'Tredwell, when did Alfred leave?'
'It would be about a month ago now, my lady.'
'Why did he leave?'
'It was by his own wish, my lady. I believe he has gone to London . I was not dissatisfied with him in any way. I think you will find the new footman, John, very satisfactory. He seems to know his work and to be most anxious to give satisfaction.'
'Where did he come from?'
'He had excellent references, my lady. He had lived last with Lord Mount Vernon .'
'I see,' said Bundle thoughtfully.
She was remembering that Lord Mount Vernon was at present on a shooting trip in East Africa .
'What's his last name, Tredwell?'
'Bower, my lady.'
Tredwell paused for a minute or two and then, seeing that Bundle had finished, he quietly left the room. Bundle remained lost in thought.
John had opened the door to her on her arrival that day, and she had taken particular notice of him without seeming to do so.
Apparently he was the perfect servant, well trained, with an expressionless face. He had, perhaps, a more soldierly bearing than most footmen and there was something a little odd about the shape of the back of his head.
But these details, as Bundle realised, were hardly relevant to the situation. She sat frowning down at the blotting paper in front of her. She had a pencil in her hand and was idly tracing the name Bower over and over again.
Suddenly an idea struck her and she stopped dead, staring at the word. Then she summoned Tredwell once more.
'Tredwell, how is the name Bower spelt?'
'B-A-U-E-R, my lady.'
'That's not an English name.'
'I believe he is of Swiss extraction, my lady.'
'Oh! That's all, Tredwell, thank you.'
Swiss extraction? No. German! That martial carriage, that flat back to the head.
And he had come to Chimneys a fortnight before Gerry Wade's death.
Bundle rose to her feet. She had done all she could here. Now to get on with things! She went in search of her father.
'I'm off again,' she said. 'I've got to go and see Aunt Marcia.'
'Got to see Marcia?' Lord Caterham's voice was full of astonishment. 'Poor child, how did you get let in for that?'
'Just for once,' said Bundle, 'I happen to be going of my own free will.'
Lord Caterham looked at her in puzzlement.
That anyone could have a genuine desire to face his redoubtable sister-in-law was quite incomprehensible to him. Marcia, Marchioness of Caterham, the widow of his late brother Henry, was a very prominent personality. Lord Caterham admitted that she had made Henry an admirable wife and that but for her in all probability he would never have held the office of Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. On the other hand, he had always looked upon Henry's death as a merciful release.
It seemed to him that Bundle was foolishly putting her head into the lion's mouth.
'Oh! I say,' he said. 'You know, I shouldn't do that. You don't know what it may lead to.'
'I know what I hope it's going to lead to,' said Bundle. 'I'm all right, Father, don't you worry about me.'
Lord Caterham sighed and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He went back to his perusal of the Field. But in a minute or two Bundle suddenly put her head in again.
'Sorry,' she said. 'But there's one other thing I wanted to ask you. What is Sir Oswald Coote?'
'I told you – a steamroller.'
'I don't mean your personal impression of him. How did he make his money – trouser buttons or brass beds or what?'
'Oh, I see. He's steel. Steel and iron. He's got the biggest steel works, or whatever you call it, in England . He doesn't, of course, run the show personally now. It's a company or companies. He got me in as a director of something or other. Very good business for me – nothing to do except go down to the city once or twice a year to one of those hotel places – Cannon Street or Liverpool Street – and sit round a table where they have very nice new blotting paper. Then Coote or some clever Johnny makes a speech simply bristling with figures, but fortunately you needn't listen to it – and I can tell you, you often get a jolly good lunch out of it.'
Uninterested in Lord Caterham's lunches, Bundle had departed again before he had finished speaking. On the way back to London , she tried to piece together things to her satisfaction.
As far as she could see, steel and infant welfare did not go together. One of the two, then, was just padding – presumably the latter. Mrs. Macatta and the Hungarian countess could be ruled out of court. They were camouflage. No, the pivot of the whole thing seemed to be the unattractive Herr Eberhard. He did not seem to be the type of man whom George Lomax would normally invite. Bill had said vaguely that he invented. Then there was the Air Minister, and Sir Oswald Coote, who was steel. Somehow that seemed to hang together.
Since it was useless speculating further, Bundle abandoned the attempt and concentrated on her forthcoming interview with Lady Caterham.
The lady lived in a large gloomy house in one of London 's higher class squares. Inside it smelt of sealing wax, bird seed and slightly decayed flowers. Lady Caterham was a large woman – large in every way. Her proportions were majestic, rather than ample. She had a large beaked nose, wore gold-rimmed pince-nez and her upper lip bore just the faintest suspicion of a moustache.
She was somewhat surprised to see her niece, but accorded her a frigid cheek, which Bundle duly kissed.
'This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Eileen,' she observed coldly.
'We've only just got back, Aunt Marcia.'
'I know. How is your father? Much as usual?'
Her tone conveyed disparagement. She had a poor opinion of Alastair Edward Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham. She would have called him, had she known the term, a 'poor fish.'
'Father is very well. He's down at Chimneys.'
'Indeed. You know, Eileen, I never approved of the letting of Chimneys. The place is in many ways a historical monument. It should not be cheapened.'
'It must have been wonderful in Uncle Henry's day,' said Bundle with a slight sigh.
'Henry realised his responsibilities,' said Henry's widow.
'Think of the people who stayed there,' went on Bundle ecstatically. 'All the principal statesmen of Europe .'
Lady Caterham sighed.
'I can truly say that history has been made there more than once,' she observed. 'If only your father –'
She shook her head sadly.
'Politics bore Father,' said Bundle, 'and yet they are about the most fascinating study there is, I should say. Especially if one knew about them from the inside.'
She made this extravagantly untruthful statement of her feelings without even a blush. Her aunt looked at her with some surprise.
'I am pleased to hear you say so,' she said. 'I always imagined, Eileen, that you cared for nothing but this modern pursuit of pleasure.'
'I used to,' said Bundle.
'It is true that you are still very young,' said Lady Caterham thoughtfully. 'But with your advantages, and if you were to marry suitably, you might be one of the leading political hostesses of the day.'
Bundle felt slightly alarmed. For a moment she feared that her aunt might produce a suitable husband straight away.
