Ngaio Marsh - Death of a Peer

“Not spiritualism, darling,” said Charlot. “Black magic.”

“What, dear?”

“Magic.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. That’s entirely different. I suppose she does it to entertain their house-parties. But that doesn’t alter the fact that both Violet and Gabriel are getting rather self-centred. It would be an excellent thing for both of them if they adopted two children.”

“For mercy’s sake, Aunt Kit,” cried Charlot, “don’t suggest that to Gabriel.”

“Don’t suggest anything,” said Lord Charles. “I implore you, Aunt Kit, not to tackle Gabriel this afternoon. You see—” he peered anxiously at his watch and broke off. “Good God, Immy,” he whispered to his wife, “we must do something. She’ll infuriate him. Take her to your room.”

“Under what pretext?” muttered Charlot.

“Think of something.”

“Aunt Kit, would you like to see my bedroom?”

“What, dear?”

“It’s no good, Mummy,” said Frid. “Better tell her we’re bust.”

“I think so,” said Lord Charles. He bent his legs and brought his face close to his aunt’s.

“Aunt Kit,” he shouted, “I’m in difficulties.”

“Are you, dear?”

“I’ve no money.”

“What?”

“There’s a bum in the house,” yelled Patch.

“Be quiet, Patch,” said Henry. His father continued. “I’ve asked Gabriel to lend me two thousand. If he doesn’t I shall go bankrupt.”

“Charlie!”

“It’s true.”

“I’ll speak to Gabriel,” said Lady Katherine quite loudly.

“No, no!” cried the Lampreys.

“Lord and Lady Wutherwood, m’lady,” said Baskett in the doorway. iii

Roberta knew that the Lampreys had not reckoned on Lady Wutherwood’s arrival with her husband, and she had time to admire their almost instant recovery from this second and formidable shock. Charlot met her brother and sister-in-law half-way across the room. Her manner held a miraculous balance between the over-cordial and the too-casual. Her children and her husband supported her wonderfully. Lady Katherine for the moment was too rattled by the Lampreys’ news of impending disaster to make any disturbance. She sat quietly in her chair.

Roberta found herself shaking hands with an extremely odd couple. The Marquis of Wutherwood and Rune was sixty years of age but these years sat heavily upon him and he looked like an old man. His narrow head, sunken between high shoulders, poked forward with an air that was at once mean and aggressive. His face was colourless. The bridge of his nose was so narrow that his eyes appeared to be impossibly close-set. His mouth drooped querulously and the length of his chin, though prodigious, was singularly unexpressive of anything but obstinacy. His upper teeth projected over his under lip and hinted at a high and a narrow palate. These teeth gave him an unpleasingly feminine appearance increased by his chilly old-maidish manner, which suggested that he lived in a state of perpetual offence. Roberta, found herself wondering if he could possibly be as disagreeable as he looked.

His wife was about fifty years of age. She was dark, extremely sallow, and fat. There was a musty falseness about the dank hair which she wore over her ears in sibylline coils. She painted her face, but with such inattention to detail that Roberta was reminded of a cheap print in which the colours had slipped to one side, showing the original structure of the drawing underneath. She had curious eyes, very pale, with tiny pupils, and muddy whites. They were so abnormally sunken that they seemed to reflect no light and this gave them a veiled appearance which Roberta found disconcerting, and oddly repellent. Her face had once been round but like her make-up it had slipped and now hung in folds and pockets about her lips, which were dragged down at the corners. Roberta saw that Lady Wutherwood had a trick of parting and closing her lips. It was a very slight movement but she did it continually with a faint click of sound. And in the corners of her lips there was a kind of whiteness that moved when they moved. “Henry is right,” thought Roberta. “She is disgusting.”

Lord Wutherwood greeted the Lampreys without much show of cordiality. When he saw Lady Katherine Lobe his attitude stiffened still further. He turned to his brother and in a muffled voice said: “We’re in a hurry, Charles.”

“Oh,” said Lord Charles. “Are you? Oh — well—”

“Are you?” Charlot repeated. “Not too much of a hurry, I hope, Gabriel. We never see anything of you.”

“You never come to Deepacres when we ask you, Imogen.”

“I know . We’d adore to come, especially the children, but you know it’s so frightfully expensive to travel, even in England. You see we can’t all get into one car—”

“The fare, third-class return, is within the reach of most people.”

“ Miles beyond us, I’m afraid,” said Charlot with a charming air of ruefulness. “We’re cutting down everything . We never budge from where we are.”

Lord Wutherwood turned to Henry.

“Enjoy your trip to the Cote d’Azur?” he asked. “Saw your photograph in one of these papers. In my day we didn’t strip ourselves naked and wallow in front of press photographers but I suppose you like that sort of thing.”

“Enormously, sir,” said Henry coldly.

There was a slight pause. Roberta felt uncomfortably that Charlot’s plan should be amended and that they should leave the field to Lord Charles. She wondered if she herself should slip out of the room. Her thoughts must have appeared in her face for Henry caught her eye, smiled, and shook his head. The Wutherwoods were now seated side-by-side on the sofa. Baskett came in with the sherry.

“Ah, sherry,” said Lord Charles. Henry began to pour it out. Charlot made desperate efforts with her brother-in-law. Lady Katherine leant forward in her chair and addressed Lady Wutherwood.

“Well, Violet,” she said, “I hear you have taken up conjuring.”

“You couldn’t be more mistaken,” said Lady Wutherwood in a deep voice. She spoke with a very slight accent, slurring her words together. After each phrase she rearranged her mouth with those clicking movements and stealthily touched away the white discs at the corners, but in a little while they reformed.

“Aunty Kit,” cried Frid, “will you have some sherry? Aunt Violet?”

“No thank you, my dear,” said Lady Katherine.

“Yes,” said Lady Wutherwood.

“You’d better not, V.,” said Lord Wutherwood. “You know what’ll happen.”

Mike walked to the end of the sofa and stared fixedly at his aunt. Lord Charles turned to his brother with an air of cordiality. “It’s a sherry that I think you rather like, Gabriel, don’t you?” he said. “Corregio del Martez, ’79.”

“If you can afford a sherry like that—” began Lord Wutherwood. Henry hurriedly placed a glass at his elbow.

“Aunt Violet,” asked Mike suddenly, “can you do the rope trick? I bet you can’t. I bet you can’t do that and I bet you can’t saw a lady in half.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Mike,” said Patch.

“Mikey,” said his mother, “run and find Baskett, darling, and ask him to take care of Uncle Gabriel’s chauffeur. I suppose he’s there, isn’t he, Gabriel?”

“He’ll do very well in the car. Your aunt’s maid is there, too. Your aunt insists on cartin’ her about with us. I strongly object, of course, but that makes no difference. She’s a nasty type.”

Lady Wutherwood laughed rather madly. Her husband turned on her. “You know what I mean, V.,” he said. “Tinkerton’s a bad lot. Put it bluntly, she’s damn well debauched my chauffeur. It’s been goin’ on under your nose for years.”