by Clara Benson
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said the Earl, ‘but you had better go and wash before tea, or your mother will have something to say to you.’
The boys ran off, arguing loudly about where the professor had got to, and Angela went upstairs to change her things and warm her toes by the fire. She had enjoyed their little adventure, but was pretty sure that whoever they had been following, it was not the professor.
NINE
When Angela entered the ball-room after an early dinner she found that Gertie and her sisters really had been hard at work preparing for the dance, for the whole place was brilliantly lit and decorated with garlands of fir-cones, wreaths and ribbons, while a great Christmas tree stood in the far corner, glittering and twinkling with shiny ornaments, bows and bells. Someone had brought in the bad-tempered-looking stag’s head from the hall and had hung it on the wall with a hat placed jauntily on one of its antlers, and a big, hand-written sign that said ‘1928!’ hung round its neck. It glared balefully around, as though daring anyone to laugh. Around the sides of the room long tables had been set, at which perhaps a hundred people sat in a great state of merriment and high spirits. They were evidently full of food and good cheer and were now waiting for the dance to begin.
‘Where did you disappear to this afternoon?’ said a voice at Angela’s ear. It was Freddy.
‘I have been on the trail of a missing man,’ she said mysteriously.
‘Oh yes? Whom?’
‘Professor Klausen.’
‘And did you find him?’
‘No, but I got jolly cold and wet in the meantime.’ She explained about the footprints, and went on, ‘I imagine they were made by a poacher, but I hadn’t the heart to tell the boys—they were having so much fun, you see. And what about you? Did you have a nice walk with Selma?’
‘Yes, it was most pleasant,’ he replied, looking insufferably smug, ‘but don’t tell me you’re jealous?’
Angela opened her mouth to squash him but just then there was a great commotion as the musicians began tuning their instruments and all the visitors rose to their feet as one.
‘Let’s go and dance,’ said Freddy, taking her hand.
‘Oh, very well,’ said Angela, although she was not really as reluctant as she sounded, since she had rather been looking forward to this evening.
Very soon the fiddles were playing and the dance was in full swing and everyone was enjoying themselves hugely—or at least giving the appearance of it: Priss, it was true, had something of a glazed look on her face as she danced with one young farm-hand after another and tried to pretend she didn’t mind it, while Lady Strathmerrick displayed the permanently wrinkled brow of a woman who was certain something was about to go wrong. All in all, however, the party was a success. Gertie danced a hilarious jig with a bewhiskered old-timer who was determined to prove he could shake a leg as well as any youngster, while Gus and Bobby, partnered with each other, joined enthusiastically in an eightsome reel. The company was riotous and the noise deafening. Angela danced with everyone who asked her, until she was quite tired out and had to go and sit down at one of the tables to get her breath back. Henry Jameson, her partner at the time, joined her, and despite her assurances to Freddy, she could not resist trying to get some information out of him.
Accordingly, she began by telling him of her adventure with Gus and Bobby that afternoon, laughing at the idea of the professor’s getting buried in a snowdrift. To her surprise, however, he seemed remarkably interested in the story of the footprints, and questioned her closely about them.
‘Why, you don’t think it really was Professor Klausen, do you?’ said Angela.
‘No, no, I don’t imagine it was,’ he replied. ‘I was just intrigued by your adventure, that’s all.’ He seemed inclined to change the subject, but Angela was not so easily put off. She glanced at him sideways.
‘I suppose you’re not going to tell me why you’re really here, are you?’ she said. Henry Jameson raised his eyebrows at her, but said nothing. ‘No, I thought not,’ she went on. ‘You can’t fool me, though. I know there’s something going on. Why are all you men so concerned about this professor? I’ve heard you muttering together in corners about him and seen you looking at your watches. He’s important, isn’t he?’
Henry hesitated.
‘Do you know who he is?’ he said cautiously.
‘Clemmie seems to think he’s a famous scientist who is going to revolutionize our knowledge of how atoms work. But to be perfectly frank,’ she went on confidentially, ‘I don’t have any knowledge to revolutionize. I gather it’s all very abstruse.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘I don’t pretend to understand it myself.’
‘But he is not coming to Fives just to dance a reel, is he? And neither have you, for that matter.’
‘No,’ he agreed. Their eyes met in understanding, and he smiled. ‘Let us just say that I shall be very relieved when Professor Klausen turns up,’ he said, and would say no more on the subject.
He went off to dance with Eleanor Buchanan, and Angela remained seated. Freddy was dancing with Selma Nash. They appeared to be enjoying one another’s company immensely.
‘You haven’t danced with me yet, Angela,’ said Aubrey Nash, who had just then appeared at her side. She smiled her acquiescence and he led her to the floor. Freddy saw them and gave her a wink, which she ignored. Afterwards, Aubrey followed her out into the passage and lit cigarettes for them both. She leaned against the wall and smoked, her arms folded across her body, not looking at him. He regarded her intently.
‘You’re looking very well, Angela,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?’
Angela agreed that it had indeed been a long time.
‘Funny how things turn out,’ he said ruminatively. ‘Who would have thought that Selma and I would have got married? Or that you would have married that fellow whatshisname?’
‘Quite,’ said Angela dryly.
Aubrey cleared his throat.
‘I guess he’s not on the scene any more. That young man of yours, Freddy—’ he paused.
‘He’s not my young man,’ said Angela. ‘What on earth gave you that idea?’
‘Why, the way you flirt with him.’
‘Everyone flirts with Freddy, and Freddy flirts with everyone,’ repeated Angela smiling, as she remembered what Gertie had said earlier. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Aubrey. I can assure you he’s not my young man.’
‘That’s a good thing, then, seeing how he and Selma are getting along so well. I don’t mind, you know,’ he said as he saw her glance up. ‘Selma and I—well, we have an understanding.’
‘I see,’ said Angela warily. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then he moved a little closer and raised his hand slowly as though to stroke her hair.
What would have happened next if Lady Strathmerrick had not emerged from the ball-room just then and come upon them is a matter for conjecture. Angela once again felt herself blushing furiously as the Countess stopped dead and opened her eyes wide.
‘Lady Strathmerrick,’ said Aubrey smoothly. ‘Why, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We still haven’t danced yet.’
He took her arm and bore her off into the ball-room, leaving Angela in a state of great perturbation for various reasons—not least, the fact that once again she had made a fool of herself in front of her hostess. Aubrey, too—now that was something she had not bargained for. She hoped he was not going to be difficult.
‘This is all getting rather awkward,’ she said to herself.
It was now approaching midnight, and things were getting a little out of hand in the ball-room as the mood of hilarity increased. As the clock began to chime, servants, tenants and house guests alike counted down in chorus, then there were loud cheers as the bells in the castle chapel rang out to mark the passing of the old year and the start of the new one. There was much raucous singing of Auld Lang Syne, followed by a solemn speech from Lord Strathmerrick which nobod
y listened to much, and then the ball-room began to clear as those who had come from outside set out to brave the snow, which had begun to fall thickly again, and the servants retired to their beds to sleep off an excess of cold meat, hot punch and unaccustomed exercise.
At last only the family and their guests remained behind, and one by one they returned to the drawing-room, which was mercifully cool and peaceful after the heat and deafening noise of the past few hours. Miss Foster stayed for only a few minutes and then excused herself, saying that she was really very tired, and Clemmie followed suit shortly afterwards. Lady Strathmerrick, too, was stifling her yawns but was clearly too polite to leave given that most of her guests showed no signs of flagging. Fortunately, Gertie took pity on her mother and packed her off, assuring her that nobody would be in the slightest bit offended if she went to bed. The Earl and Henry Jameson went into the study and the Buchanans and the Nashes sat down to play whist, while Priss and Freddy whispered and giggled together in a corner. Claude Burford was nowhere to be seen, but was presumed to have gone to bed.
‘I’m bored,’ announced Gertie suddenly. ‘Let’s play a game.’
‘Words to strike fear into the very soul of every right-thinking man and woman in England,’ remarked Freddy. ‘When Lady Gertrude McAloon of the noble house of Strathmerrick suggests playing a game, you can be sure that chaos will shortly ensue. I hope you have a fire-engine standing by at the very least, and preferably also a brigade of infantrymen.’
‘What nonsense you do talk,’ said Gertie. ‘I propose Sardines.’
‘Sardines! Sardines!’ said Gus and Bobby together. They were in a great state of excitement at having been allowed to stay up with the rest of the house. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and soon Priss, Freddy, Angela and Gabe Bradley had been persuaded to join the game.
‘Splendid,’ said Gertie in satisfaction. ‘I shall hide first. Give me five minutes and then come and look for me. I shall be in one of the downstairs rooms.’
She went out with a wicked glint in her eye, carrying something with her. The others waited five minutes as instructed, and then left the drawing-room in pursuit.
‘We’re supposed to split up,’ said Bobby, seeing that Freddy and Priss were inclined to stick together.
‘I’m no good at finding people,’ said Priss. ‘I need Freddy to help me.’
Bobby scowled at this unfair advantage, but soon spotted a likely hiding-place and ran off to look into it. Everyone else drifted off in different directions and Angela soon found herself alone. It was cold in the passage and she shivered, regretting her initial enthusiasm. She thought she would go and fetch a wrap from her room. As she reached the landing, she saw Claude Burford ahead of her, emerging from one of the bedrooms. He did not see her, but crossed the corridor and entered another bedroom. A second or two afterwards, another person came out of the first bedroom and walked towards the stairs.
‘Oh, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said Eleanor Buchanan, looking slightly flustered as she spotted Angela. ‘I was just coming to fetch my cigarettes.’ She held up a cigarette-case and hurried downstairs, leaving Angela to stare after her, open-mouthed. Of all the least likely things to happen, Claude Burford and Eleanor Buchanan together seemed to win the prize. Angela fetched her shawl and ran back downstairs, still shaking her head in wonder.
Now, where was Gertie? Angela glanced into one or two rooms but saw nothing that would be a suitable place to hide several people. She thought for a moment and then headed for the billiard-room, as she vaguely remembered it to contain one or two large pieces of furniture that might do. Sure enough, when she entered the dimly-lit room she heard a muffled giggle, followed by a ‘Shh!’ Against the right-hand wall stood a large oak chest, and for a moment she thought Gertie must be hiding inside it, but then a loud creak emanated from a battered old cupboard in the corner. Angela went across to it.
‘Hallo?’ she said, as she opened the door. Gertie and Gus were sitting there, among a mess of billiard-cues and tennis-shoes, in a state of suppressed merriment. Gertie was holding a bottle.
‘Quick! Get in!’ she hissed. Angela moved a tennis racquet to one side and squeezed in beside them. ‘Now we all have to take another drink,’ said Gertie. She put the bottle to her lips and suited the action to the word.
‘What is it?’ said Angela.
‘Father’s best whisky,’ Gertie replied, handing the bottle to Gus, who took a gulp and grimaced. ‘Don’t tell him, will you?’
‘Ought you to be drinking?’ said Angela to Gus, out of a vague sense of duty.
‘Oh, it won’t do him any harm,’ said Gertie, and pulled the door shut. Angela duly took a turn with the bottle, and they sat there in the pitch-darkness, silent except for an occasional shove and hissed protest on the part of Gus or Gertie. Before cramp had quite set in they were discovered and joined by Gabe Bradley, who had already had more to drink than he was accustomed to and was inclined to loll. They all took another gulp of the whisky at Gertie’s urging. Gabe whispered something into Gertie’s ear and she squealed and giggled. There was a sound as of a hand being slapped away. Gus hiccupped. Angela began to regret not having played whist instead.
After what seemed like an age, during which it was thought only polite to pass around the bottle several times, Freddy and Priss found them.
‘Are we the last?’ said Freddy.
‘No, we still haven’t got Bobby,’ said Gertie. ‘Hop in and have a drink.’
They did so. The cupboard now held six people and was becoming very stifling and uncomfortable.
‘I feel sick,’ announced Gus. There was a sudden movement as everyone tried to shuffle out of his way.
‘Have you been drinking?’ said Priss. ‘Gertie, you idiot, why on earth did you let him have the whisky?’
‘It’s Hogmanay,’ said Gertie defensively. ‘It was only a bit of fun.’
‘You’d better get out, old chap,’ said Freddy.
‘No!’ whispered Gertie. ‘Listen!’ They fell silent; someone had come into the room. ‘It must be Bobby.’
They listened as the newcomer paused for a moment, seemingly out of breath. There was a soft thud followed by a creak. Bobby must be looking inside the oak chest first. Then came a rustle and a grunt, then another thud, this time louder, and they heard the sound of the chest lid being shut gently. Instead of throwing open the cupboard doors, however, Bobby then evidently left the room, for they heard the door shut quietly.
Suddenly an unpleasant noise emanated from Gus.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ he said, and burst out of the cupboard. The other hiders unfolded themselves carefully and emerged too, treading carefully around the unfortunate young heir of Strathmerrick, who was now depositing the remains of his dinner on the floor.
‘You can clear that up,’ said Priss to Gertie in distaste. ‘It was your fault.’
Gertie, feeling rather guilty, patted her brother’s head gingerly as he groaned, and looked in the cupboard for some suitable rags to wipe the mess up with. Just then the door opened again and Bobby came in.
‘There you are,’ he said indignantly. ‘I’ve been searching for simply ages. Am I the last?’ He stopped, realizing that something had happened. ‘What’s wrong with Gus?’
‘He—er—ate something that disagreed with him,’ said Freddy. ‘You’d better get him to bed.’
Bobby was persuaded to escort his older brother away, and Priss and Gertie went off to fetch a mop and bucket, arguing crossly, leaving Freddy and Angela to stay or go as they pleased. Freddy stretched experimentally.
‘That cupboard was jolly uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I say, where has Gabe got to?’ A snore revealed that Gabe Bradley had fallen asleep where he sat. ‘Angela, shall we lock him in?’ he said.
‘What?’ said Angela vaguely. She was not thinking about Gabe. She crossed the room and lifted the heavy lid of the oak chest. She stood there in silence, staring down at what it contained.
‘What on earth are you doing?
’ said Freddy.
She turned to look at him, the lid still open in her hand.
‘I think I’ve found Professor Klausen,’ she said.
TEN
Freddy joined her and looked into the chest. There, resting on a heap of blankets, was the body of a man. He was youngish and slightly built, with a moustache and fair hair that had begun to thin at the temples.
‘Is he dead?’ said Freddy.
‘I should imagine so,’ said Angela, pointing to the bloodstain which had spread out around a hole in the centre of the man’s chest, and which looked rather like a dark wax seal. She rested the heavy hinged lid of the chest carefully against the wall, then reached in and felt for a pulse. She shook her head.
Freddy gazed at the dead man dispassionately.
‘Are you sure it’s the professor?’ he said. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No, but it seems the logical conclusion to draw.’
‘We’d better fetch Lord Strathmerrick,’ he said, ‘although I don’t relish the thought of getting him out of bed at this hour.’
‘He was in the study with Henry Jameson earlier,’ said Angela. ‘Perhaps they’re still there. Why don’t you go and see?’
He went off and Angela was left alone in the dim room, gazing down at the dead man and thinking very hard. He was dressed in outdoor clothes and a pair of thick boots. Who had put him in the chest? And why had they killed him? Struck by an idea, she reached down and carefully felt in his pockets.
‘Where is everybody?’ said a slurred and sleepy voice behind her. Angela gave a little shriek and whirled around, then put a hand to her heart as she realized that it was only Gabe Bradley, who had evidently just woken up. He extricated himself with difficulty from the cupboard and looked about him in a dazed fashion.
‘Everyone’s gone to bed,’ said Angela. ‘Perhaps you ought to go too.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel so good.’
‘A good night’s sleep and you’ll feel as right as rain in the morning,’ she lied cheerfully.
