Читать книгу An English Murder - Alfred Alexander Gordon Clark - Страница 9

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The room seemed to be suddenly full of women. The quiet, masculine atmosphere of the library, redolent of wood smoke and old calf bindings, was charged with a new, disturbing element, made up of feminine scents and sounds. Robert felt that he and his father had dwindled into an insignificant minority. It was difficult to realize that in fact there were only two women present, and, moreover, that one of them was noticeably quiet. But any failure in self-assertion on her part was more than made up by her companion.

Friendly accounts of the activities of Mrs. Carstairs were apt to contain somewhere the phrase that she was, would be, or had been "a host in herself"; and the description had been taken up and applied by other commentators, not so friendly. It certainly fitted her invasion of Lord Warbeck's library. She overran it like an occupying army, distributing her fire right and left and reducing the inhabitants to a stunned quiescence.

"Dear Lord Warbeck!" she exclaimed as she swept in. "How marvellous to be back in the dear old place again! It is really too good of you to think of asking me, especially when you've been so poorly—but you are better now, are you not? I had had such bad accounts of you that really at one time I was positively anxious. When I got your letter inviting me, I could hardly believe it at first, but I might have known—it was so like you not to forget old friends, even if our ways have lain apart these many years. Oh, Robert, dear boy, how are you? One can see with half an eye that you are well enough. Dear, dear, I'm afraid our ways have diverged with a vengeance! Never mind, we'll try and forget sore subjects, just for Christmas, shall we? Christmas ought to be a time for forgetting as well as for remembering, I always think. Oh, let me get near this lovely fire and thaw myself! I'm quite frozen!"

Somewhere in this monologue Lord Warbeck had contrived to interject a question as to her journey.

"Dreadful, dreadful! If I hadn't had the prospect of dear Warbeck to cheer me, I don't know how I could have borne it. The train was late, of course, and cold! It almost took me back to the bad old days before nationalisation—but I expect that in those days we should never have got through at all! And then we had a fiendish drive here. Really, on Telegraph Hill the snow was so thick we began to wonder if we would ever make it. Luckily the driver was a most sensible young man and he had chains and he——"

Decidedly, the room was full of women. But it was not Mrs. Carstairs, despite her chatter, whose personality counted for most there. While the flow of trivialities went remorselessly on, Camilla Prendergast stepped quietly up to the sofa and bent over Lord Warbeck. There was a quick exchange of barely audible words, a kiss given and returned, and then she straightened herself and came across to Robert. He was standing by the window, his handsome face a non-committal mask.

"Well, Robert, how are you?"

"Oh, well, thank you. Are you well?"

"Yes, thanks."

In the pause that followed Mrs. Carstairs had time to carry her story all the way from the top of Telegraph Hill to the snowdrifts in Tangley Bottom. Then Camilla gave a little laugh.

"There doesn't seem to be much else to say, does there?"

"No, there doesn't."

She looked over his shoulder at the window. Large flakes of snow were flattening themselves on the panes.

"Look at the snow!" she said. "It's coming down as if it would never stop. Robert, has it occurred to you that it would be pretty bloody if we were cooped up here for days and days, with nothing to say but 'How are you?'"

Robert did not look at the snow. Instead, he was looking very hard at Camilla. He grinned suddenly, but whether his amusement was genuine or not it was hard to tell.

"Quite bloody," he said.

The appearance of Briggs with the tea-things brought the conversation—if such it could be called—to an end. Hard on his heels came Sir Julius, rubbing his hands and oozing geniality.

"Tea!" he exclaimed, with the air of someone confronted with an unexpected treat. "Ah, splendid! It's what one needs on a cold day like this!"

"I hope you have finished grinding the faces of the rich for the day, Julius," said Lord Warbeck. "There's no need for me to introduce you to anybody here, I fancy."

"Introduce me!" exclaimed Sir Julius with exaggerated surprise. "I should think not. Camilla, my dear, you are looking more lovely than ever!"

"Thank you! Do you know, I was beginning to be afraid nobody would notice it."

"My dear young lady, I can't believe that anyone would be so blind! If I were only a little younger, I—— Ah, Mrs. Carstairs! This is indeed a pleasure! We meet most appropriately. I have just been reading a masterly state paper from a certain gentleman in Washington—most masterly, I give you my word. You husband is doing a great work for us out there. He has really surprised us all."

"He has not surprised me, Sir Julius." Mrs. Carstairs took him up with some asperity. "I've known for some time that he has the best financial brain in Parliament—in the country, I may say—even if——"

"Even if—eh?" Sir Julius's good humour was quite unruffled. "Even if—shall we say—a certain person is Chancellor of the Exchequer and Mr. Carstairs is not? Never mind, his time will come. Every dog has his day, and we are all mortal. Tell him not to be impatient. That's the golden rule in politics."

Something very like a chuckle came from the direction of the window embrasure and Sir Julius turned quickly in its direction.

"Ah, Robert," he said, in a distinctly colder tone. "I hadn't seen you there in the window. How are you?"

"How do you do?" replied Robert, equally coldly.

"You've only just arrived, I take it?"

"Yes. I had an important meeting in London yesterday."

"Quite. The League of Liberty and Justice, I suppose?"

"And suppose it was? Is that any concern of yours?"

"I think it is the concern of every thinking man or woman in this country who cares for democracy."

"And I think that what you are pleased to call democracy——"

"Camilla, I don't think you have met Dr. Bottwink." Lord Warbeck's quiet voice cut across the altercation. "He has been good enough to spend his time rummaging among the papers here. Dr. Bottwink, let me present you to Lady Camilla Prendergast—Mrs. Carstairs—my son Robert. Sir Julius you have met already. And now, I think, our little party is complete. We are not likely to have anyone dropping in on a day like this. Draw the curtains, Briggs. Camilla, will you pour out tea for us?"

The tension was relaxed. As she busied herself with the teapot and the monumental silver urn that Briggs had thought appropriate to the occasion, Camilla found a half-forgotten nonsense rhyme coming into her head:

They put on the kettle, and little by little They all became happy again.

For the moment at least, all was peace. The sight of the sugar-bowl had prompted Mrs. Carstairs to engage Sir Julius in a technical discussion about the duties on colonial cane sugar. Robert was deep in conversation with his father on some equally innocuous topic. She found Dr. Bottwink standing meekly beside her.

"Perhaps I should serve Lord Warbeck with his tea?" he suggested. "The rest of the gathering would appear to be occupied."

He fumbled with the cup she handed to him and almost dropped it.

"I must apologize for my clumsiness," he said gravely, "but the truth is, my fingers are a little numb."

He delivered Lord Warbeck's tea safely, and returned. Camilla noticed that Robert disregarded his existence with almost insolent ostentation. Deliberately she set herself to be polite to this forlorn little man.

"Have you been working in the muniment room without a fire?" she asked. "You must be perished!"

"One does not easily perish merely of cold, so long as food is available," replied Dr. Bottwink didactically. "Such, at least, is my experience. But it is chilly. Scientists tell us of the existence of a condition known as absolute cold, and I am inclined to think that the muniment room is not so very far removed from that state."

"You speak English very well," said Camilla absently. She was looking past him towards Robert. With perverse pleasure she saw that he was scowling in her direction, as though her friendly attitude towards this foreigner annoyed him. "He takes that amount of interest in me, anyway," she thought. She could not resist the impulse of annoying him further. Breaking into his conversation with his father, she said:

"Uncle Tom, Dr. Bottwink is telling me about absolute cold. Do you know what that is?"

"No, Camilla, but I am sure that it is something extremely disagreeable."

"It seems to be rather like the muniment room."

"I am sorry," Lord Warbeck said civilly, turning to the historian. "I am afraid it is difficult nowadays to make my guests as comfortable as I should wish."

"Indeed, Lord Warbeck, I assure you, it is nothing. I should not have spoken as I did, even as a joke. I have been many times much colder, and I repeat, it is nothing." Dr. Bottwink was pink with embarrassment.

For the first time Robert addressed him directly.

"No doubt you have found it colder in your own country," he said slowly. "What is your country, may I ask?"

In the face of his studied rudeness Dr. Bottwink became perfectly calm again.

"That would be a little difficult to say exactly," he replied. "By nationality, I have been Austrian and Czech and German—in that order. But I am a bit Russian also, and it so happens that I was born in Hungary. So there are a good many ingredients in my make-up."

"Including Jewish ingredients, I suppose?"

"Of course," said Dr. Bottwink, with a polite smile.

"Dr. Bottwink, I wonder if I might trouble you to hand me those little cakes over there," Lord Warbeck interposed. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I have grown to envy people who can take their meals sitting up. Feeding lying down is the most messy business I know."

Camilla adjusted the cushions behind his back.

"Poor Uncle Tom!" she said. "Does this mean that you won't be able to dine with us this evening?"

"Yes, Camilla, it does. I shall, I trust, be asleep long before you have seen Christmas in. Robert will be your host on my behalf. I hope you don't mind."

Camilla looked at Robert. He flushed slightly and avoided her eye.

"I hope Robert doesn't," she said sweetly. "Mrs. Carstairs, can I give you another cup of tea?"

"Thank you, dear, so long as it's not too strong. As I was saying, Sir Julius, my husband feels very strongly that the colonial sugar producer——"

"Lord Warbeck," Dr. Bottwink said diffidently, "I wonder whether, in all the circumstances, it might perhaps be preferable if I did not accept your kind invitation to take dinner with your family this evening? It seems to me that possibly——"

"Nonsense, my dear fellow," said his lordship kindly. "I insist that you should. You are to consider yourself a guest of the house, just like anybody else."

"But——"

"Of course you must dine with us," Camilla put in. "I shan't have anybody to talk to if you don't. Some more tea, Robert?" she added, with an innocent air.

"No, thank you," said Robert emphatically. He rose to his feet. "If I'm to preside over this festive affair tonight, I'd better have a word with Briggs about what we're going to drink."

He stalked out of the room.

An awkward pause followed his departure. Mrs. Carstairs, whose exposition of the problem of colonial sugar had temporarily exhausted itself, watched him go with an expression of shocked disapproval. Lord Warbeck's face was an angry red, Dr. Bottwink's very pale. Camilla's hand trembled, so that she set down her cup with a clatter that sounded loud in the sudden silence. Only Sir Julius, deeply occupied in masticating plum cake, seemed unaware that anything out of the way had occurred.

Lord Warbeck was the first to speak. He was breathing heavily, and articulated with difficulty.

"I—I am sorry," he contrived to say. "My only son—a guest in my house—I am ashamed——"

"Do not distress yourself, my lord, I beg of you," Dr. Bottwink said swiftly, his English becoming more formal than ever under the stress of the occasion. "I comprehend the position perfectly. This regrettable little incident was only to be expected. It serves to confirm me in my opinion that I should absent myself from dinner this evening. Indeed, I indicated as much to your good Briggs yesterday. It is not that I do not appreciate your hospitality, but where matters of politics are concerned——"

"No politics in this house," said Lord Warbeck feebly.

"Come here a moment," said Camilla firmly. "I want to talk to you." She took the bewildered Bottwink by the arm and led him to the further end of the room. "Look," she said, "I know exactly how you're feeling about this, but you've simply got to help us see this evening through. It's going to be pretty bloody anyhow, but without you it will only be worse, with Robert in his present mood."

"Worse, Lady Camilla? I do not understand. How could it be worse, seeing that it is I who am the offender in his eyes?"

"Oh, don't imagine that you are the only one! You were merely the excuse for his bad manners. He hates Sir Julius every bit as much—more, I should say, because he thinks he is one of his own clan who has gone over to the other side. And he can't stand Mrs. Carstairs either, for the same reason."

"And you, my lady? Does he hate you also? And for what reason, if so?"

"That," said Camilla slowly, "is what I came down here to find out."

"I comprehend you."

"Thanks. I thought you would. You seem a—a comprehending sort of person."

Dr. Bottwink was silent for a moment. Then, looking towards the sofa, he said, "It would distress Lord Warbeck, would it not, if I were to refuse?"

"It would upset him very much. This party was entirely his idea, and he's not likely to have another."

Dr. Bottwink sighed. "I owe a great deal to his lordship," he said. "I will join your party this evening, Lady Camilla."

"Thank you. I am really grateful for that."

"All the same," he continued ruefully, "I fear that at the best I shall be somewhat of a fish out of water. Apart from being the object of Mr. Robert's displeasure, there is so little in common between me and my fellow guests."

"I'm sure you could get on with anyone."

Dr. Bottwink shook his head.

"It is not so," he said. "I am a man of rather specialized attainments. I had looked forward to meeting your Chancellor of the Exchequer, because there were certain points of constitutional theory and history affecting his office on which I fancied he could enlighten me. But when I broached the subject at breakfast I found him most unresponsive—indeed, I should have said ignorant."

Camilla laughed. "That was very simple of you, Dr. Bottwink," she said. "Did you really expect a Cabinet Minister to know the first thing about constitutional history? He's much too busy running his department to bother about a thing like that."

"I fear that my knowledge of England is still imperfect," said the historian mildly. "On the Continent it used not to be uncommon to find professors of history in Cabinet posts."

"Well, it's no good thinking you'll make the party go by trying to cross-examine Julius about the British constitution," said Camilla firmly. "He hates talking shop, anyhow. Didn't you see how Mrs. Carstairs was boring him just now about the sugar duties? No, if you want to draw him out, try golf or fishing. Those are the only subjects he's really keen about."

"Golf and fishing," echoed Dr. Bottwink gravely. "Thank you, Lady Camilla. I shall remember. Perhaps with your assistance I shall even understand English public life at last!"