What Happened at Hazelwood? by Michael Innes Read Free Book Online

that I had problems of my own to consider that night; and for a time I was quite content to leave the Simneys to their own remote affairs. But I began to get interested when I noticed how Gerard was feeling as the meal wore on. At first he had joined in this Dismal Swamp business civilly, on the whole, but incisively enough. Then he seemed to grow puzzled, and presently said very little.
    And I had an obscure feeling that it was important to gather what he was feeling puzzled about.
    ‘Bally mean trick,’ said Hippias. He glared at Owdon – apparently by way of demanding more veal. ‘And it’s not a trick Denzell would have played, my boy; I can tell you that.’
    ‘Denzell?’ said George blankly.
    The florid features of Hippias changed from red to purple, and for a moment I wondered what could be so peculiarly maddening in this response. Then I remembered what I had in fact once been told clearly enough: that George had had a younger brother, Denzell Simney, a year younger again than Bevis, who had gone out to Australia with him and there met some more or less tragic death. To have George treating the name as if it were quite unknown to him was certainly displeasing enough.
    ‘Yes – Denzell,’ said Hippias. ‘And – what’s more – if Denzell were in your shoes now, and in command of a fortune, he would make reparation like a gentleman.’
    Momentarily George’s eyes narrowed. Then he looked impassively round at people’s glasses. ‘Owdon,’ he said, ‘–claret.’
    ‘And let us have a rouse,’ said Mervyn, ‘to the departed gentility of the family. Grace is genteel, but a very Diana for chastity. I, who am all the sons of my mother’s house and all the daughters too, will never be other than a little cad. Nicolette is charming, but in her veins runs only the ink of poets and the mascara of mummers. Willoughby is going to be a schoolmaster and will take his pleasure only in smacking small boys’ behinds with a cane – or is it a birch? And thus, then, I conclude that on Joyleen rests the onus of restoring the old patrician dignity of our house.’ And Mervyn lifted his glass gravely to Gerard’s wife – who did not at all know whether she was being made fun of or not. Then a thought seemed to strike him. ‘But of course there is Timmy. How often one forgets him.’ And Mervyn turned to smirk at George, certain of approval for thus reviving this tiresome theme.
    But George’s reaction was altogether surprising. ‘Mervyn,’ he said evenly, ‘you will finish your meal in silence.’
    Mervyn blinked at him and then turned to Lucy. ‘Mama, mama!’ he squeaked.
    ‘It appears that we have stopped having a schoolroom earlier than we ought. Very well. Certain of its usages we will revive.’ As George made this pronouncement he looked up the table, and as his eyes swept past mine I got a vivid impression of rapid calculation. ‘Get out!’ he snapped.
    For a moment I thought he was addressing me – and had it been so I believe that I would have risen and departed in silent seeming-obedience. They were one family, after all, and it might have been best to leave them to it. But then a scurry behind me and a softly closing door explained the situation. It was Timmy – so recently promoted to his position of prominence beside his father – who had been peremptorily ordered from the room.
    It was odd. For I found it hard to see why the arrival of the Australian cousins should suddenly inspire George with a sense of the elementary proprieties in this matter. It occurred to me that I, like everyone else, had very little certain information about Timmy’s origins. Was it possible that no Simney lady had been involved – nor the heavy Owdon either; was it possible that his looks came from his father, and that I had been right in my conjecture the first time I had set eyes on him? Was he George’s son, after all – and the far more scandalous story we had all accepted a thoroughly characteristic