Murder Goes Mumming by Charlotte MacLeod

between himself and Lawrence. “One false move and I’ll sue you for alienation of affections. Lawrence will handle the case, I’m sure. Anyway, Janet’s already received the gypsy’s warning about being lured away by richer and handsomer men. Your aunt says she’s stuck with me for keeps.”
    “Aunt Addie had better watch out or I’ll send the Phantom Ship after her. All right, Janet, you had your chance and you muffed it.”
    Cyril picked up his wine glass and waved it over his head. “Come, Ludo, fill the flowing bowl until it doth run over. For tonight we’ll merry, merry be, tomorrow we’ll be sober. You will, that is. I shan’t. Drink, drink, drink to the eyes are—whatever eyes are.”
    “Bloodshot, in your case,” said his sister. “Shut up and eat.”
    “What’s all this garbage about getting me to eat? Something up your sleeve, Maysie? A pinch of arsenic, for instance? I think I’m going to get myself a taster. How about it, Lawrence?”
    “Yeah, Uncle Lawrence would make a good taster.”
    That was Winny, and it was virtually the only remark Rhys had heard him utter so far. His brother poked him in the ribs and they got into a sit-down boxing match which their father ordered them to stop.
    “Let them alone,” said Squire indulgently. “Boys will be boys.”
    “These two won’t be for much longer unless they straighten up and fly right,” Cyril contradicted his father. “Do you two care to start acting like young gentlemen for a change, or would you rather start walking to Dalhousie?”
    “Who’s going to make us?” Franny demanded, ignoring his own father’s glare.
    “He who has been sucker enough to foot your bills up till about two seconds ago,” Cyril replied. “Shape up or ship out, lads. The gravy train is no longer running. Ludovic, my glass.”
    “Cyril, I don’t think you fully understood the ramifications of what we’ve been discussing,” Lawrence began. “In point of fact, you do not …”
    “In point of fact, I do, my dear brother-in-law. If you don’t agree, I’m sure I can find myself a lawyer who does.”
    “Herbert, where do we keep the Mickey Finns?” said May. “All right, Cyril, your nephews will now kiss the hem of your garment in abject apology. Or would you prefer to have them wait till they’ve finished eating, in case of gravy stains? Ludovic, for goodness’ sake keep ’em coming till he’s drunk himself either sociable or insensible, which in Cyril’s case would be synonymous. Right, you old soak?”
    She ruffled her brother’s hair affectionately and squawked her parrot at him. Cyril gave her a wobbly nod.
    “Good effort, May. I’ll unravel your name from the scarf I’m knitting.”
    “Thank you, brother dear. Anyone for ham? Better grab it quick before Uncle Cyril says you can’t have any more.”
    “Oh, Uncle Cyril wouldn’t begrudge little Vallie a weentsy slice.”
    His niece gave him a smile that would have been more effective if Uncle Cyril hadn’t had his eyes closed. He was undoubtedly at the passing-out stage by now. Everybody was eager to make it known they realized he was and that allowances must be made accordingly.
    “I’m afraid Cyril feels the loss of his grandmother terribly,” Babs murmured to Madoc, who happened to have her on the side where Janet wasn’t. “People do show odd reactions to stress sometimes, don’t they.”
    Rhys agreed that they did and expressed the opinion that Cyril would feel better after he’d had a little nap. In fact he thought Cyril was feeling pretty rosy already. It would be interesting to find out what had gone on behind that library door this morning. Thanks to Ludovic’s attack of confidentiality, he thought he could guess. Squire might have brought up his sons in the not unnatural misapprehension that their father was the actual as well as the acting head of Graylings. Perhaps Cyril had only this morning learned, as a result of whatever legal formalities Granny’s death had