Ngaio Marsh - Death of a Peer

“Of course she does,” shouted Patch, dealing Roberta a violent buffet across the shoulders.

“What do you think of me ?” asked Frid, striking an attitude. “Aren’t I quite, quite lovely?”

“Don’t tell her she is,” said Colin. “The girl’s a nymphomaniac.”

“Darling!” murmured Lady Charles.

“My dear Colin,” said his father, “it really would be a good idea if you stick to the words you understand.”

“Well,” Frid reasoned, “you may thank your lucky stars I am so lovely. After all, looks go a long way on the stage. I may have to keep you all, and in the near future, too.”

“Apropos,” said Henry, “I fancy there’s a bum downstairs, chaps.”

“Oh no !” cried the Lampreys.

“The signs are ominous. I told Stamford you were out, Daddy.”

“Then I suppose I’d better stay in,” muttered Lord Charles. “Who can it be this time? Not Smith & Weekly’s again, surely? I wrote them an admirable letter explaining that—”

“Circumstances over which we had no control,” suggested Stephen.

“I put it better than that, Stephen.”

“Mike,” said Lady Charles, “be an angel and run out on the landing. If you see a little man—”

“In a bowler,” said Henry and Frid.

“Yes, of course in a bowler. If you see him, don’t say anything but just come and tell Mummy, darling, will you?”

“Righto,” said Mike politely. “Is he a bum, Mummy?”

“We think so but it’s nothing to worry about. Do hurry, Mikey darling.”

Mike grinned disarmingly and began to hop out of the room on one leg.

“I can hop for miles,” he said.

“Well, run quietly for a change.”

Mike gave a Red-Indian call and began to crawl out. The twins rose in a menacing fashion. He uttered a shrill yelp and ran.

“Isn’t he heaven?” Lady Charles asked Roberta.

“There’s the lift!” Colin ejaculated.

“It’ll only be Mike t-taking a run down and up,” said Stephen. “I understand that Mike’s playing with the lift is rather unpopular.”

“I bet it’s the bum,” said Colin. “Has Baskett been warned? I mean he may just lavishly show him in.”

“If Baskett doesn’t know a bailiff’s man,” said Lord Charles warmly, “after having lived with us for fifteen years, he is a stupider fellow than I take him for.”

“There’s the bell!” cried Lady Charles.

“It’s all right,” said Henry. “It’ll only be Robin’s luggage.”

“Thank heaven! Robin darling, you’d like to see your room, wouldn’t you? Frid, darling, show Robin her room. It’s too tiny and absurd, darling, but you won’t mind, will you? Actually it was meant for a hall, but Mike and Patch turned it into a sort of railway-station so we’re delighted to have it made sane again. I really must dress myself but I can’t resist waiting to hear the worst about the bum.”

“Here’s Mike,” said Frid.

Mike came back, still hopping on one leg, and singing:

“Hallelujah, I’m a bum!

Hallelujah, bum again!

Hallelujah, give us a hand up to…”

“Shut up,” said Stephen and Colin. “What do you mean? Is he there?”

“Nope,” whispered Mike. “Only her luggage.”

“Don’t say ‘her,’ ” said Stephen.

Mike began to hop up and down in front of the twins singing:

‘Two, two, the lily-white boys,

clothed all in green, oh.”

Colin took him by the shoulders and Stephen seized his heels. They swung him to and fro and flung him, screaming with pleasure on the sofa.

“Lily-white boys!” yelled Mike. “I bet she doesn’t know which is which. Do you?” He looked engagingly at Roberta. “Do you — Robin?”

The twins turned to her, and raised their eyebrows.

“Do you?” they asked.

“I do when you speak,” said Roberta.

“I hardly stammer at all, now,” said Stephen.

“I know, but your voices are different, Stephen. And even if you didn’t speak I’d only have to look behind your ears.”

“Oh,” said Mike, “It’s not fair. She knows the secret. Stephen’s old mole. Old mole-dy Stephen doesn’t wash behind his ears, yah, yah, yah!”

“Let’s go to your room,” said Frid. “Mike’s turning mad dog, and the scare seems to be over.” ii

Roberta liked her room, which was in 26. As Lady Charles had told her it was really the entrance hall but heavy curtains had been hung across it making a passage, through which the others would have to go to reach the real passage and their bedrooms. Frid showed her the rest of 26 which was all bedrooms with Nanny Burnaby living in the ex-kitchen where she could make the cups of Ovaltine that she still forced the Lampreys to drink before they went to bed. Nanny was sitting by the electric stove which she had converted into a sort of bureau. Her hair had turned much greyer. Her face was netted over with lines as if, thought Roberta, each good or ill deed of the young Lampreys had left its sign on that one face alone. She had been playing patience and received Roberta exactly as if four days instead of four years had gone by since their last meeting.

“Nanny,” said Frid, “things are gloomy. We’re up the spout again and there’s liable to be a bum at any moment.”

“Some folk will do anything,” said Nanny darkly.

“Well, I know, but I suppose they rather want their money.”

“Well, his lordship had better pay them and be done with it.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t got any money at the moment, Nan.”

“Nonsense,” said Nanny.

She looked at Roberta and said, “You don’t grow much, Miss Robin.”

“No, Nanny. I rather think I’ve finished. I’m twenty now you know.”

“Same age as Miss Frid and look how she’s shot up. You need nourishing.”

“Nan,” said Frid. “Uncle Gabriel’s coming tomorrow.”

“H’m,” said Nanny.

“We hope he’ll pull us out of the soup.”

“So he ought to with his own flesh and blood in need.”

Henry looked in at the door. By the singular scowl Nanny gave him, Roberta saw that he was still the favourite.

“Hullo, Mrs. Burnaby,” he said. “Have you heard the news? We’re in the soup.”

“It’s not the first time, Mr. Henry, and it won’t be the last. His lordship’s brother will have to attend to it.”

Henry looked fixedly at his old nurse. “If he doesn’t,” he said, “I think we’ll really go bust.”

Nanny’s hands, big-jointed with rheumatism, made a quick involuntary movement.

“You’ll be all right, Nan,” added Henry. “We fixed you up with an annuity, didn’t we?”

“I’m not thinking of that, Mr. Henry.”

“No. No, I don’t suppose you are. I was, though.”

Nanny put on a pair of thick-lens spectacles and advanced upon Henry.

“You put your tongue out,” she ordered.

“Why on earth?”

“Do as you’re told, Mr. Henry.”

Henry put out his tongue.

“I thought so. Come to me before you go to bed this evening. You’re bilious.”

“What utter rot.”

“You’ve always shown your liver in your spirits.”

“Nanny!”

“Talking a lot of rubbish about matters that are beyond your understanding. His other lordship will soon send certain people about their business.”

“Meaning us?”

“Stuff and nonsense. You know what I mean. Miss Robin, you’d better take a glass of milk with ypur lunch. You’re overexcited.”

“Yes, Nanny,” said Roberta.

Nanny returned to her game of patience.

“The audience is over,” said Henry.

“I’d better unpack,” said Roberta.

“Leave out your pressings,” said Nanny. “I’ll do ’em.”