Chapter Eighteen
I
“Just wait a minute,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “This patience is going to
come out.”
She transferred a king and his various impedimenta into an empty
space, put a red seven on a black eight, built up the four, five and six of
spades on her foundation heap, made a few more rapid transfers of cards
and then leaned back with a sign of satisfaction.
“That’s the Double Jester,” she said. “It doesn’t often come out.”
She leaned back in a satisfied fashion, then raised her eyes at the girl
“So you’re Lance’s wife,” she said.
Pat, who had been summoned upstairs to Miss Ramsbottom’s presence,
nodded her head.
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re a tall girl,” said Miss Ramsbottom, “and you look healthy.”
“I’m very healthy.”
Miss Ramsbottom nodded in a satisfied manner.
“Percival’s wife is pasty,” she said. “Eats too many sweets and doesn’t
take enough exercise. Well, sit down, child, sit down. Where did you meet
my nephew?”
“I met him out in Kenya when I was staying there with some friends.”
“You’ve been married before, I understand.”
“Yes. Twice.”
Miss Ramsbottom gave a profound
sniff2.
“Divorce, I suppose.”
“No,” said Pat. Her voice trembled a little. “They both—died. My first
husband was a fighter pilot. He was killed in the war.”
“And your second husband? Let me see—somebody told me. Shot him-
self, didn’t he?”
Pat nodded.
“Your fault?”
“No,” said Pat. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Racing man, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never been on a race course in my life,” said Miss Ramsbottom.
“Betting and card playing—all devices of the devil!”
Pat did not reply.
“I wouldn’t go inside a theatre or a cinema,” said Miss Ramsbottom. “Ah,
well, it’s a wicked world nowadays. A lot of wickedness was going on in
this house, but the Lord struck them down.”
Pat still found it difficult to say anything. She wondered if Lance’s Aunt
Effie was really quite all there. She was, however, a trifle disconcerted by
the old lady’s shrewd glance at her.
“How much,” demanded Aunt Effie, “do you know about the family
you’ve married into?”
“I suppose,” said Pat, “as much as one ever knows of the family one mar-
ries into.”
“H’m, something in that, something in that. Well, I’ll tell you this. My sis-
ter was a fool, my brother-in-law was a
rogue3, Percival is a
sneak4, and
your Lance was always the bad boy of the family.”
“I think that’s all nonsense,” said Pat
robustly5.
“Maybe you’re right,” said Miss Ramsbottom, unexpectedly. “You can’t
just stick labels on people. But don’t underestimate Percival. There’s a
tendency to believe that those who are labelled good are also stupid. Per-
cival isn’t the least bit stupid. He’s quite clever in a
sanctimonious6 kind of
way. I’ve never cared for him. Mind you, I don’t trust Lance and I don’t ap-
prove of him, but I can’t help being fond of him … He’s a reckless sort of
fellow—always has been. You’ve got to look after him and see he doesn’t
go too far. Tell him not to underestimate Percival, my dear. Tell him not to
believe everything that Percival says. They’re all
liars7 in this house.” The
old lady added with satisfaction: “Fire and brimstone shall be their por-
tion.”
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