Old Lanscambe trudged along, drawing the shutters from room to room.His sticky eyes looked out of the window from time to time, squeezing out the wrinkles all over his face.They were almost back from the crematorium.His old steps quickened a little.There are so many windows. "Sdeby House" is a large Victorian Gothic building.The drapes in every room were rich brocade or velvet, and some of the walls were still hung with silk, though these were faded with age.The old master and servant came to the green-toned living room and looked up at the portrait of old Guineluus Abernether on the mantelpiece, for whom "Sdeby House" was built.Guineluus Abernether's brown beard is bent forward menacingly, and one hand rests on a globe, whether it is at his own request or the painter's symbolism.

A very strong-looking gentleman, old Lanscamber always thought so, and was glad he hadn't seen him in person.His idea of ​​a gentleman is Mr. Richard.Mr. Richard was a good master, but he was suddenly called by God. Of course, the doctor treated him for a short time, but he went anyway.Alas, the death of little Mr. Mortimer was such a shock to my master, that he was very helpless.The old man shook his head and hurried across the porch into the white boudoir.Tragic, that was a great tragedy.Such a young gentleman, so strong and healthy, that you never dreamed that such a thing could happen to him.Poor, really poor.And Mr. Gordon was killed in the war. Unfortunately, one after another, the current situation is like this, and the master can't bear it.Yet, a week ago, he had looked all right.

The third shutter in the white boudoir would not go up, and jammed when it was raised a little.Weak springs - that's it - so old, these shutters, like everything else in the house.And there's no way you'll get someone to fix it, "too old-fashioned," they'll say, and shake their heads contemptuously -- as if old stuff isn't new at all!He can tell them that the old stuff is so much better than the new stuff!Most of the new gadgets these days are swanky but useless things—it's over as soon as you get your hands on it.The material is not good, and the craftsmanship is not as good as there.Ah, yes he could tell them that.

Unless you bring a ladder, there's really nothing you can do about this shutter.He doesn't like climbing ladders these days, it makes him dizzy.Just let it get stuck there, it doesn't matter, anyway, the white boudoir is not facing the front of the house, it can't be seen by people in the car returning from the funeral - and it doesn't seem to be used now.It was a lady's boudoir, and Enderby hadn't seen a lady for a long time.It is a pity that Mr. Mortimer is not married.Always going fishing in Norway, hunting in Scotland, or winter sports in Switzerland, instead of marrying a gentle and virtuous lady, settling down, watching the children run around the house, and enjoying family happiness.The house had not seen a child for a long time.

Lanscamber's mind was clear about a time in the past -- a time that was more clearly imprinted on his mind than the past twenty years or so.The past twenty years have been a blur and chaos, and he doesn't quite remember who came or what the person looked like.But he clearly remembered the old days twenty years ago. To the younger siblings, Mr. Richard seemed less like a brother than a father.When his father died, he was twenty-four years old. He immediately took over his father's business, went out to work on time like clockwork every day, and allowed the family to continue to live a prosperous and sufficient life.A very happy family with a growing little lady and little gentleman.Quarrels and fights from time to time are of course inevitable, and those governesses are having a hard time!Poor governesses, Lanscombe always despised them.The energy of those little ladies was really great, especially Miss Gilaldin, and Miss Cora, though she was much younger.And now Mr. Leo is dead, and Miss Laura is gone too.Mr. Timothy has become a sad cripple.Miss Gillette died overseas.Mr. Gordon died in the war.Though Mr. Richard was the oldest, he became the strongest of his brothers and sisters, and outlived them all--though not the longest, because Mr. Timothy was still alive and married to a Delightful artist's little Miss Cora, whom he hadn't seen for twenty-five years, who was a pretty little girl when she ran off with that guy, and now he hardly recognizes her, so crazy Fat--and dressed so pretentiously, with the air of an artist!Her husband was French, or French--there was no end to marrying one of their kind!But Miss Kerner has always been a little -- oh, childish, or "honest," to put it nicely.There's always going to be one of these in a family.

She still remembers him. "Why, this ain't Lanscombe!" She seemed pleased to see him.Ah, in those old days, they all liked him.Whenever there was a party, they would crawl to the pantry and he would offer them jelly or quiche from the trays he brought out from the dining room.They all knew old Lanscombe, and hardly anyone remembered him now.He really can't remember these younger generations, and they just treat him as a master and servant who has been here for a long time.When they first came to the funeral, he thought what he saw was a crowd of strangers--a crowd of unpleasant strangers!

That doesn't include Mrs. Leo -- she's not like them.She had been here on and off since she married Leo.She's a good lady, Mrs. Leo--a real lady.Well-dressed and with an elegant hairdo, she looks befitting of her status.The master has always liked her.It's a pity that she and Mr. Leo have no children... Lanscambe pulled himself back from the memory; with so much to do, what was he doing standing there thinking those old days?Downstairs the blinds were drawn, and he should have sent Jenny upstairs to tidy the bedrooms.He, Jenny, and the cook all went to the funeral in the church, but did not follow on to the crematorium.They came back to draw the mourning shutters and prepare lunch.Lunch, of course, must be served cold: ham, chicken, ox tongue and salad, followed by lemon soufflé and apple tart.Hot soup first—he'd better go see if Maggiona is ready, they'll be back in a minute or two.

Lanscamber quickened his pace suddenly and crossed the room.His vacant gaze fell right upon the portrait on the mantelpiece--a paired portrait with the one in the living room.The white silk clothes and pearls are well drawn in the painting, and the figures in the painting are outweighed by their attire.The docile features, the rosebud mouth, the hair parted in the middle.A humble and quiet woman.The only thing worth noting about Mrs. Guineluus Abernether was her name—Galory. For more than sixty years since their beginnings, the Galloly Flour family business, together with their associated shoe company, has continued to live up to its name.No one could tell what was special about their family - but they were the stuff of popular imagination.This neo-Gothic luxurious building with several acres of large gardens was built with the donation of the Galloly family.At the same time, regular distributions of money to seven children made Richard Abernether, who died three days ago, a very wealthy man.

Lan Scamber poked his head into the kitchen to warn the people inside to get their lunch ready, but was scolded by Maggiona, who slammed the kitchen door on his face.Maggiona was still young, only twenty-seven years old, and had always been a thorn in Lanscambe's side, because she was not his idea of ​​a cook.She didn't know how to respect his position.She often referred to the house as a "spooky old mansion" and complained that the kitchen was too large, combined with a washing area and a storeroom, and that "it would take a day to walk through it from beginning to end".She had been at Enderby for two years, and she stayed partly because of the good pay and partly because Mrs Abernethy really appreciated her cooking.Her dishes are very good.Jenny, who was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea, was an old maid. Although she often took pleasure in bickering with Lan Scamber, she usually took a united front with him against the younger generation represented by Maggiona.The other one in the kitchen was Mrs. Jax, who came in when she needed help in the kitchen, and she thought funerals were fun.

"Beautiful," she said, filling another cup of tea, sniffing it tastefully, "nineteen cars, full of people, beautiful prayers from the vicar, I think. A fine day for a funeral. Ah, poor Mr. Abernethir, there are not many good people like him in the world. Everyone respects him." A car horn sounded, and Mrs. Jax put down her teacup and called, "They're back." Maggiona turned on the gas stove under a large pot of cream of chicken soup.The great Victorian stove stood aside like a bygone altar. Cars stopped one after another, and people dressed in black got out one by one, and walked a little restlessly through the hall into the large green-toned living room.The fire in the large stainless steel fireplace is burning fiercely, intending to disperse the coolness of early autumn, and then wave away the bleak atmosphere of the funeral.

Lan Scamber came in, carrying a silver tray of sherry, which he distributed glass by glass to the drawing-room.Mr. Entwhistle, one of the stockholders of the long-established and reputable Bernard Entwhistle & Company, stood with his back to the fireplace for warmth.He took a glass of sherry and surveyed the living room with his shrewd lawyer's eye.He doesn't know everyone, and he has to figure them out.The introductions before the funeral were rushed and sloppy. Assessing old Lanscamber first, Mr. Entwhistle thought, 'Getting very weak, poor old chap--nearly ninety, I think. Well, he's going to get a decent pension. He has nothing to worry about. What servants, sitters, God help us! Miserable world. Maybe poor Richard is better off not living long enough, there's nothing left to keep him alive." To Mr. Entwhistle, who was seventy-two, Richard Abernether died at sixty-eight, indeed before his death.Mr. Entwhistle had semi-retired two years ago, but as the executor of Richard Abernether's will, and for a long-time customer and friend, he did not hesitate to travel long distances to come here. As he recalled the terms of the will, he evaluated the family members. Mrs. Leo, Helen, of course, he knew her well.A very attractive woman whom he liked and respected.His eyes were now resting on her approvingly.She is standing by a window.Black suits her.She's in great shape.He liked her sharp features, her gray hair brushed back from her temples, her once cornflower eyes, still quite bright blue.How old is Helen now?About fifty one or two, he thought.Strange that she did not remarry after Leo's death.A charming woman.Ah, but they are very loving couples. His eyes moved to Mrs. Timothy.He doesn't know her well.Black didn't suit her—she was wearing a country tweed suit.A tall, sensible, capable woman.She has been a faithful and good wife to Timothy.Taking care of his health, worrying about him—maybe a little too much.Is there really something wrong with Timothy?No more than delirium, Mr. Entwhistle suspected.So did Richard Abernether. "Cardiac, of course, he was a kid," he said. "But I don't think there's anything seriously wrong with him now." Of course, everyone has to have a hobby.Timothy's penchant for indulging in his own health.Had Mrs. Timothy been tricked by him?Maybe not—but women never admit to being cheated.Timothy must have been living quite comfortably.He's never been one to cut back.However, additional taxes cannot be escaped—under the current tax system, perhaps he has had to greatly save his living expenses since the post-war period. Mr. Entwhistle turned his attention to Laura's son, George Crossfield.Lola is married to a dubious figure.No one can know much about him.He called himself a stockbroker.George works for a law firm - not a very reputable firm.Young and handsome--but a little dishonest.His life couldn't be easier.Laura is a stupid investor.She died almost penniless five years ago.She is a beautiful and romantic girl, but she doesn't know how to use money.Mr Entwhistle turned his eyes away from George Crosfield.Which one is the next two girls?Oh yes, the one looking at the wax flowers on the malachite table is Rosamund, daughter of Geraldine.Good looking girl, actually beautiful - with a bit of a silly face.Work in acting.An absurd place like a theater with a fixed theater troupe that changes plays in a short period of time.Also married to an actor, handsome guy. "And I know I'm handsome," thought Mr. Entwhistle, who was prejudiced against people who worked in show business. "I really wonder where he came from and what kind of background he has." He stared at the blond, morbidly charming Mike Xue'an disapprovingly. Susan, who is now in his sight, Gordon's daughter, if she is on the stage, she will definitely be much better than Rosamund, with more personality.Perhaps in daily life, it is a little too personal.She was fairly close to him, so he studied her surreptitiously.Black hair, hazel—almost golden—eyes, a melancholy and charming mouth.Beside her was her new husband--a pharmacist's assistant, as far as he knew.Wow, pharmacist assistant!In Mr. Entwhistle's belief, girls were not to marry young men who served behind the counter.But of course, now they marry everybody!The young man with his pale, featureless face and sandy hair seemed very disturbed.Mr. Entwhistle wondered why he was doing this, but in the end mercifully put him down to the strain of seeing so many of his wife's relations. The last subject he observed was Cora Lansquenet.It was only fair that he kept her for last because Cora was the youngest of the family, a daughter born as an afterthought after her parents had decided not to have any more children.She was Richard's youngest sister, born when her mother was just fifty, and that meek woman did not make it through this tenth birth (the other three children died in infancy).Poor little Cora!I've been embarrassing all my life - I'm tall and demented, and I always say something that shouldn't be said out of the blue.Her older siblings were very nice to her, helping her make up for her deficiencies and covering up her social lapses.No one expected Cora to get married.She's not a very attractive girl, and her somewhat overtly aggressive approach to young men often makes them shy away warily.Then, Mr. Entwhistle thought, the Lansquenet thing happened—Pierre Lansquenet, half French, whom she had met by chance when she was studying watercolors and flowers at an art school.She took a life-coaching course instead, met Pierre Lansquenet there, and came home to announce her intention to marry him.Richard Abernether flatly objected—he didn't like what he saw of Pierre Lansquenet, and suspected that he was only after a rich wife.But just as he was investigating Lansquenet's past, Cora ran off with the guy and married him.They spent most of their married life in the places where Bredney and Cornwall and other painters used to live.Lansquenet was a very bad painter and not a very good man, but Cora was all about him and never forgave her family for how they treated him.Richard had generously given his little sister an allowance, on which Mr Entwhistle believed they lived.He wondered if Lan Squenet had ever made a dime.He must be dead twelve years now, thought Mr. Entwhistle.Now here is his widow, sort of a bolster, in a black dress with artistic cutouts and jet beads, back in her childhood home, walking around, feeling things, remembering things from her childhood shouted happily.She hadn't put much effort into mourning his brother's death.But Mr. Entwhistle later recalled that Cora had never been faking. Lanscombe re-entered the drawing-room and murmured in a timely voice in a hoarse voice: "Lunch is ready."