Джорджетт Хейер: Duplicate Death

"Running a gaming-house! Really, Violet - !"

"I wouldn't put it beyond you," said Miss Pickhill darkly. "You can fool all these grand friends of yours, I daresay, but you can't fool me! There's very little you'd stop at, Lily. You've always been the same: out for what you can get, and never mind how! I shall never forget how you threw poor Charlie Thirsk over because Hubert came along with twice his income. Well, I'm sure I don't wish to speak ill of the dead, but I never did like that man, and no more did Father. He always said there was something not quite straight about him, and as for the people he went about with - Well, there's only one word to describe them, and that's flashy! Like that Mr. Seaton-Carew I'm always running into here!"

"There's a remedy for that," retorted Mrs. Haddington. "Don't come here!"

"Oh, I know very well I'm not wanted!" said Miss Pickhill, in no way abashed. "But blood's thicker than water, and I know my duty, Lily!"

With these words she offered her cheek to her sister, a courtesy which Mrs. Haddington acknowledged by touching it with her own, said that there was no need to ring for the butler, since she was quite capable of seeing herself out, and went away. Mrs. Haddington was just about to go up to her bedroom when the door opened again, and her daughter strolled into the room.

Cynthia Haddington was nineteen years old, and a girl of quite outstanding beauty. She was dazzlingly fair, with large, china-blue eyes, and hair of shining gold. A slender figure, exquisite tailoring, and the discreet use of mascara on brows and lashes brought her appearance to perfection. An expensive finishing-school, while adding very little to her mental attainments, had taught her to move with more grace than was often to be seen amongst her contemporaries; she was a good dancer; she skated well; played a moderate game of tennis; and had a good enough seat on a horse to show to advantage on the Row, if not in the hunting-field. Her disposition was uneven; nor did she give the impression of being one who enjoyed robust health. During her first season she had flagged rather frequently; but she seemed to be growing accustomed to late hours and town-life, and was beginning to develop astonishing recuperative powers. When she was doing what she liked, she was gay and good-humoured, but when anything happened to thwart her plans she was inclined to fall into what her mother called a nerve-storm and everyone else called tantrums. Those who disliked her said that she was wholly devoid of intellect, but this was unjust. Whenever she had a few minutes to spare between her various engagements she would turn over the pages of society journals, even reading the captions under the pictures; and she never entered her bedroom without turning on the radio.

She came in now, looking tired, but extremely smart in navy-blue, with a tiny hat on her head, and very high heels to her shoes, and uttered in the slightly adenoidal voice acquired through constant study of the delivery in vogue amongst her favourite announcers: "Oh, Mummy, too sickening! I walked into Aunt Violet on the doorstep! I do think she's too lethal! Why do you let her absolutely infest the house?"

"Because I can't stop her," replied Mrs. Haddington. Her eyes ran over the charming figure before her, and softened. "That frock suits you. I wasn't sure, at the time, but it's just right. Where have you been, darling?"

"Oh, I went to a flick with Lance, and then tea," responded Cynthia, sinking into a chair and casting off her hat. "It was rather ghastly, really, with captions and things, because of being in Italian, and an absolute purge, Mummy, which Lance thought was too terrific!"

"Oh!" said Mrs. Haddington. "Lance… Well, that's all right, I suppose. I can't say I really like that young man, and in some ways I'd rather hear that you were running round with Timothy Harte."

"I think Timothy's marvellous!" agreed her daughter, with simple enthusiasm. "I mean, he's much betterlooking than Lance, and I go frightfully big for that kind of blue eye that goes with dark hair, don't you? In some ways, I wish it was him that was a peer, and not Lance."

Mrs. Haddington saw nothing to deprecate in this naive speech; she agreed with it in the main, but said that peers were not everything. "I don't like the way Guisborough lives, or the ridiculous ideas he has. If he hadn't come into the title -"She paused. "Well, of course, he is Lord Guisborough, but he wasn't brought up to be!" she said. "From all I can discover, his mother was quite a common sort of person, besides - But never mind that!"

"D'you mean being Lance's father's mistress before he married her?" enquired Cynthia. "I know all about that. Trixie's frightfully proud of it, because she believes in doing away with marriage-ties, on account of being a Communist."

"I can believe anything of Beatrice Guisborough, but doing away with marriage-ties has nothing whatsoever to do with Communism that I ever heard of!"

"Oh, hasn't it? P'raps I got it wrong, then. Only I do know she wishes her father hadn't married her mother, because if he hadn't Lance wouldn't be Lord Guisborough, and she simply hates that. She won't be an Honourable herself, and she's always trying to get Lance to go on being plain Mr. Guisborough. Actually, I don't think Lance wants to, poor sweet. In fact, I think he's rather thrilled about being a Lord."

"Then I wish he would learn to behave like one!" said Mrs. Haddington tartly.

"Yes, I do too," agreed Cynthia.

"In some ways, I should prefer young Harte for you."

"Yes, but he won't ever be a Lord, Mummy," Cynthia pointed out.

"No, but he'll be a baronet. He comes of a very good family; he's well-off; and he's got the sort of background I want for you, my pet. I'm not too sure about Guisborough. The people he mixes with, and the political opinions he holds, and the fact that he wasn't brought up in the right surroundings - well, sometimes I wonder whether he'll ever have the entree - title or no title! His father seems to have been a waster, and of course he more or less dropped out when he made that disastrous marriage."

"How on earth did you find out all this?" demanded Cynthia.

"I made it my business to find out," said Mrs. Haddington shortly. "I'm not going to let you make a mistake that might ruin your life. You're all I've got, and all I care for, Cynthia, and I'm determined you shall have the best!"

Her daughter yawned. "Actually, I shall marry anyone I like," she said. "In some ways, I think I should rather like it to be Lance, because there's simply nothing he wouldn't do to please me, besides being Lord Guisborough. Of course, he isn't utterly devastating ,like - oh, like anyone! Anyway, I haven't made up my mind, and the whole thing is too boring!"

Mrs. Haddington looked searchingly down into the flower-like face, just now set into lines of weariness and discontent. "You're tired," she said. "You ought to go straight to bed, only that we're going to this first night."

"I shall be all right," Cynthia murmured, her eyelids drooping.

"You shouldn't have let Guisborough take you to the cinema this afternoon."

"Oh, Mummy, don't be so silly! What on earth else was there to do? Sit at home, and read a book?"

Mrs. Haddington appeared to feel the force of this argument, for she said nothing for a moment or two. The delicate chime of an ormolu clock on the mantleshelf made her raise her eyes quickly to it, and exclaim: "We must hurry, or we shall be late! Cynthia - tell me, my darling! - you haven't been meeting Dan unknown to me, have you?"

Cynthia's eyes flew open at that. "Dan? Whatever do you mean?"

Mrs. Haddington sat down on the arm of her daughter's chair, and tenderly smoothed the helmet of spun gold about her pretty head. "Listen, my pet! I know Dan's attractive, but he's not the man for you. He's an - an old friend of mine, but if I thought that you —'