The Ullswater Undertaking by Rebecca Tope (read dune .TXT) 📕

‘We won’t stay long,’ said Fabian in a maddeningly Uriah Heep-ish tone of voice. ‘We just thought you might want to meet everyone.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Christopher, who was showing signs of wishing Simmy had slammed the door in all these faces. ‘This is an invasion.’

Humphrey came sliding down the stairs as unobtrusively as he could, stepping over Christopher, and bobbing his head vaguely at the assembled crowd. He was clearly chastened and thoroughly out of his depth. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he mumbled, and fled.

Fabian twitched and stammered out his explanation. ‘No, but – the thing is, we all knew Josephine, and we’ll all be attending her funeral, when it happens, and we all want to help find who did such a terrible thing.’

‘And you’re probably all of interest to the police,’ said Simmy. ‘Except perhaps Ambrose.’ The old man was evidently far too frail to thrust a knife into anybody. He looked confused and daunted by the way events were swirling around him. ‘Why have they brought you with them anyway?’ Simmy demanded of him directly.

‘They wanted me to tell you what I know about Richmond and Hilda. Isn’t that right?’ he appealed, not to Fabian, but to the cousin named Petrock, who was by far the biggest member of the family and looked as if he was probably the most intelligent. He nodded.

‘We know where Richmond is, and how he was keen on Josephine,’ said Christopher. ‘Fabian asked me to act as a go-between, but now I can see that was a ploy to keep me involved. You could easily go and talk to him yourselves if you felt like it. I honestly feel there’s no more to be gained by talking to any of you. Simmy and I are more than happy to leave the whole business in the hands of the police.’ He made a swishing motion, as if wanting to sweep the whole family out of the house.

But Simmy felt entirely otherwise. Of all her initial emotions, she found curiosity rising to the top. Inconvenient and outrageous as this visitation might be, she did want to know more. At first glance, she found old Ambrose to be an appealing character, and the silent Keith seemed to have something about him she thought might be worth discovering. And Petrock was almost charismatic, drawing deferential glances from all sides. Both Fabian’s cousins looked to be at least twenty years junior to him, which hardly fitted with implications that they all grew up together. ‘You’ll have to put up with me feeding the baby,’ she announced, as Robin’s demands grew more insistent. It was five o’clock, she realised – far too many hours since the last feed. ‘I’m not going out of this room to do it.’ She ignored Christopher’s obvious opinion that this made an ideal excuse to eject all the visitors immediately.

She had also underestimated the Armitages. Not one of them even blushed. Keith, who was wearing a suit and tie as if he’d just come from an office somewhere, was the only one who shifted his seat slightly and made a show of looking away.

‘Get on with it then,’ Christopher urged Fabian. He looked to be on the verge of ordering all these men out of his house but did not quite have the balls for it. ‘It’s been a long day and we’ve got things to do.’

‘Aunt Hilda,’ said Fabian. ‘Petrock wants to tell you about her.’

Again, everyone looked at the large cousin – nephew – brother. Simmy was suddenly reminded of Ben’s text, sent hours ago and undoubtedly waiting eagerly for a proper response in the form of a phone call. She was gripped by an agreeable sense of things coming together, at the same time as reproaching herself for forgetting poor Ben.

‘I’m writing her biography,’ said Petrock in a tone that implied he wanted awe and admiration at such a feat. ‘She was a remarkable woman in every way and deserves to have her achievements recorded.’

Nobody responded to this, but simply waited for more.

‘Her early life in the thirties was typically middle class. Big house, plenty of cash, servants and dogs – all that. She was eleven when war broke out and everything changed.’ He leant down and picked up a briefcase that was propped against his leg. ‘I’ve got the manuscript here, actually.’ He proffered a thick wad of printed pages. ‘I could read a bit, if you like.’

Nobody responded, but he rested his work on his knees, as if waiting for his chance. Christopher spoke first. ‘Fabian told us all about everything going up in flames,’ he said. ‘Tragic.’

‘You speak as an auctioneer of antiques,’ said Petrock understandingly. His accent had a hint of American or Canadian, which only enhanced his appeal for Simmy. Something oddly formal in his delivery also piqued her interest. She would not at all object to a short reading from his opus. He went on speaking. ‘The first chapters go back over earlier family history, to give a proper context,’ he explained. ‘It wasn’t only the material possessions that were lost. Her father – our grandfather – became very mentally unstable. Bipolar, in all probability. His mother was German, you see. Throughout the First World War she was ostracised and tormented, but clung on and prospered in the following years. But it left scars that bled down the generations, so when another war broke out, it was a personal catastrophe for our family.’

‘Did you know her? Your German great-grandmother?’ Simmy asked, keen to get as much of the picture as she could. On the stairs, she heard her fiancé sigh.

‘No, no. She died before I was born. But of course Hilda and her brothers did.’ He waved at Ambrose.

‘And her sister,’ said Fabian stiffly. ‘You always leave my mother out.’

‘Sorry, Fabe. You have to admit she is a bit shadowy.’

‘Stick to the point,’ said Keith.

‘Right. Yes. Except there isn’t precisely a point, is there? I just want these good