by Clara Benson
‘Why should his life be in danger, though?’ objected Gabe Bradley. ‘Surely what the other side want is his knowledge and expertise? They’re hardly going to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.’
‘He feared he was in danger of being kidnapped,’ said Jameson. ‘The other lot aren’t above drugging people and spiriting them away to work on their scientific projects, you know.’
‘Well, that may or may not be the case,’ said the Earl. ‘And if it is, and if Klausen is intercepted and carried off en route to Fives Castle, I only hope you’ve put the papers in a safe place, Buchanan.’
He spoke half-jokingly, but the Foreign Secretary nodded seriously.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They are locked securely away. Nobody will be able to find them without searching very carefully for them.’
‘Well, then,’ said Aubrey Nash, ‘all we can do now is wait for him to arrive—if he ever does.’
Sandy Buchanan stood up and walked over to the window. It was still snowing thickly.
‘Don’t worry, he will,’ he said.
SEVEN
The next morning Angela was already dressed and was just brushing her hair in front of the glass when there was a knock at her door.
‘May I come in?’ said Gertie, peeping into the room. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were shining with the light of exercise. ‘The boys came and dragged me out of bed early this morning,’ she explained. ‘We’ve been building a snowman. I say, Angela, it’s the most gorgeous day—simply stunning. The snow is three feet thick in places.’
She ran over to the window and looked out, and Angela joined her. As Gertie had said, it was a beautiful day. The early sun gleamed off the thick covering of white and threw everything into sharp relief. It had been too dark to see much the day before when she had arrived, but now Angela saw that Fives Castle was set on the ridge of a hill, looking out over a deep glen carpeted with fir trees. Below her window was a grand terrace from which a flight of steps led down to a sloping lawn. The whole of the landscape before her was hidden under a counterpane of crisp white. Out on the lawn she saw Gus and Bobby capering about a half-finished snowman, throwing snowballs at each other. She could hear their distant yells of laughter and was very tempted to join them.
‘I actually came in to cadge a cigarette,’ said Gertie. ‘Father’s had me under penance ever since that bust-up at the Copernicus Club, and I’ve had to promise not to smoke as he doesn’t approve of it in women, so when I’m at home I’m reduced to begging from others.’
‘Claude doesn’t seem to approve of it either, I notice,’ said Angela, handing her cigarette-case to Gertie.
‘Oh yes, he’s a frightful stiff,’ said Gertie. ‘He’s always telling Priss what to do.’
‘Do you think he and Priss are entirely suited?’ said Angela hesitantly.
Gertie shrugged.
‘You wouldn’t think so, would you?’ she said. ‘But Priss seems to think they are. She accepted him, after all. Come on, let’s go and have some breakfast and then go out.’
She seemed uninterested in her elder sister’s happiness or otherwise in marriage, so Angela gave it up and followed Gertie from the room.
After breakfast, wrapped up in their warmest things, they went into the garden, where Gus and Bobby were still running about with shrieks of delight. They had been joined by Clemmie, who had shed her customary cross expression and was enjoying herself as much as her brothers.
‘We’ve finished our snowman,’ said Bobby to Angela. ‘He’s looking a bit lop-sided, though. Gertie ran off and we couldn’t reach to get his head on properly.’
‘Let’s put it right, then,’ said Angela. She set to work then stepped back to judge the effect. ‘There—that’s a bit better, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Gus.
‘But this snowman is looking awfully lonely,’ went on Angela. ‘I think what he needs is a snow-woman to keep him company.’
‘A snow-woman! A snow-woman!’ yelled Gus and Bobby, and set to work with alacrity.
With five of them helping, it was not long before a second snow-figure was standing next to the first one.
‘She’s a beauty,’ said Angela, gazing at the snow-woman who, despite their best efforts, was afflicted with an unsightly hump.
‘She needs a hat!’ said Gus, and the two boys ran off into the castle in search of suitable attire for their new creation. Meanwhile, Gertie took another of Angela’s cigarettes and went behind a tree to smoke it, so as not to be seen from the castle windows.
‘I don’t see why Priss is allowed to smoke while I’m not,’ she said grumpily.
‘Because Priss behaves herself,’ said Clemmie.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Gertie. ‘Of course she doesn’t.’
‘Well then, at least she doesn’t get caught,’ said the younger girl.
‘That’s true enough,’ said Gertie with regret. ‘I’ve never learned the knack of keeping my sins a secret. I always seem to commit them in full view of the world. Perhaps I ought to take a lesson from Priss, then.’
‘She was being a bit obvious last night at dinner, I thought,’ said Clemmie.
‘What do you mean?’ said Gertie.
‘Why, flirting madly with Freddy, of course.’
‘Oh, Freddy,’ said Gertie dismissively. ‘Everyone flirts with Freddy. And Freddy flirts with everyone. In fact, I ask you, is it even possible to speak to Freddy without flirting with him?’
‘Difficult,’ Clemmie acknowledged. ‘You were pretty obvious too, though, with Sandy Buchanan.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Gertie.
‘Yes you were. You were hanging on his every word and simpering like an idiot. She used to have the most awful crush on him, you know,’ said Clemmie to Angela. ‘She was distraught when he got married.’
‘That’s true enough,’ admitted Gertie. ‘I thought after his first wife died I might be in with a chance, but no such luck.’
‘Isn’t he a little old for you? He must be at least fifty,’ said Angela in some amusement.
‘I like older men,’ said Gertie dreamily. ‘They’re so masterful and capable.’
‘And he obviously likes younger women—just not you,’ said Clemmie unfeelingly.
‘I wonder where he found her,’ said Gertie. ‘Eleanor, I mean. Do you know anything about her? I don’t. What does he see in her? She’s like a wild animal watching out for predators—all narrow eyes and sudden glances. What’s bothering her?’
‘Us, probably,’ said Clemmie. ‘We were a bit loud at dinner last night.’
They paused to watch as a procession of servants passed along the terrace, carrying chairs and tables.
‘Are they for the dance?’ asked Angela.
‘Yes,’ said Gertie. ‘I dare say we shall be wanted later on to help.’
‘How many people are you expecting?’ said Angela.
‘I don’t know, in this snow,’ said Gertie, ‘but with the servants and the people from the village it might be anything up to a hundred or even a hundred and fifty. You’ll have to join in, of course, as will the rest of the party. You ought to see Father doing a reel, Angela—it’s quite a sight.’
‘I shall look forward to it,’ said Angela.
Just then they heard a voice hailing them, and they turned to see Aubrey Nash and Gabe Bradley coming across the lawn to join them accompanied by Gus and Bobby, who were laden down with scarves and hats.
‘I wonder what happened to the Danish professor,’ said Angela. ‘He was supposed to arrive yesterday, wasn’t he?’
‘Perhaps he got buried in a snowdrift and expired of cold,’ said Gertie.
‘Who’s that?’ said Clemmie.
‘Some professor or other. Klausen, I think his name was,’ said Gertie. ‘Perhaps we ought to send out a search party.’
‘Professor Lars Klausen? The famous physicist?’ said Clemmie suddenly.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Gertie. ‘Why, do you know him?’
Gertie made a face expressive of an utter lack of interest in atomic structures.
‘Oh, but he’s brilliant,’ said Clemmie enthusiastically. ‘Is he really meant to be coming? Why didn’t anybody tell me? His theories are absolutely the latest thing.’
‘Well it doesn’t look as though he’s coming now, does it?’ said Gertie. ‘The road is impassable. Hallo, Mr. Nash,’ she said as the others came up. ‘Have they set you on to clearing the drive?’
‘I can do that if you like, Lady Gertrude,’ replied Aubrey Nash pleasantly, ‘but first of all, I hear there’s a snowman in a state of some embarrassment.’
Gus and Bobby sniggered as Gabe placed a shabby old bonnet from some fifty years earlier on the snow-woman, and they all spent the rest of the morning outside, in a general mood of rising hilarity. After an energetic snowball fight there then began a particularly silly game of tag, involving complicated rules invented by Gertie, during which even Angela found herself giggling like a girl. At lunchtime they all returned to the castle, pink-cheeked and laughing, to find Lord Strathmerrick striding about in the entrance-hall, barking orders to the servants and looking cross. He gave the newcomers an impatient glance and hurried off somewhere.
‘What’s wrong with Father?’ said Gertie when they got into the drawing-room. ‘He’s not looking too happy.’
‘Oh, he’s probably cross about the telephone,’ replied Lady Strathmerrick. ‘It seems the snow has brought the telegraph lines down, and the telephone isn’t working.’
‘Then we must be completely cut off, I guess,’ said Gabe. ‘The road is impassable and there is no means of communication from the castle to the outside world.’
‘Oh, it’s not quite that bad,’ said Gertie. ‘The road’s only impassable by motor-car, but there’s a path through the trees behind the castle and it ought to be easy enough to get to the village on foot—especially on skis. It’s less than half a mile away, after all. As I said, we’ve been cut off before and it’s never that bad. And I’m sure they’ll get the lines fixed soon.’
‘It won’t be today or tomorrow, though,’ said Lady Strathmerrick, ‘and I think that’s what your father is concerned about. We are still one guest short, remember, and I think he is a little worried that the professor might have got stuck in the snow on the way here.’
Gus and Bobby looked at each other, wide-eyed, but said nothing.
They made a quick luncheon, for the household was busy with preparations for the dance that night, then most of the men disappeared in twos and threes into various rooms, presumably to discuss important matters of state.
‘I believe I shall take a turn out of doors,’ announced Freddy. ‘What could be pleasanter than to be the first to tread in virgin snow? There’s something unaccountably satisfying about planting one’s feet into a blanket of shining white, hearing the crunch underfoot and looking back at the single trail of crisp footprints that bears witness to one’s pioneering spirit. If man ever travels to the moon, I imagine he will feel very much the same.’
Gertie snorted.
‘Ass,’ she said. ‘What time did you get out of bed? The rest of us have been out in the garden all morning and churned all the snow up already. You’ll have to go to the West meadow if you don’t want to see anyone’s footprints but your own.’
‘Then I shall go to the West meadow,’ said Freddy, unperturbed. He rose and went to put on his boots. Angela bumped into him in the hall just as he came downstairs, and he looked about him mysteriously, put a finger over his lips and drew her into a little recess.
‘What have you found out?’ he said in a stage-whisper.
Angela was surprised.
‘What about?’ she said.
‘Why, about the secret meeting, of course,’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ she replied.
He clicked his tongue impatiently.
‘And you call yourself a detective?’ he said.
‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ said Angela, but he was not listening and went on:
‘This time of year is terribly slow for good stories. I want to find out what’s going on here so I’ve got something for old Bickerstaffe when I get back to the Clarion offices. In spite of my astounding successes recently, I’m still considered something of a raw, untried junior, and I want to establish myself firmly in his good books.’
‘But if it’s something of national importance, ought you to be publishing it in that rag of yours?’
‘The Clarion is a highly-respected organ,’ said Freddy with dignity.
‘Of course it is,’ said Angela kindly.
‘And naturally we wouldn’t publish anything that was confidential. But don’t you see? This has nothing to do with what appears in the paper. I just want Bickerstaffe to know that whenever something of interest is going on, Frederick Pilkington-Soames Esquire is there on the spot, notebook in hand.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Angela. ‘You don’t care about publishing a story. You’re just anxious to cut a dash with your editor by showing him that you know something he doesn’t.’
‘Précisément,’ said Freddy. ‘And it’s for that reason I need your help. You wouldn’t want to see the son of your oldest friend lose his job through a dearth of material that was not his fault, now, would you?’
Angela made no comment about his description of Cynthia Pilkington-Soames as her oldest friend.
‘But what am I supposed to do?’ she said.
‘Why, just keep your eyes and ears open, and see what you can find out. Your pal from the Intelligence service would be a good place to start.’
‘If you think I am going to try and pump Henry Jameson for information on matters of national security you are very much mistaken,’ said Angela. ‘Besides, if he knows his job—and I happen to know he does—he will be as close-mouthed as an oyster.’
‘Well, then, what about this Nash fellow? You ought to be able to get something out of him for old times’ sake, at least.’
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ said Angela.
Freddy smirked and tapped his nose.
‘I know more than you might think,’ he said, then as Angela regarded him with suspicion, continued, ‘as does Selma Nash.’
‘What?’ said Angela. She was not pleased with the turn the conversation had taken.
‘Oh, she and Aubrey have no secrets from one another. They are quite the open couple. She knows all about his life before they were married. You were quite friendly with him before he met Selma, weren’t you?’ He spoke carelessly but there was a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘Hmm,’ said Angela, who liked her private concerns to remain private. ‘That is none of your business. And anyway,’ she went on, to detract attention from herself, ‘what’s all this “Selma”-ing? You’ve only just met her, and it’s already “Selma” this and “Selma” that.’ Freddy coughed but did not reply, and Angela shook her head in mock-exasperation. ‘How long have you been here?’ she said. ‘Eighteen hours? That was fast work.’
‘Time is immaterial when it comes to the sphere of the human heart,’ said Freddy with a sentimental sigh.
‘Idiot,’ said Angela. ‘Isn’t one woman at a time enough?’
‘Selma is jolly nice. And clever too. Not as nice or as clever as you, of course,’ he said, giving her nose a playful tweak.
Lady Strathmerrick happened to be passing in company with Eleanor Buchanan just as he did it. The Countess pursed up her lips when she saw them, but walked on without comment. Angela slapped Freddy’s hand away crossly.
‘Will you stop it?’ she hissed. ‘I believe you did that on purpose.’
Freddy opened his eyes wide.
‘What an extraordinary suggestion,’ he said. He turned and looked after the two women thoughtfully. �
��Now, that’s another thing we might investigate.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Angela.
‘Eleanor Buchanan. What has she got to be so suspicious about? You must have noticed that tense manner of hers. I wonder what it’s all about.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Angela.
‘Then we must try and find out. I shall leave that in your capable hands.’
Selma Nash could just then be seen descending the stairs, wrapped up in furs and wearing a pair of thick boots.
‘I’m all set,’ she called to Freddy.
Freddy bowed.
‘Just coming, my lady,’ he said, then lowered his voice. ‘Go and be nice to Aubrey,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed, and Selma doesn’t mind sharing.’
‘Freddy, you really are the limit,’ said Angela, hardly knowing whether to laugh or frown. Freddy wagged his eyebrows at her.
‘Well, it’s your decision,’ he said. ‘Do as you please. In the meantime, we’re off to make some footprints in the West meadow.’
He joined Selma and they went out together arm-in-arm.
EIGHT
When Freddy and Selma had gone, Angela was left standing in the entrance-hall, wondering what to do with herself. Everyone, it seemed, had disappeared on business of their own, leaving her alone. Priss, Gertie and Clemmie had been pressed into helping set up the ball-room for the dance that evening. Angela briefly contemplated offering to help, but decided that she would be more likely to get in the way than anything else. What to do, then? She looked out through the great double doors of the castle. It was a crisp, bright afternoon and the snow was very tempting. She decided to go out and explore.
A few minutes later she descended the stone steps under the portico and struck out down the drive, with the vague intention of finding a suitable spot from which to gain a good view of the castle. It seemed to her that the best place would be the top of a nearby hill, but between here and her objective the road dipped and rose steeply, and she feared that her way would be blocked by snowdrifts. She tramped through the snow for several minutes, relishing the silence, which was almost complete save for the sound of her own breathing and the crunching of her boots, but soon found that she had been right about the impassability of this route when she unexpectedly sank up to her knees.
