discussion — or, more accurately, a dissertation by the learned professor — on the magic books of the Aztecs). ‘Unfortunately they are at sixes and sevens. What does that mean, I wonder? It is a splendid saying. Odds and evens, evens and odds, would you say?’
‘According to the 1895 edition of the
‘Higgledy-piggledy! What a delightful word! Permit me to record it. I have not met it before. One pictures the old-fashioned methods of pig-rearing, with infant swine, already weaned, climbing on one another’s backs and pushing one another out of the way in a squealing determination to obtain a major share of nourishment from the trough.’
He recorded the idiom in a slim notebook.
‘Spoken of things, (I quote)’ went on Dame Beatrice, ‘it means “in confusion;” spoken of persons, it means “in disagreement or hostility.” From the same source one learns that in Taylor’s
‘I am infinitely obliged to you, Dame Beatrice, for your most clear and charming explanation. But “higgledy- piggledy” I like best. As for the family, after whom you so kindly enquire, well, there, I fear, we are indeed at sixes and sevens. The understanding between Binnie and Bernardo does not flourish, and my father is so angry, in consequence, that he has made a new will leaving everything to be divided between Florian and myself. I have remonstrated with him, but to no effect. Certainly the fortune (it will be a very large one, even when halved like this) would be of enormous benefit to my brother and myself, for we could then afford to give up our teaching posts at our universities and devote ourselves to original work, to research studies, to travel, but I dislike the rearrangement which robs Binnie and Bernardo.’
‘You did not mention whether your brother was included in the will.’
‘Whatever includes me includes my brother,’ said Sweyn simply. ‘Then, when Florian heard that I approached my father with a view to getting the wording of the will restored to what it was, he became extremely angry with me and reproached me, with much bad language, and asserted that I was attempting to go behind his back to rob him of his inheritance.’
‘Oh, dear!’
‘My brother,’ went on Sweyn, ‘was to have been named co-inheritor with Florian, but he angered my father by telling him that the quarrel between Bernardo and Binnie was their own business and that of nobody else. However, my father is well aware that it makes no difference whether Derde or I inherit, because we shall share the money, therefore his anger is but a token of parental authority. If he were really angry, he would disinherit both of us.’ He smiled. Dame Beatrice asked:
‘Are Binnie and Florian still living with their grand-uncle?’
‘Binnie went back to Scotland with her parents. She and Florian quarrelled bitterly over the broken engagement. She blames him for it and, I am sure, would like to be re-engaged to Bernardo if her pride permitted. Florian is still living with my father, but how long he will stay I do not know. He has further sittings to the sculptor in Amsterdam.’
‘And Mrs Rebekah Rose?’
‘Ah, that one!’ exclaimed Sweyn, with deep feeling. ‘And yet, you know, her daughter Petra has had several excellent offers of marriage, but she prefers (and I believe that is
‘Yes,’ said Derde, who was in conversation with Laura, ‘the maize was worshipped as a god by the Mexicans. They called him Cinteotl and he is represented in their magic books as a spirit with a flowering maize plant on his head. It gives him a mass of yellow hair and represents the bearded strands one notices on corn on the cob.’
‘One is reminded of the Hiawatha legend,’ said Dame Beatrice, breaking away from the family ramifications of the Colwyn-Welch tribe, the van Zestiens and the Jewish Roses, since, intriguing though these were, she did not wish to push confidences too far. The conversation turned upon magic in general and, upon this topic, everybody had something to say. Then magic turned to superstition and superstition to ghosts. In other words, the dinnerparty became lively and lasted long.
On the following morning George brought round the hired car and what Laura called “Mrs Croc.’s stately limousine” and Dame Beatrice, Laura and the guests set out for the Stone House. They lunched in Winchester so that the professors might see the ancient city — its school, its water-meadows, the river, Jane Austen’s house, the St Cross almshouses, the Cathedral, its Close, and the prehistoric fort on St Catherine’s Hill — and drove on to Southampton and Lyndhurst and made a detour through part of the New Forest. Then they took the road which led to Wandles Parva.
Laura’s policeman husband came to dinner at the Stone House and stayed the night, but had to leave early on the following morning for a conference with an Assistant Commissioner. Laura rose at seven and breakfasted with him and then saw him off at soon after half-past eight. She went for a stroll and returned in time to waylay the village postman on his way to the Stone House.
‘I’ll take the letters, if you like,’ she said. The postman, whose round covered a good many miles, accepted her offer gratefully, but seemed a little doubtful about giving her two letters addressed to Professor Derde van Zestien.
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Laura. ‘He’s a Dutch professor and is staying here for a day or two. His brother is with him. I should have thought it was all over the village by now.’
She carried the letters up to the house and found the other three at breakfast. She looked through the correspondence she was holding, put some of it beside her own plate, for a place had been laid for her — it was known that she liked a second breakfast when she had been out for a morning walk or a swim — gave one envelope to Dame Beatrice and the last two to Derde.
