‘I am certain that it will prove a highly entertaining afternoon,’ said Jasper. She trotted away on her little black horse. ‘Yes, Mr Birk?’
‘So sorry to trouble you,’ said Mr Birk. He held in his hand a cheque, which Jasper had no difficulty in recognizing as the one with which he had paid Mrs Birk some days previously. ‘This has been sent back R/D,’ said Mr Birk, ‘there must be some mistake.’
Jasper took it, glanced at it casually and said, ‘Oh, I see, a small misunderstanding no doubt. How stupid of my bank, I suppose I shall have to go and send a telegram to that fool of a manager.’
He strolled away in the direction of the post office, where he sent a telegram to his sister, urging her to wire him ten pounds, signing it ‘S.O.S. Jasper’. He felt low. Poppy still pursued her plan of keeping him on tenterhooks so that he had no idea whether she also was emotionally committed or not. The detectives had left Chalford, vanishing as suddenly and as mysteriously as they had appeared, and this seemed to be worrying her. ‘It looks as though they have the evidence they wanted,’ she said. ‘We were mad not to be more careful.’ Jasper thought that there could be nothing in the world so depressing as financial troubles coupled with emotional uncertainty. He very much hoped, incidentally, that his sister would not have gone abroad yet.
Noel now accentuated Jasper’s sufferings by suddenly assuming the demeanour of excessive cheerfulness. He boasted continually of wonderful jobs which his uncles were going to find for him on the Continent. They had, in fact, written to him quite kindly on this subject, and he was expecting any day to hear more definitely from one or other of them.
Hopeful of this he kept Mrs Lace at bay with vague but interesting promises, an achievement which was not at the moment very difficult, as all her thoughts and energies were concentrated on the pageant. So engrossed was she with dreams of the great day near at hand that she never noticed the unusual behaviour of the Rackenbridge young men. Mr Leader cut her in the High Street one morning, Mr Forderen had not even answered a letter in which she had invited him to photograph her in some eighteenth-century moods. It did not occur to her to conclude from these and other omens that Rackenbridge might be making its own plans for Wednesday afternoon.
The day before the pageant broke in a downpour which was perfectly solid and had every appearance of being the sort that lasts for a week at least.
‘Set in for wet,’ said Mr Birk cheerfully, whistling between his teeth. The weather forecast in the Daily Mail supported him in this dreary prophecy; ‘Further outlook uncertain,’ it said.
Poppy, Marjorie, Jasper and Noel herded together in the parlour for company, gazed at the drifting sheets of rain and wondered whether it would be giving too much trouble to ask Mrs Birk to substitute a fire for the ferns and crinkly paper in the fireplace. Early in the afternoon Eugenia and Mrs Lace joined them and they all gloomed together. The labour of weeks, the excited expectation as it seemed of a lifetime, were being balked of an object before their very eyes; they felt hopelessly dejected.
‘There is the squash court,’ Eugenia muttered, without much conviction. Besides, the dress-rehearsal, which had taken place the day before, had been an utter failure in every respect, and everyone had been unanimous in deciding that it was essential to have another, but, of course, this was now impossible.
Conversation progressed in snatches, by common consent all pretended to take it for granted that tomorrow would be fine.
‘Mr Wilkins must remember to take off his hat, or bow, or something to the cheering populace. He sat right back and one couldn’t see him at all.’
‘I thought he was just wonderful,’ said Lady Marjorie.
‘Besides, I think he ought to sit on the left-hand side, so that he can get out first and hand out Mrs Lace.’
‘Noel is handing me out,’ said Mrs Lace.
‘Eugenia, if you can remember, do tell the coachman to drive at foot’s pace, after all, we must try and make the arrival really impressive, it is far the most important episode. To my mind everything depends on how that goes off.’
‘Didn’t you think the platform looked rather bare? I thought it might be hung with flags or something to cheer it up a bit.’
‘Union Jacks,’ said Eugenia, ‘I will see to that.’
‘The first messenger must be very strictly told not to approach the platform until little Margaret Cooper has finished presenting her bouquet to Queen Charlotte. All that part was so fearfully rushed yesterday.’
‘I think myself that we ought to have the Morris dancing first, before the episodes begin.’
‘That’s not a bad plan, but if we do we mustn’t forget to tell Miss Trant.’
‘And Mr Wilkins.’
‘Oh, this rain!’
‘You know the episodes do vary frightfully. I thought the Boston Tea Party was a pretty good flop myself.’
‘Well, of course it was. None of the principals turned up for it you see and Miss Trant had to read all their parts in turn, so I suppose it was bound to be rather dreary.’
‘Anyway it was exactly like Alice in Wonderland – and always will be.’
‘Who is responsible for the Boston Tea Party?’
‘The Barton branch,’ said Eugenia, ‘and I had a letter this morning from their leader saying that their charabanc broke down on the way here. It will be mended by tomorrow. I say, Union Jackshirt Aspect, can’t you make Mr Wilkins speak up in the: “Leave our great Empire then, vile democrats” speech at the Boston T.P. It is a frightfully important speech and he mumbled it dreadfully.’
‘I thought he was just wonderful,’ said Lady Marjorie. ‘Oh, dear! how divine he looked in his robes too.’
‘Oh, this rain!’
‘One thing,’ said Eugenia, ‘if it rains an inch tomorrow we do get £100 out of the insurance.’ Jasper
