§ 23

But Lady Alard, for all her frailty, belonged to a tougher generation than her children. In times of prosperity she might languish, but in times of adversity her spirit seemed to stiffen in proportion to the attacks upon it. If her cook had given notice she would have taken to her bed, but now when catastrophe trod on catastrophe and the fatal illness of her husband was followed by the death of her first-born son she armed herself with a courage in which her children, careless of kitchen tragedies, seemed to fail when they met the bigger assaults of life. She was less shattered by the news of Peter’s death than was the daughter who broke it to her, and rising up out of her chair, independent of arm or stick, she insisted on going downstairs into the dark, whispering house.

The others followed her, except Doris, who stayed huddled and motionless in her chair in her father’s dressing-room, like a stricken dog at its master’s door. The dining-room was lighted up and seemed full of men. They were gathered round the table on which, with a sense of futility and pathos Jenny caught sight of a pair of stiff legs in muddy boots.

At the sound of footsteps Dr. Mount came out of the room.

“What! Lady Alard!” he exclaimed, quite unprepared for such a visit.

“Yes, I want to see him.”

“You can’t—yet!”

“Are you quite sure he’s dead?”

“Quite sure.”

Dr. Mount looked shaken—his face was grey. But all faces were grey in the light of the hall, where the first livid rays of morning were mixing with the electric lamps that had burned all night.

“How did it happen, Doctor? Does anyone know?”

“Nobody knows. He was found on the Tillingham marshes. His gun may have gone off accidentally.”

“May have....” repeated Jenny.

“Will there have to be an inquest?”

“I’m afraid so. There always is in these cases.”

“Well, Sir John has been spared something.”

Her voice broke for the first time, and she turned back to the stairs. Rose and Mary went with her but Jenny lingered in the hall, where she had the comfort of seeing her husband through the dining-room door. Dr. Mount stopped as he was going back into the room.

“Has anyone told his wife?”

“Yes—one of the men came to Starvecrow at once.... I told her.... They thought it best not to take him there.”

“Of course—quite right. How did she bear it?—Perhaps I ought to go and see her.”

“Her mother’s with her, but I’m sure they’d be glad if you went there.”

“I’ve got the car—I could run round in a few minutes. I must go home too ... one or two things to see to ... I don’t think I’m wanted here just now.”

The doctor seemed terribly shaken by Peter’s death, but that was very natural, considering he had known him from a child. Also, Jenny reflected, being a religious man, the idea of suicide would particularly appall him.

“Doctor—do you—do you think he did it himself?”

“I’m sorely afraid he did.”

“But what can have made him? ... I mean, why should he? I always thought he was so happy—too happy, even. I sometimes thought him self-satisfied and over-fed.”

“We all have our secrets, Jenny, and your brother must have had a heavier one than most of us.”

“But why should you be so sure he did it? Couldn’t his gun have gone off by accident?”

“Of course it could. But the wounds would hardly have been of such a nature if it had. However, the matter will probably be cleared up in the Coroner’s court.”

Jenny shuddered.

“I wonder if he’s had any trouble—anything worse than usual about the land....” Then she remembered Rose’s suspicions of Stella Mount. Her colour deepened as she stood before Stella’s father. Could that possibly be the reason, after all? She had never imagined such a thing, but Peter certainly had been fond of Stella once, and Rose’s gossip was seldom quite baseless. She did not believe for a moment in any intrigue, but Peter might have turned back too late to his early love ... and of course Stella was going away ... it might have been that. Since undoubtedly Peter had had a secret buried under the outward fatness of his life, that secret may just as well have been Stella....

“Your husband tells me he came to see you this afternoon,” the doctor was saying, “what was he like then?”

“He seemed rather queer and silent, but afterwards I put it down to its being his first visit since my marriage. He wouldn’t forgive me for a long time, as you know, so it was only to be expected that he should feel a little awkward. But he said some rather queer things about Starvecrow—said he wished it was more like Fourhouses, said he’d spoilt it with his improvements, and seemed much more upset about it than you’d think natural.”

“Um.”

The doctor was silent a moment, then he said—

“Well, I think I’ll run over to Starvecrow in a minute or two when I’ve finished with poor Peter, then I might as well go home and have an early breakfast, and see if there are any messages for me. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

He moved away from her, and was going into the dining-room when Rose’s frightened voice suddenly shuddered down the stairs.

“Dr. Mount—will you please come up at once. There’s a change in Sir John.”