Pageant of Murder

“Well, the same might be said of me, I suppose,” said Mrs Batty-Faudrey. “I have no sons, but, if I had, I doubt very much whether they would present the same problem as Giles does.”

She sipped her wine. A hovering waiter refilled her glass.

“Really?” asked Dame Beatrice, allowing her own glass to be replenished. “How do you mean? I have experience of sons, grandsons, nephews and grandnephews, and I cannot pretend that any have proved to be outstandingly tiresome—certainly not the nephews.”

“Ah, but perhaps you have not been obliged to have them live with you.”

“No, that has never been my experience. I suppose it would make a difference.”

“In the case of sons, one is entitled to assume that one’s husband will at least be fond of them and welcome them as inmates of the home. It appears that nephews…”

“In my family,” said Signora Brunelli, “we are living in a heap—father, mother, sons, daughters, grandparents, brothers, sisters, all children of everybody—the lot!”

“Ah, well, your customs would be different from ours, no doubt,” said Mrs Batty-Faudrey, with kindly condescension, “and, of course, they do say that there is safety in numbers”.

Mrs Gough giggled.

“Oh, dear!” she said. “I thought that only applied to love affairs!”

“Young people need a considerable amount of guidance in those,” said Dame Beatrice solemnly, “but they will seldom accept advice and frequently make what their families and friends are compelled to admit are the most mistaken alliances. A nephew of my own was continually flitting from flower to flower, if I may be allowed to use an expression which comes dangerously close to being a quotation from The Beggar’s Opera, and caused his family some anxiety, I believe.”

Laura caught the half-glance from her employer’s sharp black eyes.

“Yes,” she said, “Macheath was some sipper! How many wives with child a-piece did he finish up with?”

Mrs Batty-Faudrey looked pained; Mrs Gough giggled; Mrs Collis moaned feelingly, but whether because she deplored Laura’s levity or was sorry for Captain Macheath and his plurality of wives and offspring did not transpire; the signora leapt in where even Councillor Skifforth, a noted supporter of all attempts to limit the world’s birthrate, feared to tread.

“In Italy, my country, in our family,” she announced, “we kick out these offenders. They would be—how do you say?—not to be given their share of the riches.”

“Kicked out and disinherited? What, even though they are your own kith and kin?” exclaimed Laura.

“Family life is good, is pure, in my country. The Church does not stand for nonsense. Besides, no-one has time—not in my family—no time!”

“I think that’s the trouble,” said Dame Beatrice. “Some of the young people have too much time, and then the trouble begins. Still, I think your custom of turning offenders out of the family circle is a trifle drastic, Signora.”

“Oh, one couldn’t do it in England,” said Mrs Batty-Faudrey. “It would only draw attention to the scandal. I feel sure—although, of course, I have no experience in the matter—I feel sure that the only solution would be to hush the thing up. As for disinheriting—why, it could do nothing but create a criminal.”

“I agree, if the culprit, whether youth or young girl, is unmarried. But what of marital infidelity? Are you not in favour of divorce, then, Mrs Batty-Faudrey?” asked Dame Beatrice.

“I have never considered the matter,” said Mrs Batty-Faudrey, in slightly-thickened accents. “When a wife holds the purse-strings…” She appeared to think that the remark was an unwise one, and did not finish it, but emptied her glass instead.

“But so few wives do hold the purse-strings,” said Dame Beatrice. Mrs Gough giggled; Mrs Collis sighed; stately Mrs Skifforth said that wives had only themselves to blame if they allowed themselves to become supplicating doormats in the home.

“The only supplicating doormat I’ve ever seen,” said Laura, “is the one with Welcome on it, and, somehow, at those sort of houses, I feel one never is.”

The talk turned to the subject of home decoration, on which Kitty proved to be an expert. It went on to labour- saving devices and the impossibility, in a place like Brayne, of getting a reliable charwoman. The lunch concluded, as it had begun, in an aura of goodwill and goodfellowship. Brandy was served with the coffee, and the guests, well-fed and pleasantly tipsy, departed in a flurry of thanks and the usual vague and mostly meaningless promises of meeting again quite soon.

“Just as well that Collis and Company aren’t driving, and that the Mayoress, the Councillor and Mrs Batty- Faudrey have a chauffeur,” said Laura critically. “How did you think it all went? Am I right in thinking that, at some time before the end, you got what you wanted?”

“Yes, thank you, child, I did.”

“Oh, did you? I’m so glad,” said Kitty. “I say, the Skifforth is a bit of a battleaxe, isn’t she?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Laura. “Anybody would seem a battleaxe compared with that poor little Mayoress. I bet she won’t be sorry when the Mayor’s term of office is over. If ever I saw a shrinking violet, she’s it.”

“Signora Brunelli didn’t shrink, though, did she? “My country, right or wrong!” That was her banner and her slogan, it seemed to me.”

“It is customary for exiles to think more highly of their native land than of the one which is giving them work and shelter,” said Dame Beatrice. “All the same, except for yourself, my dear Laura, who returned my lobs with unerring skill, the signora was of much greater help than anybody except Mrs Batty- Faudrey herself. She made it clear, I thought, that any question of disinheriting her nephew Giles, whatever his social errors, simply does not arise.”