Dance to Your Daddy (Mrs Bradley) Read online

  The purpose of the squint in her bedroom seemed to be to give a view of the head of the bed. Again she thought of the romantically-minded Laura. Anybody pointing a gun through the squint from the room next door would stand a pretty fair chance, she decided, of putting a bullet through the head of anybody asleep in the four-poster. Although its frame-work, consisting of four tall posts and the tester they supported, was complete, there were no curtains to the bed.

  ‘I wonder how many persons have been done to death in this room since the early days of the seventeenth century?’ she asked herself pleasurably. Then she reflected that the squint might have been made for beneficient purposes – to watch over a sick person or to make certain that a beloved child was sleeping soundly. She replaced the picture once more and then went across to the bed and attempted to move it out of the line of fire. She realised that, apart from George and the two maids, there was nobody in the house whom she could trust. This included Rosamund, although why she felt so deeply suspicious of the apparently friendless and lonely girl she would have found difficult to explain.

  She went over in her mind the last night’s interview. ‘I don’t know how they’re going to kill me, but they will … They’re having lots of people to come and stay, you know. They hope in that way to frighten me.’ Neither expression rang true. ‘They don’t like me to meet people from outside.’ That remark was illogical, to say the least, considering that Dame Beatrice herself, and the number of people who were to come and stay, were all from outside. ‘I like to keep my room to myself.’ Why did she, Dame Beatrice wondered. Rosamund had noticed that the picture which hid the squint had not been there before the room was prepared for Dame Beatrice. If that were so, it seemed to indicate, even more clearly than her surreptitious visit had done, that she must have known of the squint. Yet, this being so, she had still chosen to come, in apparent secrecy, to the room, knowing all the while that anybody in the adjoining apartment could have heard her voice, known who she was and listened to the conversation between herself and Dame Beatrice.

  Dame Beatrice could not move the bed. It appeared to be fastened to the floor, like a bed in a cabin at sea. Dame Beatrice borrowed another of her secretary’s favourite quotations. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ she murmured, and, having studied the iron clamps, she straightened up, hearing footsteps on the wooden floor of the gallery.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Morris Dance—Beansetting

  ‘… some to dance, some to make bonfires …’

  Othello, the Moor of Venice.

  * * *

  (1)

  Amabel had returned with a message.

  ‘Mr Straker says O.K. about the rugs, Dame Beatrice, and well et be all roight ef he breng the car round to the soide door, as Mester have gev orders Messus Trelby ent to be seen front the house.’

  ‘Oh, you all call her Mrs Trilby, not Mrs Lestrange, do you? She is still in fancy costume, then?’

  ‘Never don’t wear nawthen else nowadays, though there’s a beg locked-up wardrobe in her room.’

  ‘I see. Tell George that I will be at the side door in five minutes’ time. Where do I find this door, by the way?’

  ‘Roight through the hall, along the corridor off to the roight, through the arch as ee’ll foind there, and there et be. Carn’t mess et, ef you go loike Oi say.’

  Dame Beatrice found Rosamund under guard, as it were, with George standing on one side of her, the elderly, sour-faced Luke on the other, and Amabel’s younger sister hovering in the doorway just behind the other three. This time Rosamund was wearing a heavily-caped George III costume, with a tricorne on her head and buckled shoes on her feet. Her brown wig, Dame Beatrice noted, was not powdered, but was loosely tied at the back with a black, watered silk ribbon. She looked extremely attractive.

  George opened the door of the car, saw his employer seated and then went round to the other side and helped Rosamund in.

  ‘Swanage, George,’ said Dame Beatrice, for Luke’s benefit, in case he had been told to report back to his master. George saluted, shut the car door with the brisk click of a man who cares for his car’s doors sufficiently not to slam them, and took his seat at the wheel. The gravel side-path up which he had backed the car (for there was no room to turn) was narrow and weed-grown, and, as he drove slowly towards the main drive, overhanging branches struck the car on both sides. At each sharp crack Rosamuhd flinched and glanced quickly at Dame Beatrice. Over-acting again, her companion thought.

  ‘Surely,’ said the latter, ‘they don’t offer you violence, do they?’

  ‘Not yet, but I feel it’s only a matter of time,’ the girl responded. ‘It’s the car. It makes me nervous. I haven’t been in a car since Romilly brought me back from Dancing Ledge.’

  ‘Where you drowned what?’

  ‘I don’t drown things. I told you I don’t! That’s just a story they put about. They try to convince me, too. They’re trying to prey on my mind.’

  ‘I see. What were you doing at Dancing Ledge, then?’

  ‘I was running away.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Just over a year ago. It was soon after Romilly became my guardian.’

  ‘You mean your husband. And it was three years ago.’

  The girl stared at her.

  ‘Romilly isn’t my husband. I’m his ward,’ she said. ‘I’ve only lived with him and Judith for about a year.’

  ‘I see.’ Dame Beatrice betrayed no surprise at receiving this information. ‘Why did you want to run away?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you want to run away if you knew that they were after your money, and would get it, even if they had to kill you first?’

  ‘You mentioned money and murder to me yesterday. What money would this be?’

  The girl pulled off hat and wig, flung them down and kicked at them. As she did so, something heavy in the pocket of her long travelling-coat struck her companion on the knee.

  ‘My money,’ she replied. ‘It was left me, but there are some silly, unfair conditions. You see, when I die, unless I have children, Romilly and Judith will have it all. That’s why I’m so frightened. Of course, until I’m twenty-five, I can’t have it, but neither can they, so I’m sure they want to keep me alive until then. After that, unless someone will help me, I think I’m doomed. Those two are capable of anything, and, alone and friendless, I’m helpless against them.’

  ‘You say that until you reach the age of twenty-five you cannot claim your inheritance. That I can understand. Many families prefer the heir to be older than twenty-one before trusting him or her with a fortune. I also understand that the next heir, should you die without issue, is Romilly Lestrange. What I do not understand is why he cannot inherit if you die before you are twenty-five.’

  ‘I don’t understand it, either. It’s something to do with my grandfather’s will. It’s all very unsatisfactory and puzzling. It seems, according to the lawyers, that if I die before the age of twenty-five, all the money goes to some old lady called Bradley. That’s as much as I know. That’s if Romilly has told me the truth, of course.’

  ‘I thought you said that the lawyers had told you all this.’

  ‘Oh, well, yes, so they did, but Romilly told me something more. According to him, if it could be proved that I was unfit to handle the money either before or after I inherit it, it would all be taken out of my hands and administered for me. I know what that would mean. In effect, Romilly would have it. He’s my guardian.’

  ‘Let me get this clear,’ said Dame Beatrice, testing the girl. ‘To inherit your grandfather’s fortune, you must reach your twenty-fifth birthday. Should you die before that birthday, the money would go to an old woman named Bradley, whom you do not know. If you reach that birthday, and then either die or are considered incapable of managing your affairs, the fortune goes to Romilly Lestrange.’

  ‘Or if I’m considered incapable before I’m twenty-five. Why did he ask you to come here?’

  ‘I understand I am not to be
the only guest,’ said Dame Beatrice, side-stepping the question. ‘Is there not to be quite a large house-party?’

  ‘Oh, I believe so. Why should all these idiotic relations come to Galliard Hall?’

  ‘Perhaps Romilly thinks that Miss Judith is in need of young society.’

  ‘I think she’s Mrs Judith. I think they’re married. And do you know what else I’m beginning to think? I think he dare not kill me himself, and he’s going to sound out these others, and find which one can be bribed to do it for him. I suppose he’s brought you here as a second string to his bow, in case the killing doesn’t come off. You’re a psychiatrist, he tells me, and your name is Professor Beatrice Adler. Are you related to the famous Adler, by any chance?’

  ‘There are two famous Adlers,’ Dame Beatrice responded. ‘There is Alfred Adler, the pupil of, and, later, the dissentient from, Sigmund Freud, who, to my mind, was inestimably the greater man, and there is also, of course, the musician Larry Adler, of whom I hear good reports from my younger relatives.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I adore him and his harmonica-playing. I think he’s wonderful,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘They allow you a radio-set, then,’ said Dame Beatrice, deciding to shelve the question of her name. In Romilly Lestrange, she was beginning to think, she had hit what Laura would call ‘a new high’ in her catalogue of smooth villains. She was also beginning to wonder whether Rosamund was quite what she seemed.

  ‘Well, they did, until they took it out of my room and threw it away. From that time they haven’t let me have any proper clothes. That’s to stop me running away again, of course,’ said the girl.

  ‘And you did not throw the radio set into the sea?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t! I wanted it. I miss it terribly.’

  ‘Nor did you drown the gramophone records, the cat, and the monkey?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. They made it all up. They’ve also got some silly story about a baby doll. It’s all such a lot of nonsense – but it’s very wicked, all the same. I’m in a trap, and I’m dreadfully frightened.’

  ‘Were you ever pregnant?’

  ‘How could I be? Surely they didn’t tell you that! I’m not even married.’

  ‘That, of course, is not necessarily an obstacle to a pregnancy.’

  ‘You’re not on their side, are you? I thought you were my friend! Have you brought me out here to kill me? I’ve got a pistol in my pocket, you know!’

  George spoke for the first time since the car had moved away from the house.

  ‘Don’t be silly, miss,’ he said, in a severely avuncular tone. ‘I beg your pardon, madam. I ought to tell you, though, that ever since we turned off B3351 I’ve had an idea I was being followed, and now I’m sure I am. Would there be any instructions?’

  ‘No, George. Just carry on to Swanage, as planned.’ She turned to her charge. ‘What was your grandfather’s name?’

  ‘Felix Napoleon Lestrange. He died in April, 1966.’

  ‘So you are a Lestrange by birth? Most interesting.’

  As they passed the obelisk on Ballard Down, George reported that the other car had turned off to the left for Studland.

  ‘Was it Romilly’s car?’ asked Rosamund.

  ‘To the best of my knowledge and belief, miss, it was the old Standard I’ve seen in the garage. The colour was the same, but they’ve been keeping far enough away – I’ve lost them now and again on the bends – for me not to be able to read the number plate, so, of course, I couldn’t take my oath on it.’

  (2)

  ‘Do we dare to ask how you got on this afternoon, my dear Beatrice?’ asked Romilly, when they were gathered ready for tea.

  ‘Certainly. We spent a short time – twenty minutes, perhaps – gazing at the sea. We also had our first session.’

  ‘Were other people there?’ asked Judith. ‘If so, didn’t they stare?’

  ‘Why should they stare?’

  ‘Oh, well, surely they would think Trilby’s get-up rather unusual.’

  ‘Have you been in London recently?’

  ‘No, I haven’t. Why?’

  ‘If you had, you would see nothing unusual in the way Mrs Romilly was dressed. The latest fashions for the young are so bizarre that even a Georgian costume, complete with jabot, lace ruffles, knee-breeches and buckled shoes, would be considered rather unenterprising, and, in any case, Rosamund had covered her finery with a heavy, caped coat.’ She thought it unnecessary to mention that she and Rosamund had not left the car. They had lowered the windows and sat warmly wrapped up in the car rugs.

  ‘Really!’ said Judith. ‘I wonder how Trilby has learnt about the London fashions, then?’

  ‘Oh, they are pictured in the newspapers, no doubt,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I suppose you allow her to see a newspaper from time to time?’

  ‘Never mind the fashions,’ said Romilly. ‘How did she behave?’

  ‘She was no trouble, if that is what you mean. Of course, I have yet to gain her full confidence.’

  ‘But you have already had an effect on her?’

  ‘Very possibly. I should have even more effect on her if I could remove her from this house for a time.’

  ‘She made no attempt to throw anything into the sea?’ pursued Romilly, completely ignoring the suggestion.

  ‘Certainly not; neither did we make any attempt to drown one another.’

  ‘You are being facetious, my dear Beatrice.’

  ‘In my opinion, you yourself have been treating matters all too seriously. There is nothing more debilitating for any invalid than to allow her to think she is worse than is really the case.’

  ‘Well,’ said Judith, ‘I hardly see how Trilby could be worse than we think her. To change the subject, Uncle Romilly, our guests begin to arrive tomorrow. I wonder, Dame Beatrice, whether you would care to see what arrangements I have made for them? I imagine that you will not take the after-tea session Uncle Romilly had arranged, as you have been with Trilby all the afternoon?’

  ‘No, I shall not need to see her again today.’

  ‘While you are showing Beatrice over the house, I think I would like to talk to Trilby myself,’ said Romilly. ‘I am interested to find out what she thought of her afternoon out.’

  ‘Not if you wish me to continue the treatment. Any interference at present would set her back, I’m afraid,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I do beg of you not to question her.’

  ‘I am her husband.’

  Dame Beatrice shrugged her thin shoulders.

  ‘I have no desire, of course, to make an issue of it,’ she said, ‘but, after all, you may be her husband in name, yet you neither have her at your table nor in your bed.’

  ‘Plain speaking!’ Romilly looked surprised and amused.

  ‘There are times in every doctor’s life when there is nothing else for it. The professional, not the individual, speaks, so you must bear with me and allow me to give the orders where my patient is concerned.’

  ‘Very well.’ They were seated in front of one of the two fireplaces in the great hall. ‘Shall we go into the drawing-room?’

  ‘No, let’s have tea in here,’ said Judith. ‘I’m warm and comfortable by this beautiful log fire. It seems a pity to move. Ring the bell, Uncle.’ Romilly did this, but the bell was not answered quickly enough to please Judith, who spoke sharply when Amabel’s sister, at the end of five minutes, appeared from the corridor which Dame Beatrice had traversed twice that afternoon. ‘You’ve been a long time coming, Violet!’

  ‘Sorry, Messus Judeth, Oi’m sure. Us ben looken after Messus Trelby. Such a lovely tea her’ve etten, ee’d hardly credet, her haven such a poor appetoite as a rule.’

  ‘Really!’ said Romilly. ‘That is excellent news, Violet. She’s found an appetite, has she? I’m delighted.’

  ‘Tea in here, and at once,’ said Judith. ‘Bring that small table forward, and we may need another one. You and Amabel can carry it here from the drawing-room.’

  ‘Ee can have Messus Trelby
’s trolley. That ud be best, Oi reckon.’

  Violet, having proved her independence, retired to bring in the tea.’

  ‘You’ll have to speak severely to that girl,’ said Judith, flushing until her face looked as round and as red as an apple. ‘She is becoming quite impossible.’

  ‘It is only her country manner,’ said Romilly soothingly, yet with a note of warning in his voice. ‘I think we must overlook it, especially as maids are difficult to obtain. We don’t want her giving notice. If she goes, I’m pretty sure that Amabel will go with her, and they’re very clean, good workers. You’ve said as much yourself.’

  ‘That girl is on the verge of insolence!’

  ‘Oh, no, I think not, my dear. And if she brings the things in on a trolley, there really is no need for a second table.’

  ‘She’ll have to do as she’s told when our visitors come. I won’t have her insolent to them. I’m sure Dame Beatrice doesn’t take insolence from her servants. I’ve noticed how very respectful her chauffeur is.’

  ‘George has been with me for many years,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘and my other servants, except for the kitchenmaid, who is a country girl from Warwickshire, are French.’

  ‘That might account for it,’ said Judith. She looked balefully at Romilly. ‘Uncle can’t manage servants, anyway. He’s much too soft with them.’

  Romilly traced a pattern on the handsome rug with the toe of his shoe. Without looking up, he said:

  ‘You are right, of course, my dear, but, if you can understand a syllogism, think of this: all housekeepers are servants. You are a housekeeper, therefore you are a servant.’

  ‘How can you talk like that, when you have me call you Uncle?’

  ‘Wait. I have not finished. I cannot manage servants, therefore I cannot manage you. And, of course, I cannot, but, at any rate, I can continue to try. I forbid you, utterly and absolutely, to attempt to take Violet to task for what she said about the tea-trolley. Think, my dear girl, think! How could you run a house this size without the help of the maids?’ He raised his eyes and looked her straight in the face. There was an awkward moment of silence before Judith said sullenly: