Ngaio Marsh - False Scent

It was Miss Bellamy.

Miss Bellamy had not arrived in the conservatory unaccompanied. She had Colonel Warrender in attendance upon her. They had been followed by Charles Templeton, Pinky Cavendish and Bertie Saracen. These three had paused by Gracefield to replenish their glasses and then moved from the dining-room into the conservatory, leaving the door open. Gracefield, continuing his round, was about to follow them. The conglomerate of voices in the rooms behind had mounted to its extremity, but above it, high-pitched, edged with emotion, a single voice rang out: Mary Bellamy’s. There, in the conservatory she was, for all to see. She faced Anelida and leant slightly towards her.

“ No, no, no, my dear. That really is not quite good enough .”

A sudden lull, comparable to that which follows the lowering of houselights in a crowded theatre, was broken by the more distant babble in the further room and by the inconsequent, hitherto inaudible, excursions of the musicians. Heads were turned towards the conservatory. Warrender came to the door. Gracefield found himself moved to one side; Octavius was there, face to face with Warrender. Gantry’s voice said:

“Mary. This won’t do.”

“I think,” Octavius said, “if I may, I would like to go to my niece.”

“Not yet,” Warrender said. “Do you mind?’ He shut the door and cut off the voices in the conservatory.

For a moment the picture beyond the glass walls was held. Mary Bellamy’s lips worked. Richard faced her and was speaking. So were Charles and Gantry. It was like a scene from a silent film. Then, with a concerted movement, the figures of Gantry, Charles, Richard and Warrender, their backs to their audience, hid Miss Bellamy and Anelida.

“Ah, there you are, Occy!” a jovial not quite sober voice exclaimed. “I was going to ask you, old boy. D’you remember…”

It was Octavius’s old acquaintance, Dr. Harkness, now rather tight. As if he had given a signal, everybody began to talk again very loudly indeed. Charles broke from the group and came through the glass door, shutting it quickly behind him. He put his hand on Octavius’s arm.

“It’s all right, Browne, I assure you,” he said. “It’s nothing. Dicky is taking care of her. Believe me, it’s all right.” He turned to Gracefield. “Tell them to get on with it,” he said. “At once.”

Gracefield gave his butler’s inclination and moved away.

Octavius said, “But all the same I would prefer to join Anelida.”

Charles looked at him. “How would you have liked,” he said, “to have spent the greater part of your life among aliens?”

Octavius blinked. “My dear Templeton,” he said, “I don’t know. But if you’ll forgive me I find myself in precisely that situation at the moment and I should still like to go to my niece.”

“Here she is now.”

The door had opened again and Anelida had come through with Richard. They were both very white. Again a single voice was heard. Miss Bellamy’s. “Do you suppose for one moment that I’m taken in…” and again Warrender shut the door.

“Well, Nelly darling,” Octavius said. “I promised to remind you that we must leave early. Are you ready?”

“Quite ready,” Anelida said. She turned to Charles Templeton and offered him her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “We’ll slip out under our own steam.”

“I’m coming,” Richard announced grimly.

“So there’s nothing,” Charles said, “to be done?”

“I’m afraid we must go,” Octavius said.

“We’re running late as it is,” Anelida agreed. Her voice, to her own astonishment, was steady. “Good-bye,” she said, and to Richard, “No, don’t come.”

“I am coming.”

Octavius put his hand on her shoulder and turned her towards the end of the room.

As he did so a cascade of notes sounded from a tubular gong. The roar of voices again died down, the musicians stood up and began to play that inevitable, that supremely silly air.

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you…

The crowd in the far room surged discreetly through into the dining-room, completely blocking the exit. Richard muttered, “This way. Quick,” and propelled them towards a door into the hall. Before they could reach it, it opened to admit a procession: the maids, Gracefield with magnums of champagne, Florence, Cooky, in a white hat and carrying an enormously ornate birthday cake, and Old Ninn. They walked to the central table and moved ceremoniously to their appointed places. The cake was set down. Led by Dr. Harkness the assembly broke into applause.

“Now,” Richard said.

And at last they were out of the room and in the hall. Anelida was conscious for the first time of her own heartbeat. It thudded in her throat and ears. Her mouth was dry and she trembled.

Octavius, puzzled and disturbed, touched her arm. “Nelly, my love,” he said, “shall we go?”

“Yes,” Anelida said and turned to Richard. “Don’t come any further. Goodbye.”

“I’m coming with you. I’ve got to.”

“Please not.”

He held her by the wrist. “I don’t insult you with apologies, Anelida, but I do beg you to be generous and let me talk to you.”

“Not now. Please, Richard, not now.”

“Now. You’re cold and you’re trembling. Anelida!” He looked into her face and his own darkened. “Never again shall she speak to you like that. Do you hear me, Anelida? Never again.” She drew away from him.

The door opened. Pinky and Bertie came through. Pinky made a dramatic pounce at Anelida and laid her hand on her arm. “Darling!” she cried incoherently. “Forget it! Nothing! God, what a scene!” She turned distractedly to the stairs, found herself cut off by the cinema unit and doubled back into the drawing-room. The camera men began to move their equipment across the hall.

“ Too much!” Bertie said. “No! Too much.” He disappeared in the direction of the men’s cloakroom.

Timon Gantry came out. “Dicky,” he said, “push off. I want a word with this girl. You won’t do any good while you’re in this frame of mind. Off!”

He took Anelida by the shoulders. “Listen to me,” he said. “You will rise above. You will not let this make the smallest difference. Go home, now, and sort yourself out. I shall judge you by this and I shall see you on Thursday. Understood?” He gave her a firm little shake and stood back.

Warrender appeared, shutting the door behind him. He glared wretchedly at Anelida and barked, “Anything I can do — realize how distressed… Isn’t it?”

Octavius said, “Very kind. I don’t think, however…”

Richard announced loudly, “I’ll never forgive her for this. Never.”

Anelida thought, “If I don’t go now I’ll break down.” She heard her own voice, “Don’t give it another thought. Come along, Unk.”

She turned and walked out of the house into the familiar square, and Octavius followed her.

“Richard,” Warrender said, “I must have a word with you, boy. Come in here.”

“No,” Richard said, and he too went out into the square.

Gantry stood for a moment looking after him.

“I find myself,” he observed, “unable, any longer, to tolerate Mary Bellamy.”

A ripple of applause broke out in the dining-room. Miss Bellamy was about to cut her birthday cake.

Miss Bellamy was a conscientious, able and experienced actress. Her public appearances were the result of hard work as well as considerable talent, and if one principle above all others could be said to govern them, it was that which is roughly indicated in the familiar slogan “The show must go on.” It was axiomatic with Miss Bellamy that whatever disrupting influences might attend her, even up to the moment when her hand was on the offstage doorknob, they would have no effect whatsoever upon her performance.