Death in a White Tie Page 4

  ‘She looks a darling,’ said Lord Robert emphatically.

  ‘She’s a pleasant creature. Amazingly casual but she’s got character and, I think, looks,’ said her grandmother. ‘Who are those young things she’s talking to?’

  ‘Bridget O’Brien and my young scapegrace of a nephew.’

  ‘So that’s Evelyn Carrados’s girl. She’s like Paddy, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s very like both of ’em. Have you seen Evelyn lately?’

  ‘We dined there last night for the play. What’s the matter with Evelyn?’

  ‘Eh?’ exclaimed Lord Robert. ‘You’ve spotted it, have you? You’re a wise woman, m’dear.’

  ‘She’s all over the place. Does Carrados bully her?’

  ‘Bully ain’t quite the word. He’s devilish grand and patient, though. But—’

  ‘But there’s something more. What was the reason for your meeting with Roderick the other day?’

  ‘Hi!’ expostulated Lord Robert in a hurry. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘I shouldn’t let you tell me if you tried. I trust,’ said Lady Alleyn untruthfully but with great dignity, ‘that I am not a curious woman.’

  ‘That’s pretty rich.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Lady Alleyn grandly. ‘But I tell you what, Bunchy. I’ve got neurotic women on the brain. Nervous women. Women that are on their guard. It’s a most extraordinary thing,’ she continued, rubbing her nose with a gesture that reminded Lord Robert of her son, ‘but there’s precisely the same look in our hostess’s mascaraed eyes as Evelyn Carrados had in her naturally beautiful ones. Or has this extraordinary drink gone to my head?’

  ‘The drink,’ said Lord Robert firmly, ‘has gone to your head.’

  ‘Dear Bunchy,’ murmured Lady Alleyn. Their eyes met and they exchanged smiles. The cocktail-party surged politely about them. The noise, the smoke, the festive smell of flowers and alcohol, seemed to increase every moment. Wandering parents eddied round Lady Alleyn’s chair. Lord Robert remained beside her listening with pleasure to her cool light voice and looking out of the corner of his eye at Mrs Halcut-Hackett. Apparently all the guests had arrived. She was moving into the room. This was his chance. He turned round and suddenly found himself face to face with Captain Withers. For a moment they stood and looked at each other. Withers was a tall man and Lord Robert was obliged to tilt his head back a little. Withers was a fine arrogant figure, Lord Robert a plump and comical one. But oddly enough it was Lord Robert who seemed the more dominant and more dignified of these two men and before his mild glare the other suddenly looked furtive. His coarse, handsome face became quite white. Some seconds elapsed before he spoke.

  ‘Oh—ah—how do you do?’ said Captain Withers very heartily.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Lord Robert and turned back to Lady Alleyn. Captain Withers walked quickly away.

  ‘Why, Bunchy,’ said Lady Alleyn softly, ‘I’ve never seen you snub anybody before.’

  ‘D’you know who that was?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Feller called Maurice Withers. He’s a throw-back to my Foreign Office days.’

  ‘He’s frightened of you.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Lord Robert. ‘I’ll trot along and pay my respects to my hostess. It’s been charming seeing you. Will you dine with me one evening? Bring Roderick. Can you give me an evening? Now?’

  ‘I’m so busy with Sarah. May we ring you up? If it can be managed—’

  ‘It must be. Au ’voir, m’dear.’

  ‘Good-bye, Bunchy.’

  He made his little bow and picked his way through the crowd to Mrs Halcut-Hackett.

  ‘I’m on my way out,’ he said, ‘but I hoped to get a word with you. Perfectly splendid party.’

  She turned all the headlights of her social manner full on him. It was, he decided compassionately, a bogus manner. An imitation, but what a good imitation. She called him ‘dear Lord Robert’ like a grande dame in a slightly dated comedy. Her American voice, which he remembered thinking charming in her theatrical days, was now much disciplined and none the better for it. She asked him if he was doing the season very thoroughly and he replied with his usual twinkle that he got about a bit.

  ‘Are you going to the show at the Constance Street Rooms on Thursday afternoon?’ he asked. ‘I’m looking forward to that awfully.’

  Her eyes went blank but she scarcely paused before answering yes, she believed she was.

  ‘It’s the Sirmione Quartette,’ said Lord Robert. ‘Awfully good, ain’t they? Real top-notchers.’

  Mrs Halcut-Hackett said she adored music, especially classical music.

  ‘Well,’ said Lord Robert, ‘I’ll give myself the pleasure of looking out for you there if it wouldn’t bore you. Not so many people nowadays enjoy Bach.’

  Mrs Halcut-Hackett said she thought Bach was marvellous.

  ‘Do tell me,’ said Lord Robert with his engaging air of enjoying a gossip. ‘I’ve just run into a feller whose face looked as familiar as anything, but I can’t place him. Feller over there talking to the girl in red.’

  He saw patches of rouge on her cheeks suddenly start up in hard isolation and he thought: ‘That’s shaken her, poor thing.’

  She said: ‘Do you mean Captain Maurice Withers?’

  ‘Maybe. The name don’t strike a chord, though. I’ve got a shocking memory. Better be getting along. May I look out for you on Thursday? Thank you so much. Goodbye.’

  ‘Good-bye, dear Lord Robert,’ said Mrs Halcut-Hackett.

  He edged his way out and was waiting patiently for his hat and umbrella when someone at his elbow said:

  ‘Hullo, Uncle Bunch, are you going home?’

  Lord Robert turned slowly and saw his nephew.

  ‘What? Oh, it’s you, Donald! Yes, I am! Taking a cab. Want a lift?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Donald.

  Lord Robert looked over his glasses at his nephew and remarked that he seemed rather agitated. He thought: ‘What the deuce is the matter with everybody?’ but he only said: ‘Come along, then,’ and together they went out into the street. Lord Robert held up his umbrella and a taxi drew in to the kerb.

  ‘’Evening, m’lord,’ said the driver.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ said Lord Robert. ‘’Evening. We’re going home.’

  ‘Two hundred Cheyne Walk. Very good, m’lord,’ wheezed the driver. He was a goggle-eyed, grey-haired, mottle-faced taximan with an air of good-humoured truculence about him. He slammed the door on them, jerked down the lever of his meter, and started up his engine.

  ‘Everybody knows you, Uncle Bunch,’ said Donald in a voice that was not quite natural. ‘Even the casual taxi-driver.’

  ‘This feller cruises about in our part of the world,’ said Lord Robert. He twisted himself round in his seat and again looked at his nephew over the top of his glasses. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘I—well—nothing. I mean, why do you think anything’s up?’

  ‘Now then,’ said Lord Robert. ‘No jiggery-pokery. What’s up?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact,’ answered Donald, kicking the turned-up seat in front of him, ‘I did rather want a word with you. I—I’m in a bit of a tight corner, Uncle Bunch.’

  ‘Money?’ asked his uncle.

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Don’t be an ass, my boy. What is it?’

  ‘I—well, I was wondering if you would mind—I mean, I know I’ve been a bit extravagant. I’m damn sorry it’s happened. I suppose I’ve been a fool but I’m simply draped in sackcloth and steeped in ashes. Never again!’

  ‘Come, come, come,’ said Lord Robert crisply. ‘What is it? Gambling?’

  ‘Well—yes. With a slight hint of riotous living. Gambling mostly.’

  ‘Racing? Cards?’

  ‘A bit, but actually I dropped the worst packet at roulette.’

  ‘Good Gad!’ exclaimed Lord Robert with surprising violence. ‘Where the devil do you play roul
ette?’

  ‘Well, actually it was at a house out at Leatherhead. It belongs to a man who was at that party. Some people I know took me there. It turned out to be a rather enterprising sort of gamble with a roulette-table and six fellows doing croupier. All in order, you know. I mean it’s not run for anything but fun naturally, and Captain Withers simply takes on the bank—’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The person’s name is Withers.’

  ‘When was this party?’

  ‘Oh, a week or so ago. They have them fairly regularly. I paid all right, but—but it just about cleaned me up. I had the most amazing bad luck, actually. Would you believe it, there was a run of seventeen against me on the even chances? Bad. Very bad,’ said Donald with an unconvincing return to his lighter manner. ‘Disastrous, in fact.’

  ‘You’re shying about,’ said Lord Robert. ‘What’s the real trouble?’

  ‘One of my cheques has been returned R/D. I’m bust.’

  ‘I paid your Oxford debts and started you off with five hundred as a yearly allowance. Are you telling me you’ve gone through five hundred since you came down?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Donald. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mother gives you four pounds a week, don’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lord Robert suddenly whisked out a notebook. ‘How much was this returned cheque?’

  ‘Fifty quid. Awful, isn’t it?’ He glanced at his uncle’s profile and saw that his lips were pursed in a soundless whistle. Donald decided that it was not as bad as he had feared and said more hopefully: ‘Isn’t it a bore?’

  Lord Robert, his pencil poised, said: ‘Who was it made out to?’

  ‘To Wits—Withers—everyone calls him Wits. You see, I had a side bet with him.’

  Lord Robert wrote, turned, and looked over his spectacles at his nephew.

  ‘I’ll send Withers a cheque tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you so much, Uncle Bunch.’

  ‘What’s the address?’

  ‘Shackleton House, Leatherhead. He’s got a flat in town but the Leatherhead address is all right.’

  ‘Any other debts?’

  ‘One or two shops. They seem to be getting rather testy about it. And a restaurant or two.’

  ‘Here we are,’ said Lord Robert abruptly.

  The taxi drew up outside the house he shared with his sister. They got out. Lord Robert paid and tipped the driver.

  ‘How’s the lumbago?’ he asked.

  ‘Not too bad, m’lord, thank you, m’lord.’

  ‘Good. ’Evening to you.’

  ‘Good evening, m’lord.’

  They entered the house in silence. Lord Robert said over his shoulder: ‘Come to my room.’

  He led the way, a small, comic, but somehow a rather resolute figure. Donald followed him into an old-fashioned study. Lord Robert sat at his desk and wrote a cheque with finicky movements of his fat hands. He blotted it meticulously and swung round in his chair to face his nephew.

  ‘You still of the same mind about this doctoring?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, that’s the big idea,’ said Donald.

  ‘Passed some examinations for it, didn’t you?’

  ‘Medical prelim,’ said Donald easily. ‘Yes, I’ve got that.’

  ‘Before you were sent down for losing your mother’s money. And mine.’

  Donald was silent.

  ‘I’ll get you out of this mess on one condition. I don’t know the way you set about working for a medical degree. Our family’s been in the diplomatic for a good many generations. High time we did something else, I dare say. You’ll start work at Edinburgh as soon as they’ll have you. If that’s not at once I’ll get a coach and you’ll go to Archery and work there. I’ll show you as much as the usual medical student gets and I’ll advise your mother to give you no more. That’s all.’

  ‘Edinburgh! Archery!’ Donald’s voice was shrill with dismay. ‘But I don’t want to go to Edinburgh for my training. I want to go to Thomas’s.’

  ‘You’re better away from London. There’s one other thing I must absolutely insist upon, Donald. You are to drop this feller Withers.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because the feller’s a bad ’un. I know something about him. I have never interfered in the matter of your friendships before, but I’d be neglectin’ my duty like anything if I didn’t step in here.’

  ‘I won’t give up a friend simply because you choose to say he’s no good.’

  ‘I give you my word of honour this man’s a rotter—a criminal rotter. I was amazed when I recognized Withers this afternoon. My information dates from my Foreign Office days. It’s unimpeachable. Very bad record. Come now, be sensible. Make a clean break and forget all about him. Archery’s a nice old house. Your mother can use it as a pied-à-terre and see you sometimes. It’s only ten miles out of Edinburgh.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Afraid it’s definite.’

  ‘But—I don’t want to leave London. I don’t want to muck about with a lot of earnest Scots from God knows where. I mean the sort of people who go there are just simply The End!’

  ‘Why?’ asked Lord Robert.

  ‘Well, because, I mean, you know what I mean. They’ll be the most unspeakable curiosities. No doubt perfectly splendid but—’

  ‘But not in the same class with young men who contract debts of honour which they cannot meet and do the London season on their mother’s money?’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ cried Donald hotly.

  ‘Why?’ repeated Lord Robert.

  ‘I’ll bet you got into the same sort of jams when you were my age.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ said Lord Robert mildly. ‘I did as many silly things as most young men of my day. But I did not contract debts that I was unable to settle. It seemed to me that sort of thing amounted to theft. I didn’t steal clothes from my tailor, drink from my hotel, or money from my friends.’

  ‘But I knew it would be all right in the end.’

  ‘You mean, you knew I’d pay?’

  ‘I’m not ungrateful,’ said Donald angrily.

  ‘My dear fellow, I don’t want you to be grateful.’

  ‘But I won’t go and stay in a deserted mausoleum of a Scotch house in the middle of the season. There’s—there’s Bridget.’

  ‘Lady Carrados’s gel? Is she fond of you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She seems a nice creature. You’re fortunate. Not one of these screeching rattles. She’ll wait for you.’

  ‘I won’t go.’

  ‘M’dear boy, I’m sorry, but you’ve no alternative.’

  Donald’s face was white but two scarlet patches burned on his cheek-bones. His lips trembled. Suddenly he burst out violently.

  ‘You can keep your filthy money,’ he shouted. ‘By God, I’ll look after myself. I’ll borrow from someone who’s not a bloody complacent Edwardian relic and I’ll get a job and pay them back as I can.’

  ‘Jobs aren’t to be had for the asking. Come now—’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ bawled Donald and flung out of the room.

  Lord Robert stared at the door which his nephew had not neglected to slam. The room was very quiet. The fire settled down with a small whisper of ashes and Lord Robert’s clock ticked on the mantelpiece. It ticked very loudly. The plump figure, only half-lit by the lamp on the desk, was quite still, the head resting on the hand. Lord Robert sighed, a slight mournful sound. At last he pulled an envelope towards him and in his finicky writing addressed it to Captain Withers, Shackleton House, Leatherhead. Then he wrote a short note, folded a cheque into it and put them both in the envelope. He rang for his butler.

  ‘Has Mr Donald gone out?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord. He said he would not be returning.’

  ‘I see,’ said Lord Robert. ‘Thank you. Will you see that this letter is posted immediately?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Blackmail to Music

  LORD ROBERT had sat on
the blue sofa since two-fifteen but he was not tired of it. He enjoyed watching the patrons of music arriving and he amused himself with idle speculations on the subject of intellectual snobbishness. He also explored the blue sofa, sliding his hands cautiously over the surface of the seat and down between the seat and the arms. He had taken the precaution of leaving his gloves on a chair on the left of the sofa and a little behind it. A number of people came and spoke to him, among them Lady Carrados, who was looking tired.

  ‘You’re overdoing it, Evelyn,’ he told her. ‘You look charming—that’s a delightful gown, ain’t it?—but you’re too fragile, m’dear.’

  ‘I’m all right, Bunchy,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a nice way of telling a woman she’s getting older.’

  ‘No, I say! It wasn’t that. Matter of fact it rather suits you bein’ so fine-drawn, but you are too thin, you know. Where’s Bridgie?’

  ‘At a matinee.’

  ‘Evelyn, do you know if she sees anything of my nephew?’

  ‘Donald Potter? Yes. We’ve heard all about it, Bunchy.’

  ‘He’s written to his mother who no doubt is giving him money. I suppose you know he’s sharing rooms with some other feller?’

  ‘Yes. Bridgie sees him.’

  ‘Does Bridgie know where he is?’

  ‘I think so. She hasn’t told me.’

  ‘Is she fond of the boy, Evelyn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you think of him?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s got a lot of charm, but I wish he’d settle down.’

  ‘Is it botherin’ you much?’

  ‘That?’ She caught her breath. ‘A little, naturally. Oh, there’s Lady Alleyn! We’re supposed to be together.’

  ‘Delightful woman, ain’t she? I’m waiting for Mrs Halcut-Hackett.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought her quite your cup of tea,’ said Lady Carrados vaguely.

  Lord Robert made his rabbit-face and winked.

  ‘We go into mutual raptures over Bach,’ he said.

  ‘I must join Lady Alleyn. Good-bye, Bunchy.’