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‘Why?’
‘It seems he was in deep water and one of his chief interests had crashed quite suddenly. It turned out that Charlie had to meet a frightful lot of bills because he was Sir David’s partner. So many, that we hadn’t any money left to pay our own bills which had been mounting up a bit, anyhow. And there’s no more coming in for six months. So there you are. Well, we must simply keep our heads and take the right line with Gabriel. Charlie wrote him a really charming telegram, just right, do you know? We took great trouble with it. Gabriel is at Deepacres and he hates coming up to London so we rather hoped he’d simply realize he couldn’t let Charlie go bust and would send him a cheque. However, he telegraphed back: “Arriving Friday, six o’clock. Wutherwood,” which has thrown us all into rather a fever.’
‘Do you think it’ll be all right?’ asked Roberta.
‘Well, it’s simply so crucial that we’re not thinking at all. Never jump your fences till you meet them. But I’m terribly anxious that we should take the right line with Gabriel. It’s a bore that Charlie loathes him so whole-heartedly.’
‘I didn’t think he ever loathed anybody,’ said Roberta.
‘Well, as far as he can, he hates Gabriel. Gabriel has always been rather beastly to him and thinks he’s extravagant. Gabriel himself is a miser.’
‘Oh dear!’
‘I know. Still he’s a snob and I really don’t believe he’ll allow his brother to go bankrupt. He’d crawl with horror at the publicity. What we’ve got to do is decide on the line to take with Gabriel when he gets here. I thought the first thing was to consider his comfort. He likes a special kind of sherry, almost unprocurable, I understand, but Baskett is going to hunt for it. And he likes early Chinese pottery. Deepacres is full of leering goddesses and dragons. Well, by a great stroke of luck, one of the things poor Charlie bought with an eye to business is a small blue pot which was most frightfully expensive and which, in a mad moment, he paid for. I had the really brilliant idea of letting Mike give it to Gabriel. Mike has quite charming manners when he tries.’
‘But, Charlot, if this pot is so valuable, couldn’t you sell it?’
‘I suppose we could, but how? And, anyway, my cunning tells me that it’s much better to invest it as a sweetener for Gabriel. We’ve got to be diplomatic. Suppose the pot is worth a hundred pounds? My dear, we want two thousand. Why not use the pot as a sprat to catch a mackerel?’
‘Yes,’ said Roberta dubiously, ‘but may he not think it looks a bit lavish to be giving away valuable pots?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Lady Charles with an air of dismissal, ‘he’ll be delighted. And anyway if he flings it back in poor little Mike’s face, we’ve still got the pot.’
‘True,’ said Roberta, but she felt that there was a flaw somewhere in Lady Charles’s logic.
‘We’ll all be in the drawing-room when he comes,’ continued Lady Charles, ‘and I thought perhaps we might have some charades.’
‘What!’
‘I know it sounds mad, Robin, but you see he knows we’re rather mad and it’s no good pretending we’re not. And we’re all good at charades, you can’t deny it.’
Roberta remembered the charades in New Zealand, particularly one that presented the Garden of Eden. Lord Charles, with his glass in his eye, and an umbrella over his head to suggest the heat of the day, had enacted Adam. Henry was the serpent and the twins, angels. Frid had entered into the spirit of the part of Eve and had worn almost nothing but a brassière and a brown paper fig-leaf. Lady Charles had found one of the false beards that the Lampreys could always be depended upon to produce and had made a particularly irritable Deity. Patch had been the apple tree.
‘Does he like charades?’ asked Roberta.
‘I don’t suppose he ever sees any, which is all to the good. We’ll make him feel gay. That’s poor Gabriel’s trouble. He’s never gay enough.’
There was a tap at the door and Henry looked in.
‘I thought you might like a good laugh,’ said Henry. ‘The bum has come up the back stairs and caught poor old Daddy. He’s sitting in the kitchen with Baskett and the maids.’
‘Oh, no!’ said his mother.
‘His name is Mr Grumble,’ said Henry.
III
During lunch Lady Charles developed her theory of the way in which Lord Wutherwood – and Rune – was to be received and entertained. The family, with the exception of Henry, entered warmly into the discussion. Henry seemed to be more than usually vague and rather dispirited. Roberta, to her discomfiture, repeatedly caught his eye. Henry stared at her with an expression which she was unable to interpret until it occurred to her that he looked not at but through her. Roberta became less self-conscious and listened more attentively to the rest of the family. With every turn of their preposterous conversation her four years of separation from them seemed to diminish and Roberta felt herself slip, as of old, into an attitude of mind that half-accepted the mad logic of their scheming. They discussed the suitability of a charade, Lady Charles and her children with passionate enthusiasm. Lord Charles with an air of critical detachment. Roberta wondered what Lord Charles really felt about the crisis and whether she merely imagined that he wore a faintly troubled air. His face was at no time an expressive one. It was a pale oval face. Short-sighted eyes that looked dimly friendly, a colourless moustache and an oddly youthful mouth added nothing to its distinction, and yet it had distinction of a gentle kind. His voice was pitched rather high and he had a trick of letting his sentences die away while he opened his eyes widely and stroked the top of his head. Roberts realized that though she liked him very much she had not the smallest inkling as to what sort of thoughts went on in his mind. He was an exceedingly remote individual.
‘Well, anyway,’ Frid was saying, ‘we can but try. Let’s fill him up with sherry and do a charade. How about Lady Godiva? Henry the palfrey, Daddy the horrid husband, one of the twins Peeping Tom, and the rest of you the nice-minded populace.’
‘If you think I’m going to curvet round the drawing-room with you sitting on my back in the rude nude –’ Henry began.
‘Your hair’s not long enough, Frid,’ said Patch.
‘I didn’t say I’d be Lady Godiva.’
‘Well, you can hardly expect Mummy to undress,’ said Colin, ‘and anyway you meant yourself.’
‘Don’t be an ass, darling,’ said Lady Charles, ‘of course we can’t do Lady Godiva. Uncle G. would be horrified.’
‘He might mistake it for a Witches’ Sabbath,’ said Henry, ‘and think we were making fun of Aunt V.’
‘If Frid rode on you, I expect he would,’ said Patch.
‘Why?’ asked Mike. ‘What do witches ride on, Daddy?’
Lord Charles gave his high-pitched laugh. Henry stared thoughtfully at Patch.
‘If that wasn’t rude,’ he said, ‘it would be almost funny.’
‘Well, why not do a Witches’ Sabbath?’ asked Stephen. ‘Uncle G. hates Aunt V. being a witch. I dare say it would be a great success. It would show we were on his side. We needn’t make it too obvious, you know. It could be a word charade. Ipswich for instance.’
‘How would you do Ips?’ asked Colin.
‘Patch could waggle hers,’ said Henry.
‘You are beastly, Henry,’ stormed Patch. ‘It’s foul of you to say I’m fat. Mummy!’
‘Never mind, darling, it’s only puppy-fat. I think you’re just right.’
‘We could do Dulwich,’ said Stephen. ‘The first syllable could be a weekend at Deepacres. Everybody yawning.’
‘That would be really rude,’ said his mother seriously.
‘It wouldn’t be far wrong,’ said Lord Charles.
‘I know, Charlie, but it would never do. Don’t let’s get all wild and silly about it. Let’s just think sensibly of a good funny charade. Not too vulgar and not insulting.’
There followed a long silence broken by Frid.
‘I know,’ Frid cried, ‘we’ll just be ourselves with bums in the house. It could be a breakfast scene with Baskett coming in to say: “A person to see you, m’lord.” You wouldn’t mind, would you, Baskett?’
With that smile demanded by the infinite courtesy of service, Baskett offered Frid cheese. Roberta wondered suddenly if Baskett thought the Lampreys as funny as she did. Frid hurried on with her plan.
‘It really would be a good idea, Mummy. You see, Baskett could bring in the bum, and we could all plead with him and Daddy could say all the things he really wants Uncle G. to hear. Robin could do the bum, she’d look Heaven in a bowler and a muffler. It would seem sort of gay and gallant at the same time.’
‘What would be the word?’ asked Patch.
‘Bumptious?’
‘The second syllable’s impossible,’ Colin objected.
‘Bumboat?’
‘Too obvious.’
‘Well, bumpkin. The second syllable could be about relations. We could actually have Uncle G. in it. Robin could be Uncle G. His coat and hat and umbrella will be in the hall ready to hand. We’d all plead with her and say:
“Your own kith and kin, Gabriel, dear fellow, your own kith and kin.”’
‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ said Stephen, ‘but you’ve forgotten the “p”.’
‘It could be silent as in –’
‘That will do, Frid,’ said Lord Charles.
CHAPTER 4
Uncle G.
I
On the morning after her arrival Roberta woke to see a ray of thin London sunshine slanting across the counterpane. A maid in a print dress had drawn the curtains and put a tray on the bedside table. Dream and reality mixed themselves in Roberta’s thoughts. As she grew wide-awake she began to count over the wonderful events of the night that was past. In the hour before dawn she had been driven through London. She had seen jets from hose-pipes splayed fan-wise over deserted streets, she had heard the jingle of milk carts and seen the strange silhouette made by roofs and chimney pots against a thinning sky. She had heard Big Ben tell four of a spring morning and the clocks of Chelsea answer him. Before that she had danced in a room so full of shadows, abrupt lights, relentless music, and people, that the memory was as confused as a dream. She had danced with Colin and Stephen and Henry. Colin had played the fool, pretended he was a Russian, and spoken broken English. Stephen with his quick stutter had talked incessantly and complimented Roberta on her dancing. She had danced most often with Henry who was more silent than the twins. He said so little that Roberta, in a sudden panic had wondered if he merely danced with her out of a sense of hospitality and regretted the absence of the person called Mary. In those strange surroundings Henry had become remote, a sophisticated grandee with a white waistcoat, and a gardenia in his coat. Yet, when she danced with him, behind all her bewilderment Roberta had been aware of a deep satisfaction. Now, lying still in her bed, she called back the events of the night and so potently that though her eyes were still open she had no thought for the sunlight on her counterpane but anxiously examined the picture of herself and Henry. There they were, moving together among a shadowy company of dancers. He did not wait to see if Stephen or Colin would ask her to dance, but himself asked her quickly and danced on until long after the others had gone back to their table. There was a sort of protective decisiveness in his manner that pleased and embarrassed Roberta. Perhaps, after all, he was only worried about the financial crisis. ‘Heaven knows,’ thought Roberta, ‘it’s enough to worry anybody but a Lamprey into a thousand fits.’ She realized that the crisis lay like a nasty taste behind the savour of her own enjoyment. It was not discussed during that dazzling evening until they got home. Creeping into the flat in the half-light, they found Nanny’s Thermos of Ovaltine and sat drinking it round the heater in Roberta’s room. Henry laughed unexpectedly and said: ‘Well, chaps, we may not be here much longer.’
Frid, very elegant and pale, struck a tragic attitude and said: ‘The last night in the old home. Pause for sobs.’ There was a brief silence broken by Stephen.
‘Uncle Gabriel,’ Stephen said, ‘has s-simply g-got to stump up.’
‘What if he won’t?’ Colin had asked.
‘We’ll bribe Aunt V. to bewitch him,’ said Frid. She pulled her cloak over her head, crouched down, and crooked her fingers and croaked:
‘Weary sen’nights, nine times nine,
Shall he dwindle peak and pine.’
The twins instantly turned themselves into witches and circled with Frid round the heater.
‘Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.’
‘Shut up,’ said Henry. ‘I thought you said it was unlucky to quote Macbeth?’
‘If we gave Aunt V. the ingredients for a charm,’ said Colin, ‘I expect she’d be only too pleased to make Uncle G. dwindle peak and pine.’
‘They’re awkward things to beat up in a hurry,’ said Frid.
Stephen said: ‘I wonder what Aunt V.’s friends d-do about it. It must be rather dull to be witches if you can’t cast murrains on cattle or give your husband warts.’
‘I wish,’ Roberta cried, ‘that you’d tell me the truth about your Aunt V. and not go rambling on about her being a witch.’
‘Poor Robin,’ Henry said. ‘It does sound very silly, but as an actual fact, and if her mind is to be believed, Aunt V. has taken up some sort of black magic I imagine it boils down to reading histories of witchcraft and turning tables. In my opinion Aunt V. is simply dotty.’
‘Well,’ Frid said, ‘let’s go to bed, anyway.’ She kissed the air near Roberta’s cheek and drifted to the door. ‘Come on, twins,’ she added.
The twins kissed Roberta and wandered after Frid.
Henry stood in the doorway.
‘Sleep well,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Henry,’ said Roberta. ‘It was a lovely party.’
‘For once,’ said Henry, ‘I thought so too. Good night, Robin.’
Roberta, as she watched the sun on her counterpane, reviewed this final scene several times, and felt happy.
II
The visit of Lord Wutherwood was prejudiced from the start by the arrival of Lady Katherine Lobe. Lady Katherine was a maiden aunt of Lord Charles. She was extremely poor and lived in a small house at Hammersmith. There she was surrounded by photographs of the Lamprey children to whom she was passionately devoted. Being poor herself, she spent the greater part of her life in working for the still-poorer members of her parish. She wore nondescript garments; hats that seemed to have no connection with her head, and grey fabric gloves. She was extremely deaf and spoke in a toneless whispering manner, with kind smiles, and with many anxious looks into the faces of the people she addressed. But for all her diffidence there was a core of determination in Lady Katherine. In her likes and dislikes she was immovable. Nothing would reconcile her to a person of whom she disapproved, and unfortunately she disapproved most strongly of her nephew Wutherwood, who, for his part, refused to meet her. At Christmas she invariably wrote him a letter on the subject of goodwill towards men, pointing out his shortcomings under this heading and enclosing a blank promise to pay yearly a large sum to one of her charities. Lord Wutherwood’s only reply to these communications was an irritable tearing across of the enclosures. For his younger brother Lady Katherine had the warmest affection. Occasionally she would travel in a bus up to the West End in order to visit the Lampreys and beg, with a gentle persistence, for their old clothes or force them to buy tickets for charitable entertainments. They were always warned by letter of these visits, but on this occasion Lady Charles, agitated by the crisis, had forgotten to open the note, and the only warning she had was Baskett’s announcement, at six o’clock in the evening, of Lady Katherine’s arrival.
The Lampreys and Roberta had assembled in the drawing-room to await the arrival of Lord Wutherwood. They were unnaturally silent. Even Mike had caught the feeling of tension. He stood by the wireless and turned the control knob as rapidly as possible until told to stop, when he flung himself moodily full length on the hearthrug and kicked his feet together.
‘There’s the lift,’ cried Lady Charles suddenly. ‘Mike, stay where you are and jump up. Remember to shake hands with Uncle Gabriel. Sprinkle some “sirs” through your conversation, for Heaven’s sake, and when I nod to you, you are to give him the pot.’
‘Mike’ll break it,’ said Patch.
‘I won’t,’ shouted Mike indignantly.
‘And remember,’ continued his mother, ‘if I suggest a charade you’re all to go out and come back quietly and do one. Then, when you’ve finished, go out again so that Daddy can talk to Uncle Gabriel. And remember –’
‘Can’t we listen?’ asked Patch.
‘We’ll probably hear Uncle G. all over the flat,’ said Henry.
‘And remember not to mention witchcraft. Uncle G. hates it.’
‘Ssh!’
‘Can’t we be talking?’ Frid suggested. ‘You’d think there was a corpse in the flat.’
‘If you can think of anything to say, say it,’ said her father gloomily.
Frid began to speak in a high voice. ‘Aren’t those flowers over there too marvellous?’ she asked. Nobody answered her. In the distance a bell rang. Baskett was heard to walk across the hall.
‘Lovely, darling,’ said Lady Charles violently. She appealed mutely to the children who stared in apprehension at the door and grimaced at each other. Lady Charles turned to Roberta.
‘Robin, darling, do tell us about your voyage home. Did you have fun?’
‘Yes,’ said Roberta, whose heart was now thumping against her ribs. ‘Yes. We had a fancy-dress ball.’
Lady Charles and Frid laughed musically. The door opened and Baskett came in.
‘Lady Katherine Lobe, m’lady,’ said Baskett.
‘Good God!’ said Lord Charles.
Lady Katherine came in. She walked with short steps and peered amiably through the cigarette smoke.
‘Imogen, darling,’ she whispered.
‘Aunt Kit!’
The Lampreys kept their heads admirably. They told Lady Katherine how delighted they were to see her and seated her by the fire. They introduced Roberta to her, and teased her gently about her lame ducks, and with panic-stricken glances at each other, asked her to remove her raincoat.
‘So nice to see you all,’ whispered Lady Katherine. ‘Such luck for me to find the whole family. And there’s Michael home for the holidays and grown enormously. Patricia too. And the twins. Don’t speak twins, and let me see if I can guess. This is Stephen, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Aunt Kit,’ said Colin.
‘There! I knew I was right. You got my note, Imogen, darling?’
‘Yes, Aunt Kit. We’re so pleased,’ said Charlot.
‘Yes. I wondered if you had got it because you all looked quite surprised when I walked in. So I wondered.’
‘We thought you were Uncle Gabriel,’ shouted Mike.
‘What dear?’
‘Uncle Gabriel.’
Lady Katherine passed a grey fabric finger across her lips. ‘Is Gabriel coming, Charles?’
‘Yes, Aunt Kit,’ said Lord Charles. And as she merely gazed dimly at him he added loudly: ‘He’s coming to see me on business.’
‘We’re going to have some charades,’ bawled Mike.
‘I’m very glad,’ said Lady Katherine emphatically. ‘I wish to see Gabriel. I have written to him several times but no response did I get. It’s about our Fresh Air Fund. A day in the country for a hundred children and a fortnight in private homes for Twenty Sickly Mites. I want Gabriel to take six.’
‘Six Sickly Mites?’ asked Henry.
‘What, dear?’
‘Do you want Uncle Gabriel to take six sickly mites at Deepacres?’
‘It’s the least he can do. I’m afraid Gabriel is inclined to be too self-centred, Charles. He’s a very wealthy man and he should think of other people more than he does. Your mama always said so. And I hear the most disquieting news of Violet. It appears that she has taken up spiritualism and sits in the dark with a set of very second-rate sort of people.’
‘Not spiritualism, darling,’ said Charlot. ‘Black magic.’
‘What, dear?’
‘Magic.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see. That’s entirely different. I suppose she does it to entertain their house-parties. But that doesn’t alter the fact that both Violet and Gabriel are getting rather self-centred. It would be an excellent thing for both of them if they adopted two children.’
‘For mercy’s sake, Aunt Kit,’ cried Charlot, ‘don’t suggest that to Gabriel.’
‘Don’t suggest anything,’ said Lord Charles. ‘I implore you, Aunt Kit, not to tackle Gabriel this afternoon. You see –’ he peered anxiously at his watch and broke off. ‘Good God, Immy,’ he whispered to his wife, ‘we must do something. She’ll infuriate him. Take her to your room.’
‘Under what pretext?’ muttered Charlot.
‘Think of something.’
‘Aunt Kit, would you like to see my bedroom?’
‘What, dear?’
‘It’s no good, Mummy,’ said Frid. ‘Better tell her we’re bust.’
‘I think so,’ said Lord Charles. He bent his legs and brought his face close to his aunt’s.
‘Aunt Kit,’ he shouted. ‘I’m in difficulties.’
‘Are you, dear?’
‘I’ve no money.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a bum in the house,’ yelled Patch.
‘Be quiet, Patch,’ said Henry. His father continued. ‘I’ve asked Gabriel to lend me two thousand. If he doesn’t I shall go bankrupt.’
‘Charlie!’
‘It’s true.’
‘I’ll speak to Gabriel,’ said Lady Katherine quite loudly.
‘No, no!’ cried the Lampreys.
‘Lord and Lady Wutherwood, m’lady,’ said Baskett in the doorway.
III
Roberta knew that the Lampreys had not reckoned on Lady Wutherwood’s arrival with her husband, and she had time to admire their almost instant recovery from this second and formidable shock. Charlot met her brother and sister-in-law halfway across the room. Her manner held a miraculous balance between the over-cordial and the too-casual. Her children and her husband supported her admirably. Lady Katherine for the moment, was too rattled by the Lampreys’ news of impending disaster to make any disturbance. She sat quietly in her chair.
Roberta found herself shaking hands with an extremely old couple. The Marquis of Wutherwood and Rune was sixty years of age but these years sat heavily upon him and he looked like an old man. His narrow head, sunken between high shoulders, poked forward with an air that was at once mean and aggressive. His face was colourless. The bridge of his nose was so narrow that his eyes appeared to be impossibly close set. His mouth drooped querulously and the length of his chin, though prodigious, was singularly unexpressive of anything but obstinacy. His upper teeth projected over his under lip and hinted at a high and narrow palate. These teeth gave him an unpleasingly feminine appearance increased by his chilly old-maidish manner, which suggested that he lived in a state of perpetual offence. Roberta found herself wondering if he could possibly be as disagreeable as he looked.
His wife was about fifty years of age. She was dark, extremely sallow, and fat. There was a musty falseness about the dank hair which she wore over her ears in sibylline coils. She painted her face, but with such inattention to detail that Roberta was reminded of a cheap print in which the colours had slipped to one side, showing the original structure of the drawing underneath. She had curious eyes, very pale, with tiny pupils, and muddy whites. They were so abnormally sunken that they seemed to reflect no light and this gave them a veiled appearance which Roberta found disconcerting, and oddly repellent. Her face had once been round but like her make-up it had slipped and now hung in folds and pockets about her lips which were dragged down at the corners. Roberta saw that Lady Wutherwood had a trick of parting and closing her lips. It was a very slight movement but she did it continually with a faint click of sound. And in the corners of her lips there was a kind of whiteness that moved when they moved. ‘Henry is right,’ thought Roberta, ‘she is disgusting.’