Ermyntrude had had two card-tables set out, and had spent the greater part of the afternoon trying to arrange two Bridge fours. As she had once, at a Charity Bridge Afternoon, played with Connie Bawtry, who became very fierce over the game, and argued about the play of every hand, her task soon grew into an insoluble puzzle, for nothing, she had decided, would induce her to play at Connie's table, or with Sir William, of whom she stood in considerable awe; while it was clearly unthinkable that she should not have the Prince at her table, or should fail to separate husbands and wives.
However, when the men presently came into the drawing-room, it soon became apparent that the second table would have to be abandoned, for Hugh said firmly that he only took a hand if he was forced to do so, and Vicky developed a fit of contrariness., and said she hated Bridge. Ermyntrude was forced to fall back on Mary, an indifferent player, and on Wally, who had an unsuitable habit of cutting jokes all the time. But while she was trying to compose the two tables, the butler came into the room, and spoke in a disapproving undertone to Wally.
Ermyntrude was feeling flustered, and unfortunately demanded of Peake what was wanted. Peake, who despised both his employers, said primly, but not without a certain satisfaction: "A person of the name of Baker wishes to see Mr. Carter, madam." He added fiendishly: "Upon urgent business."
Ermyntrude turned white, and then red. Wally looked as discomfited as anyone of his temperament could, and said that it was all right, and he would come. Ermyntrude was so much upset by this contretemps that she lost any grip over the Bridge-question that she may ever have had, and weakly jettisoned the second table. Finally, the Derings and the Bawtrys sat down to play, on the understanding that Ermyntrude and the Prince would cut in after the first rubber.
That the butler's announcement had been most unwelcome to Ermyntrude was apparent to all her guests, but the swift glance that passed between Mary and Vicky was noticed only by Hugh. As her elders moved towards the Bridge-table, fussed over solicitously by Ermyntrude, Vicky slid off the arm of the sofa, where she had perched herself, and strolled sinuously to the door. Mary said sharply: 'Vicky, where are you going? I was going to suggest billiards - or something."
"All right," said Vicky. "I'll join you."
She went out, and Mary, having the liveliest mistrust of her discretion, said hurriedly to Hugh: "Do go along to the billiard-room! I'll be with you in a minute. I must catch Vicky first."
Considerably intrigued, Hugh docilely obeyed these instructions, and was discovered presently practising cannons. He straightened himself as Mary came in with Vicky at her heels, and after casting a look at two rather worried faces, said: "Is anything the matter? Can I help, or do I pretend to be unconscious?"
"Oh, it's nothing!" replied Mary unconvincingly. "At least, nothing of importance."
"Well, I think it's awfully important that no one should be allowed to spoil Ermyntrude's party," said Vicky. "You may think it's lousy anyway, and as a matter of fact it is, but the point is she doesn't, and I'm perfectly certain she'd hate and loathe a scene."
"For God's sake, Vicky, shut up!" implored Mary.
"Oh, don't make a stranger of me! Who's going to create a scene? The person of the name of Baker?" asked Hugh.
"Well, I'm not at all sure, but I shouldn't wonder if it seemed a pretty good sort of an act to him, on account of his being a Communist, and probably disapproving of parties," said Vicky. She looked measuringly at Hugh, and her eyes brightened. "Are you any good at chucking people out?" she demanded.
"I've never tried my hand at it. Do you want Baker chucked out?"
"I may," said Vicky cautiously. "But not if it would be a noisy business. Of course, I may be doing him a frightful injustice, or on the other hand, Wally may manage to get rid of him." A fresh idea presented itself to her. She turned to Mary. "I say, do you think he would be useful?
On account of being a barrister, I mean?"
"No, certainly not," said Mary. "Nor do I think we need discuss the matter."
"Yes, but, darling, I shouldn't be at all surprised if you turned out to be full of regressions, and inhibitions, and things, and in any case it's practically bound to be all over Fritton by this time, because things always are."
"By all of which I deduce that your relative has got himself into some sort of a mess," said Hugh, addressing himself to Mary. "I shouldn't think I could be of any use, could I?"
"No, none at all, thank you," said Mary. "It's purely a family matter."
"Oh, I thought you didn't want him to know!" exclaimed Vicky innocently.
Hugh looked quickly at Mary's indignant face, and said: "Good Lord, you don't mean it? I don't believe it!"
"No, nor did we at first," agreed Vicky. "But I'm rather coming round to it, because I had a long talk with Percy this afternoon, and he utterly believes it. It's a sickening nuisance, isn't it?"
"Is Percy the person named Baker?" asked Hugh. "Who and what is he?"
"He works in a garage. He's Gladys's brother," explained Vicky.
"And is Gladys the lady involved?"
"Yes, of course. She's the box-office girl at the Regal. I dare say you know her."
"Good God! But how do you two come into it? You know, really this is a bit thick! You've no business to be mixed up in it, either of you."
"We aren't mixed up in it," said Mary, in an annoyed voice. "At least, we shouldn't be if Vicky hadn't taken it upon herself to interview the man when he came here this afternoon."
Hugh looked Vicky over critically. "Oh! Nice little handful, aren't you? If you take my advice, you'll keep your nose out of it."
"Yes, but I shouldn't think I would," replied Vicky. "I've been very modern and advanced all day, and I quite feel I may have done a lot of good, talking to Percy."
"You're more likely to have made things much worse," said Hugh unflatteringly. "Leave your stepfather to settle his affairs for himself. He's probably quite capable of doing it without your assistance."
"Oh dear, you do seem to me to be most frightfully fragrant and old-world!" said Vicky. "Besides practically dumb. Poor darling Wally never settles things, and the more I think about it the more I'm definitely against Ermyntrude having to pay up."
"You can't do any good," persisted Hugh. "You'd merely make a nuisance of yourself."
Vicky's eyes glinted at him. "Well, I think you're wrong. I often get very brilliant ideas, and I quite think I will over this, because I don't want Ermyntrude to have to put up with a scandal she doesn't like."
With that she tossed the stump of her cigarette into the fireplace, and walked out of the room.
Hugh turned to Mary. "But she's incredible!" he complained. "She just isn't possible."
" I warned you," said Mary. "I can't cope with her at all. I wish I could, because she's quite capable of doing something outrageous."
"Little beast!" said Hugh wholeheartedly. "Between friends, Mary, is this Baker fellow likely to make trouble?"
"I don't know, but if what Vicky told me was true I should think quite possibly. Oh dear, what a household we are!"
"Poor Mary! It's rotten for you."
"It's worse for Aunt Ermy. I oughtn't to be talking about it, but just lately things seem to have got dreadfully tense. Ever since that ghastly Prince arrived it's been most uncomfortable - rather as though we were on the brink of something disastrous."
"Do you mean that he's had something to do with it?"
"No, not really. Don't let's talk about it! I hope to Heaven Vicky hasn't gone to barge in on Uncle and Percy Baker. That would just about tear things wide open."
"Vicky," said Hugh, "wants suppressing."
"You're telling me! I say, what on earth shall we do if Baker does start a row?"
"I haven't thought out the answer to that one," Hugh confessed. "What you might call a delicate situation."
Happily, no sounds of strife in the library came to disturb the absorption of the Bridge-players in the drawing-room. Wally returned presently, not, a
pparently, much disturbed by his interview with Mr. Baker, and was easily persuaded to cut into the game. He was mendaciously assuring his partner, Connie Bawtry, that he was conversant with the rules governing the Four-Five No-Trump convention, when the butler made his second entrance, and informed him that Mr. White wished to speak with him on the telephone.
This was too much for Ermyntrude. Before Wally had time to reply, she told Peake to inform Mr. White that his master was engaged, and could not come to the telephone.
Bridge came to an end at eleven o'clock, and after everyone had added up his or her score, the errors had been traced to their sources, and a result arrived at which satisfied everyone, it was half an hour later, and the Derings' car had been announced quite twenty minutes earlier.
The initial strain of entertaining guests of whom she stood in awe, coupled with the alarming announcement of Mr. Baker's arrival, and capped by Harold White's illtimed telephone call, had proved to be too much for Ermyntrude. She felt quite unequal to the task (clearly incumbent on her) of demanding an explanation of his conduct from Wally, and after bidding the Prince good night in a failing voice, she went upstairs to bed, leaning heavily on the banisters.
The Prince did not long outstay her. He refilled his glass once, but as Wally, who had been replenishing his throughout the evening, showed an inclination to indulge in long, rambling reminiscences, he soon excused himself, and withdrew.
If Wally had hoped to have escaped questioning that night, he had reckoned without his stepdaughter. That damsel was lying in wait for him, and came out of her bedroom when he passed her door on his way to his own.
"What happened?" she demanded.
Wally eyed her uneasily. "What are you talking about?"
"You might just as well come clean," said Vicky. "I know all about Gladys and Percy. In fact, we all know."
Wally was pardonably affronted, and animadverted bitterly upon the licence permitted to the young in these unregenerate days. "Nosing into my affairs!" he said. "Nice behaviour for a girl just home from school, I must say!"
"Well, you're wrong. I didn't do any nosing. Ermyntrude found Percy's letter in your pocket, and was so upset that she told Mary and me."
"Which .pocket?" inquired Wally, with a kind of hazy interest.
"Oh, one of your coats! What on earth does it matter?"
"Well, it's nice to know, because as a matter of fact I couldn't for the life of me remember where I'd put the thing. However, I thought it would turn up sooner or later. Not that there's anything in it," he added.
"You're pretty well bound to say that," replied Vicky. "The point is, we don't want Ermyntrude to be worried by a rancid scandal."
"Nothing of the sort!" said Wally, with a lordly wave of one hand. "It's just a slight mistake, that's all."
"But what about Percy?" insisted Vicky. "Is he going to make trouble?"
"Certainly not!" said Wally. "The whole affair was absurd."
"Oh!" said Vicky doubtfully. "Did you get Percy to see that?"
"Naturally. Just a few minutes plain talk, and I was able to put the whole thing straight."
"That means that you've promised to pay," said Vicky. "Or else you've fobbed him off for the moment, and he'll come back."
"It seems to me," said Wally, with a good deal of asperity, "that all you learned at that precious finishing school of yours was to snoop round listening at keyholes. You may think that a smart thing to do, but let me tell you that it isn't at all the clean potato. In fact, it's very dishonourable, that's what it is."
Upon which austere pronouncement he strayed away grandly, but a little uncertainly, in the direction of his bedroom.
Chapter Five
If Wally hoped that his wife was going to turn a blind eye to his latest peccadillo, he was soon undeceived. Though the night might have brought little counsel and less repose to Ermyntrude, it did strengthen her determination to "have it out' with Wally. Mary and Vicky, and probably the Prince too, knew that a highly dramatic scene had been staged in Ermyntrude's bedroom before breakfast on the following morning, for when Ermyntrude succumbed to her emotions she became not only hysterical, but extremely shrill. Anyone at Palings on that Sunday morning would have had to have been very deaf indeed not to have been disturbed by the sound of its mistress's voice, rising higher and higher, and finally breaking into gusty sobs.
When Ermyntrude did not appear to take her place behind the coffee-cups, Mary began to feel uneasy, for although Ermyntrude often indulged in hearty quarrels with Wally, they usually relieved her feelings so much that she was able to face her family, ten minutes later, with all her customary good-humour. When the sinister message was delivered to her that Ermyntrude would not be requiring any breakfast, her spirits sank to their lowest level. It was with an effort that she summoned up a smile to greet the Prince. She told him, in what she hoped was a careless tone, that Ermyntrude had a headache, and was breakfasting in her room. He accepted this information with all the polite concern of one who had not sipped his early tea to the accompaniment of an unleashed female voice reciting, in ruthless crescendo, every sin his host had committed since his marriage.
Mary could not but applaud the correctness of his attitude, and was just beginning to accuse herself of having been unjust to the Prince, when he once more alienated her sympathy by leading their conversation into a channel whither she refused to follow him. Gracefully, delicately, but none the less obviously, Prince Varasashvili was attempting to discover from Miss Cliffe the terms of the late Mr. Fanshawe's will. The Prince, in fact, wanted to know whether Geoffrey Fanshawe's fortune had been left unconditionally to his relict, or whether it was tied up in his daughter.
Restraining an impulse to inform the Prince that the outlay of a small sum at Somerset House would place at his disposal the information that was so necessary to him, Mary returned no sort of reply to his adroit conversational feelers, but offered him instead a second cup of coffee. He spoke of what he must suppose to be Vicky's large expectations, adding with a smile which Mary thought brazen: "She is at all times enchanting, but when it is known that she will have also a fortune when she comes of age - is it not so? - one is astonished that she is not already betrothed! It is very well, however: she sould make what you call a good match, do you not agree?"
"Yes, Vicky's very attractive," responded Mary woodenly.
"You also, Miss Cliffe, are one of the lucky ones, I understand," he continued. "I hear that you, too, are an heiress."
For a startled moment, Mary wondered whether he were considering her as a possible bride, but came to the conclusion, after a glance at his face, that he was merely sliding by not too obvious stages away from a subject which he had been quick to see she disliked.
"An heiress!" she said. "I'm afraid you've been listening to Uncle Wally, Prince."
"Certainly, yes. It's not true? Alas, then! I understood that there is an aunt who leaves all her money to your guardian, and that you are his heiress."
"You've got it wrong," replied Mary. "My guardian's Aunt Clara hasn't made a will at all, and isn't likely to, because, to tell you the truth, she's mad. Has been, for years and years."
"Yes, and a good job too," said Wally, who had just come into the room. "I've no doubt if she were sane she'd go and leave every penny to a Home for Lost Cats, because that's just the sort of thing that happens to me. In fact, it would be just my luck if the old girl recovered, instead of kicking the bucket, which is what she ought to have done years ago." He sat down, and shook out his napkin. "And yet you'll hear people arguing that euthanasia's all wrong!" he added bitterly. "The end of it'll be that I shall die first, and the only person who'll benefit will be Mary. Not that I don't want you to benefit, my dear, because I do, but it's a bit thick if I don't benefit first, if you see what I mean."
Mary had finished her breakfast by this time, andd now got up, adjuring Wally to look after his guest.
"As far as I can see, he doesn't need any looking after," said Wally outr
ageously. "Quite one of the family, aren't you?"
The Prince refused to take offence, but replied smilingly: "Yes, indeed, you have made me feel so. It's very pleasant! I assure you, I enjoy my stay enormously."
"Well, I'm glad someone's pleased," retorted Wally, eyeing him with gloomy dislike.
Mary felt unequal to the task of coping with this situation, and left the room, preferring to perform another unpleasant duty. She went upstairs to visit Ermyntrude.
That afflicted lady was lying amorphously in the centre of a large rose-pink brocade bed. A strong aroma of scent filled the room, and the pink silk curtains were drawn to shut out the indiscreetly cheerful sunshine.
"Is that you, dearie?" she said faintly. "Oh, my head!"
Mary was fond of Ermyntrude, and although she might deprecate her flights into hysteria, she thought that Wally treated her abominably, and so was able to reply with genuine sympathy: "Poor Aunt Ermy! I'll bathe your forehead with eau-de-Cologne, and you'll soon feel more yourself."
"I've come to the end!" announced Ermyntrude, in a voice that would have done credit to any tragedienne. "God knows I've tried my best, but this is the parting of the ways!"
Mary opened the window at the bottom, and began to soak a handkerchief with eau-de-Cologne. "Are you going to divorce Wally?" she asked bluntly.
This swift descent from the realms of drama to the practical was rather ill-timed. Ermyntrude gave a moan, and turned her face into one of the lace-edged pillows that sprawled all over the head of the bed.
Realising that she had spoken out of turn, Mary said no more, but began to bathe Ermyntrude's brow. After a slight pause, Ermyntrude said: "I oughtn't to speak of such things to you. You being his ward and all, and so young and innocent!"
"Never mind about that," replied Mary, speaking as mechanically as she felt any actress must in the two hundred and fiftieth performance of a successful drama. "What happened?"
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