Miss Godkin herself was a prominent figure upon the scene as Appleby and Church walked up the drive. Standing under a cedar on the lawn she was giving instructions to two gardeners of decorously mature years. She was attended by two young ladies who were learning how to give instructions to gardeners. As their allotted path in life was that of primary school-teaching in an industrial town it was perhaps far from certain that they would ever bring this particular branch of knowledge into play. But – as Miss Godkin was fond of saying – one never can tell nowadays; and for this reason two of her charges were thus chosen daily to enjoy the more intimate experiences of superior living. They fed at Miss Godkin’s table and there was Georgian silver and coffee out of Crown Derby cups. The silver was not so bad; it would take a most unluckily savage bite to make any permanent impression on it. But from first stir to last sip the Crown Derby was sheer agony throughout.
‘Dear Mr Appleton, how good of you to come!’ Miss Godkin advanced in what might be called a garden-party way – to which was added however a faint touch of conspiratorial and businesslike feeling. ‘Mr Church, we are glad to see you.’ Miss Godkin turned to Crunkhorn’s assistant with a nice glide from cordiality to gracious condescension. ‘And now here are Miss Bearup and Miss Fisher.’ And Miss Godkin proceeded to introduce Miss Bearup and Miss Fisher to Appleby and Church to Miss Bearup and Miss Fisher. From which Appleby concluded that the curious bee about the Foreign Office must be buzzing in Miss Godkin’s head still. Indeed he could hardly otherwise have contrived to arrange with the somewhat mystified lady a luncheon party on his own terms.
‘And now where, I wonder, is dear Else? Mr Church, she is quite a friend of yours, I believe. But she will turn up presently, I don’t doubt. The bell will ring at any moment, and she is a most punctual girl.’ Miss Godkin paused on this and smiled meaningfully at her two charges. ‘But here is another of our guests.’ And Miss Godkin again advanced over the greensward. ‘Miss Cavenett?’ she said inquiringly. ‘How do you do.’
Mr Church’s Miss Cavenett had marked the particularity – not altogether festive – of the occasion by arriving in a taxi; and now she suffered introductions in an ominous quiet. Mr Church was understood to mumble something to the effect of having met before. Miss Cavenett, having received from Appleby over the telephone the vague impression that she was being invited into the heart of her fiancé’s harem, treated Miss Fisher and Miss Bearup to a species of rapid refrigeration of which the icy breath might have been felt half across St Cecilia’s spreading lawns. And this was hard on Miss Fisher and Miss Bearup. They were expected to be ladylike; whereas Miss Cavenett had all the horrid liberty and resources of a gentlewoman. Under the most genial circumstances they would have had some little difficulty with their hands and feet; Miss Cavenett was unconscious of the even more anxious business of turning the head upon the neck – and it was most probable that she had never as much as heard of Received Standard English. As they all walked towards the house Appleby, although he ought no doubt to have attached himself to Miss Godkin, contrived to get these unfortunate young people one on each side of him. ‘I think’, he said, ‘that you have an awfully jolly place here.’
Miss Bearup turned her head cautiously until she might just conceivably have glimpsed the tip of Appleby’s nose. ‘It is very pleasant,’ she said. ‘It is so spacious and restful.’
To this Appleby made no reply – and, oddly enough, Miss Bearup appeared to be encouraged by his silence. ‘In fact’, she added in something like a half-whisper, ‘it’s sometimes a bit
quiet
. If you know what I mean.’
‘I think I do.’ Out of the corner of his eye Appleby could see Miss Godkin doing her best with Joan Cavenett, and Timothy Church glowering along by himself. ‘I should imagine it’s all right for a time.’
‘That’s just it,’ said Miss Bearup, and both she and Miss Fisher looked with sudden admiration at a stranger of such philosophic penetration. ‘And there are things one learns, I must say. Omelettes and amateur theatricals and what to do to the stalks of flowers. I expect it all helps later on. And how to speak distinctly. Not that I think people didn’t hear me pretty clearly before.’
‘And the Facts of Life,’ said Miss Fisher incautiously.
Miss Bearup laughed – engagingly, Appleby thought. ‘Miss Godkin gives little talks on that. And sometimes there’s a fact or two thrown in that might be really useful, if you ask me. But the rest requires a pretty strong stomach, as you might say.’ Miss Bearup now looked full at Appleby – and her stride lengthened on the grass. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘sometimes it’s just god-awful being a woman.’
‘I say’ – Miss Fisher too now was an ally – ‘why did that girl look at us that way when we were introduced? Is she something too frightfully grand?’
‘Not so far as I know. I believe she mistook you for other people.’
‘How very odd!’ Miss Fisher glanced cautiously over her shoulder. ‘You know, odd things do happen at St Cecilia’s from time to time. Particularly since these foreigners have taken to drifting through.’
‘The German girls?’ Appleby dropped the question casually. ‘How do you find you like them?’
Miss Fisher looked at Miss Bearup, as if this were a complex matter requiring the superior gifts of her friend. And Miss Bearup scowled with a frankness that would have occasioned Miss Godkin acute distress. ‘You get the facts of life from them, all right,’ she said. ‘Facts of death and hell let loose. And they’re nice kids, only a bit jumpy because of what they’ve been mixed up with. Not that we see a great deal of them, because they’re not really at the Hall. Miss Godkin just picks them up somehow.’
‘Parlour boarders,’ said Miss Fisher.
Miss Bearup remained serious. ‘I wouldn’t like to be made to feel about my own country like some of those people are. You know, all that will have to be stopped, if you ask me. Don’t you think?’
‘Hitler’s Germany?’ Appleby nodded. ‘Yes.’
Miss Fisher frowned. ‘It will mean our men being killed, and the children bombed, and people like ourselves going and making things in factories?’
‘Yes,’ said Appleby. ‘It will mean all that.’
‘Well, it must just be stopped, all the same.’ Miss Bearup kicked a divot out of the lawn with a vicious skill which might have frozen Miss Godkin’s blood. ‘Hullo, there she is.’
‘The latest one,’ said Miss Fisher. ‘A bit different from the others. In fact, an absolute… well, you’ll see for yourself.’
Appleby was already seeing for himself. He had no need of anyone to tell him that the girl in the black frock, who now stood waiting for the party by a French window, was Fräulein Schmauch. Nor did he need to be told that she was, too, Zuleika Dobson. The Germans are not strong in the production of fatal women but occasionally they produce a masterpiece. And Fräulein Schmauch was that. She was tall and perfectly proportioned; her features were regular, her skin was ivory, and her eyes and hair were black. But these and other charms were quite obviously only so many
points d’appui
upon which the total and uncommunicable effect of Fräulein Schmauch was based. Meet her, and clearly you had to make up your mind at once. Either you must let your thoughts dwell carefully on other things or resign yourself to the rapid and uncontrollable growth of sheer amatory obsession. And, likely enough, Fräulein Schmauch would pay no attention to you. But whether this neglect was that of the replete tiger or of the unspotted and milk-white hind it would not be easy to say. For of Fräulein Schmauch’s superlatively compelling attributes a large inscrutability was not the least.
Of all this – and doubtless more – Miss Cavenett was rapidly aware. And if the awareness had the effect of returning Miss Fisher and Miss Bearup to a welcome obscurity in her regard it was far from contributing to the ease of the ensuing luncheon. This took place upon a dais from which Miss Godkin could survey the body of her charges, who sat at narrow tables and restrainedly conversed across a barrier of tastefully ordered flowers. Miss Godkin, while keeping an eagle’s eye upon the larger scene, directed the conversation of the immediate party into artistic channels. Miss Fisher and Miss Bearup were required to show knowledge of Mr Pasmore and Mr Duncan Grant; Fräulein Schmauch was consulted on Ernst and Klee. Fräulein Schmauch had little to say; as her voice when she did speak had a low, husky quality which played alarmingly upon the spine this was perhaps all to the good. Timothy Church, who might have been expected to eat in glowering or embarrassed silence, was unpredictably gay, his spirits being perhaps raised by a sense of some imminent resolution of his fate. But, all in all, it was an uncomfortable meal, and general relief was produced when Miss Godkin rose and pronounced grace. ‘And now, my dear Else’ – and Miss Godkin cast her conspiratorial glance at Appleby – ‘I want you to take Miss Cavenett and Mr Church and show them the new herb garden; it is really doing remarkably well. And you, my dear girls,’ – and she turned to Miss Bearup and Miss Fisher – ‘have work to do, I know.’ This was evidently a well-understood formula of dismissal; Miss Godkin’s two victims of the day withdrew after correct farewells; and presently Appleby and his hostess were in the garden again alone, with Fräulein Schmauch and her charges disappearing round a clipped yew hedge.
‘Well,’ said Appleby, following them with his eye, ‘I think perhaps they may work it out.’
‘Work it out? Really, Mr Appleby, you must understand that all this had puzzled me a great deal. I think I may say that commonly there is not much at St Cecilia’s that I don’t know about. Not that the girls are not allowed their proper privacy and reserve, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Appleby politely.
‘But ever since Sir David arranged that these German girls should come to me from time to time–’
‘It was Sir David who arranged that?’
‘I am quite sure that it was really the dear Duke.’
‘A much more likely man to organize the thing, I should say.’
‘To
organize
the thing? Dear me, I am quite puzzled again. But I gathered that Sir David was merely carrying out the Duke’s wishes, and that there was a considerable
inwardness
to the whole affair.’ Miss Godkin looked cautiously round the empty lawn, as if fearful of being overheard. ‘Had it been Sir David alone I should scarcely have agreed. Particularly since–’
‘Particularly since Fräulein Schmauch has arrived and exercised such a fatal power over elderly men.’
‘Precisely so; you appear to know all about it.’ And Miss Godkin looked at Appleby in surprise. ‘It has been extremely embarrassing – particularly as I have sometimes feared that the thing could not but be remarked by the girls. Perhaps you know that Sir David Evans himself–’
‘And Pluckrose and Professor Prisk?’
‘And these as well. Dinners and theatres. In a place like Nesfield one just can’t behave in that way. I have been particularly apprehensive in regard to Mr Prisk, whose reputation is the reverse of good. Mr Lasscock, who is a close friend of mine, has recently discovered the most incontrovertible evidence of that. It has been most worrying.’
‘I am sure it has. And now with murder added–’
Miss Godkin gave what could only be called a yelp of dismay. ‘Mr Appleby, you can’t mean to suggest that there is any connexion between that horrible affair and
St Cecilia’s!
’
‘There has been this rivalry, as I suppose it may be termed, over your latest German protégée. And it is possible – well, to construct a tenable theory connecting either Evans or Prisk with the crime. Not that there aren’t other factors too. There are plenty of motives lying around, though I don’t know that any of them is quite as strong as I would wish. And, for what it is worth, I am inclined to guess that Fräulein Schmauch’s place is merely on the outskirts of the affair… I wonder how those three are getting on.’
‘Else and Mr Church and this Miss Cavenett? Will you please explain what you mean by saying that they have to work something out? Do both the young women want to marry him?’
‘Dear me, no.’ Appleby halted and looked mildly at Miss Godkin. ‘One of them is married to him already.’
‘Mr Appleby! Have you had me arrange this luncheon to further some horrible collusive divorce?’ Miss Godkin was aghast. ‘Following upon a disgraceful clandestine marriage?’
Appleby shook his head. ‘I don’t know that anything of the sort will be necessary. For although Church is married to Fräulein Schmauch–’
‘Oh dear, oh dear!’
‘–I doubt whether the marriage is legally valid. You see, he has been married before.’
‘Married before!’
‘Quite often. In fact to
all
those German girls – or at any rate to a good many of them. And now he wants Miss Cavenett.’
Miss Godkin, with a complete failure of the principles of deportment, grabbed wildly at a garden chair. ‘Mr Appleby,’ she gasped as she sank down, ‘am I mad?’
‘I am quite sure you are not. But a fair part of the world is – and the disease is particularly bad round about the centre of Europe.’
‘This is wholly bewildering. I quite fail to follow you. I cannot see what possible connexion there may be between the state of Europe and this Church’s monstrous career of bigamy.’
‘Bigamy? Well, I’d hardly call it that. Knight-errantry sounds better by a long way.’
‘Knight-errantry! Are we to understand that Mr Church tours dragons’ caves and tyrants’ dungeons picking up
wives?
’
Appleby sat down. ‘Yes,’ he said soberly. ‘He does. Or he tours Himmler’s Germany, which is much the same thing. And I believe that other young men have been in on it too, and that it is something which the Duke of Nesfield has found a good deal of satisfaction in financing and organizing. Suppose, Miss Godkin, that you’re the daughter of a Jewish professor in Berlin. Or suppose you’re a Munich girl who has worked for the Social Democrats or for anybody those gentry don’t like. What’s your best chance? To marry an Englishman or an American quick and get away while the going is good.’
‘But surely–’