Death in a White Tie (4 page)

A few days after his visit to the Yard, Lord Robert Gospell attended a cocktail-party given by Mrs Halcut-Hackett for her plain protégée. Who this plain protégée was, nobody seemed to know, but it was generally supposed that Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s object in bringing her out was not entirely philanthropic. At the moment nobody ever remembered the girl’s name but merely recognized her as a kind of coda to Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s social activities.

This was one of the first large cocktail-parties of the season and there were as many as two hundred and fifty guests there. Lord Robert adored parties of all kinds and was, as Alleyn had pointed out, asked everywhere. He knew intimately that section of people to whom the London season is a sort of colossal hurdle to be taken in an exhilarating leap or floundered over as well as may be. He was in tremendous demand as a chaperone’s partner, could be depended on to help with those unfortunate children of seventeen who, in spite of all the efforts of finishing schools, dressmakers, hairdressers, face-specialists and their unflagging mothers, were apt to be seen standing alone nervously smiling on the outskirts of groups. With these unhappy débutantes Lord Robert took infinite trouble. He would tell them harmless little stories and when they laughed would respond as if they themselves had said something amusing. His sharp little eyes would search about for younger men than himself and he would draw them into a group round himself and the girl. Because of his reputation as a gentle wit, the wariest and most conceited young men were always glad to be seen talking to Lord Robert, and soon the débutante would find herself the only girl in a group of men who seemed to be enjoying themselves. Her nervous smile would vanish and a delicious feeling of confidence would inspire her. And when Lord Robert saw her eyes grow bright and her hands relax, he would slip away and join the cluster of chaperones where he told stories a little less harmless and equally diverting.

But in the plain protégée of General and Mrs Halcut-Hackett he met his Waterloo. She was not so very plain but only rather disastrously uneventful. Every inch of this unhappy child had been prepared for the cocktail-party with passionate care and at great expense by her chaperone — one of those important American women with lovely faces and cast-iron figures. Lord Robert was greeted by Mrs Halcut-Hackett, who looked a little older than usual, and by her husband the General, a notable fire-eater who bawled “What!” two or three times and burst into loud surprising laughter which was his method of circulating massed gaiety. Lord Robert twinkled at him and passed on into the thick of the party. A servant whom he recognized as the Halcut-Hackett’s butler gave him a drink. “Then they’re not having Dimitri or anybody like that,” thought Lord Robert. He looked about him. On the right-hand side of the enormous room were collected the débutantes, and the young men who, in the last analysis, could make the antics of the best dance-bands in London, all the efforts of all the Dimitris, Miss Harrises, and Mrs Halcut-Hacketts to the tune of a thousand pounds, look like a single impotent gesture. Among them were the young men who were spoken of, in varying degrees of irony, as “The Debs’ Delight.” Lord Robert half suspected his nephew Donald of being a Debs’ Delight. There he was in the middle of it all with Bridget O’Brien, making himself agreeable. Very popular, evidently. “He’ll have to settle down,” thought Lord Robert. “He’s altogether too irresponsible and he’s beginning to look dissipated. Don’t like it.”

Then he saw the plain protégée of Mrs Halcut-Hackett. She had just met a trio of incoming débutantes and had taken them to their right side of the room. He saw how they all spoke politely and pleasantly to her but without any air of intimacy. He saw her linger a moment while they were drawn into the whirlpool of high-pitched conversation. Then she turned away and stood looking towards the door where her chaperone dealt faithfully with the arrivals. She seemed utterly lost. Lord Robert crossed the room and greeted her with his old-fashioned bow.

“How-de-do. This
is
a good party,” he said, with a beaming smile.

“Oh! Oh — I’m so glad.”

“I’m an old hand, y’know,” continued Lord Robert, “and I always judge a cocktail-party by the time that elapses between one’s paying one’s respects and getting a drink. Now this evening I was given this excellent drink within two minutes of shaking hands with the General. Being a thirsty, greedy old customer, I said to myself: ‘Good party.’ ”

“I’m so glad,” repeated the child.

She was staring, he noticed, at her chaperone, and he saw that Mrs Halcut-Hackett was talking to a tall smooth man with a heavy face, lack-lustre eyes and a proprietary manner. Lord Robert looked fixedly at this individual.

“Do tell me,” he said, “who is that man with our hostess?”

The girl started violently and without taking her gaze off Mrs Halcut-Hackett, said woodenly: “It’s Captain Withers.”

“Ah,” thought Lord Robert, “I fancied it was.” Aloud he said: “Withers? Then it’s not the same feller. I rather thought I knew him.”

“Oh,” said the protégée. She had turned her head slightly and he saw that she now looked at the General. “Like a frightened rabbit,” thought Lord Robert. “For all the world like a frightened rabbit.” The General had borne down upon his wife and Captain Withers. Lord Robert now witnessed a curious little scene. General Halcut-Hackett glared for three seconds at Captain Withers who smiled, bowed, and moved away. The General then spoke to his wife and immediately, for a fraction of a second, the terror — Lord Robert decided that terror was not too strong a word — that shone in the protégée’s eyes was reflected in the chaperone’s. Only for a second, and then with her husband she turned to greet a new arrival who Lord Robert saw with pleasure was Lady Alleyn. She was followed by a thin girl with copper-coloured hair and slanting eyebrows that at once reminded him of his friend Roderick. “Must be the niece,” he decided. The girl at his side suddenly murmured an excuse and hurried away to greet Sarah Alleyn. Lord Robert finished his drink and was given another. In a few minutes he was surrounded by acquaintances and was embarked upon one of his new stories. He made his point very neatly, drifted away on the wave of laughter that greeted it, and found Lady Alleyn.

“My dear Bunchy,” she said, “you are the very person I hoped to see. Come and gossip with me. I feel like a phoenix.”

“You look like a princess,” he said. “Why do we meet so seldom? Where shall we go?”

“If there is a corner reserved for grandmothers I ought to be in it. Good heavens, how everybody screams. How old are you, Bunchy?”

“Fifty-five, m’dear.”

“I’m sixty-five. Do you find people very noisy nowadays or are you still too much of a chicken?”

“I enjoy parties, awfully, but I agree that there ain’t much repose in modern intercourse.”

“That’s it,” said Lady Alleyn, settling herself in a chair. “No repose. All the same I like the moderns, especially the fledgelings. As Roderick says, they finish their thoughts.
We
only did that in the privacy of our bedrooms and very often asked forgiveness of our Creator for doing it. What do you think of Sarah?”

“She looks a darling,” said Lord Robert emphatically.

“She’s a pleasant creature. Amazingly casual but she’s got character and, I think, looks,” said her grandmother. “Who are those young things she’s talking to?”

“Bridget O’Brien and my young scapegrace of a nephew.”

“So that’s Evelyn Carrados’s girl. She’s like Paddy, isn’t she?”

“She’s very like both of ’em. Have you seen Evelyn lately?”

“We dined there last night for the play. What’s the matter with Evelyn?”

“Eh?” exclaimed Lord Robert. “You’ve spotted it, have you? You’re a wise woman, m’dear.”

“She’s all over the place. Does Carrados bully her?”

“Bully ain’t quite the word. He’s devilish grand and patient, though. But—”

“But there’s something more. What was the reason for your meeting with Roderick the other day?”

“Hi!” expostulated Lord Robert in a hurry. “What are you up to?”

“I shouldn’t let you tell me if you tried. I trust,” said Lady Alleyn untruthfully but with great dignity, “that I am not a curious woman.”

“That’s pretty rich.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Lady Alleyn grandly. “But I tell you what, Bunchy. I’ve got neurotic women on the brain. Nervous women. Women that are on their guard. It’s a most extraordinary thing,” she continued, rubbing her nose with a gesture that reminded Lord Robert of her son, “but there’s precisely the same look in our hostess’s mascaraed eyes as Evelyn Carrados had in her naturally beautiful ones. Or has this extraordinary drink gone to my head?”

“The drink,” said Lord Robert firmly, “has gone to your head.”

“Dear Bunchy, murmured Lady Alleyn. Their eyes met and they exchanged smiles. The cocktail-party surged politely about them. The noise, the smoke, the festive smell of flowers and alcohol, seemed to increase every moment. Wandering parents eddied round Lady Alleyn’s chair. Lord Robert remained beside her listening with pleasure to her cool light voice and looking out of the corner of his eye at Mrs Halcut-Hackett. Apparently all the guests had arrived. She was moving into the room. This was his chance. He turned round and suddenly found himself face to face with Captain Withers. For a moment they stood and looked at each other. Withers was a tall man and Lord Robert was obliged to tilt his head back a little. Withers was a fine arrogant figure, Lord Robert a plump and comical one. But oddly enough it was Lord Robert who seemed the more dominant and more dignified of these two men and before his mild glare the other suddenly looked furtive. His coarse, handsome face became quite white. Some seconds elapsed before he spoke.

“Oh — ah — how do you do?” said Captain Withers very heartily.

“Good evening,” said Lord Robert and turned back to Lady Alleyn. Captain Withers walked quickly away.

“Why, Bunchy,” said Lady Alleyn softly, “I’ve never seen you snub anybody before.”

“D’you know who that was?”

“No.”

“Feller called Maurice Withers. He’s a throw-back to my Foreign Office days.”

“He’s frightened of you.”

“I hope so,” said Lord Robert. “I’ll trot along and pay my respects to my hostess. It’s been charming seeing you. Will you dine with me one evening? Bring Roderick. Can you give me an evening? Now?”

“I’m so busy with Sarah. May we ring you up? If it can be managed—”

“It must be.
Au ’voir
, m’dear.”

“Good-bye, Bunchy.”

He made his little bow and picked his way through the crowd to Mrs Halcut-Hackett.

“I’m on my way out,” he said, “but I hoped to get a word with you. Perfectly splendid party.”

She turned all the headlights of her social manner full on him. It was, he decided compassionately, a bogus manner. An imitation, but what a good imitation. She called him “dear Lord Robert” like a grande dame in a slightly dated comedy. Her American voice, which he remembered thinking charming in her theatrical days, was now much disciplined and none the better for it. She asked him if he was doing the season very thoroughly and he replied with his usual twinkle that he got about a bit.

“Are you going to the show at the Constance Street Rooms on Thursday afternoon?” he asked. “I’m looking forward to that awfully.”

Her eyes went blank but she scarcely paused before answering yes, she believed she was.

“It’s the Sirmione Quartette,” said Lord Robert. “Awfully good, ain’t they? Real top-notchers.”

Mrs Halcut-Hackett said she adored music, especially classical music.

“Well,” said Lord Robert, “I’ll give myself the pleasure of looking out for you there if it wouldn’t bore you. Not so many people nowadays enjoy Bach.”

Mrs Halcut-Hackett said she thought Bach was marvellous.

“Do tell me,” said Lord Robert with his engaging air of enjoying a gossip. “I’ve just run into a feller whose face looked as familiar as anything, but I can’t place him. Feller over there talking to the girl in red.”

He saw patches of rouge on her cheeks suddenly start up in hard isolation and he thought: “That’s shaken her, poor thing.”.

She said: “Do you mean Captain Maurice Withers?”

“Maybe. The name don’t strike a chord, though. I’ve got a shocking memory. Better be getting along. May I look out for you on Thursday? Thank you so much. Goodbye.”

“Good-bye, dear Lord Robert,” said Mrs Halcut-Hackett.

He edged his way out and was waiting patiently for his hat and umbrella when someone at his elbow said:

“Hullo, Uncle Bunch, are you going home?”

Lord Robert turned slowly and saw his nephew.

“What? Oh, it’s you, Donald! Yes, I am! Taking a cab. Want a lift?”

“Yes, please,” said Donald.

Lord Robert looked over his glasses at his nephew and remarked that he seemed rather agitated. He thought: “What the deuce is the matter with everybody?” but he only said: “Come along, then,” and together they went out into the street. Lord Robert held up his umbrella and a taxi drew in to the kerb.