Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
Being Some Further Investigations of Christopher Quarles
1916
Sir Grenville Rusholm, Baronet, was dead. The blinds were down at theLodge, Queen's Square. For the last few days lengthy obituary notices hadappeared in all the papers, innumerable wreaths and crosses had arrivedat the house, and letters of sympathy and condolence had poured in uponLady Rusholm. The dead man had filled a considerable space in the socialworld, although politically he had counted for little. Politics were nothis metier, he had said. He had consistently refused to stand forparliament, his wealth had supported neither party, and perhaps hissocial success was due more to his wife's charm than to his ownimportance.
To-day the funeral was to take place. By his own desire his body was notbeing taken to Moorlands, the family seat in Gloucestershire, but was tobe buried at Woking. The family chapel did not appeal to him. Indeed, hehad never spent much of his time at Moorlands, preferring his yacht orthe Continent when he was not at Queen's Square.
Last night the coffin had been brought downstairs and placed in the largedrawing-room, the scene of many a brilliant function, although by day itwas a somewhat dreary apartment. The presence of the coffin there addedto the depression, and the scent of the flowers was almost overpowering.
Many of the mourners were going direct to Woking, but there was a largenumber of guests at the house who were received by the young baronet.Naturally, Sir Arthur was of a sunny disposition, and his personality andexpectations had made him a favorite in society since he had leftCambridge a year ago. To-day his face was more than grave. It was drawnas if he were in physical pain, and it was evident how keenly he felt hisfather's death. Lady Rusholm did not appear until the undertakers enteredthe house. She came down the wide stairs, a pathetic figure in her deepmourning, heavier than present-day fashion has made customary. She spoketo no one, but went straight to the drawing-room and, standing justinside the doorway, watched the men whose business is with death, as ifshe feared some indignity might be offered to her dear one. In a fewmoments her husband must pass out of that room for ever, and it washardly wonderful if she visualized for an instant the many occasions onwhich he had been a central figure th