No Wind of Blame Page 6

  Suddenly Hugh realised that Wally was outside this scene, thrust into the negligible background. Neither Steel nor the Prince had a look or a thought to spare for him; it was as though they considered him contemptible, or non-existent. Hugh had a lively sense of humour, but this situation, though verging upon farce, failed to amuse him. He felt uncomfortable, and recalled Mary’s mention of bottled passions with a grimace of distaste. Nasty emotions about, he reflected, and let it go at that.

  Mary was heartily glad when the luncheon-party broke up. Far more acutely than Hugh, she was aware of these emotions. She talked to Wally, for he seemed pathetic to her understanding, a puppet less than life-size, cruelly set up to provide a contrast to the animal vigour of Steel, and the glitter of the Prince. Ermyntrude became monstrous in her eyes, a great purring cat, sleeking herself between two males. For a distorted moment, Mary saw Steel as a figure of lust, and the Prince one of cold calculation. Ermyntrude, smiling and enjoying herself between them, seemed grotesque in her inability to see these men as they were. She dragged her eyes away from them with an effort, and encountered the doctor’s level gaze. He said nothing then, but presently, when the party was over, and he strolled with Mary to where the car waited, he said in his measured way: ‘You mustn’t let your good sense get swamped by that kind of nonsense, Mary.’

  Startled, she countered by saying defensively: ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

  ‘Yes, I think you do. Don’t be disgusted with Ermyntrude. People of intellect – that’s you, my dear – are always inclined to be a little less than just to quite simple women.’

  She gave a constrained laugh. ‘I’m sorry if my face gave me away so badly. I don’t like farmyard imitations.’

  He smiled, but shook his head. She added contritely: ‘That was abominably coarse of me. I didn’t mean to be rude about Aunt Ermy. I’m really very fond of her. You are, too, aren’t you?’

  He looked a little surprised, but replied at once: ‘Yes, I’m fond of her. She was very good to me once.’

  ‘Oh! I didn’t know,’ said Mary, feeling that she had stepped on to thin ice.

  They had reached the car by this time. Mary got in beside Ermyntrude, and they were driven slowly back to Palings. Ermyntrude, commenting on the sultriness of the weather, lost her resemblance to a purring cat; but when she began presently to discuss the circumstances of Wally’s having been shot at, Mary was again conscious of a vague disquiet. She accused herself of distorting Ermyntrude’s remarks until they seemed to express an unacknowledged sense of frustration, and made haste to introduce another topic of conversation.

  She was surprised to find that Vicky had returned to Palings before them, and was lying in a hammock slung in the shade of a great elm tree on the south lawn. Ermyntrude had gone up to her bedroom to rest before tea, and so did not encounter her daughter, but Mary saw her from the drawing-room window, and went out to ask what had brought the picnic to such an early end.

  Vicky, who apparently considered the weather hot enough to make the wearing of a beach-suit desirable, crossed her arms under her honey-coloured head, and said in an exhausted voice: ‘Oh, darling, I found he was going to read to me, and it seemed to me as though there would probably be ants, or anyway thistles, because there always are whenever I lie on the ground. I do think all this healing-Mother-Earth racket is too utterly spurious, don’t you? And it was definitely not one of my primeval days, so I said we’d go home.’

  Mary was amused. ‘Poor Alan! Was he fed up?’

  ‘Yes, but I do feel that he ought to be rather crushed by adversity,’ said Vicky seriously. ‘I mean, major poets have to be, don’t they? And it turned out that I’d done the proper thing, anyway, because you were quite right about that man.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘Oh, Percy! The one who wrote Wally the funny letter.’

  ‘What you found funny in it I fail to see. What are you talking about, anyway? How was I right?’

  ‘About his calling here, darling, of course. I mean, he did.’

  ‘Vicky! Good Lord, when?’

  ‘Oh, about half an hour ago! Apparently he doesn’t live at Fritton at all, but at Burntside, and so poor darling Ermyntrude was a frightful blow to him.’

  ‘Do you mean to say he didn’t know Uncle was married?’

  ‘No, because Gladys didn’t tell him that. He said it wasn’t a thing he could mention to me, which I must say I thought was rather dear and old-world of him, and made me wish I’d gone all Early Victorian instead of River Girl. However, it didn’t really matter, because by the time he’d absorbed Ermyntrude’s rich-looking décor, he got rather fierce about plutocrats, and the Red Flag, and things, and I rather lost interest, because I’ve heard all about the lovely time everyone will have when we’re all Communists from Alan; and though I do utterly agree that it’s practically incumbent on one to go Red, I don’t somehow think that I shall, because I don’t feel as though I should enjoy it much.’

  ‘Look here, Vicky, did you actually take it upon yourself to interview this young man?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and I do think I may have done a lot of good, because I told him that Wally isn’t rich at all, which made him talk about deceivers seducing innocent girls, though as a matter of fact I don’t myself think that it makes it any better to seduce girls when you’re rich, do you? Percy got more like Alan than ever when I said so, though, and I got bored, and gave it up.’

  ‘Vicky, I wish you’d pull yourself together, and talk sense! It all sounds too garish to be believed so far. Of course, you oughtn’t to have seen him at all, and I’m glad he had enough decency not to discuss it with you. But what’s he going to do? Did you gather that he meant to make himself unpleasant?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know,’ replied Vicky, considering this. ‘He said it was no good Wally’s hiding himself, because he was going to see him sooner or later, but I shouldn’t at all wonder if he cooled off. Because if Gladys really did tell him she thought Wally was a bachelor, he must see that she couldn’t have thought anything of the kind, once he’s thought it over, on account of her being the ticket-office girl at the Regal Cinema, and having seen Ermyntrude with Wally hundreds of times.’

  ‘The cashier at the Regal!’ ejaculated Mary. ‘That nice girl with the freckles! Oh, I don’t believe it!’

  ‘Darling-sweet, you’re thinking of the Odeon-girl. Gladys is the thin one with red finger-nails that click, and that sort of wobbly figure which looks pretty lewd in tight black satin.’

  ‘O God!’ said Mary blankly. ‘And he’s coming back?’

  ‘I should think he probably will. He said so, anyway. It does rather look as though Ermyntrude will have to buy him off, which seems to me frightfully rotten for her, really, because though I quite like Percy, it’s utterly common knowledge that Gladys is quite too phoney for words.’

  ‘She won’t do it,’ Mary said. ‘I know she won’t do it. It’s the wrong moment. Oh Lord, what a week-end!’

  Four

  Neither Vicky nor Mary mentioned the circumstance of Mr Baker’s visit to Ermyntrude when she came downstairs to tea; and although Vicky’s sense of propriety would not have deterred her from giving her stepfather an account of it, the shooting-party returned to Palings too late to allow her the opportunity of seeking any private conversation with Wally.

  The dinner guests began to assemble at a quarter-to-eight, the Bawtrys being the first people to arrive, and the Prince coming downstairs a few minutes later.

  Ermyntrude, who had been persuaded by Mary’s tactful flattery to wear black, was looking a good deal less startling than usual, though rather overloaded with jewellery. She knew, for she had been told, that it was not considered good form to wear rings upon her first and second fingers, but whenever she opened her jewel-box and saw the row of fat, sparkling gems she could not resist the temptation to push as
many of the rings over her dimpled knuckles as was possible. ‘After all,’ she said reasonably, ‘if I don’t wear them, who’s to know I’ve got them?’

  So diamonds, emeralds and rubies jostled one another on her fingers; four or five expensive bangles clinked on each of her wrists; and a superb double row of pearls knocked against diamond clips, and a huge brooch, rather like a breastplate, on her bosom. A strong aroma of scent enveloped her like an ambrosial cloud; but these somewhat repelling features were in a great measure counteracted by the honesty of her smile, and the real kindliness that obviously underlay her extravagances.

  She stood in awe of Mrs Bawtry, and was very ready to let Mary bear the burden of conversation with that brisk, bright-eyed, little matron. On the other hand, Tom Bawtry, a big bluff man of no great brain, but immense good nature, was a creature quite after her own heart. He laughed readily, and had often, in the past, annoyed his wife by describing Ermyntrude as a damned fine figure of a woman. Being a hunting-man, his strictures on any irregularities of dress in the field were sweeping and severe, but as Ermyntrude had never been on a horse in her life, and Tom was quite uncritical of female garb out of the saddle, he saw nothing very much amiss either with her décolletage, or her jewellery, and was a good deal flattered by the deferential way in which she listened to anything he had to say.

  ‘My dear, what England wants at this moment is more God-guided citizens,’ Connie Bawtry informed Mary energetically, as the Prince came into the room. ‘You’ve no idea what a difference it makes to you, once you become God-controlled.’

  Happily for Mary, Ermyntrude saved her from having to answer by introducing the Prince. Connie was not in the least interested in princes, whatever their nationality, but she saw in every new acquaintance a potential convert, and at once abandoned Mary for this fresh victim.

  She was still telling him how Europe’s troubles could be solved (without, apparently, any more human effort than was entailed by the subjugating of self to Divine Control), when the Derings were announced.

  Lady Dering shook hands with her hostess in the friendly fashion that always soothed Ermyntrude’s unhappy sense of inferiority, and passed on to Wally, who was still brooding over the morning’s mishap. As she had heard all about it from Hugh, she at once congratulated him on his escape from death, and listened with assuaging sympathy to his own rambling account of the affair.

  Sir William, who wore the parboiled look of a gentleman dragged out to dinner against his will, frightened Ermyntrude with the punctiliousness of his manners; and Hugh gravitated to where Mary was standing, and at once demanded to be told why the notorious Miss Fanshawe was not present.

  ‘She’s going to make an Entrance,’ replied Mary gloomily. ‘I had one or two things to see to after I’d changed, so I hadn’t time to find out what her role is for tonight. She was a femme fatale last night, but I shouldn’t think she’ll repeat herself quite so soon.’

  She was right. Vicky, entering the room five minutes later, was dressed in a wispy frock of startling design, and still more startling abbreviations. She displayed, without reserve, a remarkably pretty back, her frock being suspended round her neck by a plait of the material of which it was made. Her curls stood out in a bunch in the nape of her neck, but were swept severely off her brow and temples. A diamond bracelet, begged from Ermyntrude’s collection, encircled one ankle under a filmy stocking, and her naturally long lashes were ruthlessly tinted with blue.

  ‘One of the Younger Set,’ said Mary knowledgeably.

  ‘So sorry if I’ve kept anybody waiting!’ said Vicky. ‘Oh, how do you do, Lady Dering? How do you do, everybody? Oh, is that sherry? How filthy! No, I’ll have a White Lady thank you.’

  ‘Good Lord!’ murmured Hugh, taken aback.

  Sir William was also startled, but when Vicky smiled at him, rather in the manner of an engaging street-urchin, his countenance relaxed slightly, and he asked her what she was doing with herself now that she had come home to live.

  ‘Well, it all depends,’ she replied seriously.

  Sir William had no daughters, but only his memories of his sisters to guide him, so he said that he had no doubt she was a great help to her mother, arranging flowers, and that kind of thing.

  ‘Oh no, only if it’s that sort of a day!’ said Vicky.

  Sir William was still turning this remark over in his mind when the butler came in to announce that dinner was served. He found it so incomprehensible that presently, when he had taken a seat at Ermyntrude’s right hand in the dining-room and found that Vicky had been placed on his other side, he inquired what she had meant by it.

  ‘Well,’ said Vicky confidingly, ‘I don’t always feel Edwardian: in fact, practically never.’

  ‘Indeed! May I ask if helping one’s mother is now thought to be an Edwardian habit?’

  ‘Oh yes, definitely!’ Vicky assured him.

  ‘I am afraid I am sadly behind the times. Perhaps you are one of these young women who follow careers of their own?’

  ‘It’s so difficult to make up one’s mind,’ said Vicky, shaking sugar over her melon. ‘Sometimes I think I should like to go on the stage, and then I think perhaps not, on account of boarding-houses, and travelling about in trains, which makes me sick. And I do rather feel that it might be awfully exhausting, living for one’s art. It’s a bit like having a Mission in Life, which sounds grand, but really isn’t much fun, as far as I can make out.’

  ‘All striving after art, and personal careers must go to the wall,’ announced Mrs Bawtry, who happened to have been silent for long enough to have overheard some part of this interchange. ‘The only things that count are Absolute Truth, and Absolute Love.’

  ‘Dear Connie, not absolute truth, surely?’ demurred Lady Dering. ‘It wouldn’t be at all comfortable, besides often becoming quite impossible.’

  ‘If only you would become God-controlled you’d find how easy everything is!’ said Mrs Bawtry earnestly.

  ‘I saw a play once about speaking nothing but the truth,’ remarked Wally. ‘I remember I laughed a lot. It was very well done. Very funny indeed.’

  ‘A great many people,’ said Mrs Bawtry, who had her own way of forcing any conversation back to the channel of her choosing, ‘think that if you belong to the Group you have to become deadly serious. But that’s utterly false, and if ever you come to one of our House-Parties you’ll see how jolly religion can be.’

  Wally looked a good deal surprised by this, and said dubiously: ‘Well, I dare say you know best, but all I can say is, it never seemed jolly to me.’

  ‘That’s because you haven’t been Changed!’ said Mrs Bawtry. ‘Why don’t you throw off all your foolish inhibitions, and join the march of the Christian revolution?’

  Sir William had been trying to shut out the sound of this painful conversation by talking to his hostess, but these last words, uttered, as they were, in triumphant accents, made him break off what he was saying to demand: ‘Christian what ?’

  ‘Christian revolution!’ repeated Mrs Bawtry, unabashed. ‘Our God-confident armies are marching to rout the troops of chaos, and moral-rot.’

  ‘Here, I say, Connie!’ protested her husband uncomfortably. ‘Steady on!’

  Hugh, who was seated between Connie Bawtry and Vicky, rather sacrificingly drew Connie’s fire. ‘I went to one of your meetings once,’ he said.

  ‘You did? I’m so glad!’ Connie said enthusiastically. ‘Now, tell me, what did you think of it?’

  ‘Well,’ said Hugh, ‘I was rather disappointed.’

  ‘Disappointed!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, helping himself from the dish that was being offered to him. ‘There seemed to me to be a depressing lack of spirituality about the whole proceeding. A lot of people got up one by one to address the meeting, but, without wanting to be offensive, Connie, I honestly couldn’t see th
at they had any kind of message for us. What some of the members seemed to me to be suffering from was spiritual conceit in an aggravated form.’

  This speech naturally made Connie feel extremely angry, and she had to pin the regulation smile rather firmly to her face. ‘You are utterly wrong!’ she said.

  ‘What’s more,’ continued Hugh, ‘I couldn’t for the life of me see why the platform was draped with a Union Jack.’

  ‘The rebirth of an Empire!’

  ‘But, my dear Connie, what has the Empire got to do with a religious revival?’

  ‘A lot of pernicious tomfoolery!’ declared Sir William roundly.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, sir! It was all quite innocuous as far as I could see.’

  ‘You think you’re annoying me, but I assure you you’re not!’ said Connie, not very convincingly. ‘If ever you learn the three lessons of Absolute Truth, Absolute Honesty, and Absolute Love, you’ll know how impossible it is for me to be annoyed by mere, silly, uninformed criticism.’

  ‘That seems to dispose of me,’ said Hugh, with a disarming grin.