Dance to Your Daddy (Mrs Bradley) Page 6

  ‘Yes, my dear, I am sure you do, but I wish to speak with her in private, so run along, there’s a good child. If you ask Amabel, she will give you some lemon drops. You like lemon drops, don’t you?’

  With obvious unwillingness, Rosamund left them. There was silence until she had closed the door. Then Dame Beatrice said:

  ‘This is an intrusion, you know. I do not care to have my sessions interrupted.’

  ‘I am sorry about the interruption, but, with all these people in the house, I had to find a way of seeing you alone.’

  ‘For any particular reason?’

  ‘For one thing, I need to know why you dislike me. I suppose there is a connection with Trilby. I ought to have stressed that she is a pathological liar, but I am certain you have far too much experience of these cases to be taken in by her. She was planning to run away again, was she?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I did not know it. I made a guess that it would be the first thing over which she would attempt to enlist your aid.’

  ‘Did you also guess that I should refuse it?’

  ‘I gave you credit, of course, for ordinary common sense.’

  ‘I think you have been eavesdropping, you know. You overheard our conversation, did you not?’

  ‘My dear Beatrice!’

  ‘It would be rather naïve of you to deny it. I have found the hole in the wall, as I thought I had sufficiently indicated.’

  ‘I simply do not understand you!’

  ‘Do you not?’

  ‘The hole in the wall? Whatever can you mean?’

  ‘If you will take the trouble to remove the picture of those two young men, you will see for yourself what I mean, and then perhaps we shall both know where we stand.’

  ‘Remove the picture?’ He stepped across the room. ‘You mean there is a hole in the wall which is being covered by it?’

  ‘You may satisfy yourself that that is so.’

  Romilly studied the picture before he took it down. His surprise, when he did so, was either genuine or remarkably well simulated. He put the picture on the floor with its face against the wall and stared at the foot-wide squint. He ejaculated, as he turned and met the sharp black eyes of his guest:

  ‘Good gracious me! Who would ever think of such a thing!’

  ‘Most people would recognise this as a house of secrets, I think. Perhaps the hole was there when it was built.’

  ‘I see that you have a suspicious mind.’

  ‘It is a feature of my profession.’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Of both your professions, perhaps. Beatrice, I did not only bring you here to examine Trilby. My life is threatened.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘I don’t know. The would-be murderer may be one of my guests. I want you to spot the guilty party. That is one reason why I invited you.’

  ‘Since your demise has not yet been accomplished, there can be no guilty party.’

  ‘Guilty by intent, I mean, of course. You will be wondering how I know that I am in danger. I will tell you. One of these visitors must, I think, be my own child. Which one I do not know, but, whichever it is, that one will attempt to kill me.’

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘A gipsy warned me.’

  ‘Really, now!’

  ‘Oh, I take it seriously, I assure you.’

  ‘Well, I am sorry, but I have not the slightest intention of following that example. If you mean what you say, why have you invited them here?’

  ‘To get the matter settled once and for all, and I need your expert help. As a psychiatrist …’

  ‘I decline to be a party to such nonsense.’

  ‘Even if I accede to your request?’

  ‘What request would that be?’

  ‘To allow Trilby to be treated in your own home or at your clinic.’

  ‘I think you must have read my mind.’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘If you had not been willing to release her, I should have laid an information against you for detaining the girl here by force and for refusing her the rights of liberty and the pursuit of happiness.’

  ‘You must be joking! Trilby is my wife.’

  ‘I am in expectation of being able to prove that she is nothing of the kind.’

  ‘You’ve gone behind my back?’

  ‘Certainly, if you choose to put it like that. I will go further. Rosamund is completely compos mentis, and you know it. What your object has been in keeping her here without modern clothing, so that she cannot escape, and why you have seen fit to pass her off as your wife, I have no idea. However, there must be an end to it. I shall take her with me tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Not just yet, Beatrice. At least allow her to stay until my house-party is assembled.’

  ‘I see no reason for that. Binnie, who seems reasonably well-disposed, will lend Rosamund some clothes which will do for a day or two, until I can get her properly fitted out. As for your own troubles, whether they be real or imaginary, I suggest that you contact the police.’

  ‘But what should I tell them?’

  ‘What you have told me.’

  ‘They might not believe me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe you, either.’

  ‘Beatrice, if you leave me in the power of these monsters, my blood will be upon your head.’

  ‘I have borne greater responsibilities than that.’

  ‘I won’t let you go!’

  ‘No?’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Well, well!’ She seated herself composedly in an armchair. ‘You can scarcely guard that door for the rest of the day. You have guests arriving at this very moment.’ She had heard a car drive up.

  ‘I can lock you in!’ said Romilly, with an attempt at playfulness.

  ‘You could, perhaps, if you had the key. I took the liberty of removing it from the door almost as soon as I arrived here, and have been carrying it about with me ever since.’

  ‘Well, I shall not think of attempting to gain possession of it by force,’ said Romilly, laughing. ‘But, my very dear Beatrice, please do not think of leaving me at present, whether you believe or not that my life is in danger. At least allow Trilby to meet her guests and enjoy their company for a day or two. Oh, and another thing! You must not think that I keep her shut up in this house. She has a wardrobe full of women’s clothes, but she keeps it locked. When you have won her confidence you may be able to persuade her to attire herself normally.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Meanwhile, your visitors continue to arrive.’

  ‘Yes, we had better go down and meet them.’ He hung up the picture he had taken down, and then shook his head at it. ‘Very strange,’ he said. ‘Most strange. This used to be my room, you know, but I certainly did not realise that there was a hole in the wall. I wonder what other secrets this fine old house contains?’

  Dame Beatrice made no attempt to guess, and Romilly led the way downstairs. In the hall they found Judith and Rosamund in conversation with a long-haired youth and a crop-headed girl who, it was easy to see, were the twins, Corin and Corinna.

  ‘It’s too terribly good of you to put us up for a whole week,’ said Corinna to Romilly.

  ‘Too terribly good,’ echoed her brother. ‘Saves the expense of digs, and seaside digs are ghastly, anyway. Hullo, Great-aunt,’ he added to Dame Beatrice. ‘I don’t suppose you remember us, because you haven’t seen us since we were babies. How are you? This quiet chap beside me is Giles. Tancred I expect you’ve already met, likewise Humphrey and Binnie, who are having a row in the parlour. Well, now that we all know one another, I’m bound to inform you that my twin is dying on her feet for a cup of tea. I know it isn’t tea-time, but if you want to save a life …

  ‘It is quite time for tea,’ said Judith, ‘but we were hoping that Hubert and Willoughby would have joined us. It doesn’t matter, though. They can have theirs later.’

  ‘Well, we can’t very well have our meeting until they arrive,’ said R
omilly.

  ‘What meeting would that be, Uncle Romilly?’ asked Tancred.

  ‘I want to acquaint you all with the provisions of my will.’

  ‘Oh, goody! exclaimed Binnie. ‘Is your fortune big enough to go round?’

  ‘If it isn’t, you shall have my share, Binnie,’ said Tancred, ‘and this evening, in the twilight, I’ll read my poems to you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I like money, but I don’t understand poetry very much.’

  ‘You don’t need to understand mine.’

  ‘I suppose it’s quite incomprehensible, anyway,’ said Humphrey, sneering, ‘as well as being thoroughly poor stuff.’

  ‘An usher wouldn’t know whether it is or whether it isn’t,’ said Tancred. ‘What do you dish out to your pupils? Longfellow, or Mrs Hemans?’

  Tea was brought in, dinner followed at seven and, after dinner, Judith played and sang. At half-past ten a move was made towards bed.

  ‘We can’t expect Hubert and Willoughby tonight, it seems,’ said Romilly. On gaining her room, Dame Beatrice rearranged her bedding so that she was sleeping head-to-foot in the big four-poster. She left the picture leaning against the foot of the wall, although what whim had caused her to take it down again she hardly knew, any more than she knew what instinct had made her change her bedcoverings round. She did know that, in spite of his laughter, which had sounded spontaneous and unforced, she had made an enemy of Romilly. There was also the slight mystery as to which member of the household had actually invited the guests, and there was Romilly’s anxiety, which had been apparent during the whole of the evening, because two of the guests, Hubert, the clergyman and Willoughby, the secretary, had neither put in an appearance nor sent a letter of excuse. Romilly had fumed and fidgeted and made several references to their absence, so much so that Judith, who did not seem to share his feeling of unease, had at last chided him sharply.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she had exclaimed, ‘stop worrying over the wretched pair! What does it matter whether they’re here or not? You didn’t have them last time, anyway.’

  ‘I don’t want to hold my meeting without them,’ Romilly had pettishly replied. ‘It will spoil everything if we’re two people short.’

  Dame Beatrice was glad that the evening was over. What with the bickering of Humphrey and Tancred, Binnie’s tears, which started up readily when her husband was more than usually unkind, Romilly’s fretting and a certain restlessness which all this not unnaturally induced in the quiet and inoffensive Giles, together with the vapid and (she thought) nervous chatter of the twins, the hours between tea and dinner and then between dinner and bedtime, had been anything but pleasant.

  She got ready for bed in a leisurely manner, for it was very much earlier than her usual time for retiring. On the other hand, there was no point in staying up, for she had too much respect for her aging eyesight to strain it by attempting to read by candlelight, which was the only form of lighting in her vast and shadowy room. Neither, at that hour, did she expect to fall asleep, and she was lying contentedly in the huge, comfortable bed, glad of her own company after the uneasy and boring hours downstairs, when she was aware of slight sounds coming from the direction of the hole in the wall. The next moment there was a startling report from a firearm. Dead silence followed for a moment and then came the sound of a door closing. Dame Beatrice had locked her own door. She slipped out of bed, made her way to the locked door and listened, but even her keen hearing could detect no further sound.

  The silence, however, was not prolonged. There were footsteps on the stairs and in the gallery, and voices raised excitedly. Then came a hammering on the door of her room and a shouted question from Romilly.

  “Beatrice! Beatrice! Are you all right?’

  ‘Perfectly all right,’ she replied. ‘I thought I heard the sound of a shot, though. Could it be so?’

  ‘Well, I certainly heard something,’ said Corin’s voice. ‘Hullo! Talk about a gathering of the clan!’

  There were excited exclamations in various tones. It was clear that most, if not all, of the household, were gathered on the landing outside. Dame Beatrice lit a candle, put on dressing-gown and slippers, hung the picture up again and opened the door.

  ‘Where did the sound seem to come from?’ she mildly enquired.

  ‘Certainly from this part of the house,’ said Romilly, shading his candle against a draught from the staircase. Dame Beatrice glanced around her. The absentees were the servants and also Binnie, Rosamund and Tancred. The others wore dressing-gowns, except for Giles, who had pulled his trousers on over his pyjamas, and Humphrey, who was wearing an overcoat over his nightshirt.

  ‘It sounded like a shot,’ said Romilly, ‘but it could hardly have been that. What did you think it was, Beatrice?’

  ‘I thought it was a shot,’ she replied. ‘But, as you say, it seems unlikely.’

  ‘You don’t suppose,’ said Giles, ‘that Hubert and Willoughby have arrived, and what we heard was their car back-firing?’

  ‘That seems possible,’ said Judith, who was looking particularly handsome in a scarlet dressing-gown embroidered with gold thread. ‘Perhaps somebody had better go downstairs and find out.’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ said Romilly. ‘You girls get back to bed, and you, too, Beatrice. Giles and I will investigate.’

  The crowd dispersed. Dame Beatrice closed her door and locked it. Then she found the powerful electric torch which always accompanied her and made an inspection of what had become the foot of her bed. She was interested but not surprised to find that the marksman, whoever he or she might have been, had not tailored the shot. As nearly as she could judge, the bullet would have travelled in a direct line to her pillow, had her bedding not been rearranged. She would probably find the bullet embedded in the mattress, she thought. She returned to bed and slept lightly but soundly until six.

  At breakfast there was some speculation, but not as much as might have been expected, as to the origin of the noise. Dame Beatrice, who, after rising, had rearranged her bed so that the pillows were at the right end of it, contributed little to the pointless discussion, and it very soon changed to a peevish monologue from Romilly concerning the non-arrival of Hubert and Willoughby. Since she knew neither of them, for her any real interest was lacking. However, as she had found not only the bullet hole in the bedclothes, but the bullet itself (which she decided had come from a ·22 rifle), her interest lay in wondering who had fired it, and whether the would-be murderer had expected to kill not herself but Romilly, as the room she occupied had at one time been his own. In view of the fears he had expressed to her, and which, at the time, she had treated lightly, she thought that he might have been the intended victim. It was clear, later in the day, that he himself thought so. He said to her, when they chanced to find themselves alone:

  ‘I suppose it was a shot?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she replied. ‘It was a shot. It came from the direction of the hole in the wall in my room.’

  ‘It was intended for me, no doubt. What a lucky escape you have had.’

  ‘I have no idea for whom it was intended.’

  ‘I should imagine it has substantially reduced the value of the picture.’

  ‘No, no. I had taken the picture down.’

  He stared at her, but asked for no explanation, and in this unsatisfactory state the matter rested, except that when she next visited her room it was to find that a kind of rough wooden shutter had been affixed to the hole in the wall, and that the painting of the two boys had disappeared.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Danse Macabre—The Wicked Uncle

  ‘If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to use my legs? And yet that were light payment – to dance out of your debt.’

  King Henry IV, Part 2.

  * * *

  (1)

  Laura was delighted with the letter she had received from Dame Beatrice, her emotion tempered merely by regret to think that, so far,
she was excluded from the fun. She would have been even more regretful had she known about the mysterious shot in the night. However, leaving the baby Eiladh in the capable and willing hands of Zena the kitchenmaid, she drove to London in her own small car, parked it on the outskirts and took a taxi to Somerset House.

  The provisions of Felix Napoleon’s will were straightforward enough, and Laura had no difficulty in memorising them. There was no doubt that Rosamund, subject to the conditions of which Dame Beatrice had been made aware, was the principal beneficiary. The money was left to ‘my granddaughter, Rosamund Mary Lestrange,’ when she should have attained the age of twenty-five years. Until that time, the estate was to be held in trust by the old man’s lawyers, and the interest on the money allowed to accumulate. Laura read the rest of the provisions and stipulations with great interest, for there was no doubt that if Romilly was an unscrupulous and criminally-minded man, the girl’s fears for her own safety were not imaginary, and Laura admitted as much in her return letter.

  Dame Beatrice received this letter at a quarter to ten on the morning following the shooting. There had been some more speculation as to the cause of the noise which had roused the household, but as, apparently, nothing had resulted from the shot except the somewhat curious circumstance that none of the servants seemed to have heard it – a circumstance confirmed by George and Amabel when Dame Beatrice off-handedly mentioned the matter to them separately – speculation died down in favour of a general discussion, when Romilly had left the breakfast table, as to the reason for his having arranged the house-party.

  Dame Beatrice, who did not contribute to the discussion, but who listened with interest to it, realised that one thing which she had been told was, on the face of things, completely untrue. There was no family feud between the Lestranges and the Provosts. There was a running skirmish between Humphrey and Tancred, but it was a private fight, not a family matter. She wondered whether the appearance of the brothers Hubert and Willoughby would prove to be the match which might be applied to the gunpowder, but she could not, at that point, detect any presence of explosives. In the early afternoon, however, more drama, this time of a rather ridiculous sort, was suddenly introduced by Rosamund.