by ILIL ARBEL
“He told you he was a genius? When? Did he keep in touch with you?” asked Mrs. Lewis sharply.
“No,” said Miss Moonshadow, just a bit too quickly. “I meant that he told me that at the show. He said that if he painted me, I would be even more famous than if I were a star.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Lewis. Mrs. Rivers thought Mrs. Lewis looked tired. Looking after Miss Moonshadow turned out to be a rather difficult task, it seemed. Well, as long as Julian kept away from the girl, it was not Mrs. Rivers’ concern. She smiled wearily and walked into the dining room, where Glamora was preparing to pour out the tea. She felt she could use a cup of tea, or perhaps something a bit stronger, when it became available later on.
Chapter Thirteen
We rarely write about Christmas. Generally, we prefer to avoid the subject altogether, since what could be said about it that had not been said a million times before? Dickens had already expressed all the proper emotions related to the season, and to be honest, we see almost every literary attempt that had followed as bah, humbug. As for real life, what with church, and snow, and overeating, and drinking more than is good for us, all we wish for is to arrive safely on the other side of Christmas, so to speak, and think of it no more. Let the year advance toward spring and warmth, we say, away from ice and snow, and we shall be content.
But here we must discuss this unpleasant time of year, since certain important events had taken place at Norton Hall that Christmas, and not the least of them the memorable visit from Professor Hilliard-Sabre. She was expected to arrive the day before Christmas, and stay for at least a week. The lengthy visit was ostensibly intended to give her the opportunity to enjoy the conservatories, discuss Lady Norton’s amateur, but brilliant, horticultural work, her books, Herbs of Grace and Along My Borders, (while doing her best to ignore the fact that both were published by a vanity publisher), and to tell Lady Norton, who was genuinely interested, about her own highly important botanical work. The sad truth, though, was that the main reason for her invitation was to give Shymmering the chance to find out about her heinous crime, the alleged theft of the missing cactus seeds.
When the chauffeur brought Professor Hilliard-Sabre from the station, Lady Norton thought that her appearance was all that one would have expected. The professor, who had clearly reached an age of discretion, was tall and angular, and had a pointy nose, sharp and intelligent brown eyes, and slightly wavy, gray hair set in a simple and becoming fashion. She wore a no-nonsense tweed skirt and coat, well cut and unmistakably expensive. Her brogues and handbag, made of dark brown leather, matched perfectly, and her hat, though it could not be called elegant, was of a classic shape and showed good taste. You could not take her for anything but a lady of birth and a scholar. She was polite, polished, and respectful to Lady Norton, and the two ladies made an excellent impression on each other. So much so, that Lady Norton was almost sorry to think of the professor as a criminal out to deprive her of her botanical achievement, a scoundrel under the guise of a distinguished scholar.
Nevertheless, Lady Norton knew her duty, and immediately summoned Carla to take the professor’s luggage to her room. Carla was chosen over the butler, because Shymmering advised Lady Norton that it would give her an opportunity to observe the first meeting between the two alleged conspirators. To Lady Norton’s disappointment, not the slightest sign of recognition passed between the two. The professor quite properly ignored Carla, and Carla maintained her usual vacuous look and took the luggage upstairs without further delay.
Professor Buckholz-Schuller came downstairs to greet his colleague, and Lady Norton thought that the two arch-enemies seemed to get on rather well. They treated each other with extreme politeness during tea, and Lady Norton thoroughly enjoyed their lively stories of the time they spent together at the joint lectures in Kensington.
“A most brilliant student brought up an old debate that had started years ago between Professor Buckholz-Schuller and me,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre, laughing at the memory. “Highly appropriate, since it touched on the same subject we were lecturing on.”
“What was it about?” asked Lady Norton, intrigued.
“It was about the insects that fertilized the male and female palm trees in Tahiti, before they were brought to Florida,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “We do not know if the same insect does it in Florida, or if the fertilization was taken on by a native Floridian insect.”
“I don’t think we could ever settle this discussion, my dear Professor Hilliard-Sabre,” said Professor Buckholz-Schuller. “Not unless someone conducts a brand new research project.”
“You see, Lady Norton, I maintained, years ago, that it could not possibly be the same insect, since why should it migrate to Florida?” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre, “While my dear colleague here insisted that a Floridian insect would not know the trees. He maintained that only a migrating insect would have recognized its old feeding grounds.”
“Perhaps it followed the trees as they were brought to Florida?” suggested Lady Norton. “Would it not be possible that some of the insects’ eggs remained on the leaves?”
“It certainly would have been realistic to expect that,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre, “if the trees were brought there in leaf. However, only dried-out, thoroughly cleaned seeds were brought to Florida, and the insects could not have had any contact with the dried seeds. The seeds were successfully germinated in Florida.” Lady Norton looked sharply at Professor Buckholz-Schuller when his colleague mentioned the germination of seeds, and she noticed that he, too, studied her face, but the learned botanist seemed innocent and sipped her tea.
“I should think there is only one way to find out,” said Lady Norton. “Someone must go to Tahiti and find out if the insect that fertilized the trees in Florida lives there, too. If the insect lives in both places, you will resolve the argument.”
“But someone did go, many years ago,” said Professor Buckholz-Schuller. “A student of mine, for whom I had arranged a grant with the greatest difficulty, stayed there for a few months and did serious research. He did not find the same insects.”
“Which is why I wrote this article that had so offended you, my dear friend,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “I do regret having written it, now that we have met.”
“Not at all,” said Professor Buckholz-Schuller in his most magnanimous manner. “You had to follow the scientific truth as you had seen it at the time. After all, you are a scientist, above all else.”
Professor Hilliard-Sabre sighed almost inaudibly. “Yes,” she said wistfully. “As a scientist, one must do one’s duty. But sometimes, and I am sure Lady Norton will understand, it is not easy…” Lady Norton did not understand, but nevertheless smiled benevolently at her guest and offered a plate of scones.
“As you recall, I did remind you in another article that the same situation had happened long ago. It is much like the story of the orchid Angraecum sesquipedale,” said Professor Buckholz-Schuller. “Would you not agree, Professor Hilliard-Sabre?”
“Yes indeed,” said the distinguished professor. “Have you heard this story, Lady Norton? In 1862, Charles Darwin saw that orchid in Madagascar. Its common name is now Madagascar Orchid. It has a foot-long throat that holds the nectar that would attract a pollinating insect, but what insect could reach into it, unless it had a foot-long feeding tube, or proboscis? Darwin predicted that such an insect existed, but no one had ever seen one, and he was ridiculed; it proved to be a bit of a scandal. However, forty years later, the giant hawk moth was discovered in Madagascar. It indeed pollinates the orchid with a long proboscis that easily reaches the nectar. The moth was named Xanthopan morganii praedicta, to honor the prediction that Darwin dared to theorize on, despite never having seen the insect.”
“Fascinating,” said Lady Norton. “Yes, it may be the same situation.”
“It could be,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre with utmost good nature. “Some day, I would love to take some time off my heavy schedule and go to Tahiti m
yself, to resolve this issue. I will be happy to write a new article and concede that your theory was correct, Professor Buckholz-Schuller.”
“That is most gracious, Professor Hilliard-Sabre,” said Professor Buckholz-Schuller. “And I, as well, would be more than happy to concede that you were right all along, with an article as well, of course, after proper research is done.”
“How delightful such a trip would be,” said Lady Norton. “I hope you will both have the opportunity to do so some day. They say Tahiti is a place of great natural beauty.”
“And it has the most interesting flora, aside from the palms,” said Professor Buckhoz-Schuller. “Ah, what a delightful busman’s holiday such a trip could be.” He put his cup down with the sigh of a busy man whose schedule does not allow many holidays. “Such grants are not easy to arrange, though, since the research has little to with practical matters.”
“It is always important to know the right people,” said Professor Hilliard-Sabre. “But indeed, more grants are now given to applied science than to pure science. I do have to admit that.”
“It is sad to see that pure science is not encouraged these days,” said Lady Norton. “But the world is not changing for the best… more tea?”
***
Christmas dinner at Norton Hall had always been a memorable event, but at that occasion Lady Norton had created a scene suitable for a royal house. She felt that she owed something to having been a lady-in-waiting to Queen Alexandra, and had to show those Hollywood people what England could do. The table was set for over thirty people, since everyone who did not go to their families, including many of the American crew, were expected. Lady Norton ordered that the table must be decorated with hothouse orchids, and even though these winter-flowering specimens were extremely expensive, she had them cut with great abundance and their gold, purple, and white beauty shimmered together with the expensive china and the special gold-lined silver she used for such a holiday extravaganza. She observed the table with great satisfaction; her inspection revealed no need for any change, and she complimented the butler on his achievement. At that moment, Shymmering walked into the room.
“May I have a word with you, my lady?” he asked. The butler, seeing that a private conversation was about to occur, discreetly disappeared, possibly planning to listen at the keyhole, though we cannot prove that it was his intention. However, whether he intended to do so or not, he had no opportunity to achieve his goal, since no one could interfere with Shymmering, who knew everything about secrecy and discretion. That wise individual made a motion to Lady Norton to move away from the door, a caution which she understood immediately.
“Yes, Shymmering?” asked Lady Norton. “I imagine you wish to discuss our plans?”
“Indeed. While you are having your dinner, I propose to search Professor Hilliard-Sabre’s room for evidence, with your permission, my lady.”
“Of course, Shymmering, it is an excellent plan. Do you think she would bring anything incriminating with her, though?”
“She would have to, my lady. She would not dare to leave the evidence in Kensington. A criminal knows that the police could pounce any moment. It could be the seeds themselves, incriminating notes, duplicate keys to the cactus room, or a map of the Norton Hall premises. I will recognize a suspicious object when I see it, I expect.”
“Very good, Shymmering. You will have plenty of time, since the Christmas dinner, and then the tea, would be a lengthy occasion.”
“I shall report to you after the reception is over, my lady, if you wish.”
“Thank you, Shymmering. I shall wait for you in my sitting room.”
“Will that be all, my lady?”
“Yes, Shymmering. And thank you. I hope you will find time for your own Christmas dinner?”
“Yes, thank you, my lady. I will arrange everything with Cook.”
Before dinner, the company gathered in the living room for a glass of sherry. Everyone was beautifully dressed. Glamora’s opulent gold lamé was probably the most stunning, but Miss Moonshadow was not far behind in her silver and white shimmery elegance, with an opera-length string of pearls lent by the studio. Maisie looked very well in a soft brown and white velvet dress that set her brunette colors to great advantage, but sad to say, few men would have noticed her next to Miss Moonshadow’s glory, and as for Mr. Alcott, he did not see her at all. But the greatest surprise of the evening was Professor Hilliard-Sabre. To everyone’s amazement, the distinguished, middle-aged professor chose to wear a yellow chiffon dress, printed with tiny pink and green roses, that would have been right for a young girl. She even had on lipstick, a shade too bright, and her hair was set in tight curls. Naturally, no one stared or said anything, but Maisie and Glamora exchanged a surprised glance. Such an outfit needed a reason, and neither of the ladies could think of one.
“Miss Moonshadow,” said Mr. Goldwasser to his new star, “tomorrow you will have an opportunity to meet two extremely delightful people, Miss Jessica Dean, the great actress, and Aubrey Clover, the playwright and actor-manager of the Cockspur Theatre in London. They promised to visit us, since they have brought their children and they are spending Christmas with Miss Dean’s family.”
“Children?” said Miss Moonshadow. “But you said Miss Dean…” She looked scandalized by the implications.
“Oh, they are married, Miss Moonshadow,” said Mr. Goldwasser, disgusted with his beautiful star’s simplistic attitude to life. While highly concerned with the morals of a pair of total strangers, she seemed to have no interest in their professional acclaim. And she was supposed to become a great star? A famous actress?
“But why would she call herself Miss Dean? It gives a very bad impression…” said Miss Moonshadow primly.
“That is what famous actresses do, Miss Moonshadow. They keep their maiden names, or a name that was given to them by the studio, the way we did with you. If you become a big star, you will remain Miss Moonshadow no matter whom you married. Miss Dean naturally uses her stage name, the name she is known under. She is very famous, Miss Moonshadow. Have you never heard of her?”
“No, I never heard of her, I am afraid, Mr. Goldwasser,” said Miss Moonshadow. She was deep in thought for a moment. “I could never do that… keep my maiden name after marriage? But that is almost immoral. Of course, in Peoria, Miss Dean would not do so,” she continued.
“Probably not,” said Mr. Goldwasser. Two conflicting thoughts flitted through his mind. One was the ridiculous vision of Jessica Dean settling in a small town in America, which almost made him laugh out loud. The other thought was not funny at all. He had a sinking sensation that occurred every time he spoke to the ravishing creature. It was the feeling that he had made a huge, expensive mistake in his judgment of Miss Moonshadow’s capabilities. He wished Miss Merriman were there, to help him decide once and for all what to do about it, since Mrs. Lewis was adamant that Miss Moonshadow would be able to assume the role they needed, and would not admit defeat. But Miss Merriman was away for Christmas, which she kept with Lord and Lady Pomfret, and looked forward to a delightful visit with Miss Choyce, that nice aunt of Mr. Choyce, with whom Miss Merriman had a slight, but significant understanding, as we are sure our readers would recall.
“I do hope Mrs. Rivers is having a nice time with her family,” said Glamora to Maisie when the ladies retired after dinner.
“Not with Julian there,” said Maisie grimly, glancing at Miss Moonshadow, who was standing at the other side of the room, talking to Mrs. Lewis and out of earshot.
“You think he will be horrible to her?” asked Glamora.
“Do you remember how Mr. Stonor treated him at the exhibition? Julian will never forgive Mrs. Rivers for that scene,” said Maisie.
“But I understand he is a little more restrained when his father is around,” said Glamora.
“I do hope so, Miss Tudor. But I have the worst feeling that we have not heard the last of Mr. Julian Rivers,” said Maisie. “And I think Miss Moonshadow is a li
ttle too interested in him. I don’t trust either of them.”
“Poor Jake,” said Glamora. “I sometimes feel I should have stayed in the business and avoided giving such a headache to everyone with my own wishes.”
“You can always change your mind, Miss Tudor, should the need arise,” said Maisie. Glamora sighed. “It might be too late,” she said.
On the other side of the room, Miss Moonshadow related the story of Miss Dean and Mr. Clover to Mrs. Lewis. Mrs. Lewis did not quite understand why this issue should mean anything to the girl, but she noticed that something was really bothering Miss Moonshadow, and kindly asked her what was she concerned about.
“It’s about you and Mr. Goldwasser wanting me to be Mr. Alcott’s fake fiancée,” said Miss Moonshadow. “I am not sure what that would mean.”
“It means exactly what we said, Estella,” said Mrs. Lewis. “There is nothing ominous about it. You will be going out with him to parties and receptions, he will escort you to film openings and other professional situations, and the world will assume that you are engaged. Also, we will plant little stories about you in the magazines and newspapers, so your fans will have fun reading about your romance.”
“But I don’t like Mr. Alcott…” said Miss Moonshadow.
“What difference does it make?” asked Mrs. Lewis, mystified by her protégé’s concern. “It’s not as if you are really his fiancée. After a few months, when you are sufficiently well-known, we will say that the two of you broke your engagement because of differences of opinions, but that you remain the best of friends. At that point, we may find another fake fiancée for him, and one for you. It’s simply marketing.”
“But…” said Miss Moonshadow, and stopped.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Lewis, encouragingly.
“If someone really liked me, and I liked him, he would think I am engaged to Mr. Alcott and then he won’t try to see me,” said Miss Moonshadow.
