Richard walked to the door and flung it open. “I’ve always thought you barely responsible for your actions. Now I know you’re crazy. To talk like this—they aren’t the words of a sane man—and at such a time. I expect that’s the police. I’d better see them, and for God’s sake pull yourself together and put some kind of a face on it. All the countryside knows you for a byword already…”
Brand began to laugh. Having begun, he could not stop. He held on to the table shaking with mirth; the tears ran down his cheeks, his body trembled. “Oh, Richard,” he sobbed, between his gasps. “Oh, Richard. A byword! Because I wanted to paint, and because I haven’t much money, and got fooled by a harlot? Oh, don’t be so damned squeamish. Haven’t you ever heard the word before? Or met one? Or known one? If you’re so innocent, read your Bible. It would be a good excuse anyway. A byword! Yes, I might be that in a family like mine, that spends its time scheming for tinsel wreaths and empty honours…” His laughter ceased as abruptly as it came. “I beg your pardon. I think I’m a little hysterical. But you must make allowances. When a man is expecting momentarily to be arrested for murdering his father he is apt to be a little incoherent. At least, that’s my experience. If those are the police, you’d better have the first innings. They should have a good impression of the family, or they won’t conduct themselves suitably. You know, it’s abominable that these things can happen to exclusive folk like ourselves. Murder shouldn’t be allowed in the upper classes—so vulgar.”
His violent reactions shocked Richard, who said hastily, “All this has upset you, Brand. I apologise for it. It’s my fault for making such a suggestion. The fact is, I’m almost beside myself. It’s true we disagreed fiercely yesterday, but he was my father, a root; I don’t know if you can understand, but something definite has been cut out of my life. It can’t be the same again, though it might be more triumphant, better in another way. I don’t know about that. There are things one wants I’ve never been able so far to get. Those may all be added unto me. But this, precisely as it was twenty-four hours ago, that’s gone. It affects me, Brand. Because, however strange it may seem to you, it was a relationship that touched the affections. You probably think it’s my turn to exhibit hysteria.”
The unexpectedness of this outbreak, this sudden revealing of a cold man’s heart, touched and awed Brand. All desire to scoff left him; he knew, instead, the intense loneliness of a man who has always been a stranger to his kin. And this man whom he had openly derided and pitied had tasted an experience he himself would never know. More, it was an experience that enriched and softened. A partial realisation of the distress that this loss must occasion a man who, however peculiar it appeared, had actually loved the dead, sobered him almost to grief. But the grief was impersonal. As he had not cared for Adrian Gray, so he was indifferent to Richard; but his heart was wrung by the ineffectual misery of men for the passing, the intangible thing. He wrenched his thoughts back to his dream of the future. That held, was solid, reliable. A man’s work could not be measured by any known rule; and immediately his heart lifted, his eyes brightened in anticipation. Yet, turning to leave the room, he saw again those melancholy eyes, the worn resignation of the thin face, and the dignity and hopelessness of them smote him to an intense dejection.
5
He went into the morning-room, where the family was now assembled. They all started at the sight of him, and Amy cried, “What is it, Brand?”
Brand said in a weary voice, “He’s dead.”
“Yes, we supposed so. But what did Richard want with you?”
“To know if I’d killed him. I told him ‘No.’ I can’t be sure if he believed me. It doesn’t seem to matter very much. It’s a fatal tendency to allow the insignificant to dwarf the significant.”
Miles said, calming the atmosphere of panic that had arisen at Brand’s words, “Do you mean to imply murder, Brand?”
“Richard seems to think so. A blow on the temple. It doesn’t seem likely that he did it himself. Why should he? Besides, Romford thinks so too.”
That silenced even Amy for the moment. Then she exclaimed; “But who—how…?”
“They found the window open.”
“Then perhaps someone broke in and father interrupted him, and he killed him. And all of us in the house. How—how appalling!” The inadequacy of the expression was obvious even to her, and she sank back in her chair, her head theatrically sunk in her hands.
Brand moved away to a window, that commanded a long view over the dales. The snow had been much trampled by now, and black, unsightly patches marred its glittering whiteness. Without looking back, he called softly, “Isobel.” She came, stepping nervously, and looked at him in an enquiring manner. She was so seldom addressed, except by Amy in a hectoring tone, that she seemed genuinely perplexed at his invitation.
He slipped an arm through hers. “None of us knows how this is going to end,” he said. “And, whichever way it does, it means a change in our lives. It must. You can’t have your background broken up and not be affected by it to any degree. I hadn’t realised that till I saw Richard. Let’s not anticipate the future. It’ll come upon us soon enough, and what it will bring we can none of us
