The third blind in the White Boudoir refused to go up as it should.
It went up a little way and stuck. The springs were weak - that's what
it was - very old, these blinds were, like everything else in the house.
And you couldn't get these old things mended nowadays. Too old-
fashioned, that's what they'd say, shaking their heads in that silly
superior way - as if the old things weren't a great deal better than the
new ones! He could tell them that! Gimcrack, half the new stuff was -
came to pieces in your hand. The material wasn't good, or the
craftsmanship either. Oh yes, could tell them.
Couldn't do anything about this blind unless he got the steps. He
didn't like climbing up the steps much, these days, made him come over
giddy. Anyway, he'd leave the blind for now. It didn't matter, since the
White Boudoir didn't face the front of the house where it would be seen
as the cars came back from the funeral - and it wasn't as though the
room was ever used nowadays. It was a lady's room, this, and there
hadn't been a lady at Enderby for a long while now. A pity Mr Mortimer
hadn't married. Always going off to Norway for fishing and to Scotland
for shooting and to Switzerland for those winter sports, instead of
marrying some nice young lady and settling down at home with children
running about the house. It was a long time since there had been any
children in the house.
And Lanscombe's mind went ranging back to a time that stood out
clearly and distinctly - much more distinctly than the last twenty years
or so, which were all blurred and confused and he couldn't really
remember who had come and gone or indeed what they looked like. But he
could remember the old days well enough.
More like a father to those young brothers and sisters of his, Mr
Richard had been. Twenty-four when his father had died, and he'd pitched
in right away to the business, going off every day as punctual as
clockwork, and keeping the house running and everything as lavish as it
could be. A very happy household with all those young ladies and
gentlemen growing up. Fights and quarrels now and again, of course, and
those governesses had had a bad time of it! Poor-spirited creatures,
governesses, Lanscombe had always despised them. Very spirited the young
ladies had been. Miss Geraldine in particular. Miss Cora, too, although
she was so much younger. And now Mr Leo was dead, and Miss Laura gone
too. And Mr Timothy such a sad invalid. And Miss Geraldine dying
somewhere abroad. And Mr Gordon killed in the war. Although he was the
eldest, Mr Richard himself turned out the strongest of the lot. Outlived
them all, he had - at least not quite because Mr Timothy was still
alive and little Miss Cora who'd married that unpleasant artist chap.
Twenty-five years since he'd seen her and she'd been a pretty young girl
when she went off with that chap, and now he'd hardly have known her,
grown so stout - and so arty-crafty in her dress! A Frenchman her
husband had been, or nearly a Frenchman
