by Clara Benson
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘But it is a permanent struggle to keep things in order. ‘Sissingham is so remote that it is difficult to keep hold of good servants. These days all the girls want to work in the towns and I have to pay a simply enormous wage to the cook and the housekeeper, who were originally at the London house. But I can’t do without either of them, so I stump up willingly.’
‘And so you should,’ said Bobs. ‘It must be terribly dull for a girl stuck here miles from anywhere, especially on her day off, when she would rather be out dancing with her young man.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosamund.
‘Still, perhaps one day you will move back to London, then you will be able to find as many good servants as your little heart desires and all your maids will be able to go out dancing as often as they want.’
‘And when will that be?’ asked Rosamund slowly. There was an odd expression on her face that I did not quite understand.
‘As soon as you like,’ said Bobs. ‘You better than anyone know how to square things with Neville. All you have to do is say the word and you can be back where you belong in less than no time!’
‘If only it were that easy.’
‘But of course it is! A wife always knows the best way to get round her husband whenever she wants something. And I’m quite sure you are no exception.’
‘I have asked him. You know I have. Lots of times. He always says “not yet”.’
‘You dreadful old plotter, Bobs,’ I said. ‘I really do believe you enjoy causing strife wherever you go.’
‘Oh, he does! Isn’t he awful?’ cried Rosamund. ‘And after all the effort I went to earlier to convince you that I would quite happily stay at Sissingham for the rest of my days! Charles, what I said before was absolutely true but you know Bobs as well as I do—he is a dreadful tempter into mischief. Sometimes I think he is actually in league with the devil. Get thee behind me, Bobs!’ she commanded, mockingly.
‘Nonsense,’ said Bobs. ‘I am simply saying that if you want something, then you must do everything in your power to get it.’
‘But what if somebody else doesn’t want me to have it?’
‘There are ways,’ replied Bobs, mysteriously.
‘I agree with Bobs,’ said Gwen, who had caught the last part of our conversation. ‘When I know what I want, I never let anyone stop me from getting it.’
‘Careful, that’s dangerous talk,’ said Bobs.
‘But it’s true,’ she insisted. ‘I’m very good at getting my own way. When I met Hugh, for example, he was all but engaged to someone else but I got him to break it off.’
‘Oh indeed? I should be most interested to hear exactly how you did that,’ said Bobs. The words in themselves were innocent enough but there was meaning in his tone.
Gwen opened her mouth to continue, then went slightly pink.
‘You horrid thing!’ she exclaimed, tossing her head. ‘I shan’t tell you anything about it now.’
She turned away and Bobs smirked.
‘Bobs, I will not have you being disrespectful to my guests,’ murmured Rosamund but without a great deal of conviction.
‘You’re right,’ said Bobs. ‘Gwen, please forgive me. I am an incorrigible tease and deserve to be roasted over hot coals for eternity.’
‘Oh, very well then,’ said Gwen, slightly mollified.
‘But I warn you now, I shall continue to tease you whenever the opportunity presents itself.’
‘That goes without saying,’ I said.
More serious subjects were under discussion at the other end of the table, where everyone was talking about the latest details of a sensational trial that had been the biggest story in the newspapers in recent weeks. The accused was a woman who was supposed to have killed her elderly mother with a poker in a sudden fit of rage. It was a sordid story, which had for some reason captured the imagination of the public.
‘I don’t care how ghastly the old woman was,’ Hugh MacMurray said. ‘I don’t believe any woman would brain her mother with a fire-iron. It’s unnatural. I could believe it if she had poisoned her but physical violence is not a woman’s crime.’
‘You can never tell, though. Some people are very good at repressing their real characters, sometimes even for years,’ said Joan. ‘It’s all to do with psychology, or something. There was a girl at school like that. She seemed perfectly normal, except that you never knew what she was thinking. Then one day she found that her bicycle had a puncture when she needed it in a hurry and flew into a terrible rage. She started kicking it and shouting at it. She kicked it and kicked it until she bent the wheel out of shape, while the girls all stared at her in astonishment. Then she ran upstairs and came into the common-room an hour later as though nothing had happened. Nobody knew what to say to her after that but we all took care not to do anything to offend her!’
Everyone laughed but I noticed that Simon Gale was looking rather white. With his delicate constitution, perhaps he found all this talk of violence upsetting.
We did not sit long at the table after the ladies had retired and when we returned to the drawing-room we found them laughing and congregated around the gramophone. We were all feeling rather gay and one or two couples soon started dancing. Sir Neville stood it as long as he could but then excused himself, saying that he had some urgent papers to work on. He appeared to have lapsed into gloom once again.
‘Do you require my assistance, Sir Neville?’ asked Simon Gale.
‘No, no, Gale, that’s quite all right. The ladies need your services here, for the dancing.’ He nodded round at everyone and left the room.
‘I say, what’s the matter with old Neville?’ said Bobs but nobody replied.
‘Come and dance with me,’ said Sylvia to me, as another song began.
‘As you wish, my lady,’ I replied with a bow and she pulled me towards the gramophone. She moved gracefully and as we danced I thought how pretty she looked in the evening glow.
‘I know one shouldn’t ask—’ she said, then paused uncertainly. I smiled. I had no doubt what was on her mind.
‘What shouldn’t one ask?’
‘Well, I just was just wondering—about earlier this evening and you and Rosamund.’
‘What about me and Rosamund?’
‘Drat you, Charles, you know exactly what I mean!’
‘I think you are a very curious young lady,’ I remarked.
‘Oh, I am!’ she exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it awful? I was simply dying to hear what you and Rosamund were talking about but Hugh got hold of me and started telling me some interminable story and I was forced to listen. But now you must tell me—what was it like, meeting her again after all this time? Don’t say you felt nothing, because I shan’t believe you.’
I looked at her eager, anxious face, then threw back my head and laughed.
‘You little minx! I’ve a good mind to take you to task for your impertinence. But, to reply to your question, yes, of course I felt something. I felt delighted to meet Rosamund again as an old friend. There! Does that satisfy you?’
‘Not exactly but I suppose it’s too much to expect you to be indiscreet. Drat Hugh and his stories!’
‘There’s nothing to be indiscreet about. We chatted about what we had both been doing for the past eight years, that is all,’ I said.
‘I see,’ she said. The music ended and we moved over to the recessed window. Sylvia peered out into the gloom and then turned to me. I lit cigarettes for us both.
‘How do you like my frock?’ she asked abruptly. ‘I bought it especially for this weekend but you have never mentioned it.’
‘It’s very pretty,’ I replied, in some amusement at her bluntness. She gave a wide smile.
‘But of course, you have to say that, now that I’ve asked you. You know, Charles, you are not exactly a gentleman. A woman should not have to elicit compliments from a man.’
‘I thought girls didn’t care about that sort of thing nowadays.’
‘Of course we do!
Why does one buy a new dress if not to be noticed?’
‘I’m afraid I have always been rather tongue-tied when it comes to saying the right things to women. Bobs was always better at it than I.’
‘Nonsense! Don’t tell me that all those years abroad have made you forget how to behave in the company of women. I have been watching you this evening and I simply don’t believe it.’
‘Oh, you have been watching me, have you? For what purpose?’
She blushed slightly.
‘I don’t mean watching you, exactly. Keeping an eye out, perhaps. I am a little concerned about you.’
‘What on earth for?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Well, you have been away for so long and things have changed in that time, in ways of which you might not be aware.’
‘I don’t think I quite understand you.’
‘It’s difficult to explain. How can I put it? I meant that while you have been away, the people you left behind have carried on with their lives and have done things and said things and thought things in your absence. And everything that a person does, or says, or thinks, causes that person to change—even if it’s just a little bit at a time. And then after many years, all those little changes can add up to a big change. So you see, now that you have returned, you could find that you are talking to someone, thinking that they are the same person as they were eight years ago, whereas in fact they are someone quite different.’
‘You mean you are worried that I will go blundering about and saying the wrong things to the wrong people?’ I was a little offended at the suggestion.
‘No, of course I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s just that you are terribly upright and honest and I should hate for you to return to England only to be disillusioned and leave again.’
‘What has my uprightness and honesty to do with anything?’
‘There! Now you are cross,’ said Sylvia. ‘I told you I should never make a diplomat’s wife. I try to say nice things to people but they always come out wrong.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not cross,’ I said. ‘It is kind of you to be concerned about me but I can I assure you it’s quite unnecessary.’
‘What are you two talking about so confidentially behind the curtain there?’ demanded Rosamund from across the room. ‘Sylvia, would you be a darling and help make up a four?’
I held the curtain aside to let Sylvia pass into the room and join Rosamund, Hugh MacMurray and Simon Gale, who were preparing to play.
‘Come and shake a leg, Gwen,’ said Bobs, busy at the gramophone. ‘Just to show there are no hard feelings.’
‘What an extraordinary expression,’ said Gwen but stood up without apparent reluctance. As always, I felt a sense of wonder, tinged with a certain amount of envy, at Bobs’s ability to charm everyone he met. He had involved himself in some fairly outrageous escapades over the years—I, who had known him from childhood, knew that only too well and had often been called upon to extricate him from some scrape or other—but he never seemed to get into serious trouble over them. Instead, he would disarm the offended party with a rueful apology and a schoolboyish wrinkle of the nose and once forgiven, would often go on immediately to do something even more dreadful. Thinking back to some of his adventures in particular, I was certain that had I done some of the things Bobs had been guilty of, I would have been ostracized by everyone I knew.
Angela Marchmont was sitting alone, watching Bobs and Gwen indulgently. I moved over to join her.
‘I do hope you haven’t come to ask me to dance,’ she said. ‘I have already danced once with Bobs and he whirled me round so vigorously I feared bones would be broken—my own in particular!’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I think I should make a poor showing against Bobs anyhow. He is well-known around London for his energetic dancing. I understand he regularly receives bills from night-clubs for broken furniture.’
‘I can well believe it!’ she replied.
I was curious to know more about her relationship with Rosamund.
‘It must seem strange, having to become acquainted with your cousin all over again after all these years,’ I said.
‘It was at first, certainly. I am about ten years older than she is, you know and she was still quite a child when I left England, so when we met again in August it was rather odd, seeing her for the first time as an adult. However, we had written to each other often over the years, so it was not quite as difficult as one might expect.’
‘Did you find that she had changed at all? Her personality, I mean?’
‘In some respects, perhaps. We all change to a certain extent as we grow older—it is to be hoped for the better. In other respects, though, she was exactly the little girl I had left behind.’
‘The same wilfulness?’
‘That, certainly,’ laughed Angela.
‘What are you two laughing about over there?’ demanded Rosamund, looking up from her cards.
‘We were talking about you, darling,’ said Angela.
‘How lovely! I like people to talk about me—as long as they say nice things, of course. I hope you were telling each other how delightful I am.’
‘But of course,’ I said.
Rosamund turned back to the game and Angela and I resumed our conversation. After a few minutes, Joan Havelock, who had been reading alone in a far corner, yawned, closed her book with a snap and wandered over to join us.
‘How terribly tired I am!’ she said. ‘Mr. Knox, you will think I am dreadful for saying this but I find company exhausting, much as I enjoy it. I’m sure one uses up more energy in smiling than in frowning and one has to smile all the time when one has guests!’
‘That may be the case but it is certainly worth the effort,’ said Angela. ‘Firstly, it keeps your guests happy and secondly, you look so much prettier when you smile!’
‘You always know the right thing to say,’ said Joan affectionately. ‘I wish I did. I’m afraid I shall never be a grand society hostess like Rosamund, however.’
My mind went back to my earlier conversation with Rosamund. The uncomfortable truth was that Rosamund was not, after all, a grand society hostess. Here she was, buried in deepest Norfolk with an elderly husband and with only local dignitaries—and such of her friends who were prepared to make the journey—to entertain. She had said she was happy but could that really be true?
SIX
On going downstairs the next morning I found the other members of the house party sitting around the breakfast table in listless mood after the gaiety of the night before, a mood which I attributed partly to the rain pattering against the window. It seemed as though it had settled in solidly for the rest of the day and we spent the morning scattered about in various rooms of the house, each engaged in our own business. Sir Neville and Simon Gale went off to the study, while Mrs. Marchmont disappeared to write some letters and make a telephone-call. I soon recollected that I had one or two letters to write myself and returned to my room as soon as the maids had finished.
By lunch-time, however, the weather appeared to have cleared. It had stopped raining at least and there were signs that the clouds were thinning, and when I joined the others at the table I found that the mood had lifted somewhat. At luncheon, we learned that we were expecting a visitor in the shape of Sir Neville’s solicitor, Mr. Pomfrey. He was coming to look over some papers with Sir Neville but would be a guest that evening for dinner.
‘Changing the old last will and testament, Neville, is that it?’ said Bobs. ‘I say, the rest of you had better look out and be especially polite to him today, or you might find yourselves disinherited. Have any of you offended him lately?’
I glanced around but only one or two people laughed in response to this pleasantry. Gwen MacMurray in particular looked as though she did not find it at all amusing. Evidently the shaft had hit rather closer to home than Bobs had intended. Sir Neville coughed.
‘Mr. Pomfrey is an old family friend and often visits us here,�
� he said. ‘In fact, I believe you have met him before, Bobs.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosamund. ‘He was here only a month or two ago. You must remember that weekend, Bobs.’
‘Oh yes, I remember him all right,’ said Bobs. ‘About five feet tall and one hundred and six years old. He looked as though he would blow away at the first gust of wind but when he shook my hand he nearly crushed all the bones in it. Gave me quite a shock, I can tell you.’
‘He is a bit of a dry old stick,’ agreed Joan. ‘But he’s all right. He has always been very kind to me. He knows an awful lot about gardening. I wanted to ask him about his roses.’
‘Well, he will be here at four, so you can ask him then,’ said Rosamund. The talk moved on to other subjects and it was only later that I realized that Sir Neville had not actually denied the accusation that he was planning to change his will. I supposed, however, that he had seen no need to reply to what was just another one of Bobs’s rather tasteless jokes.
By two o’clock, the weather had cleared completely and I took a turn in the garden with Joan Havelock and the two dogs, who raced off excitedly. Joan was in talkative mood.
‘I hope things aren’t too deadly dull for you here,’ she said. ‘It’s rather a small party, I’m afraid. Rosamund did invite some other friends of hers but they couldn’t come. And Neville is not himself. He has been more or less down in the dumps all week, I don’t know why. Of course, Bobs and Sylvia are always great fun. They come here very often, you know.’
I hastened to assure her that I was by no means bored.
‘Good. I am pleased,’ she said. ‘I know Rosamund was anxious that you should not find us too stuck in the mud out here. To tell the truth, she was rather cross that she couldn’t muster a larger party. I think she wanted to impress you.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. It’s only natural, given what has passed between you. Didn’t you want to impress her?’
I thought shame-facedly of the smart new clothes I had carefully packed and the neat hair-cut I had had before setting off for Norfolk and was silent. I found some of Joan’s observations a little too uncomfortably accurate.
