I did see. I had some faint idea in my mind that just a little specialized knowledge would have been needed. But now it was borne in upon me that old Leonides had actually supplied the blue print[103] for his own murder. The murderer had not had to think out a scheme, or to plan or devise anything. A simple easy method of causing death had been supplied by the victim himself.
I drew a deep breath. Sophia, catching my thought, said: Yes, its rather horrible, isnt it?
You know, Sophia, I said slowly. Theres just one thing does strike me.
Yes?
That youre right, and that it couldnt have been Brenda. She couldnt do it exactly that waywhen youd all listenedwhen youd all remember.
I dont know about that. She is rather dumb in some ways, you know.
Not as dumb as all that, I said. No, it couldnt have been Brenda.
Sophia moved away from me.
You dont want it to be Brenda, do you? she asked.
And what could I say? I couldntno, I couldntsay flatly: Yes, I hope it is Brenda.
Why couldnt I? Just the feeling that Brenda was all alone on one side, and the concentrated animosity of the powerful Leonides family was arrayed against her on the other side. Chivalry? A feeling for the weaker? For the defenceless? I remembered her sitting on the sofa in her expensive rich mourning, the hopelessness in her voicethe fear in her eyes.
Nannie came back rather opportunely from the scullery. I dont know whether she sensed a certain strain between myself and Sophia.
She said disapprovingly:
Talking murders and such-like. Forget about it, thats what I say. Leave it to the police. Its their nasty business, not yours.
Oh, Nanniedont you realize that someone in this house is a murderer?
Nonsense, Miss Sophia, Ive no patience with you. Isnt the front door open all the timeall the doors open, nothing lockedasking for thieves and burglars?
But it couldnt have been a burglar, nothing was stolen. Besides, why should a burglar come in and poison somebody?
I didnt say it was a burglar, Miss Sophia. I only said all the doors were open. Anyone could have got in. If you ask me it was the Communists.
Nannie nodded her head in a satisfied way.
Why on earth should Communists want to murder poor grandfather?
Well, everyone says that theyre at the bottom of[104] everything that goes on. But if it wasnt the Communists, mark my word, it was the Catholics. The Scarlet Woman of Babylon[105], thats what they are.
With the air of one saying the last word, Nannie disappeared again into the scullery.
Sophia and I laughed.
With the air of one saying the last word, Nannie disappeared again into the scullery.
Sophia and I laughed.
A good old Black Protestant, I said.
Yes, isnt she? Come on, Charles, come into the drawingroom. Theres a kind of family conclave going on. It was scheduled for this eveningbut its started prematurely.
Id better not butt in[106], Sophia.
If youre ever going to marry into the family, youd better see just what its like when it has the gloves off.
Whats it all about?
Rogers affairs. You seem to have been mixed up in them already. But youre crazy to think that Roger would ever have killed grandfather. Why, Roger adored him.
I didnt really think Roger had. I thought Cle mency might have.
Only because I put it into your head. But youre wrong there too. I dont think Clemency will mind a bit if Roger loses all his money. I think shell actually be rather pleased. Shes got a queer kind of passion for not having things. Come on.
When Sophia and I entered the drawing-room, the voices that were speaking stopped abruptly. Everybody looked at us.
They were all there. Philip sitting in a big crimson brocaded arm-chair between the windows, his beautiful face set in a cold, stern mask. He looked like a judge about to pronounce sentence. Roger was astride a big pouffe by the fireplace. He had ruffled up his hair between his fingers until it stood up all over his head. His left trouser leg was rucked up and his tie askew. He looked flushed and argumentative. Clemency sat beyond him, her slight form seemed too slender for the big stuffed chair. She was looking away from the others and seemed to be studying the wall panels with a dispassionate gaze. Edith sat in a grandfather chair, bolt upright. She was knitting with incredible energy, her lips pressed tightly together. The most beautiful thing in the room to look at was Magda and Eustace. They looked like a portrait by Gainsborough[107]. They sat together on the sofathe dark, handsome boy with a sullen expression on his face, and beside him, one arm thrust out along the back of the sofa, sat Magda, the Duchess of Three Gables in a picture gown of taffetas with one small foot in a brocaded slipper thrust out in front of her.
Philip frowned.
Sophia, he said, Im sorry, but we are discussing family matters which are of a private nature.
Miss de Havilands needles clicked. I prepared to apologize and retreat. Sophia forestalled me. Her voice was clear and determined.
Charles and I, she said, hope to get married. I want Charles to be here.
And why on earth not? cried Roger, springing up from his pouffe with explosive energy. I keep telling you, Philip, theres nothing private about this! The whole world is going to know tomorrow or the day after. Anyway, my dear boy, he came and put a friendly hand on my shoulder, you know all about it. You were there this morning.
Do tell me, cried Magda, leaning forward. What is it like at Scotland Yard? One always wonders. A table? A desk? Chairs? What kind of curtains? No flowers, I suppose? A dictaphone?
Put a sock in it, Mother, said Sophia. And anyway, you told Vavasour Jones to cut that Scotland Yard scene. You said it was an anti-climax.
It makes it too like a detective play, said Magda. Edith Thompson is definitely a psychological drama or psychological thrillerwhich do you think sounds best?
You were there this morning? Philip asked me sharply. Why? Oh, of courseyour father
He frowned. I realized more clearly than ever that my presence was unwelcome, but Sophias hand was clenched on my arm.
Clemency moved a chair forward.
Do sit down, she said.
I gave her a grateful glance and accepted.
You may say what you like, said Miss de Haviland, apparently going on from where they had all left off, but I do think we ought to respect Aristides wishes. When this will business is straightened out, as far as I am concerned, my legacy is entirely at your disposal, Roger.
Roger tugged his hair in a frenzy.
No, Aunt Edith. No! he cried.
I wish I could say the same, said Philip, but one has to take every factor into consideration
Dear old Phil, dont you understand? Im not going to take a penny from anyone.
Of course he cant! snapped Clemency.
Anyway, Edith, said Magda. If the will is straightened out, hell have his own legacy.
But it cant possibly be straightened out in time, can it? asked Eustace.
You dont know anything about it, Eustace, said Philip.
The boys absolutely right, cried Roger. Hes put his finger on the spot. Nothing can avert the crash. Nothing.
He spoke with a kind of relish.
There is really nothing to discuss, said Clemency.
Anyway, said Roger, what does it matter?
I should have thought it mattered a good deal, said Philip, pressing his lips together.
No, said Roger. No! Does anything matter compared with the fact that father is dead? Father is dead! And we sit here discussing mere money matters!
A faint colour rose in Philips pale cheeks.
We are only trying to help, he said stiffly.
I know, Phil, old boy, I know. But theres nothing anyone can do. So lets call it a day.
I suppose, said Philip, that I could raise a certain amount of money. Securities have gone down a good deal and some of my capital is tied up in such a way that I cant touch it: Magdas settlement and so onbut
Magda said quickly:
Of course you cant raise the money, darling. It would be absurd to tryand not very fair on the children.
I tell you Im not asking anyone for anything! shouted Roger. Im hoarse with telling you so. Im quite content that things should take their course.
Its a question of prestige, said Philip. Fathers. Ours.
It wasnt a family business. It was solely my concern.
Yes, said Philip, looking at him. It was entirely your concern.
Edith de Haviland got up and said: I think weve discussed this enough.
There was in her voice that authentic note of authority that never fails to produce its effect.
Philip and Magda got up. Eustace lounged out of the room and I noticed the stiffness of his gait. He was not exactly lame, but his walk was a halting one.
Roger linked his arm in Philips and said:
Youve been a brick, Phil, even to think of such a thing! The brothers went out together.
Magda murmured, Such a fuss! as she followed them, and Sophia said that she must see about my room.
Edith de Haviland stood rolling up[108] her knitting. She looked towards me and I thought she was going to speak to me. There was something almost like appeal in her glance. However, she changed her mind, sighed, and went out after the others.
Clemency had moved over to the window and stood looking out into the garden. I went over and stood beside her. She turned her head slightly towards me.
Thank goodness thats over, she saidand added with distaste: What a preposterous room this is!
Dont you like it?
I cant breathe in it. Theres always a smell of half-dead flowers and dust.
I thought she was unjust to the room. But I knew what she meant. It was very definitely an interior.
It was a womans room, exotic, soft, shut away from the rude blasts of outside weather. It was not a room that a man would be happy in for long. It was not a room where you could relax and read the newspaper and smoke a pipe and put up your feet. Nevertheless I preferred it to Clemencys own abstract expression of herself upstairs. On the whole I prefer a boudoir to an operating theatre.
She said, looking round:
Its just a stage set. A background for Magda to play her scenes against. She looked at me. You rea lize, dont you, what weve just been doing? Act IIthe family conclave. Magda arranged it. It didnt mean a thing. There was nothing to talk about, nothing to discuss. Its all settledfinished.