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  “Why is Haworth doing this?” Bill asked.

  “How the devil should I know?” Jimmy sounded frantic. “I’m sure Anna’s a rotten wife, and one can hardly blame him for being upset about George, but it’s as if he’s set out to despoil all of us as vengeance.”

  “He doesn’t like women,” Pat said. “You must have noticed. He’s been on at me, at Victoria—at Fen, too, when you might think, if he wanted to carry on living in luxury at your expense, he wouldn’t have tried to ruin your engagement to an heiress. And when he was saying things about you and your father, his eyes kept flicking to the Countess. He was trying to hurt her.”

  “I agree with that,” Bill said. “One of those woman-haters who won’t leave them alone.”

  “I wish you had let Preston throttle him,” Jimmy said violently. “I wish he was dead. I swear I could stand over his body and laugh. I’ve never hated anyone so much in my life. It feels as though we’re trapped—buried in one of those Egyptian tombs from the pulp novels, you know, with the sand slowly pouring in to suffocate us.”

  The Mertons exchanged glances. “Steady on,” Pat said.

  “Less pulp, more planning,” Bill added.

  “There’s no plan to make. There’s nothing to be done.”

  Bill looked down at him, face twisted. “Why did you not tell me this before?”

  “Do you think I want to dwell on it? That I’m proud of it?” Jimmy slapped his hand on the desk. “Look at us! My father’s at best a damned fool who’s helped ruin people, and as for Anna, would you want anyone knowing all that about your sister? The way she’s conducted herself—no decent person would receive her again.”

  “Speaking as the sister in question, I’d be more concerned about finding out why Lady Anna is behaving as she is than complaining about it,” Pat said. “She doesn’t look like she’s living a life of pleasure.”

  “It’s all horribly sordid, I grant you,” Bill said. “Did you think I’d care about that, you damned fool?”

  “I care,” Jimmy said. “It’s filthy. You can’t know how filthy. And Maurice—any whiff of wrongdoing, of secrets, and he’s on it like a ferret down a rathole. I had to keep you away from it. I just wanted it to stop. I still want it to stop.”

  Bill grabbed his hand, caught Pat’s eye, and gave a firm jerk of the head. She rose silently, slipping out of the room as Jimmy let out a sob, and returned to the little sitting room next door in thoughtful mood. She closed the door carefully behind her, but it didn’t quite muffle the sound of Jimmy weeping.

  Bill came to join her perhaps twenty minutes later.

  “You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” Pat said. “He’s in a bad way.”

  “It’s a bad business.” Bill sat, heavily. “I’ve sent him to beg his father to talk to me. God, Pat, I don’t know what to do. I can’t cope with this.”

  “It seems to me you can make a jolly good case to investigate Haworth’s dealings.”

  “While he continues torturing the family, and Jim—” He broke off with a strangled noise.

  “Honestly, you ought to leave,” Pat said. “You look shocking. You are going to have a nerve-storm if this keeps up.”

  “Jimmy will collapse before I do. He’s coming apart at the seams and all I can do is watch.” Bill rubbed his face with both hands. “Oh, the devil. It’s not your problem, old thing. You ought to go.”

  “I shall. Fen’s invited me to stay at her place for a while. She needs a change of scene herself and she doesn’t want to go back to London until the inevitable fuss has died down, and she’d like me to teach her to shoot—” Pat became aware she was explaining too much, and stopped.

  “Well, that’s good,” Bill said, noticing nothing. “Yes, it will be unpleasant for her, I dare say, jilting a third chap.”

  “Actually, Jimmy ended it.”

  Bill blinked. “He did?”

  “With the admission that he was entirely at fault, of course. He told her Haworth was right and that he’s been in love with someone else all along, which is of course dastardly, but at least Fen knows that it isn’t anything to do with her. Not that it must be very nice to be sought after for one’s money, but—”

  “Sorry, sorry,” Bill said. “He told Miss Carruth what?”

  “Oh, a lot of romantic stuff about how he hadn’t realised he was dreadfully in love with this other girl until it was too late. You must surely know about her? Or is he keeping this a deep dark secret from everyone?”

  Bill cleared his throat. “I’d an idea, yes.”

  “It seems grossly unfair to her, though I suppose she must be unsuitable in some way.” She paused so Bill could fill in the gaps. He did not. Men had no idea how to conduct a conversation. “The main thing is, the fault’s all on his side, and he’s promised to say as much in public, so hopefully Fen’s reputation won’t suffer too badly. Even so, there will be a great deal of talk, and I imagine people will blame her anyway. So she intends to lie low a while, and I’m going to lie low with her. Metaphorically, I mean.”

  “Right. Yes. Good.”

  “You aren’t even listening,” Pat said resignedly. “Anyway, I imagine the Wittons will want Fen out of here as quick as they can. She’ll head down south today, I should think.”

  “She’ll be lucky,” Bill said, returning his attention to the conversation. “In this weather?”

  “Motor-cars drive in the rain.”

  Bill twisted to look at the window, as if he needed visual confirmation of the relentless rain and wind. “I wouldn’t bet on it. A storm like this after a long dry spell usually means flooding around here. The roads are regularly cut off in winter. It’s one of the things Jimmy wanted to deal with, when...” He made a face. “God damn Haworth. Damn him to hell.”

  “He’s rotten, and all this is rotten, but it’s not down to you,” Pat said. “Come on, old man, let’s think about something else. Tell me about your boxing club.”

  They chatted for some time, until there was a knock at the door and Fen called, “Pat?”

  “In here.”

  Fen let herself in. She looked as if her morning had been difficult.

  “All right?” Pat asked, conscious of Bill’s presence.

  “It was dreadful, but never mind. The car will take me to the station after lunch.”

  “I’ll come and help you pack.”

  “Yes, do. I’m sorry to tear your sister away, Mr. Merton.”

  “Not at all,” Bill said. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate to offer my sympathy?”

  “I think you ought to extend that to Jimmy rather than me,” Fen said. “I wish him well, but I’ve made the only possible decision. I hope he will be happy.”

  She spoke with remarkable dignity. Bill paused a second and then said, “I shall tell him he’s a fool, on multiple levels. I’m pleased to have met you, Miss Carruth.”

  He extended his hand, a strikingly formal gesture. Fen shook it with equal seriousness, and, when they left the room together, whispered to Pat, “What on earth was that about?”

  “Goodness knows.”

  Jimmy was striding down the corridor towards them, face set and grim. He managed a nod to the two women as he passed, no more. They emerged into the main hall just as the grandfather clock chimed its noisy half hour, and saw Maurice Haworth strolling across the hall directly towards them. Fen instantly took Pat’s arm and pulled her round so they were walking around the edges of the hall, not towards Haworth. “Yes, do come and help,” she said loudly, drowning out any remark that might be made. “I’d like the company.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The luncheon gong was rung at one o’clock, which might as well have been half past midnight for the darkness outside. Maurice Haworth did not join them.

  “Where is Maurice?” the Earl enquired of Lady Anna.

  She shrugged. She had a higher colour than normal and a self-satisfied look. Pat wondered if one took drugs at midday or waited for the cocktail hour. “I’ve no
idea. He often misses luncheon. We shan’t wait.”

  After that, the meal was conducted mostly in silence, as might be expected given the broken engagement and, Pat thought unkindly, the financial blow it represented to the Wittons. Jack Bouvier-Lynes made some light chat about theatre and night-spots, which Preston did his best to turn into a conversation, with limited support from Victoria. Fen stayed quiet; Jimmy barely ate.

  They dutifully trudged to the drawing-room for coffee after the meal. Fen sat with her elbows in and her ankles together, taking up as little space as possible, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Pat breathed evenly and wished they were leaving together. She didn’t want to be in this wretched house, this poisoned atmosphere, for one more minute.

  The clock ticked on; the rain drove down. Jack, Jimmy, Preston, and Bill went off to play cards. Lady Anna announced she had a headache, with no great effort at verisimilitude, and left them to it. At two, Fen asked, with just a hint of desperation, “Might I enquire about the car?”

  “I did expect it to be ready before now,” the Countess said with a frown. “Ring the bell, please, Victoria.”

  Victoria did so, walking across the room, then stopped. “Where is the kirpan?”

  “On the wall, dear.”

  “It’s not.”

  Pat followed Victoria’s line of sight to the wall, where the beautifully carved, Indian-looking knife had hung. Only the sheath now remained. “Oh, the knife? What did you call it?”

  “A kirpan. It’s a Sikh weapon.”

  “Kirpan,” Pat repeated, memorising the term. “It had an elaborate metal handle, yes? It was definitely in its sheath when I arrived, I noticed it particularly.”

  “How odd,” the Countess said. “I expect it’s being cleaned. We like to keep the decorative weaponry in good order. Oh, Henry,” she added as a footman came in. “The car for Miss Carruth to the station, please. Pritchard should have it ready.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Do you also keep the firearms in working order?” Pat asked, for something to say. “Including that marvellous old blunderbuss in the hall? Can they be used?”

  That made the Earl perk up, and he was enthusiastically describing his experience of trying out various ancient guns and fowling-pieces when the footman Henry returned.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord. Unfortunately, Pritchard says it won’t be possible to take Miss Carruth to the station.”

  “Why on earth not?” demanded the Countess.

  “Because the rivers have burst, madam,” Henry announced, with lugubrious enjoyment. “The man came by from Stonebridge just half an hour back. The line is flooded.”

  “The railway line?” Fen said with open dismay. “But how will I leave?”

  “You can’t, miss. It’s ankle deep on the roads and Pritchard says he can’t answer for the Daimler till it goes down. You could ride down to the village, perhaps, but then you’d just be stuck there instead.”

  “All right, that will do,” the Earl said testily. “Of course you will stay with us, Miss Carruth. We must be informed immediately the situation improves.”

  Henry shot a glance at the window, which was sluiced by water as though someone was throwing buckets at it. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well,” the Countess said. “That is...unfortunate.”

  “Nobody can leave.” Pat glanced around the room, seeing her own dismay reflected on every face, guests and family alike. “We’ll just have to wait for the rain to pass, then.”

  The Countess rose. “I think I shall lie down. I hope you will order tea and so on as you please. James?”

  The Earl accompanied her out. The three remaining women looked at one another. Victoria summed matters up with a heartfelt, “Bother.”

  “Quite,” Fen said. “Were you hoping to go too?”

  “Strongly.”

  “That man again?”

  “I haven’t seen him all day, thank goodness, but I should like to keep it that way. Preston offered to escort me back to London.”

  “I thought you were going to stay, for the Countess.”

  Victoria made a face. “I concluded it was doing more harm than good. Preston is very keen to get away—he is self-conscious about assaulting his hosts’ son-in-law. And we want to tell our families, of course. But it hardly matters what we want if the railway is out of action.”

  They chatted about Preston’s family and Victoria’s plans for a while, then as the conversation became more general, about books, mutual acquaintances, almost anything except the fact of being trapped in this house with Maurice Haworth. Victoria rang for tea around three, and had the fire lit. Pat nibbled a scone, letting herself enjoy this: Victoria’s unguarded face, Fen curled up on the sofa, their smiles. This was the aspect of Rodington Court she’d remember and cherish, she decided: a cosy room keeping the weather out, and a new friend, and Fen. It was only everybody else that appalled.

  This was underlined a few moments later when Jack Bouvier-Lynes and Lady Anna came in. He was saying, “Well, since the cat’s away, the mice may as well play,” in such a flirtatious tone that the meaning could not be mistaken. Lady Anna wore a seductive expression that seemed to Pat oddly unreal, as though she had painted it on. It faded almost at once as she took in the scene.

  “Good heavens,” she said. “Miss Carruth. I thought you’d gone.”

  “The railway line is flooded,” Pat said.

  “How unfortunate.” Lady Anna’s expression didn’t allow much room for doubt as to what she found unfortunate. “And how unpleasant for my brother.”

  Fen rose. “I’m sure you want your tea. I’ve had mine, so I shall leave you.”

  “I’ll join you,” Pat said.

  “I think I will find Aunt Mattie,” Victoria agreed, and the three of them walked out of the room in an icy mutual silence interrupted only by rustling skirts.

  In the hallway, Victoria put a hand to Fen’s arm. “Are you all right?”

  “I could hardly expect her to take my side,” Fen said. “But I might go and hide somewhere now.”

  “Very wise,” Victoria said. “I’ll find Preston, I think.”

  Pat slipped her arm through Fen’s as they made their way through the dark corridors. Fen leaned into her with a sigh. “I’m awfully glad you’re here. I’m not glad we’re here, but I’m glad you are.”

  “I’m glad I am too.” Pat could by now have throttled the entire Yoxall family without compunction. Fen deserved so much better. “Do you think we might hide somewhere until dinner?”

  “Let’s. I honestly don’t know how much more I can bear of other people; I was so looking forward to getting away from here.”

  “At least you know that you haven’t done anything wrong,” Pat said. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, which is more than one can say for others in this house.”

  Fen snuggled closer, her fingers seeking Pat’s, and Pat held them with a bubble of joy rising despite the circumstances. It was grossly unfair that Fen should be in this rotten place, but at least Pat could be here with her, and if Maurice blasted Haworth had one word to say, she fully intended to drop all convention and let him have it with both barrels. “Let’s find somewhere quiet to lurk until the coast is clear.”

  They headed for the East Wing once more. Pat had intended to try the room she’d sat in earlier, but Fen led the way up the stairs, shooting Pat a glittering look, and Pat followed. She’d have followed her anywhere.

  They walked silently, almost tiptoeing. It was so much like playing truant at school that Pat felt a giggle rising. At the top of the stairs she considered her options and decided on the study rather than the empty room she’d seen before. After all, the study had a couch. She tugged Fen in that direction, received an excited nod, and twisted the door handle. It stuck, then clicked, and she threw open the door.

  There was someone on the sofa. Someone naked—an expanse of pale skin, far too many limbs for one person, all scrabbling in hurried motion, and then the bewildering imag
e resolved itself and Pat stood and stared at her brother and Jimmy Yoxall, bare and entwined on the sofa, staring back at her with expressions of pure horror.

  “Oh,” Fen said from beside her.

  “Uh,” Bill said.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” Pat said. “We should have knocked.”

  She shut the door carefully, and stepped away. Fen stared at the door, then up at Pat, then said, “Well. Your room, I think.”

  She dragged Pat along the corridor, marching along until they reached her bedroom, where she pushed Pat towards the bed, shut the door, put her back against it, and repeated, “Well.”

  “I had no idea.” Pat wasn’t entirely sure that was true now she came to consider it. It certainly made sense of a lot of things. “Good God. I suppose that explains Jimmy’s behaviour, doesn’t it?”

  “His mysterious secret unattainable love affair was your brother?” Fen’s lips moved silently. “Goodness me. For heaven’s sake.”

  Pat’s heart thumped, not pleasantly. “I’m sure you’re very annoyed—outraged, even, and you’ve every reason—but you know I’m awfully fond of Bill.”

  Fen frowned. “Of course you are. I hope you aren’t suggesting that I’m about to rush off and call the police or inform the Wittons.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that—”

  “Then you were worried I might casually let it slip at the dinner table?” Fen looked offended, Pat realised with a sinking sensation. “I’m not entirely ignorant, or quite so careless either.”

  “I really didn’t think that,” Pat said urgently, and guiltily, because the thought had been there. “Honestly. I know you wouldn’t set out to hurt anyone but it’s not unreasonable for you to be upset with Jimmy, and people do say things without meaning to.”