Читать книгу Overture to Death - Ngaio Marsh, Stella Duffy - Страница 23

The battle of the music had raged for three weeks. Miss Prentice and Miss Campanula, together and alternately, had pretended to altruistic motives, and accused each other of selfishness, sulked, denied all desire to perform on the piano, given up their parts, relented, and offered their services anew. In the end Dinah, with her father’s moral support behind her, seized upon a moment when Miss Campanula had said she’d no wish to play on an instrument with five dumb notes in the treble and six in the bass.

‘All right, Miss Campanula,’ said Dinah, ‘we’ll have it like that. Miss Prentice has kindly volunteered, and I shall appoint her as pianist. As you’ve got the additional responsibility of the YPFC girls in the front of the house, it really does seem the best idea.’

After that Miss Campanula was barely civil to anybody but the rector and the squire.

Five days before the performance, Eleanor Prentice developed a condition which Miss Campanula called ‘a Place’ on the index finger of the left hand. Everybody noticed it. Miss Campanula did not fail to point out that it would probably be much worse on the night of the performance.

‘You’d better take care of that Place on your finger Eleanor,’ she said. ‘It’s gathering, and to me it looks very nasty. Your blood must be out of order.’

Miss Prentice denied this with an air of martyrdom, but there was no doubt that the Place grew increasingly ugly. Three days before the performance it was hidden by an obviously professional bandage, and everybody knew that she had consulted Dr Templett. A rumour sprang up that Miss Campanula had begun to practise her Prelude every morning after breakfast.

Dinah had a private conversation with Dr Templett.

‘What about Miss Prentice’s finger? Will she be able to play the piano?’

‘I’ve told her she’d better give up all idea of it,’ he said. ‘There’s a good deal of inflammation, and it’s very painful. It’ll hurt like the devil if she attempts to use it, and it’s not at all advisable that she should.’

‘What did she say?’

Dr Templett grinned.

‘She said she wouldn’t disappoint her audience, and that she could rearrange the fingering of her piece. It’s the “Venetian Suite”, as usual, of course?’

‘It is,’ said Dinah grimly, ‘“Dawn” and “On the Canal” for the overture, and the “Nocturne” for the entr’acte. She’ll never give way.’

‘Selia says she wouldn’t mind betting old Idris has put poison in her girl friend’s gloves like the Borgias,’ said Dr Templett, and added: ‘Good Lord, I oughtn’t to have repeated that! It’s the sort of thing that’s quoted against you in a place like this.’

‘I won’t repeat it,’ said Dinah.

She asked Miss Prentice if she would rather not appear at the piano.

‘How thoughtful of you, Dinah, my dear,’ rejoined Miss Prentice, with her holiest smile. ‘But I shall do my little best. You may depend upon me.’

‘But, Miss Prentice, your finger!’

‘Ever so much better,’ said Eleanor in a voice that somehow suggested that there was something slightly improper in mentioning her finger.

‘They are waiting to print the programmes. Your name –’

‘Please don’t worry, dear. My name may appear in safety. Shall we just not say any more about it, but consider it settled?’

‘Very well,’ said Dinah uneasily. ‘It’s very heroic of you.’

‘Silly child!’ said Eleanor playfully.