Silence in Court (6 page)

“A little disingenuous of you, darling.”

“Well, it isn't your business,” said Nora.

Honor's hand had gone up to the neck of her dress. There was no brooch there. She said nothing. Her hand dropped into her lap again. Carey laughed, partly because Honor gave her the creeps, and partly because she didn't see why Dennis should have it all his own way. He shook his head at her reprovingly, his eyes bright and malicious.

“Tomorrow it will probably be diamonds which didn't belong to your grandmother but were bought by Uncle James out of money made from armaments in the last war. And then perhaps it will be cheques—or the famous rubies.… Darling, don't tell me you don't know about the rubies! Too, too unnaturally innocent of you! They're marvellous, and it's been the tragedy of Aunt Honoria's life that she's never had the nerve to wear them. The hair, you know. She won't leave them to Nora for the same reason, and I seem to remember her saying something rather biting to Honor about what she would look like in them. Do you remember what it was, my sweet?”

Honor kept her eyes on her plate and did not speak.

Nora said, “Come off it, Den!”

He caught Carey's frowning gaze and laughed.

“I've had serious thoughts of swearing to marry a black-haired wench to see if that would bring down the scales on my side. What are your views about rubies?”

“I haven't got any.”

“Just as well, because the original Latin proverb about woman being variable was composed with a prophetic eye upon Aunt Honoria. Diamonds today, rubies tomorrow, and nothing the next day. She'll probably leave the whole caboodle to Robert just because he's got plenty without.”

It would have given Carey the greatest pleasure to throw something at him—the salt cellar, a full glass of water—but she restrained herself. She looked past Honor, who was eating fish a crumb at a time after the manner of Amina in the
Arabian Nights
, and said scornfully,

“I can't think why you bother about it. You'd all be much more comfortable if you didn't.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jeff Stewart was out of town for the next few days. As a result Carey was a good deal thrown with Dennis. Quite frankly, she enjoyed this very much. He was a charming companion. His eyes said flattering things, but his tongue only amusing ones. She could relax and be entertained without having to worry about his taking several ells where she wasn't prepared to part with more than half an inch. It was nice to be admired without being, so to speak, under any obligation. Jeff had to be staved off all the time and kept in his place, with a constant back and forth struggle going on as to just what that place should be. It was very exhausting, and what made it worse was that deep down underneath she didn't really know how serious he was. He had that lazy way of saying things which made them sound as if he was amused, and that lazy way of looking which might be waiting to catch you out. Sometimes she wanted to get behind what he sounded and looked like, and sometimes she didn't. Because there might be just a teasing cousinly fondness, or.… She never pursued the alternative very far, but there had been times when a picture came up in her mind of a lion she had seen as a child—a big drowsy beast blinking lazily, a placid handsome creature half asleep. And then the rattle of a stick in the hand of an adventurous boy—jab, rattle, jab—and before the keeper could interfere, an enormous weight and energy of rage hurled with a deafening roar against the bars.

Dennis would certainly never hurl of roar. It was Very reposeful to be sure of that. He liked her, he thought her easy to look at, and he flirted with reassuring dexterity. No one who hadn't had plenty of practice could possibly do it so well. And it was being awfully good for him.

On the third day Honoria Maquisten Sent for her solicitor and was closeted with him for a long time.

The audience terminated, tea was taken in, and in its wake the family assembled by command—Robert Maquisten father chafed and on his dignity, Nora mutinous, Honor more like a white mouse than ever, Carey and Dennis to bring up the rear.

As they neared the threshold, he whispered,

“Grand disinheriting scene—I don't mind betting you that's what we're in for. Robes of state, and all the diamonds. She always lumps them on when she's going to cut anyone out of her will.”

Nora looked back over her shoulder to make a face and say,

“That brocade she's wearing was eight pounds a yard—she told me so herself. I'd be a dream in it.”

Dennis said, “You'd better keep awake, darling, and well on the toes in case this is going to be one of those ‘Fly, all is discovered' events.”

She whisked round too quickly to betray a change of expression and tugged at Robert's arm.

“Hi, Bob—what's your fancy? Have you got a crime up your sleeve? It would be rather funny if we all had, and gave ourselves away.”

He sent her a repressive look which she seemed to find exhilarating.

From behind her Dennis said softly,

“Think up a good one, Honor darling.”

And then they were all trooping up and saying how do you do to Mr. Aylwin. Carey saw a stout man with a rugged face and sandy hair mixed with grey. He looked at her with interest as he shook hands.

“Julia's granddaughter,” said the deep voice, introducing her.

“Just so. I am afraid I don't remember her.”

“No—you would only be ten years old when she died.” She turned to Carey. “Mr. Aylwin is a connection of yours as well as of mine. My great-aunt, Harriet Harland, became his grandfather's second wife.” Her bright, penetrating glance moved on, resting in turn upon Robert, Dennis, Nora, Honor, and Magda Brayle, who had come in from the other side. “I wish to tell you all in front of Mr. Aylwin that I have added Carey's name to the beneficiaries under my will. I don't wish anyone to say that it was done in a hole-and-corner way, or as a result of undue influence, or in weakness of intellect. If anyone has any doubt about my being of sound mind, I'll trouble them to say so now, and not go raising hares and blackening my reputation and their own after I'm gone. There are plenty of you here, so there are plenty of witnesses. If any of you have got anything to say, you can say it.”

It was the most uncomfortable moment of Carey's life. Her colour burned and died, leaving her distressed and pale. She murmured something which sounded like “Please, Cousin Honoria—” but the words were drowned by Dennis's laughter. He blew his aunt a kiss and said,

“Darling, how too dramatic! You do brighten things up, don't you? Not a dull moment!”

Mr. Aylwin gave him a look between tolerance and reproof, and turned to say something in a low voice. Beyond the fact that it began with “My dear Honoria,” no one but her was any the wiser.

She made very much the same face as Nora had made at Dennis and sketched a gesture which set all her rings making rainbows. Her voice mimicked his.

“My dear Mark! Sit down and have your tea. Magda, bring a cup of tea for Mr. Aylwin. Nora, it's your turn to pour out. It's just as well—at least you won't drop the teapot if I shock you, and Honor probably would. Well now, isn't anyone going to speak? Remember, here's your opportunity. If you don't take it, there won't be anything doing afterwards—Mark will see to that.”

Mr. Aylwin's sandy eyebrows rose, but he made no further protest. Having known Honoria Maquisten intimately for forty years, he was only too well aware of the fact that opposition merely spurred her. If she meant to have a scene, a scene she would have. He took his cup of tea from Magda, sat down, and surveyed the baited family. Of them all Robert showed the most temper, and the most control. He glowered, but he had himself in hand. He was older than the others—mature—a man with a business of his own. Honoria shouldn't—no, she really shouldn't.

It was quite plain that Honoria was enjoying herself. The red curls quivered and the diamonds flashed.

“Nobody got anything to say? What unanimity! Well then, if you're all quite satisfied you can say so. You've all got tongues.… Robert?”

He certainly had himself very well in hand. His voice couldn't have been bettered as he said,

“Isn't this all a little unnecessary, Aunt Honoria? What you do with your property is entirely your own affair. I hope you don't think that any of us would question that.”

Mrs. Maquisten bent a look of smiling malice upon him. If she had looked like Nora a moment before, she now bore a startling resemblance to Dennis.

“My dear Bob, that is a pious platitude. Did you really expect to get by with it? What I am asking all of you, and at the moment you in particular, is whether you are satisfied? Or not?”

“I couldn't possibly answer a question like that.”

“And why not?”

He managed to smile.

“You have a perfect right to leave anything to anybody.”

She nodded and said,

“Ingenious! You're a good man of business … Nora?”

Nora held the heavy teapot poised. Her eyes were as bright and hard as Honoria Maquisten's own.

“What do you want me to say—that you're all there and on the spot? I've never heard anybody doubt it.”

The eyes met in a glance that held and challenged like a meeting of blades.

Dennis said, “Honours easy!”

Mrs. Maquisten nodded.

“Honor?”

Honor looked down, twisted bony fingers in her lap.

“Nothing to say? Swallowed your tongue?”

“There isn't anything to say.” The words came in a shrinking whisper.

“Meaning you're kind enough to agree that I can do what I like with my own?”

“Yes.”

“Dennis?”

“Darling, need you ask?”

She said drily, “I don't know that I need, but I do.”

He got up out of his chair, went over to her, and stood there leaning on his crutch.

“You know, you are plagiarizing horribly. We seem to have wandered into
King Lear
, and I suppose I'm Cordelia. I've always thought her the world's prize mutt, so I'll give a completely original reading of the part. In fact, darling, I think you're the cat's whiskers, and anything you do is O.K. by me. With which virginal remarks I make my bow—or I would if I wasn't on a crutch—and invite the audience to applaud.”

Mr. Aylwin promptly clapped his hands.

“And now,” he said, “don't you think, Honoria, that the curtain might come down? Theatrical performances during meals are a little hard on the digestion, and as you know, I am a passionate admirer of Mrs. Deeping's scones.”

CHAPTER NINE

Nora whirled out of the house and was seen no more. This time apparently it was Alan, not Jack, who was her escort. She passed Dennis and Carey on the stairs and flung out the information with zest. Then she opened her fur coat and pointed triumphantly to a large glittering emerald and diamond crescent.

“How's that for richness?”

Dennis whistled.

“How did you get away with it?”

She put out the tip of a pointed red tongue at him.

“She gave it to me just now—sent Ellen to get me and pressed it into my hand. Aha!”

Dennis lifted an eyebrow.

“Everyone will think it's Woolworth, or if they don't you'll be garrotted on the way home.”

She said, “Pouf!” and flicked two fingers at Carey. “It's worth masses more than the one she gave you, but you'll probably get the rubies. Competition in armaments! I wonder what Honor got. She was going in just as I came out. Poor old Den—you can't even wear a diamond ring! Bye-bye—have a nice time!”

Honor came creeping down after them, followed by Magda Brayle. As they came into the dining-room, Carey had a momentary impulse towards laughter. Honor in that hideous beige frock, the last colour on earth she ought ever to put anywhere near her, and, fastening the neck, one of those frightful Victorian brooches like a gold pudding with stones stuck in it for plums! The stones were red, and possibly valuable. Rubies? Difficult to tell in all that gold, but she didn't think so. Probably carbuncles, in which case not valuable at all. All that really mattered was that Honor was obviously as pleased as Punch. She fingered the horrid thing, and was determined that everyone should notice it. Perhaps the stones were really rubies. Perhaps she only thought they were. Perhaps she was just pleased at having a present. The impulse to laughter died. It was pathetic to see anyone so pleased with a heavy, ugly thing like that.

Dennis looked at it and enquired candidly,

“Your share of the loot?”

“Aunt Honoria gave it to me just now.”

“Mrs. Maquisten is very generous,” said Magda Brayle.

Dennis laughed.

“She's very clever—little sops all round to keep us from hating Carey. I don't know about Robert, but I got a cheque—quite a nice fat cheque. Carey and I are dining out and doing a show on the strength of it tomorrow.”

Honor looked under her pale eyelashes at Magda.

“You didn't get anything? But of course you're not one of the family.”

It was a bald statement of fact without apparent malice. Carey wondered. Could you be so inept as that without meaning anything? She thought she preferred Honor silent, though it got on your nerves a bit.

If Magda's feelings were hurt, she did not allow it to appear.

“Mrs. Maquisten is always very kind,” she said.

Carey thought her colour rose a little. Perhaps it was this faint flush that made her suddenly realize that Magda's looks had possibilities. Her features were good. A little darkening of the eyebrows, a touch of lipstick, some colour in the cheeks, would do wonders for her. She wanted colour. All that starchy whiteness, so becoming to most women, just blotted her out. Colour, and the play of expression—if she had these, she would be a very pretty woman.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said Dennis.