you would see into things, as it does not seem very sensible behaviour, but more like a child or somebody not quite right in the head. I should tell you that he has also bought himself a pickaxe, which I don't see he can find any proper use for, as well as a new and heavy spade to dig with.'
When the groom took the next week's rent for Ward's rooms and food, I enclosed a note to ask the woman and her husband to come up and see me, for Mrs Landgrave's letter convinced me that they had reason for complaint. Nobody wants to give house-room to a madman.
Apart from that, the news disquieted me for two other reasons. As a young man, my brother had been in trouble for trying to dig up corpses in a churchyard. He said he wanted to raise the devil and that a corpse was needed for this. The other point was that the Landgraves' story has helped to convince me that Ward really
The grounds, too-they are extensive and the soil is fertile-could be developed agriculturally and made to pay, and there is a large covered market in the nearby town which I am sure could and would take the produce.
However, if Ward has become mentally unstable, as the Landgraves' evidence, given factually and without any show of indignation which, under the circumstances, I could scarcely have quibbled at, most definitely suggests, any attempt on his part at running the estate as a business proposition would be out of the question.
Another complication mentioned by Mrs Landgrave is that she has two young children staying next door with the grandfather and a widowed sister and taking all their meals with the Landgraves. This brings them into daily contact with Ward, so the Landgraves feel a natural anxiety on their account if Ward is becoming what they termed at our interview as 'peculiar'. Incidentally, as Lionel has struck up an acquaintance with these children, I am anxious on his behalf also. I have met the little pair and they seem well-mannered and intelligent and speak better than the village children do. I would not wish (apart from offending the Landgraves, on whose goodwill I am dependent) to forbid Lionel to go down to the village, but if Ward's mind is defective I wonder how safe my little grandson will be if Ward discovers (as well he may, for you know how children chatter) that he is Ward's dispossessor.
Ward has said that he does not want the property, but that was five years ago when I am sure that he was of sound mind. In view of what the Landgraves have told me, I am not able to adhere to that conviction. I am writing to say that I think the first step is for him to see a reputable psychiatrist. I shall be glad and relieved to welcome you to Hill House, therefore, at your very earliest convenience. I trust that, from what I have told you in this letter, you will appreciate that it will not be possible-practicable, perhaps I should say-to bring the patient to your London clinic.
You may still wonder why I gave in to Ward's demands. Of course I would have fought him on the occasion of his first visit to myself and my lawyers, in spite of advice that the odds were against me, for I am not the person to give in at all easily, but the fact is that there was something about his voice and manner-although not in his appearance-which made me almost certain that he was speaking the truth in claiming to be my brother. There was only a faint doubt in my mind. Something in me reached out to something in him, some fugitive memory, I suppose, of our childhood together, although I cannot remember ever really liking him.
I have, as I say, given in about the thirty thousand to be paid him at my death. I still feel that he ought to be compensated for giving up the estate and even with that substantial bite out of my fortune there will still be plenty left, as I say, for little Lionel. However, I have no intention of leaving thirty thousand pounds to a madman. I have discussed matters with Nigel by letter and he fully agrees with me that we should send for a psychiatrist, so do please come soon.
CHAPTER SIX
ALL THE FUN OF THE FAIR
The fair had its roots in the dim and distant Middle Ages, but the only remaining vestiges of its original function, which was annual trading in goods brought by merchants from miles around and even from foreign parts, were the small booths and stalls on the outskirts of the space occupied by roundabouts and swings and all the other exciting and noisy pleasures on which most of the people (and especially the children) had come to spend their money.
Kenneth and I were in a fever all day. We had hoped to set off immediately after breakfast and spend the whole day at the fair, but Uncle Arthur thought otherwise. After tea was the time to go, he said, so Aunt Kirstie made us rest after the mid-day dinner and when, at last, we were ready to set off, she made us wear our overcoats and told Uncle Arthur on no account to keep us out late.
It was a long way to the bus stop and a long way from the bus terminus to the fair, or so it seemed to me at the age of ten. However, we could hear the raucous music as soon as we turned into Broad Street and I know our steps quickened at the sound of it.
St Swithin's Fair had nothing to do with St Swithin's legendary rain-making. It was so called because it was held in St Swithin's market-place, a large open square behind the covered market where we were taken for an occasional treat to eat Tardy-cakes and look at the puppies, kittens, cage-birds, Angora rabbits, Belgian hares and Flemish giants in the petshop. I can still remember the mingled odours and scents of the covered market-the sour smells of small animals, the heavenly smells of baking, flowers and fruit, the sweaty smell of people and the moist, earthy smell of freshly-watered ferns and plants in pots.
The fair was entirely different from the covered market. It was far more exciting. At any rate, it wildly excited Kenneth and me. We had expected much, but I am bound to say that St Swithin's Fair was no disappointment. Looking back now, after all these years, I realise that few things to which young children (after all, I was only ten years old and Kenneth eight) look forward, do turn out to be disappointing. Youthful imagination coupled with a desperate desire for wish-fulfilment sees to that, and therefore St Swithin's Fair stands out in my mind as one of the high spots in a moderately happy life. We did not need to seek for any kind of compensation. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
For one thing, Uncle Arthur was to our minds an ideal companion, an easy-going, simple-minded, very indulgent sort of man. He was not native to the village, but came of Cockney ancestors. His mother was a virago who was accustomed literally to throw her husband and sons into the street when they came home drunk, and she had bestowed her thews and sinews and her generous, single-minded outlook, but not her flaming temper, upon Uncle Arthur. He had boxed in the East End for small purses, so was technically a professional, but he was a kindly man who lacked the killer instinct which brings a boxer fame and the big money.
At the fair he soon gave a taste of his muscular quality. He banged with a mallet on a sort of anvil and a weight shot up and rang a bell. He was given a cigar for that. Then he smashed a coconut and was given a whole one in exchange. We were thrilled and delighted, so much so that 'a penn'orth on the mat,' which he urged us to try, made me forget my fears of this sort of feat. I cascaded round the bends with some enjoyment and returned slightly dizzy but undoubtedly triumphant to Kenneth and Uncle Arthur after I and my mat had been fielded by a
