Patricia Wentworth: Wicked Uncle

“Now this is where I ought to be talking to Mrs. Oakley, because I want to ask her to be very kind and bring you along. Miss Brown, isn’t it?… Yes, I thought that was what Martin Oakley said-Miss Dorinda Brown. Now will you be as persuasive as I should be myself and tell Mrs. Oakley that I am a lady short and I am particularly anxious to make your acquaintance.”

Dorinda fixed a grave, frowning gaze upon the instrument. She considered Mr. Porlock’s manner to be on the familiar side. She repeated his invitation in the baldest possible way.

“He says he is a woman short on Saturday, and will you bring me. He seems to have fixed it up with Mr. Oakley.”

There was a murmur of assent. Dorinda put it into words, again heard Gregory Porlock say, “Splendid!” and hung up.

When she came back to her seat she found herself the object of Mrs. Oakley’s attention.

“What about an evening dress, Miss Brown? Have you one that will do?”

There really must be something wrong about that wretched blue dress, because Mrs. Oakley simply didn’t consider it for a moment.

“Oh, no-that was what I was afraid of. Martin telephoned while I was dressing, and he said I must see that you had something suitable.”

Dorinda wouldn’t have been human if she had been pleased. She said in a restrained voice,

“There is no need for me to go.”

Mrs. Oakley’s face puckered up as if she were going to cry.

“Oh dear-now you are offended-and Martin will say I have no tact And it isn’t that I haven’t really, but I do think being tactful is the most utterly exhausting thing, and my nerves won’t stand it. It will be so much simpler if you just won’t be offended. Because of course we couldn’t expect you to have clothes which you didn’t know you were going to want. And of course we shouldn’t expect you to be put to any expense, if you know what I mean.”

Dorinda knew quite well. She wasn’t Dorinda Brown-she was an Appanage, an outward and visible sign of the Oakleys’ financial standing. They could no more go out to dinner with a shabby secretary than with shabby liveries or an elderly broken-down car. Her Scottish pride stiffened.

And then she became aware that Mrs. Oakley was frightened. She was actually leaning forward, and the hand on the arm of her chair shook.

“Miss Brown-please don’t be offended. You are quite a young girl-why should you mind if we give you a frock?”

A real person had emerged from behind the frills. Not a very grown-up person-not at all accustomed to letting go of its props, and very shaky without them. Dorinda’s sweet temper reasserted itself. She said,

“But of course, Mrs. Oakley-it’s very kind of you.”

When Mrs. Oakley had gone to bed she rang up Justin Leigh.

“Look here, I’m coming up to town tomorrow… Yes, I know you thought you’d got rid of me-I did too. But you haven’t. There’s going to be a reprieve-or perhaps you’ll feel as if it was a relapse.”

Justin’s voice sounded cool and amused.

“I don’t know that I should go as far as that. Is this leading up to the fact that you will lunch with me tomorrow if I press you very hard?”

“Yes-at one o’clock. Because I’m being sent up to buy a dress to dine out in on Saturday, and if we lunch together I can show you what I’ve got, and if you thought it wouldn’t do, I could go back and change it.”

“Nothing doing. I don’t know where you’re in the habit of lunching with Tip and Buzzer, but in my high-toned circles you can’t try things on between courses.”

Dorinda gave a sort of wail.

“Justin, sometimes I do think you are a beast!”

“Far from it-I am a noble hero. I shall wangle my lunch-hour between twelve and one and meet you at-where are you going?”

“Mrs. Oakley said any one of these…” She read from a list of names.

“All right, we’ll take the big shop first. It will be easier for you to wait about for me there-let’s say the glove counter. A connoisseur’s eye can then direct your choice. What time do you get up?”

Dorinda was thrilled.

“Oh, Justin-will you really? I get up at half past ten. But that doesn’t matter-I’ve got things to do for Mrs. Oakley. I can put in the time all right-in fact I shall want it. I’m to be at Mr. Oakley’s office at a quarter past two, and he’ll drive me down. It will be more peaceful than it was today-at least I hope so.”

“Why, what happened today?”

She began to tell him about Marty and her brooch. If she made an amusing story of it, perhaps Justin would laugh. It appeared quite soon that he wouldn’t. He actually sounded angry as he exclaimed,

“Your great-grandmother’s brooch!”

“The only one I’ve got,” said Dorinda ruefully. “I shall have to buy a gold safety-pin to fasten the things that just have to be fastened. I know where I can get one for seven-and-six.”

“Then it won’t be gold.”

Dorinda giggled.

“You’re so lordly. It won’t be real of course-only rolled.”

Justin lost his temper quite suddenly. She had never heard him do it before, and it surprised her very much. The odd thing was that she heard it go, like something breaking at the other end of the line. He couldn’t have banged a door, but there was that kind of effect about it. After which he said in quite a violent tone, “I never heard such nonsense in my life!” and jammed the receiver back. Dorinda went to bed a good deal heartened.

Miss Maud Silver was choosing wool for a set of infant’s vests. After the khaki and Air Force yarn she had knitted up during the war, to say nothing of useful grey stockings for her niece Ethel’s three boys, it was a real pleasure to handle these soft blush-pink balls-all ready wound, and so much better than you could wind it yourself. Ethel’s eldest brother, who had been abroad for so long, had come home some months ago, and his wife was expecting her first child. Quite an excitement in the family, because they had been married for ten years and the empty nursery had begun to have a discouraging effect upon Dorothy. Miss Silver felt that something rather special in the way of vests would be appropriate. This pale pink wool was a most charming colour, and so soft and light. She paid for her purchase, and stood waiting for her change and the parcel.

The wool was heaped in a profusion of delightful shades upon a large three-tiered stand where four departments met. Straight down the way she was facing there were stockings, gloves, handkerchiefs-behind her a long vista of inexpensive gowns. To the right, past a stand festooned with umbrellas, she had a view of pull-overs and knitwear. Whilst to her left a display of glass flowers, bead chains, and necklets conducted the eye to the millinery department. Miss Silver thought it all looked very bright and pretty. It was nice to see the shops filled up again after the lean years when even the cleverest window-dressing would not make things go round.

Someone else was admiring the chains and necklets. There were little bunches of flowers in glass and bright enamel- violets, daisies, a spray of holly, a spray of mimosa. The girl who was looking at them lingered over the mimosa. She had rather bright golden-brown hair, with eye-lashes of exactly the same colour, and she was wearing a loose coat of honey-coloured tweed. It was rather shabby, but it had been well cut, and it suited her. Miss Silver thought the mimosa spray would look very well on it. The girl evidently thought so too. She looked, and looked again, and then with a regretful sigh prepared to pass on.

It was just at that moment that a number of people began to stream forward from the stocking counter in the direction of Millinery. To do this they had to pass the girl in the tweed coat. She became entangled amongst them. Miss Silver watched with interest and attention. The attention became very alert. She saw the girl in the tweed coat disengage herself and move in the direction of the handkerchief counter. Miss Silver observed a small dark woman in the group emerge upon the other side of it and go up to the assistant behind the counter. She appeared to say something in rather a hurried manner, after which she hastened in the wake of her companions and was lost to view.