by Richard Hull
In the dining room, too, James, maintaining that any house as old as Amberhurst Place ought to have armour, had placed two suits of a totally irrelevant period and ornamented the walls with some daggers which he fondly believed to be of the same date as the family ghost, in whose legend a dagger played a prominent part. Actually, they were late nineteenth century, but it was of little real importance. Perhaps even it might be an advantage, as with very little trouble they could easily be made serviceable, although the chances of one being wanted must be admitted to be apparently remote.
It was only in keeping with everything else that the largest bedroom should be on the inside of the tower and have the view from its only window blocked by trees. It contrived to be hot in the summer, since it faced West, while in the winter there seemed always to be a draught down the chimney which led to a broad fireplace that managed to give out the minimum of heat.
It was, however, in the long library that James Warrenton, having decided on his course of action as to the offending paragraph, collected his niece, and in unusual silence waited whilst Rushton, his butler, collected Henry Malcolm. The silence indeed became almost too much for Emily who, feeling that anything would be better than to wait in inactivity while storm clouds gathered round her uncle, began to look for trouble amongst the books. At least her activity had the effect of ending the tension. Not for the first time that day she was reproved for fidgeting.
Henry Malcolm entered very angrily. He was, he explained, getting out a scheme for seeing that no casual pilfering took place of the milk obtained from their own cows, and just as he was getting the details down clearly, he had been interrupted.
Characteristically James took no notice. Indeed, he pretended not to have heard.
‘What I want to know is which of you wrote this absurd paragraph in this infernal rag The New Light? No, don’t you go, Rushton.’ He was just in time to stop the butler gliding out of the door. ‘It may well be you or one of the other people on the staff.’
Over the correctness of Rushton’s demeanour came a slightly pained air, which he hoped would convey that he was not to be classed indiscriminately with the ‘other people on the staff’. James, of course, took no notice of it. If he had, he would probably only have cheerfully accentuated the insult, but Rushton was new in his service and had yet to learn that normal methods were quite useless for the purpose of controlling this particular employer.
‘Now which of you wrote it? Emily? No! You wouldn’t have the guts.’ He dismissed her contemptuously. ‘Henry? Now let me think. You are quite stupid enough not to know that I dislike press publicity, so you wouldn’t have done it to annoy me. Besides, you only do that accidentally. What? Don’t shout. I can hear perfectly well if you talk in a normal voice and don’t swallow the ends of your words.’
By this time Henry Malcolm was almost red in the face from the vehemence with which he tried to deny that the offending paragraph was anything to do with him. Eventually, however, the disclaimer penetrated to his uncle’s conscience. James Warrenton put his head on one side and considered it.
‘I’m inclined to believe you in a way. Not because you say so, but because I can see no reason why you should put such rubbish at this particular time. Besides, it’s all wrong. You do know that we have not just got here. We’re almost settled down now. I mean the books are all straight if Emily would leave them alone, and you’re getting into your work now — by which I mean that I hear you have already quarrelled with Young and the cowman and Rushton here. That’s so, isn’t it, Rushton?’
‘I have no idea, sir, what Mr Malcolm’s relations may be with the countrymen employed outside the house.’ Rushton shivered.
‘Naturally. I don’t expect you to know anything except about yourself. But I asked you whether he had had a row with you.’
‘I had the misfortune, sir, to incur Mr Malcolm’s displeasure and to feel that the reproof that he administered was not entirely just. The matter, sir, I may say, has however been settled, I believe to the mutual satisfaction of both parties.’
‘Then you’ve both settled down. So why did somebody write this paragraph now? Did you write it, Rushton?’
‘I did not, sir.’
‘Any of the staff?’
‘I should think it highly improbable. The female staff are not much given to epistolary pursuits, and the — yokel’ (the pause was full of meaning) ‘who is supposed to assist me combines incompetence of an unusual order with a high degree of illiteracy.’
Even to James himself the instruction not to be impertinent seemed inadequate. Rushton brushed it aside with a quiet ‘No, sir,’ and made matters worse by going on, ‘Then, sir, if there is nothing else that you require—’
But this was easy.
‘There is.’ James was once more master of the situation. ‘I want you to stay there until you are told to go. Somebody must have written that thing. Which of you was it? It can’t have been you, after all, Emily?’
Before Emily could give a timid negative, Malcolm broke in.
‘Why assume that it was anyone in the house at all? Especially as the facts are all wrong. I mean as to you and how long you’ve been here, and even the story about the ghost is different from what you’ve been telling us—’
‘Don’t call it a ghost. A spirit that has passed on. But perhaps, after all, there is something in what you say. Perhaps that ridiculous reporter put it in and is trying to work up a stunt about it.’
The idea of the reporter of a local paper getting something put in the distinguished columns of the London New Light in order to work up a sensation in the Periton and District Gazette, seemed completely topsy-turvy to the minds of James Warrenton’s three auditors, but each of them had the sense to make no reply in the hopes that the incident might be allowed to fade away on that harmless if improbable hypothesis.
If any of them had been really clever, they would have contradicted the theory and so confirmed it in their employer’s mind but, though none of them had quite sufficient astuteness to do this, they did succeed by an accidental appearance of incredulity in making him begin to take the idea seriously. Probably the delusion would not have lasted for long for, except when he deliberately deceived himself, James Warrenton was no fool.
Before, however, he had time to consider the point in greater detail, Hamar, the assistant whose incompetence and general air of having only recently relinquished the ploughshares, caused the dignified Rushton so much uneasiness, broke in suddenly without warning or apology.
Instantly Rushton was down on him, snarling in his ear, ‘Why don’t you knock?’
Hamar, however, considered it to be safe, for the present at least, to ignore so unanswerable an inquiry. He never saw any particular reason why you should knock before coming in, and though he had no objection, he always forgot, and he expected that he would generally go on forgetting. However, at the moment, he had news, and he burst out with it in the strong country accent which always offended Rushton’s fastidiousness.
‘If you please, sir, Mr Young — he’s caught another of them, and he’s got ’un at the back door.’
‘Another what?’ Malcolm led the inquiry by a short head.
‘Why, sir, another of them reporter chaps. Trying to break in at the same place at the top of Dean’s Wood, opposite to Hobden’s new cattle shed, where the old oak that fell over partly last winter broke down the fencing — and Mr Young he copped him fair and Nell, she’s seen he hasn’t run away, and he’s got him at back door, and Mr Young wants to know do you want to see him? Sir.’ Young Hamar stopped abruptly and added the monosyllable as an afterthought. ‘Perhaps Mr Rushton would have the honesty to admit after that that he was learning and was really rapidly becoming quite a good footman.’
The spate of words and of local names unknown to him was, however, almost too much for James Warrenton. He was particularly confused as to who was the lady who had prevented the reporter from running away. At length, however, the confusion was disentangle
d and Hamar sent to fetch whoever had arrived.
He was, however, not allowed the amusement of doing so. After a short interval the door reopened and in his most dignified way, Rushton announced:
‘The captive, sir. Will you be requiring the dog?’ He managed to convey to Young by his manner that, in his opinion, keepers did not exist.
The effect, however, of the announcement, was rather lost. James Warrenton said nothing, but merely burst out laughing.
5
Gregory Arrives
‘So, we meet again.’ To all outward appearances James Warrenton was delighted. Nor was Gregory Spring-Benson visibly perturbed by the circumstances.
‘How did you guess it?’ he replied calmly.
‘Going to try to borrow a fiver from me this time?’
‘Not exactly. I say, do you mind if I sit down? I’m rather tired of standing — and perhaps you wouldn’t mind introducing me?’
Without waiting for a reply to the first half of his question except for the gesture of assent that came almost involuntarily from Emily, Gregory started to move to what appeared to be the most comfortable chair. A growl at his heels, however, soon restrained him.
‘My good dog,’ he went on, still without a trace of irritation, ‘you might realise the situation. Surely you can see that your attentions are no longer required?’
‘Here, Nell. Sit.’ Young wasted no words, and with the conviction that her duties were now over, the Alsatian quietly went and lay down in a corner, her head between her paws. She slept, however, with one eye occasionally opened whenever Gregory moved.
‘So, you’re “not exactly” going to try to borrow money from me. Now just precisely what do you mean by that and what is your game? I gather that you are not here entirely and only on a friendly visit?’
‘Oh, I’m quite willing to be friendly, so far as that goes; in which connection it would help if, as I suggested, you made some introductions.’
Such humour as there was in the situation appeared to appeal to James Warrenton. With his loud and coarse laugh, he remarked that it was always pleasant to introduce relations.
‘Family ties are so very strong amongst the Warrentons. This is your Cousin Emily, John’s only child, and this is Henry Malcolm, your Aunt Jacynth’s young hopeful — must be hopeful, that’s why he’s here,’ he added in parenthesis. ‘And that is my new butler, Rushton, whose presence at the moment we do not require. Young and — Nell, was the name, was it not? — I think, you already know.’
Even a hint so devoid of delicacy could not dissipate Rushton’s dignity. With a perfectly correct ‘Thank you, sir,’ he closed the door softly. The conversation would be perfectly audible from the other side, but he objected to being turned out while the keeper was still present. However, it merely added one more trifle to the score against his employer which he was carefully keeping. He would work it all off one day.
‘And now let’s hear why you are here. But first of all, young—’
‘First of all, Uncle James,’ broke in Henry, ‘who is this person? You’ve told him who we are, but you haven’t given us a hint as to who he is.’
‘Everything,’ James addressed Gregory, ‘has to be explained very carefully to your cousin. As a matter of fact, I did give a hint when I referred to your Aunt Jacynth. If you think it out, Henry, as you know that this is not one of those Vaughans, it must be your only other relation, your cousin Gregory Spring-Benson, spendthrift, ne’er-do-well, general sponger and rotter.’
‘How do you do,’ Emily remarked politely if a trifle inadequately.
‘That’s right,’ Gregory agreed quite cheerfully to the description, well aware that he was scoring points against his uncle by remaining quietly unmoved. Only Henry Malcolm looked in any way disconcerted. A further relation in the house seemed to him to be entirely a mistake! Especially one with such a character! However, fortunately in his opinion his uncle had a perfectly just appreciation of one of whom, though he had never met, he had often heard rumours. But Uncle James was so curious that any contact was always dangerous. It would be best to end the interview as soon as possible. Accordingly, with his usual directness, he went straight to what he considered to be the only point.
‘It would be best if Young saw him well off the premises at once, wouldn’t it?’
On the whole the remark was not a success. Young was heard to murmur that he had his duties to perform and (less audibly) that some people might do their own dirty work. But on James Warrenton, as anyone but Malcolm would have known, the attempt to steer him in a definite direction had a directly opposite result.
‘Supposing we find out first just how Young was so certain that he was a reporter,’ James suggested.
To Malcolm it seemed so shatteringly unimportant and even irrelevant that he merely shrugged his shoulders.
Without comment the keeper produced one of the papers which Gregory had been reading in the train coming down and handed it to Warrenton. The old man’s face brightened as he noticed what was the subject of it. He turned quickly to Gregory and barked out:
‘Interested in spiritualism?’
It was rather a test question for Gregory. According as to how he answered it, his future policy would have to be laid down, but by now he had had time to decide on the line which would be best to take. It was no good pretending to be an expert because he was sure to be found out. He had thought of deliberately allowing such an exposure to happen so that his uncle might have the pleasure of unveiling him as an impostor. For, do what he would, it was inevitable that he should be considered to have forced his way in for motives of his own, and so it would be best in his opinion to supply his uncle with a plausible reason and so conceal his real one. From what he remembered and now saw of James Warrenton, his best chance was to blacken his own character as much as possible. It would rather take the wind out of his uncle’s sails.
‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I began looking at the subject today for the first time.’
‘And what do you think of it?’
‘Haven’t made up my mind yet. It seems awful nonsense to me, but these people who write about it believe in it, and I don’t feel I ought to turn it down without knowing the first thing about it. But, of course, that wasn’t why I bought the papers.’
‘Which was?’
‘Well, I saw the paragraph that you had put in The New Light about yourself—’
‘That I had put in. Stuff and nonsense!’
‘Oh, didn’t you? Well, anyhow, that was put in, and I took the guess that you had fallen for spiritualism as a hobby. I say, Cousin Emily,’ he broke off, ‘do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Oh, make yourself comfortable by all means,’ Malcolm put in sarcastically.
Warrenton turned on him.
‘You mind your own business. This is my house, isn’t it? And if I choose to let my own nephew stay in it, I shall do so without asking your permission. Even if, like you, he is only here for what he can get out of me. Go on, Gregory. So, you decided that I had “fallen for” spiritualism. An ignorant phrase, but let that pass.’
‘Yes. That being so, I thought that there might be a chance of working something up from that. I’ve always heard that recruits to spiritualism were thoroughly credulous, so I naturally concluded that you must be getting in your dotage, and so I thought it was a good moment to arrive on the scene. Unfortunately, I have arrived before I had quite made up my mind what line to take. Apparently, there has been a spot of bother before — hence this undignified arrival. Consequently, the situation from my point of view has been rather spoilt. I had not intended, for instance, that you should see those papers. I had rather thought that I might see this ghost of yours — in theory at any rate — and try to work up something from that. Alternatively, I was going to pose as the earnest inquirer after truth and let you enlighten me, or perhaps as the scoffer and let you convert me — though I don’t think much of that last idea. It’s too obvious and it’s been done too often.’
&n
bsp; The long speech was too much for Henry Malcolm.
‘Surely after that, Young—’
‘Be quiet, Henry. After all, he’s no worse than any of the rest of you.’ James turned to Gregory again. ‘And how were you going on after that?’
‘Oh, I hadn’t worked it out in detail. There are lots of ways of parting a fool from his money.’ He got up unconcernedly to fetch an ashtray and noted with quiet amusement the gleam of satisfaction in Malcolm’s eye. So, the man was sufficiently stupid to think that that was a slip! Of course, it wasn’t! Uncle James clearly liked it whatever he might pretend. He found it original and stimulating, and he chuckled appreciatively.
‘Of course,’ — Gregory turned back from the mantelpiece — ‘things have turned out a bit unluckily, and it was a waste of energy to have packed a suitcase. However, as I left it at the station, no harm has been done, except the waste of the fare down here.’
‘Are you going to suggest that I should repay that?’
‘No. It’s rather humiliating to fish for whales and catch sprats and not put them back. But as I am down here, I should like to know one thing. What are my respected cousins doing here? At least one of them. Cousin Emily is quite obvious. She makes herself useful and you just bully her — you like bullying, don’t you? — and she, poor creature, has nowhere else to go. But Cousin — Henry, isn’t it? — of course I can see why you like to have him here — an excellent grindstone, but why does he stay? Gold digging, I suppose?’
‘I do a decent day’s work here, which is more than you’ve ever done, and for it I get a day’s wage of a sort, and that’s all there is to it. Now I am going to complete the day’s work by throwing you out, and whatever else I may do — and I don’t deny that Uncle James and I do not occasionally see eye to eye — I don’t tell him to his face that he’s an old fool in his dotage who can be easily parted from his money.’