Pageant of Murder

of the Brayne ballet company, you and myself.”

“Not the manageress of the Tossington Tots?”

“Not the manageress of the Tossington Tots.”

“Amateurs only—not that the signora is an amateur. According to old Kitty, she gets fat fees from her dancers. She’s a frightful old woman, you know.”

“Nevertheless, I feel she will round off the party very nicely. Now is there anyone else you can think of?”

“Aren’t you having any men at all?”

“I think it is better not.”

“Where is old Kitty to hold this binge? At her flat?”

“No, I think it would be much more convenient if we could hold it somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood of Brayne. Perhaps Mr Julian Perse will know of a suitable hostelry. We must hire an ante-room in which the hentails can be circulated and a larger room where lunch can be served.”

“The Hat With Feather sounds the right sort of job. I’ll ring up old Kitty and put her wise to the scheme, and see whether she’s prepared to muck in.” She went to the telephone and returned with the tidings that Kitty was all agog, The Hat With Feather would be able and pleased to cope, especially as it was only a lunch and so would not clash with the arrangements of the Freemasons, the Rotary Club, the Philanthropic Society, the Mayor’s Banquet or the Stag at Eve Club, all of which would be certain to make their usual dinner bookings to be worked off before Christmas. “But,” concluded Laura, “old Kitty says we won’t get the Mayoress to come unless we bring somebody she knows pretty well to hold her hand. She feels desperately inadequate and shy, and lives in the shadow of the Mayor.”

“Has Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg any suggestions to offer?”

“She says there’s a woman Councillor, Mrs Skifforth.”

“Then all is well. Councillor Skifforth’s invitation can be sent to the Brayne Town Hall, as can that of the Mayoress. Mrs Batty-Faudrey’s address we know and although I do not remember how to reach Mrs Gough and Mrs Collis—nor, indeed, at which one’s house we met the other—they are almost certain to be in the telephone book. Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg must tell us where the mistress of the ballet resides, since, in her case, we are helpless. We do not even know her name.”

“Right,” said Laura. “Important-looking invitation cards ordered in old Kitty’s name, I take it, as soon as we’ve hit on a suitable date for the binge. Hope they’re all able to come!”

A date was decided upon, not too near to Christmas but sufficiently far ahead to keep it clear of immediate engagements, the rooms were booked and the white and gold cards were despatched. To Dame Beatrice’s surprise and Laura’s relief, all the invitations were accepted with most gratifying promptness, and Dame Beatrice and Kitty paid a visit to The Hat With Feather to confirm the arrangements and choose the wines to be offered at lunch.

“I’d just offer sherry beforehand,” suggested Kitty. “Most women like it, and it saves a lot of messing about.”

“Sherry and dry Martinis,” amended Dame Beatrice, “and a Dubonnet, I think.”

“Oh, well, it’s your party, although I’ve to pretend I’m the hostess,” said Kitty. “What, if you don’t mind my asking, do you expect to get from it? Laura went cagey on me when I demanded the whys and wherefores, so I gather it must be a mackerel to catch a sprat, as the saying goes.”

“It is a sprat to decide the fate of a basking shark,” said Dame Beatrice solemnly. “Would you suppose, from what you know of him, that Mr Giles Faudrey expects to exercise droit de seigneur over the female population of Brayne?”

“Nothing would surprise me less. I shall never forget Mrs Batty-Faudrey’s face when he planted that awful girl at the tea-table on the day of my pageant. Silly of her to look so horrified, because she surely must be wise to Giles by now. You should have heard the stories of his love-life which were flying all over the place while I was rehearsing the pageant and they knew he was going to take part.”

The morning of the lunch was fair with winter sunshine and sharp with frost, but the rime on the road-surfaces had cleared by the time George had driven Dame Beatrice and Laura to Knightsbridge to pick up Kitty.

“I sent the pub a seating plan which they’ve promised to put up in the ante-room,” said Kitty, “and as soon as we get there I’ll nip in and put the place-cards on the table. The Mayoress and you will be one on either side of me, because, of course, you’ll be the principal guests, and I’ve put Mrs Batty-Faudrey between you and Mrs Collis. I do hope they’ve done what I said and given us a round table. Nine is an awkward number for a table with corners, isn’t it?”

The Hat With Feather had obeyed Kitty’s instructions, as she discovered when she went in to lay out the place-cards. She returned to the ante-room after she had had a word with the head waiter, and settled down with Laura and Dame Beatrice to await the arrival of the guests. These arrived in two parties. Mrs Collis and Mrs Gough, who were obviously enjoying an interval between skirmishes, had brought Signora Brunelli along with them, and the Mayoress and Councillor Skifforth had picked up Mrs Batty-Faudrey in the Mayoral car driven by the Mayoral chauffeur. Introductions and presentations were made where these seemed necessary, and, over the aperitifs, conversation was general, vigorous and cheerful.

Laura had wondered how Dame Beatrice would approach the matter for which the lunch had been planned. Dame Beatrice did it by turning the table talk, via Carey Lestrange and his pig-farm, to the subject of nephews, and gave a witty account of her own. The subject was one with an instant appeal to a gathering of women. Laura, in fact, proved to be the only nephew-less person present. She looked (and was) interested in the conversation, contributed nothing to it beyond polite appreciation, enjoyed her lunch and listened for the information of which Dame Beatrice was in search.

It came, such as it was, with the main course.

“Nephews,” said Mrs Batty-Faudrey, “can be a bigger problem than sons.”

“Do you speak from experience?” asked Laura, perceiving, in the last word, a cue. “My own son is the biggest problem I’ve ever faced in my life. But, of course, I haven’t any nephews, so perhaps I’m not in a position to judge.”