Final Curtain by Ngaio Marsh

Orrincourt sank into it. She extended her arms and wriggled her fingers. ‘Quick! Quick! Quick!’ she cried babyishly. ‘Sonia wants a d’ink.’
    Her hair was almost white. It fell in a fringe across her forehead and in a silk curtain to her shoulders, and reminded Troy vaguely of the inside of an aquarium. Her eyes were as round as saucers, with curving black lashes. When she smiled, her short upper lip flattened, the corners of her mouth turned down, and the shadow of grooves-to-come ran away to her chin. Her skin was white and thick like the petals of a camellia. She was a startling young woman to look at, and she made Troy feel exceedingly dumb. ‘But she’d probably be pretty good to paint in the nude,’ she reflected. ‘I wonder if she’s ever been a model. She looks like it.’
    Miss Orrincourt and Cedric were conducting an extraordinarily unreal little conversation. Fenella and Paul had moved away, and Troy was left with Millamant Ancred, who began to talk about the difficulties of housekeeping. As she talked, she stitched at an enormous piece of embroidery, which hypnotized Troy by its monstrous colour scheme and tortuous design. Intricate worms and scrolls strangled each other in Millamant’s fancy work. No area was left undecorated, no motive was uninterrupted. At times she would pause and eye it with complacency. Her voice was monotonous.
    â€˜I suppose I’m lucky,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a cook and five maids and Barker, but they’re all very old, and have been collected from different branches of the family. My sister-in-law, Pauline, Mrs Claude Ancred, you know, gave up her own house in the evacuation time and has recently joined us with two of her maids. Desdemona did the same thing, and she makes Ancreton her headquarters now. She brought her old Nanny. Barker and the others have always been with us. But even with the West Wing turned into a school it’s difficult. In the old days of course,’ said Millamant with a certain air of complacency, ‘there was a swarm.’
    â€˜Do they get on together?’ Troy asked vaguely. She was watching Cedric and Miss Orrincourt. Evidently he had decided to adopt ingratiating tactics, and a lively but completely synthetic flirtation had developed. They whispered together.
    â€˜Oh, no,’ Millamant was saying. ‘They fight.’ And most unexpectedly she added: ‘Like master like man, they say, don’t they?’ Troy looked at her. She was smiling broadly and blankly. It is a characteristic of these people, Troy reflected, that they constantly make remarks to which there is no answer.
    Pauline Ancred came in and joined her son and Fenella. She did this with a certain air of determination, and the smile she gave Fenella was a dismissal. ‘Darling,’ she said to Paul, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’ Fenella at once moved away. Pauline, using a gesture that was Congrevian in its accomplishment, raised a pair of lorgnettes and stared through them at Miss Orrincourt, who now reclined at full length on the sofa. Cedric was perched on the arm at her feet.
    â€˜I’ll get you a chair, Mother,’ said Paul hastily.
    â€˜Thank you, dear,’ she said, exchanging a glance with her sister-in-law. ‘I should like to sit down. No, please , Mrs Alleyn, don’t move. So sweet of you. Thank you, Paul.’
    â€˜Noddy and I,’ said Miss Orrincourt brightly, ‘have been having such fun. We’ve been looking at some of that old jewellery.’ She stretched her arms above her head and yawned delicately
    â€˜Noddy?’ Troy wondered. ‘But who is Noddy?’ Miss Orrincourt’s remark was followed by a rather deadly little pause. ‘He’s all burnt up about having his picture taken,’ Miss Orrincourt added. ‘Isn’t it killing?’
    Pauline Ancred, with a dignified shifting of her torso, brought her