Dance to Your Daddy (Mrs Bradley) Read online

  fn1No attempt made to reproduce the local dialect, but merely to suggest country speech. (Author)

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ritual Dance—Lamb to the Slaughter

  ‘Or, like a nymph, with long, dishevelled hair,

  Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.’

  Venus and Adonis.

  * * *

  Romilly’s behaviour on the drive to Swanage and back added nothing to George’s conviction that there was ‘something funny going on.’ He spoke of the girl with affection and concern, and, at Dame Beatrice’s invitation, agreed to give a detailed account of what he referred to as ‘poor little Trilby’s aberration.’

  ‘Although whether you or anybody else can rid her of the obsession is more than I can hope for,’ he concluded. ‘It seems to be very deep-seated.’

  ‘I should wish to have as complete an account of her behaviour as you can give me,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘It will help me to make my diagnosis. Confine yourself, if you please, to those matters which have come to your own personal notice. I may be able to fill in the details from other sources.’

  ‘Very well. I married Trilby nearly three years ago – my second marriage and, as I soon discovered, a mistake. Did you ever read a poem by Charlotte Mew …’

  ‘The Farmer’s Bride? Yes, indeed, As I have interrupted you, may I ask whether Trilby is your wife’s real name?’

  ‘No, it is not. She was married to me in the name of Rosamund. She chooses to call herself Trilby.’

  Dame Beatrice had heard the girl’s own version of this, but she made no comment except to say:

  ‘Well, it is quite a pretty name, I suppose, if one dissociates it nowadays from men’s hats.’

  ‘It makes no odds what she calls herself, so far as I am concerned,’ said Romilly. ‘If you have read the poem, you will realise my difficulties. Here was I married to this girl who was more like a pixie than a creature of human kind. I soon found that she was terrified of the physical side of marriage, so I took her to a psychiatrist who uncovered the history of an unpleasant episode in her early life for which she was in no way to blame and which she had forgotten. After that, she seemed much improved, and consented to co-habit with me. A child was conceived, but, as I think I told you in my letter, it was stillborn.

  ‘No, you did not mention it. How disconcerting for you both! And this threw her off balance again?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, she behaved rather strangely while she was still carrying it. She took to wandering off alone, and if I attempted to accompany her, or went after her in the car, or even went to the length of locking her in her room (as I did on one occasion), she flew into such violent fits of rage that I was afraid she would do the child or herself, or both of them, some serious injury. I believe, in fact, that this is what must have happened. The doctor told me that she was perfectly healthy. There was no obvious reason why she should lose the baby.’

  ‘But, until she lost the baby, she did not have this obsession about drowning things?’

  ‘I did not recognise it at first as an obsession. When she flung gramophone records and a transister radio set into the sea, I regarded it as the slightly unbalanced reaction of a woman under emotional stress, and took little notice of it. It happened before she lost the child.’

  ‘You mentioned in your letter a toy trumpet.’

  ‘That was used at the séance.’

  ‘Dear me! I had no idea that you and she dabbled in spiritualism.’

  ‘My dear Beatrice!’ Romilly’s tone blended amusement and polite protestation. ‘You surely don’t think that, with the baby almost due, I would have assisted Trilby to play such a dangerous game as taking part in a séance? Of course I knew nothing about it, nothing whatever. For some three or four weeks previously, Trilby had been less than well, so I engaged a private nurse. It seems that this woman asked what we were going to call the baby, and when Trilby said she did not know, and did not want a baby anyway, the nurse said she knew of a medium and that it would be fun – fun, mark you! – to hold a séance and ask “those who had passed over” for suggestions, and for an assurance that both Trilby and the child would come through safely at the time of delivery.’

  ‘How did you come to hear of this nurse?’

  ‘My doctor recommended her to me, but, of course, when I dismissed her and explained to him why I had done so, he was appalled that she should have encouraged her patient (who was in a highly nervous state) to indulge in such a pastime.’

  ‘You yourself were not in the house, I take it, when the séance was held?’

  ‘No, of course I was not. The nurse must have known quite well that I should disapprove. I had to go to London for a couple of days, and it was while I was out of the house that this pernicious nonsense took place.’

  ‘What appeared to be the effect on Rosamund?’

  ‘She was in a state of semi-collapse when I reached home. The trumpet, as I said, had been used at the séance, and, after this was over, she seems to have taken the trumpet down to the coast near Dancing Ledge and hurled it into, the sea.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘When I found that she had gone out alone – she developed a streak of animal cunning just at that time, and evaded me whenever she could – I went to look for her, but I had no idea which way she had gone, and I did not catch up with her until she had thrown the thing over the cliffs. I am glad I did not know sooner where she had gone. I should have been mortally afraid that she would lose her balance and go over with it, but, thank goodness, she did not.’

  ‘And this happened before she lost the baby, but her drowning of the cat and the monkey came later. Is that so?’

  ‘And, of course, she also drowned the baby doll. That was the latest of all. I thought the baby doll was highly significant. It proved to me that, not only did she not want her baby, but that she might have murdered it if it had lived.’

  Dame Beatrice offered no comment on this opinion. She said, ‘And that was when you decided to consult me.’

  ‘Just so. I thought things had gone far enough.’

  ‘I shall be interested to hear her own explanation of these actions.’

  ‘I doubt whether she will remember anything at all about them. Besides, do you think that total recall is necessarily a good thing?’

  ‘All things are relative, of course. Is it possible for you to set aside a room in the house solely for my use as a consulting-room?’

  ‘That presents a slight difficulty. I have to find sleeping accommodation for eight extra people, as I think Judith told you, and as only two of them can be asked to share, space is at a premium. I wonder whether you could use your own room? It is spacious, and I can supply you with a table on which to write your notes, and a couch on which Trilby could lie. I thought that, if you had your sessions with Trilby between tea and dinner, you could still take your afternoon walk, or your nap, or anything else you choose to do, between lunch and tea, and so have that time and your mornings and evenings to yourself or with us.’

  ‘That would appear reasonable. Very well. I will see her at a quarter to six.’

  ‘Excellent. Then we will dine at eight, if that will suit you. I don’t know how long you will spend with her each day?’

  ‘Not more than an hour, and it may be a good deal less.’

  ‘I suppose you use the “stream of consciousness” method.’

  Dame Beatrice did not reply to this. She said, as though she had not heard him, ‘Or we could use Rosamund’s own sanctum, I suppose. She might be more at ease there than in my bedroom.’

  Romilly laughed.

  ‘She might, but I do not think you would,’ he said. ‘She is the most untidy young creature in the world. The servants try to maintain some kind of law and order among her things, but I’m afraid it’s a thankless task. However, they are quite devoted to her in their bucolic, country-bumpkin way. Not over-blessed with intelligence, I’m afraid, but there seems to be so much inbreeding in small v
illages that it is scarcely surprising to find the indigenous people not much better than morons.’

  Dame Beatrice thought of the willing, kindly Amabel, who ‘loiked poertry’ and who, with her sister, had given George some information which he, a notably intelligent man, had certainly accepted at its face value, and she found herself by no means in agreement with Romilly’s summing-up of his servants’ mentality. However, she did not contradict him. She was interested to hear that she was expected to turn her bedroom into a consulting-room. She had not been shown the whole house, but it was a three-storey building and, even allowing for the long gallery which went from the front to the back of the house on the first floor, and the loss of the floor or floors over the great hall which had been demolished to leave the three-sided inside balcony from which her own and other rooms opened, Galliard Hall must contain at least twenty bedrooms, apart from those occupied by the servants.

  The only conclusion she could come to was that possibly all the rooms on the second floor, except the servants’ quarters, were unfurnished and out of use. With only two maids, a manservant, a cook (whom Dame Beatrice had not seen) and a housekeeper, it was probable that not nearly all the rooms in the mansion received attention.

  She went up to her room when the trip to Swanage was over, taking with her the newspaper which Romilly had bought for her. It was almost time for lunch, so she tidied herself and listened for the sound of the gong. While she waited she walked over to the picture of the two young men and studied it afresh. For some reason, her thoughts turned to her secretary Laura, who displayed at times a vivid imagination and a sense of the dramatic. Laura she thought, having been apprised of the fact that the household was, in some respects, a strange one, and having encountered Rosamund, with her complaints, fears and suspicions, would have regarded the picture with a prejudiced and jaundiced eye. On impulse, she reached up and took it down. Behind it there was a neat, foot-square hole in the party wall, and the picture, which was on thin canvas with no protecting glass, had been put up to conceal this.

  It was clear, she thought, why her own room had been chosen for her treatment of Rosamund Lestrange. Somebody – most likely the master of the house – must be determined to overhear all that passed between Dame Beatrice and her patient. She realised now why Rosamund had sought her out while Romilly was downstairs. Rosamund must also know that there was an opening in the wall behind the picture.

  She was far too old and experienced to be surprised by the lengths to which human curiosity can go, but, in view of the facts in this particular case, so far as she knew them, the large, neat hole seemed to indicate something a little more reprehensible than mere curiosity. She replaced the picture and, hearing the gong sound for lunch, went thoughtfully down the stairs. Once again there were only the three of them at table.

  ‘Well,’ said Judith brightly, ‘how did you think Swanage was looking?’

  ‘I saw little of it,’ Dame Beatrice replied. ‘It is a pleasant town, and I am thinking of taking my patient to visit it this afternoon. It will help with the beginning of her treatment.’

  ‘Oh, but, my dear Beatrice,’ said Romilly, in the utmost dismay, ‘surely that would be most unwise! The very thing we have to watch most carefully is that she does not go near the sea!’

  ‘That may be your opinion, but it is not mine, and, as I am in charge of the case, I must be permitted to conduct it in my own way. My theory is that we should give your wife every opportunity to drown anything she pleases. It is the best way to cure her of her obsession. I have decided to follow the principle laid down by makers of cream cakes and sweetmeats, that of allowing their workpeople to eat as much as they wish of the product they are making. The novelty wears off and the appetite is very soon satiated. In my opinion, the frustration which your wife must feel in not being allowed to follow a course of conduct which satisfies her ——’

  ‘But there is the risk that Trilby may drown, not merely trivial objects and small mammals, but herself!’ exclaimed Romilly.

  ‘That risk, in any case, will be considerably less from a bathing-beach, where I shall be in charge of her, than from the cliffs, for instance, above Chapman’s Pool, or – according to the photographs I have seen – I do not know the place – the rocks of Dancing Ledge. As you yourself have told me, she has been able, on occasion, to elude your vigilance and to reach that part of the coast alone.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s a lot of nonsense!’ Judith blurted out. ‘Of course she mustn’t go near the water!’

  ‘My dear girl!’ said Romilly. ‘You must not talk like that! My cousin Beatrice, in her own field, is an expert. If,’ he went on, turning to her, ‘you feel that to take poor Trilby to the seaside will help her in any way, of course you must do as you wish. The only thing is that either Judith or myself must come with you. I could not permit you to take the risk of being alone there with my poor, misguided little girl.’

  ‘Even at this time of year, we should hardly be alone at Swanage. Besides, my chauffeur will be there if I need any help. The worst thing for Rosamund, in my opinion, would be for those nearest her to be eavesdroppers on our conversations,’ said Dame Beatrice equably.

  ‘Eavesdroppers?’ cried Judith, indignantly.

  ‘For want of a more euphemistic term, yes, eavesdroppers,’ Dame Beatrice repeated firmly. ‘That is how the patient would interpret your presence, I’m afraid.’

  Judith rose from the table.

  ‘I give up,’ she said. ‘The whole idea is crazy, and your reference to Uncle Romilly and myself is extremely offensive.’

  ‘Sit down at once, Judith,’ said Romilly, in a mild tone but with a clear command behind the softly-spoken words. ‘We must allow Beatrice to act in the way she thinks best. After the first time, I doubt whether she herself will wish to continue the experiment alone.’

  Dame Beatrice had no hope that she would be able to see her charge before the other two had spoken to her. She also wondered whether Rosamund would appear in the Joan of Arc costume. Before they rose from table – Judith having preserved a sulky silence after her last outburst, and Romilly having avoided the disputed subject and chatted with apparent amiability on trivial matters – Dame Beatrice said smoothly:

  ‘Can Mrs Romilly be ready to join me at half-past two?’

  Judith shrugged her shoulders. Romilly bowed and replied:

  ‘Of course, of course, my dear Beatrice. I am afraid you’ll find her incredibly costumed. She refuses to wear modern dress, and flies into a paroxysm if I suggest it.’

  ‘Well, I’m often incredibly costumed myself,’ said Dame Beatrice, accurately. ‘At half-past two, then, I look forward to meeting her.’

  ‘I wonder how she’ll get herself up?’ said Judith. ‘Oh, well, it’s her affair – and yours. Not that she hasn’t plenty of sensible clothes if she chooses to wear them.’ She turned to Romilly. ‘Why don’t you make her unlock that wardrobe and get out some respectable clothes and insist she put them on?’

  ‘How does one insist, my dear? I can hardly threaten her, and, even if I did, I doubt whether she would take much notice.’

  ‘You’re far too soft with her, don’t you think so, Dame Beatrice?’

  ‘Oh, come, my dear girl! How can Beatrice answer such a question when, so far, she knows nothing whatever about Trilby?’

  ‘I would not say I know nothing whatever about her,’ objected Dame Beatrice. ‘You yourself have been most informative. As for insisting on what a patient does or does not do, well, that depends either upon the patient’s intelligent and friendly cooperation or, of course, her fear of death.’

  ‘Fear of death?’ echoed Romilly, forcing himself to laugh. ‘Good heavens, there’s no question of her fearing death! Why should there be?’

  ‘Most people fear death to a greater or a lesser degree, and for a variety of reasons, do they not?’

  ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ said Romilly. ‘Yes, well, look here, Judith, my dear, if Beatrice is going to take Trilby out,
it will be a convenient time for me to go over the household accounts with you.’

  Judith pouted at this, and said that it was quite unnecessary. Dame Beatrice went to her room to get ready for the outing, then she rang the bell.

  ‘Oh, Amabel,’ she said, ‘will you ask my man to bring the car round? I am taking Mrs Romilly for an outing to Swanage.’

  ‘Be rare and cold on the beach this toime of year, Dame Beatrice, mum. Swanage be bracen. Face east, that do, more nor south.’

  ‘Yes, I had thought of that. We may need rugs. Will you tell George to get them out of the boot, and perhaps you or Violet will make sure that they are aired before he puts them ready for us on the back seat.’ (If Rosamund’s costume were a little too bizarre, she thought, the rugs would cover it up to some extent.)

  ‘Oi’ll do that, Dame Beatrice, mum. Be noice for poor Messus Trelby to go out proper. A fair old lettle hen en a pen her be, I do believe. Can’t thenk how she aboide et, really Oi carn’t.’

  ‘She looks well enough on it,’ said Dame Beatrice carelessly. Feeling herself dismissed, which was indeed the case, Amabel went downstairs to rout out George and the rugs. As soon as she was out of hearing, Dame Beatrice stepped out on to the gallery and turned the handle of the door next to her own. It was locked. This she found especially intriguing in view of the hole which had been made in the wall.

  She went back to her own room, took down the picture and studied the hole again. It was not cut flush with the wall, which was of brick, but had been made in the form of one of those so-called squints in old churches which are cut obliquely through a wall or a pillar to give a view of the high altar from a side-chapel or a transept.