Читать книгу Accident by Design - Edith Caroline Rivett - Страница 11

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“Hullo, Standish. How’s things?”

The voice which hailed Standish was that of Gilbert Barton, who farmed the Home Farm at Templedean, and acted as agent to the estate. Surprisingly, considering the difference in their characters and interests, Standish and Barton got on very well together, and enjoyed one another’s company. Barton, a big fair man approaching forty, came striding over the pasture towards Standish and fell into step with him, as the latter replied:

“Things are better than we dared hope. Waterson is hopeful about the result of operating, and Sir Charles has agreed to undergo it. They hope to give him another year or two.”

“Poor old boy,” said Barton. “Why on earth does he want to hold on? Last time I saw him, he was a mere skeleton, animated by that amazing intelligence. Can life be worth while when a man’s reduced to such physical misery?”

“That’s for him to decide,” rejoined Standish. “I think it is his intellectual power which gives him the fortitude to disregard physical deterioration and suffering. He’s an amazing old man, still as passionately interested in modern research as ever he was.” Standish paused a moment and then added: “Waterson’s decision has created a situation up at the house. That fool Gerald is in a worse dither than usual, trying to keep in with Judith on the one hand and his wife on the other. Her attitude doesn’t take much guessing.”

“You know, I’m sorry for them,” said Barton, “especially for her. She hasn’t had a fair deal here.”

“Good God! The woman’s had everything a woman could want at Templedean,” protested Standish.

“Oh no, she hasn’t,” retorted Barton. “She’s been treated as an interloper and nitwit, and she isn’t a fool by any reasonable standards. She knows a lot about stock farming and breeding, and there’s not much she doesn’t know about cows and horses, to say nothing of sheep. She can tell a good cow much more surely than Judith can. I like Mrs. Gerald and I think she’s had a damn poor time here. It was a mistake for those two to go on living at Templedean while Judith was still mistress there.”

“Possibly. If they’ve stayed on it was only with one motive, looking forward to the day when they woke up and found themselves monarchs of all they surveyed.”

“Oh, have a heart,” protested Barton. “Gerald’s heir, isn’t he? Waiting for anything is always a bit wearing. Gerald and his wife are in a wretched position here, because inevitably they are waiting. Neither of them can be getting much pleasure out of the situation. With all respect to Miss Vanstead, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and she does think Mrs. Gerald is a fool.”

“And Mrs. Gerald is a fool, judged by Judith’s standards. She has neither education, savoir-faire, or even passable manners.”

“And just how pleasant is it for Gerald to see his wife summed up like that by the present mistress of Templedean?”

“The Lord knows, I don’t. Provided the fellow gets a sufficiency of gin and whisky, I don’t think he worries overmuch.”

“You’re wrong there, Standish. He drinks too much because he does worry. Incidentally, is there any way of stopping him driving that old car before he kills himself, or somebody else?”

“Good Lord, what do you mean? According to his own estimate, he’s the world’s best driver.”

“He may be a good driver in Queensland or Malaya, I don’t know the conditions out there,” said Barton. “But I do know that he’s very far from a good driver in these lanes on the Cotswold escarpment. He’s an absolute menace, and ‘one for the road’—meaning two or three—doesn’t improve his judgment as a driver.”

“Oh, I know he swills down a double gin before he does anything at all. He keeps a supply of the stuff in his bedroom—but I imagined he’d been in the habit of lowering such a lot of it that it had no effect on him.”

“Too much gin has an effect on anyone. You know the hill coming down from Templedean to Birley Farm, and the rise beyond? Gerald drives down that hill in neutral, with his engine shut off, trusting to the hill beyond to slow him down before he reaches the cross roads—says it saves petrol. If ever he meets a tractor or farm cart on the bend and his brakes fail, there will be an almighty smash. That Stanhall is an old car, and I wouldn’t trust its brakes in any emergency.”

“Have you told him so?”

“By gad, I have. I came down from Templedean with him in the Stanhall, and I tell you I was in an absolute sweat. On a gradient like that one, it’s next to criminal to speed down it. Anyone with any sense comes down in low gear, so that the engine holds the car. I asked him what he expected to happen if any cattle strayed on the road, or if he met a tractor outfit or timber lorry. He just laughed and said he could cope. I swear he couldn’t pull up—the brakes wouldn’t hold.”

“Oh, so that was why he got busy lying on his back in the garage. He flatters himself he’s a skilled mechanic. Annoyed Beach no end, and Beach is a very good chauffeur.”

“If Gerald’s been tinkering with the brake drums, that only makes it worse. Look here, Standish. Tell Miss Vanstead about it. Make her get rid of that old crock of a car. Then he can’t drive it. There’s the Daimler, just doing nothing, and Beach doing nothing too.”

“I don’t see why they should get a new car for Gerald to drive,” said Standish. “He won’t go out in the Daimler with Beach driving, says it gives him the pip to have a chauffeur driving him—and the Morris is Judith’s own car. If we get rid of the Stanhall, Gerald will never go out at all, and the only peace we ever get in the house is when he takes his wife and that querulous kid out with him.”

“But look here, don’t you realise that I mean what I say?” protested Barton. “If Vanstead goes on driving that old car in the way he’s driving it these days, he’ll not only kill himself, he’ll kill somebody else sooner or later, probably sooner.”

“Well, if you feel like that about it, tell Judith so yourself,” replied Standish. “You say you’ve had firsthand experience of Gerald’s driving, which I have not, so it’s up to you to say your piece if you feel so strongly about it.”

“Oh, hang it all, Standish!” protested Barton. “How can I go to Miss Vanstead and tell her that her brother’s a dangerous driver, that he drinks too much before he goes out in the car, and that the car he drives isn’t safe for him to go out in? In any case, she’s got quite enough to worry her at present without having me crying wolf.”

“So you expect me to do the dirty work for you?”

“It’s different for you, Standish. You’re like one of the family. Although I respect Miss Vanstead, and admire her, too, I shouldn’t find it easy to talk to her about her brother. She’d resent it from me.”

“Oh, what a hell of a nuisance the chap is!” cried Standish. “As you say, Judith’s got quite enough to worry about at the moment. If Gerald breaks his neck—well, let him.”

“Damn all, you can’t mean that,” protested Barton soberly, “and you might remember that if he has a smash, it’s pretty certain he won’t be the only casualty. Honestly, I think you ought to do something about it.”

Standish stood still for a moment while he took out his cigarette case and lighted a cigarette. “If there’s one thing that’s more nauseating than anything else, it’s family rows,” he said. “Ever since Gerald and his wife came, life has been one long effort to avoid rows. Every single meal is the same, with that woman looking out for slights and insults. She contradicts other people flatly, with complete disregard of facts. If you prove to her that she’s wrong, she starts nagging her husband to uphold her point. Between us we have evolved a sort of evasion tactics, an absolute refusal to discuss anything with her at all, and thereby we have won a precarious peace. If I do what you suggest, and persuade Judith to get rid of the Stanhall, that will be just another bone of contention. Gerald and his wife like that ghastly old car—he bought it, you know, saying he must have something to drive, though of course Sir Charles paid for it. When we asked Gerald why he chose an outfit like that when there were some quite decent postwar cars at the same auction, he said it was the same as the car he’d had in Malaya and he felt at home with it. So if it’s sold or scrapped, well, that just means another row. And believe me, Judith has had enough rows to put up with.”

Barton rubbed his short fair hair, his face showing the consternation in his mind. “I hadn’t realised it was quite as bad as that,” he said slowly. “I knew things weren’t too easy, but I thought perhaps Miss Vanstead had been a bit too hard on Mrs. Gerald. When I’ve come across her—Mrs. Gerald I mean—she’s seemed glad to talk, and when she talks about stock farming down under she’s jolly interesting. And she’s fond of her husband too. I know he’s what you’d call the fool of the family, but he’s got his points.”

“Maybe he has, but the situation as it stands is almost intolerable. If Gerald goes up in smoke because his crock of a car’s taken away from him, that’ll simply put the lid on it. Think things out for yourself, Barton, in the light of what I’ve told you. The next few weeks are bound to be the hell of a strain for Judith. How would you feel if a father you adored was in the state the old man is now, and coupled to that you had two people in the house simply panting for him to die? I tell you things will be pretty grim, and we don’t want any additional irritations.”

Barton’s fair sun-flushed face looked distressed. “Aren’t you being a bit unfair?” he protested. “Gerald isn’t as heartless as all that. The very fact that he isn’t particularly brainy makes him a kindly sort of chap if you take him the right way.”

“So you think. Remember this: Gerald came home here to inherit; every extra month he’s kept out of what he regards as his due position, he gets more jaundiced.... You say he’s been pleasant enough to you. I tell you straight that one of the first things he’ll do when he inherits is to boot everybody whom his father employed, and you’ll be one of the first to go. Gerald will manage the estate himself, probably with the assistance of one of his old pals in Malaya—and can’t I see ’em at it!”

Barton stood still and looked at the other man in perplexity, “Do you mean that, Standish? You know how I’m placed——”

“I know you’re meaning to get married after harvest—and good luck to you. But don’t count on having the Home Farm and the estate managership after Sir Charles’s death, because you won’t have it. It’s better for you to know.”

“Hell, that’s a facer,” said Barton. “It never occurred to me ... I haven’t the capital to buy and equip a farm of my own yet, and I’ve put some work into this one. It’s over twenty per cent more productive than it was when I came. Look at the milk yield ... and those grass leys ... and the pigs.... They’re the best pigs in the county.”

“I know,” replied Standish, “You’ve worked all out, and you’ve made a damn good job of it, using your brains as well as your brawn. But make no mistake: when the amiable Gerald comes into his own, out you go. The same holds good for everybody who’s worked faithfully for the old man. Beach will go. Saunders, the butler, will go, and Denton, who’s run the gardens since 1919.”

Barton mopped his face. “If you’re right, it’s going to make the hell of a difference to me,” he said. “How can I get married to Elizabeth when I don’t know how I stand? Her people would raise Cain ... and it wouldn’t be fair to her anyway.”

“My dear chap, I’m sorry, but it’s better for you to know. I’ve heard that precious pair talking. Mrs. Gerald’s got a voice like a foghorn, and when she says they’ll make a clean sweep, she means exactly what she says.”

They had reached the boundary wall of the park, and Barton leant his back against the gate, looking across the rich pasture with a farmer’s eye.

“It seems a bit hard,” he said. “Do you remember the state of this land when old Gray farmed it? All the same, I hope you’ll tell Miss Vanstead what I said about that car.”

“Good for you! I always knew you were an honest bloke. Well, I’ll think about it, but we’ve got enough to bother about at the moment.”

“You’re a cold-blooded chap, Standish. I tell you what, I’ve a good mind to wreck that damned car myself, before I’m tempted to change my mind.”

“That’s up to you. Why not take Beach into your confidence? It’d be easy enough for him to immobilise the thing, and he’d laugh like a hyena when he heard Gerald trying to start it up.”

“That’s an idea,” said Barton. “Anyway, I’m going to do something about it, if you won’t.”

“I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me,” rejoined Standish.