The Fashion In Shrouds

by Margery Allingham

  Ferdie Paul, who had been sitting admiring his feet throughout this eminently straightforward statement, now glanced up.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Val,’ he said. ‘A sensible girl and a damned good sort to take it like that. I told you, Georgia, that story was stark lunacy at the time.’

  Georgia put her arm round Val. It was a long, slow movement, and, laying her dark head gently against the apple-green dress, she allowed two tears, and only two, to roll slowly down her cheeks. It was exquisite, the most abject, expressive and charming apology Campion had ever seen. Georgia seemed to think it was pretty good, too, for she brightened perceptibly for an instant before resuming her mood.

  ‘I didn’t realize it,’ she said earnestly. ‘I’ve got a blind spot. I didn’t see it. That story has got me into terrible trouble, Val, more than you’ll ever know, so I have been punished. But if it wasn’t for you I’d be almost glad. If it hadn’t been for that silly story I’d never have realized something rather awful that was happening to me. Now at least I’m sane again.’

  She paused.

  ‘And my darling is dead,’ she said in her breath, but with a tragic depth of feeling which startled them all by its staggering sincerity.

  ‘Who’s dead?’ said Val sharply.

  Georgia stared at her in genuine bewilderment.

  ‘Ray,’ she said. ‘Oh, my dear, you haven’t forgotten him so soon? He was the only man I ever really loved and when he died I didn’t realize it. I don’t want to talk about it or I shall make a fool of myself. Forgive me.’

  She blew her nose on a little white handkerchief and smiled through her tears.

  Ferdie sat looking at her with professional admiration. Then he glanced at the other two and laughed.

  ‘She’s a dear girl, isn’t she?’ he said, not without a certain pride. ‘That’s very sweet, Georgia, but get the main idea. Don’t tell the police fairy stories, even if you believe them. Val’s absolutely right. This thing could make one hell of a stink if the Press decided to risk it, which they might, of course. I don’t know. What do you think, Campion? Oh Lord, what a mess! How long will the police keep at this thing?’

  ‘Until they find out how the girl died.’ Mr Campion seemed to consider the question superfluous. ‘The longer it takes the more ground they’ll cover They’re a fairly efficient machine.’

  ‘I know.’ Ferdie was disgusted. ‘They went along to the flat and frightened Anna Fitch out of her wits. She told them where I was and they met me on the landing ground. Poor old Bellairs was in the plane, too, and he came in for it as well. Among other things we told them when we left, where we stayed in Paris, and whom I’d seen during the day. I was convinced they thought I’d done it at least. Then I told them all I could remember about the blasted girl, which wasn’t a lot. Apparently Anna had the same questions and so did Georgia. Two o’clock in the morning seems to be the fatal hour. I don’t like to think how the girls got on, but I had a nice clean tale to tell for once in my life. Bellairs and the pilot and I were all eating respectably at the Bouton.’ He paused. ‘They asked me a lot of questions about Gaiogi. Did you put them on to him?’

  Mr Campion blinked before the implied reproach.

  ‘She was last employed at Caesar’s Court. Val’s had the police round here about her. You employed her, too.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Of course.’ Ferdie sighed. ‘It’s bad,’ he said. ‘Thunderingly bad. Lousy. However you look at it. She was running round with Ray, you know, Georgia.’

  ‘I know.’ Georgia’s voice was very small and quiet. ‘I know. That was my fault. I was infatuated with Alan Dell. That was a nightmare, a dreadful insane sort of dream. I neglected Ray horribly – don’t remind me of it, Ferdie; I’ve been terribly punished – and he was broken-hearted and picked up that little beast because she was vaguely like me. That’s all there was to that.’

  ‘Very likely,’ agreed Ferdie grimly, ‘but it’s very unfortunate in view of everything, isn’t it, dear?’

  Georgia responded to the implied rebuke.

  ‘Must you be brutal, Ferdie?’

  ‘Darling, it’s the coincidence.’ Val spoke with the dogged patience which the other woman seemed to inspire in her. ‘And it’s not only that, either. There’s another coincidence which may come out, isn’t there? There’s nothing in them. For God’s sake don’t think I mean that. But Caroline knew Portland-Smith too, didn’t she?’

  Ferdie’s shiny eyes opened to their widest extent.

  ‘Did she indeed?’ he ejaculated. ‘’Strewth! Where did that come from, Val?’

  ‘Rex told me. He seemed to think there was a sort of tale about it at the time. He was very vague, but that’s the kind of thing the police get hold of. If they’re going to ferret out everything we may as well be prepared for it.’

  Georgia laughed. She seemed unaccountably flattered.

  ‘I never heard that,’ she said, ‘but it’s quite possible. My dears, that girl was like me. That’s why you let her model my frocks, Val. If a man was terribly miserable because I’d been a cat to him it was quite natural if he tried to console himself with someone who reminded him of me. Surely the police could see an elementary point like that?’

  Mr Campion, who was listening to the scene with interest, considered Superintendent Oates and wondered.

  ‘I know, Georgia, I know.’ Val was helpless. ‘But, dearest, they’re all dead.’

  ‘I say, you know, I say, Georgia! I say! It’s bad.’ Ferdie Paul rose as he spoke and strayed down the room with a peculiar jaunty gait which he adopted when excited. ‘Shattering publicity if it came out. For God’s sake don’t go talking about cachets blancs and what-not. Look here, the whole thing is nothing to do with you or Val. Let ’em talk to me and Campion. Where were you last night, Campion?’

  ‘Driving round the houses with Amanda.’

  ‘Were you? I suppose that’s fairly conclusive. I like that kid. Good class is attractive when it’s genuine, isn’t it? Oh well, then, you’re all right. So am I. I’ve got a blameless twenty-four hours and no extraneous odds and ends to hide, for a change. We’ll talk to the police, then. You lie low, Georgia, and don’t try to tell any bobby what men will do in love. It’s over his head.’

  Georgia smiled at him affectionately.

  ‘Common old Ferdie,’ she observed. ‘My dear, I’m not a lunatic. I may have been a little insane just lately, but I’ve snapped out of it. I’ve told Val I’m sorry, or at least I’ve conveyed that I am, and she’s forgiven me. The cachet was a silly little bit of nonsense we’ve both forgotten. That’s over. Now none of us has anything to worry about, have we?’

  Mr Campion coughed. There was unusual determination on his face and his eyes were cold.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple,’ he said decisively, turning to Georgia. ‘There is one other matter which I think we ought to mention while we’re about it. It’s not my affair, but it may come up, and if it does you must be ready for it. The police will find out everything remotely connected with Caroline Adamson. They’re certain to discover that she was thought to have known Portland-Smith when he was engaged to you. That’s all right, I know, but in the course of their investigations they may stumble on another fact which might make them curious. You were married to Portland-Smith, weren’t you?’

  The effect of the question was startling. The whole room, with its hard unnatural light and black-shadowed corners, seemed to contract round the girl in the black dress and round Ferdie Paul, arrested in his walk behind her.

  Georgia did not move a muscle. She sat looking at Campion and the colour rushed into her face as if she had been a baby, while her grey eyes were guilty and appalled.

  Ferdie Paul’s reaction was less restrained. For an instant his plumpish face, with its rococo curves and contours, was frozen with astonishment. Then he leapt forward and took the woman by the shoulder.

  ‘You weren’t? My God!’

  He conveyed that his particular deity was insane.
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  ‘Georgia, you trollop! Why didn’t you tell me? When did you marry him? When? Out with it. When? My blessed girl, don’t you see how this is going to look?’

  There was ferocious urgency in his thin voice and he shook her, unconsciously digging his fingers into her shoulder. Georgia pulled herself away and rubbed the place. She looked utterly pathetic and as guilty as an accused puppy.

  ‘When?’ Ferdie repeated mercilessly.

  ‘One lovely rainy April day.’ The infuriating words tinkled in the quiet room.

  ‘The year he vanished?’

  ‘No. We were married fifteen months, the most miserable months of my life.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Ferdie Paul.

  He sat down heavily on the edge of the table and began to whistle. Georgia went over to him.

  ‘He insisted on it being a secret,’ she protested. ‘It was his career. Apparently if you’re going to be a County Court judge the stage is still a bit low to marry into.’

  ‘Is it? What was the idea? Was he going to keep you under the dresser all his life?’

  ‘No. When he became this judge person I was going to leave the stage. It was the getting there that might have been mucked up. Besides, we had money to think of.’

  ‘Really? You astound me.’

  Georgia ignored him. She was looking over his head, a half-smile on her lips.

  ‘It may sound silly now, but that was the argument at the time,’ she said. ‘It seems mad at this distance. Utterly mad. I was so hopelessly in love, Ferdie. He was such a sweet prig. I’d never met anything like him before. He was so secretive, all pompous and shut up inside himself, and gloriously narrow and conventional. It was the same thing you like in Alan, Val. You get so sick of it when you’re married to it. But at first it was like a heavenly closed door, all stern and secret and mysterious.’

  ‘We’ll imagine it,’ said Ferdie.

  ‘Forgive me, but I don’t see why you actually married the poor mysterious beast.’ Mr Campion put the question diffidently.

  ‘Why does one marry?’ Georgia appealed to him for information.

  ‘I know.’ A dreadful travesty of a sentimental smile spread over Ferdie’s face ‘So you could have a dear little baby.’

  Georgia eyed him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not necessarily. Look here, Ferdie, you and Val and everybody, you don’t understand. I really love them. My whole life is controlled by them. I see everything from their point of view I love them. I want to be them. I want to get into their lives. I’m quite sincere, Ferdie At the time I’m terribly, desperately hurt. I can’t stop it. I’m just the same as any little servant girl helplessly in love for the first time, but it wears off.’

  She hesitated, looking at them, her beautiful dark face earnest and her eyes imploring.

  ‘It’s because I’m a natural actress, of course,’ she continued, revealing that odd streak of realism which made her lovable. ‘When I’ve made a character I’ve made it and she’s done. She’s finished. She bores me unbearably. Val, you understand. You’ve made some divine gowns, but you wouldn’t wear any one of them for the rest of your life. I can’t help it. It’s my tragedy. When I feel morbid I wonder if I myself exist at all.’

  Ferdie regarded her. He seemed wearier and heavier Only his eyes were animated.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said dryly. ‘You exist.’ He thrust out an arm and pulled her to his side, holding her there as if she were an obstinate child. ‘You’re obsessed by contracts,’ he observed. ‘That’s your complex. It’s got its basis in ordinary in-bred female funk. I don’t blame you. But if you must sign documents, think about them first. A marriage certificate isn’t quite the same as a Guild contract. The time clause is different.’

  Georgia freed herself and walked slowly round the room, her black dress rippling over her strong, slender thighs.

  Ferdie was silent for some time. He sat on the edge of the table, his head bowed, so that the inadequacy of his dark curling hair was revealed. He was thinking, and it occurred to Mr Campion that he had never seen a man think more obviously. The man’s brain was almost audible.

  ‘Hey.’ Ferdie said suddenly, ‘how the hell did you know?’

  He swung round and sprawled across the table, looking up into Georgia’s face

  ‘What?’

  ‘How did you know that you were free to marry Ray Ramillies? Portland-Smith’s body’s only just been found.’

  Georgia shied away from him and from the question, but he caught her and pulled her round to face him. There was a tremendous force in the man and his incredulity was so great that they were all as conscious of it as if it had been their own.

  ‘Did you know he was dead?’

  ‘Not exactly – I mean, of course I knew. You’re hurting me, you fool. I thought he must be.’

  ‘“You thought he must be!”’ Ferdie scrambled off the table and stood before the girl, peering into her eyes as if they were keyholes. ‘Are you telling me that, for all you knew, you might have been committing bigamy? You’re insane, woman. You’re mad. You ought to be locked up. You’re sex crazy. A nymphomaniac. You’re barmy! You must have known.’

  Georgia covered her face with her hands and managed to convey the tragically adventurous innocence of an Ibsen heroine.

  ‘I believed what Ray told me.’

  ‘Ray?’ This development was a surprise to Mr Campion and he glanced up sharply. But he had no need to question. Ferdie pounced on the admission.

  ‘What did he know about it? He was present at the suicide, I suppose, egging the wretched chap on.’

  ‘Don’t, Ferdie, don’t!’ It was a cry from the heart and Georgia turned to Val for support. Val submitted to the considerable weight upon her shoulder and took the quivering hand in her own.

  ‘This is all too emotional, my children,’ she said, the quiet authority of her voice surprising herself a little. ‘Everybody sit down. Now, Georgia, you’ll have to explain this. What happened?’

  Seated on a hard chair, with her lovely rounded elbows resting on the work-table, in her black dress, tears in her eyes and a foil in apple-green beside her, Georgia evidently felt stronger. She raised her head and the hard light gave her black hair a blue depth and darkened the shadows beneath her eyes.

  ‘I married Richard Portland-Smith in April, nineteen-thirty-three,’ she said slowly. ‘You know how I loved him. I’ve told you that. We were going to keep it a secret until we could afford to announce it and I could leave the stage. It was a ridiculous, idealistic programme and it failed. We lived apart and met in sordid hole-and-corner ways, stole week-ends and did all the things that are absolutely fatal. Gradually we got on each other’s nerves and by the end of the year we both realized it was a horrible, unbearable mistake. In September you put on The Little Sacrifice, Ferdie, and when I played that part I realized for the first time what real unhappiness means. I was caught, I was trapped. My lovely, lovely life was spoilt. I’d ruined it and there was no escape ever.’

  ‘Ramillies was over here then, wasn’t he?’ Ferdie made the remark without spitefulness.

  ‘It wasn’t only Ray.’ Georgia leapt to her own defence with childlike eagerness. ‘It wasn’t. I’d say if it was. I’m not ashamed of love. It’s a beautiful thing that one simply can’t help. Ray and I did fall in love at first sight, but I was desperately, helplessly miserable before. Richard was fantastically jealous and mean about it. He was petty and disgusting. He listened at doors, even, and got possessive and revolting. I begged him to let me divorce him, or even to divorce me, but he wouldn’t. His filthy career came first every time. I can’t tell you what it was like. He went off in October for one of his walking tours and the relief of being without him was like kicking off a pinching shoe. Ray was so very sweet. He was going back in a few weeks and he spent most of his leave hanging round the theatre. I loved him. He was so strong and happy and extroverted. When Richard came back he really had become impossible. He’d got parsimonious suddenly and was narrow
er than ever. After a while I began to realize the dreadful truth. He was going off his head. It must have been in his blood all the time and being piqued brought it out.’

  She passed her hand over her forehead and her eyes were pained and sincere.

  ‘We had fantastic rows, dozens of them. It was unspeakably sordid and degrading. He used to try to make me jealous. It was so piteous. I never actually saw him with Caroline Adamson, but he used to rave about women, reviling the whole sex and generally behaving more and more like a lunatic. I bore it as well as I could, but it made life impossible. I was physically frightened of him. The subject of divorce sent him into a ferment. He wouldn’t even hear the word. Finally I was so utterly miserable that I went to a firm of private detectives in Rupert Street, but they couldn’t find a thing. Apparently he really was insane, and simply worked all day and lived on sardines. He sacked his servant and lived like a hermit. There’s a name for that sort of mental trouble. Melancholia, or dementia praecox, or something. Meanwhile, the detectives were horribly expensive and quite useless, and at last, in despair, I called them off And then, in June, quite suddenly, Richard disappeared. I couldn’t believe it at first. I went about like a child, crossing my fingers and praying that he’d never come back. I had suffered, Val.’

  The other girl looked down at her and there was a bewildered expression in her eyes.

  ‘She had, you know,’ she said to Ferdie Paul. ‘She really had.’

  He met her glance and a faint smile passed over his curly mouth.

  ‘Astounding, isn’t it?’ he agreed. ‘Go on, Georgia. I believe you’re doing your best. Don’t lie. Let’s have the full strength.’

  Georgia shook her head.

  ‘You don’t know me, Ferdie,’ she said tolerantly. ‘I couldn’t lie about Ray. That was my real love affair. When he came back I knew that this was the true thing. It was about six weeks after Richard had gone and I was still quivering in case he came back. Ray walked into my dressing-room one night and stood looking at me. You remember how he used to stand, all lean and exciting and sort of gallant. We didn’t speak. It just happened. I cried all over him. I was so – so happy.’