-and no good ever came of marrying one of them! But Miss Cora had
always been a bit - well, simple like you'd call it if she'd lived in a
village. Always one of them in a family.
She'd remembered him all right. "Why, it's Lanscombe!" she'd said
and seemed ever so pleased to see him. Ah, they'd all been fond of him
in the old days and when there was a dinner party they'd crept down to
the pantry and he'd gave them jelly and Charlotte Russe when it came out
of the dining-room. They'd all known old Lanscombe, and now there was
hardly anyone who remembered. Just the younger lot whom
he could never keep clear in his mind and who just thought of him
as a butler who'd been there a long time. A lot of strangers, he had
thought, when they all arrived for the funeral - and a seedy lot of
strangers at that! Not Mrs Leo - she was different. She and Mr Leo had
come here off and on ever since Mr Leo married. She was a nice lady, Mrs
Leo - a real lady. Wore proper clothes and did her hair well and looked
what she was. And the master had always ben fond of her. A pity that
she and Mr Leo had never had any children...
Lanscombe roused himself; what was he doing standing here and
dreaming about old days with so much to be done? The blinds were all
attended to on the ground floor now, and he'd told Janet to go upstairs
and do the bedrooms. He and Janet and the cook had gone to the funeral
service in the church but instead of going on to the Crematorium they'd
driven back to the house to get the blinds up and the lunch ready. Cold
lunch, of course, it had to be. Ham and chicken and tongue and salad.
With cold lemon soufflé and apple tart to follow. Hot soup first - and
he'd better go along and see that Marjorie had got it on ready to serve,
for they'd be back in a minute or two now for certain.
Lanscombe broke into a shuffling trot across the room. His gaze,
abstracted and uncurious, just swept up to the picture over this
mantelpiece - the companion portrait to the one in the green drawing-
room. It was a nice painting of white satin and pearls. The human being
round whom they were draped and clasped was not nearly so impressive.
Meek features, a rosebud mouth, hair parted in the middle. A woman both
modest and unassuming. The only thing really worthy of note about Mrs
Cornelius Abernethie had been her name - Coralie.
For over sixty years after their original appearance, Coral
Cornplasters and the allied "Coral" foot preparations still held their
own. Whther there had ever been anything outstanding about Coral
Cornplasters nobody could say - but they had appealed to the public
fancy. On a foundation of Coral Cornplasters ther had arisen this neo-
Gothic palace, its acres of gardens, and the money that had paid out an
income to seven sons and daughters and had allowed Richard Abernethie to
die three days ago a very rich man.
II
Looking into the kitchen with a word of admonition, Lanscombe was
snapped at by Marjorie, the cook. Marjorie was young, only twenty-
seven, and was a constant irritation to Lanscombe as being so far
removed from what his conception of a proper cook should be. She had no
dignity and no proper appreciation of his, Lanscombe's position. She
frequently called the house "a proper old mausoleum" and complained of
the immense area of the kitchen, scullery and larder, saying that it was
a "day's walk to get round them all." She had been at Enderby two years
and only stayed because in the first place the money was good, and in
the second because Mr Abernethie had really appreciated her cooking. She
cooked very well. Janet, who stood by the kitchen table, refreshing
herself with a cup of tea, was an elderly housemaid who, although
enjoying frequent acid disputes with Lanscombe, was nevertheless usually
in alliance with him against the younger generation as represented by
Marjorie. The fourth person in the kitchen was Mrs Jacks, who "came in"
to lend assistance where it was wanted and who had much enjoyed the
funeral.
