Cyril Hare - An English Murder

A discreet cough behind him made Robert turn round abruptly.

"Excuse me, sir." Briggs spoke respectfully enough, but his look was disapproving. Evidently, a colloquy between the son of the house and a policeman was not one of the things provided for in the traditions of Warbeck Hall. He turned to Sergeant Rogers. "Your tea is awaiting you in the housekeeper's room, Mr. Rogers," he said briskly.

"Thank you, Mr. Briggs."

"Don't let me keep you, Sergeant," said Robert, pointedly.

"I am much obliged to you, sir," Rogers replied with unabashed good humour, and took himself off.

Robert watched him go with a look of disgust.

"This is what we have to put up with nowadays, Briggs," he observed.

"Quite, sir." The butler coughed again. "Pardon me, Mr. Robert, but would it be convenient for me to have a word with you now?"

Robert turned and looked at him without speaking. Briggs remained in the deferential attitude that years of training had imposed upon him, but his eyes met and held those of his master's son without flinching, and in the end it was Robert who looked away.

In the same respectful tones, Briggs went on, "I have lighted a fire in the smoking-room, sir. Perhaps that would be most convenient."

Still without a word, Robert strode down the passage, passed through the door which Briggs held open for him, and threw himself into an armchair by the smoking-room fire. The butler remained, as a butler should, standing squarely in the centre of the carpet while Robert, his long legs stretched out in front of him, stared moodily at the toes of his shoes. The silence became oppressive, until Robert could bear it no longer. Looking up, he barked out suddenly, "Well, Briggs? Why don't you say something?"

"I was hoping, sir, that some suggestion would come from you."

"I have no suggestion to make."

"In that case, sir, you must allow me to point out that my daughter Susan is now——"

"Look here, Briggs!" Robert was on his feet now. His splendidly athletic form towered over the submissive figure standing before him. "What on earth is the good of bringing up all this business again now? You know what the position is as well as I do. We have been into it time and time again. I should have thought that you of all people would be able to trust me. I have promised you before, and I can promise you now——"

"Promises are all very well, Mr. Robert," said the butler steadily. "But that was some time ago, and there are now two persons to consider, not counting myself. It is high time that something was done."

"Do you really imagine that this is a suitable time to do something, as you put it—with my father dangerously ill and the house full of people? You're being utterly unreasonable, Briggs. Things must go on as they are for the time being. When I have an opportunity to talk to my father, I will."

"I am afraid that is not altogether satisfactory, sir."

"Briggs!" Robert's tone became menacing. "Are you trying to threaten me?"

"I should not like to put it that way, sir."

"This is a matter between myself and Susan. She is of age, and perfectly capable of looking after herself. If she was not satisfied with the present position, she would be here to say so."

"She is here, sir," said Briggs calmly.

"Here?" Robert was visibly staggered. "Do you mean to tell me that she is actually here now—in this house?"

"Precisely, sir."

Robert said nothing for a full half-minute. Then he said in the tone of a man admitting defeat, "She wants to see me, I suppose?"

"No, sir." Briggs might have been discussing the choice of a liqueur to serve after dinner for all the emotion he displayed. "She feels a certain embarrassment in her present situation in seeing anybody. That is one reason why she feels—we feel—that it would be desirable for the position to be clarified as soon as possible."

"I see—I see." Robert's voice became harsh again. "And you brought her here with the object of applying a little extra pressure, eh? A very pretty piece of blackmail, Briggs, upon my word."

"Blackmail is a term that I should deprecate, sir."

"What else is it? You have no other excuse I know of for letting her into this house."

"Well, sir," said Briggs, showing a trace of feeling for the first time, "Christmas is the season for family reunions, I understand—even for butlers. So far as applying pressure is concerned, I trust that that will not become necessary. We are still relying upon you to act in every way as becomes a gentleman."

The word "gentleman" had in Briggs's mouth a force and simplicity that left Robert momentarily speechless. Perhaps only a man in that station of life could have used it in precisely that way. Himself by definition not a gentleman, but sworn to the service of gentility, he was appealing to the standard under which he and his fellows had lived out their lives, and without which that service would have been degraded to mere servitude.

Angry and alarmed though he was, Robert felt something of the deep feeling that informed the butler's quiet words. It was with an effort that he brought the discussion back to a practical level.

"You said just now that Susan didn't want to see anyone. But surely the other servants in the house——"

"I have been compelled to take the cook and the head housemaid into my confidence, sir, but only to a limited extent.

They are aware that she is my daughter, but no more. I have allowed the impression to circulate that she is a widow. Greatly though I regret the necessity of subterfuge, sir, it seemed to be the best course."

"I see.… Briggs, I must think this over. I shall——"

A faint tinkling sound in the distance cut across his halting phrases. Briggs was on the alert at once. He had been listening to Robert with strained attention, but now he cut him short without ceremony.

"Excuse me, sir. I think that is his lordship's bell."

He went to the door. Just as he reached for the handle, it was opened from without and Camilla appeared in the entrance. He only just stopped himself in time to avoid walking right into her. Pink with embarrassment, he stepped back, murmuring, "I beg your ladyship's pardon. I had no idea——"

"That's all right, Briggs," said Camilla rather breathlessly. "His lordship wants you to help him upstairs. He's decided to go to bed."

"Very good, my lady."

Briggs vanished with the unhurried speed that is the trade secret of butlers, and Camilla turned to Robert.

"Give me a cigarette," she said abruptly.

Robert extended his cigarette case and provided her with a light. Camilla stood by the fire, one foot on the low fender, one hand on the mantelpiece, looking downwards into the flames. It was an attractive pose and the flickering light of the burning logs gave colour and movement to features which a connoisseur might ordinarily have thought a trifle too cold and impassive. If Robert noticed the effect, he was careful not to show that he had done so. He waited until the cigarette was half consumed before he broke the silence.

"I thought Father meant to stay up longer," he said. "He's not feeling ill or anything, is he?"

"No, he's all right. He only complained of feeling tired."

"I don't wonder he's tired, if he's been listening to Julius and the Carstairs woman talking about sugar."

"He stood it longer than you did, anyway, Robert," said Camilla with a faint grin.

The conversation dropped again and Robert showed no disposition to revive it. Finally Camilla threw the butt of her cigarette into the fire and turned towards him.

"Well?" she asked. "And how did the discussion with Briggs go off?"

"Discussion?" Robert was on the defensive at once. "What do you mean? What should I be having a discussion with him about?"

"About the wine for dinner tonight," Camilla said with an air of innocent surprise. "I thought it was that that dragged you away from tea so reluctantly."