Dance to Your Daddy mb-42

by Gladys Mitchell

  'I wonder what he promised Hubert and Willoughby?' said Giles. 'Perhaps it wasn't enough to make it seem worthwhile for them to show up. Anyway, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm off. I wouldn't stay a minute longer under his beastly roof if you paid me!'

  'Isn't there a New Forest meet in the morning?' asked Tancred, with apparent innocence. 'Pity to miss that, as you're here.'

  (3)

  When Dame Beatrice came down to breakfast on the following morning it was to find her host alone at the table. The remainder of the previous day had been strange and, to everyone but herself and Tancred, who both enjoyed bizarre situations, very uncomfortable.

  Judith had come down to face the glum and grim silence which followed Tancred's last words and observed, with false brightness, that 'poor little Trilby' had been soothed and put to bed and was being watched over by one of the maids, and that Romilly had been called out unexpectedly, but would be back in time for dinner.

  'I should think it would choke him,' muttered Humphrey. Aloud he said: 'I suppose you and he have taken it for granted that Binnie and I will be leaving first thing in the morning?'

  'Oh, must you go so soon?' asked Judith. 'I must arrange about the car, then.'

  'We're all going,' said Tancred. At least'-he glanced at Giles-'most of us, I think.'

  Dame Beatrice had also decided to leave, provided that Romilly kept his promise about allowing her to take Rosamund with her. Laura's letter, confirming her own and the girl's own fears, had clinched her determination to remove the prospective heiress from Romilly's clutches and make provision for her safety. After all, the child was related to her, even if somewhat obscurely, and Dame Beatrice had never attempted to shake off the sense of responsibility which was the glory and the curse of her generation. What she was to do with Rosamund ultimately she had no idea. Marriage would be the best solution if matters arranged themselves that way, although whether the possible husband was to be envied, Dame Beatrice had begun to be doubtful.

  Romilly stood up as she came to the breakfast-table and placed a chair for her.

  'Is anybody else up?' she asked.

  'Humphrey and Binnie have breakfasted and are packing.' Romilly laughed as he spoke. 'Humphrey has taken my little jokes rather badly, I'm afraid.'

  'Your little jokes?'

  'Why, yes. All that clap-trap about the murderer, and so forth. I merely wanted to amuse them all, you know. One thing, Corin and Corinna knew better than to take me seriously.'

  'They are staying on, then?'

  'Oh, yes. So is Giles. There's a meet of the New Forest hounds this morning. He was up and away an hour ago. I've lent him a horse.'

  'What about Mr Tancred?'

  'Not up yet. Don't suppose he'll be down before ten. I'm expecting to hear from Hubert and Willoughby by this morning's post. Wonder what they've got to say for themselves? Dashed uncivil to accept an invitation and not turn up. Post doesn't get here until the middle of the morning. That's the worst of living in the wilds. Ah, here's your fresh toast. What are you thinking of doing with yourself today?'

  'I thought I would take my patient to the Stone House.'

  'You're not throwing me to these wolves?'

  'You spoke a minute ago of your little jokes.'

  'That, yes. But I still believe my life may be in danger. You must stay and see me through. Humphrey is very angry with me. He believed I could get him that public school place.'

  'I shall not stay. Rosamund will be better away from this house, and I decline to be a party to your little jokes.'

  'Well, before you go, would you get your man to run Humphrey and Binnie in to Wareham? They want to catch a train to Waterloo. My own car is needed for Tancred, who, for some reason, wishes to go to Shaftesbury.'

  Dame Beatrice wondered how he knew this, as nothing, so far as she was aware, had been said about such an expedition on the previous evening. However, she made no demur. She said:

  'That means, then, that Rosamund and I will be leaving a little later than I had anticipated.'

  'Oh, you must certainly stay to lunch. Judith would never forgive me if you left without saying goodbye to her. Besides, you must be here when the post comes. I am anxious to show you the letters from Hubert and Willoughby. I cannot think why they have not written sooner to tell me they could not come along. I shall accompany Humphrey and Binnie to Wareham to see them off, so I may not be here to receive the letters.'

  'You surely will not want to miss the postman when he comes. And if Humphrey is as angry as you say-'

  'The letters will still be here when I get back, for surely those two boys will write? The point is, you see, that I want to make quite sure Humphrey and Binnie really do catch that train. Humphrey is in a very unpleasant mood, as I indicated, and I should not wish him to do me the mischief which I am sure he did not contemplate when he came down here.'

  'You do not wish him to forestall the murderer?' Dame Beatrice facetiously enquired. Romilly took her seriously.

  'Oh, Humphrey would not dare to go so far, but he might resort to fisticuffs, and I have a horror of unthinking violence,' he said.

  'There are other kinds of violence, of course. Very well, I will accompany you to Wareham and George will protect you. Humphrey will not care to resort to violence in our presence.'

  It was clear that her company was the last thing Romilly wanted, and it gave her inward amusement to watch his struggle with himself before he said:

  'Well, that would be very nice, of course, but your man will be sufficient protection. Besides, would it not be better if you spent the time with your patient? With myself out of the house and the others upstairs out of the way, I should have thought...'

  'We'll take Rosamund with us,' said Dame Beatrice. 'She will enjoy an outing, and since she and Binnie are of a fashionable slimness, they can sit in front in my car with George, and then there will be plenty of room for the rest of us on the back seat. I can sit between you and Humphrey and keep you apart. That way, you will feel perfectly safe.'

  'Well, if you think it a good idea to take Trilby,' said Romilly, with the utmost unwillingness, 'I suppose it's all right.'

  'By the way,' said Dame Beatrice, as though struck by a sudden thought, 'if you are going to Wareham in my car, who is to drive Tancred to Shaftesbury?-or is he, perhaps, to drive himself and return here later?'

  'Oh, no, he does not propose to return. Luke can take him there and bring my car back.'

  'Then I think perhaps I will change my mind. It is a much longer drive to Shaftesbury than to Wareham, and will be more of a treat for Rosamund, as she seems to go out so little. You had better take Humphrey and Binnie to Wareham in your own car, with Luke to protect you, and I will transport Tancred and Rosamund in mine. How will that be?'

  (4)

  Binnie, whose boneheadedness was almost equalled by her kindness of heart, had left Rosamund a slip, a woollen frock and a cardigan. She informed Dame Beatrice of this loan during the few moments they had together before Romilly took the married couple to Wareham to catch their train.

  'Too bad she shouldn't have proper clothes,' said Binnie. 'Humphrey doesn't know I've lent them to her, so you won't say anything, will you? He's always saying I'm stupid, and so I am. If he finds out about the dress and things, I shall say I did it to spite Uncle Romilly. He hates him, you see. If anybody does murder Uncle Romilly, it's almost sure to be Humphrey. I shouldn't really mind if Humphrey went to prison for a good long time. Could you get me a job as a model? I would prefer clothes, but artists or photographers would be all right. If it was an artist, I might be his mistress, mightn't I? I'd like to be somebody's mistress. I wouldn't mind if he beat me and we had to live on bread and cheese and beer. I'd like him to be tempestuous, like some of those people in the Wednesday plays. And we'd make love all night and scratch each other's eyes out all day (except when he'd be painting, of course), and my picture would be in all the picture galleries and the Academy,
and all that, and everybody would say, "Isn't she wonderful?" I'd love it, wouldn't I?'

  'Yes, it would be very nice,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I think I hear them calling to you that the car is at the door. Thank you very much for lending Rosamund the clothes. It is most kind and thoughtful of you. If you'd care to give me your address, I will keep in touch with you.' Kitty Trevelyan, Laura's friend, she reflected, had her own salon (the foster-child, incidentally, of a prosperous hair-dressing establishment) and might be willing to give Binnie a trial. 'What are your-let me see now...'

  'My statistics?' prompted Binnie. 'I'm classical.'

  'By that you infer?'

  'I don't infer. I know, Thirty-five, twenty-three, thirty-five-but Humphrey wouldn't like me to give you our address. He's ashamed of our little semi-detached.'

  Dame Beatrice made a note.

  'I will keep those figures in mind,' she said, 'but, of course, I make no promises. Goodbye, Mrs Provost.'

  'Goodbye. I do like you,' said Binnie.

  'Your kind words are reciprocated,' Dame Beatrice replied.

  (5)

  Once clear of Galliard Hall, Dame Beatrice stopped at a public telephone kiosk and rang up the Stone House in her own village of Wandles Parva. Laura answered, and was warned to expect her employer and a companion at some time during the afternoon, probably later rather than earlier.

  The Wareham road took them past Sleeping Green and Winterborne Zelston to Blandford Forum, bland indeed in its eighteenth century elegance. This was the result of a fire which, in 1731, had destroyed most of the old town and caused it to be rebuilt in a fortunate style of architecture and with a unity of design unsurpassed except, perhaps, in parts of Dublin and Bath.

  From Blandford the road ran due north, and a string of villages with their delightful Dorset names-Steepleton Iwerne, Iwerne Courtney, Iwerne Minster, Fontmell Magna, Melbury Abbas-came and went, along a road almost free of traffic.

  The journey had begun with Tancred seated in front beside George, and Dame Beatrice beside Rosamund at the back, but after Dame Beatrice had made her telephone call she suggested that Rosamund might care to have Tancred beside her.

  'Would he,' asked Rosamund, 'recite to me some more of his poetry?' So the change-over was effected and from time to time the poet's voice broke in on Dame Beatrice's thoughts. His work, she thought, was largely derivative. It was not difficult to pick out what he had been reading at the time of each short composition, and this, in so young a man, and one who fell short of possessing any very striking talent, did not surprise her. What she did find interesting was his obvious lack of interest in anything much later than the 1930s.

  'Oh, were my love the sleeping fields,

  And I the all-embracing snow,' intoned Tancred in the snuffing voice of a man reciting his own poetry,

  'I would enfold her dreaming peace

  And veil her lovely brow.'

  There was rhyme, rhythm and a certain artlessness about the stuff which had its own attraction, Dame Beatrice decided. She listened to the rest of the short lyric. Later on-with Rosamund saying never a word of praise or criticism-one of the poems showed an even clearer derivation.

  'Greatest Lover, ere my youth be gone,

  Give me lovely things to muse upon-

  Poets' griefs and songs, and lovers' joys,

  Girls and sleeping babes and laughing boys;

  Pools where the lazy fish serenely lie,

  And ploughland furrows mounting to the sky;

  Rounded hills where dream the older gods;

  Goatfoot prints of Pan on country roads.'

  The sestet which followed, to complete the sonnet, was less derivative and therefore less successful, Dame Beatrice thought. Tancred was seated directly behind her, so that it was easy enough-although she did it only once-to turn her head and glance at Rosamund, leaning back in her corner behind George with closed eyes and a slight smile. Rosamund, there could be no doubt of it, was thoroughly happy. There was a pause-dramatic effect, no doubt-and then Tancred began again. This was meant to be the words of a song, he explained.

  'Twine your lovely head with flowers,

  For their beauty is your own...'

  Poets, even the least gifted of them, have extraordinary advantages, thought Dame Beatrice, when it comes to expressing their love-often, she reflected, insincerely.

  Laura voiced these thoughts that same evening after Rosamund had been put to bed in the Stone House.

  'The patient,' she stated, 'is rapt and starry-eyed. What have you been a-doin' of?'

  'Allowing her to make the journey to Shaftesbury in company with a young poet, so-called,' Dame Beatrice replied. 'I fear she may have interpreted some of his words as personal compliments with erotic overtones, but, then, I believe they slept together last night.'

  'Glad it's your responsibility, not mine. Incidentally, I don't notice any signs of nervous instability of the kind that I had envisaged.'

  'There are none. The child needs a change of environment, that is all.'

  'What was Cousin Romilly's object, then, in representing her as a candidate for the bin?'

  'Oh, that was made clear. Go to bed. In the morning I will tell you all. How is Eiladh?'

  'Flourishing, and no trouble to anybody. Liable to be ruined by spoiling, I'm afraid. I'm hardly allowed to do anything for her myself. Celestine and Zena have taken her over completely, and Hamish writes his weekly letter from school with extraordinary zest. He keeps begging me to put in for special weekend leave for him, so that he can come home and see her again, but, of course, I shall do nothing of the kind. The holidays come quite soon enough as it is, and he gets five weeks at Easter. I've tried to hound him into going with the school party to Brussels, but he's adamant. He's absolutely hooked on the baby.'

  'I told you how it would be.'

  'Yes, I know you did. I don't understand Hamish, and I never shall.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  SARABANDE-DANCING LEDGE

  '...when you dance, I wish you

  A wave o' the sea...'

  The Winter's Tale.

  (1)

  Dame Beatrice had anticipated that repercussions would follow the abortive family gathering to which, for reasons which still seemed obscure, Romilly Lestrange had elected to invite his relatives. The repercussions which did follow, however, were not what she would have expected. They began in the morning succeeding the day on which she had introduced Rosamund into the Stone House, a move of which Laura did not altogether approve.

  'She may be in fear of her life, and an escaped prisoner and all those things,' she said to Dame Beatrice when Rosamund, who seemed to favour plenty of sleep, was not up by a quarter to ten, 'but there's something all wrong about her.'

  'Yes,' Dame Beatrice agreed, 'mixed up with all my sympathy for her orphan state, and the really great danger I believe her to be in, I have the feeling to which you allude. I will now tell you something interesting, trusting to your native sense of fair play to read nothing into the information which is not contained in the very slight evidence which is all I am able to give you.'

  'All right,' said Laura. 'As a former student of history, I will try to keep an open mind. Does this (whatever it is) concern Rosamund?'

  'That is where we have to keep an open mind. I simply do not know. However, this is the story, for what it is worth. I think I told you in my letter about the hole in the wall. This was a kind of squint intended not, as in a church, to give a view of the altar, but (as, thinking of you, I soon realised) to give a fair chance to a marksman in the adjoining room of putting a bullet into the head of anybody lying in the bed.'

  'I don't understand why thinking of me should give you such an idea.'

  'Do you not? I think our dear Robert would. Anyhow, when I also discovered that the bed was clamped to the floor so that it could not be moved, I thought that there was really no point in taking chances. I moved my pillows around so that my head was where
whoever had arranged the bed had intended my feet to be, and prepared to sleep soundly.'

  'Neat and practical. Don't tell me that, after these precautions, nothing happened?'

  'Nothing of any consequence. However, I continued to exercise vigilance during the rest of my stay.'

  'You stayed there another night, after finding out a thing like that?'

  'For more than one reason. I was not quite ready to leave; also it did not seem likely that any bullet would be intended for me. The master of the house has not only designs (I believe) upon Rosamund's life, but he also fears for his own. As the room used to be his (if what he told me was true), he may have been the intended victim. To conclude, he now has had the hole screened off, not with the canvas-backed picture which had covered it when I was first shown into the room, but with a stout screen which proved to be a fixture.'

  'You do see life when I'm not with you! Did you have a quiet night after all that?'

  'Certainly, once the household had settled down.'

  'Settled down? Then something did happen?'

  'There was a certain amount of disturbance. Somebody thought he had heard the sound of a shot, but somebody else-Judith, I think it was-suggested that it might have been a car backfiring, and that the noise might have heralded the appearance of the two brothers Hubert and Willoughby Lestrange. Romilly went to investigate, but with no result.'

  'Nobody had been hurt, then, if it was a shot?'

  'Nobody.'

  'You talked about my native sense of fair play before you told me this Wild West story, but, at the thought of it, beneath a flippant line of talk I am concealing a sensation of horror at the danger you may have been in. By "fair play" I take you to mean that there is the possibility that Rosamund could have taken a pop at you had she wished to do so. After all, she knew Romilly had moved out of that room and that it had been given over to you, didn't she?'

  'She did, of course, and I do not lose sight of the fact that she may believe she has a motive for wishing me out of the way.'