Final Curtain by Ngaio Marsh Page B

spoke the truth, ‘to do anything so silly and unkind.’
    â€˜I’ve loved that child,’ said Sir Henry with the appallingly rich display of sentiment so readily commanded by the Ancreds, ‘as if she was my own. My little Best-Beloved, I’ve always called her. I’ve never made any secret of my preference. After I’m gone,’ he went on to Troy’s embarrassment, ‘she would have known—however.’ He sighed windily. Troy could think of nothing to say and cleaned her palette. The light from the single uncovered window had faded. Sir Henry had switched off the stage lamps and the little theatre was now filled with shadows. A draught somewhere in the borders caused them to move uneasily and a rope-end tapped against the canvas backcloth.
    â€˜Do you know anything about embalming?’ Sir Henry asked in his deepest voice. Troy jumped.
    â€˜No, indeed,’ she said.
    â€˜I have studied the subject,’ said Sir Henry, ‘deeply.’
    â€˜Oddly enough,’ said Troy after a pause, ‘I did look at that queer little book in the drawing-room. The one in the glass case.’
    â€˜Ah, yes. It belonged to my ancestor who rebuilt Ancreton. He himself was embalmed and his fathers before him. It has been the custom with the Ancreds. The family vault,’ he rambled on depressingly, ‘is remarkable for that reason. If I lie there—the Nation may have other wishes: it is not for me to speculate—but if I lie there, it will be after their fashion. I have given explicit directions.’
    â€˜I do wish,’ Troy thought, ‘ how I do wish he wouldn’t go on like this.’ She made a small ambiguous murmuring.
    â€˜Ah, well!’ said Sir Henry heavily and began to move away. He paused before mounting the steps up to the stage. Troy thought that he was on the edge of some further confidence, and hoped that it would be of a more cheerful character.
    â€˜What,’ said Sir Henry, ‘is your view on the matter of marriage between first cousins?’
    â€˜I—really, I don’t know,’ Troy replied, furiously collecting her wits. ‘I fancy I’ve heard that modern medical opinion doesn’t condemn it. But I really haven’t the smallest knowledge—’
    â€˜I am against it,’ he said loudly. ‘I cannot approve. Look at the Hapsburgs! The House of Spain! The Romanoffs!’ His voice died away in an inarticulate rumble.
    Hoping to divert his attention Troy began: ‘Panty—’
    â€˜Hah!’ said Sir Henry. ‘These doctors don’t know anything. Patricia’s scalp! A common childish ailment, and Withers, having pottered about with it for weeks without doing any good, is now going to dose the child with a depilatory. Disgusting! I have spoken to the child’s mother, but I’d have done better to hold my tongue. Who,’ Sir Henry demanded, ‘pays any attention to the old man? Nobody. Ours is an Ancient House, Mrs Alleyn. We have borne arms since my ancestor, the Sieur d’Ancred, fought beside the Conqueror. And before that. Before that. A proud house. Perhaps in my own humble way I have not disgraced it. But what will happen when I am Gone? I look for my Heir and what do I find? A Thing! An emasculated Popinjay!’
    He evidently expected some reply to this pronouncement on Cedric, but Troy was quite unable to think of one.
    â€˜The last of the Ancreds!’ he said, glaring at her. ‘A family that came in with the Conqueror to go out with a—’
    â€˜But,’ said Troy, ‘he may marry and…’
    â€˜And have kittens! P’shaw!’
    â€˜Perhaps Mr Thomas Ancred…’
    â€˜Old Tommy! No! I’ve talked to old Tommy. He doesn’t see it. He’ll die a bachelor. And Claude’s wife is past it. Well; it was my hope to know the line was secure before I went. I shan’t.’
    â€˜But, bless my