Neither she 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 shootingparty 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 decolletage, 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 thinkk 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 that 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.
The Prince, who considered that Connie Bawtry had held the stage for long enough, said that for himself he preferred ethics to religious creeds, and added that the narrow-mindedness of the Church had done much to bring Bolshevism into power. No one showed the smallest desire to argue the point, and Tom Bawtry, seizing the opportunity thus afforded of starting a less objectionable topic, leaned across Mary to ask the Prince whether he had been mixed up in the Russian Revolution. The Prince smiled somewhat cynically, and replied: "Merely, I lost my all."
Any sympathy that might have been expressed was nipped in the bud by Mrs. Bawtry, who said that worldly possessions were only dross, and that she knew many people who had given up their all to the Group Movement. Naturally, the Prince was not going to stand this kind of thing, and he said, with just as firm a smile as hers, that making voluntary sacrifices was very different from being stripped bare of your every possession, and cast into prison into the bargain.
This was quite unanswerable, and had the effect of making the Prince at once the centre of attraction. Ermyntrude begged him, in a proprietary tone, to tell the rest of her guests about his dreadful experiences, and he at once began to do so, in a whimsical way which even Connie Bawtry thought very touching, and which made every man present feel a little unwell.
Hugh, who had the advantage of being acquainted with several distinguished Russians, had written the Prince down as spurious within twenty minutes of first setting eyes on him, and could not now resist the temptation of asking him one or two rather awkward questions. The Prince, however, proved to be most adroit in sliding out of uncomfortable corners, and had no difficulty in holding the interest of the female half of his audience. Tom Bawtry, too, who never expected any foreigner to be anything but grotesque, was considerably impressed, and exclaimed at intervals: "By Jove!" and: "Extraordinary fellers those Bolshies must be!"
The thought of the Prince's immeasurable losses had always the power to bring a little spring of tears to Ermyntrude's eyes, but Connie Bawtry's sympathy found a more practical expression. At the earliest opportunity, she told the Prince that if he would only put himself under God-control he would find that all his troubles would vanish. In proof of this statement, she cited the case of a certain business man, who (she said) was actually losing money when he got Changed. "But now," she said, "he's absolutely God-controlled, and his whole business has taken a turn for the better, and he's actually doing very well indeed."
Only two of her hearers appeared to be gratified by this uplifting reflection. Hugh said: 'Connie, I love you dearly; in fact, I regard you almost in the light of an aunt, but you do utter the most repellent remarks."
"Well, I don't know," said Wally facetiously. "It sounds pretty good to me. You'd better try it, Prince."
"Why, it's like a miracle, isn't it?" said Ermyntrude, looking round with a beaming smile. "Fancy!"
For an almost imperceptible moment Hugh's eyes met Mary's across the table. Vicky's voice, holding an imperious note, recalled his attention. "Crack these for me, please."
He took the walnuts from her, and stretched out his hand for the nut-crackers. She said rather belligerently: "I suppose you don't believe in miracles?"
"Not that kind of miracle. Do you?"
"Oh, I think it's lovely!"
He peeled one of the nuts, and gave it back to her. Feeling her last remark to be quite unworthy of being replied to, he said nothing.
Vicky put her elbows on the table, and began to nibble the nut. "Lawyers never believe anything. You are a lawyer, aren't you?"
"Barrister."
"0h well, it's just the same. Fusty."
He glanced down at her. "Thanks a lot! Where did you learn your pretty manners?"
A sudden gurgle escaped her. "Absolute truth!"
He smiled, but said softly: "Careful! What makes you think barristers are fusty?"
"Oh, they all are!"
"Of course, you know so many." He saw her hunch one bare shoulder, and added: "Come off it, Vicky! You're forgetting that I knew you when you were a skinny brat with a band round your teeth. It won't wash."
"I must have been rather sweet," she said reflectively.
"You weren't. You were a little pest."
"I think it's so remembering and marvellous of you to know what I was like," she said. "I thought you were most frightfully grown-up and dull. In fact, I was rather hazy about you till I saw you tonight, and then, of course, it all came back to me. You haven't altered a bit."
"You know, you have a real talent for small-talk," said Hugh. "Sorry I can't return your compliment!"
"Sorry?" repeated Vicky, raising a pair of startled eyes to his face. "But don't you think I'm much, much prettier now? Everyone else does!"
"You wouldn't be so bad if you hadn't plastered so much make-up on your face," he replied coolly.
"Ah, yes!" she said, recovering her balance in a flash. "I thought you were rather the sort of man who'd prefer a violet by a mossy stone. Probably I shall be putting on that act one day."
He regarded her from under brows lifted in faint surprise. "Is your incredible life a series of "acts"?" he inquired.
"Yes. Didn't you know?"
"I couldn't believe it. Don't you find it a pretty rotten way of living?"
"How silly! Of course not!" she said scornfully. "Life seems to me a most frightfully overrated business, and practically always dull, if you stay the same person every day. On the other hand, you can't be dull if you're always somebody else."
"Adventures in the spirit?"
Ermyntrude had risen to her feet. Vicky got up, remarking in a more friendly tone: "I still think you're fusty, but not so fusty."
In the drawing-room, Mrs. Bawtry became guided to explain the Group Movement to Mary. Lady Dering seized the opportunity to seat herself beside her hostess, and, presently, to broach the subject of the proposed new hospital. Vicky powdered her nose, and deepened the scarlet of her lips, until her appearance was fairly certain to shock sober-minded persons.
Ermyntrude had had two card-tables set out, and had spent the greater part of the afternoon trying to arrange two Bridge fours. As she had once, at a Charity Bridge Afternoon, played with Connie Bawtry, who became very fierce over the game, and argued about the play of every hand, her task soon grew into an insoluble puzzle, for nothing, she had decided, would induce her to play at Connie's table, or with Sir William, of whom she stood in considerable awe; while it was clearly unthinkable that she should not have the Prince at her table, or should fail to separate husbands and wives.
However, when the men presently came into the drawing-room, it soon became apparent that the second table would have to be abandoned, for Hugh said firmly that he only took a hand if he was forced to do so, and Vicky developed a fit of contrariness., and said she hated Bridge. Ermyntrude was forced to fall back on Mary, an indifferent player, and on Wally, who had an unsuitable habit of cutting jokes all the time. But while she was trying to compose the two tables, the butler came into the room, and spoke in a disapproving undertone to Wally.
Ermyntrude was feeling flustered, and unfortunately demanded of Peake what was wanted. Peake, who despised both his employers, said primly, but not without a certain satisfaction: "A person of the name of Baker wishes to see Mr. Carter, madam." He added fiendishly: "Upon urgent business."
Ermyntrude turned white, and then red. Wally looked as discomfited as anyone of his temperament could, and said that it was all right, and he would come. Ermyntrude was so much upset by this contretemps that she lost any grip over the Bridge-question that she may ever have had, and weakly jettisoned the second table. Finally, the Derings and the Bawtrys sat down to play, on the understanding that Ermyntrude and the Prince would cut in after the first rubber.
That the butler's announcement had been most unwelcome to Ermyntrude was apparent to all her guests, but the swift glance that passed between Mary and Vicky was noticed only by Hugh. As her elders moved towards the Bridge-table, fussed over solicitously by Ermyntrude, Vicky slid off the arm of the sofa, where she had perched herself, and strolled sinuously to the door. Mary said sharply: 'Vicky, where are you going? I was going to suggest billiards - or something."
"All right," said Vicky. "I'll join you."
She went out, and Mary, having the liveliest mistrust of her discretion, said hurriedly to Hugh: "Do go along to the billiard-room! I'll be with you in a minute. I must catch Vicky first."
Considerably intrigued, Hugh docilely obeyed these instructions, and was discovered presently practising cannons. He straightened himself as Mary came in with Vicky at her heels, and after casting a look at two rather worried faces, said: "Is anything the matter? Can I help, or do I pretend to be unconscious?"
"Oh, it's nothing!" replied Mary unconvincingly. "At least, nothing of importance."
"Well, I think it's awfully important that no one should be allowed to spoil Ermyntrude's party," said Vicky. "You may think it's lousy anyway, and as a matter of fact it is, but the point is she doesn't, and I'm perfectly certain she'd hate and loathe a scene."
"For God's sake, Vicky, shut up!" implored Mary.
"Oh, don't make a stranger of me! Who's going to create a scene? The person of the name of Baker?" asked Hugh.
"Well, I'm not at all sure, but I shouldn't wonder if it seemed a pretty good sort of an act to him, on account of his being a Communist, and probably disapproving of parties," said Vicky. She looked measuringly at Hugh, and her eyes brightened. "Are you any good at chucking people out?" she demanded.
"I've never tried my hand at it. Do you want Baker chucked out?"
"I may," said Vicky cautiously. "But not if it would be a noisy business. Of course, I may be doing him a frightful injustice, or on the other hand, Wally may manage to get rid of him." A fresh idea presented itself to her. She turned to Mary. "I say, do you think he would be useful?
On account of being a barrister, I mean?"
"No, certainly not," said Mary. "Nor do I think we need discuss the matter."
"Yes, but, darling, I shouldn't be at all surprised if you turned out to be full of regressions, and inhibitions, and things, and in any case it's practically bound to be all over Fritton by this time, because things always are."
"By all of which I deduce that your relative has got himself into some sort of a mess," said Hugh, addressing himself to Mary. "I shouldn't think I could be of any use, could I?"
"No, none at all, thank you," said Mary. "It's purely a family matter."
"Oh, I thought you didn't want him to know!" exclaimed Vicky innocently.
Hugh looked quickly at Mary's indignant face, and said: "Good Lord, you don't mean it? I don't believe it!"
"No, nor did we at first," agreed Vicky. "But I'm rather coming round to it, because I had a long talk with Percy this afternoon, and he utterly believes it. It's a sickening nuisance, isn't it?"
"Is Percy the person named Baker?" asked Hugh. "Who and what is he?"
"He works in a garage. He's Gladys's brother," explained Vicky.
"And is Gladys the lady involved?"
"Yes, of course. She's the box-office girl at the Regal. I dare say you know her."
"Good God! But how do you two come into it? You know, really this is a bit thick! You've no business to be mixed up in it, either of you."
"We aren't mixed up in it," said Mary, in an annoyed voice. "At least, we shouldn't be if Vicky hadn't taken it upon herself to interview the man when he came here this afternoon."
Hugh looked Vicky over critically. "Oh! Nice little handful, aren't you? If you take my advice, you'll keep your nose out of it."
"Yes, but I shouldn't think I would," replied Vicky. "I've been very modern and advanced all day, and I quite feel I may have done a lot of good, talking to Percy."
"You're more likely to have made things much worse," said Hugh unflatteringly. "Leave your stepfather to settle his affairs for himself. He's probably quite capable of doing it without your assistance."
"Oh dear, you do seem to me to be most frightfully fragrant and old-world!" said Vicky. "Besides practically dumb. Poor darling Wally never settles things, and the more I think about it the more I'm definitely against Ermyntrude having to pay up."
"You can't do any good," persisted Hugh. "You'd merely make a nuisance of yourself."
Vicky's eyes glinted at him. "Well, I think you're wrong. I often get very brilliant ideas, and I quite think I will over this, because I don't want Ermyntrude to have to put up with a scandal she doesn't like."
With that she tossed the stump of her cigarette into the fireplace, and walked out of the room.
Hugh turned to Mary. "But she's incredible!" he complained. "She just isn't possible."
" I warned you," said Mary. "I can't cope with her at all. I wish I could, because she's quite capable of doing something outrageous."
"Little beast!" said Hugh wholeheartedly. "Between friends, Mary, is this Baker fellow likely to make trouble?"
"I don't know, but if what Vicky told me was true I should think quite possibly. Oh dear, what a household we are!"
"Poor Mary! It's rotten for you."
"It's worse for Aunt Ermy. I oughtn't to be talking about it, but just lately things seem to have got dreadfully tense. Ever since that ghastly Prince arrived it's been most uncomfortable - rather as though we were on the brink of something disastrous."
"Do you mean that he's had something to do with it?"
"No, not really. Don't let's talk about it! I hope to Heaven Vicky hasn't gone to barge in on Uncle and Percy Baker. That would just about tear things wide open."
"Vicky," said Hugh, "wants suppressing."
"You're telling me! I say, what on earth shall we do if Baker does start a row?"
"I haven't thought out the answer to that one," Hugh confessed. "What you might call a delicate situation."
Happily, no sounds of strife in the library came to disturb the absorption of the Bridge-players in the drawing-room. Wally returned presently, not, apparently, much disturbed by his interview with Mr. Baker, and was easily persuaded to cut into the game. He was mendaciously assuring his partner, Connie Bawtry, that he was conversant with the rules governing the Four-Five No-Trump convention, when the butler made his second entrance, and informed him that Mr. White wished to speak with him on the telephone.
This was too much for Ermyntrude. Before Wally had time to reply, she told Peake to inform Mr. White that his master was engaged, and could not come to the telephone.
Bridge came to an end at eleven o'clock, and after everyone had added up his or her score, the errors had been traced to their sources, and a result arrived at which satisfied everyone, it was half an hour later, and the Derings' car had been announced quite twenty minutes earlier.
The initial strain of entertaining guests of whom she stood in awe, coupled with the alarming announcement of Mr. Baker's arrival, and capped by Harold White's illtimed telephone call, had proved to be too much for Ermyntrude. She felt quite unequal to the task (clearly incumbent on her) of demanding an explanation of his conduct from Wally, and after bidding the Prince good night in a failing voice, she went upstairs to bed, leaning heavily on the banisters.
The Prince did not long outstay her. He refilled his glass once, but as Wally, who had been replenishing his throughout the evening, showed an inclination to indulge in long, rambling reminiscences, he soon excused himself, and withdrew.
If Wally had hoped to have escaped questioning that night, he had reckoned without his stepdaughter. That damsel was lying in wait for him, and came out of her bedroom when he passed her door on his way to his own.
"What happened?" she demanded.
Wally eyed her uneasily. "What are you talking about?"
"You might just as well come clean," said Vicky. "I know all about Gladys and Percy. In fact, we all know."
Wally was pardonably affronted, and animadverted bitterly upon the licence permitted to the young in these unregenerate days. "Nosing into my affairs!" he said. "Nice behaviour for a girl just home from school, I must say!"
"Well, you're wrong. I didn't do any nosing. Ermyntrude found Percy's letter in your pocket, and was so upset that she told Mary and me."
"Which .pocket?" inquired Wally, with a kind of hazy interest.
"Oh, one of your coats! What on earth does it matter?"
"Well, it's nice to know, because as a matter of fact I couldn't for the life of me remember where I'd put the thing. However, I thought it would turn up sooner or later. Not that there's anything in it," he added.
"You're pretty well bound to say that," replied Vicky. "The point is, we don't want Ermyntrude to be worried by a rancid scandal."
"Nothing of the sort!" said Wally, with a lordly wave of one hand. "It's just a slight mistake, that's all."
"But what about Percy?" insisted Vicky. "Is he going to make trouble?"
"Certainly not!" said Wally. "The whole affair was absurd."
"Oh!" said Vicky doubtfully. "Did you get Percy to see that?"
"Naturally. Just a few minutes plain talk, and I was able to put the whole thing straight."
"That means that you've promised to pay," said Vicky. "Or else you've fobbed him off for the moment, and he'll come back."
"It seems to me," said Wally, with a good deal of asperity, "that all you learned at that precious finishing school of yours was to snoop round listening at keyholes. You may think that a smart thing to do, but let me tell you that it isn't at all the clean potato. In fact, it's very dishonourable, that's what it is."
Upon which austere pronouncement he strayed away grandly, but a little uncertainly, in the direction of his bedroom.