Corpse in a Gilded Cage by Robert Barnard

Author:Robert Barnard
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Scribner

CHAPTER 10

THE CLOCK ROOM

The family had gathered in the Green Drawing-Room to greet the new Earl. There was nothing particularly feudal about this, no intention of curtseying, kissing hands or swearing fealty. It was just that, though they were now allowed back into their bedrooms, there was nothing so comforting or inviting about them as to make them desirable for an extended squat. If you went for a walk in the park you encountered cows, or policemen, or both; the conservatory was so little tended that to walk around it was like a trek through the South American jungle; there was apparently a billiard room somewhere, but nobody had been able to find it. All in all, it was better to stick together, however lugubrious the tone of the resulting gathering.

In any case, they all knew that Phil would soon be arriving, and around Phil, in one way or another, their futures revolved. Some of them were almost apprehensive. Even those who had seen him since his trial had done so too briefly to get more than a fleeting impression of how he had taken to incarceration. So, though none of them had forgotten what he was like, none of them were quite sure he was like that now.

When they heard Phil and the children, first from a distance, and then marching through the hall, shouting and laughing together, they all of them, unthinking, held their breaths. They heard Phil say ‘Shhh’ to the children, heard him put the baby down, and then there he was, walking as cool as a cucumber into their green satin arcadia, followed by the lean, dark shape of Mr Lillywaite.

‘Hello, all,’ said Phil. ‘Bit of a bugger this, eh?’

It wasn’t at all what he said. It was just the sound of his voice, the warm, friendly tone of it. They all breathed out, in what was a sort of collective sigh of relief.

‘Oh, Phil!’ said the Countess, and she heaved her dolorous bulk up from the sofa to give him a hug. When he generously responded she burst into tears on his shoulder, and stood there, clasped to him, sobbing luxurious tears of relief at the comfort of his return.

This particular moment in the drama of the heir’s return played to a mixed reception from its audience. Dixie clearly felt rather piqued at the Countess’s commandeering of Phil, and had to repress the urge to say something cutting. Mr Lillywaite, on the other hand, looked on with something like approval: this was what the situation called for; this was how the scene should be played. His measured approval was not lessened when Phil, having settled his mother, sniffing quietly, back on her sofa, had a reunion with his wife that similarly accorded with precedent.

‘Hello, Dixie, old girl,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

Mr Lillywaite nodded. He could hear—granted the difference in name and accent—the echo of innumerable upper-class and stiff-upper-lipped marital reunions.

Then Phil went around the family. He embraced Joan briefly, and shook hands with Digby.

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