The Mantle of God

by Caron Allan

  ‘He puts make-up on something on his arm to hide it, though sometimes it gets wiped off,’ Dottie told her. ‘I think it must be a tattoo, if it was just a birthmark, why worry? It’s on his wrist, so it’s hardly ever going to be seen. And it’s not very big, so again, I think it can’t be just a birthmark. No one would trouble to hide something like that.

  ‘I see what you mean,’ Flora said. ‘Perhaps there’s some strange explanation, though a tattoo seems the likeliest. But no respectable person has a tattoo, not unless they’re a retired sea captain.’

  ‘I think that might be why he hides it. Think how all the stuffy people at the museum would react if they knew. It’s terribly avant-garde. Mother said she thought he seemed Bohemian. I thought he was just boring.’ Dottie took a sip of her cocktail, grimaced at the taste and pushed the glass away. ‘Ugh,’ she said, shaking her head, her dark curls bouncing as she did so. Flora took in Dottie’s slim figure in the close-fitting pale gold silk-satin dress, and the negligent dancing slipper just bouncing on the tip of her toes as she jiggled it to the music. Flora said crossly,

  ‘You make me feel positively geriatric, sitting there so slender and chic. How dare you!’

  Dottie grinned. ‘You’ll be back to your normal alluring self in a few months, then you’ll be making George wild with jealousy as all the men flock to sit by your side and hold your hand, or line up to dance a tango with you.’

  ‘I wish! I bet it will take me simply ages to shift all this weight. I have rather made a pig of myself now that I’ve got an excuse to indulge.’ Flora looked at Dottie. ‘What’s wrong, dear? Is it William? You look so forlorn whenever I mention his name. Are you really so enamoured of him?’

  Dottie coloured, and fiddled with a cocktail stirrer, concentrating fiercely on her upside-down reflection in its gleaming bowl. ‘Of course not! However I need to see him, to give him back his scrap of fabric and tell him what we found out about it. I’ll phone him in the morning. It seems like I hardly ever see him, he’s so busy all the time. And, I suppose he’s still taken up with grieving for Daphne Medhurst. I mean, I’m terribly sorry about what happened to her, but I never liked her one little bit. Still, poor Major Medhurst, he must be devastated. He’s going to go and live with his sister in Southsea, Father was telling us this morning. But if she, Daphne, were still with us, I’m sure William would never escape her clutches, she was so determined to land him.’

  Flora couldn’t help raising her eyebrows at Dottie’s bitter tone. Her sister’s face was a picture of absolute misery. Flora quickly said, ‘I’m sure it was nothing serious. I mean, they hardly knew each other. And you know, I don’t think it would have lasted five minutes, I really don’t think she was the type of girl to ‘land him’ as you so eloquently put it.’

  Dottie said nothing, clearly not convinced. Flora, a little more worldly than her younger sister, was only too aware that even the nicest, most intelligent of men were all too easily led astray by the feminine wiles of a really determined husband-hunter. Daphne Medhurst had, sadly, fallen neatly into this category. But he had been lucky, and escaped before things progressed too far and she snared him. Flora fervently hoped he would not get lured in again so easily next time.

  ‘Have you seen any more of Jeffrey Thurby?’ Flora asked.

  Dottie shook her head. ‘He’s a fool,’ she said crisply, ‘I can barely tolerate him for half an hour, let alone a whole evening. And he has more than a passing resemblance to an octopus.’

  ‘Too many hands?’

  ‘It’s not funny, Flora.’ Dottie said, still cross. Her eyes became wide and anxious. She leaned across the table and said in an earnest, panicking voice, ‘Flora, what if I’m left on the shelf?’

  Whatever she had expected in response, it wasn’t Flora’s abrupt guffaw of laughter coming in the middle of a break in the music. Heads turned all around the ballroom.

  ‘You never take me seriously,’ Dottie said crossly.

  The next morning, Dottie was arguing with her mother. She knew she wasn’t going to win, but felt she owed it to herself to at least make an effort to resist the tide that seemed to carry everything along in its wake. Just call me Canute, she thought. Outwardly, she smiled politely at her mother.

  ‘I know you invited him because of me, Mother, but surely you realise he’s boring, rude and that we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms? I certainly have no desire to ever see Dr Melville again.’

  ‘What I know, young lady, is that he’s a respectable gentleman with an interesting career and good prospects at a well-respected, world-renowned British institution. Not only that, but for some inexplicable reason, he clearly likes you very much, because he has called twice a day for the last ten days. You owe him the courtesy of hospitality.’

  Dottie, knowing in her heart it was useless, nevertheless was preparing a further salvo when the telephone rang. She waited with bated breath to see if it was anyone for her. However, almost immediately Janet came hurrying upstairs to tell Mrs Manderson that Mrs Gerard was on the line.

  ‘I told her you were dressing, ma’am, but she said it was important and that she’d only take up a minute of your time.’

  Mrs Manderson, seeming rather distracted, hurried away without another word.

  ‘Odd,’ said Dottie to Janet, ‘I didn’t think Mother and Mrs Gerard were on telephoning terms.’

  ‘She’s rung quite a few times lately. Mrs Manderson is helping Mrs Gerard with her charity work. Not sure what it is, though.’

  ‘Golly,’ Dottie said, ‘Mother and her charitable works. Well, that certainly explains why she’s always out at the moment, and why she always looks so flustered. Oh, I’m so annoyed about that wretched Dr Melville. I suppose there’s no chance his invitation might get lost?’

  Janet laughed, and turned to go back downstairs. ‘No chance, Miss Dottie, I’m afraid your mother put them in the post herself yesterday morning.’

  ‘Damn and blast it,’ said Dottie.

  ‘So Dr Melville has been invited to tea?’ Mrs Gerard queried. Mrs Manderson nodded, even though her partner in the telephone conversation couldn’t see it. Belatedly she added,

  ‘He has. In fact, I’ve already had his acceptance. Although I should say my daughter is not at all happy about it. Oh, you needn’t worry, I’ve overruled her, as I always do in these kinds of matters. But I’m surprised to hear you say how deeply attached he is to her. She tells me that he and she didn’t particularly...’ She let the thought fall away, too tired to try to think of an apt rephrasing of Dorothy’s furious, ‘I simply can’t stand the sight of that wretched man!’ Tact also held her back from upsetting her friend by revealing exactly what her daughter had said about the young man. She seemed to recall the phrase ‘He could bore for Britain in the Berlin Olympics!’ came into the discussion somewhere. She herself had thought him very suitable. More so, perhaps, than the young policeman. Of course she saw now that she should have spoken to Florence about it. Florence would certainly know if Dorothy genuinely disliked Dr Melville, or if she was simply being contrary. At first Mrs Manderson had suspected the latter, but now she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Hmm. Well I’m sure the dear boy will soon get her to change her mind. I’d like you to arrange to leave them alone for a few minutes, just to give him a chance to tell her how he feels. You don’t object to that, do you? I can assure you he has only the greatest respect for dear Dottie...’

  When Mrs Manderson came away from the telephone, she felt uneasy. She couldn’t exactly say why she did. There had been nothing in either what Mrs Gerard had said nor what she had requested that Mrs Manderson could take exception to, or that could account for the unpleasant sensation that lurked somewhere behind her shoulder. But coming so soon after the mugging... She shook her head. She was just being foolish.

  So Young Melville wanted to speak to Dorothy in private, did he? Well that could only mean a proposal. A bit soon, in her opinion, they hardly knew each other. But still, there was no reas
on for her to forbid him to speak. If Dorothy was so set against him, she was old enough to tell him to his face. And certainly forthright enough, when pushed. Dorothy was nothing if not forthright. Her mother’s instinct told her Dorothy would definitely refuse him.

  Lavinia Manderson made her way to her husband’s study. It would greatly relieve her mind to tell him about Dr Melville. On the very slim chance that Dorothy might accept the young fellow, she felt it would be useful if her father had at least an inkling of what was going on.

  She tapped lightly on the door, and went in immediately. He was at his desk, and glanced up, smiling, as soon as he saw her. Mrs Manderson shut the door behind her, and turned the key in the lock. She crossed the room.

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s the matter?’ He pushed his chair back, and his wife came around the desk and sat on his lap. He put his arms around her and kissed her neck. She leaned back against him, heaved a great sigh and said, ‘Oh Herbert darling, these girls! Such a worry.’

  He laughed. ‘What has Dottie been getting up to now?’

  ‘It’s not so much what she’s been up to as what she hasn’t. As you know, my friend Mrs Gerard...’

  ‘Not that old bat!’

  ‘Herbert really!’ Lavinia swatted his hand away as he attempted to disarrange her neat curls. ‘And you can stop that, too. I only came in here to tell you about Dorothy and that Dr Melville.’

  Herbert Manderson, greatly resembling his daughter, rolled his eyes.

  ‘Mrs Gerard tells me that he is completely smitten with Dottie. As you know, I’ve invited him to tea at Mrs Gerard’s request. Now she’s asked that I might ensure they are left alone for a few minutes, so that he can tell Dottie how he feels. I believe he may propose. I’m not absolutely certain, but I believe he may...’ her voice faltered. The sense of unease prevailed. Her husband stared at her, frowning.

  ‘And just how does our daughter feel about the young chap? I rather got the impression...’

  ‘Hmm, well I’m afraid that may be where Melville’s plans come unstuck. She just told me ten minutes ago that he was boring and rude.’

  ‘I seem to remember that doesn’t necessarily mean one is going to be refused.’ His voice was warm. He kissed her cheek, lingering to breathe in her scent.

  ‘Herbert, behave yourself!’ Mrs Manderson said with something suspiciously like a giggle. Her daughters would not have recognised this girlish woman as their mother. She slapped him playfully on the arm. ‘And I never, ever said that you were boring. Rude, yes. You were very rude, my dear. I don’t know why my father didn’t forbid you to call.’

  ‘He knew true love when he saw it, I suppose.’

  ‘Or perhaps he simply realised you were in desperate need of reform. Well, that’s all I wanted to say. I thought you ought to know. I don’t know why, I’m just rather...Oh I don’t know, I’m so on edge about this whole thing. Really, having daughters is such a responsibility.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Dottie, she will find her own man. Or perhaps I should say, she has already found her own man.’

  ‘After he walked out with Major Medhurst’s fast daughter? I think it’s all over with Inspector Hardy.’

  ‘Oh that!’ Mr Manderson laughed. ‘It didn’t last two minutes. Sorry for Daphne and all that, but she didn’t have what it takes. It was never going to last any time at all. You only have to look at the fellow to see his mind’s already made up on Dottie. Give him some time to get over the loss of his mother, then we’ll have him here again for dinner. And this time there will be no femme fatales to lure him from Dottie.’

  ‘He hasn’t got sixpence to his name,’ Lavinia objected.

  ‘I didn’t have sixpence to my name,’ Herbert pointed out. She kissed him on the nose. She got to her feet and patted her hair carefully into place.

  ‘You had potential,’ she said, ‘and besides, I had my grandfather’s fortune.’

  ‘Pride, darling,’ he said and reaching for her hand, he kissed it. He pulled his chair back up to the desk and took up his pen. ‘Young men have pride. They don’t want to depend on their wives.’

  ‘Yes, true.’ She went to the door, unlocked it and opened it. From the doorway, she turned and blew him a kiss then went out, closing the door behind her. Mr Manderson set down his pen once more and sat staring at the door, a smile on his face.

  ‘I’m a lucky devil.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  DR MELVILLE TOOK HIS seat in the armchair opposite Dottie, but even if she had liked him, she had other things on her mind. Her mother had not asked her about the scrap of material again, and Dottie had not had a chance to explain about needing to give it back to William. She didn’t know whether her parents had discussed the matter privately, that was a possibility. But what worried Dottie was how her mother even knew about it, and she covertly watched her mother as she greeted and seated the guests.

  There was an underlying edge, Dottie realised. Her mother was very tense. It had nothing to do with the occasion: here she was completely in her element as hostess. Something else had happened to upset her mother.

  Dr Melville, feeling neglected, contrived to accidentally bump Dottie’s knee with his own, and when he apologised, she could hardly avoid looking at him and reassuring him with a quick smile to cover her frown. He smiled back, clearly relieved. Really, a little voice in her head said, he was so very handsome. Perhaps he wasn’t really rude and boring. Had he simply been a little nervous when he had taken her to dinner? Shy? She thought about this as she passed around sandwiches and tea. But no, she dismissed the idea almost as soon as it was born. He was not the man for her. But then who else was there? William Hardy’s face came to her in a flash, but she quashed the elation she felt. No, he had been involved with Daphne Medhurst and was no doubt still grief-stricken.

  She shook her head to clear it of the pointless fantasy and made a determined attempt to attend to the conversation. On her left, Mrs Gerard was accepting a miniature savoury from Mrs Manderson, and opposite her, James Melville had already disposed of four sandwiches without waiting for anyone else to begin eating. He ate without apparent enjoyment but with a determination Dottie had once seen at the homeless refuge when she had helped out in a soup kitchen down by the docks. She looked at him closely, wondering what she really knew about him.

  ‘Dr Melville, could I trouble you to draw that curtain across? I’m quite being blinded by this unexpected sunshine.’ As he got up to pull the curtain across, Mrs Manderson turned to Mrs Gerard. ‘It’s such a shame to block it out when we’ve had so much dreary weather, but I really can’t see a thing.’

  Murmurs of agreement went round the little circle and a fifteen minute conversation about the weather ensued. Dottie glanced up to watch Melville, noting as he stretched that he had a thin figure beneath his coat, an insignificant behind, no shoulders or chest to speak of, and unusually long arms, with thin bony wrists and the hands she had noticed on first meeting him, so large, yet so delicate. She saw once again the round, slightly darker brown patch that stood out against the rest of his pale skin on the inside of his wrist. She could make out something that looked like a letter D.

  An hour later, Dottie regarded James Melville with loathing. He was wiping his nose, blood blotching alarmingly on the white linen of his handkerchief.

  It was all her mother’s fault, Dottie decided. Why on earth should she have imagined Dottie would welcome a proposal of marriage from James Melville when she hadn’t even wanted him to come to tea? And how could her mother have colluded with Melville, knowing the misery he was intent on inflicting?

  The moment her mother had taken Mrs Gerard and the other guests out to look at the garden, leaving Melville alone with Dottie in a very pointed manner, Dottie had known what was about to happen. With a sinking heart, and more than a little exasperation she had tried to head him off, but like the arrogant Mr Collins in Jane Austen’s classic work, he had insisted on having his say.

  However, noth
ing could have prepared her for the impassioned way he had launched himself at her, clutching at her legs from his position on his knees before her. She was more annoyed than upset or offended. She was very puzzled by his sudden amorousness, given that he hadn’t even attempted to kiss her goodnight when he’d brought her home after the dinner they’d had the previous week. He had barely even taken the trouble to bid her goodnight, yet now here he was latching onto the hem of her dress as if his very life depended on it.

  Dottie did what any well-brought-up lady would do. She lifted her knee suddenly and violently in his direction. Melville fell back onto the carpet, taking half her skirt hem with him. He whacked his head on the coffee table, sending cups, spoons, plates, teapots, and sugar basins flying across the floor, then slammed back onto the carpet, stupefied. He stared at her with unmistakable hatred, blood pouring from his nose.

  ‘What the hell?’ he shouted, groping for a napkin to replace his handkerchief which was soaked. Dottie would have liked to ask him the same question. At this point Mrs Manderson returned with her guests, a polite hostess smile on her face, until she surveyed the scene.

  Dottie took one look at the debris strewn about her, the bloodied would-be beau at her feet, and her mother’s astonished face, and did the only thing she could do. She gathered her torn skirts and ran out into the hall and up the stairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Pushing past Mrs Gerard, Dottie couldn’t help noticing the odd expression the older woman fixed on her. But it wasn’t until she’d been calmly in her room for several minutes that she was able to discern what it meant. It was nothing short of the deepest anger.

  Dottie slumped down on her bed. What a disaster a simple afternoon tea had turned into. She bit her lip. In her mind’s eye she saw again his look of outrage and bewilderment as her knee unexpectedly impacted with his nose, and the force of it had thrown him back onto that rather uninteresting bottom. She would not laugh. Rather wildly she wondered if she should drag her chest of drawers across the door in case Dr Melville—or anyone else—including her mother, should try to come in to remonstrate with her.