High Rising (VMC)

by Angela Thirkell

  ‘And please destroy the horrible letter and the rubber thing,’ said Laura distractedly. ‘I wish I had never let you keep that letter, Anne. Only don’t burn the rubber, it smells so frightful. Put it in the dust-bin and let’s forget all about it.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll keep it till the Incubus really goes,’ said Anne Todd firmly.

  ‘Oh, very well. I dare say you know best and you have been very clever, but it is all most uncomfortable and mortifying. Oh, do both come to tea on Saturday. The Knoxes are coming and Adrian will be staying with them.’

  ‘And the Incubus?’ asked Anne Todd.

  ‘Oh, yes, I suppose so. It wouldn’t be any good not asking her, would it, because she would just come. And Amy Birkett will be here. She is coming on Friday, so it will be a party. Goodbye, goodbye, it’s all very upsetting.’

  ‘Ought I to have told her?’ asked Anne Todd when Laura had gone.

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter much, but I warn you, Anne, you will get yourself into a nasty tangle if you do much more of this amateur detective work. You’ll be taking people’s fingerprints at tea, next. I won’t bail you out when the Incubus brings an action against you for stealing her rubber stamp.’

  ‘I am the Queen Sleuth,’ said Anne Todd with conviction. ‘I must go to Mother now, or Louisa will give notice. Goodbye, Dr Ford.’

  ‘Not James?’

  ‘No, not James.’

  ‘All right. I’ll make up that prescription and send it round to you. Goodnight.’

  15

  End of an Incubus

  Sibyl’s engagement was naturally the absorbing topic of the following days. Under Laura’s guidance George Knox put the announcement in The Times. Old Mrs Knox wrote from Torquay to say that nothing would induce her to come to the wedding at Low Rising, where there was defective drainage and no electric light, but she sent Sibyl her love and a cheque for five hundred pounds, and told her banker to put all her diamonds at Sibyl’s disposal. Laura promised to take Sibyl up to town as soon as Tony was back at school, and help her to buy clothes. George Knox enjoyed himself immensely, helping Sibyl to unpack the wedding presents which began to pour in, and losing the cards which accompanied them, while Miss Grey, radiating good-humour, retrieved the cards and typed out lists of people to be thanked. George also began to plan elaborate additions to Low Rising for the benefit of his grandchildren, all of which Sibyl, who was used to dogs, took very calmly. Adrian and Sibyl wrote every day and blocked the local line with trunk calls. Johns and Fairfield sent Sibyl an edition of her father’s works so gorgeously bound that they shut again like mousetraps whenever they were opened, and it was impossible to read them unless, following Caliban’s Guide to Letters, one bent them backwards till they cracked. But this, as Sibyl affectionately said, didn’t matter a bit, because she never read darling Daddy’s books. George Knox, however, was thrown into a fever of rage because he would never be able to find out whether the binding had come off his royalties. Tony, having seen Master Wesendonck off, shut himself up for two days and produced a wedding address in extremely incorrect Latin, using the Greek alphabet. This he read aloud to Stoker, Mrs Mallow, Mr Brown of the garage, Sid Brown of the railway, Mr Knox’s cook, Mr Knox’s Annie and Mr Knox’s Annie’s mother. It was universally agreed by these critics that he was a real little gentleman. Young Flo, who was accidentally included in a reading at which Stoker and Mrs Mallow were present, so far forgot herself as to say he was a brainy kid, but was severely snubbed by her elders.

  The wedding was to take place early in June, and Stoker produced a hitherto unknown piece of folklore in the shape of a rhyme running:

  Marry in June,

  You’ll have ’em many and soon.

  Lord Stoke, a passionate antiquarian, on hearing from Dr Ford of this interesting find, insisted on coming over to High Rising and having tea in the kitchen with Stoker, in the hopes of recovering the remaining couplets. But Stoker, though entirely at her ease with his lordship, showed considerable diffidence about producing further contributions. Her reluctance may be accounted for by the distinctly primitive nature of the only two lines Lord Stoke could subsequently be induced to repeat:

  Marry in August,

  The first won’t be yours, but father it you must.

  Lord Stoke then went off at a tangent and tried to find a common origin for himself and Stoker, by whom he was completely enthralled, but as his family had borne the same name and lived at Castle Rising for five hundred years, and Stoker’s father, who came from Plaistow, locally pronounced Plaster, was really called MacHenry and had acquired the name Stoker owing to his calling, which was shovelling coke at the gasworks, this research went no further.

  But we are going too far.

  On Friday Amy Birkett came down, bringing Sylvia with her, much to the joy of Tony, who had sadly missed his audience since Master Wesendonck’s departure. After dinner Laura began to unfold to her friend the story of the anonymous letter, but before she was well embarked on it, Anne Todd came in to ask her for a missing sheet of manuscript. It took Laura some time to find, and when she returned to the drawing-room, the two ladies were sitting close together with a conspiratorial air.

  ‘I have been continuing the story of the Incubus,’ said Anne Todd with rather a peculiar look.

  ‘What do you think of it, Amy?’ asked Laura. ‘Here you are, Anne – it had got into The Noseless Horror – I must have put it in as a book-marker.’

  ‘I think it is all very remarkable,’ said Amy, also with a rather peculiar expression.

  ‘And listen, Anne,’ said Laura. ‘Leave a gap after page two hundred and three, because I want to put in a bit about smuggling cocaine, only I haven’t thought what to smuggle it in.’

  ‘What about rolls of silk?’ said Amy. ‘Madame Koska – I suppose it’s her you’re writing about – would probably buy her silk from abroad, and her enemies might get some hollow bits of wood – you know, those things like long rolling-pins that silk is wrapped round – and put cocaine inside them and try to get Madame Koska into trouble.’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ said Laura. ‘Only how would the enemies’ agents over here get at the rollers? They’d have to have a spy in the stock-room. You’ve no idea how difficult it all is,’ said Laura, looking really worried.

  The discussion on cocaine smuggling lasted, very ignorantly, for some time, without any definite result, till Anne Todd said she must go. Then Laura and Amy talked about the school, and the Incubus was forgotten. Not till Laura was in bed, and a page turned down in The Noseless Horror reminded her of the evening’s talk, did the peculiar attitude of Anne Todd and Amy Birkett occur to her again. They looked as if they had a guilty secret. But this was so obviously unlikely that Laura dismissed it from her mind, and went on with the chapter in which the Horror appears, disguised with a false nose, in the hero’s garage.

  Laura’s tea party were all punctual next day. Amy was still in her room writing letters when the party from Low Rising arrived. Adrian drove Sibyl over, picking up Anne Todd on the way. This would not have been his own choice, but when kind Sibyl suggested it, he was so overcome by the beauty of her nature that he willingly consented. Dr Ford came in next, followed shortly by George Knox and Miss Grey, who had walked over together. Everything was joy and rapture. Laura embraced most of her guests in a combination of absent-mindedness and congratulation, but they all knew their Laura, and were not in the least surprised.

  ‘And why should we not kiss?’ asked George Knox, and did not wait for answer. ‘Kissing has in many ages been a recognised form of salute. Savages, it is true, rub their noses together, a repellent action, but then savages are repellent, grossly so, and the less we hear of their customs the better. If savages, who after all have been just as long on the earth as we have, have got no further than knocking their front teeth out, and in general leading a life of dirt, ignorance, and an abject fear of all natural phenomena, they should have made better use of their time. The ma
rriage customs, my dear Laura, of the Arunta tribe, a revolting set of Australian aboriginals, are alone enough to justify their extirpation by rum, missionaries, or any other destroying element. When I tell you—’

  But the whole company decided unanimously that George Knox should not tell them whatever it was; and rightly, too. Dr Ford and Miss Todd began to talk about the dog show, Adrian studied his own name on the back of a row of Laura’s books, while Laura and Miss Grey discussed Sibyl’s wedding presents.

  ‘Lord Stoke sent the loveliest present this morning,’ said Miss Grey, as the conversation became general again. Everyone turned to listen.

  ‘What was it?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Such a lovely piece of old silver, a kind of dish, all carved, wrapped up in a piece of old lace, real Mechlin, just as if the lace were a piece of paper.’

  ‘I shall wear the lace with my wedding dress,’ said Sibyl, ‘and Adrian and I shall have fruit on the silver dish, shan’t we, darling?’

  ‘Of course we shall, darling,’ said Adrian. ‘It will be delicious to see you taking a peach from it.’

  ‘But, Adrian darling, I don’t really like peaches.’

  ‘Then anything you like, darling,’ said the lover.

  ‘“Nothing, darling, only darling, darling,”’ remarked Laura, in a quotation.

  By this time George Knox had been in the background quite long enough.

  ‘Wine from gold, fruit from silver,’ he remarked sententiously. ‘How fitting for youth and love. To think that in six weeks or so I shall be alone. But I shall occupy myself,’ he said courageously. ‘Books, work, the daily round, an occasional guest, these will fill my empty days.’

  ‘I suppose I shan’t be able to stay long with Mr Knox, now,’ said Miss Grey.

  Everyone’s ears pricked.

  ‘Are you leaving us, then?’ asked Dr Ford with interest.

  Miss Grey almost simpered, ‘Well,’ she said to Dr Ford, confidentially, but with appalling distinctness, ‘when Sibyl is married, my position will be a little difficult, won’t it?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Dr Ford stupidly.

  This was just the opening Miss Grey wanted.

  ‘Well,’ she continued, lowering her voice, but still holding her audience spellbound, ‘it will be a little awkward for me to be alone with Mr Knox. Not that I would mind, but you know how people talk, and I am so friendless.’

  Blank silence fell upon the room. Poor George Knox went quite purple with embarrassment. Adrian and Sibyl, most chicken-heartedly, had oozed out by the French window into the sunny garden. Before anyone could collect him or herself sufficiently to speak, the door opened and Amy Birkett, followed by Tony, came in. Looking round the room, her eye lighted upon Miss Grey.

  ‘Well, Una,’ said she, advancing with hand outstretched, ‘it is a surprise to see you here.’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew Miss Grey,’ said Laura.

  ‘Of course I do. And so does Tony.’

  ‘Of course Tony does,’ said Laura, deeply perplexed. ‘He has known her ever since Christmas. You know the others, don’t you?’ she added, turning. But Dr Ford and George Knox had also melted away through the window.

  Miss Grey, all her assurance gone, was staring white-faced at Amy Birkett.

  ‘What on earth is the matter?’ asked Laura. ‘Miss Grey, aren’t you well?’

  But Miss Grey, with an almost animal sound of rage, rushed through the window and down the drive, out of sight.

  ‘We always said her brain was wonky,’ remarked Tony, with the air of one who observes the peculiarities of grownups dispassionately, from a higher sphere.

  ‘What are you all talking about?’ asked Laura.

  ‘Only about Una Grey,’ said Amy Birkett. ‘Bill’s old secretary.’

  ‘Do you mean she was the one you told me about before Christmas? The one that went mad and you had to send her away?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Amy cheerfully. ‘Not really mad, but very neurotic.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Amy? Tony, why didn’t you tell me you knew Miss Grey?’

  ‘But I did, Mother. I told you we said her brain was wonky.’

  ‘But I thought you meant you and Stoker.’

  ‘Oh, old Stokes thinks she is wonky all right, but all the boys said so, too. You should have seen her go off pop when she was in a temper.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I’m mad,’ said Laura. ‘Go to Stoker, Tony, and tell her we’ll have tea as soon as it’s ready. Heaven knows we need it. It’s four o’clock, anyway.’

  Tony went off to give Stoker the message and help her, and himself, with the cake. For a few moments he was penetrated by that ever-recurring sense of the unreasonableness of grown-ups. Of course he knew Miss Grey, though she had never known him among so many little boys. One was never surprised at anything grown-ups did. Miss Grey had been at school, being old Birky’s secretary: well and good. Then Miss Grey was at Low Rising, being Mr Knox’s secretary. Also well and good. One was much the same as the other. Grown-ups must live somewhere. Whether they lived at school, or at Low Rising was all one to Tony. The main fact was that she was wonky in the brain. But she liked dogs; that was in her favour. So he dismissed her from his mind, where indeed she had never held any very prominent place, and favoured Stoker with a repetition of his Latin address to Sibyl.

  Meanwhile, Laura was divided between anxiety for Miss Grey and a desire to have an explanation from Amy.

  ‘Where do you think she has gone?’ she asked. ‘Oughtn’t we to go and find her? She might drown herself, or get under a train.’

  ‘Not she,’ said Amy with decision. ‘You are too softhearted, Laura.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me you knew her, Amy?’

  ‘I didn’t know myself that I knew her till yesterday. You told me that your friend, Mr Knox, had a troublesome secretary, but there are plenty of those. If you remember, she went to London when I was here before, so we never met.’

  ‘But, Amy, ‘said Laura, turning reproachful eyes on her friend, ‘I told you her name was Grey. You asked me yourself what it was, after the boxing finals.’

  ‘Yes, my dear, but Grey is not an uncommon name, and I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. It wasn’t till yesterday evening when Miss Todd told me about the letter that I could put two and two together properly. We had no end of trouble with her at school. She got it into her head that she adored Bill. She said she worshipped the very ground he trod on, and it was very trying. Then she took to writing anonymous letters to me, to tell me I was neglecting and ill-treating poor Bill, but she wasn’t good at it, and I knew at once who it was. So there was nothing for it but to send her back to her mother. She came to us with good references, so I suppose she used those for Mr Knox.’

  ‘But, Amy, she hasn’t got a mother. That is one of George’s difficulties. If he sends her away, she has nowhere to go.’

  ‘Rubbish, my dear. She has a mother in County Cork who is quite alive and very glad to have her to stay, but the poor girl prefers to go about falling in love with her employers.’

  The appearance of Stoker with tea put a temporary end to these disturbing revelations. Adrian and Sibyl, looking very silly and blissful, then rejoined them, with George Knox, and they were presently followed by Dr Ford, who took Anne aside and told her something.

  ‘Did you go into the wood, Adrian?’ asked Laura, trying to make conversation with an abstracted mind.

  Adrian stared blankly at her, smiled charmingly, and said yes, he thought they did.

  ‘No, darling, it was along the field-path,’ said Sibyl.

  ‘So it was, darling.’

  ‘Adrian Coates,’ said Laura, so sharply that her publisher almost leaped from his seat, ‘if you don’t stop looking like a mooncalf and pay a little attention to your most important author, I shall break my contract on the ground of lunacy, and go to Johns and Fairfield.’

  ‘He can’t help it, Mrs Morland,’ said Sibyl. ‘He’s terribly in love
; aren’t you, Adrian? It just makes him rather silly.’

  ‘It does have that effect on him,’ said Laura, at which double-edged remark, Adrian, remembering New Year’s Eve, choked into his tea. Under cover of the disturbance caused by this lapse from good manners, Anne Todd brought her cup to Laura to be refilled and whispered that Dr Ford had driven Miss Grey back to Low Rising at her own request. Laura whispered back that they must go over as soon as they had finished tea, and see if she was all right. A rapid conspiracy took place, with the result that Adrian and Sibyl were dismissed to re-explore the wood, while Dr Ford volunteered to keep George Knox entertained till the ladies came back. Laura, Amy and Anne then set off for Low Rising, Laura only stipulating that Amy should drive, as she felt quite unequal to concentrating. During the short journey she provoked her companions to the point of frenzy by alternately letting her imagination play freely upon what might have happened to Miss Grey, and imploring Amy to turn back and not make things worse than they were. Amy and Anne, who appeared to be united in a single thought, took no notice of her appeals, and in a few minutes they arrived at Low Rising. A rather scared-looking Annie, who opened the door, said in answer to Anne Todd’s inquiries that Miss Grey was upstairs in her room, and she thought she was packing, as she had told her to get her big suitcase out of the box-room.

  ‘Perhaps she has cut her throat,’ said Laura wildly.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Laura,’ said Amy. ‘People don’t ask for suitcases to cut their throats into. But we had better go and see, all the same.’

  As she spoke, a door was opened upstairs and Miss Grey came out on to the landing, with evident signs of tears on her face.

  ‘I suppose you’ve all come to laugh at me,’ she said fiercely. ‘You can laugh as much as you like. I’m going. You’ve always hated me, Mrs Morland, and so has Mrs Birkett. After the insult she put upon me I’ll not stay here a moment longer. It doesn’t need three of you to turn me out. I wouldn’t stay here a moment, if you were to beg me on your bended knees.’