Death in a White Tie by Ngaio Marsh Page B

been a mistake. She should have sent Miss Harris with the cheque and made no explanation to anybody. It was twelve o’clock. She would do it on her way to supper. There was that plain Halcut-Hackett protégée without a partner again. Lady Carrados looked round desperately and to her relief saw her husband making his way towards the girl. She felt a sudden wave of affection for her husband. Should she go to him tonight and tell him everything? And just sit back and take the blow? She must be very ill indeed to dream of such a thing. Here she was in the chaperones’ corner and there, thank God, was Lady Alleyn with an empty chair beside her.
    “Evelyn!” cried Lady Alleyn. “Come and sit down, my dear, in all your triumph. My granddaughter has just told me this is the very pinnacle of all balls. Everybody is saying so.”
    “I’m so thankful. It’s such a toss-up nowadays. One never knows.”
    “Of course one doesn’t. Last Tuesday at the Gainscotts’ by one o’clock there were only the three Gainscott girls, a few desperate couples who hadn’t the heart to escape, and my Sarah and her partner whom I had kept there by sheer terrorism. Of course, they didn’t have Dimitri, and I must say I think he
is
a perfect magician. Dear me,” said Lady Alleyn, “I
am
enjoying myself.”
    “I’m so glad.”
    “I hope you are enjoying yourself, too, Evelyn. They say the secret of being a good hostess is to enjoy yourself at your own parties. I have never believed it. Mine always were a nightmare to me and I refuse to admit they were failures. But they are so exhausting. I suppose you wouldn’t come down to Danes Court with me and turn yourself into an amiable cow for the week-end?”
    “Oh,” said Lady Carrados, “I wish I could.”
    “Do.”
    “That’s what Sir Daniel Davidson said I should do — lead the life of a placid cow for a bit.”
    “It’s settled, then.”
    “But—”
    “Nonsense. There is Davidson, isn’t it? That dark flamboyant-looking man talking to Lucy Lorrimer. On my left.”
    “Yes.”
    “Is he clever? Everyone seems to go to him. I might show him my leg one of these days. If you don’t promise to come, Evelyn, I shall call him over here and make a scene. Here comes Bunchy Gospell,” continued Lady Alleyn with a quick glance at her hostess’s trembling fingers, “and I feel sure he’s going to ask you to sup with him. Why, if that isn’t Agatha Troy with him!”
    “The painter?” said Lady Carrados faintly. “Yes. Bridgie knows her. She’s going to paint Bridgie.”
    “She did a sketch portrait of my son Roderick. It’s amazingly good.”
    Lord Robert, looking, with so large an expanse of white under his chin, rather like Mr Pickwick, came beaming towards them with Troy at his side. Lady Alleyn held out her hand and drew Troy down to a stool beside her. She looked at the short dark hair, the long neck and the spare grace that was Troy’s and wished, not for the first time, that it was her daughter-in-law that sat at her feet. Troy was the very wife she would have chosen for her son, and, so she believed, the wife that he would have chosen for himself. She rubbed her nose vexedly. “If it hadn’t been for that wretched case!” she thought. And she said:
    “I’m so pleased to see you, my dear. I hear the exhibition is the greatest success.”
    Troy gave her a sideways smile.
    “I wonder,” continued Lady Alleyn, “which of us is the most surprised at seeing the other. I have bounced out of retirement to launch my granddaughter.”
    “I was brought by Bunchy Gospell,” said Troy. “I’m so seldom smart and gay that I’m rather enjoying it.”
    “Roderick had actually consented to come but he’s got a tricky case on his hands and has to go away again tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”
    “Oh,” said Troy.
    Lord Robert began to talk excitedly to Lady Carrados.
    “Gorgeous!” he cried, pitching his voice very high in order to top the band which had suddenly begun