Dance to Your Daddy

(3)

Dame Beatrice did not see her nominal hostess that afternoon and did not mention her again. Dinner was a menage a trois, with Romilly at the head of the table, Judith (barbarically regal in a flame-coloured dress with a neckline which plunged recklessly to her waist and barely contrived to cover her breasts), seated opposite him at the foot, and Dame Beatrice next to her host on his right-hand side. They were waited upon by the elderly manservant. He had exchanged the green-baize apron, and the trousers and shirt which went with it, for the black and white livery of a butler. The meal was simple and good and the talk was of local affairs, in which, it appeared, Romilly took a landowner's interest, however recent this was.

When dinner was over, the three retired to the drawing room to drink coffee, and then Judith played the piano and sang. She had a beautiful contralto voice and it had been well trained. It was dark by the time she began to sing, and candles had been brought in. They filled the room with shadows which flickered and moved, and more than once Dame Beatrice thought that a darker, more substantial shadow, had joined them. She wondered whether the nominal mistress of the house had crept in to enjoy the music.

At ten o'clock Dame Beatrice went to her room and by the light of her candle examined the only picture, apart from the tapestry, which was on the walls. It showed two young men, hardly out of their boyhood, dressed in mid-eighteenth century costume. They were evidently brothers, for they were much alike. She was about to turn from the picture and prepare for bed when there came a tap at the door. 'Come in!' she called. The door opened, and for a moment Dame Beatrice thought she was confronted by Joan of Arc. The figure which entered was clad in a suit of armour from the top of which emerged a flaxen head with page-boy haircut, wide-set eyes and a strangely gentle, expressive, beautifully-shaped mouth. 'You will be Mrs. Romilly Lestrange, no doubt. How do you do?' went on Dame Beatrice, recovering her self-possession.

The girl closed the door quietly and came forward.

'Don't tell them you've seen me,' she said. 'That's a treat they're keeping for tomorrow. I don't know who you are, but they're up to something. Shine the candle on to your face. I want to see whether you're friend or foe.'

Dame Beatrice complied with this request. The mellow candlelight shone on her yellow skin, her sharp, black eyes, her scrawny, old-woman's throat and turned her diamond necklace into a thousand tiny pools of almost unbearable brilliance.

'Does it matter so much whether I am a Montague or a Capulet, a Macdonald or a Campbell, a Guelph or a Ghibelline, a Roundhead or a Cavalier?' she asked. The girl said solemnly and with conviction:

'It matters whether you're on my side or on theirs, that's all I know. They're as wicked as hell, and, although I try to show fight, I'm pretty helpless here. I don't know how they're going to kill me, but they will.'

'Indeed?' Dame Beatrice studied the speaker. The girl returned her gaze, and said:

'If you decide to help me, you do so at your own risk. It's only right that I should warn you. Who are you, anyway? I saw the car drive up, and Amabel told me which was your room, so I've come while they're still downstairs. You don't mind, do you?'

'Not at all,' Dame Beatrice replied. 'Why do you commit your lares et penates to the sea?'

The visitor looked perturbed.

'I know they say I drown things,' she said, 'but I don't, you know. I don't get much chance while they make me dress like this, do I? I mean, I can't leave the house. It would look so odd. People would think I was mad.'

'That is a point,' Dame Beatrice admitted. 'Why, though, should anybody want to kill you, or, for the matter of that, keep you confined to the house?'

'Oh, money. Always money. But I'm not going to give in, whatever they do or say. The money is mine when I'm twenty-five, and I'm not going to give it away.'

'Certainly not. One should never give in to bullying.'

'I know, but it takes a lot of courage to stand one's ground. They're having lots of people to come and stay, you know. They hope, that way, to frighten me. But I shall face them, all of them. Some of them might even help me. What do you think? They can't all be wicked, can they?' Her voice had risen to a note of panic. Her hearer wondered whether she was play-acting.

'I think I would go to bed, if I were you. We shall meet again in the morning,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Do you think we shall? I am not so sure. They don't like me to meet people from outside. Why did they ask you to come?'

'They thought I might be able to help you.'

'I don't think they meant it. You are in great danger, you know, if you help me in the way I need help.'

'I am accustomed to take care of myself.'

'Are you a relative of this family?'

'Mr Romilly tells me that I am. Let me see you back to your room.'

'Oh, no. I like to keep it to myself. Good night. I hope you will sleep well.'

'Thank you. Good night.'

The visitor did not depart immediately. There were two candles on the dressing-table. She walked across the room, picked up one of them and held it up to light the picture of the two young men.

'How do you like it?' Dame Beatrice asked.

'I'm wondering why they put it there, that's all. It wasn't there before you came. That makes me suspicious, you know.'

'Is your name really Trilby?' Dame Beatrice asked.