“You may be right, my dear Char,” said Eugene languidly, “but in justice to Vivian I must observe that Faith has given us all the impression, for longer than I care to reckon up, that she would regard Father’s death as an unmixed blessing.”
“My good Eugene, can’t you realise that there are a great many people in the world, of whom Faith is one, who talk vaguely about what they want to happen, and not only are horrified when it does happen, but find as well that they didn’t really want it at all?” said Charmian scornfully. “It is typical of Faith that she must always have a grievance. She’s the kind of woman who enjoys a grievance! She’d rather keep it than lift a finger to set it right, as often and often she might have done, merely by exerting herself a little. What is more, she dramatises herself incessantly. Oh, quite unconsciously! It has been my experience that many ineffectual and supine people do. It’s their only form of mental exertion –if you can call it mental! At the moment, she is seeing herself as the sorrowing widow. Really seeing herself! You can call it hypocrisy if you like: I don’t, because I understand her perfectly, and I know that she believes so thoroughly in her own poses that they cease to be poses, and become an integral part of her character.”
“Thank you very much,” said Eugene, in an extinguished voice. “I’m sure we’re all most grateful to you for your masterly exposition of Faith’s character. And now may we talk about something interesting?”
“As a matter of fact,” interposed Ingram, before Charmian could wither Eugene, “I came up to have word with you, Char. Something I want to talk to about.”
“I’m at your disposal,” replied Charmian briskly “Come into the library!”
“Oh, Char darling, don’t say you’re going to talk secrets with Ingram!” begged Aubrey, looking up from the embroidery which he had brought down from his room, and was working on under the light thrown by one of the lamps. “I was just going to ask your advice about this spray I’m about to start on. Do you think a blending of russet-tones would be rather lovely?”
No one supposed for a moment that Aubrey felt the faintest interest in Charmian’s opinion of his work; but although Eugene refused to be drawn, Ingram rendered the gambit an outstanding success by turning to glare at Aubrey with a mixture of loathing and astonishment in his face. He had not previously noticed his deplorable young brother’s occupation, for which reason Aubrey, who had hoped to infuriate the twins, and was feeling defrauded by their tiresome absence, took care to call his attention to it. He at once delivered himself of a scathing denunciation of Aubrey’s character and habits, employing so many well-worn phrases, and looking so extremely like the military man of any farce, that even Eugene’s lips twitched, and he said: “An officer and a gentleman, sir!” while Aubrey himself was so entranced that he forgot to add fuel to this promising blaze, and only recovered his presence of mind when Charmian began to drag Ingram out of the room.
“Don’t be such a fool, Ingram!” Charmian said impatiently. “Can’t you see he’s trying to get a rise out of you?”
“Puppy!” said Ingram.
“Char, my precious, don’t, don’t take him away! Not before he’s said he’d have liked to have had me under him in the regiment! Oh, I do think you’re mean, I do, really!”
Charmian, however, was unmoved by this plea, and marched Ingram off to the library. As she lit the central lamp in this rather dismal apartment, she said severely: “You simply make him more outrageous by taking any notice of him. He does it to annoy you.”
“He’s a namby-pamby, effeminate — well, I won’t say!”
“Good lord, I know all about Aubrey! As a matter of fact, he isn’t such a wet as you might think. I never saw anyone ride straighter to hounds.”
“That makes it worse!” said Ingram, not very intelligibly, but with immense conviction. “But I didn’t come here to talk about that young so-and-so! Now, look here, Char, you’ve got a head on your shoulders! What’s your frank opinion about Father’s death?”
“I don’t know. What’s yours?”
“Well, I’ve been having a long pow-wow with Myra about it, and we both of us feel the same. Of course, it isn’t for me to say anything — damned awkward position, and all that! — but taking one thing with another, and looking at it all round — perfectly dispassionately, mind you! — everything points in the same direction.”
“You mean you think Ray did it.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“I’ve told you: I don’t know. I shouldn’t have thought he was the sort to poison anyone, but as I said this morning, he takes his own line. I’ve never got to the bottom of Ray, and I don’t suppose I ever shall.”
“Never did hit it off with the old man, you know. It struck me lately that things were worse between them than usual. And then there’s this extraordinary busing, about his trying to strangle Father! Upon my word Char, I could hardly believe it! I don’t hold any brief for Ray, but I honestly didn’t think he was as bad as that. Seems to me a perfectly astonishing affair.”
“Yes,” Charmian agreed thoughtfully. “I wonder what Father did to make him lose his temper to that extent?”
“Oh, some row about money! They’ve had any number.”
“I know that. But they never ended in that kind of a scene before. I can’t help feeling that there’s something very odd behind it.”
“Connected with Uncle Phin?”
“That I can’t make up my mind about.”
“Frightful thing if it was Ray,” Ingram remarked, in rather an unconvincing tone.
Charmian disliked blatant insincerity, and said at once: “It would suit your book all right, wouldn’t it?”
“Now, look here, Char!” expostulated Ingram, reddening. “That’s a poisonous thing to say! I don’t pretend that I’ve ever got on with Ray, but I call it a bit thick to insinuate…”
“I wasn’t insinuating. You can’t stand Ray at any price, and he can’t stand you. You probably think you’d make a better head of the family than he will, and you know darned well that life won’t be nearly so easy for you now he’s holding the purse-strings.”
Ingram looked disconcerted by this forthright speech, and muttered: “Never thought of such things! All the same, I shouldn’t want to get rid of the rest of the family if I were the heir!”
“Well, my opinion is that it may be the saving of the family to be obliged to fend for themselves.”
As Ingram chose to take this as a reflection upon himself, the interview came to an abrupt end. Charmian went away to write her nightly letter to Leila Morpeth; and Ingram returned to the Yellow drawing-room to propound his views to Eugene.
Eugene, who was more worried than he cared to admit, would have subscribed to any theory which exonerated Vivian; and although he privately considered it unlikely that Raymond would have descended to such a weapon as poison, he did not like Raymond, knew very well that he would receive little, if any, pecuniary assistance from him in the future, and so experienced no difficulty in suppressing his inner scepticism, and discovering a number of good reasons for believing him to be guilty. Clara was distressed, and made several attempts to put an end to the discussion, maintaining stoutly her conviction that it was Jimmy who had killed Penhallow; but Vivian, who for all her brazen attitude was haunted by dread, supported Ingram, rather in the manner of one catching at a straw. Clay, who had come back into the room, also added his mite, with more eagerness than was seemly; but he was speedily reduced to silence by Aubrey, who looked up from his needlework to say kindly: “Dear little fellow, we all feel sure you believe Ray did it, but you must learn to be seen and not heard. Besides, it’s very dangerous to draw attention to yourself. What with one thing and another — well, you see my point, don’t you?”