Tied Up in Tinsel by Ngaio Marsh Page B

golden slipper on her toe and leaning a superb arm along the chimney-piece. She waited restively until Mervyn had gone and then said, “That man gives me the horrors.”
    “Indeed,” said Mrs. Forrester.
    “He’s such a
creep
. They all are, if it comes to that. Oh yes, I know all about Hilly’s ideas and I grant you it’s one way out of the servant problem. I mean
if
we’re to keep Halberds up and all that, this lot is one way of doing it. Personally, I’d rather have Greeks or something. You know.”
    “You don’t see it, as Hilary says he does, from the murderer’s point of view?” Mrs. Forrester observed.
    “Oh, I know he’s on about all that,” Cressida said, jiggling her slipper, “but, let’s face it, gracious living is what really turns him on. Me, too. You know?”
    Mrs. Forrester stared at her for several seconds and then, with an emphatic movement of her torso, directed herself at Troy. “How do
you
manage?” she asked.
    “As best we can. My husband’s a policeman and his hours are enough to turn any self-respecting domestic into a psychotic wreck.”
    “A
policeman
?” Cressida exclaimed and added, “Oh, yes, I forgot. Hilly told me. But he’s madly high-powered and famous, isn’t he?”
    As there seemed to be no answer to this, Troy did not attempt to make one.
    “Shouldn’t we be doing something about the tree?” she asked Mrs. Forrester.
    “Hilary likes to supervise. You should know that by now.”
    “Not exactly a jet-set scene, is it?” Cressida said. “You know. Gaol-boss. Gaol-doctor. Warders. Chaplain. To say nothing of the gaol-kids. Oh, I forgot. A groovy shower of neighbours, all very county and not one under the age of seventy. Hilarious. Let the bells chime.”
    “I am seventy years of age and my husband is seventy-three.”
    “There I go,” Cressida said. “You know? The bottom.” She burst out laughing and suddenly knelt at Mrs. Forrester’s feet. She swung back the glossy burden of her hair and put her hands together. “I’m not as lethally awful as I make out,” she said. “You’ve both been fantastic to me. Always. I’m grateful. Hilly will have to beat me like a gong. You know? Bang-bang. Then I’ll behave beautifully. Sweetie-pie, Aunt B, forgive me.”
    Troy thought, “Aunt Bed would have to be a Medusa to freeze her,” and sure enough a smile twitched at the corners of Mrs. Forrester’s mouth. “I suppose you’re no worse than the rest of your generation,” she conceded. “You’re clean and neat: I’ll say that for you.”
    “As clean as a whistle and as neat as a new pin, aren’t I? Do you think I’ll adorn Hilly’s house, Aunt B?”
    “Oh, you’ll
look
nice,” said Mrs. Forrester. “You may depend upon that. See you behave yourself.”
    “
Behave
myself,” Cressida repeated. There was a pause. The fire crackled. A draught from somewhere up near the ceiling caused the kissing bough to turn a little on its cord. In the dining-room, made distant by heavy walls and doors, Hilary’s laugh sounded. With a change of manner so marked as to be startling Cressida said, “Would you call me a sinful lady, Aunt Bedelia?”
    “What on earth are you talking about, child? What’s the matter with you?”
    “Quite a lot, it appears. Look.”
    She opened her golden bag and took out a folded piece of paper. “I found it under my door when I went up to dress. I was saving it for Hilary,” she said, “but you two may as well see it. Go on, please. Open it up. Read it. Both of you.”
    Mrs. Forrester stared at her for a moment, frowned, and unfolded the paper. She held it away from her so that Troy could see what was printed on it in enormous capitals.
     
    SINFUL LADY BEWARE
    an unchaste woman is an abomination.
    he shall not suffer thee to dwell in his house.
     
    “What balderdash is this! Where did you get it?”
    “I told you. Under my door.”
    Mrs. Forrester made an abrupt movement as if to crush the paper, but Cressida’s hand was