As they drove away down the winding drive and turned into the main road Emmy said, “What marvelous people! From what Isobel said I was afraid that they’d be stage Irish and tiresome. But they’re not. They’re absolutely real.”
Henry hesitated. Then he said, “All of them?”
Emmy looked surprised. “Of course. I mean, a family like that is all of a piece, isn’t it?”
“They’re not all Manciples, remember,” said Henry. “Violet and Julian and Ramona are outsiders.”
“Oh, I know,” said Emmy. “But, it’s like skin-grafting…”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I was reading somewhere the other day, the graft has to be from the person’s own body or else from a close relative. If the new tissue is alien the body simply rejects it.”
“You mean that the Manciple family would reject outsiders in the same way?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. Oh, I don’t mean that they all marry blood relatives, just that a stranger who didn’t fit in wouldn’t last long. The engagement would be broken off or the marriage would go on the rocks. Of course,” Emmy added in a burst of enlightenment, “that’s what Isobel meant about Julian.”
“What about him?”
“Well, she said that the family had gathered this weekend to vet the young man. I thought it sounded dreadful — I’m afraid it prejudiced me against the lot of them. Now I understand. It’s not a question of vetting in the ordinary sense; it’s just exposing the proposed new member to the full impact of the family to see whether or not the graft takes. For instance” — there was laughter in Emmy’s voice — “you obviously took from the word go. You’d fit in at Cregwell Grange like a hand in a glove. What a pity Maud’s too young for you!”
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Henry, but he felt strangely pleased. He went on, “And how do you think Julian has fitted in?”
“Oh, beautifully. He’s not a very definite personality, but he’s obviously tremendously adaptable, which is what matters. In a year or so he’ll be more of a Manciple than the Manciples themselves. You mark my words. I think he and Maud are a wonderful couple.” Henry said nothing. Emmy looked sharply at him, and then said, “You don’t like Julian, do you?”
“Whatever makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. I can just feel it.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” said Henry. “But I will admit that I’m — I’m a bit worried about him.”
“Worried about him? Why?”
Very seriously Henry said, “I’d be worried about anybody who was engaged to Maud Manciple.”
But when Emmy began to expostulate he shut up like a clam and refused to elaborate his statement. So they drove on in silence until Henry turned to the left in the middle of the Village street.
“Oh,” said Emmy, “aren’t we going back to the pub?”
“I thought,” said Henry, “that we might visit the Thompsons.”
“Oh, yes. What a good idea.”
“I have a date with Dr. Thompson at four o’clock anyhow, and I shall be interested to meet Aunt Dora’s meddling little gossip.”
Emmy laughed. “She’s not really,” she said. “Just ordinarily feminine.”
“I wonder,” said Henry. “I have quite a respect for Aunt Dora’s judgment.”
Isobel Thompson greeted Emmy enthusiastically, but looked a little taken aback when she saw Henry.
“Oh, Inspector Tibbett. I’m so delighted to meet you, but I’m afraid Alec is still out on his rounds. He said he wasn’t expecting you until four.”
“He was quite right,” said Henry. “I’m early. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I waited for him.”
“No — no, of course not.” Mrs. Thompson sounded strangely disappointed. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”
“I’d much rather hear the latest village gossip,” said Emmy.
Isobel looked doubtfully at Henry. “I don’t really think I should,” she began.
Emmy laughed outright. “You can’t fool me, Isobel,” she said. “You are simply bursting with some lovely scandal or other. Come on, out with it. Henry won’t mind. In fact, he’s interested.”
“If you’re really sure,” said Isobel, unable to disguise the eagerness in her voice.
“Of course I’m sure,” said Emmy. “Why else did you think we came?”
“Well,” Isobel turned to Emmy, radiant at the prospect of relaying the newest tittle-tattle. “It’s about Frank Mason, the son. I suppose you know he’s in Cregwell, staying at the Lodge.”
“Yes,” said Emmy, “I’ve seen him in The Viking. Do you know him well?”
“Well? My dear, nobody in Cregwell even knew of his existence until this weekend. Raymond Mason certainly kept quiet about him, and in the circumstances I don’t blame him.”
“In what circumstances?”
“It started on Saturday, with young Mason throwing his weight around in the Village — in The Viking, at the police station, in the shops — anywhere he could get anyone to listen to him. He upset a whole lot of people.”
“Why were they upset?”
Isobel laughed. “Cregwell is the last place on earth for anyone to air violently left-wing ideas,” she said. “He started off by lunching at The Viking and telling old Alfred, the waiter, that he was an outmoded relic of a feudal society and that he should be spitting in the faces of the so-called aristocracy, instead of serving them with soup. Alfred was furious, especially when Mason told him that tipping was degrading to human dignity. Then he got hold of that nice but slightly feeble-minded girl who helps Mrs. Richards at the General Stores. Betty, her name is. He demanded to know why she didn’t belong to a union, and how many hours she worked, and if she got paid overtime. He had her in floods of tears in no time and Mrs. Richards says she literally had to drive him out of the shop; and poor Betty was so upset that she had to go and lie down.
“And that wasn’t the worst of it. Yesterday he met the Vicar on the way to church and told him that he was a Capitalist lackey pandering to the superstition of fools. And in The Viking at lunchtime he was saying quite openly to all and sundry that Maud Manciple was a degenerate debutante who had vamped his father, and that Julian Manning-Richards was an even more degenerate playboy — damned by his double-barreled name from the start, of course — who had shot Raymond Mason out of jealousy. And he accused Sir John Adamson of protecting Manning-Richards under the Old Pals Act.”
“What a pity we missed all that,” said Emmy wistfully. “We had lunch at The Viking, but we didn’t go into the bar. I don’t imagine it went down very well with the locals, did it?”
“Not at all well,” said Isobel with relish. She seemed to have quite forgotten the existence of Henry, who was lying back in an armchair with his eyes shut. “The Manciples are popular here, and everyone adores Maud — most of the Village can remember her as a little girl. As for Julian, they don’t know him well, of course, but he’s a nice-looking lad, and anyone can see that Maud is mad about him, which is quite enough to make Cregwell love him. Then, the Adamsons have lived in this part of the world for generations, and Sir John is generally respected. In fact, what with one thing and another I think Frank Mason would have been lucky to get out of Cregwell alive, the way he was carrying on yesterday.”