Today, we have a short story by Yang Hsu, who introduces it as follows:
This was the first story I wrote for my extended project. Implied to be set in the early 20th century, it tells the story of a Duchess, who, several years prior to the time of the story, was involved in an unspecified ‘incident’ (some sort of scandal or affair). Evidence of her involvement, in the form of papers, has now made its way into the hands of another person, Winston Blenthorpe, who uses this as blackmail to extort money from her to fund his own extravagant lifestyle.
I was inspired by the writings of Saki, who often focussed on people of a similar social class and time as my own story, examining their petty squabbles and interactions. I found writing this story a new and very positive experience and I hope you enjoy reading my story as much as I enjoyed writing it.'
The Papers
Winston Blenthorpe was a man who, having spent most of his youth living precariously within the income of his many acquaintances (and far beyond that of his own), had suddenly endeavoured to purchase a country house in Devon. In this undertaking he was not assisted by any of his wide circle of associates, but by the Duchess of Smeaton, who for her own part paid out of a well-honed sense of self-preservation rather than any goodwill or generosity. Several years earlier the Duchess had been involved in an unfortunate incident, and evidence of her role, in the form of some small pieces and manuscripts of paper, had gradually made its way into Blenthorpe’s hands. A more garrulous soul might have felt compelled to report the true nature of Lord Durberry’s death, but Blenthorpe’s conscience was apt to bouts of reticence when money was involved. Thus the scandal was kept quiet, and in return the Duchess merely had to hand over a hideous sum of money on occasion. As for Blenthorpe, his expenditures did not seem to rise significantly, but several friends and family members noted that they had been called upon noticeably less in recent times to perform the annual familial duties of entertaining and sustaining him. The general consensus amongst them was that it was best not to question this too vigorously, for fear of provoking unwanted interest from Blenthorpe.
“We have to do something about him,’ said the Duchess to her husband one morning. “First that villa in Florence and then that ridiculous automobile - now this! And I refuse to fund that boy’s gambling habit any longer: if he goes into debt, then serves him right for playing.”
Egbert had not been involved in the affair; his wife had deemed him of insufficient strength of character to be of any use - she had been proven right when he found out about the incident and had insufficient strength of character to do anything about it.
“But Amanda, dear, you’ve already begged him to get rid of the evidence and he hasn’t stopped. We would only look more foolish if we continued to ask.”
The Duchess made the mental comment that her husband had already seemed to peak in this aspect. “Don’t be silly Egbert - he’s not going to dispose of the evidence out of the kindness of his heart. We’re going to have to destroy it ourselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re going to have to kill him.”
Egbert turned white from the neck upwards, partly out of shock, mostly perturbed by all the violent images that the idea conjured. “Here now, wait a minute - ”
“He’ll be staying at his new country house for a few nights next week. He’s yet to start looking for a cook or any other servants so the place should be relatively empty. It would be easy to get on the grounds at night and start a fire.”
“But Amanda,” cried Egbert, “Good heavens … you can’t … surely we don’t have to kill him?”
“He keeps the evidence on him at all times. Besides, he knows about everything already. He could still blackmail or reveal us to the public without the evidence.’
Egbert lapsed into a further bout of spluttering.
“You’ll have to make the arrangements,” the Duchess decided, “That idiot nephew Hector of mine is coming to stay for the next fortnight from today. I’m going to have to keep him entertained the whole time.”
In response, Egbert promptly turned an even paler shade of white. By lunchtime, he was still looking poorly, and was notably absent at dinner, possibly due to Hector’s remark during lunch that the mashed peas had a particularly healthy complexion that day (Hector, a renowned prankster, took particular pleasure in watching his uncle-in-law squirm with discomfort). In the end the Duchess hired her butler’s cousin to carry out the deed.The night was windy and the house soon caught fire, as gusts from across the moors fanned the raging flames. By morning, the villa had been completely burned down. Police searching through the rubble of Blenthorpe’s house declared the arson to be a case of militant suffrage.
‘How unfortunate, for a man so young to die,’ the Duchess remarked to Hector at dinner several days later. ‘Something really ought to be done about these suffragettes. I’m not opposed to their cause, it’s just they needn’t express their opinions in such a violent manner. The whole house was razed to the ground by the fire - I doubt anything remains of his belongings.’
‘Not quite,’ interjected Hector, producing a sheaf of papers from his breast-pocket. ‘Among the debris of the house, they found a small container which had managed to survive the fire. It contained evidence of a rather distasteful scandal that you may recall happened a few years ago.’
The Duchess, forgetting to maintain her composure momentarily, stared at Hector. ‘And was this document you have found in the container?’
Hector held out the papers carelessly, proffering them to the Duchess. Her eyes followed the movement greedily. ‘It contains all the evidence needed to incriminate you, along with several other well-known people.’
The Duchess snatched the papers in one hasty motion and flung them rudely into the fireplace, where they shrivelled and blackened under the bright flames.
Hector watched this with evident amusement. He continued, ‘The document you just threw into the fire did completely prove your involvement, and it is highly compromising. Indeed, it is not the original sheaf of papers found in the container, but a clipping from The Daily Reporter which is to be published tomorrow morning. I believe the first copies have already been printed off. I managed to get this early off a friend of mine, who told me that the headline of tomorrow’s edition might be of particular interest to you.’
The Duchess, having departed to Ireland to hide out the inevitable commotion, successfully avoided the attentions of the public, although this did not stop a letter getting through demanding that the Duchess pay for the rebuilding of Blenthorpe’s house if she wished to avoid public inquiry. The letter was sent by Hector, who spent the money on an apartment in Kensington and a newly for sale villa in Florence.
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