by E. F. Benson
Georgie was utterly mystified: his Riseholme instinct told him that there was something below all this, but his Riseholme instinct could not supply the faintest clue as to what it was. Both of the Quantocks, it seemed clear, knew something perilous about the Princess, but surely if Daisy had read in the paper that the Princess had been exposed and fined, she would not have touched on so dangerous a subject. Then the curious incident about “Todd’s News” inevitably occurred to him, but that would not fit the case, since it was Robert and not Daisy who had bought that inexplicable number of the yellow print. And then Robert had hinted at the discovery of yards and yards of muslin and a false nose. Why had he done that unless he had discovered them, or unless … Georgie’s eyes grew round with the excitement of the chase … unless Robert had some other reason to suspect the integrity of the dear friend, and had said this at hap-hazard. In that case what was Robert’s reason for suspicion? Had he, not Daisy, read in the paper of some damaging disclosures, and had Daisy (also having reason to suspect the Princess) alluded to the damaging exposures in the paper by pure hap-hazard? Anyhow they had both looked dead and stuffed when the other alluded to mediumistic frauds, and both had said how lucky their own experiences had been. “Oh!” — Georgie almost said it aloud — What if Robert had seen a damaging exposure in “Todd’s News,” and therefore bought up every copy that was to be had? Then, indeed, he would look dead and stuffed, when Daisy alluded to damaging exposures in the paper. Had a stray copy escaped him, and did Daisy know? What did Robert know? Had they exquisite secrets from each other?
Lucia was being talked to across him by Mrs Weston, who had also pinned down the attention of Peppino on the other side of her. At that precise moment the flood of Mrs Quantock’s spate of conversation to the Colonel dried up, and Robert could find nothing more to say to the hungry mouse. Georgie in this backwater of his own thoughts was whirled into the current again. But before he sank he caught Mrs Quantock’s eye and put a question that arose from his exciting backwater.
“Have you heard from the Princess lately?” he asked.
Robert’s head went round with the same alacrity as he had turned it away.
“Oh, yes,” said she. “Two days ago was it, Robert?”
“I heard yesterday,” said Robert firmly.
Mrs Quantock looked at her husband with an eager encouraging earnestness.
“So you did!” she said. “I’m getting jealous. Interesting, dear?”
“Yes, dear, haw, haw,” said Robert, and again their eyes met.
This time Georgie had no doubts at all. They were playing the same game now: they smiled and smirked at each other. They had not been playing the same game before. Now they recognised that there was a conspiracy between them…. But he was host, his business for the moment was to make his guests comfortable, and not pry into their inmost bosoms. So before Mrs Weston realised that she had the whole table attending to her, he said:
“I shall get it out of Robert after dinner. And I’ll tell you, Mrs Quantock.”
“Before Atkinson came to the Colonel,” said Mrs Weston, going on precisely where she had left off, “and that was five years before Elizabeth came to me — let me see — was it five or was it four and a half? — four and a half we’ll say, he had another servant whose name was Ahab Crowe.”
“No!” said Georgie.
“Yes!” said Mrs Weston, hastily finishing her champagne, for she saw Foljambe coming near— “Yes, Ahab Crowe. He married, too, just like Atkinson is going to, and that’s an odd coincidence in itself. I tell the Colonel that if Ahab Crowe hadn’t married, he would be with him still, and who can say that he’d have fancied Elizabeth? And if he hadn’t, I don’t believe that the Colonel and I would ever have — well, I’ll leave that alone, and spare my blushes. But that’s not what I was saying. Whom do you think Ahab Crowe married? You can have ten guesses each, and you would never come right, for it can’t be a common name. It was Miss Jackdaw. Crowe: Jackdaw. I never heard anything like that, and if you ask the Colonel about it, he’ll confirm every word I’ve said. Boucher, Weston, why that’s quite commonplace in comparison, and I’m sure that’s an event enough for me.”
Lucia gave her silvery laugh.
“Dear Mrs Weston,” she said, “you must really tell me at once when the happy day will be. Peppino and I are thinking of going to the Riviera — —”
Georgie broke in.
“You shan’t do anything of the kind,” he said. “What’s to happen to us? ‘Oo very selfish, Lucia.”
The conversation broke up again into duets and trios, and Lucia could have a private conversation with her host. But half-an-hour ago, so Georgie reflected, they had all been walking round each other like dogs going on tiptoe with their tails very tightly curled, and growling gently to themselves, aware that a hasty snap, or the breach of the smallest observance of etiquette, might lead to a general quarrel. But now they all had the reward of their icy politenesses: there was no more ice, except on their plates, and the politeness was not a matter of etiquette. At present, they might be considered a republic, but no one knew what was going to happen after dinner. Not a word had been said about the tableaux.
Lucia dropped her voice as she spoke to him, and put in a good deal of Italian for fear she might be overheard.
“Non cognosce anybody?” she asked. “I tablieri, I mean. And are we all to sit in the aula, while the salone is being got ready?”
“Si,” said Georgie. “There’s a fire. When you go out, keep them there. I domestichi are making salone ready.”
“Molto bene. Then Peppino and you and I just steal away. La lampa is acting beautifully. We tried it over several times.”
“Everybody’s tummin’,” said Georgie, varying the cipher.
“Me so nervosa!” said Lucia. “Fancy me doing Brunnhilde before singing Brunnhilde. Me can’t bear it.”
Georgie knew that Lucia had been thrilled and delighted to know that Olga so much wanted to come in after dinner and see the tableaux, so he found it quite easy to induce Lucia to nerve herself up to an ordeal so passionately desired. Indeed he himself was hardly less excited at the thought of being King Cophetua.
At that moment, even as the crackers were being handed round, the sound of the carol-singers was heard from outside, and Lucia had to wince, as “Good King Wenceslas” looked out. When the Page and the King sang their speeches, the other voices grew piano, so that the effect was of a solo voice accompanied. When the Page sang, Lucia shuddered.
“That’s the small red-haired boy who nearly deafens me in church,” she whispered to Georgie. “Don’t you hope his voice will crack soon?”
She said this very discreetly, so as not to hurt Mrs Rumbold’s feelings, for she trained the choir. Everyone knew that the king was Mr Rumbold, and said “Charming” to each other, after he had sung.
“I liked that boy’s voice, too,” said Mrs Weston. “Tommy Luton used to have a lovely voice, but this one’s struck me as better-trained even than Tommy Luton’s. Great credit to you, Mrs Rumbold.”
The grey hungry mouse suddenly gave a shrill cackle of a laugh, quite inexplicable. Then Georgie guessed.
He got up.
“Now nobody must move,” he said, “because we haven’t drunk ‘absent friends’ yet. I’m just going out to see that they have a bit of supper in the kitchen before they go on.”
His trembling legs would scarcely carry him to the door, and he ran out. There were half a dozen little choir boys, four men and one tall cloaked woman….
“Divine!” he said to Olga. “Aunt Jane thought your voice very well trained. Come in soon, won’t you?”
“Yes: all flourishing?”
“Swimming,” said Georgie. “Lucia hoped your voice would crack soon. But it’s all being lovely.”
He explained about food in the kitchen and hurried back to his guests. There was the riddle of the Quantocks to solve: there were the tableaux vivants imminent: there was the little red-haired boy coming
in soon. What a Christmas night!
Soon after Georgie’s hall began to fill up with guests, and yet not a word was said about tableaux. It grew so full that nobody could have said for certain whether Lucia and Peppino were there or not. Olga certainly was: there was no mistaking that fact. And then Foljambe opened the drawing-room door and sounded a gong.
The lamp behaved perfectly and an hour later one Brunnhilde was being extremely kind to the other, as they sat together. “If you really want to know my view, dear Miss Bracely,” said Lucia, “it’s just that. You must be Brunnhilde for the time being. Singing, of course, as you say, helps it out: you can express so much by singing. You are so lucky there. I am bound to say I had qualms when Peppino — or was it Georgie — suggested we should do Brunnhilde-Siegfried. I said it would be so terribly difficult. Slow: it has to be slow, and to keep gestures slow when you cannot make them mere illustrations of what you are singing — well, I am sure, it is very kind of you to be so flattering about it — but it is difficult to do that.”
“And you thought them all out for yourself?” said Olga. “Marvellous!”
“Ah, if I had ever seen you do it,” said Lucia, “I am sure I should have picked up some hints! And King Cophetua! Won’t you give me a little word for our dear King Cophetua? I was so glad after the strain of Brunnhilde to have my back to the audience. Even then there is the difficulty of keeping quite still, but I am sure you know that quite as well as I do, from having played Brunnhilde yourself. Georgie was very much impressed by your performance of it. And Mary Queen of Scots now! The shrinking of the flesh, and the resignation of the spirit! That is what I tried to express. You must come and help me next time I attempt this sort of thing again. That will not be quite soon, I am afraid, for Peppino and I am thinking of going to the Riviera for a little holiday.”
“Oh, but how selfish!” said Olga. “You mustn’t do that.”
Lucia gave the silvery laugh.
“You are all very tiresome about my going to the Riviera,” she said. “But I don’t promise that I shall give it up yet. We shall see! Gracious! How late it is. We must have sat very late over dinner. Why were you not asked to dinner, I wonder! I shall scold Georgie for not asking you. Ah, there is dear Mrs Weston going away. I must say good-night to her. She would think it very strange if I did not. Colonel Boucher, too! Oh, they are coming this way to save us the trouble of moving.”
A general move was certainly taking place, not in the direction of the door, but to where Olga and Lucia were sitting.
“It’s snowing,” said Piggy excitedly to Olga. “Will you mark my footsteps well, my page?”
“Piggy, you — you Goosie,” said Olga hurriedly. “Goosie, weren’t the tableaux lovely?”
“And the carols,” said Goosie. “I adored the carols. I guessed. Did you guess, Mrs Lucas?”
Olga resorted to the mean trick of treading on Goosie’s foot and apologising. That was cowardly because it was sure to come out sometime. And Goosie again trod on dangerous ground by saying that if the Page had trod like that, there was no need for any footsteps to be marked for him.
It was snowing fast, and Mrs Weston’s wheels left a deep track, but in spite of that, Daisy and Robert had not gone fifty yards from the door when they came to a full stop.
“Now, what is it?” said Daisy. “Out with it. Why did you talk about the discovery of muslin?”
“I only said that we were fortunate in a medium whom after all you picked up at a vegetarian restaurant,” said he. “I suppose I may indulge in general conversation. If it comes to that, why did you talk about exposure in the papers?”
“General conversation,” said Mrs Quantock all in one word. “So that’s all, is it?”
“Yes,” said Robert, “you may know something, and—”
“Now don’t put it all on me,” said Daisy. “If you want to know what I think, it is that you’ve got some secret.”
“And if you want to know what I think,” he retorted, “it is that I know you have.”
Daisy hesitated a moment, the snow was white on her shoulder and she shook her cloak.
“I hate concealment,” she said. “I found yards and yards of muslin and a pair of Amadeo’s eyebrows in that woman’s bedroom the very day she went away.”
“And she was fined last Thursday for holding a seance at which a detective was present,” said Robert. “15 Gerard Street. He seized Amadeo or Cardinal Newman by the throat, and it was that woman.”
She looked hastily round.
“When you thought that the chimney was on fire, I was burning muslin,” she said.
“When you thought the chimney was on fire, I was burning every copy of ‘Todd’s News,’” said he. “Also a copy of the ‘Daily Mirror,’ which contained the case. It belonged to the Colonel. I stole it.”
She put her hand through his arm.
“Let’s get home,” she said. “We must talk it over. No one knows one word except you and me?”
“Not one, my dear,” said Robert cordially. “But there are suspicions. Georgie suspects, for instance. He saw me buy all the copies of ‘Todd’s News,’ at least he was hanging about. Tonight he was clearly on the track of something, though he gave us a very tolerable dinner.”
They went into Robert’s study: it was cold, but neither felt it, for they glowed with excitement and enterprise.
“That was a wonderful stroke of yours, Robert,” said she. “It was masterly: it saved the situation. The ‘Daily Mirror,’ too: how right you were to steal it. A horrid paper I always thought. Yes, Georgie suspects something, but luckily he doesn’t know what he suspects.”
“That’s why we both said we had just heard from that woman,” said Robert.
“Of course. You haven’t got a copy of ‘Todd’s News,’ have you?”
“No: at least I burned every page of the police reports,” said he. “It was safer.”
“Quite so. I cannot show you Amadeo’s eyebrows for the same reason. Nor the muslin. Lovely muslin, my dear: yards of it. Now what we must do is this: we must continue to be interested in psychical things; we mustn’t drop them, or seem to be put off them. I wish now I had taken you into my confidence at the beginning and told you about Amadeo’s eyebrows.”
“My dear, you acted for the best,” said he. “So did I when I didn’t tell you about ‘Todd’s News.’ Secrecy even from each other was more prudent, until it became impossible. And I think we should be wise to let it be understood that we hear from the Princess now and then. Perhaps in a few months she might even visit us again. It — it would be humorous to be behind the scenes, so to speak, and observe the credulity of the others.”
Daisy broke into a broad grin.
“I will certainly ask dear Lucia to a seance, if we do,” she said. “Dear me! How late it is: there was such a long wait between the tableaux. But we must keep our eyes on Georgie, and be careful how we answer his impertinent questions. He is sure to ask some. About getting that woman down again, Robert. It might be fool-hardy, for we’ve had an escape, and shouldn’t put our heads into the same noose again. On the other hand, it would disarm suspicion for ever, if, after a few months, I asked her to spend a few days of holiday here. You said it was a fine only, not imprisonment?”
The week was a busy one: Georgie in particular never had a moment to himself. The Hurst, so lately a desert, suddenly began to rejoice with joy and singing and broke out into all manner of edifying gaieties. Lucia, capricious queen, quite forgot all the vitriolic things she had said to him, and gave him to understand that he was just as high in favour as ever before, and he was as busy with his duties as ever he had been. Whether he would have fallen into his old place so readily if he had been a free agent, was a question that did not arise, for though it was Lucia who employed him, it was Olga who drove him there. But he had his consolation, for Lucia’s noble forgiveness of all the disloyalties against her, included Olga’s as well, and out of all the dinners and music parties, and recitations from Pe
ppino’s new book of prose poems which was already in proof, and was read to select audiences from end to end, there was none to which Olga was not bidden, and none at which she failed to appear. Lucia even overlooked the fact that she had sung in the carols on Christmas night, though she had herself declared that it was the voice of the red-haired boy which was so peculiarly painful to her. Georgie’s picture of her (she never knew that Olga had really commissioned it) hung at the side of the piano in the music room, where the print of Beethoven had hung before, and it gave her the acutest gratification. It represented her sitting, with eyes cast down at her piano, and was indeed much on the same scheme as the yet unfinished one of Olga, which had been postponed in its favour, but there was no time for Georgie to think out another position, and his hand was in with regard to the perspective of pianos. So there it hung with its title, “The Moonlight Sonata,” painted in gilt letters on its frame, and Lucia, though she continued to say that he had made her far, far too young, could not but consider that he had caught her expression exactly….
So Riseholme flocked back to The Hurst like sheep that have been astray, for it was certain to find Olga there, even as it had turned there, deeply breathing, to the classes of the Guru. It had to sit through the prose-poems of Peppino, it had to listen to the old, old tunes and sigh at the end, but Olga mingled her sighs with theirs, and often after a suitable pause Lucia would say winningly to Olga:
“One little song, Miss Bracely. Just a stanza? Or am I trespassing too much on your good-nature? Where is your accompanist? I declare I am jealous of him: I shall pop into his place some day! Georgino, Miss Bracely is going to sing us something. Is not that a treat? Sh-sh, please, ladies and gentlemen.”
