“He told me he had nothing to spare for wastrels,” he added viciously.
“And you actually stayed on after that? You must have been in a tight place. I admit I should have done so in any circumstances. There’s a creature called a badger that holds on till death.” He could no longer restrain himself; he felt the blood burn and thicken in his veins; like a man making desperate headway against a wind that deprives him of sight, breath, and speech, he could not pause to take his bearings. He must rush headlong into debate; his period of control was over. Miles, with a despairing glance at his wife, accepted the position. The instinctive loathing between these two was coming to a head; within the next few moments almost any startling occurrence might take place. A wild battle of wits—and possibly not of wits alone—would be engaged upon, whose story would be gleefully repeated in every village kitchen so long as interest in Gray’s death served the people for gossip.
Eustace also was breathing hard, showing all the signs of ungovernable rage. “The badger, I believe works underground,” he commented, trembling as Brand also did.
Brand laughed fiercely. “If it so much as showed its nose above the surface it would be hit on the head without mercy.”
“Quite right, too. There’s only one treatment for badgers, and that is, root them out. They’re no good.”
“They eat wasps,” Brand defended them wildly.
Olivia cut in coldly, “Brand, you might at least have the decency to keep quiet when you remember that father’s dead and you most likely are to blame.”
“Dead?” exclaimed Brand. “How do you know that?”
“I think it would be difficult to misunderstand Richard,” observed Miles dispassionately. “Besides, he would scarcely have remained talking and asking questions if there had been any possibility of anything else.”
Isobel broke in colourlessly, “He’s been dreadfully worried lately. I don’t know if that could have brought on a stroke.”
“Of course he was worried,” said Olivia. “Aren’t we all worried to death with the state of the country and Government stupidity and shares drawing no dividends, without having a son who won’t work on your hands?”
Brand looked up in genuine surprise, not, at first, understanding her implication. “But Richard,” he began; then stopped. “Did you mean me? Me? My God, I like that. I not work? And what work do any of you do? What does Eustace do? Bluffing money out of other people’s pockets isn’t work. And Richard. Look at his hands. Are they the hands of a man who works? Sitting about in the House, and giving parties and getting into debt in the hope of attracting the attention of more significant vermin than himself. But real work, the kind of thing that doesn’t take account of the money it’ll win you or fame it brings—what do any of you know of that?”
Miles said, generously associating himself with the rest of them, though he had never asked a man for help in his life, “If Romford says that death is due to a stroke or some shock brought on by anxiety, we shall none of us be quite able to absolve ourselves. It’s not an enviable position, look at it how you will. For our own sakes, let’s keep cool about it.”
“I think we’re all cool enough, except Brand,” remarked Olivia. “I daresay he has more on his conscience than the rest of us.”
Eustace, however, could not summon sufficient control to save his dignity. “Do you mean you got money out of him?” he exclaimed. “But how could you? He had none.”
Miles permitted himself for an instant to betray his disgust at this deplorable scene, and Eustace added hurriedly, “I have the honour, you see, to be in his confidence regarding his finances. And, as Olivia says, times were never worse.”
“And I suppose that, being his adviser, you resent his making an investment without consulting you. But I daresay he was wise. He wouldn’t have liked poor law officers writing to him, or asking for assistance in keeping my wife and children.”
Eustace said briefly and inaccurately, “No pressure could be brought to bear upon him.”
“Perhaps not. But in a village like this, where people can find food for gossip if two bees choose the same flower at the same time, it would have been very unpleasant.”
“And how often was this—er—grant to be renewed?”
“It was a final payment. We had it all very formal. Really, Miles, you should have been there. We drew up the most humorous document. I doubt if you could have improved upon it. It was extremely legal for a layman. I signed like a bird. No witnesses, though. Does that invalidate it?”
“How thankful father must be that his other children can keep their families,” sneered Olivia.
“And I,” countered Brand politely. “If he had had to keep young Moores and young Amerys as well as young Grays he would, indeed, have been unfortunate. Though as to the Moores, I daresay he’s contributed more to their support than he is aware.”
3
The doctor arrived, shouldering his way through the hall as he had shouldered it through the snow outside. He had no car, and tramped over this hilly country, day and night, in all weathers.
Richard met him in the hall, apologised formally for calling him in, and began to explain the position.
Romford thought, “Weedy chap! Too narrow in the shoulders and the forehead. Not much room for good brain there—all cramped together like a Victorian lady’s stomach. And why apologise for bringing me out? Does he suppose that people are considerate enough to keep well on Christmas Day?” Besides, he really preferred his Christmas visits to any others; usually he was offered something to drink and picked up some titbit of local scandal, for he was an inveterate gossip. He was a large stout man, with a rough reddish-grey beard and long thick hair; his hobby was fish photography. He was a bachelor, cared for
