The inquest was held at eleven o’clock next morning; it was soon over. The doctor, the bus-driver, Ben and Miss Ripon gave evidence. Miss Ripon was allowed to remain seated. She was very white and spoke in a trembling voice; her father glared at her from a nearby seat; under her hat was a small bare patch, where they had shaved off her hair to clean her cut. In his summary the coroner remarked that it was clear from the evidence that nobody was in any way to blame for the misadventure; it only remained to express the deep sympathy of the court to Mr Last and Lady Brenda in their terrible loss. The people fell back to allow Tony and Brenda to leave the room. Colonel Inch and the hunt secretary were both present. Everything was done with delicacy and to show respect for their sorrow.

Brenda said, ‘Wait a minute. I must just speak to that poor Ripon girl.’

She did it charmingly. When everyone had gone. Tony said, ‘I wish you had been here yesterday. There were so many people about and I didn’t know what to say to them.’

‘What did you do all day?’

‘There was the Shameless Blonde ... we played animal snap some of the time.’

‘Animal snap? Was that any good?’

‘Not much ... It’s odd to think that yesterday this time it hadn’t happened.’

‘Poor little boy,’ said Brenda.

They had scarcely spoken to each other since Brenda’s arrival. Tony had driven to the station to meet her; by the time they reached the house Mrs Rattery had gone to bed; that morning she left in her aeroplane without seeing either of them. They heard the machine pass over the house, Brenda in her bath, Tony downstairs in his study attending to the correspondence that had become necessary.

A day of fitful sunshine and blustering wind; white and grey clouds were scarcely moving, high overhead, but the bare trees round the house swayed and shook and there were swift whirlpools of straw in the stable yard. Ben changed from the Sunday suit he had worn at the inquest and went about his duties. Thunderclap, too, had been kicked yesterday and was very slightly lame in the off fore.

Brenda took off her hat and threw it down on a chair in the hall. ‘Nothing to say, is there?’

‘There’s no need to talk.’

‘No. I suppose there’ll have to be a funeral.’

‘Well, of course.’

‘Yes: to-morrow?’

She looked into the morning-room. ‘They’ve done quite a lot, haven’t they?’

All Brenda’s movements were slower than usual and her voice was flat and expressionless. She sank down into one of the armchairs in the centre of the hall, which nobody ever used. She sat there doing nothing. Tony put his hand on her shoulder but she said ‘Don’t’, not impatiently or nervously but without any expression. Tony said, ‘I’ll go and finish those letters.’

‘Yes.’

‘See you at luncheon.’

‘Yes.’

She rose, looked round listlessly for her hat, found it and went very slowly upstairs, the sunlight through the stained-glass windows glowing and sparkling all about her.

In her room she sat on the window seat, looking out across the meadows and dun ploughland, the naked tossing trees, the church towers, the maelstroms of dust and leaf which eddied about the terrace below; she still held her hat and fidgeted with her fingers on the brooch which was clipped to one side of it.

Nanny knocked at the door and came in, red eyed. ‘If you please, my lady, I’ve been going through John’s things. There’s this handkerchief doesn’t belong to him.’

The heavy scent and crowned cipher at the corner proclaimed its origin.

‘I know whose it is. I’ll send it back to her.’

‘Can’t think how it came to be there,’ said nanny.

‘Poor little boy. Poor little boy,’ said Brenda to herself, when nanny had left her, and gazed out across the troubled landscape.



‘I was thinking about the pony, sir.’

‘Oh yes, Ben?’

‘Will you want to be keeping her now?’

‘I hadn’t thought ... no, I suppose not.’

‘Mr Westmacott over at Restall was asking about her. He thought she might do for his little girl.’

‘Yes.’

‘How much shall we be asking?’

‘Oh, I don’t know ... whatever you think is right.’

‘She’s a good little pony and she’s always been treated well. I don’t think she ought to go under twenty-five quid, sir.’

‘All right, Ben, you see about it.’

‘I’ll ask thirty, shall I, sir, and come down a bit?’

‘Do just what you think best.’

‘Very good, sir.’



At luncheon Tony said, ‘Jock rang up. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do.’

‘How sweet of him. Why don’t you have him down for the week-end?’

‘Would you like that?’

‘I shan’t be here. I’m going to Veronica’s.’

‘You’re going to Veronica’s?’

‘Yes, don’t you remember?’

There were servants in the room so that they said nothing more until later, when they were alone in the library. Then, ‘Are you really going away?’

‘Yes. I can’t stay here. You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. I was thinking we might both go away, abroad somewhere.’

Brenda did not answer him but continued in her own line. ‘I couldn’t stay here. It’s all over, don’t you see, our life down here.’

‘Darling, what do you mean?’

‘Don’t ask me to explain ... not just now.’

‘But, Brenda, sweet, I don’t understand. We’re both young. Of course, we can never forget John. He’ll always be our eldest son, but ...’

‘Don’t go on, Tony, please don’t go on.’

So Tony stopped and after a time said, ‘So you’re going to Veronica’s to-morrow?’

‘Mmmm.’

‘I think I will ask Jock to come.’

‘Yes, I should.’

‘And we can think about plans later when we’ve got more used to things.’

‘Yes, later.’

Next morning.

‘A sweet letter from mother,’ said Brenda, handing it across. Lady St Cloud had written:

... I shall not come down to Hetton for the funeral, but I shall be thinking of you both all the time and of my dear grandson. I shall think of you as I saw you all three, together, at Christmas. Dear children, at a time like this only yourselves can be any help to each other. Love is the only thing that is stronger than sorrow ...

‘I got a telegram from Jock,’ said Tony, ‘he can come.’

‘It’s really rather embarrassing for us all, Brenda coming,’ said Veronica. ‘I do think she might have chucked. I shan’t in the least know what to say to her.’



Tony said to Jock, as they sat alone after dinner, ‘I’ve been trying to understand, and I think I do now. It’s not how I feel myself, but Brenda and I are quite different in lots of ways. It’s because they were strangers and didn’t know John, and were never in our life here, that she wants to be with them. That’s it, don’t you think? She wants to be absolutely alone and away from everything that reminds her of what has happened ... all the same I feel awful about letting her go. I can’t tell you what she was like here ... quite mechanical. It’s so much worse for her than it is for me, I see that. It’s so terrible not being able to do anything to help.’

Jock did not answer.



Beaver was staying at Veronica’s. Brenda said to him, ‘Until Wednesday, when I thought something had happened to you, I had no idea that I loved you.’

‘Well you’ve said it often enough.’

‘I’m going to make you understand,’ said Brenda. ‘You clod.’



On Monday morning Tony found this letter on his breakfast tray.

Darling Tony,

I am not coming back to Hetton. Grimshawe can pack everything and bring it to the flat. Then I shan’t want her any more.

You must have realized for some time that things were going wrong.

I am in love with John Beaver and I want to have a divorce and marry him. If John Andrew had not died things might not have happened like this. I can’t tell. As it is, I simply can’t begin over again. Please do not mind too much. I suppose we shan’t be allowed to meet while the case is on but I hope afterwards we shall be great friends. Anyway, I shall always look on you as one whatever you think of me.

Best love from

Brenda.

When Tony read this his first thought was that Brenda had lost her reason. ‘She’s only seen Beaver twice to my knowledge,’ he said.

But later he showed the letter to Jock, who said, ‘I’m sorry it should have happened like this.’

‘But it’s not true, is it?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid it is. Everyone has known for some time.’

But it was several days before Tony fully realized what it meant. He had got into a habit of loving and trusting Brenda.