Spaniard, he replies that he is a beggar, not a station porter. And I am a bull-fighter, not an assassin, I think. You understand?’
Mrs Bradley nodded. She partly understood, even at that time. Later, she fully understood.
CHAPTER 4
AFTER THE BALL WAS OVER
‘Many the heart that’s aching,
If you could read them all –
Many the hope that has vanished
– After the ball.’
Victorian Song
*
MANOEL LEFT MRS BRADLEY’S side and went over to speak to Toby Dance whom alcohol had rendered somewhat gloomy. Scarcely had he dropped into a chair beside Dance when Bell returned from marking the competition papers. He was followed by the butler bearing a salver on which reposed a book, a very large envelope, a small gold-coloured box and a silver tankard, pint size. Bell walked up to the orchestra and stopped the music. The two couples – Brenda Dance and Gavin, Celia Godley and Grimston, who were the only dancers, retired to the side of the room, and Sir Bohun took the floor, with his secretary a half-step behind him and the butler a little more aloof.
‘Well, my dears,’ said Sir Bohun, ‘we have the competition results. Would you care to be seated?’
Laura, who had achieved ten correct answers, received the envelope. It contained, not the rumoured cheque for a thousand pounds, which she would have refused, but an autographed letter of Edgar Allan Poe.
‘Oh, I can’t take that! ’ she cried delightedly. Sir Bohun wagged a kindly if consequential head.
‘Couldn’t offer a Highlander dross ,’ he replied. Mrs Bradley, for Mrs Farintosh’s costume, received a ruby pendant embodying the five orange pips wrought in gold – ‘Blood, you see, blood,’ remarked Sir Bohun, indicating the rubies, which were many and tiny. Gavin, as runner-up to Laura, was presented with the tankard – ‘most unoriginal, my dear Chief-Inspector, but had not expected such a close finish’ – and the book, which proved to have a hand-tooled leather cover and to be a copy on hand-made paper of Keats’ Endymion , was presented, amid applause, to Mrs Godley, Celia’s mother, with the gallant remark from its donor: ‘Here you are, Katie, my dear. You’ve borne with all the nonsense very patiently for a woman who doesn’t know Silver Blaze from the Great Fire of London!’
The presentation ceremony being over, the company tended to drift towards the room in which the drinks were still to be found. Laura gravitated towards Mrs Bradley, and they admired one another’s awards. Then Mrs Bradley asked:
‘Well? And what’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know, exactly,’ Laura replied. ‘Nothing. But Gavin doesn’t like it, either. He thinks there’s something cooking in this house, and so do I.’
‘An emanation from Sir Bohun, who goes in fear of his life?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. It’s a collection of tiny bits …’ Under cover of the music which the orchestra still deemed its duty to disseminate, although nobody was dancing, she recounted the events of the evening so far as they had affected her, and so far as she had exchanged opinions with Gavin.
Mrs Bradley nodded, but made no contribution regarding her own experiences that evening; neither did she put forward any suggestions to account for Laura’s feeling of unease beyond the one she had already offered. Herself aware of tension in the air, she felt it centred around Linda Campbell. She did not say this to Laura, but stated, instead, that she felt she had had enough of the Sherlock Holmes party and would now say good night.
She was on her way upstairs when she became aware of voices in altercation on the landing. She coughed, with the intention of indicating her presence, but had heard the following fragment of conversation before the voices ceased and a sound of scuffling, and then of light, running footsteps, indicated that the speakers had made off.
‘I can’t help it. I didn’t ask you to fall in love with me, so mind your own
Mrs Bradley nodded. She partly understood, even at that time. Later, she fully understood.
CHAPTER 4
AFTER THE BALL WAS OVER
‘Many the heart that’s aching,
If you could read them all –
Many the hope that has vanished
– After the ball.’
Victorian Song
*
MANOEL LEFT MRS BRADLEY’S side and went over to speak to Toby Dance whom alcohol had rendered somewhat gloomy. Scarcely had he dropped into a chair beside Dance when Bell returned from marking the competition papers. He was followed by the butler bearing a salver on which reposed a book, a very large envelope, a small gold-coloured box and a silver tankard, pint size. Bell walked up to the orchestra and stopped the music. The two couples – Brenda Dance and Gavin, Celia Godley and Grimston, who were the only dancers, retired to the side of the room, and Sir Bohun took the floor, with his secretary a half-step behind him and the butler a little more aloof.
‘Well, my dears,’ said Sir Bohun, ‘we have the competition results. Would you care to be seated?’
Laura, who had achieved ten correct answers, received the envelope. It contained, not the rumoured cheque for a thousand pounds, which she would have refused, but an autographed letter of Edgar Allan Poe.
‘Oh, I can’t take that! ’ she cried delightedly. Sir Bohun wagged a kindly if consequential head.
‘Couldn’t offer a Highlander dross ,’ he replied. Mrs Bradley, for Mrs Farintosh’s costume, received a ruby pendant embodying the five orange pips wrought in gold – ‘Blood, you see, blood,’ remarked Sir Bohun, indicating the rubies, which were many and tiny. Gavin, as runner-up to Laura, was presented with the tankard – ‘most unoriginal, my dear Chief-Inspector, but had not expected such a close finish’ – and the book, which proved to have a hand-tooled leather cover and to be a copy on hand-made paper of Keats’ Endymion , was presented, amid applause, to Mrs Godley, Celia’s mother, with the gallant remark from its donor: ‘Here you are, Katie, my dear. You’ve borne with all the nonsense very patiently for a woman who doesn’t know Silver Blaze from the Great Fire of London!’
The presentation ceremony being over, the company tended to drift towards the room in which the drinks were still to be found. Laura gravitated towards Mrs Bradley, and they admired one another’s awards. Then Mrs Bradley asked:
‘Well? And what’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know, exactly,’ Laura replied. ‘Nothing. But Gavin doesn’t like it, either. He thinks there’s something cooking in this house, and so do I.’
‘An emanation from Sir Bohun, who goes in fear of his life?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. It’s a collection of tiny bits …’ Under cover of the music which the orchestra still deemed its duty to disseminate, although nobody was dancing, she recounted the events of the evening so far as they had affected her, and so far as she had exchanged opinions with Gavin.
Mrs Bradley nodded, but made no contribution regarding her own experiences that evening; neither did she put forward any suggestions to account for Laura’s feeling of unease beyond the one she had already offered. Herself aware of tension in the air, she felt it centred around Linda Campbell. She did not say this to Laura, but stated, instead, that she felt she had had enough of the Sherlock Holmes party and would now say good night.
She was on her way upstairs when she became aware of voices in altercation on the landing. She coughed, with the intention of indicating her presence, but had heard the following fragment of conversation before the voices ceased and a sound of scuffling, and then of light, running footsteps, indicated that the speakers had made off.
‘I can’t help it. I didn’t ask you to fall in love with me, so mind your own
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