There seemed to be some sort of a jam up by the door. MacGregor peered over the intervening heads. The maternal and paternal connections of the late Cynthia Perking appeared to be disputing matters of precedence.
‘To be trampled on’ – Mrs Wibbley’s resounding tones effectively stilled the noise in the rest of the room—‘at one’s own daughter’s inquest! After all I have gone through, this is the last straw!’
Her husband looked down his nose at her. ‘If you are comparing yourself with a camel, my dear Rosalind, you will hardly induce me to quarrel with you. And now, since passing through this doorway appears to be a matter of life and death to you, kindly proceed. No doubt one of your disgusting curs is even now rupturing itself with yelping for you. A less forgiving man than myself might be tempted to point out that, had you reared your daughter as devotedly as your rear those filthy animals, we should not be meeting now in such tragic circumstances.’
‘You swine!’ roared Mrs Wibbley, struggling to free her umbrella arm from the mass of bodies pressing round her. ‘You sanctimonious, unmitigated swine! I suppose it’s my fault that Cynthia didn’t have a mother?’
Her husband’s face composed itself into a sneer. ‘It is, my dear Rosalind, hardly mine.’
‘You drove me out!’
‘If you had not behaved like a bitch in the manger and refused to divorce me, as any self-respecting wife would have done, I could have provided my daughter with any one of a hundred mother-substitutes.’
‘I have no doubt you would have done,’ retorted Mrs Wibbley grimly, ‘and Cynthia would have been forced out of her home even earlier, instead of waiting till she was eighteen.’
‘My daughter was not forced out of her home!’ Mr Wibbley shouted. ‘I opposed that disastrous marriage with all my might and main. The girl was wilful, pig-headed and obstinate, and we all know from where she inherited those attributes. Neither they nor a thoughtless lack of consideration for the feelings of others are characteristic of my family.’
‘Your family?’ began Mrs Wibbley scornfully, but she was interrupted.
‘Daniel! Rosalind! This is no place for quarrelling!’ It was a woman close behind Mrs Wibbley. She pushed her hat back into position on her head and tried to include both the contestants in a chiding smile. ‘I did so hope that Cynthia’s death would have brought you two dear unhappy mortals closer together.’
‘My God, Ottilia!’ Mr Wibbley raised his eyes accusingly to the skies. ‘That’s all we needed! What do you think this is—a peepshow? I’m only surprised you didn’t bring your blasted father with you. Oh, I forgot—they don’t provide liquid refreshments at inquests.’
‘Papa was here, Daniel,’ Ottilia reproached him gently, ‘but he —er—had to leave before the inquest actually started. He’s no longer a young man, you know, and he was really very upset.’
‘I can’t think why. To the best of my knowledge he hasn’t seen Cynthia since we made the mistake of inviting him to the christening.’
‘Well, of course, that just goes to show how little you knew about your daughter, doesn’t it, Daniel dear?’ Ottilia asked nastily. ‘She was a frequent visitor to our house before she married. She and Mildred were very close when they were girls.’
‘Mildred? Who the devil’s Mildred?’
‘Mildred is my daughter, Daniel, as you know perfectly well. Mildred, say good morning to your uncle.’
‘I am not her uncle,’ snapped Mr Wibbley, ‘and if she has the impertinence to address me as such I shall take legal proceedings to restrain her. Our connection, thank God, is only through marriage and, although not remote enough, it can in no circumstances be considered a close relationship.’
‘I’m your wife’s first cousin!’ Ottilia objected.
‘But not, thank God, mine! And while we are on the subject, madam, I may as well inform you that I consider your daughter’s presence here—to say nothing of your own and your decrepit father’s — to be the nadir of bad taste.’
‘We came here to support Rosalind. In times like these a family should hang together.’
‘Now, there’s a happy thought!’ leered Mr Wibbley. ‘The vision of the Sinclair family all hanging in a row together— from the gallows tree! Because that’s where you ought to be— the lot of you! If it hadn’t been for your simpering, snivelling brat here none of this would have happened. She’s responsible!’ He pointed a dramatic and accusing finger at a young woman cowering behind Ottilia and Rosalind.
‘He’s mad!’ wailed Ottilia, turning to enfold the girl in a protective embrace. ‘Don’t listen to him, my baby! Grief has turned his brain. Oh,’ —she twisted round to confront Mr Wibbley again —‘if my dear husband were alive, he would deal with you, you fiend! He wouldn’t allow you to speak to us like this.’
‘For the price of a packet of cigarettes your late and unlamented husband would have jumped through a hoop backwards. Apart from your father he was the biggest sponger it has ever been my misfortune to encounter. An attribute, I may add, which has been passed on undiminished to your daughter, Mildred. I warned Cynthia time and time again that Mildred was just out for what she could get — old dresses, broken bits of jewellery, half-used pots of face cream. She’d take anything.’
‘But not, I fancy,’ said Ottilia, drawing herself up with great dignity, ‘men.’
Mr Wibbley’s face blackened with rage. ‘And what is that disgusting remark supposed to mean?’
‘I fancy you know perfectly well, Daniel. We Sinclairs may be poor but we have our standards. It’s all a matter of breeding, but one can hardly expect a man who trades in water closets to understand that.’
Mr Wibbley turned in a fury to his wife. ‘Rosalind, you’d better get your foul-mouthed cousin out of here before I do something I may be sorry for!’ ,
‘Oh no, Daniel,’ — Ottilia stood her ground— ‘not until I’ve
