Pageant of Murder

the script, but I was watching, and it seemed to me they were all in a state of angry nerves, and as for poor little Falstaff-what a choice for the part! Anyway, to smooth things over, I’ve agreed that there will be a ten-minute interval tomorrow night while their second scene is got ready, and I’m going to put them on before the ballet. That’s per programme. Oh, and there were high words passing between Ford and Page, by the way. One of the property swords got lost, and both wanted to claim the one that was left. In the end, Page managed to snitch it, but both were plainly peeved.”

“Good Lord!” said her husband. “How childish can one get?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Kitty. “Don’t you remember how you created at the time of that fancy dress ball we went to, when the hirer people had forgotten to pack you a pair of Cavalier boots and you had to wear your riding ones?”

“That was different. The lack of those boots ruined the costume, as I jolly well pointed out to them when I sent the stuff back.”

“Well, they knocked ten shillings off the bill.”

“As though that made up for a spoilt evening!”

“Oh, go on with you! You know jolly well that, half-way through, you went to the cloakroom and changed into your dancing pumps, which you’d treacherously taken with you without my knowing.”

“Well, I wasn’t the only one, so what?”

Laura laughed.

“Let’s hope the missing sword turns up all right,” she said. “And talking of weapons, what price that battleaxe who runs the Tossington Tots?”

“And the very Italian lady who bosses the ballet?” said Kitty, giggling.

“And that bad-tempered lot in the formation team! Still, I did have quite a lot of sympathy there. With eight of them doing half the routine and the other eight doing the rest of it, it won’t be nearly as spectacular as they intended.”

“I’m worried about those damned comedians,” said Kitty.

“Three times have I ’phoned them for that script and still it hasn’t turned up. Why won’t they send it, unless their jokes are blue round the edges?”

“I don’t suppose they’ll be too blue for the audience,” said her husband.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Day of the Pageant

“We have now reached the period of one of the most important and exciting events recorded in the annals.”

« ^ »

Laura awoke at just after dawn on the following day with what Mr Wodehouse has called a sense of impending doom. A spiteful swoosh of rain against the window brought her out of bed. There was no mistake. The day of the pageant had begun by being thoroughly wet.

“Oh, Lord!” said Laura, aloud. “Poor old Kitty!” She went back to bed and half-an-hour later a maid came in with early tea.

“What a pity it’s turned out wet, madam,” she said. “Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg will be disappointed. I do feel sorry.”

“Yes, so do I,” said Laura. “Still, it may clear up before the pageant moves off.” She went down to breakfast, fully prepared to offer consolation to a broken-hearted friend, but Kitty was incongruously cheerful.

“With any luck, Dog,” she announced, “we can call the whole thing off until we put on the show at the Town Hall this evening, when everything will be under cover.”

“Do you want to call it off, then?” asked Laura, astonished. “I mean, you must have put in an awful lot of work.”

“Dog,” said Kitty, earnestly, “ever since I took on this beastly pageant, I’ve had a thing about it. That’s one reason why I did want you to come along and support me. As I’ve told you before, the Trevelyans are a very old Cornish family—Celtic, you know—and we sense things. Well, I’ve been sensing things for the past three weeks, and I jolly well know that everything that can go wrong will go wrong. Look at that rehearsal last night! It was a sheer fiasco.”

“Good heavens, you don’t want to worry about last-minute rehearsals! Why, they always go wrong. Look at what used to happen at College. But it was always all right on the night.”

“Oh, that dreary old tripe! But, honestly, Dog, I’ve got a sort of crawling feeling in my bones.”

“With me, the thumbs prick, like in Macbeth.”

“You’re not to laugh, Dog. I’m deadly serious. Well, as soon as we’ve finished breakfast, I’d better ’phone the schools and find out what they think about the weather. I don’t know how to reach anybody else, so they’ll have to take their chance. I shall go to the Brayne Butts, of course, where everybody is supposed to assemble, and test the general feeling of the meeting, but I bet very few turn up.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said her husband. “If I know anything about it, everybody will turn up. They’re not going to miss their fun for a spot of rain. I’ll telephone the schools. They gave you the numbers, didn’t they? I know they’re not in the book. Now, then, take it easy for a bit. There’s plenty of time, thanks to the God-forsaken hour at which you insisted we should breakfast.”