suddenly recognised it. ‘My God, it’s a wedding ring! Bianca, it’s your wedding ring! Your wedding ring!’
Finally summoned by the shouting, Mrs. Prothero walked in through an opposite door, and wanted to know what the fuss was all about. Both men began at once.
‘The dress doesn’t fit!’ ranted Phillip.
‘She is Bianca! This proves it!’ raved Silas.
‘I stepped in to make sure everything was going well with the fitting, and Daphne had actually burst open two seams!’
‘It’s Bianca’s wedding ring! There’s no doubt about it! She stuck it inside a cake and made me eat it!’
‘I’ve been telling her for weeks to cut down her portions and stop snacking, but she must have been feasting away while my back was turned!’
‘Why doesn’t she just come clean and admit she’s Bianca? There was no need to ram her wedding ring down my throat!’
Mrs. Prothero put a hand on Silas’s shoulder, and the other on Phillip’s. ‘That’s very unlucky,’ she said.
‘Unlucky!’ they both howled at once.
‘We’re getting married tomorrow, and my bride looks like one huge hideous bulge!’
‘I might have choked to death! She’s acting like a mad woman!’
‘Phillip Pevensey,’ scolded Mrs. Prothero. ‘Don’t you dare refer to your fiancée in that way. I meant it’s very unlucky to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony. It sounds like the superstition has proved true in your case. Silas, it’s very unlucky that a piece of jewellery fell into your food, but there’s no need to make that an excuse to level accusations of insanity at people, while giving a fair impression of insanity yourself. Now then, boys, bite your tongues if you please! Phillip, get in your car, drive into town and buy me a new thimble. I can’t find my old one anywhere. In the meantime you can rest assured that I’ll do my best to repair the dress and make it as beautiful as possible, but you won’t see the results until tomorrow. Do you understand? And when you get back you can make a grovelling apology to Daphne. Silas, stop scowling. Let me see that ring. I think it does look familiar— Phillip?’
He cast an impatient glance at the soiled bit of gold, and then opened his eyes wide in horror. ‘That’s Daphne’s ring! Where did you get it? What have you done with it?’
‘I chewed it, and nearly lost half my teeth! And I didn’t get it anywhere— I was given it by her.’
He whirled around to accuse, but the lady in question had vanished during the furore.
Phillip tried to snatch the wedding ring, but Mrs. Prothero clamped it in her fist. ‘Phillip! Thimble!’ she commanded. ‘I’ll polish the ring as good as new, and give it back to your— let’s say, rather absent minded— best man. Silas, come with me.’
She hurried him upstairs.
‘Poor Daphne,’ she commented as they went, ‘that dress doesn’t suit her shape at all— I suppose Phillip had more than a hand in choosing it. As soon as she put it on I could see it would need drastic altering— that’s why I ran to get my sewing kit. The silly girls must have tried to fasten it up while I was gone and split the seams. Well, all is not lost! I’m sure I can match that material from an old costume, and I’ll put a panel in the back so she can breathe. Here,’ she opened the door of a little-frequented lumber room. ‘There are some fancy-dress clothes in that trunk on top of the wardrobe. I’m sure the gown I’m thinking of is in there. Will you fetch it down for me?’
Silas negotiated his way through the assorted boxes and stacks of disused furniture to the large wardrobe indicated, and heaved down a substantial leather trunk. As he placed it on the floor, Mrs. Prothero threw open the lid and immediately gave a satisfied cry. Delving in, she picked out a long ivory satin slip and carried it over to the window to examine its colour in the light.
‘This will do perfectly. Would you believe I once fitted into this? I couldn’t get one leg in it nowadays. It’s done its duty for many a fancy-dress ball over the years— Smith wore it as Jean Harlow once— and now I’m sure it’ll serve for Daphne’s dress beautifully. If I cut from here I’ll probably be able to salvage it to do another ball one day, too.’
Silas’s agitation had subsided into a reverie, and he did not reply. The incident with the ring may have been an accident after all, but it seemed too contrived. What confused him was the meaning of it, if it was intentional? Why do it? Why not just confront him outright, if she had something to say? These puzzles threw him back into doubt. Perhaps he was wrong about Smith being Bianca. During their last conversation she was different: he was reminded of his first, engaging spars with Bianca when they were falling in love; but with Smith there was something unfamiliar, intriguing. Her voice, her looks, even some of her intonations were exactly the same as Bianca’s; but her spirit, her humour and seductive guile were all new. He was attracted by these changes; but the fact that they were changes from the Bianca he remembered also repulsed him. If she would be his own Bianca, as she had appeared during her night-time visits, he would be happy; or if she would become this Smith altogether and lose all traces of his lost wife, he would be happy too— but such blurring of both was maddening.
Just then, and opportunely for his train of thought, the door of the wardrobe, unfastened by the movement of the trunk from its place, swung slowly open. Inside were more costumes, hung up and packed tightly together; but part of one garment caught his eye. In excited astonishment he found its hanger and dragged it out: a magnificent gown, which fell in sumptuous folds to the ground, and shone, even in the indifferent light of the lumber room, with bright warmth.
‘What’s this? What’s this?’ he asked urgently.
Mrs. Prothero smiled affectionately. ‘Oh! My masterpiece, if I do say so myself. Isn’t it lovely? I made if for Bianca’s twenty-first birthday party. You didn’t come to that— I don’t remember where you were at the time. She looked heavenly.’
‘But this dress,’ he urged, ‘it’s exactly like the one I saw her wearing up at the monument— and the one she wore last night. It’s not the same colour as those— this is much brighter— but they’re all the same style. Where are the other two?’
‘What on earth are you talking about? What other two?’
‘The dresses she wore last night and the night before.’
‘Silas, you’re starting to worry me. There are no other dresses like this one. The night you camped out you had a dream about Bianca— I thought we established that? I expect you’ve seen pictures from her birthday party when she wore this dress, and that’s what put it in your head.’
‘But I saw her again, last night, wearing another dress similar to this. She came into my room and woke me up.’
Mrs. Prothero sighed. ‘Was it Smithy goading you? I’ll speak to her about it.’
‘Of course it was— and up at the monument too, wearing a different outfit each time. Your Smithy and my Bianca are one and the same person.’
His godmother merely shook her head in despair. ‘Silas,’ she began, ‘how can I convince you—?’
‘I’ll convince you,’ he interrupted. ‘I don’t know where she’s hidden the other dresses, but I’ve got my hands on this one. I’m going to confront “Smith” with it and make her admit who she really is.’
‘Why didn’t you confront her when she visited you last night?’
‘I— I’m not sure. I was half asleep. And she looked so like— God, do you think it’s easy for me to see her? As far as I’m concerned, she’s risen from the dead!’
‘Silas. You will never convince me that Smith is Bianca, and you can be sure you’ll never convince Smith! You must let go, Silas, you must. Bianca’s gone. She can’t come back, no matter how much you want it.’
‘I don’t want it,’ he said, screwing the fabric in his hands. ‘I would have recovered— I would have forgiven myself eventually— time would have done it. But seeing her again, haunting me, twisting the knife— I can’t stand it! It’s got to stop— I’ve got to pin her down. She must believe I don’
t love her— that I ran off without a care when I thought she was dead— but I do love her, Mrs. P, more than ever, and in new ways. If I can just make her listen, make her understand me! But while she’s acting this part, how can I?’
‘Silas, do you think I’m acting a part? Do you think I’m in on some conspiracy against you?’
Mrs. Prothero looked so annoyed and distressed as she asked this, that Silas was forced to reconsider. If Bianca really was impersonating someone else, Mrs. Prothero must be a party to the scheme; but he could hardly credit that she would be so deceitful. Nevertheless, she was capable of subterfuge, he knew her well enough to believe that. The supposedly missing thimble, for instance, was already back on her finger. But he trusted that her motives for it would turn out to be good. She might well promote Bianca’s designs if she thought they were well intentioned. But what were those designs? Again and again his conviction that she had fabricated the reports of her death was at odds with the perplexities of her conduct over the past few days— her reasons bewildered him.
He sat down on the edge of the trunk. ‘Last night it was Bianca. I swear it. I knew her. As to this Smith woman— I admit I’m not so certain. She’s like Bianca— incredibly like her— and yet she’s not. So why do I feel so strongly about her? What am I supposed to think?’
‘I’m amazed you can think at all, your
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