Dance to Your Daddy mb-42

by Gladys Mitchell

  Tancred Provost turned up in a taxi which he had shared with his presumed cousins Humphrey and Binnie. Humphrey, as Judith had indicated, was a somewhat seedy schoolmaster and (Romilly explained to Dame Beatrice when the visitors had been shown to their rooms) must have married Binnie in a fit of scholarly absent-mindedness or in a state of mental aberration, for they were, in all respects, a notably ill-assorted couple, he thought.

  Dame Beatrice herself thought it far more likely that the shabby, ineffectual, unprepossessing man had been tempted into marriage by his partner's flaxen head, characterless, innocent, half-open mouth and babyish blue eyes which she widened, as though in surprise, in response to every remark which was made to her.

  Tancred was an attractive young man, and it was clear that he was prepared to champion Binnie against her husband's weak spitefulness, for Humphrey, like most of his kind, compensated for his own shortcomings by making a butt of his dim-witted spouse. What appeared to be a typical exchange between them occurred as soon as they appeared downstairs again.

  'Well, Binnie, my dear,' said Romilly, 'I expect you are ready for your lunch.'

  'I'm dieting, Uncle Romilly. What are we having?'

  'Well, really!' exploded Humphrey. 'What a question to ask your host!'

  'A perfectly proper question, if she's dieting,' said Tancred. 'What are we having for lunch, Uncle Romilly?'

  Humphrey glared at him. Romilly replied, 'I've really no idea. It's Judith's pigeon.'

  'I wish it could be pigeon,' said Binnie wistfully. 'Oh, boy! How I love pigeon pie!'

  'I'm afraid it won't be that. How charming you look, my dear,' said Romilly. 'If that's the result of dieting, I must admit that the sacrifice is worth it.'

  'Oh, do you like my legs? These minis do something for legs, don't they? I mean, if you've got nice legs, why shouldn't you show them off? And a mini does show them off.'

  'At twenty-three that might, possibly, be desirable,' said Humphrey. At thirty-three, no! You seem to forget that you are almost middle-aged, my dear. I've told you before, and I tell you again...'

  '"He said it very loud and clear; he went and shouted in her ear,"' said Tancred. 'Oh, come off it, Humphrey!' He turned to Binnie, rolled his dark eyes and declaimed:

  'Ah, shall I have you only in my dreams,

  And long for sleep, and loathe to be awake?'

  'What are you babbling about?' snarled Humphrey.

  'I am quoting the first two lines of a little thing of my own,' said Tancred. 'If you talked poetry to the poor girl instead of criticising her legs...'

  'I'm not criticising her legs, damn your impudence! I merely stated...'

  'We are none of us criticising her legs. We are admiring those, and talking about her diet,' said Romilly. 'Ah, here comes Judith. Judith, my dear, Binnie is on a diet. What are we having for lunch?'

  'A diet? Oh, dear!' said Judith. 'I'm afraid it's not diet-y food. We're having Scotch broth, turbot and a saddle of mutton. Binnie could have the turbot, I suppose, but...'

  'I shall have it all,' said Binnie. 'Heavenly, heavenly lunch! We never get a lunch like that at home, not even on Sundays. I suppose Humphrey doesn't earn enough money. Perhaps, if they made him a housemaster in a big public school-'

  Humphrey's snort of fury at this remark was taken by Binnie as agreement, and she seemed about to enlarge upon her theme when Tancred took her by the arm.

  'What you want,' he said, 'is to hear the rest of that smashing sonnet of mine. It's all about you. Come along into the hall. The acoustics are better in there. They suit my voice.'

  During lunch the wrangling between the married couple went on. Dame Beatrice could not believe that Binnie's capacity for exasperating her husband was not the result of a careful study of his vanities and his weaknesses. On the other hand, when Binnie interpolated one of her banal and meaningless remarks, Humphrey contested it with a blunt cruelty which left her, more often than not, in tears, but which induced in Dame Beatrice some sympathy for both partners in such a mesalliance. Matters were not helped by Tancred, who, as though moved by a disposition of kindness towards Binnie, invariably criticised Humphrey's arguments and, having the better brain and a poniard of wit against which Humphrey's bludgeonings seemed always to come off second best, reduced his opponent to teeth-grinding fury. At this the imbecile Binnie would leap into the arena with, 'Oh, Tancred, you beast! Oh, leave him alone! He can't help it if he isn't rich and clever!'

  Dame Beatrice wondered which of them Humphrey would murder first. She extricated herself from the unseemly exchanges as soon as she could, stating that she was ready for a session with her patient.

  'But it isn't the right time,' said Romilly. 'It's after tea you are to have her, isn't it? I thought you said...'

  'What's this about a patient?' asked Binnie, interrupting him. 'Can I help with the nursing? I love sick-beds.'

  'Yes, you may help,' said Dame Beatrice, neatly circumventing Humphrey's comments. 'Come along up to my room.'

  'Oh, but, really, Beatrice!' protested Romilly. 'I thought all your sessions were to be held in secret.'

  'Yes, so did I,' she replied. 'Since, however, a certain picture in my room has indicated that they are not to be so held, I see no reason to refuse Mrs Provost's reasonable and helpful request.'

  'Will you call me Binnie?' the dumb blonde asked, as they went side by side up the splendid stair.

  'With pleasure, my dear.'

  'What's the matter with the patient? Why is she in your room? What did Uncle Romilly mean about secrets? Do you think I could get a divorce? Of course, it would ruin Humphrey's career, and I love him really, and I haven't any money of my own, so perhaps I'd better not try.'

  'The patient is suffering from slight melancholia brought about by the circumstances in which she finds herself. She is not in my room, but I shall send for her. Your Uncle Romilly thinks her condition is worse than it is, and so he wishes my work here to be kept secret except, of course, from himself and his housekeeper. I do not know whether you could get a divorce, although, if you did, you could claim alimony from your husband, if you had right on your side.'

  'Do you mean I could get money without having to work for it? That would be very nice, wouldn't it? I'd like to model clothes, but you need brains for that, and Humphrey is always telling me I haven't any.'

  'There is no need for you to believe him, is there?'

  'Do you know why we've come?'

  'I thought it was to join in a family gathering.'

  'No, not quite. Uncle Romilly has made all sorts of promises to make sure we came along. He has promised Humphrey a headship. There's an interview. But what would Humphrey do with a wife like me? I wouldn't know what to say to the parents, and, of course, I'd have to have better clothes. Humphrey is dreadfully mean about clothes. Just look at the rags I'm wearing!'

  'I think you look very nice, and, of course, as you pointed out to us, his salary may not be large.'

  'I don't know what it is. He never tells me.'

  Dame Beatrice opened the door of her room to find that Rosamund had already installed herself in it. She gravely introduced the two girls.

  'Oh, we've met once before,' said Binnie. 'You're not the patient, are you? I'm prettier than you, but I expect you've more brains than I have. How oddly you dress! Do you like dressing up? I did, when I was a little girl.'

  'So you do now,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Didn't you tell me you wanted to model clothes?'

  'I wish you'd show me your clothes, and let me try them on,' said Rosamund quickly to Binnie. She was wearing Joan of Arc's armour again. 'Could we go to your room?'

  'No, you cannot go now,' said Dame Beatrice. 'We are to have our session at once, instead of after tea.'

  'I love my tea,' said Binnie, 'and I can see that Rosamund is quite as well as I am. I think I'll go downstairs.'

  She left them. Rosamund said:

  'Is she quite all there?'

 
Dame Beatrice did not reply. She scribbled a few words in her notebook and handed it over. Rosamund read the sentences she had written and nodded intelligently.

  'War,' said Dame Beatrice, loudly.

  'And peace,' said Rosamund automatically.

  'Peace-makers.'

  'Pace-makers. People who help people to win races.'

  'Race-antagonism.'

  'There was a young lady named Starkey...'

  'That, surely, was fusion, not antagonism. Let us begin again.'

  They played out the farce until the sound of a door being shut told Dame Beatrice what she wanted to know.

  'I'll go now,' said Rosamund, who had heard it, too.

  'Do not attempt to do what you had thought of, even if Binnie lends you some clothes,' said Dame Beatrice.

  'Very well. I see you know what it was.'

  'It was obvious, of course. But that is not the way.'

  'You mean I should be found and brought back?'

  'I could not prevent it, at this stage. Have a little patience. Why has Romilly invited all these people here?'

  There was a tap at the door.

  'So sorry to intrude,' said Romilly. He went over to Rosamund, who shrank back as he approached her. 'I think you had better do as you suggested just now, my dear,' he said. 'Make yourself scarce. You may join the others downstairs, if you wish to do so, but you must behave yourself, mind. No nonsense and no tantrums, and you are to pay no attention to anything Tancred may say to you. You know which one is Tancred. You met him the last time he came. He will flatter you, maybe, and talk all kinds of nonsense about his poetry, but it is all meaningless. Do you understand me?'

  'Yes,' said Rosamund sullenly, 'but I don't want to go downstairs. I like it here with Professor Adler.'

  'Yes, my dear, I am sure you do, but I wish to speak with her in private, so run along, there's a good child. If you ask Amabel, she will give you some lemon drops. You like lemon drops, don't you?'

  With obvious unwillingness, Rosamund left them. There was silence until she had closed the door. Then Dame Beatrice said:

  'This is an intrusion, you know. I do not care to have my sessions interrupted.'

  'I am sorry about the interruption, but, with all these people in the house, I had to find a way of seeing you alone.'

  'For any particular reason?'

  'For one thing, I need to know why you dislike me. I suppose there is a connection with Trilby. I ought to have stressed that she is a pathological liar, but I am certain you have far too much experience of these cases to be taken in by her. She was planning to run away again, was she?'

  'How did you know that?'

  'I did not know it. I made a guess that it would be the first thing over which she would attempt to enlist your aid.'

  'Did you also guess that I should refuse it?'

  'I gave you credit, of course, for ordinary common sense.'

  'I think you have been eavesdropping, you know. You overheard our conversation, did you not?'

  'My dear Beatrice!'

  'It would be rather naive of you to deny it. I have found the hole in the wall, as I thought I had sufficiently indicated.'

  'I simply do not understand you!'

  'Do you not?'

  'The hole in the wall? Whatever can you mean?'

  'If you will take the trouble to remove the picture of those two young men, you will see for yourself what I mean, and then perhaps we shall both know where we stand.'

  'Remove the picture?' He stepped across the room. 'You mean there is a hole in the wall which is being covered by it?'

  'You may satisfy yourself that that is so.'

  Romilly studied the picture before he took it down. His surprise, when he did so, was either genuine or remarkably well simulated. He put the picture on the floor with its face against the wall and stared at the foot-wide squint. He ejaculated, as he turned and met the sharp black eyes of his guest:

  'Good gracious me! Who would ever think of such a thing!'

  'Most people would recognise this as a house of secrets, I think. Perhaps the hole was there when it was built.'

  'I see that you have a suspicious mind.'

  'It is a feature of my profession.'

  'Ah, yes, of course. Of both your professions, perhaps. Beatrice, I did not only bring you here to examine Trilby. My life is threatened.'

  'By whom?'

  'I don't know. The would-be murderer may be one of my guests. I want you to spot the guilty party. That is one reason why I invited you.'

  'Since your demise has not yet been accomplished, there can be no guilty party.'

  'Guilty by intent, I mean, of course. You will be wondering how I know that I am in danger. I will tell you. One of these visitors must, I think, be my own child. Which one I do not know, but, whichever it is, that one will attempt to kill me.'

  'What makes you think so?'

  A gipsy warned me.'

  'Really, now!'

  'Oh, I take it seriously, I assure you.'

  'Well, I am sorry, but I have not the slightest intention of following that example. If you mean what you say, why have you invited them here?'

  'To get the matter settled once and for all, and I need your expert help. As a psychiatrist...'

  'I decline to be a party to such nonsense.'

  'Even if I accede to your request?'

  'What request would that be?'

  'To allow Trilby to be treated in your own home or at your clinic.'

  'I think you must have read my mind.'

  'In what respect?'

  'If you had not been willing to release her, I should have laid an information against you for detaining the girl here by force and for refusing her the rights of liberty and the pursuit of happiness.'

  'You must be joking! Trilby is my wife.'

  'I am in expectation of being able to prove that she is nothing of the kind.'

  'You've gone behind my back?'

  'Certainly, if you choose to put it like that. I will go further. Rosamund is completely compos mentis, and you know it. What your object has been in keeping her here without modern clothing, so that she cannot escape, and why you have seen fit to pass her off as your wife, I have no idea. However, there must be an end to it. I shall take her with me tomorrow morning.'

  'Not just yet, Beatrice. At least allow her to stay until my house-party is assembled.'

  'I see no reason for that. Binnie, who seems reasonably well-disposed, will lend Rosamund some clothes which will do for a day or two, until I can get her properly fitted out. As for your own troubles, whether they be real or imaginary, I suggest that you contact the police.'

  'But what should I tell them?'

  'What you have told me.'

  They might not believe me.'

  'Well, I don't believe you, either.'

  'Beatrice, if you leave me in the power of these monsters, my blood will be upon your head.'

  'I have borne greater responsibilities than that.'

  'I won't let you go!'

  'No?' said Dame Beatrice. 'Well, well!' She seated herself composedly in an armchair. 'You can scarcely guard that door for the rest of the day. You have guests arriving at this very moment.' She had heard a car drive up.

  'I can lock you in!' said Romilly, with an attempt at playfulness.

  'You could, perhaps, if you had the key. I took the liberty of removing it from the door almost as soon as I arrived here, and have been carrying it about with me ever since.'

  'Well, I shall not think of attempting to gain possession of it by force,' said Romilly, laughing. 'But, my very dear Beatrice, please do not think of leaving me at present, whether you believe or not that my life is in danger. At least allow Trilby to meet her guests and enjoy their company for a day or two. Oh, and another thing! You must not think that I keep her shut up in this house. She has a wardrobe full of women's clothes, but she keeps it locked. When you have won he
r confidence you may be able to persuade her to attire herself normally.'

  'We shall see,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Meanwhile, your visitors continue to arrive.'

  'Yes, we had better go down and meet them.' He hung up the picture he had taken down, and then shook his head at it. 'Very strange,' he said. 'Most strange. This used to be my room, you know, but I certainly did not realise that there was a hole in the wall. I wonder what other secrets this fine old house contains?'

  Dame Beatrice made no attempt to guess, and Romilly led the way downstairs. In the hall they found Judith and Rosamund in conversation with a long-haired youth and a crop-headed girl who, it was easy to see, were the twins, Corin and Corinna.

  'It's too terribly good of you to put us up for a whole week,' said Corinna to Romilly.

  'Too terribly good,' echoed her brother. 'Saves the expense of digs, and seaside digs are ghastly, anyway. Hullo, Great-aunt,' he added to Dame Beatrice. 'I don't suppose you remember us, because you haven't seen us since we were babies. How are you? This quiet chap beside me is Giles. Tancred I expect you've already met, likewise Humphrey and Binnie, who are having a row in the parlour. Well, now that we all know one another, I'm bound to inform you that my twin is dying on her feet for a cup of tea. I know it isn't tea-time, but if you want to save a life...'

  'It is quite time for tea,' said Judith, 'but we were hoping that Hubert and Willoughby would have joined us. It doesn't matter, though. They can have theirs later.'

  'Well, we can't very well have our meeting until they arrive,' said Romilly.

  'What meeting would that be, Uncle Romilly?' asked Tancred.

  'I want to acquaint you all with the provisions of my will.'

  'Oh, goody!' exclaimed Binnie. 'Is your fortune big enough to go round?'

  'If it isn't, you shall have my share, Binnie,' said Tancred, 'and this evening, in the twilight, I'll read my poems to you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

  'I like money, but I don't understand poetry very much.'

  'You don't need to understand mine.'

  'I suppose it's quite incomprehensible, anyway,' said Humphrey, sneering, 'as well as being thoroughly poor stuff.'