by Clara Benson
‘I suppose just one won’t matter, will it?’ said Lavinia coyly, as she took the drink. ‘No more, though, or it will go straight to my head, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Freddy.
‘It’s astounding how much some people can hold,’ went on Lavinia. ‘In India, it was quite the done thing among some groups of people to drink cocktails from noon onwards. Of course, by dinner-time half of them couldn’t find their way to the dining-room and the other half couldn’t stand up at all. Disgraceful behaviour, I call it. I speak of the lower classes, naturally. Those of us at the higher levels of society would never have dreamt of conducting ourselves in that fashion.’
‘You lived in India, did you, madam?’ said Mrs. Dragusha.
‘Yes indeed,’ replied Lavinia. ‘We spent ten years in Mahjapara, in the north. My husband was in Tea, you know. Quite six thousand acres, and all of the very highest quality Assam. My poor darling was called to a better place two years ago, and my dear sister was carried off not long after that, leaving Daphne and me all alone in the world. But India is no place for two women, and we very soon agreed that we had better return to England. And so here we are!’ She gave a gay, tinkling laugh. ‘As I was saying to Mrs. Fortescue-Hoggett only the other day, after so many years abroad it’s so refreshing to return into the company of one’s own sort. Out there, one finds oneself a kind of magnet for people one wouldn’t normally mix with, and naturally one doesn’t wish to give an outright snub, but sometimes one does have to be ruder than one would like. However, I’m pleased to say there’s no need for that here.’
Cynthia had come in while Lavinia was speaking, and had heard the whole speech. Freddy saw a scornful remark hovering on his mother’s lips, and attempted to forestall it by pushing a drink on her and talking loudly of something else, but she was not to be repressed.
‘I told you, didn’t I?’ she hissed, as soon as Lavinia and Daphne had moved away. ‘Six thousand acres, indeed! She said it as though her husband owned them, but I happen to know he was nothing but a shipping clerk at the Mahjapara District Tea Company, if you please. He died when a tower of tea-crates toppled onto him in the warehouse.’
Mr. Wray now entered in his usual self-effacing fashion and came to pay his compliments to Mrs. Pilkington-Soames, and so Cynthia was forced to keep the rest of her opinions to herself.
Professor Coddington was regarding Mrs. Philpott with interest.
‘You lived in Mahjapara, did you?’ he said. ‘I know the place very well myself.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’ said Lavinia.
‘Yes. I have a friend there, and spent some months staying with him two years ago. I should say it was strange that we did not meet, but my friend lives up in the hills and does not mix greatly in society. However, he takes all the newspapers, so we were perfectly informed of all the goings-on in the town. If I am not much mistaken, you are the widow of Mr. Morris Philpott, yes?’
Just then Daphne gave a little cry of dismay, for Lavinia had spilt her cocktail over her.
‘Dear me, how careless of me! I am sorry, darling,’ exclaimed Lavinia, dabbing at her niece with a napkin. ‘These heels are rather new and I’m not quite steady on them yet. I do hope I haven’t ruined your frock. No, no, it’s mostly gone on your arm, I see. Just a little patch of wet here on the bottom of the sleeve, and that will dry easily. How very fortunate that it was just a martini, and not one of these brightly-coloured drinks! At least it won’t stain. You will forgive me, won’t you? It was entirely accidental.’
Most of the spillage had gone onto the rug, and was soon cleaned up. Lavinia was furnished with another cocktail, then Kitty Fitzsimmons made her entrance on the arm of Dr. Bachmann, and all attention turned to her. Cynthia’s eyes darted everywhere, registering every detail of Kitty’s simple tunic, and found nothing to criticize.
‘It’s perfect,’ she pronounced at last—just as Kitty had intended. ‘On anyone else that frock would look far too plain—bland, even—but you look nothing less than an angel. Yes, quite angelic!’
‘You’re terribly kind,’ said Kitty modestly.
Others now chimed in with their compliments, and the conversation turned to the many perfections of Kitty Fitzsimmons, who flushed slightly but seemed not at all displeased at this development. Freddy, mindful of Daphne’s presence, was very careful not to stare, and turned to find Mr. Wray still standing next to him. Despite his age, the clergyman was lean and spare, with a looseness of limb that spoke of frequent healthy walks in the country. Now his brows were drawn together in a pained frown.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ said Freddy. Mr. Wray started slightly, as though he had only just noticed where he was.
‘What? Oh, yes, I am quite well, thank you,’ he replied. ‘Just a mild headache. I get them sometimes—and especially so since the unfortunate incident which destroyed part of my house. I am occasionally affected by vibrations, and I believe the electrical power that was unleashed by the lightning storm may have in some way increased my sensitivity further—at least, I have certainly become more acutely aware of the disorder since it happened.’
‘I say, bad luck.’
‘Thank you, but it is nothing. Just a little inconvenience now and again. The worst of it is that I do not sleep at all well when it comes upon me. But it passes after a few nights, and then I am perfectly well again. I should call it my cross to bear, except that it can be useful at times. I dare say you’ll think it odd, and perhaps a little disrespectful in someone of my calling, but I believe I am very susceptible to atmosphere, and have an ability to perceive things which are not discernible to most people.’
‘Oh? Such as what?’
‘It is difficult to explain,’ said Mr. Wray. ‘Let us say that among any particular company or gathering of people, I am able to sense the prevailing mood or influence even where the intention is to conceal it. It is nothing more than an impression—an intangible sensation—but it is quite unmistakable. As I said, some might think it not exactly right in a clergyman, and consider that it smacks too much of the occult, but I firmly believe it is a gift from a Higher Power, and thus to be harnessed for good. And so I have used it. On several occasions in the past I have been able to use my sense of something amiss to help restore harmony where before there was discord. I speak only of a judicious word here and there to help smooth out minor squabbles, you understand, but I have always believed that one day I should be able to use my gift to prevent a greater harm. Or at least, I did believe it—until today.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Freddy.
Mr. Wray paused before replying.
‘Mr. Pilkington-Soames, have you never had a sense of your own helplessness in the face of impending disaster?’ he said at last.
‘Oh, all the time,’ said Freddy truthfully.
‘Then you will perhaps understand my situation. You will not believe me, I dare say, but I sense that a great evil has descended upon Belsingham. Something terrible is about to happen, I am almost certain of it.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Freddy. ‘Evil, you say? Who is evil?’
‘It may not be a person at all—perhaps it is just a mood or an intention, I cannot tell. But I feel a great disruption to the family lies ahead,’ replied Mr. Wray. He turned to Freddy, and the look on his face was one of distress. ‘Someone is in danger—and I do not know how I can prevent it!’
Before Freddy could question Mr. Wray further, there was a slight disturbance by the door as the Duke and Duchess entered with some ceremony. Cedric coughed, and the room fell silent.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘My daughter, Lady Rose Wareham. In you come, then,’ he finished, rather ruining the effect. All eyes were turned to the open door as Ro made her entrance in her new frock, wearing the Belsingham pearls. She was trying and not quite managing to affect an expression of boredom, for it was cle
ar that she was as excited as anybody else about the evening; and sure enough, as everyone clapped and cheered, her face broke out into the pleased smile she had been attempting to suppress.
‘You look beautiful, darling!’ exclaimed Iris. ‘Doesn’t she, Ralph?’
Ralph duly added his compliments, as did everyone else. Mrs. Dragusha had judged quite rightly in the colour and the cut of the frock, for its clean, simple lines acted as an ideal foil to the pearls themselves, which lay in three delicate loops on Ro’s breast, their sheen contrasting perfectly with the midnight blue of the satin beneath them. The dressmaker herself was clasping her hands together, smiling at the result of her efforts.
‘Splendid, splendid,’ said Cedric, not displeased with his daughter’s reception.
‘Shall we go in to dinner?’ said Bea.
There was some little bustle as they all removed to the dining-room and sat in their allotted places. Ro was seated halfway down the long table, that everyone might admire her and the Belsingham pearls, and she did her best to appear gracious when she discovered that Professor Coddington was to be her right-hand neighbour. Fortunately, Freddy was on her other side to leaven the suffering, and so her birthday dinner proceeded reasonably pleasantly—at least until the professor turned away from Mr. Wray, with whom he had been conversing, and said to her:
‘And so at last the pearls are yours, Lady Rose, and may I say how radiant you look in them? It is a pity—yes, it is a pity that these heirlooms always seem to have such stories of suffering behind them, but I know that your ancestors considered the deaths of forty or fifty foreigners to be a small price to pay for such a treasure.’
‘Nothing to do with Ro,’ said Goose cheerfully from across the table.
‘Naturally,’ replied Coddington. ‘I hope you do not think I am apportioning blame to any of you. I spoke of the hidden sins of great families earlier, but I assure you I mean no offence to the present representatives of such houses. No, one would hope for better conduct in these modern days. In the past, for example, it was quite common for a duke or an earl to maintain a whole brood of irregular offspring in addition to his legitimate heirs. Nowadays it would be much more difficult to hide such a thing from the public eye, is that not so, Duke?’
‘Oh—er—what?’ said Cedric, startled.
‘We know the Wareham family are not without their own skeletons in the closet, but I speak of past misdeeds, of course. You will remember my letter on the subject, no doubt.’
‘Ah—certainly,’ replied Cedric.
Bea was raising her eyebrows furiously at Freddy, who took the hint and was about to chime in with some fatuous remark to ease the awkwardness, when the professor went on, addressing the whole table:
‘How strange Fate is! I was speaking to Lord Lucian this afternoon, who told me that the Duke nearly drowned in a river as a child. Fortunate for him that he survived the accident—but fortunate also for your branch of the family, for had he died, then the dukedom would have passed to Lord Lucian himself, and then, in due course, to Mr. Pilkington-Soames.’
Here he paused impressively, and everybody involuntarily eyed Freddy as they considered the appalling possibility.
‘I say, that’s not true, you know, sir,’ said Goose. ‘A title can’t pass through the female line—or ours can’t at any rate, so Cynthia rather stands in the way of Freddy’s getting his hands on Belsingham.’
‘Ah! That is my mistake,’ said the professor, by no means disconcerted. ‘How many men must have seen their ambitions thwarted by virtue of their descent through the wrong line! You know this, of course, Mr. Wray—by which I mean that you must have read of many such misfortunes during your researches here. In this case, however, perhaps Lord Holme may consider himself lucky that Lord Lucian was unable to have sons.’
Here Nugs emerged from his soup and was about to retort, but Bea caught his eye and he thought better of it. Fortunately, Cynthia was talking to Ralph and had not heard the exchange.
Coddington went on:
‘Still, whatever the reason, it was not to be, and so Lady Rose is the happy woman who wears the pearls tonight.’ He turned back to her and poked his head towards her as though to peer closely at the necklace. Ro hastily took off the pearls in case he took it into his head to paw at them.
‘Should you like to look at them, professor?’ she said.
‘Thank you! I should like nothing better.’ He took the pearls in his hand and held them up to the light, then squinted at them. ‘I suppose these are the real ones? I know that sometimes the owners of fabulous heirlooms prefer to wear false ones and keep the real ones locked away for safety. I have also heard of cases in which real jewels have been pawned, and false ones substituted in secret. No? These are the real ones? Ah! Then they are the very pearls which were stolen from the Maharajah of Ravashnagar, who, along with his wife and his body-guard was brutally slaughtered by John Wareham in the year eighteen hundred and six. They are of national importance, and ought really to be in a museum for the enjoyment of the nation.’ Here he looked around the table to make quite sure that he had the full enthralled attention of his audience. ‘I am not a real expert, of course, but I have studied these things in a modest way, and it is a pity I have not my eye-glass with me, or I should examine them more closely. However, I am afraid I left it in my room.’
Ro murmured something politely, and he handed them back.
Kitty Fitzsimmons, on Freddy’s other side, murmured:
‘That man really is the limit.’
‘Isn’t he, though?’ Freddy replied.
‘One can’t even have a quiet conversation about fripperies without his interrupting with his puffed-up opinions. Only think! Iris and I were having a comfortable chat earlier about shoes, of all things, and he came and started opining about the damage high heels do to one’s feet. We were just preparing to nod and agree in the hope that he’d go away, when he started dropping heavy hints to Iris about how it was as well to be fully informed of the past of the man one was to marry, as though Ralph were anything but the straightest!’
‘Well, quite,’ said Freddy, then added curiously, ‘What did he say about him, out of interest?’
‘Oh, nothing that I could understand,’ said Kitty. ‘At least, nothing that meant anything. I think the professor likes to give the impression that he knows things, even when he doesn’t. Then he started saying horrid things about Rob, nodding and smiling all the while as though he thought I should like nothing better than to listen to his stuff.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Freddy.
‘Don’t be,’ said Kitty cheerfully. ‘I’m used to that sort of thing. As a matter of fact, it was quite refreshing to hear it said out loud instead of whispered behind people’s hands as I pass. Still, it’s hardly good manners.’
‘It certainly isn’t.’
‘If this were a novel,’ went on Kitty, ‘Professor Coddington is the sort of person who’d be found dead in the study with a knife in his back, and we’d all be suspects.’
‘So he is,’ said Freddy. ‘And who should you have as the murderer?’
Kitty’s single dimple appeared as she looked thoughtfully around the table.
‘It’s usually the least obvious person, isn’t it? What do you say to Lavinia Philpott? Or Dr. Bachmann?’
‘Either of those might do, I should think. But what about motive?’
‘I expect we could think of one easily enough. If it was Lavinia, then perhaps the professor met her in India, and knows something to her disadvantage.’
‘That’s possible, I suppose. But what about Bachmann?’
‘I don’t know. Some sort of academic rivalry?’
‘Yes, that’s convincing enough,’ said Freddy. ‘I’ve heard about what goes on in these circles. You’d think most professors and lecturers were shrivelled old beans with brains full of algebra and nothing else—cert
ainly no human feeling, but don’t you believe it! I’ve heard stories that would make your hair stand on end. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the East Quadrangle Massacre which took place a few years ago at a very well known seat of learning? They hushed it up, you know, because understandably it was thought that the parents of impressionable young men might be somewhat reluctant to send their sons to a place in which one couldn’t be quite sure of going to bed with the same number of limbs one had when one got up. The Clarion sent me to cover the story, but I was only permitted to write about it in the most veiled terms. At any rate, I can tell you categorically that if you care to accuse a well-respected professor of Greek of having misrepresented the emphasis of a particular phrase in his translation of the Iliad, then you had better do so from across the room—and preferably while standing by the door, all the better to make a quick escape. I see disbelief in your face,’ he went on, as she shook her head smilingly at him. ‘I promise you that every word of it is true. Still, though, we’ve got it all wrong, you know. In my business I see a lot of sordid doings every day, and sadly one finds that the murderer is usually the most obvious suspect rather than the least obvious one.’
‘In that case, if somebody killed the professor it would have to be one of the Warehams, since it’s their house party he’s spoiling, and he keeps on hinting that they’re hiding awful secrets, which I’m sure they’re not.’
