Ingram cast him a glance of dislike, but was prevented from answering him by the entrance of Reuben, who silently handed him a letter.
“What’s this?” Ingram said, recognising the handwriting. “Where did you find it?”
“It’s a letter from Mr Raymond, as anyone can see,” replied Reuben dourly. “It was on his desk. You’d better open it, instead of standing there gaping at it.”
“Damn your impudence, you old rascal!” Ingram said cheerfully, and tore open the envelope.
The key of the safe dropped on to the floor; he stooped, grunting, to pick it up, before reading the letter. While he read, the others watched him in pent-up silence.
“Well, I’m damned!” he ejaculated, when he came to the end of the letter. "Just like him! Gosh, he was always a cold-blooded devil, but this fairly takes the cake! Here, Eugene, what do you make of this?”
He handed the letter to his younger brother as he spoke, but as Vivian, Charmian, Aubrey, and Reuben all tried to read it over his shoulder, Eugene had some difficulty in mastering its contents. Charmian settled the matter by twitching it out of his hand, and reading it aloud. When she came to the end, there was a moment’s silence. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Vivian burst into tears.
“My pet!” exclaimed Eugene, putting his arm round her.
She groped for her handkerchief, and fiercely blew her nose, saying huskily: “I never even liked him, but I think it’s awful! To write a letter like that, m-making everything as easy as possible for Ingram, not even m-mentioning what he meant to do! Oh, don’t you see how dreadfully tragic it is? Sorry! I’m a bit on edge. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
“Trust Ray to be businesslike up to the end!” Ingram said, holding out his hand for the letter. “Give it back, will you, Char? I shall have to show it to the police. Pretty conclusive, I imagine. With any luck, we ought to be able to get through this affair with the minimum amount of scandal.”
Vivian flushed angrily, and said, stammering a little: “You call Ray cold-blooded! My God, what do you think you are? You stand there talking about the scandal, when this frightful thing has happened! As though that were the only thing that counted!”
“What you all of you seem to be in danger of forgetting,” retorted Ingram, “is that Ray, on whom you’re squandering so much pity, murdered Father!”
“I don’t care if he did!” Vivian cried, unable to contain herself. “It was the best day’s work he ever did in his life, and I only wish he’d got away with it!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bart was no more seen until dinner-time, but he put in an appearance then, and although he ate very little, and said less, he seemed to be quite calm. Ingram had stayed at Trevellin; and as Clifford had returned from seeing Inspector Logan, there was naturally a good deal of discussion on Raymond’s suicide. Bart endured this in silence, only betraying by a folding of his lips how much he disliked the conversation.
Clifford thought there was no doubt that the police would now drop the investigation of Penhallow’s murder; but he had no information to give the family on the nature of Jimmy’s disclosures, the Inspector having made no reference to these, so that he did not even know whether he had yet had an opportunity to interrogate Jimmy. Charmian and Aubrey felt strongly that he ought to have made it his business to find out what Jimmy had said, but he told them that he had had other and more important matters to attend to, and would not, in any case, have thought it a part of his duty to try to pump the Inspector.
Clara did not come down to dinner, but Ingram made a point of visiting her room to assure her that whatever Raymond had intended towards her, he and Myra hoped that she would continue to make Trevellin her home. “I’m not one to want to get rid of my family,” Ingram said, throwing out his chest a little. “I always thought there was a lot to be said in favour of Father’s idea of keeping us all round him. I mean, in these days, when people don’t seem to care any longer for their homes and families — Besides, Trevellin wouldn’t seem like Trevellin without you, Aunt.”
“Thank you, my dear, I don’t know, I’m sure,” she said apathetically. “It’s knocked me over, and that’s the truth, Ingram. First Adam, and now Ray. I daresay I’ll get over it, but I don’t seem able to get my bearings just at present. You go on down, and don’t let any of them worry about me. I’ll just stay quietly where I am tonight. I know you never got on with him, but he was always very pleasant to me, and I don’t feel somehow as though I could bear to see his empty place at table.”
So Ingram went down to dinner without her, and, after hesitating for a moment, took his place at the head of the table, saying that they might as well begin as they meant to go on.
“Speaking for myself,” said Aubrey, “I mean to go on as far from Trevellin as I can contrive to be. Setting aside the unnerving nature of the late events, which have irrevocably spoilt the place for me, my spirit would become too utterly crushed by the platitudinous atmosphere in which you wrap yourself, Ingram dear, for me even to contemplate prolonging my sojourn here. I mean to say! — Too corroding, my dear!”
“Wait till you’re asked!” recommended Ingram brusquely.
“Oh, weren’t you going to ask me?” asked Aubrey, with a maddening air of innocence. “I quite thought you were. In fact, I made sure you’d begun to see yourself as a second father to me already.”
Ingram at once replied in kind, and the bickering might have grown still more acrimonious had nor Reuben, who was handing the vegetables round at the time, called both combatants to order with a severity and a total lack of respect, that made each one feel himself a schoolboy again.
When dinner came to an end, Bart curtly informed Ingram that he would like to have a word in private with him. Ingram took him by the arm with bluff friendliness, and marched him off to the library, telling him that he should have as many words with him as he liked. “I know just how you feel about all this, my boy,” he said. “Shocking business! But Time the Great Healer, you know! Got to keep our chins up, and face the world!”
Bart removed the grip from his arm. “I don’t want to talk about that. How soon can I have Trellick, Ingram?”
Ingram pulled down his mouth. “Well, I don’t know. Of course, we have to get probate, you see, and then...”
“I know all about that,” Bart interrupted. “But I’ve got to clear out. I can’t stick it here. It’s all right for you. You loathed Ray’s guts. I didn’t. I got on all right with him. He was a darned good man to work for. I thought — I never dreamed — But it’s no good going on about that. I know he killed the Guv’nor, but it doesn’t seem to me as though the Ray I knew could have done such a thing! It’s made Trevellin horrible! It’s no use telling me I shall get over it: I daresay I shall, but I’m not going to stay here. I’m going to marry Loveday at once, as quietly as possible, and clear out. It was bad enough when the Guv’nor went: it’s a thousand times worse now!”
“Yes, but look here, young feller-me-lad!” said Ingram, with hearty kindness, “I can’t get along without you, you know!”
“You’ll have to. I’m through. I felt at first that I didn’t even want Trellick any longer, but Loveday — well, anyway, I’ll try to carry on, and I expect she’s quite right, that I should never be happy anywhere else. But I’m not staying at Trevellin, Ingram. I should go mad!”
“Now, now, now!” Ingram admonished him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re upset, Bart lad! You’ll see things differently in a day or two.”
“No, I shan’t,” Bart said, his voice cracking. “I shall only see Ray going up there to take a last look at the Demon colt, and — and — O God, what did he do it for?”
He sank down into a chair by the table as he spoke, and buried his face in his arms.
“I’ll tell you what it is, young Bart,” Ingram said, patting him clumsily. “You want a good stiff drink, and a change of scene. I wouldn’t rush into marriage, if I were you. Plenty of time to think about that. After all, old son, the Guv’nor’s not buried yet. Got to think of what people would say.”