-in-law, Grisel, who was visibly regretting that she had left her invalid couch and come down to dinner. Between her and Patience sat her two children, Ludwig and Leonora, deep in a technical conversation about the treatment of fowl pest. Ludwig made a perfunctory attempt to include Patience in this, but when her ignorance became too obvious he gave her up in despair and turned back to his sister. Patience was glad of the chance to sit quietly and watch the others. They had not really changed much. Joseph was a little fatter, a little more boisterous, but she was sure he still pinched little girls when he got the chance. His wife had faded a little further to make up for his exuberance. Poor Priss was just the same white mouse as ever, and Ludwig and Leonora had always been a helpless satire on their own romantic names.
Mark leaned across the table to her. “Taking stock?” he asked. “How do you find us? The same lot of so-and-sos you ran away from? Or do we mellow with age?”
She smiled back at him. “Definitely, you mellow.” And it was true, she thought; she really would not have known Mark.
Mrs Ffeathers had risen. “I shall expect you gentlemen for coffee in ten minutes.” She led a silent procession of females through into the big drawing room and established herself in the chair nearest the fire. “Come here, Patience, and tell me how you lost your money. You didn’t let Paul Protheroe invest it for you, did you? I wouldn’t trust that young man an inch further than I could see him.”
“No,” Patience said, “it was in trust—”
She was interrupted by Josephine. “Really, Mother, I think you’re very unfair to poor Paul. You know he’s worked like a slave for you, coming down here in season and out of season and making new wills.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs Ffeathers, “so it’s ‘poor Paul’, is it? He’s young enough to be your son, Josephine, and if you forget it, I’ll take care to remind him. You’ve killed one husband, and that’s enough.”
“Mother, what are you saying?” Even from old Mrs Ffeathers this appeared to be more than Josephine could take.
“Well, nagged him into his grave then. I didn’t know you were setting up for such a sensitive plant, my angel.” Again the parody of Josephine’s intense manner. “But where’s my coffee? Priss, go and tell Mrs Marshland I want it at once and if it’s not strong enough I’ll fire her. That girl of yours is no use for anything but errands,” she told Emily as the door closed on Priss. “Perhaps you’d better send her off to be a prison wardress or whatever it is she wants, after all. She depresses me, drooping about the house all day.”
Emily sat up straighter in her chair. “Oh Mother, if you’d only let her; you’ve no idea what a difference it would make …”
“Don’t call me ‘Mother’,” said Mrs Ffeathers. “Thank God, you’re no child of mine; I’m not going to be held responsible for my sons’ bad taste. And I don’t know what you mean about my ‘letting’ Priss. I never did anything to stop her, did I? She’s free to leave the house tomorrow if she wants to. I never asked one of you to live here and I don’t see why you should expect me to pay you to go away.”
“But the training” – Emily had drooped back into her chair – “it’s so expensive, and you can’t get anywhere without it.”
“I never expected Priss to get anywhere – and she’s not going to have my well-earned money to help her on her way. You tell her to go out and marry some poor fool; it’s the only way she’s ever going to come by money honestly – and I don’t think it’s very likely. Ah, here’s my coffee; pour it out, Patience, there’s a good child.” The change in her tone when she turned to Patience was almost comic. But of course, Patience reflected, she had been an actress.
‘Well-earned money’; her mind dwelt on the phrase. The legacy Mrs Ffeathers had spoken about at supper must account for the great change in the family’s fortunes, for Patience had soon dismissed Josephine’s hints about Joseph’s success in the black market as idle boasting – or at least if he had made money, he must have lost it again as easily, or he would never be at home with his wife and family, let alone his mother. No, old Mrs Ffeathers’ legacy was the secret, and Patience had heard enough hints about her sudden success on the stage and equally sudden disappearance from it to have a pretty good idea where it had come from. Rather comic, she thought, to have Mrs Ffeathers’ highly respectable children struggling for it so visibly. But it was to be left to her tomorrow. She must catch Paul on his way in and make him refuse to draw up the will – not, of course, she added to herself, on moral grounds.
“Patience has made up her mind.” Mrs Ffeathers’ voice broke in on her thoughts. “Not going to take the dirty money, are you? But you’ll find it feels just as good in the purse. And don’t let them fool you; I worked for it, just as hard as you’re going to for your four pounds a week; and very much the same way, if you come right down to it. But here come the men; we mustn’t shock them.”
She waited until everyone’s cup was filled and then struck her hand suddenly on the table in front of her. “Now,” she said, “you’re all here, and I want to know who took five pounds out of my purse this morning. I left it in here for five minutes when I was doing the ordering with Mrs Marshland, and when I got back, someone had been at it. Now, out with it, who was it?”
There was an appalled silence. Then Joseph spoke up. “But are you quite sure, Mother? Money goes so fast these days, mightn’t you have just thought …”
“Just thought!” She almost spat it at him. “You think because I’m ninety-one I’m getting senile, but you’ll find you’re mistaken. I know a five pound note when I’ve got it and I had three in my purse when I left it in here this morning.” She looked round the room. “You all look as guilty as sin, so that’s no help. And one of you’s as bad as another, so nor’s that, but I warn you this has got to stop and stop now. I’ve given you your allowances – good ones; I’ve stood for your scrounging a little of this and a little of that; I’ve paid your bills when they’re reasonable; but petty thievery I will not have. If whoever took it doesn’t return it to me personally tonight, there’ll be no allowance cheques on the first of January. I won’t turn you out of the house – you’re my family, heaven help me – but you’ll have to stay at home and take what’s put before you. And very good for you too. Now, I’m going up to my room. I shall sit up till eleven and I expect my five pounds back before I go to bed. Good-night.”
There was a horrified silence until the door had closed behind her. Then they all began to talk at once. “Lucky you” – Mark ha
d settled beside Patience – “you’re out of it. Lord, I hope she returns it. I’m through if my cheque doesn’t turn up on the first.”
“She?” Patience asked.
He laughed. “That’s right, stand up for your sex; but I’m betting on Priss. Just look at her.”
“Just look at any of you,” said Patience.
“And you on your monument, smiling at us. Never mind, it’ll be your turn soon enough. She’s a natural born torturer, old Gran. Come to think of it, I bet she never lost the blasted five quid. It’s probably just her idea of how to make this the merriest Christmas of our little lives. Hold on, Uncle Joseph’s going to orate.”
Joseph cleared his throat and stood up in front of the fire. “This,” he said, “is a very unfortunate situation and I can only hope for all our sakes that whoever was so ill-advised as to – er – borrow Mother’s five pounds will return it at once.” His ‘chairman-of-the-meeting’ manner deserted him all of a sudden. “God knows what’ll become of us otherwise,” he ended. “Mother means it, every word of it, you can see that.”
Josephine looked at her watch. “Nine o’clock,” she said. “Two hours to go. Don’t you think it would be a good idea for us all to go up to our rooms? It would make it easier for – er – whoever it is to get up to Mother’s.”
“Damn good idea, Jo.” Joseph sounded relieved. “Not much pleasure sitting round here like a bloody funeral anyway. Lovely Christmas we’ll have if the money’s not returned.” He turned savagely to his wife. “And if you think I’m going to spend my last penny buying drinks for that nincompoop you’ve asked down for Priss, you’ve got another guess coming. She’ll just have to catch him dry.”
Emily and Priss shrank a little further into their remote corner while Josephine took her brother up. “It’s early days to be worrying about Christmas,” she said. “Let’s worry about tonight first. All of us to our rooms and stay there and for God’s sake take it back.” She spoke to the room at large. “Good-night.”
Three
Next day, black gloom fell on Featherstone Hall. Immured in her room, old Mrs Ffeathers let it be known that the five pounds had not been returned and her threat would be carried out. The party broke at once into dismal little family groups. Hostile looks were exchanged over shoulders, voices sank to a whisper when members of another group passed. Out of it all, Patience was to all intents and purposes in Coventry and was actually relieved when a maid summoned her to Mrs Ffeathers’ room.
The old lady was propped up among pillows in the huge four-poster. “I never get up till after lunch,” she replied to Patience’s enquiry. “It’s not worth the trouble. Though it almost would have been to see their faces this morning. How are they taking it? Hating each other already? I’m almost glad no one returned the money. It’s going to be a very interesting Christmas, I can see.”
“But you won’t really do it?” Patience asked.
“What? Stop their allowances? I certainly will, and they know it. That’s why they hate each other so this morning. I wouldn’t want to be the fool who took it; they’ll have it out of them before Christmas, I promise you that. I won’t need to stop the allowances. Slow torture, that’s what it’ll be.” The old lady said it with obvious relish.
Patience was appalled. “But haven’t you any idea yourself who took it?” she asked. “It seems so unfair on the others.”
“Not the slightest.” Mrs Ffeathers was obviously pleased about it. “Anyone could have been into the drawing room while I was down in the servants’ hall. I knew they’d come to it in time.”
“You don’t mean …” A horrid idea struck Patience. “You don’t mean you left your bag about on purpose?”
The old lady chuckled hoarsely among her pillows. “Accidental done a’ purpose, if you like. Just a little experiment. After all, I support them, don’t I? I’ve a right to know what they’re like. They’d take the pennies off a dead man’s eyes, and you turn mealy-mouthed over a little experiment like that.”
“But only one of them,” Patience urged again. “It’s so hard on the others. And you must have some idea …”
“Not a bit of it,” said Mrs Ffeathers. “They’d any of them steal if they thought they could get away with it; the only question is who’s fool enough to think I don’t know how much money I’ve got. I’m rather betting on Priss myself – and if it’s her the others’ll wear her down in no time. We’ll have a confession – or as good as – before Christmas, I promise you that. Now, get me my tonic, there’s a good girl. I want to be at my brightest and best for this Christmas party. I wouldn’t miss it for worlds. Emily’s asked ‘such a suitable young man’ down for Priss. Brian Duguid of the best Salvation Army stock – poor young idiot offered her another cup at a charity tea and Emily’s not had her claws out of him since. And Mary’s Tony Wetherall’s coming – I’m looking forward to meeting him; she can pick them, that girl. Her only trouble is she can’t keep them. But she’ll have a pretty good try with young Tony, when she hears her allowance is stopping. Josephine tells me he’s got a good bank balance and a good job and no parents – perfect, isn’t it? Josephine doesn’t lie to me when she knows I’ll find her out, so I believe all that. You’d better keep away from Tony if you want your eyes left in. I wouldn’t put anything past Mary when her blood’s up.”
“Who’s Mark having down?” Patience regretted the question as soon as it was spoken.
The old lady’s bright eyes snapped. “Got your eye on him already, have you? Well, I don’t blame you. And you shouldn’t have much trouble, either, not once my will’s changed. But I warn you, he’s not the marrying type; he just might for the money, but he wouldn’t enjoy it, and nor would you. You have your fun with him, while the going’s good, and more power to you, but be sure you’re the one that leaves him at the post. That’s the way to do it; light and easy and lots of breath left for the next one.” She paused and looked at Patience. “Well? Aren’t you shocked?”
“Not a bit,” Patience said truthfully. “I’m fascinated. I wish you’d tell me more.” She paused, uncertain of her ground.
“About my wicked youth?” Mrs Ffeathers sat up straighter in bed and smoothed her hair with a well-ringed hand. “Perhaps I will one day. At least you don’t blush and stutter like Priss and Leonora.”
Another experiment, thought Patience, and on her this time. Oh, well; it must be dull to be old.
“If you start feeling sorry for me, I’ll disinherit you.” Mrs Ffeathers was a disconcertingly accurate mind-reader.
Patience laughed. “You can’t. You haven’t left it to me yet. And besides, I don’t want it. I meant to ask you not to; I’d much rather you left it to those fifty-two letters. I’m sure they need it more than I do.”
“You wait a bit; you’ll find it’s another story when it’s been left you for a while. When you’ve started counting all the clothes you’d be able to buy, and the places you could go … you’ll be on your knees to me yet, begging me not to cut you off. And I won’t, not if you’re good; I like you, Patience, you’ve a mind of your own. Now, run along and amuse yourself; I’ve got to get ready for Paul Pry Protheroe. How d’you like your precious cousin? No better than I do? That’s good. Off with you and go to work on Mark. He’s worth some trouble.”
But Patience’s only idea was to avoid the rest of the household. She longed to get out on to the downs by herself. Her room was next door to old Mrs Ffeathers’ with a communicating door. She collected walking shoes and an overcoat, went quietly downstairs and let herself out of a side door that led almost directly to the great sweep of the hills. The air was cold and clear, wonderfully reviving after the overheated house, with its much boasted central heating and closed windows.
She climbed quickly, trying to tidy her mind. How long could she possibly keep this job? She must write off at once to her college to see if there was any possibility of getting a loan to cover her last two terms. Intolerable to contemplate more than a few weeks of Featherstone Hall and Mr
s Ffeathers’ experiments. She had a nasty feeling that she had been cast as the subject of the old lady’s next bit of vivisection. There was too much feeling in those words, ‘You’ll be on your knees to me yet, begging me not to cut you off.’ She really meant it. She thought her money could buy anything. Well, Patience thought, no kneeling for her, and with luck she’d be cut off pretty quickly and the whole uncomfortable episode would be over.
As the white road curved over the summit she paused and drew a deep breath, half of exhaustion, half of delight at the wide familiar view over the plain to the sea and beyond that to the mirage of the Isle of Wight. Maddening that the main road ran along this crest. It was impossible not to resent the parked car with its invisible occupant.
But at that moment the door of the scarlet roadster opened and Mark hailed her. “I thought you’d be coming up here,” he said. “Didn’t you promise to let me show you your view for the first time? It’s unfair to scoot off by yourself like that. I never saw such a pace up the hill – did you think the devil was after you? You can see I didn’t even try, just whistled for old Lizzy and here we are.” He gave the car a proprietary pat on its bonnet. “Come into Leyning with me and meet Mary. I promised I’d fetch her. And I’m glad of a chance to get away from the Inquisition down there, I can tell you.”
“Is it still going on?” Patience asked.
“Good Lord, yes. It’s only just started. It’ll go on till someone’s nerve breaks. Gran knows what she’s doing, the old fiend. Don’t let her get her claws into you, Patience; she’ll try, I promise you.”
“How do you mean? She’s been awfully nice to me so far.” Patience felt honour bound to defend Mrs Ffeathers.
“Of course; she always is at first. But she can’t stand having people free of her. We’re no fun at all, of course, because she knows we’d be stuck without her money; but she has to have everyone in her power, and it’s getting them there that amuses her. You watch out, Patience, I tell you.”
A Death in Two Parts Page 4
