‘Oh, Mama, how can you? – how can you?’ Aunt Kitty burst into tears.
Great-aunt Caroline turned to her regretfully. ‘Don’t be foolish, Catherine,’ she said. ‘Sensibility is very charming, but at this time it is out of place. These are facts, and we must face them. A verdict of murder against someone unknown has been passed upon Andrew’s body. Therefore until that murderer is found and brought to justice, this house, and everyone in it, will remain under a cloud. I have already told this to Mr Featherstone, and he quite agrees with me. Dinner will be served informally this evening, rather earlier than usual. If anyone wishes to talk to me I shall be in my writing-room. Mr Featherstone, will you give me your arm?’
The old man rose ponderously to his feet and, very conscious that he made a picture of distinguished old-fashioned gallantry which needed only Mrs Faraday to complete it, offered her his arm.
They had advanced perhaps three paces when the blow fell. There was a shrill burst of protest from the hall outside, followed by a man’s strident tones. The next moment the white door of the sacred drawing-room at Socrates Close was shattered open, and Cousin George, followed by a flustered and dishevelled Alice, precipitated himself into the room.
Old Featherstone, who could not see the intruder’s features, was perhaps the only member of the company who did not receive a distinct physical shock.
Cousin George, not quite sure of himself in Tomb Yard, had not presented an attractive personality: but Cousin George with the whip hand, Cousin George truculent and with a drunken gleam in his small eyes, was a revolting specimen. Even Great-aunt Caroline stopped in her tracks, silent and trembling. Aunt Kitty screamed. Cousin George waved to her. Then he strode into the room, slamming the door in Alice’s face.
‘Hallo, Kitty, here’s the devil again,’ he said, revealing an unexpectedly deep voice and educated accent. He glanced round the room at the company. No one spoke or moved. The man was exultant, and he made a peculiarly unpleasant figure in his grease-spotted blue suit, with his coarse red face, sagging mouth and general air of leering satisfaction.
‘Sit down, everybody,’ he said thickly. ‘Bring out the fatted calf. The Prodigal returns.’
Aunt Caroline stiffened herself for the effort. ‘George,’ she said, ‘you will come to my writing-room and speak to me there, if you please.’
Cousin George laughed loudly and unpleasantly. ‘Sorry, Aunt,’ he said as he lounged against the closed door with considerable theatrical effect, ‘sorry, but this is where the formula begins to differ. No hustling me into a back room. George has returned in force. George is going to be made a great fuss of. In fact, George is going to stay.’
There was a snort and a rustle from the back of the room as Uncle William, who, to do him justice, was not a complete coward, sailed into battle. He planted himself squarely in front of the intruder, who appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, and thrust his pink face close to the other man’s.
‘You infernal blackguard!’ he said, his voice leaping out of control. ‘We’ve had enough of you. You get out of this house. And to save the police trouble, call at the station on your way out of the town. They’re looking for you, I don’t mind telling you.’
Cousin George’s amusement increased. He put his head back until it rested on the wood and, still smiling insolently into the old man’s face, he opened his mouth and used a single epithet the like of which had never before defiled the stately precincts of Socrates Close, and then, while the frozen silence was still tingling, he raised his arm and caught the pink face so near his own a flip with the back of his hand, so that Uncle William tottered back livid with astonishment and the sudden pain.
Campion and Marcus leapt forward simultaneously, and Cousin George was pinioned before he realized what had happened. The man was as strong as an ox, but his captors were young, and, Mr Campion at least, by no means unpractised. Realizing himself helpless, the intruder began to laugh.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Chuck me out. You’ll regret it to the day of your death.’
Old Featherstone, who had only just grasped who the newcomer was, and being fearful for his dignity if not for his balance, peered round him helplessly. Finally he cleared his throat.
‘Marcus, my boy,’ he said, ‘move away from that door, will you? Mrs Faraday and I were just going out.’
Uncle William, who was rumbling ferociously, hovered in the centre of the room, uncertain whether to attack verbally or physically, when Cousin George spoke again.
‘You’ll be sorry if you don’t let me speak,’ he said. ‘I’ve got you by the short hairs. You send your lawyer away, Aunt, and listen to me.’
To the complete astonishment of most of her hearers, Aunt Caroline seemed to give way.
‘Mr Campion, Marcus,’ she said, ‘you will oblige me by coming over here. George, sit down. What have you to say?’
The man’s triumph was insufferable, and although the young men obeyed the old lady, it was evident that they did so grudgingly. Freed, Cousin George shook himself.
‘Thank you,’ he drawled. ‘Now sit down, all of you. Keep old Foxy here if you like, Aunt, but remember you have yourself to blame if you don’t like him hearing what I say.’
Aunt Caroline’s attitude surprised everyone. She returned to her chair by the fire almost meekly. Old Featherstone stepped after her and stood gracefully by her side. Although he could see very little of the proceedings, at least he could hear, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that he looked magnificent.
Cousin George threw himself into the most comfortable chair in the room and began to speak with spirituous and theatrical arrogance.
‘This is funny,’ he said. ‘You don’t know how funny you all are. I’m going to laugh now. This is where I step in and sit pretty for the rest of my life. No more fobbing me off with a few pounds, Aunt. I’m back to stay this time. You’re all going to sit up and dance while I call the tune. And you,’ he added, wagging a none-too-clean forefinger at Uncle William, ‘you pompous old humbug, you’re going to run round me like a spaniel if I want you to.’
He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, quite conscious of the sensation he was causing, and enjoying it to the full. Both Uncle William and Aunt Kitty, who knew that the smell of tobacco had never before permeated the drawing-room, were aghast at this desecration, and they turned to their mother appealingly.
Great-aunt Caroline sat quite still, no muscle of her face moving; only her black eyes, which never left her nephew’s face, seemed alive.
Cousin George spat a shred of chewed tobacco on to the Chinese carpet and ground his muddy heel into the soft pile with flagrant delight.
‘I’ve looked forward to this,’ he said. ‘Now it’s come. I’ve got you just where I want you. Are you going to keep the lawyers here, Aunt?’
‘Yes.’ Aunt Caroline’s voice was perfectly composed, but her icy tone could not quell Cousin George, who was more than a little drunk, both with liquor and his own elation. He sniffed.
‘Right; here goes. The police have been looking for me, haven’t they? I should have been down before if I’d known that, but I didn’t. And why? Because I was “inside”. I got out this morning and read about the inquest. I read about Julia, too. She’s gone, has she? Well, that’s a stroke of luck I didn’t expect. Who’s that man?’ He pointed to Campion. ‘I’ve seen him before. If he’s something to do with the police, all the worse for you, Aunt. Shall I go on?’
‘Yes,’ said Great-aunt Caroline again.
Cousin George shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, here I am, here I stay – j’y suis, j’y reste. Not one of you is going to raise a finger to turn me out of this house. Because if you do,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘I shall tell all I know, and you’ll have a murder trial in the family before you know where you are. You’ve come in for a bit of publicity already, but that’s nothing to the stink I’ll raise. You see, I happened to follow Andrew from church on Sunday, the thirtieth of March. It won’t b
e circumstantial evidence; it’ll be an eye-witness account.’
He paused and looked about him. There was deadly silence in the room. His words had electrified the company. Great-aunt Caroline alone appeared to be perfectly unmoved.
‘You will explain, George,’ she said.
Cousin George shook his head. ‘You don’t catch me like that. You know and I know that I’ve got you all just like that.’ He thrust out his hand, the fingers extended, and slowly clenched it. ‘As long as I’m comfortable I shall say nothing,’ he went on. ‘I know what suits me. You see,’ he added, a tremor of satisfaction in his voice, ‘it’s one of you. You all know that. And I know which one it is. Now let’s hear your airs and graces. William, ring that bell over there and tell the maid to get me some whisky.’
All eyes were turned upon Uncle William, and he shot an imploring glance towards his mother, but Great-aunt Caroline nodded, and humbly Uncle William rose and pulled the bell.
It was capitulation.
Cousin George laughed noisily. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make you do that often.’
When the startled Alice appeared it was he who gave the order.
‘Whisky and soda,’ he said, before anyone else could speak, ‘and make it snappy.’
The woman shot a scandalized glance at her mistress, but receiving Great-aunt Caroline’s nod, she hurried out.
Cousin George leant back. ‘Murder trials arouse public interest in oneself, don’t they, Aunt?’ he drawled. ‘I think I could place a short intimate biography of myself with several great newspapers should I be compelled to tell all I know about old Andrew. Don’t you think so?’
The immediate result of this comparatively innocent remark was extraordinary. Great-aunt Caroline stiffened.
‘Mr Featherstone,’ she said, ‘you would oblige me by excusing yourself from my table tonight. Since you are such an old friend, I know I may ask you this.’
Old Featherstone bent forward, and although he lowered his voice, its rumblings echoed quite clearly through the room.
‘Dear lady.’ he said, ‘this is blackmail, you know. There’s a very severe penalty for blackmail.’
‘Yes,’ said Cousin George casually from the depths of his chair. ‘But so few people prosecute, do they, old Foxy? This family won’t prosecute me, don’t you worry. You run along and do what you’re told.’
The old man would have spoken again, but Great-aunt Caroline laid a hand on his arm, so that he thought better of it, and, with a bow to his client and her household and a stony near-sighted stare for Cousin George, he strode out of the door. Alice, returning with a tray, stood aside for him to pass.
Cousin George’s comment was cut short, no doubt, by the appearance of this refreshment, which he insisted upon having on the floor by his chair. When the woman had gone out he sat with his glass in his hand, his legs straddled out before him.
‘Do the tame puppies remain?’ he said, pointing to Campion and Marcus.
Marcus was livid and the muscles of his jaw throbbed visibly. Mr Campion, on the other hand, appeared almost imbecile, a mask of affable stupidity covering his personality completely.
‘If you prefer it, no,’ said Great-aunt Caroline.
Cousin George surveyed the two young men with an insolent stare.
‘I don’t care who hears what I’ve got to say,’ he said. ‘I know what I know, and I’ve got a witness to prove it. I’ve got the whip hand. I’ve got to be bribed not to tell all I know to the police. I should have been here before, only, as I say, I got a bit drunk and beat up a policeman last Thursday, so they put me in for seven days. One of the Faradays of Socrates Close drunk and disorderly – that’s a paragraph for the local paper! Perhaps you’d like to write it out for me, William. Or perhaps you’d like to save your energy. I’m going to keep you busy in future. Yes, Aunt, I think you can turn these two lounge lizards out to grass. The family and I must get better acquainted. A little heart-to-heart talk will show us all where we stand. Oh, and by the way, neither of you need trouble to send for the police. I saw them as soon as I arrived in Cambridge this afternoon. They were quite satisfied as to my movements. If everything isn’t arranged satisfactorily here I shall pay them another visit. I said I held the ace; I do.’
He poured himself out another drink and raised his glass provocatively to William.
‘They drew out all the evidence against you at the inquest, and you got off,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean that everyone’s satisfied. Why, it’s obvious to the whole world that one of you did it, and I’m in the happy position of knowing which one. However, since you are my own flesh and blood, rather than turn you over to the police, I’ll keep you in order myself.’
Great-aunt Caroline, whose composure was almost trance-like, turned to Campion and Marcus.
‘I should like you both,’ she said, ‘to take Joyce into the breakfast-room and wait there for a little while. Joyce, dear, please tell Alice to lay another place at the dinner-table. She will have seen that Mr Featherstone has gone and may not be aware that Cousin George is staying.’
‘Tell her to prepare a room for me,’ said Cousin George. ‘I’ll have old Andrew’s. I bet he knew how to make himself comfortable. I’ll want a fire in it and a bottle of whisky on the mantelpiece. These are the only things I insist upon. Now then, clear out. I have something to say to my dear relations.’
But Aunt Kitty, whose frail nerves had stood up against this ordeal so valiantly, now gave way completely. She darted into the centre of the room like a small terrified rabbit.
‘The spirit of Evil!’ she shouted hysterically. ‘The spirit of Evil is abroad! Another fiend has been sent to torment us. Oh! Oh! Oh!’
Each of the three final exclamations was uttered in a tone higher and more piercing than the last. She swayed uncertainly for some seconds, and finally collapsed upon the floor, sobbing and kicking like a maniac. The sight was distressing and a little terrifying.
For the first time since his arrival Cousin George was discomforted. He drew his feet away from the abject figure, and picking up his glass put the siphon under his arm. Then, with a decanter in his free hand, he turned towards the door.
‘I can’t stand this,’ he said. ‘I shall be in the library until you’ve pulled yourself together sufficiently to listen to me intelligently. I’ll have my food served to me pronto on old Uncle John’s desk. And from henceforward, remember that room is my room. I’m master of this house now.’
Mr. Campion opened the door, and as Cousin George stared at him he bent forward and spoke softly.
‘Pull up the blinds when you go into the library,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll see there’s a message for you on one of the window-panes.’
The man stared at him, but Campion said no more, and finally Cousin George stumbled out into the passage.
CHAPTER 20
THE DEVIL IN THE HOUSE
‘IF IT WASN’T for old Harrison Gregory, damn me! I’d go up and sleep at the club,’ said Uncle William.
He was striding up and down the morning-room, his plump hands clasped behind his back, his short white hair standing on end and his moustache bristling.
The other two occupants of the room were also on their feet. Mr Campion leant against the mantelpiece so vague and ineffectual that he appeared to be hardly alive. Marcus stood by the window farthest away from the first, his chin sunk upon his breast, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. The unshaded bulbs in the brass water-lily calyx shed an unfriendly glare, and the whole house breathed an atmosphere of tension that was well-nigh unbearable. The door was closed, but even its thick wooden panels could not keep out the sounds which emanated from the library where Cousin George sat in the late Master of Ignatius’s chair spilling spirit and soda water over the sacred desk and bellowing commands from time to time.
He had insisted that the door of the library should remain open, and his insulting comments leapt after every flying figure which flitted past his blurred line of vis
ion on the way to the stairs or the front door.
The quiet old house was seething. Fifty-year-old customs had been swept ruthlessly aside, habits of a lifetime were shattered, and it seemed as though the very furniture protested against this desecration of its calm.
Uncle William, who had received one of the most violent shocks of his career at the end of a long period of stress, was beside himself. He had reached the stage when he could not bear to remain still. A major revolution in the country would probably have had much the same effect upon him.
Dinner had been a fiasco. Aunt Kitty had not appeared and had remained in her room, where even now Joyce was attempting to get her off to sleep. Cousin George, also, had mercifully decided to stay in the library, where he criticized loudly the food that was brought to him. Great-aunt Caroline had not been present either, and this perhaps had shaken the morale of the household more than anything else could have done. Except in times of illness, Mrs Faraday had taken the head of her table since the day of her husband’s funeral in 1896.
Uncle William burst out again. ‘I can’t understand Mother,’ he said. ‘If she won’t let us chuck him out, why won’t she let us send for the police? The fellow comes here with a cock-and-bull story and she takes it seriously. Really, you would almost think she believed in it.’
Marcus shrugged his shoulders. ‘Somehow the bounder put up a very convincing story,’ he remarked.
Uncle William stopped in his tracks, and his little blue eyes seemed to be on the verge of popping out of his head.
‘Do you mean to say . . .?’ he began, and his voice trailed into silence. He turned to Campion. ‘Do you think George knows anything?’ he demanded. ‘Good heavens, do you mean to tell me that you think someone in this house – one of us – put old Andrew out of the way, and Julia? I mean, after all that’s come out at the inquest?’ He sat down suddenly on one of the small chairs by the table. ‘God bless my soul!’
Marcus straightened himself and lounged restlessly down the length of the room.
Police at the Funeral Page 22
