‘Really? I’m not quite sure.’
Soon, too soon for my liking, we found ourselves back at the house.
‘Porridge,’ said the duke, again looking at his watch.
The front door opened upon a scene of great confusion, most of the house party, some in tweeds and some in dressing-gowns, were assembled in the hall, as were various outdoor and indoor servants, while a village policeman, who in the excitement of the moment had brought his bicycle in with him, was conferring with Lord Montdore. High above our heads, leaning over the balustrade in front of Niobe, Lady Montdore, in a mauve satin wrap, was shouting at her husband:
‘Tell him we must have Scotland Yard down at once, Montdore. If he won’t send for them I shall ring up the Home Secretary myself. Most fortunately, I have the number of his private line. In fact, I think I’d better go and do it now.’
‘No, no, my dear, please not. An Inspector is on his way, I tell you.’
‘Yes, I dare say, but how do we know it’s the very best Inspector? I think I’d better get on to my friend, I think he’d be hurt with me if I didn’t, the dear thing. Always so anxious to do what he can.’
I was rather surprised to hear Lady Montdore speak so affectionately of a member of the Labour Government, this not being the attitude of other grown-ups, in my experience, but when I came to know her better I realized that power was a positive virtue in her eyes and that she automatically liked those who were invested with it.
My companion, with that look of concentration which comes over French faces when a meal is in the offing, did not wait to hear any of this. He made a bee-line for the dining-room, but although I was also very hungry indeed after my walk, curiosity got the better of me and I stayed to find out what it all meant. It seemed that there had been a burglary during the night and that nearly everybody in the house, except Lord and Lady Montdore, had been roundly robbed of jewels, loose cash, furs and anything portable of the kind that happened to be lying about. What made it particularly annoying for the victims was that they had all been woken up by somebody prowling in their rooms, but had all immediately concluded that it must be Sauveterre, pursuing his well-known hobby, so that the husbands had merely turned over with a grunt, saying, ‘Sorry, old chap, it’s only me, I should try next door,’ while the wives had lain quite still in a happy trance of desire, murmuring such words of encouragement as they knew in French. Or so, at least, they were saying about each other, and when I passed the telephone box on my way upstairs to change my wet shoes I could hear Mrs Chaddesley Corbett’s bird-like twitters piping her version of the story to the outside world. Perhaps the Cabinet changes were becoming a little bit of a bore after all and these ladies did rather long, at heart, for a new policy.
The general feeling was now very much against Sauveterre, whose fault the whole thing clearly was. It became positively inflamed when he was known to have had a good night’s rest, to have got up at eight to telephone to his mistress in Paris and then to have gone for a walk with that little girl. (‘Not the Bolter’s child for nothing,’ I heard somebody say bitterly.) The climax was reached when he was seen to be putting away a huge breakfast of porridge and cream, kedgeree, eggs, cold ham, and slice upon slice of toast covered with Cooper’s Oxford. Very un-French, not at all in keeping with his reputation, unsuitable behaviour too, in view of the well-known frailty of his fellow guests. Britannia felt herself slighted by this foreigner, away with him! And away he went, immediately after breakfast, driving hell-for-leather to Newhaven to catch the boat for Dieppe.
‘Castle life,’ explained his mother, who placidly stayed until quite late on Monday, ‘always annoys Fabrice and makes him nervous, poor boy.’
6
The rest of that day was rather disorganized. The men finally went off shooting, very late, while the women stayed at home to be interviewed by various Inspectors on the subject of their lost possessions. Of course, the burglary made a wonderful topic of conversation, and indeed, nobody spoke of anything else.
‘I couldn’t care less about the diamond brooch, after all, it’s well insured and now I shall be able to have clips instead, which will be far and away smarter. Veronica’s clips always make me miserable, every time I see her, and besides, that brooch used to remind me of my bogus old mother-in-law too much. But I couldn’t think it more hateful of them to have taken my fur tippet. Burglars never seem to realize one might feel the cold. How would they like it if I took away their wife’s shawl?’
‘Yes, it is a shame. I’m in a terrible do about my bracelet of lucky charms – no value to anybody else – really – too too sick-making. Just when I had managed to get a bit of hangman’s rope, Mrs Thompson too, did I tell you? Roly will never win the National now, poor sweet.’
‘With me it’s Mummy’s little locket she had as a child. I can’t think why my ass of a maid had to go and put it in, she never does as a rule.’
These brassy ladies became quite human as they mourned their lost trinkets, and now that the men were out of the house they suddenly seemed very much nicer. I am speaking of the Veronica chorus, for Mrs Chaddesley Corbett herself, in common with Lady Montdore and Lady Patricia, was always exactly the same whatever the company.
At tea-time the village policeman reappeared with his bicycle, having wiped the eye of all the grand detectives who
