‘If you want actors for crowd scenes and so on I can round up the Women’s Institute and put you in touch with every sort of person,’ she went on, perfectly unmoved.
It was by now apparent that Mrs Lace was one of those people whose energies, whilst often boring, are occasionally indispensable. Poppy and Jasper recognized though they deplored this fact. Noel sat in a kind of admiring trance.
‘Now,’ said Mrs Lace briskly, ‘we must all lay our heads together and decide what period this pageant is to be.’
‘A Pageant of Social Unionism,’ said Eugenia at once, ‘the March on Rome, the Death of Horst Wessel, the Burning of the Reichstag, the Presidential Election of Roosevelt.’
‘Very nice, but don’t you think perhaps a trifle esoteric?’ said Jasper.
Mrs Lace looked scornfully at Eugenia. ‘Pageants,’ she said, ‘must be historical. Now I suggest Charles I and Henrietta Maria’s visit to Chalford – it actually happened, you know. They came to Chalford Old Manor, a perfect little Tudor ruin on the edge of the park.’
Jasper observed that a perfect ruin was a contradiction in terms.
Eugenia vetoed the suggestion of Charles I. ‘You can’t have Charles and Henrietta Maria at a Social Unionist rally,’ she said. ‘Cromwell and Mrs Cromwell, if you like – the first Englishman to have the right political outlook.’
‘Nobody ever heard of Mrs Cromwell appearing in a pageant,’ said Noel. ‘It would be simply absurd. Do for goodness’ sake stick to the ordinary pageant characters – Edward I, Florence Nightingale, Good Queen Bess, Hengist and Horsa, the Orange Girl of Old Drury, William Rufus, Sir Philip Sidney, or Rowena, otherwise you’ll find yourselves getting into a fearful muddle.’
‘Oh! I don’t agree with you at all,’ said Mrs Lace, thinking thus to curry favour with Jasper. ‘Do let’s be original, whatever happens.’
Poppy, seeing that the discussion was about to become acrimonious, put an end to it by reminding the others that the idea of a pageant had originated with Lady Chalford, and that therefore it would be a matter of ordinary politeness to let her choose its period. Eugenia said that she must now return home as T.P.O.F. would scold her for going to Chalford with the others if it were found out. ‘Heil Hitler!’ she cried, and swinging herself on to the back of Vivian Jackson she galloped away.
‘Poor little thing, what a bore she is with her stupid Movement,’ said Mrs Lace spitefully.
‘Oh, dear, how I do disagree with you,’ said Jasper. ‘Personally I can’t imagine a more fascinating girl. If all débutantes were like that I should never be away from Pont Street during the summer months.’
‘Such awful clothes,’ said Mrs Lace angrily.
‘Are they? I really hadn’t noticed. In the face of such staggering beauty I suppose little details of that sort are likely to escape one.’
‘And all that Social Unionist nonsense.’
‘Nonsense, is it?’ cried Jasper. ‘Perhaps you are not aware, Madam, that Social Unionism is now sweeping the world as Liberalism swept the world of the eighteenth century. You call it nonsense – in spite of the fact that millions of people are joyfully resigning themselves to its sway. Pray now let us have an attack on the principles of Social Unionism delivered from a standpoint of sense.’
Mrs Lace did not take refuge in silence as a lesser woman might have done. She tossed her head and pronounced that when you find schoolgirls like Eugenia going mad about something you can be pretty sure that it is nonsense.
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow your argument. On the contrary, I believe that Eugenia belongs to a new generation which is going to make a new and better and a cleaner world for old back numbers like you and me to end our days in.’
Mrs Lace winced at this, but returned gallantly to the charge. ‘I am sure we must be very well off as we are. Why do you want to have a lot of changes in the Government of this country?’
‘My dear good Mrs Lace, you must have been keeping company with the local Conservative M.P. Captain Chadlington, I believe, has the honour of representing this part of the world (and a more congenital half-wit never breathed).’
Mrs Lace was not altogether displeased by this allegation. Captain Chadlington and his wife, Lady Brenda, constituted, in fact, a peak of social ambition which she had recently conquered.
‘Well?’ she said, ‘and then?’
‘I suppose that poor baboon has been telling you that we are very well off as we are? Very well off, indeed! I don’t ask you to look at the unemployment figures which are a commonplace. I do point to the lack of genius to be found in the land, whether political, artistic, or literary. I point with scorn to our millionaires, who, not daring to enjoy their wealth, cower in olde worlde cottages, and hope that no one will suspect them of being rich; to the city man grubbing his ill-gotten money in the hopes of achieving this dreary aim, and unable to take an interest in anything but market prices or golf; to the aristocrats who, as Eugenia truly says, prefer the comfort of a luxury flat to the hardship of living on their own land; to the petty adulteries, devoid of passion, which are indulged in by all classes, and to the cowardly pacifism which appears to be the spirit of the age. Nothing grand, nothing individual, nothing which could make anybody suppose that the English were once a fine race, brave, jolly and eccentric. So I say that we need a new spirit in the land, a new civilization, and it is to the Eugenias of this world that I look for salvation. Perhaps that new spirit is called Social Unionism, in any case let us leave no stone unturned. Our need is desperate, we must hail any movement which may relight the spark of vitality in this nation before it is too late, anything which may save us from the paralysing squalor, both mental and moral, from which we are suffering so terribly at present. Germany and Italy have been saved by National Socialism; England might be saved by Social Unionism, who can tell? Therefore I say, “Heil Hitler!” “Viva il Duce!”, and “Miss” – Miss, I’ll have another beer, please.’
7
Lady Marjorie Merrith leant back in the bath that was, so disturbingly, not built in, and covered her smooth white arms with lacy sleeves of soap.
‘You must admit that it’s tiresome of them,’ she said to Poppy who, faithful to her role of confidante, was perched on a chair beside the bath. ‘After all, I particularly said in both my notes that any communications would be forwarded by my bank, and besides, they could easily have found out where we are by now, if they had really wanted to. I do think they might show some sign of life – makes it so awkward for me. What is my next move?’
‘Really, darling, you must decide these things for yourself. It all depends on whether or not you want to marry Osborne – which is it?’
Marjorie said with petulance that she didn’t know. ‘I ran away,’ she continued angrily, ‘to find romance, and I have only found this disgusting bath.’
‘Well, I don’t know what you expect. There are two quite presentable young men staying in this very hotel, much more than you could have hoped for.’
‘I don’t like them.’
‘I never shall understand how you could have left that gorgeous wedding dress.’
‘Well, you know, I have an idea that the fashions will be far prettier next winter. What d’you suppose poor Mummy is doing with the presents?’
‘Keeping them, of course. After all the engagement isn’t broken off in The Times, remember; you’ve got scarlet-fever. I must say I take off my hat to your mother for thinking of that, it lasts six weeks you know, and at the end of that time, if you want to, you will be able to break off your engagement without the smallest scandal. People are far too busy laying each other out in Venice at this time of year to think about your affairs. The duke is evidently playing for time; you won’t have to make up your mind until the hospital trains begin arriving at Victoria after the hols.’
‘Yes, but now what,’ said Lady Marjorie, running in some more hot water. She yelled to make herself heard above the noi
se, ‘I can’t stay in this lousy hole all the summer.’
‘I can’t see why not.’
‘It’s not quite my dish, darling, now is it?’
‘When you come to think of it this pub isn’t at all uncomfortable, and you couldn’t fail to find the local life wildly entertaining if only you would throw yourself into it more.’
‘I can’t do that you see. I don’t like any of the people, except, of course, Eugenia.’
‘Hate them then. Do you a lot of good. You’ve never hated anyone in your life, or loved anyone either. You don’t know the meaning of real emotion, and that’s why you can’t make up your mind about the duke.’
‘I love you,’ said Lady Marjorie.
‘Well, I think perhaps you do,’ said Poppy, ‘there’s nothing radically wrong with your nature, darling, but your upbringing and environment, so far, have been lousy. I never met anybody more unfitted to cope with the ordinary contingencies of life – especially the emotional side of it.’
‘Would you marry Osborne?’
‘I’ve told you a thousand times. These vague romantic impulses won’t do anybody any good, and least of all yourself, it’s not as though you had any real reason for breaking it off. If I were you I should go straight home and say you’re sorry.’
‘I don’t exactly mean would you marry him if you were me. I mean would you marry him if you were you?’
‘Well, I suppose I would. He’s a duke, and I should have a diamond tiara, very nice.’
‘But if he wasn’t a duke?’
‘My darling Marge, the whole thing about Osborne is that he is a duke. People can’t be divorced from their status in life like that. You might as well say if George Robey wasn’t an actor, or if Hitler wasn’t a Führer. They just wouldn’t be Hitler or George Robey, that’s all.’
‘No I suppose they wouldn’t. Then we stay here do we?’
‘Oh! let’s. I tell you this village is a highly interesting place just at present. Besides, I’m enjoying my flip with Mr Aspect a whole heap.’
‘Poppy.’
‘Mm.’
‘Aren’t you still in love with Anthony?’
‘Oh – in love. I don’t really know. I’m extremely angry with him at present, but as for love –’
‘Does he want to marry the girl do you think?’
‘God knows what Anthony wants, ever. If he doesn’t marry her I can promise you that he’ll be eating out of my hand again in a few months’ time. He always comes drearily trundling back to me after these little incidents. But this time I don’t feel at all certain that I’ll take him back. I believe it would be better to make a clean break at last. Sometimes I think I really can’t stand it any longer. You see, supposing he comes back now, fearfully penitent, and rather sweet as he always is, the whole routine will be certain to start again before long. About the beginning of next season, I should think, he will be falling for some awful little débutante, and she’ll have to be in my house morning, noon, and night, with me always about the place as a suitable chaperone. The girl will hate me, because the poor little fool will suppose that I am the only obstacle to her eternal happiness, and I shall be bored into fits by her idiotic chatter. If only he would choose rather more companionable ones I might be able to bear it, or if he would have a straightforward affair with a married woman in her own house – these sentimental attachments to little girls in mine are so humiliating. Really, now I come to think of it, I’m absolutely sick and tired of Anthony St Julien.’
‘Poor sweet. And you’re still in love with him, aren’t you?’ said Lady Marjorie, slowly emerging from her bath into the towel which Poppy was holding out for her.
‘I suppose I am, really. I’ve got into the habit of being in love with him, and you know how hard it is breaking oneself of habits.’
Jasper and Noel meanwhile were sitting in the bar drinking beer, which they fondly supposed would give them an appetite for the joint of beef whose luscious odours were at that very moment floating about the passage, stairs, and landing of the Jolly Roger.
‘Jasper, old boy,’ said Noel, who was in a particularly expansive mood, ‘I really think you might have been nicer to Anne-Marie. She was most awfully upset after you had pitched into her like that over Social Unionism the other day. I told her you didn’t mean a word of what you said, but that you would always take up any standpoint for the sake of an argument.’
‘And that’s not strictly true either. I believe a great deal of what I said, and if I were in any way politically minded, which I’m not, I should most certainly join the Social Unionist Movement.’
‘You have, old boy.’
‘Splendid, so I have. So have you. Fine girl, Eugenia. Incidentally you’re not making much headway with your bride-to-be, are you?’
‘I’ve decided that Eugenia can keep,’ said Noel carelessly. ‘She doesn’t look much like a marrying girl to me at present, a few months one way or the other won’t make all that difference, and in any case I’m potty about Anne-Marie. Don’t you agree that she is an exquisite beauty?’
‘She’s all right,’ said Jasper. ‘Too bitchy for me though. And why full evening dress at tea-time?’
‘It wasn’t full evening dress you idiot, it was a little beach frock.’
‘Well, I reckon we must be a hundred good miles from the nearest beach.’
‘You don’t seem to understand, Jasper. That child never has any fun, never goes to Venice or the South of France like other girls of her age. So, in order to make her life seem more interesting she has to make believe all the time, poor darling.’
‘Like Mrs Thompson you mean?’
‘I’ve a very good mind to take her off to Cannes with me next week.’
‘My dear old boy, now, for God’s sake don’t lose your head. There’s the husband remember.’
‘You don’t have to remind me,’ said Noel, moodily. ‘And from what I hear I should think he’s the divorcing kind too. Sounds a perfect swine. Poor little Anne-Marie, you have no idea what that child has to put up with.’
‘Oh, well, you can have lots of fun down here. Just think of the pageant, garden party, and Grand Social Unionist rally, it will be a perfect riot. Besides, like this you can keep an eye on Eugenia, which seems to me an exceedingly important feature from your point of view, eh what?
‘I say, old boy,’ he added, half rising in his seat and staring out of the window, ‘just come here and take a look at these two chaps would you?’ Noel looked without much interest. Two excessively ordinary men in tweed coats and grey flannel trousers stood outside the Jolly Roger. Two suitcases, which clearly belonged to them, were being removed from a hired car by the boot-boy, and deposited in the hall.
‘This pub will be overflowing soon,’ remarked Noel, in a bored kind of voice.
‘Private detective agents,’ said Jasper.
‘Good heavens! Jasper, do you really think so?’
‘I know it.’
‘How?’
‘By the look of them for one thing. Nobody looks quite so obtrusively ordinary as private detective agents. Besides I’m practically certain the left-hand one is the chap who used to shadow poor little Marigold. She got awfully chummy with him after a bit, allowed him to keep a charcoal brazier inside her garden gate when the weather got bad, and promised to stay at home all Christmas Day so that he could spend it with his kiddies. He liked her a lot after that.’
‘Who can they be after down here?’
‘That’s what I propose to find out, it’s an exceedingly important point because you see it might be any one of us.’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Well, my dear old boy, just consider the situation for a moment. Major Lace, to begin with yourself, may well be feeling jealous; Mr St Julien would be only human if he was wondering why his wife came to this unlikely place; the Duke of Dartford is probably not uninterested in getting the
low-down on Lady Marjorie’s behaviour here, while it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that my Uncle Bradenham may be beginning to guess at the authorship of certain blackmailing letters which he receives from time to time (only when I am on my beam ends, of course, and anyway the old miser jolly well ought to make me a decent allowance).’
‘This is too fearful,’ said Noel. ‘What are we to do?’
‘I’m going to send for the girls, warn them about these dicks, and evolve some plan of action.’
Jasper sent a note up to Poppy’s room, with the boots, who had finished carrying luggage. In it he requested that she and Lady Marjorie should join him in the bar as soon as they were up and dressed.
‘You’d better come along Marge,’ said Poppy, as her friend began to demur at this suggestion. ‘I told you before, you must join in the life here unless you want to die of boredom.’
‘I shall probably be rude to Mr Aspect.’
‘That’s all right, he’ll give as good as he gets. Don’t you worry about him.’
‘Good morning,’ said Jasper, as they walked into the bar a few minutes later. ‘What’s yours?’
‘What’s what?’ said Lady Marjorie.
‘I meant to say that as we are having the unexpected pleasure of your company, my dear lady (running a bit short of face cream, I suppose?) what can we offer you in the shape of a drink? You so rarely assume a vertical position in these days that I imagine you to be in need of alcoholic support when you do.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lady Marjorie coldly. ‘I have been brought up to regard drinking in between meals as a very middle-class habit.’
‘I see, you prefer to get sozzled in the dining-room, I suppose. What’s yours, Miss Smith?’
Poppy said she would like a glass of sherry, and after this had duly been procured Jasper proceeded to impart his news.
‘Now the point is,’ he said, ‘that they may be after any one of us, and it would really be a good thing if we could find out which. The sooner the better in fact, so what we must have now is a little intelligent cooperation. I suggest that after luncheon today Miss Smith here, Noel, and myself, should each go for a long walk in different directions. Lady Marjorie, having lost, it appears, the use of her legs, had better spread a pot of “Ponds” over her face and resume horizontality. Now, private detective agents always behave in a pathetically obvious way, and whichever one of us it is that they are after will certainly find him or herself shadowed by these boys. However fast, however tirelessly one walks, it is impossible to shake them off. On the other hand, if they stay around here we can set our minds at rest. It will only mean that old Dartford is keeping an eye on those gold and diamond hair brushes, and so on.’
The Penguin Complete Novels of Nancy Mitford Page 43