Death in a White Tie ra-7

by Ngaio Marsh

  “What?”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t interrupt,” shouted Lucy Lorrimer. “I’m talking.”

  “Never been there,” said Lord Robert; “the woman’s mad.”

  The Halcut-Hacketts smiled uncomfortably. Lucy Lorrimer leant across Davidson and bawled: “Don’t forget tomorrow night!”

  “Who? Me?” asked Lord Robert. “Of course not.”

  “Eight-thirty sharp.”

  “I know. Though how you could think I was in Australia—”

  “I didn’t see it was you,” screamed Lucy Lorrimer. “Don’t forget now.” The band stopped as abruptly as it had begun and her voice rang out piercingly. “It wouldn’t be the first night you had disappointed me.”

  She leant back chuckling and fanning herself. Lord Robert took the rest of the party in with a comical glance.

  “Honestly, Lucy!” said Lady Alleyn.

  “He’s the most absent-minded creature in the world,” added Lucy Lorrimer.

  “Now to that,” said Lord Robert, “I do take exception. I am above all things a creature of habit, upon my honour. I could tell you, if it wasn’t a very boring sort of story, exactly to the minute what I shall do with myself tomorrow evening and how I shall ensure my punctual arrival at Lucy Lorrimer’s party.”

  “Suddenly remember it at a quarter to nine and take a cab,” said Lucy Lorrimer.

  “Not a bit of it.”

  Mrs Halcut-Hackett suddenly joined in the conversation.

  “I can vouch for Lord Robert’s punctuality,” she said loudly. “He always keeps his appointments.” She laughed a little too shrilly and for some unaccountable reason created an uncomfortable atmosphere. Lady Alleyn glanced sharply at her. Lucy Lorrimer stopped short in the middle of a hopelessly involved sentence; Davidson put up his glass and stared. General Halcut-Hackett said, “What!” loudly and uneasily. Lord Robert examined his fat little hands with an air of complacent astonishment. The inexplicable tension was relieved by the arrival of Sir Herbert Carrados with the plain protégée of the Halcut-Hacketts. She held her long chiffon handkerchief to her face and she looked a little desperately at her chaperone. Carrados who had her by the elbow was the very picture of British chivalry.

  “A casualty!” he said archly. “Mrs Halcut-Hackett, I’m afraid you are going to be very angry with me!”

  “Why, Sir Herbert!” said Mrs Halcut-Hackett; “that’s surely an impossibility.”

  The General said “What!”

  “This young lady,” continued Carrados, squeezing her elbow, “no sooner began to dance with me than she developed toothache. Frightfully bad luck — for both of us.”

  Mrs Halcut-Hackett eyed her charge with something very like angry despair.

  “What’s the matter,” she said, “darling?”

  “I’m afraid I’d better go home.”

  Lady Carrados took her hand.

  “That is bad luck,” she said. “Shall we see if we can find something to—”

  “No, no, please,” said the child. “I think really, I’d better go home. I–I’m sure I’d better. Really.”

  The General suddenly became human. He stood up, took the girl by the shoulders, and addressed Lady Carrados.

  “Better at home,” he said. “What? Brandy and oil of cloves. Damn bad show. Will you excuse us?” He addressed his wife. “I’ll take her home. You stay on. Come back for you.” He addressed his charge: “Come on, child. Get your wrap.”

  “You need not come back for me, dear,” said Mrs Halcut-Hackett. “I shall be quite all right. Stay with Rose.”

  “If I may,” squeaked Lord Robert, “I’ll give myself the pleasure of driving your wife home, Halcut-Hackett.”

  “No, no,” began Mrs Halcut-Hackett, “I — please—”

  “Well,” said the General. “Suit splendidly. What? Say good night. What?” They bowed and shook hands. Sir Herbert walked away with both of them. Mrs Halcut-Hackett embarked on a long polite explanation and apology to Lady Carrados.

  “Poor child!” whispered Lady Alleyn.

  “Poor child, indeed,” murmured Troy.

  Mrs Halcut-Hackett had made no further reply to Lord Robert’s offer. Now, as he turned to her, she hurriedly addressed herself to Davidson.

  “I must take the poor lamb to a dentist,” she said. “Too awful if her face should swell half-way through the season. Her mother is my dearest friend but she’d never forgive me. A major tragedy.”

  “Quite,” said Sir Daniel rather dryly.

  “Well,” said Lucy Lorrimer beginning to collect her scarves, “I shall expect you at eight twenty-seven. It’s only me and my brother, you know. The one that got into difficulties. I want some supper. Where is Mrs Halcut-Hackett? I suppose I must congratulate her on her ball, though I must say I always think it’s the greatest mistake—”

  Sir Daniel Davidson hurriedly shouted her down.

  “Let me take you down and give you some supper,” he suggested loudly with an agonized glance at Mrs Halcut-Hackett and Lady Carrados. He carried Lucy Lorrimer away.

  “Poor Lucy!” said Lady Alleyn. “She never has the remotest idea where she is. I wish, Evelyn, that he hadn’t stopped her. What fault do you suppose she was about to find in your hospitality?”

  “Let’s follow them, Evelyn,” said Lord Robert, “and no doubt we shall find out. Troy, m’dear, there’s a young man making for you. May we dance again?”

  “Yes, of course, Bunchy dear,” said Troy, and went off with her partner.

  Lady Carrados said she would meet Lord Robert in the supper-room in ten minutes. She left them, threading her way down the ballroom, her fingers clutching her bag. At the far end she overtook Sir Daniel and Lucy Lorrimer.

  Lady Alleyn, looking anxiously after her, saw her sway a little. Davidson stepped up to her quickly and took her arm, steadying her. Lady Alleyn saw him speak to her with a quick look of concern. She saw Evelyn Carrados shake her head, smiling at him. He spoke again with emphasis and then Lucy Lorrimer shouted at him and he shrugged his shoulders and moved away. After a moment Lady Carrados, too, left the ballroom.

  Lord Robert asked Mrs Halcut-Hackett if she would “take a turn” with him once round the room. She excused herself, making rather an awkward business of it:

  “I fancy I said that I would keep this one for — I’m so sorry — Oh, yes — here he comes right now.”

  Captain Withers had come from the farther side of the ballroom. Mrs Halcut-Hackett hurriedly got up and went to meet him. Without a word he placed his arm round her and they moved off together, Withers looking straight in front of him.

  “Where’s Rory?” Lord Robert asked Lady Alleyn. “I expected to find him here tonight. He refused to dine with us.”

  “Working at the Yard. He’s going north early tomorrow. Bunchy, that was your Captain Withers, wasn’t it? The man we saw at the Halcut-Hacketts’ cocktail-party?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she having an affair with him, do you suppose? They’ve got that sort of look.”

  Lord Robert pursed his lips and contemplated his hands.

  “It’s not malicious curiosity,” said Lady Alleyn. “I’m worried about those women. Especially Evelyn.”

  “You don’t suggest Evelyn—?”

  “Of course not. But they’ve both got the same haunted look. And if I’m not mistaken Evelyn nearly fainted just then. Your friend Davidson noticed it and I think he gave her the scolding she needs. She’s at the end of her tether, Bunchy.”

  “I’ll get hold of her and take her into the supper-room.”

  “Do. Go after her now, like a dear man. There comes my Sarah.”

  Lord Robert hurried away. It took him some time to get round the ballroom and as he edged past dancing couples and over the feet of sitting chaperones he suddenly felt as if an intruder had thrust open all the windows of this neat little world and let in a flood of uncompromising light. In this cruel light he saw the people he liked best and they were ch
anged and belittled. He saw his nephew Donald, who had turned aside when they met in the hall, as a spoilt, selfish boy with no honesty or ambition. He saw Evelyn Carrados as a woman haunted by some memory that was discreditable, and hag-ridden by a blackmailer. His imagination leapt into extravagance, and in many of the men he fancied he saw something of the unscrupulousness of Withers, the pomposity of Carrados, and the stupidity of old General Halcut-Hackett. He was plunged into a violent depression that had a sort of nightmarish quality. How many of these women were what he still thought of as “virtuous”? And the débutantes? They had gone back to chaperones and were guided and guarded by women, many of whose own private lives would look ugly in this flood of hard light that had been let in on Lord Robert’s world. The girls were sheltered by a convention for three months but at the same time they heard all sorts of things that would have horrified and bewildered his sister Mildred at their age. And he wondered if the Victorian and Edwardian eras had been no more than freakish incidents in the history of society and if their proprieties had been as artificial as the paint on a modern woman’s lips. This idea seemed abominable to Lord Robert and he felt old and lonely for the first time in his life.

  “It’s the business with Donald and this blackmailing game,” he thought as he twisted aside to avoid a couple who were dancing the rumba. He had reached the door. He went into the lounge which opened off the ballroom, saw that Evelyn Carrados was not there, and made for the staircase. The stairs were covered with couples sitting out. He picked his way down and passed his nephew Donald who looked at him as if they were strangers.

  “No good trying to break that down,” thought Lord Robert. “Not here. He’d only cut me and someone would notice.” He felt wretchedly depressed and tired, and was filled with a premonition of disaster that quite astonished himself. “Good God,” he thought suddenly, “I must be going to be ill.” And oddly enough this comforted him a little. In the lower hall he found Bridget O’Brien with a neat, competent-looking young woman whose face he dimly remembered.

  “Now, Miss Harris,” Bridgie was saying, “are you sure you’re getting on all right? Have you had supper?”

  “Well, thank you so much, Miss O’Brien, but really it doesn’t matter—”

  Of course, it was Evelyn’s secretary. Nice of Evelyn to ask her. Nice of Bridgie to take trouble. He said:

  “Hullo, m’dear. What a grand ball. Has your mother come this way?”

  “She’s in the supper-room,” said Bridget without looking at him, and he realized that of course she had heard Donald’s side of their quarrel. He said:

  “Thank you, Bridgie, I’ll find her.” He saw Miss Harris was looking a little like a lost child so he said: “Wonder if you’d be very nice and give me a dance later on? Would you?”

  Miss Harris turned scarlet and said she would be very pleased thank you, Lord — Lord Gospell.

  “Got it wrong,” thought Lord Robert. “Poor things, they don’t get much fun. Wonder what they think of it all. Not much, you may depend upon it.”

  He found Lady Carrados in the supper-room. He took her to a corner table, made her drink champagne and tried to persuade her to eat.

  “I know what you’re all like,” he told her. “Nothing all day in your tummies and then get through the night on your nerves. I remember mama used to have the vapours whenever she gave a big party. She always came round in time to receive the guests.”

  He chattered away, eating a good deal himself and getting over his own unaccountable fit of depression in his effort to help Lady Carrados. He looked round and saw that the supper-room was inhabited by only a few chaperones and their partners. Poor Davidson was still in Lucy Lorrimer’s toils. Withers and Mrs Halcut-Hackett were tucked away in a corner. She was talking to him earnestly and apparently with great emphasis. He glowered at the table and laughed unpleasantly.

  “Lor’!” thought Lord Robert, “she’s giving him his marching orders. Now why’s that? Afraid of the General or of — what? Of the blackmailer? I wonder if Withers is the subject of those letters. I wonder if Dimitri has seen her with him some time. I’ll swear it was Dimitri’s hand. But what does he know about Evelyn? The least likely woman in the world to have a guilty secret. And, damme, there is the fellow as large as you please, running the whole show.”

  Dimitri had come into the supper-room. He gave a professional look round, spoke to one of his waiters, came across to Lady Carrados and bowed tentatively and then went out again.

  “Dimitri is a great blessing to all of us,” said Lady Carrados. She said it so simply that he knew at once that if Dimitri was blackmailing her she had no idea of it. He was hunting in his mind for something to reply when Bridget came into the supper-room.

  She was carrying her mother’s bag.

  Everything seemed to happen at the same moment. Bridget calling gaily: “Really, Donna darling, you’re hopeless. There was your bag, simply preggy with banknotes, lying on the writing-table in the green boudoir. And I bet you didn’t know where you’d left it.” Then Bridget, seeing her mother’s face and crying out: “Darling, what’s the matter?” Lord Robert himself getting up and interposing his bulk between Lady Carrados and the other tables. Lady Carrados half-laughing, half-crying and reaching out frantically for the bag. Himself saying: “Run away, Bridget, I’ll look after your mother.” And Lady Carrados, in a whisper: “I’m all right. Run upstairs, darling, and get my smelling-salts.”

  Somehow they persuaded Bridget to go. The next thing that happened was Sir Daniel Davidson, who stood over Evelyn Carrados like an elegant dragon.

  “You’re all right,” he said. “Lord Robert, see if you can open that window.”

  Lord Robert succeeded in opening the window. A damp hand seemed to be laid on his face. He caught sight of street lamps blurred by impalpable mist.

  Davidson held Lady Carrados’s wrist in his long fingers and looked at her with a sort of compassionate exasperation.

  “You women,” he said. “You impossible women.”

  “I’m all right. I simply felt giddy.”

  “You ought to lie down. You’ll faint and make an exhibition of yourself.”

  “No I won’t. Has anybody —?”

  “Nobody’s noticed anything. Will you go up to your room for half an hour?”

  “I haven’t got a room. It’s not my house.”

  “Of course it’s not. The cloakroom, then.”

  “I — yes. Yes, I’ll do that.”

  “Sir Daniel!” shouted Lucy Lorrimer in the corner.

  “For Heaven’s sake go back to her,” implored Lady Carrados, “or she’ll be here.”

  “Sir Daniel!”

  “Damn!” whispered Davidson. “Very well, I’ll go back to her. I expect your maid’s here, isn’t she? Good. Lord Robert, will you take Lady Carrados?”

  “I’d rather go alone. Please!”

  “Very well. But please go.”

  He made a grimace and returned to Lucy Lorrimer.

  Lady Carrados stood up, holding her bag.

  “Come on,” said Lord Robert. “Nobody’s paying any attention.”

  He took her elbow and they went out into the hall. It was deserted. Two men stood just in the entrance to the cloakroom. They were Captain Withers and Donald Potter. Donald glanced round, saw his uncle, and at once began to move upstairs. Withers followed him. Dimitri came out of the buffet and also went upstairs. The hall was filled with the sound of the band and with the thick confusion of voices and sliding feet.

  “Bunchy,” whispered Lady Carrados. “You must do as I ask you. Leave me for three minutes. I—”

  “I know what’s up, m’dear. Don’t do it. Don’t leave your bag. Face it and let him go to the devil.”

  She pressed her hand against her mouth and looked wildly at him.

  “You know?”

  “Yes, and I’ll help. I know who it is. You don’t, do you? See here — there’s a man at the Yard — whatever it is—”

  A look of some
thing like relief came into her eyes.

  “But you don’t know what it’s about. Let me go. I’ve got to do it. Just this once more.”

  She pulled her arm away and he watched her cross the hall and slowly climb the stairs. After a moment’s hesitation he followed her.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bunchy Goes Back to the Yard

  Alleyn closed his file and looked at his watch. Two minutes to one. Time for him to pack up and go home. He yawned, stretched his cramped fingers, walked over to the window and pulled aside the blind. The row of lamps hung like a necklace of misty globes along the margin of the Embankment.

  “Fog in June,” muttered Alleyn. “This England!”

  Out there in the cold, Big Ben tolled one. At that moment three miles away at Lady Carrados’s ball, Lord Robert Gospell was slowly climbing the stairs to the top landing and the little drawing-room.

  Alleyn filled his pipe slowly and lit it. An early start tomorrow, a long journey, and a piece of dull routine at the end of it. He held his fingers to the heater and fell into a long meditation. Sarah had told him Troy was going to the ball. She was there now, no doubt.

  “Oh, well!” he thought and turned off his heater.

  The desk telephone rang. He answered it.

  “Hullo?”

  “Mr Alleyn? I thought you were still there, sir. Lord Robert Gospell.”

  “Right.”

  A pause and then a squeaky voice:

  “Rory?”

  “Bunchy?”

  “You said you’d be at it till late. I’m in a room by myself at the Carrados’s show. Thing is, I think I’ve got him. Are you working for much longer?”

  “I can.”

  “May I come round to the Yard?”

  “Do!”

  “I’ll go home first, get out of this boiled shirt and pick up my notes.”

  “Right. I’ll wait.”

  “It’s the cakes-and-ale feller.”

  “Good Lord! No names, Bunchy.”

  “ ’Course not. I’ll come round to the Yard. Upon my soul it’s worse than murder. Might as well mix his damn’ brews with poison. And he’s working with — Hullo! Didn’t hear you come in.”