Джорджетт Хейер: They Found Him Dead

"Yes?" said Silas, putting his fingertips together. "You may be right, Joe, but I cannot say that Roberts' scheme attracts me."

"Clement is in favour of it," offered Joe Mansell.

"Possibly," said Silas rather ironically. "But I'm thinking that it is not Clement who would have to bear the brunt of that capital outlay you mentioned. I'm sorry to go against you, Joe, but I don't see my way."

Joe Mansell looked at him resentfully, thinking that it was easy for an old bachelor with no one dependent on him to sit tight on his moneybags and say that it was not the time to be launching out into speculative ventures. He was mean; that was what was wrong with Silas. Always had been, and his father and grandfather before him. Not but what old Matthew Kane had never been afraid to spend money if he saw a good return, judging from the fortune he'd left. He'd made money hand over fist, had Matthew, the founder of the business.

It made Joe Mansell feel more resentful than ever when he looked about him, as now, at the evidence of Kane wealth and thought of the Kane holding in the business, comparing it with his own share. And now, when there was a chance to expand, he'd have to watch some other firm seize the opportunity, just because Silas was too conservative to consider new ideas and too well off to think it worth while tapping a fresh market. He'd listen to all the arguments with that damned polite smile of his; he'd agree that there might be something in the scheme; he'd say it was very interesting, no doubt; but when you got down to brass tacks with him, and it came to talking of the capital he'd have to advance to start the show, you'd find yourself up against a brick wall.

But Silas, watching Joe with veiled eyes, was thinking that it had always been the same tale with him.

He'd no judgment: he rushed into things. It was just like him to allow himself to be talked over by a plausible fellow with an American accent. He was lavish with other men's money, was Joe. Clement, too, of whom he'd thought better, lacked judgment. All he cared for was to make more money to spend on that flimsy wife of his. Well, those weren't the methods by which the firm had been built up. He said as much, but with his usual civility.

"One must move with the times," Joe repeated. "I believe you'd get a good return on your money."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Silas agreed. "But I'm not as young as I was. I doubt whether I should live to enjoy any return."

Now he's getting on to his weak heart , thought Joe. It's my belief he'll live for ever.

"Well, I won't disguise from you, Silas, that I'm strongly in favour of the plan—strongly in favour of it! As a matter of fact, things aren't too easy for me about now, what with reduced dividends and having to help Clive tide over a bad patch. Not to mention Paul's troubles."

"Indeed! I'm sorry to hear that," Silas said, wondering what concern of his were Joe's bad investments, or Joe's son-in-law's financial embarrassments, or the alimony his son's wife had to be paid.

"I wish you could see your way to it."

"Yes, I wish I could, since you're so much in favour of it," said Silas.

That was the sort of remark that made one want to brain Silas. Joe Mansell controlled his temper with an effort and heaved himself up out of his chair. "Well, I hope you'll think it over carefully before you finally turn it down," he said. "Roberts gets back from London tonight and will be wanting your decision. Paul's in favour of it, too, you know; and though I say it of my own son, I'm bound to admit he's got a shrewd head on his shoulders. He was sorry, by the way, not to be able to be here tonight."

"Indeed yes, we were sorry too," said Silas mendaciously.

He disliked Paul Mansell, whose shrewdness verged on sharpness, and who had been divorced from his wife. A flashy fellow, with his oiled hair, and his waisted coats, and his habit of running after Patricia Allison. No doubt he saw himself managing the Australian side of the business. A nice thing that would be!

They went back to the drawing room. Old Mrs. Kane was looking tired; her face had set into deeply carved lines, and she was making no effort to attend to any of the conversations in progress about her. Agatha Mansell, finding her monosyllabic, had transferred her attention to Rosemary and was lecturing her in a kind, authoritative way on the many improving pursuits she might with profit engage upon. When her husband preceded Silas into the room she looked across at him with a question in her eyes and, upon his slightly shaking his head, got up, announcing that it was growing late.

With the Mansells went Clive and Betty Pemble, to be followed in a few minutes by the Clement Kanes, Clement having lingered to ask Silas what his decision was on the Australian project. Upon hearing that his cousin disliked it, he said in a dispirited tone: "You may be right. All the same, we might have seen big profits. It's a pity Mansell isn't in a position to advance the necessary capital himself."

"I fancy you would none of you be so anxious to risk your own money," replied Silas dryly.

Clement flushed. "I don't think there would be much risk. However, you've a perfect right to refuse, if you feel like that about it. Come, Rosemary; are you ready?"

Silas escorted them to the front door. Emily roused herself and addressed Jim abruptly: "There's a nasty fog outside. You'd better stay the night."

He shook his head. "Thanks, Aunt, but I must get back. It isn't thick enough to worry me. Besides, I shall leave it behind me."

"Don't tell me!" said Emily snappishly. She added: "High time that child was in bed."

Young Mr. Harte was affronted but stood in too much awe of Emily to expostulate. He was indeed experiencing considerable difficulty in keeping his eyes open.

"Good Lord, yes!" said Jim, becoming aware of his relative's presence. "You'd better go up, Timothy."

Mr. Harte said with dignity, and in muted tones, that it was unnecessary for Jim to stick his oar in. He cherished in his bosom a considerable affection for his stepbrother and passionately admired his athletic prowess. He quoted him upon all occasions and acquired reflected glory from retailing his exploits upon the Rugger field or the race track, but would have thought it unseemly to give Jim any cause to suspect this veneration. So when Jim, bidding him farewell, said: "I'm coming down next week," he betrayed no flattering pleasure at these welcome tidings but merely replied that he would try and bear up till then.

Silas came back into the room as Jim was saying good-bye to his great-aunt. He wore the satisfied expression of a man who has sped the last of his guests, and remarked that he fancied the party had gone off very well.

"H'm!" said Emily. She looked at him under her brows. "Joe tried to get you to advance money for his harebrained scheme. I hope you sent him off with a flea in his ear. Such nonsense!"

"I'm afraid Joe and I don't see eye to eye over it," Silas answered. "You off, my boy?"

"He'd better stay the night. There's a fog."

"Why, certainly!" Silas agreed. "But it's only a bit of a mist, Mother. Nothing to alarm anyone. I shall take my usual walk."

"You still stick to that, sir?" Jim said, smiling.

"If I didn't I should not enjoy a wink of sleep all night," replied Silas. "Wet or fine, I must have my stroll before going to bed."

"Fiddle!" said Emily in an exasperated voice. "If you didn't think you had insomnia you'd sleep the clock round! I don't have insomnia: why should you?"

"Indeed, I wish I knew," said Silas.

"One of these days you'll catch your death of cold. Don't say I didn't warn you! Miss Allison, be kind enough to ring the bell! I'm tired."

Jim Kane lingered until the business of assisting Emily into the carrying chair was accomplished and contrived, while the butler and footman were bearing her up the shallow staircase, to exchange a few final words with Miss Allison. Then he sallied forth to brave the dangers of the sea fret, and Miss Allison, holding Emily's ebony cane, the rug which she used to cover her knees, and her handbag, went sedately upstairs in the wake of the carrying chair.