Duplicate Death Page 5

  ‘Much as usual, I think,’ Beulah replied, perching on the edge of the table, and lighting a cigarette. ‘No good offering you one of these, is it?’

  ‘No, dear, thank you. I don’t know how it is, but I never seemed to take to it. It isn’t my scruples, because I’m very broad-minded, although I’m sure my poor old father would practically have turned me out of the house if he’d have seen me smoking. He was very particular, was my father. He wouldn’t have what you might call a risky story told, not in his hearing he wouldn’t; and the way he took on when short skirts first came in you wouldn’t believe. Yes, he was a very good man, except for the drink, and there I’m bound to say he was a wee bit of a trial to my mother, because as sure as fate she’d have to go and look for him in the public houses as soon as ever he got his wages, and often he wasn’t at all willing to go home with her, not at all. But I often say it takes all sorts to make a world, and he was very highly respected, on account of his principles. Is it a dance tonight, dear?’

  ‘No, just a Bridge-party.’

  ‘I’m bound to say I’ve never played Bridge, though I used to be very fond of a rubber of whist. I daresay there will be a lot of celebrities?’ Miss Spennymoor said hopefully.

  ‘Yes, quite a lot,’ said Beulah, knowing that the little dressmaker used this term to describe any titled person. She perceived that more was expected of her, and added: ‘Lady Floddan – do you know her?’

  Miss Spennymoor shook her head. ‘I don’t think she ever got her name in the papers, dear,’ she said simply.

  Realising that she had failed to give satisfaction, Beulah tried again. ‘Well – Sir Roderick Vickerstown!’

  ‘Now him I do know!’ said Miss Spennymoor, pleased. ‘He was at the races, though which races I don’t precisely remember, not at the moment, with the Marquis of Chetwynd and Lady Caroline Ramsbury, smoking a cigar.’

  ‘It sounds very probable. Lady Nest Poulton,’ offered Beulah.

  ‘Ah, now, what a lovely girl she was!’ sighed Miss Spennymoor. ‘She used to be in all the papers. One of the Season’s débutantes; that was before she was one of the Leaders of the Younger Set, of course. Sweetly pretty, and such dresses! I remember when she got married she had a wedding-dress of cloth of gold, which created a regular sensation, because it was quite an innovation, as they say, at that time. Anyone else?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Except Lord Guisborough.’

  ‘Yes, I thought he’d be coming, for I hear he’s very sweet on Miss Cynthia, but he’s not what I would call a celebrity, dear, if you know what I mean. You see, I knew his mother – oh, ever so well I knew her!’

  Since this was by no means the first time Beulah had been the recipient of this confidence, her reply was a trifle mechanical. ‘Really?’

  ‘First line,’ said Miss Spennymoor cryptically. ‘Oh, she was a one! Daring! You wouldn’t believe! Never till my dying day shall I forget the night she went off to some party with no more money in her bag than would pay for her taxifare (for keep twopence together she could not!) and the dress she wore as one of the Guests at the Grand-Duke’s Reception. Now, what was the name of that show? It’ll come back to me. Of course, I should have got into trouble if it had ever been found out, not that I knew anything about it, for she did it when my back was turned, I need hardly say. What a lad! All the other girls used to laugh at her for taking up with Hilary Guisborough the way she did. Hilary! Well, I couldn’t help laughing myself: what a name for anyone to have! The funny thing was she was the last girl you’d have thought would have been so soft, but there it was, and, as I’ve often said, he who laughs last laughs best, for he married her. No one ever thought he would, but he said he wasn’t going to have people calling his kids bastards, if you’ll pardon the expression, which shows that he was a real gentleman, doesn’t it? Not that it did her much good, because what must that Hilary of hers go and do but catch cold and die of a pneumonia when the twins were no more than six years old, if as much. Not that he was ever much use, really, in spite of his grand relations, but half a loaf is better than no bread, when all’s said and done, and there she was, left with two children on her hands, and nothing but a lot of bills to pay. Still, she kept up her spirits, and always enjoyed a joke. I sometimes think what a laugh she’d have if she knew her Lance had come into the title!’

  She indulged in a little laughter herself at this reflection, but her mirth was cut short by the entrance of Mrs Haddington, who walked into the room, raising her eyebrows at her secretary, and saying: ‘So this is where you are!’

  ‘Do you want me, Mrs Haddington?’ asked Beulah.

  ‘Kindly go downstairs and see that the markers are all ready, and the pencils properly sharpened. Miss Spennymoor, please come to my daughter’s room! I should have thought you could both have found some thing better to do than to sit gossiping here.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Haddington!’ said Miss Spennymoor meekly. ‘Not but what it was quite my fault, and not at all Miss Birtley’s, which it is only right I should say, because I was telling her how I used to know Lord Guisborough’s poor mother, and one thing leading to another –’

  ‘Lord Guisborough’s mother?’ repeated Mrs Haddington. ‘Indeed!’

  This icy interjection not unnaturally covered the little dressmaker with confusion. She scuffled her thimble and her scissors into her work-bag, and picked it up, saying in a crushed voice: ‘Quite ready now, Mrs Haddington!’

  ‘Then please come downstairs!’ said Mrs Haddington.

  Five

  At eight o’clock, fortified by the tablet of aspirin she had swallowed on her hurried return to her lodging in Earl’s Court earlier in the evening to fling herself into her one dinner-dress, Beulah joined the small party assembled in the drawing-room. Originally, the only invited guest had been Dan Seaton-Carew, but Cynthia, encountering Lord Guisborough and Mr Harte at her luncheon-party, had, with reckless hospitality, begged both to dine in Charles Street before the rest of the Bridge-guests arrived. Since Beatrice Guisborough, who shared a studio with her brother, had not been present, she was easily able to forget the propriety of including her in her invitation; and as Lord Guisborough was contemptuous of all social conventions, and, in any event, never considered the convenience of anyone but himself, he had no hesitation in accepting the invitation, and leaving Beatrice to join the Bridge-party under her own escort.

  Mrs Haddington, informed midway through the afternoon of this alteration of her plans, had almost lost her temper with her idolised daughter, even going so far as to say that it was really rather thoughtless of her. Her chef entirely lost his, and was only deterred from walking out of Mrs Haddington’s life then and there by the reflection that the incident, judiciously handled, would provide him with an unanswerable pretext for demanding an increase in his already handsome salary.

  ‘My pet, if you had invited one of them, it would have been quite all right,’ said Mrs Haddington, in the fond voice none but her daughter was privileged to hear. ‘But now our numbers are wrong!’

  ‘Oh, Mummy, what on earth does it matter? Besides, they always were!’

  ‘Nonsense, I don’t count Dan as a regular guest! I suppose I shall have to tell that Birtley girl she can dine with us.’

  She then remembered that the library, where Beulah usually partook of meals served to her on a tray, was swept, garnished, and furnished with card-tables; reflected that the servants would infallibly be affronted by any suggestion that they should serve two separate meals that evening, and became more cheerful. Beulah received a curt intimation that she was expected to dine with her employer with outward apathy. Her spirits were not raised by the contemplation of her image in the mirror set within the panel of her wardrobe door. The discreet dinner-dress, bought for just such an occasion as the present one, had, for its provenance, the Inexpensive Department of a London store distinguished more for its reasonable prices than for its exclusiveness of design, and had been worn rather too often. Not even the addition of a penda
nt of antique and charming design, bequeathed to her by her Italian mother, could redeem it, she considered. A dab of Indian ink had concealed a cut on one of her satin sandals; but her thick brown locks, springing attractively from a broad, low brow, would have been the better for re-setting. ‘Oh, blast, who cares, anyway?’ demanded Beulah of her scowling reflection, and dragged a comb through her hair once more.

  She was guilty of the extravagance of hiring a taxi to convey her from Nevern Place to Charles Street, and alighted from it just as Mr Seaton-Carew was about to press the bell beside the front door of the house. He waited for her to join him, saying, in the half-caressing, half-bantering tone he was apt to adopt when addressing pretty young women: ‘Well, and how is my little protégée?’

  ‘Thank you, I am perfectly well, and you would oblige me if you would stop calling me your little protégée!’ Beulah replied.

  He laughed gently, and gave her arm a squeeze above the elbow. ‘What a farouche child it is!’ he remarked. ‘Ungrateful, aren’t you? Eh? Who got you this job, I should like to know? And what thanks has he ever had for doing it? Now, you tell me that, you impossible young termagant!’

  ‘If you had got it for me without telling Mrs Haddington every detail of my past career, I might have been grateful – even to the extent of letting you paw me about!’ retorted Beulah fiercely, detaching his hand from her arm.

  Again he laughed, and this time playfully pinched her chin. ‘Does Lilias put it across you? What a shame! But I really couldn’t foist you on to her without letting her know

  the worst, could I?’

  Beulah sought angrily in her purse for her latch-key, realised that she had left it in her shopping-bag, set her finger on the bell, and pressed it viciously. ‘I told you the truth, and you pretended to believe me!’

  ‘Of course I did! That’s one of the rules of the game, my silly sweet.’

  ‘And, what is more, you did believe me!’ Beulah flashed. ‘I know enough now to be sure that you’d have found quite another use for me if you hadn’t! You saw I wasn’t in the least the sort you were looking for, but it occurred to you that you could supply your dear old friend with a slave who wouldn’t leave her the first time she was poisonously rude if you sent me to her – complete with my dossier!’

  He still seemed to be genuinely amused. ‘Poor little savage! Do you hate me for it?’

  ‘No more than I hate cockroaches!’

  At this moment, Thrimby opened the door. Mr Seaton-Carew stood back with an exaggerated gesture of civility to allow Beulah to precede him into the house. His eyes mocked her; he said, as he handed Thrimby his hat: ‘What do you do to cockroaches, my dear? Put your foot on them?’

  ‘When I get the chance!’

  ‘What a cruel little girl! I’m afraid you won’t, you know!’

  She turned, at the foot of the stairs, to look back at him. ‘Don’t be too sure of that, Mr Seaton-Carew! Add determined to cruel, and you’ll be very nearly right!’

  ‘Your overcoat, sir?’ said Thrimby, in a voice that clearly

  expressed his opinion of this interchange.

  Beulah postponed her entrance to the drawing-room until the last moment, and did not join the party until after the separate arrivals of Lord Guisborough and Mr Harte. She found her employer very stately in black velvet and diamonds, with a large black lace fan, mounted on ebony sticks, which she carried in one hand. This was in imitation of a certain much admired Duchess, and was a plagiarism which Mr Harte had instantly recognised and appreciated. He caught Beulah’s eye as she entered the room, and directed it to the gloves and the fan. Since Beulah had not been informed of the identities of the two extra guests Mr Harte’s presence came as a glad surprise to her. Her rather forbidding expression was lightened by an involuntary smile, and a faint flush. These indications of her pleasure were not lost on her employer, who observed them with a steely light in her eyes. But Mrs Haddington never committed the solecism of being rude to her secretary in public, and she said, with her mechanical smile: ‘Ah, here you are, Miss Birtley! You know my secretary, don’t you, Lance?’

  The latest flower of the peerage was seated beside Cynthia on a deep sofa, engrossed in expounding the high principles infusing every Russian bosom, but he turned his head at these words, waved a vague hand, and said graciously: ‘Oh, hallo!’

  ‘And Mr Harte I feel sure you have met before, Miss Birtley,’ said Mrs Haddington.

  ‘How do you do? May I mix you a drink?’ Timothy said, shaking hands with his unofficially betrothed, and moving

  towards the tray laid upon a side-table.

  Beulah refused it, and Mrs Haddington, who saw no reason why she should provide a member of her staff with cocktails as well as an expensive meal, said lightly: ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to persuade her, Mr Harte. Miss Birtley doesn’t drink.’

  ‘What an exemplary character!’ remarked Seaton-Carew, amusement in his sleepy eyes.

  ‘Dinner is served, madam,’ announced Thrimby, from the doorway.

  A buffet had already been set up in the back half of the dining-room, and the mahogany table, much reduced in length, had been thrust wholly into the front half. Mrs Haddington, with a graceful apology for what she described as a picnic-meal, requested Lord Guisborough to take the head of the board, seated herself at the foot, with Timothy on her right, and Seaton-Carew on her left, and directed her daughter to the vacant chair between his lordship and Mr Harte. This left the place beside Seaton-Carew to Beulah, and since Lord Guisborough continued to address himself exclusively to Cynthia, and Timothy, handicapped by an upbringing, politely set himself to entertain his hostess, she was obliged to maintain an unwilling exchange of small talk with him.

  Of this he had an easy and inexhaustible flow. He was a middle-aged man who had wonderfully preserved his figure, and his air of youth. He was handsome, in a slightly florid style, and possessed a marked amount of rather animal magnetism. His manner, which was a nice blend of indulgent amusement and affectionate flattery, strongly attracted a certain type of woman, and various young men whose careers had not hitherto earned them any very distinguishing attention either from their contemporaries or from their seniors. He lived in a service-flat in Jermyn Street, and was apparently a gentleman of leisure. His position in Mrs Haddington’s house was undefined, but it was generally supposed that the past veiled a greater degree of intimacy than now prevailed between them. As Miss Mapperley so shrewdly phrased it: ‘Anyone knows what to think when someone asks a gentleman to go and fetch her something out of her bedroom.’ Miss Mapperley added with relish: ‘But if My Lady thinks he’s still got a fancy for her she’ll very soon smile on the other side of her face, for it’s her precious Cynthia he’s after, as anybody could see with half an eye. Disgusting, I call it!’

  Lord Guisborough, who, while rapidly disposing of half a dozen oysters, was angrily condemning a state of Capitalism which had neglected to make oysters the staple diet of the Masses, had long since decided that Mr Seaton-Carew was a parasite who, in a more golden age, would have perished under a guillotine, and paid little heed to him, beyond casting one or two fiery glances in his direction, and contradicting three of his statements. These in no way discomposed Dan Seaton-Carew, but seemed rather to amuse him. He had very little interest in impoverished peers; and as it was common knowl edge that the late Lord Guisborough, upon the death of his last surviving son, had divided all his unentailed property between his daughter and his more favoured nephew Kenelm, he had never made any attempt to captivate the heir. Lord Guisborough was a bony young man, with a cavernous eye and hollow cheeks, who had been employed for some years on the staff of a firm of left-wing publishers. He was not without ability, but he lacked ballast. An older and a shrewder colleague had once described him as being over-engined for his beam. He was capable of bearing an intelligent part in discussion for just as long as the subject had no bearing on the Kremlin, but the smallest reference to Soviet Russia acted upon his brain like a pow
erful drug, slaying in an instant his critical faculty, and inspiring him with a fanaticism that dismissed as Capitalist Propaganda all the more displeasing activities of an Asiatic race which from time to time came to light. He had taken no active part in the War, at first because he had conscientiously objected to it; and later, when the enforced participation of Russia in the hostilities had altered his outlook, because he was engaged on Educational Work of para mount importance. This consisted of a series of lectures, which he was perfectly well qualified to deliver, having completed his education at the London School of Economics.

  In general, he was by no means popular with the more ruthless sex, most of whom, in defiance of all attempts to enlighten their minds, continued to let instinct govern their impulses, and maintained an obstinate preference for stalwart males who showed every sign of being able and willing to defend their own. Some of these ladies who had spent the war-years doing rescue work in blitzed areas, could scarcely look at him without wishing to hand him a white feather. Mr Harte, who possessed an elegant leather case containing a row of miniature medals which made his mother’s heart swell with pride, was more tolerant. He said that Lord Guisborough’s war-time activities were not due to common funk, but to a form of beany intellectualism, and bore him not the slightest ill-will for his failure to share in the heat and burden of the day. But he did think that his remarks on the subject of oysters lacked civility to his hostess, and were deserving of punishment, so he remarked, in what he knew his victim would consider an Oxford drawl, that it was extremely doubtful that the masses would appreciate the addition of these bivalves to their diet.