A Change of Heir by Michael Innes Read Free Book Online

settling of your Principles and the forming of your Mind, your Replies to my Observations and Reflections were so scanty as eventually to make me abandon the Task.
    I do not write, however, with any Idea of reprehending you in this or any other Regard. Our last Meeting, as you will recall, was eight Years ago, upon the Occasion of your brief Visit to Bruton for the purpose of attending your Great-uncle Magnus’ Funeral. I was much pleased by your Bearing upon that Occasion. It was religious without Ostentation and respectful without Servility. I found myself forming a good Opinion of your Parts…
     
    George Gadberry interrupted his reading at this point for the purpose of giving his companion a surprised stare.
    ‘The old lady was pleased ?’ he said. ‘Pleased with you ? And thought you quite a chap? Have you changed a lot?’
    ‘Not in the least.’ Comberford was unoffended by these questions. ‘I simply put my best foot forward. I thought something might come of it. But nothing did – at the time. I suppose Aunt Prudence thought I was too old to tip. Now read on.’
    ‘Isn’t her style a bit odd? All those capital letters and long words. It’s almost Victorian.’
    ‘Nothing of the sort, George. It’s Augustan. I suppose she was brought up on the essays of Joseph Addison, and stuff of that sort.’
    ‘She’s cracked, is she?’
    ‘Well, not to any purpose. Not so that we could get her certified, or anything of that sort. But she does seem to take an occasional rum dip into the past. Mind you, I don’t know much about her. I used to be at Bruton a lot as a kid, because I got on rather well with old Great-uncle Magnus. But I doubt whether I ever went back there after I was about fourteen. Except, as she says, for the old boy’s funeral. I thought there might at least be a legacy. But he’d left every damned thing to his widow. Not that he had all that to leave. Old Magnus’ father had been the younger son of a marquis, so he was the Hon., and all that. But he wasn’t much in the way of the lovely Mun. Prudence, on the other hand, was a great heiress.’
    ‘And is she the Hon., too?’
    ‘Oh, certainly. Her father was some sort of political character who was made a peer. I remember it made addressing thank-you letters to them at Christmas rather tricky. I think it was “The Hon. Magnus Minton and the Hon. Mrs Minton”. It wasn’t possible to get it shorter.’
    ‘What awful rot!’ Gadberry said. He was impressed. ‘Your great-aunt’s name is Minton?’
    ‘Yes. Her maiden name, of course, was Comberford.’
    ‘If I go into this, am I an Hon., too?’
    ‘If you mean do I myself possess a title of honour, I don’t.’ Comberford smiled cheerfully. ‘Although I’m bound to say I’ve found it useful to assume one from time to time.’
    ‘I suppose you’re what’s called an adventurer. But I’m blessed if I see why I should do your adventuring for you. Or that the thing’s remotely feasible.’
    ‘Read on, my dear chap, read on.’

 
     
6
     
    . . . I found myself forming a good Opinion of your Parts, even while judging them in large Measure regrettably unimproved by Habits of Study and Application: this although I was greatly pleased by what you communicated to me of your Efforts on behalf of the dumb Creation. The Practice in Question is assuredly not less reprehensible than that allied continental Abomination, the Devouring of Horses!
     
    Gadberry broke off a second time.
    ‘What on earth is that about?’ he demanded.
    ‘For goodness sake don’t keep on interrupting. It was simply that I happened to be living in rather a pleasant part of Italy at the time, and Aunt Prudence wanted to know why. I couldn’t say that it was because of the climate, and the inexpensive wine, and a girl, and so on. So I said I was organising a crusade against turning donkeys into cold sausages. You know the stuff. It’s called mortadella .’
    ‘There you are! I told you your whole plan is