again and resume. Isn’t that right, Sylvanus?”
Jago had not noticed the Ebony’s arrival. He was out of vision, somewhere behind the bath.
“Correct, Mr. D’Estin.” A deep, educated voice.
“I’m sure that Henry knows all that, Robert.”
Good God! Isabel’s voice!
Jago reached for a large sponge.
The embarrassment was all on his side. Isabel walked serenely across the room and seated herself on a bench.
“I am told you controlled the fight like a veteran, Henry,”
she said. “We are delighted with the promise that you showed tonight. When you are bathed and massaged, I want you to dress for dinner. We always enjoy celebrating our successes, and you were close enough to victory to make no difference.”
“Fifty guineas. No difference,” muttered D’Estin.
She tossed her head in laughter.
“Really? Do you mean that I have two losers in my employment? Isn’t it enough that Edmund should be so imbecile as to make a run for it when the police arrived?
One middle-aged constable on a tricycle! What a fine testimony to the manly Vibarts!”
“He won’t find it easy producing an explanation,” said D’Estin, as though Vibart deserved some sympathy. “I know that bobby. He clings like a blasted leech until he’s drawn the truth out of you.”
Her voice hardened. “Edmund had better not say one word to the police, or I shall have him dealt with, brother-in-law or not. Now, Henry”-sweet reasonableness returned to the voice-“you shouldn’t stay too long in the water.”
Jago was determined to remain calm. He was, after all, a professional detective, and if nothing in his training had prepared him for this situation, that did not make it unsurmountable.
“I shall come out in a moment.”
A sceptical silence.
Jago soaped his knees for the second time. One simply had to prepare oneself mentally, to become detached. Of course one didn’t climb out of a bath under a lady’s scrutiny as a regular practice. .
The knees were spotless.
It would not do to spring out and make a bolt for the bathrobe. Something more dignified was called for.
He gripped the sides of the bath manfully and took a deep breath.
“For God’s sake, Isabel,” said D’Estin. “You can see the lad’s not used to bathing in front of an audience.”
She laughed. “He’s trying to embarrass me, Henry.” She stood up, arranging her dress. “He hasn’t succeeded, because I know you aren’t ashamed of yourself. However, I must see to the preparation of the table. We shall meet in the rear dining room tonight, gentlemen. Shall we say in one hour’s time?”
Immediately after she had gone, Jago clambered out of the bath. D’Estin and the Ebony remained while he towelled himself energetically. He was used to communal changing rooms, and their presence was not inhibiting. Not, that is, until he became conscious that the Ebony was studying his body. It was a steady, calculating gaze, as though each point of his physique were being assessed. For the first time since coming to Radstock Hall, Jago felt a strong impression that the Ebony was considering him as a rival.
Isabel’s dinner party was a revelation.
Meals were usually taken in a large dining room at the front of the house, in sunlight for much of the day. The second dining room, at the rear, was reserved for more special occasions.
D’Estin, more burly than ever in his dinner jacket, greeted Jago with a glass of sherry.
“Amontillado, and an expensive one. Make the most of it, Jago. You’ll be training again tomorrow. Sylvanus reckons to sink a dozen glasses on these occasions, don’t you?”
The Ebony was standing in shadow, away from the candlelit table. He made no response. Perhaps like Jago he resented the inference that pugilists came to sherry as horses to troughs of water.
Isabel had not appeared, and the other two were content to remain silent, so Jago stepped farther into the dining room. He now saw in the play of candlelight that the small room was filled with objects from the East. Carvings, pottery, statuettes, bronzes: they seemed to have been deposited at the sides of the room with utter disregard for positioning or design. A large embroidered picture filled with semi-clothed Indian dancers surrounding a godlike figure was almost obscured by a grotesque figurine mounted on a plinth. On another wall two tigers’ heads vied for space with a jewelled two-handed sword and a set of woodcarvings. Small tables and carved chests pushed to the walls were littered with silver, copper and ivory objects. Any one of them might have been a priceless artefact which a collector would have mounted in a showcase. Their very profusion in this small room led to an effect of depressing prodigality.
The air was oppressive with the scent of sandalwood.
Hearing the rustle of silk, Jago turned.
“Do you like my Indian collection? It all belonged to my late husband.” She was dazzling, in a velvet dress of deep violet with a pale pink panel from bodice to hem. A row of tiny artificial flowers entwined her body, emphasizing, quite unnecessarily, the lines of her figure. “He was there for some years, you know, exporting metalware. Some of these pieces are worth more than the house, he used to tell me.
Do you like the necklace? He gave it to me as a birthday present.”
She approached Jago, for him to examine the golden pendant studded with rubies that rested in the cleft of her breasts. She subdued her voice to a murmur as she said, “It is priceless.”
Jago looked at the jewel and was repelled. It was in the shape of a cobra poised to strike.
“You don’t like serpents?” she said, sensitive at once to his reaction. “What a good thing you weren’t born an Indian, Henry Jago! In ancient India only the sacred cow was more revered among creatures. Perhaps you will allow me to wear it tonight, though.”
“It is a very fine piece,” said Jago, in some confusion.
They took their positions at table, a circular one draped in white linen fringed with minute beads. Among the silver table ornaments four black candles in glass funnels provided the only illumination. “My colour, you know,” Isabel explained.
D’Estin was ordered to see to the champagne, which had been overlooked.
“We shall have the Roper Freres, 1874. Robert, if you please.” When he had left the room, she added, “He would bring an inferior vintage otherwise. Robert has a low opinion of everyone’s palate but his own.” Each of her remarks was addressed to Jago; the Ebony might have been another statue, for all the attention she gave him.
D’Estin returned, and a clear soup was served.
“Come here, Gruber,” Isabel commanded the maid, the same solemn woman who had first admitted Jago to the Hall. “I want you to reassure Mr. Jago. I think he secretly fears that the next course is curry.”
“Duck,” pronounced Gruber lugubriously. “And chicken.
And beef.”
After the main dish had been brought in under silver covers, Gruber was dismissed. “We serve ourselves on our celebration evenings,” Isabel explained. “One feels less reserved with the servants out of the way.”
Jago wondered what she could possibly have in mind. He took a deep draught of champagne.
The joints were cooked in wine and smelt appetizing.
D’Estin and the Ebony took carvers and began to cut.
“You divide the duck, Henry,” Isabel said. “Don’t trouble with slices. Quarter it. We can forget Edmund.”
During the meal, the Ebony began to talk. In the previous week his speech had been limited to minimal responses.
Now, made loquacious perhaps by the wine, he questioned D’Estin closely on the fight, demanding to know how each round had progressed. Jago did not intervene. His own memory was probably not reliable, anyway. He continued with his meal, enjoying at intervals an approving smile from Isabel as D’Estin described some high point of the action.
“Is he ready to fight me, then?” the Ebony demanded, when the account was finished.
