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 is my brother and, as such, has a right to more than his board, lodging and pocket-money, as Nigel and I agreed. It is true that the estate eats up more than it brings in, nevertheless, although the heir cannot sell or otherwise dispose of it, there is nothing to prevent him from developing the place, say, as a guest-house or private hotel.
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 6
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
