Pyramids of snow

by Edith Metcalfe

CHAPTER XVI.
AN UNEXPECTED WILL.

That Sir Geoffrey's violent end should have an almost paralysing effect upon the household that loved him so much was, of course, only to be expected, but it is impossible to tell beforehand how great grief will manifest itself in different people. Thus Ralph, who enjoyed a reputation of being bright and frank and open-hearted beyond the common, became morose and even sullen, nursing his wrath against the unknown murderer and allowing the iron to enter into his soul. Melville, on the contrary, hitherto self-centred and indifferent to the happiness of others, seemed to be softened by the tragedy, and in many little ways displayed an eagerness to comfort the rest and a regard for their sorrow that was very winning. The inquest which was held two days after the outrage was ineffective: a verdict of wilful murder was returned against some person unknown, and the case was recommended by the coroner to the attention of the police. So far they preserved a sphinx-like silence, and although conjecture was rife in the neighbourhood it received no assistance or corroboration from the detectives engaged.

The evidence given at the inquest was little more than formal; the doctor's testimony was brevity itself, Ralph's was concise to the point of curtness, and the police inspector had no suggestions to offer; the facts were self-evident, and of the only details that seemed to promise any interest, namely, the bloodstains upon Ralph's jacket and in the water in the basin, his explanation was so obviously simple that comment was superfluous. Yet upon the people in the court Ralph's manner had an effect not wholly favourable. He appeared to resent their natural curiosity, was brusque, and even in bowing to the coroner, when that functionary gave expression to the sympathy felt by his court for Sir Geoffrey's relatives, did not err upon the side of graciousness. But if Ralph thus failed to maintain the family traditions of courtesy, Melville atoned for it. He was merely asked whether he could throw any light upon the crime by suggesting any motive which might have prompted it, and this, it is needless to say, he could not do. But his quiet dignity in this moment of sorrow and his air of engaging candour won all hearts, and he quitted the scene in full possession of the sympathy of the audience.

There followed two most miserable days, during which Ralph smoked in solitude upon his houseboat, and Melville, for the most part, idled at The Grange. Music fits every mood, and there was no disrespect to the uncle by the nephew turning to his Amati for comfort in this dark hour, and so he played—played as if inspired by Saint Cecilia—and stole a little further into Gwendolen's heart.

It was with a sense of genuine relief that the two brothers returned to the Manor House after the funeral. There was a certain restraint between them and an odd embarrassment as to their mutual attitude in the small matters of daily life; thus Sir Geoffrey's chair at the head of the table was left empty by consent, but it stood as a constant reminder that for one of them it symbolised possession, and now that its late tenant was laid to rest with his fathers, the question as to which of the two should sit in it by right was about to be decided.

With the closing of the inquest Melville's first fears of detection were allayed, and his mind was engaged almost exclusively with the problem of his future. He took it for granted that his uncle had died intestate, and the only complication he could foresee in the division of the estate was brought about by the existence of Lavender, of which he believed he was the only person who knew. Mr. Tracy might know, and if he did, Melville supposed that half the estate would be held, pending Lady Holt's instructions, and that the other half would be divided between his brother and himself without undue delay. What action he should take with regard to Lavender it was too early to decide, but in a vague way he was beginning to incline to the policy of persuading her never to come forward, which he was confident he could do, and, by-and-bye, her share, too, might be obtainable for himself, or, at any rate, half of it.

The brothers were standing in the hall, both feeling rather aimless and self-conscious, when Martin joined them.

"Mr. Tracy mentioned that he had to return to London soon after the funeral, so I have taken some luncheon into the library. I thought, perhaps, you would have business to do before he left."

The butler directed his remarks diplomatically between the two young men. He assumed that the Manor House would be left to Ralph, as being the elder, but he did not wish to make any invidious distinctions between them at present. They looked at each other and went into the library, where they found Mr. Tracy contemplating a substantial pie as if wondering what description of animal food it might contain. The old lawyer looked up at them with a smile, and settled all difficulties of precedence by sitting down in the nearest chair, which happened to be at the head of the table. He knew the utility of a meal as a preparation for an unpleasant discussion, and although as Sir Geoffrey's solicitor he was only the mouthpiece by which the dead man's disposition of his property was to be communicated, he felt uncomfortable.