The Featherses’ dining room was a curious affair. I had never been inside it before, but I was surprised to see that there were various locked cabinets on the walls, shelves with untidy files heaped upon them, and items of furniture shrouded in lengths of white cloth. It was my misfortune – or perhaps both of ours – that I was placed next to Mrs Bray at dinner, but I immediately turned to my neighbour, one of the spare women, and began chatting to her about the first nonsense that came into my head.
‘Lovely room, isn’t it?’ I said.
She sneaked a glance at the senior Featherses. The lady of the house was nodding wearily while being subjected to a monologue by one of the town councillors, and the doctor was occupied with waving in the clear soup course. ‘It’s his consulting room,’ my neighbour hissed to me, indicating our host.
‘Is it?’ I looked round. Across the table, Alec drained his glass and held it up for more.
‘The front part’s the office, the back’s the doctor’s den.’ She waved her soup spoon towards the shrouded furniture. ‘I’ve spent many an invigorating session on that couch. Rather strange to be back here enjoying oneself, so to speak.’
The doctor settled himself on the other side of Mrs Bray, and my neighbour immediately changed the subject. We chit-chatted amiably as the soup was followed by grilled mackerel stuffed with fennel. It was during the roast pork that I heard Dr Feathers say, seated on Mrs Bray’s other hand, ‘How’s your parlourmaid doing? What’s her name? Agnes, is it?’
My neighbour was at that moment expounding on the delights of some country estate that I simply must visit now I was in the area. (‘The delphiniums are just a delight at this time of year.’) I tried to nod and smile while holding an ear to Mrs Bray’s answer.
‘Oh, I don’t care any more,’ she said.
(‘You employ a chauffeur? I see. Well, the drive is quite spectacular.’)
‘If you ask me, she was making the whole thing up.’
‘But it was …’ I heard the doctor cough. ‘I mean, it is the same room?’
‘Possibly. I don’t take much notice of the arrangements.’
(‘Tell him to head past Walmstead Hall – no, no, that’s not right. Turn left just before it, that’s the one …’)
‘But thank you for asking. She’s a hysterical little child, to be honest, and saying that she’s homesick won’t wash with me, and she knows it. I left home when I was fourteen. Best thing I ever did.’
‘Well, as you know, I don’t hold for any sort of superstition, and thank goodness Mrs Feathers is of the same opinion as me. But here’s the thing, Mrs Bray: it’s rather interesting that what occurs in the head can have quite physical effects on the body.’
(‘I do believe the National Trust is perhaps the most important institution this country’s produced in the last fifty years.’)
‘Oh yes. So just because there’s no basis to it doesn’t mean she’s not in severe pain.’
‘Pain!’
(‘What a marvellous cook they have here. I shall have to have words with Mrs Goode.’)
‘The girl doesn’t know the least thing about pain. I think I might have to send her home. I’ll give her a reference …’
And then I was forced to answer a direct question from my neighbour, at some length, and the next time I was able to eavesdrop, Dr Feathers was talking to his other neighbour, and Mrs Bray was now free.
I quickly turned back, but my applauder of the National Trust was now engaged in the same monologue on her other side, and so I was thrust once more into the shark-infested waters of social chit-chat with my cousin’s wife.
I wanted, of course, to ask all about Agnes, but as that would have shown I had been listening in, and as I had already denied the charge of spying, I felt that that particular conversational gambit was not on the cards. Casting about for a safe topic, I said, ‘I didn’t realize that you painted.’
‘I don’t really,’ she said. ‘Daubing.’ And this was so close to how her husband had disparaged her that I nearly smiled.
‘You’ve probably a greater talent than me,’ I said, thinking of my timid pieces.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes, probably.’
I looked at my wine glass. ‘I see you’ve no room for false modesty.’
‘I haven’t. Although I don’t think it’s false. I think you’re right.’
‘I had an exhibition once,’ I snapped. ‘At the local library.’
‘Good for you.’ She scooped a last piece of potato into her mouth. ‘My circle would no doubt approve of your public-spiritedness.’
‘Your circle?’ Round the room, plates were being cleared and orange compote served. Alec stared at his dreamily.
‘My painting circle. We meet once a month and drive into the countryside. Watercolours, mostly. We’re meeting tomorrow, actually. If you’d like to come.’
I stared at her. She dipped a spoon into the compote as if nothing untoward had occurred.
‘Y-you’d like me to come?’
She continued not to look at me. ‘It’s of no consequence to me. I just thought you might want to improve your skills somewhat. You probably need to.’
‘Well.’ I looked at my dessert. ‘Well. I … I suppose. One could … I mean I could …’
‘I shall be outside the front at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.’ She dabbed her lips with her napkin. I saw the red smear left on the white linen cloth. ‘It’s up to you.’
I couldn’t help but wonder whether this was some sort of elaborate trap, as revenge for my curiosity, but as she seemed entirely unconcerned whether I went or not, I decided I would wait and see how the evening progressed and if she defrosted any further towards me.
Yet I was unable to find out. Hardly had dinner finished and the ladies gone up to the drawing room than Alec, jumping to his feet as if pulled by strings, announced, ‘Sorry to leave you, chaps, but Robert and I have to go.’
I stared at him, a fat unlit cigar in my hand. He gave me an elaborate wink, witnessed by every other man in the room and therefore pointless. I had been rather looking forward to partaking of this ritual, denied me at home on account of the trouble it caused my lungs. I’d already brewed up several opinions on the new government that I was hoping to air. ‘Now?’ I said. But my voice was swallowed up by Dr Feathers, who said, ‘What? Is there some sort of emergency?’
‘Well … that is … no. Not really.’ Alec blinked down at the assembly, like a schoolboy caught out in a lie. ‘I’ve arranged to meet an old chum, you see. My business partner, actually,’ he added, as if that made it all much more acceptable.
‘Do I know him?’ Feathers chomped enthusiastically on his cigar. My stomach sank at the thought of having to deal with Bump again, and I wondered how I could edge out of Alec’s arrangement without upsetting anyone.
‘Prob’ly not.’ Alec attempted to lean on the sideboard, then realized that would be a bad idea and tried to straighten himself again. ‘He’s the Duke of Cowray. Tenth-richest man in England,’ he continued, smiling broadly.
I noticed a general rustling round the room as this information was absorbed. Dr Feathers looked pleased with himself, as if knighted by association. ‘Well, well. Of course, in that case you must go,’ he said, looking across the table to make sure everybody had heard. ‘But must we also forgo the pleasure of Mr Carver’s company?’
‘I’d be happy to stay,’ I said immediately, staring at Alec as if I could convey my message telepathically.
Alec waved his brandy balloon. ‘Unfortunately …’ He trailed off, staring at the clock, and seemed almost to fall asleep standing, until he blearily returned to the room. ‘Hmm. It’s a business meeting. Robert is our artistic advisor. We are in desperate need of his services.’ He gave a high-pitched giggle.
I was about to argue, but I saw that the rest of the room was quite as happy to get rid of me as Alec was to take me away, and so I reluctantly got to my feet and went about shaking hands with bigwigs I was never likely to
meet again.
Doris was dispatched to fetch Lizzie, and she came down into the hallway to say goodbye. Alec was already outside the front door, leaning on one of the house pillars for support. I thought perhaps the night air might be sobering him up, but I did not have much hope in it.
‘Do you have to go?’ she pouted, as the men barked at each other from the dining room next door. ‘Surely you can get out of it if you really want to.’
‘Not for showing Alec up to be a dreadful liar.’ I added quickly, ‘Don’t say that to your father.’
‘Well, you did promise you’d be here.’ She beetled her brows. ‘Although I’m sure going off with Mr Bray will be far more fun than listening to dreary old me play some dirge on the piano.’
‘I’d much rather stay!’ I protested, feeling unfairly got at. ‘And I did come. You didn’t tell me you were going to perform.’
She was still pouting. ‘One of Chopin’s nocturnes. It was supposed to be a surprise.’
‘I’m sorry, Lizzie. Look, I’ll make it up to you, all right?’
She sniffed. ‘I suppose you could come for lunch tomorrow.’
I thought of the painting circle, but decided to be circumspect, at least in her current mood. ‘It’ll have to be later, I’m afraid. How about tea at four?’
Her pout threatened again, but I did not waver, and finally the lower lip retreated and formed itself into a reluctant smile.
‘Come on, Carver!’
Alec was in the doorway, a black silhouette against the indigo sky outside.
Lizzie blew me a sly kiss and headed for the stairs. I called goodbye, but I heard the click of the drawing-room door opening, and knew my words were lost amidst the murmur of female voices that emerged, among them a scratchy, hoarse burst of laughter that sounded as if it had been swept off the factory floor.
‘There goes my wife,’ said Alec, jerking his head towards the sound. ‘Apparently one can rub it all out except for the laughter.’
‘Rub all what out?’ I echoed as we went down the steps together.
Adopting a sneer, he said in a terrible cockney accent, ‘The old fishwife voice, y’know.’ Reverting to his usual manner, he continued, ‘You see, there are some things elocution lessons can’t erase. Laughing’s one. Of course, there’s another.’
I wondered what the other was, but he was already striding ahead of me down the cliff. ‘I hadn’t actually heard her laugh before,’ I said, running to catch up.
‘Never in my presence, old boy. Never in the house. Only with her “friends”.’ He tossed the word out towards the waves. ‘Still, we’re off to have a jolly time, eh?’
‘The thing is …’ I said.
‘Thought I was going to die of boredom back there,’ he said, weaving left and right across the pavement. ‘Worst thing of all having to turn up with one’s wife when one can’t stand her. You did all right, did you, sat next to her? She didn’t rip you to shreds?’
‘No. At least, not exactly.’ I paused. ‘She actually invited me on a trip with her painting circle tomorrow.’
Alec hooted. ‘Oh, she’s a devil, all right.’
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Why’s that? I might not go, you know.’
‘Oh, you should. Have a whale of a time, as long as you keep your wits about you.’ He laughed again, and I wasn’t in the least comforted.
At the bottom of the hill we crossed over the road, walked past the entrance to the Snooks and carried on. The Majestic Hotel reared its wedding-cake façade beside us, and Alec roared good evening at the liveried doorman, clasping the man’s meaty hand before trotting up the steps to the revolving doors. I followed at a slower pace, fearful we might be thrown out, although the doorman, whose broad red face and veined nose betrayed his habits, merely beamed at Alec’s disappearing back.
In the large, chandelier-lit lobby of the Majestic, a nonagenarian with a handlebar moustache tinkled the piano and clumps of holidaymakers sat in huge enfolding chairs and pretended not to be falling asleep. Alec strode to the desk, leaned one elbow on its polished surface and said to the clerk, ‘We’re here to see Lord Hugh Mason-Chambers. He’s expecting us.’
‘Mr Bray and friend?’
Alec pointed to me and nodded heavily, like a dog.
‘Room Eighty-Two, sir. Top floor.’
As the lift ticked down to meet us, I said to Alec, ‘So what are we doing here, exactly?’
Alec put an arm round my shoulders. ‘Having fun, dear boy. Isn’t that what life’s all about?’
It seemed pointless to say that I’d been having fun before. I allowed Alec to lead me into the lift. ‘Is he really the tenth-richest man in England?’
‘God, no.’ Alec peered at himself in the mirrored walls that lined the contraption. My stomach churned as we ascended, and I realized I’d had more port than I’d intended.
‘Bump’s the youngest of the tribe. Hasn’t a bloody bean to call his own, except for the old man’s allowance, and I tell you, it requires some financial jiggery-pokery to convince him it all goes on essential needs. This is the plan, y’see, with our little dummies under the arches. Goin’ to make us a fortune.’
‘What about Sampson?’ I said, as the lift jerked to a nausea-inducing halt on the eighth floor.
‘Duke of Cowray pays for him.’ Alec flicked my collar. ‘That’s the old man.’
Not Bump, then. ‘So you lied to Dr Feathers.’
Alec widened his eyes. ‘Me? Lie? I won’t have it, Carver. I bite my thumb at you, cuz.’ Which he did, as the lift doors opened. ‘See how well studied I am, eh, quoting the Bard? Come on.’
He dragged me along a parqueted corridor to a room and hammered on the door. ‘Let us in, you fool!’ he bellowed. ‘We’ve been waiting here for hours!’
The door was opened, not by Bump, but by a girl with a feather in her hair and so much make-up smeared on her face she made Clara Bray seem positively demure. She was holding a cocktail in one hand and peered at us short-sightedly, then leaned back into the room and said, ‘Oi! You got a coupla mates out here! Shall I let ’em in?’
There was an answering roar, and the girl stepped back, waving us through exaggeratedly. ‘You look like nice boys,’ she said, ‘or I wouldn’t bother, know what I mean?’
I entered the room gingerly. We were in a sort of anteroom, carpeted wall to wall, and through an open doorway we spied Bump spread out on a huge sofa, a girl draped on either side of him. They were all drinking the same cocktail, a bubbly concoction spiked with mint leaves. One of the girls, I noticed, was wearing just a petticoat.
‘There you are.’ Bump cast aside the girls and lumbered to his feet. ‘Thought you’d pansied out. Come in. Right. This is … sorry, I’ve forgotten their names. Anyway, they’re damned pretty, don’t you think?’
I hardly knew where to look. Alec, however, went straight to the sofa, sat down and said, indicating the cocktails, ‘How about you get me one of those? A man could die of thirst in here.’
Bump snapped his fingers at the girl who’d just let us in and was now hovering in the doorway. ‘You! Go and tell Sampson to knock us up a couple more of these things.’
The girl clipped two fingers to her head in a mock-salute and staggered off through yet another doorway.
Alec watched her go. ‘How many bloody rooms d’you have here, Mason?’
‘Whole bloody suite of ’em.’ Bump waved his arm. ‘Bedroom’s the size of a swimming pool.’ He winked at the girls on the sofa, whose bored expressions flipped back into simpers as he turned to them.
I sat on the edge of the armchair, torn between horror and fascination. Bump resumed his position between the two girls.
‘Now, where was I?’ he said, holding out his arms along the sofa back, allowing a female to fold herself into him. ‘What d’you think, Bray? Sampson doesn’t even know this backwater, and look at the beauties he’s picked.’
The girls giggled with dead eyes. Not a single one could be described as beautiful, but I
supposed Bump was attempting to be chivalrous. The one wearing more than a petticoat shuffled over to where Alec was sitting.
‘Hello, sweetie,’ she said. ‘What’s your name then?’
‘Don’t tell ’em!’ commanded Bump. ‘No names, no pack drill, what?’
The girl stuck her tongue out at him. ‘You’re full of it, ain’tcha, Oscar Wilde?’
‘Calling me a fairy, you strumpet?’ Bump turned away from her in rather an affected way. ‘I shall talk to you, little flower,’ he mumbled, stroking the neck of the petticoat-clad girl.
The girl with the feather in her hair came back into the room. ‘Ta-da!’ she said, holding a tray of drinks, which rattled dangerously as she weaved her way towards us. She bent towards Alec, who took one with a mumble of thanks, and then made her way towards me. ‘Here y’are, darling.’
I took it and sipped. It was extremely strong. I should go, I thought. The whole situation was so immoral I could barely take it in. And yet my rear appeared to be rooted to the armchair, even when the girl with the feather sat on the arm of it, her perfume drifting in and out of my lungs.
‘You got a special friend, sweetheart?’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised, good-looking man like you.’
I coughed. ‘I’m … um … yes,’ I said, hoping that would encourage her to leave me alone, and then hoping that it wouldn’t. ‘That is, I’m, um … well, she’s called Lizzie.’ I wished immediately I hadn’t told the girl her name.
‘Sounds lovely.’ She put her lips near my ear. ‘Bet she don’t put out for you though, eh?’
I swallowed my drink with difficulty. ‘Um … I’d rather not … rather not say,’ I said weakly. The girl laughed and tickled my ear. ‘Wh-what about you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, are you married, or – er … ?’
The girl laughed out loud. Recovering herself, she said, ‘No, darling, I ain’t. No time for a beau, know what I mean? And all these handsome men about, seems a shame to tie yourself to one of ’em, don’t it?’
This last was shot across the room to the other two girls. The one who was talking to Bump looked up. ‘I reckon I got the handsomest here,’ she said, stroking Bump’s face.
The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House Page 17