“Abby thinks old Drybeck did it, Mum.”
“Oh, no, dear, I shouldn't think so!” said Mrs. Haswell, quite unperturbed. “He's lived here for years!”
Charles, accustomed to the workings of his mother's mind, grinned appreciatively, but said: “The end of it will be, of course, that he'll have her up for slander.”
Again Mrs. Haswell demurred, this time on the ground that Mr. Drybeck was Miss Patterdale's solicitor.
“Yes, and if I'm right he won't be able to have me up for anything,” Abby pointed out. “He's the one person who fits in.”
“No, he isn't,” Charles contradicted. “He doesn't fit in half as well as Mavis.”
“Oh, do shut up about Mavis!” begged Abby. “She couldn't possibly have done it! She's far too dim!”
“If you ask me, she's a dark horse. It's a pity you shirked coming to church this morning. I don't like Gavin, but he was dead right about her! Talk of overacting! She was doing the heartbroken heroine all over the shop, accepting condolences, and drivelling about her dear uncle's kindness, and being alone in the world, until even Mummy felt sick!”
“Well, no darling, not sick exactly,” said Mrs. Haswell. “It was all a little insincere, but I expect she feels that's the way she ought to behave. There's something about death that turns people into the most dreadful hypocrites. I can't think why. I was just as bad when your grandfather died, until your father pointed out how disagreeable and exacting he'd been for years, wearing poor Granny out, and never being in the least pleased to see any of us.”
“You weren't the same as Mavis at all!” said Charles. “You didn't pretend he'd been a saint, and tell everyone you wished he hadn't left his money to you!”