Anyhow; it was all done.
Crutchley came into the sittingroom, with a number of glasses on a tray.
‘Thought you might be needing these, my lady.’
Oh, thank you, Crutchley. How very sensible of you. Yes, we probably shall. Just put them down over there, would you?’
‘Yes, my lady.’ He seemed disposed to linger.
‘That fellow Jack,’ he said suddenly, after a pause, ‘wants to know what he’s to do with some of that tinned and bottled stuff.’
‘Tell him to leave it in the pantry.’
‘He don’t know which is yours, my lady.’
‘Everything with a Fortnum- &-Mason label. If there’s anything else, it probably belongs to the house.’
‘Very good, my lady… Shall you and his lordship be coming back here again, later on, if I might ask?’
‘Oh, yes, Crutchley-I’m sure we shall. Were you thinking about your job here? Of course. We may be going away for a time while alterations are done, but we should like you to keep the garden in order.’
‘Thank you, my lady. Very good.’ There was a slightly embarrassed silence. Then:
‘Excuse me, my lady. I was wonderin’-’ He had his cap in his hands, twisting it rather awkwardly…’-seem’ as me and Polly Mason is goin’ to get married, whether his lordship… We was meanin’ to start that garridge, only me ’avin’ lost that forty pound… If it might be a loan, my lady, we’d pay it back faithful-’
‘Oh, I see. Well, Crutchley, I can’t say anything about that. You must speak to his lordship yourself.’
‘Yes, my lady… If you was to put in a word for me, maybe…’
‘I’ll think about it.’
For the life of her, she could not infuse any genuine warmth into her tone; she wanted so much to say, ‘Are we to advance you the amount of Miss Twitterton’s savings, too?’ On the other hand, there was nothing unreasonable about the request, since Crutchley could not know how much she knew. The interview was ended, but the young man lingered, so that she was relieved to hear the car at the gate.
‘They’re coming back. They haven’t been very long.’
‘No, my lady; it don’t take long.’
Crutchley hesitated for a second, and went out.
It was quite a large party that entered-if they had all come in the Daimler they must have looked like an undertakers’ bean-feast; but no! the vicar was there, and he might have brought some of them in his own little car. He came in, wearing his cassock, with his surplice and Oxford hood over one arm while with the other he gave fatherly support to Miss Twitterton. She, Harriet saw at a glance, was in a much more resilient mood than she had been the evening before. Though her eyes were red with funerary tears, and she clutched a handkerchief with a sable border in her black-kid-gloved hand, the excitement of being chief mourner behind so important a hearse had evidently restored all her lost self-importance. Mrs Ruddle followed. Her mantle, of strange and ancient cut, glittered with black beads, and the jet ornaments on her bonnet danced even more gaily than they had done at the inquest. Her face was beaming. Bunter, following upon her heels, and burdened with a pile of prayerbooks and a severe-looking bowler, might, by contrast, have been the deceased’s nearest and dearest relative, so determined was his countenance in an appropriate gloom. After Bunter came. rather unexpectedly, Mr Puffett, in a curious greenish-black cutaway coat of incredible age, buttoned perilously across his sweaters over his working trousers. Harriet felt sure he must have been married in that coat. His bowler was not the bowler of Wednesday morning, but of the mashing curly-brimmed pattern affected by young bloods of the nineties.
‘Well!’ said Harriet, ‘here you all are!’
She hastened forward to greet Miss Twitterton, but was arrested mid-way by the entrance of her husband, who had stopped to put a rug over the radiator. He came in now with a touch of bravura, probably induced by self-consciousness. The effect of his sombre suit and scarf, rigidly tailored black overcoat, and tightly furled silk umbrella was slightly marred by the irresponsible tilt of his top-hat.
‘Hullo-ullo-ullo,’ said his lordship, genially. He grounded the umbrella, smiled diffidently, and removed the topper with a flourish.
‘Do come and sit down,’ said Harriet, recovering herself, and leading Miss Twitterton to a chair. She took the black kid hand and squeezed it comfortingly.
‘Jerusalem, my happy home!’ His lordship surveyed his domain and apostrophised it with some emotion. ‘Is this the city that men call the perfection of beauty? Woe to the spoiler-the chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof!’
He appeared to be in that rather unreliable mood which is apt to follow upon attendance at funerals and other solemn functions.
Harriet said severely, ‘Peter, behave yourself,’ and turned quickly to ask Mr Goodacre:
‘Were there many people at the funeral?’
‘A very large attendance,’ replied the vicar. ‘Really a remarkable attendance.’
‘It’s most gratifying,’ cried Miss Twitterton, ‘-all this respect for Uncle.’ A pink flush spread over her cheeks-she looked almost pretty. ‘Such a mass of flowers! Sixteen wreaths-including your beautiful tribute, dear Lady Peter.’
‘Sixteen!’ said Harriet. ‘Just fancy!’ She felt as though she had received a sharp jolt over the solar plexus.
‘And fully choral!’ continued Miss Twitterton! ‘Such touching hymns. And dear Mr Goodacre-’
The Reverend’s words,’ pronounced Mr Puffett, ‘if I may say so, sir, went right to the ’eart.’
He pulled out a large red cotton handkerchief with white spots and trumpeted into it briskly.
‘Ow,’ agreed Mrs Ruddle, ‘it was all just beautiful. I never seen a funeral to touch it, and I been to every buryin’ in Paggleham these forty year and more.’
She appealed to Mr Puffett for confirmation, and Harriet seized the opportunity to question Peter:
‘Peter, did we send a wreath?’
‘God knows. Bunter-did we send a wreath?’
‘Yes, my lord. Hothouse lilies and white hyacinths.’
‘How very chaste and appropriate!’ Bunter said he was much obliged.
‘Everybody was there,’ said Miss Twitterton. ‘Dr Craven came over, and old Mr and Mrs Sowerton, and the Jenkinses from Broxford and that rather odd young man who came to tell us about Uncle William’s misfortunes, and Miss Grant had all the school-children carrying flowers.’
‘And Fleet Street in full force,’ said Peter. ‘Bunter, I see glasses on the radio cabinet. We could do with some drinks.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
‘I’m afraid they’ve commandeered the beer-barrel,’ said Harriet, with a glance at Mr Puffett.
‘That’s awkward,’ said Peter. He stripped off his overcoat, and with it his last vestige of sobriety. ‘Well, Puffett, I dare say you can make do for once with the bottled variety. First discovered, so they say, by Izaak Walton, who while fishing one day-’
Into the middle of this harangue there descended unexpectedly from the stairs Bill and George, carrying, the one a dressing-mirror and a wash-basin, and the other, a ewer and a small bouquet of bedroom utensils. They seemed pleased to see the room so full of company, and George advanced gleefully upon Peter.
‘Excuse me, guv’nor,’ said George, flourishing the utensils vaguely in the direction of Miss Twitterton, who was sitting near the staircase. ‘All them razors and silver-mounted brushes up there-’
‘Tush!’ said his lordship, gravely, ‘nothing is gained by coarseness.’ He draped his coat modestly over the offending crockery, added his scarf, crowned the ewer with his top-hat, and completed the effect by hanging his umbrella over George’s extended arm. ‘Trip it featly here and there through the other door and ask my man to come up presently and tell you which things are what.’