The Feast (22 page)

But what did he mean? This is not a book. Does he guess? Does he know? Why did he ask us? Does
everybody
know?

At ten o’clock Mrs. Cove came up to bed. Blanche pretended to be asleep. She heard her mother’s
movements
, rapid and decisive, the opening and shutting of drawers, the creak of the wardrobe door. And then Mrs. Cove went to have a bath, leaving her handbag on the dressing-table.

Blanche sat up. She slipped out of bed, took the keys from the bag, and opened the suitcase. Taking the carved figure she flung it out of the window as far as she could, on to the grass terrace. Then she locked the
suitcase
, returned the keys and went back to bed.

It was the first time that she had ever taken a decision without consulting her sisters. The idea of returning the piece to Mrs. Pearce never occurred to her, though it would probably have occurred to Maud. She merely wished to put it out of her mother’s possession.

‘What on earth is the matter, Bruce?’

‘Nothing’s the matter with
me
.’

‘What d’you mean by that?’

‘My dear Mrs. Bassington Gore….’

‘You filthy little twerp. Get out!’

‘All right. I’m getting out.’

‘If Nancibel has this effect on you….’

‘You shut your trap about Nancibel.’

‘Amuse yourself with her as much as you like. But …’

‘Did you hear what I said? Another word about her and I’ll shut your mouth for you.’

‘Nancibel …’

‘All right!’

‘Oh, you filthy brute!’

‘I warned you.’

‘My lip’s bleeding. It’s bleeding all over the pillow. Just look at it. What will Miss Ellis say? …You’re rather exciting when you lose your temper. I wish you’d do it oftener. I didn’t realize you’d fallen for Nancibel in a big way. What are you crawling about for?’

‘I’m looking for my shoes.’

‘You’re not really angry, are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why? I think I’ve been very nice about Nancibel. Can’t I even mention her without getting my face slapped?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you’d better take care, Bruce. There’s a point beyond which you can’t depend on me to be nice. I’ll forget the face slapping and I’ll advise you to forget Nancibel.’

‘Or you’ll tell the police I pinched that car?’

‘I didn’t say that. I’m only reminding you that we’d better not quarrel. Come here … Bruce! Come here! Oh, very well. Go if you like. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

The night was vast and cool. All Pendizack Cove lay in a gulf of shadow, but the cliffs stood bare in the
starlight
. Bruce did not go back to the stables and his
precarious
bed. He went down on to the dim sands and walked about, trying to make up his mind what to do next. He was sick of Anna but he was afraid of breaking
with her. For it was she who had introduced him to literary people, the friends of whom he had boasted to Alice and Nancibel. He did not like them much, but they were a step on the ladder which he wished to climb. As soon as his book was published and his genius
recognized
he could be independent of her and of them. If he left her now it might never be published, for he had overstepped the truth when he described this event as a certainty. Anna was bringing pressure upon a publisher friend of hers to accept it.

And then there was that little matter of the car which he had stolen when he was Boots in the South Coast hotel last summer. He had borrowed it to take a girl to a dance, smashed it up in a ditch, and killed a cyclist. Anna knew about that. She had supplied him with an alibi when he was questioned. She had rescued him from the police and his blacking brushes, and taken him back with her to London. She had encouraged him to write and taken him to cocktail parties. He certainly owed her a great deal, though he felt that he had paid for it.

He disliked his position, and at intervals he despised himself for it. But he would have been content to stay on with Anna until his book was published if it had not been for Nancibel, and the fact that such a choice would cut him off for ever from Nancibel’s regard. He had an idea that she might, in time, forgive the past, but he was sure that she would stand no compromise in the future.

It was nonsense. It was Nancibel against his whole career; not even her love either, merely her respect. Who was she, and what was she, he wondered angrily, to overset his life like this? A servant, a village girl, not outstandingly pretty. She had no brains either, and but a poor education. With his intelligence and his looks he could do much better for himself. He must get over his infatuation. On Monday he would be leaving
Pendizack
. He would never see her again, and in a year’s time, when his book was out, he would thank his stars
that he had avoided this pitfall. She did not care for him. The rift would mean nothing to her.

She must be asleep by now, in that little cottage up among the stony fields where he had been given a cup of tea last night. He had enjoyed himself there. He had been happy. But that sort of happiness was, he felt, too easy. He might just as well have stayed at home, and taken on his father’s job at the waterworks, if that was all he wanted. Surely it was no crime to wish for
distinction
, to want to be Somebody?

She was asleep now, with her mother and father, and all her brothers and sisters, packed together in that little house, sleeping soundly after their hard day’s work. While he, in Anna’s bed, had been working his way towards distinction. But his next book …
a
comedy
,
very
corrupt
and
mondain,
with
a
continental
background
…
nobody
ever
reads
the
third
book
….

He had turned to go back to his bed in the stables, but the memory of Mr. Siddal’s speculations about that third book frightened him so much that he swerved aside and began to climb the path to the headland. Suppose there never was any distinction? Suppose he never arrived at being Somebody?

When he first went with Anna to London he had known nothing of his predecessors. Anna had referred to them freely and had spoken of them as if they were all important people, but he had never met any of them, seldom heard them mentioned. He had supposed this to be an accident. But now he began to wonder if there was not some truth in Siddal’s implication and that oblivion was the sure lot of any man by the time that Anna had done with him.

He wished very much that he could consult somebody—frankly, and without shame, confide his dilemma. But it must be some person whose judgment he could respect and to no such person could he tell the exact truth. Besides, how could anybody else tell him what he was worth? And what had the others been worth,
potentially
? Did Anna specialize in nonentities or in young
men of promise whom she ruined? Only Mr. Siddal would be likely to know about that, and Mr. Siddal was a disagreeable old tom cat.

He had been striding along very fast, unconscious of his direction, when he became aware of voices in the night. He was not alone upon the headland. People were talking, in low tones, quite close by. He drew up and approached more quietly.

It sounded like a couple of lovers hidden among the boulders. He could not see them but he could hear a man’s voice telling some long story. As he drew nearer words became audible. The story seemed to be some kind of lecture on biology.

‘Tarsals,’ said the voice, ‘and metatarsals. Is that clear?’

There was no answer, and the voice said:

‘Angie! Are you asleep?’

‘No,’ replied another soft little voice, ‘no … I’m not asleep. Who did you say met a tarsal?’

The night rang with Gerry Siddal’s laughter, and Bruce strolled away. He had caught sight of a third person, some little distance off, sitting outlined against the stars on the topmost rocks of the point. The place, he thought, was as populous as Piccadilly. Who were they? What was going on?

At the sound of his feet upon the rocks Mrs. Paley turned round.

‘Oh,’ she said pleasantly, ‘have you come to join us?’

Miss Ellis was sitting in the office. She was doing nothing, for there was nothing to do. But she had grown tired of sitting in her bedroom. Officially she was on strike and under notice, but she did not intend to leave Pendizack until she had found another job.

Presently Mrs. Cove looked in and asked for Mrs. Siddal.

‘Out,’ said Miss Ellis.

‘Are you in charge?’

‘No,’ said Miss Ellis, with a titter. ‘I believe I’m sacked.’

‘What a place,’ muttered Mrs. Cove, retreating. ‘First I’m robbed and then …’

‘Robbed?’ cried Miss Ellis, galvanized into interest. ‘Have you missed something?’

‘Yes. Something has been stolen from my room.’

‘Tck! Tck! You’d better give me the particulars, Mrs. Cove.’

‘If you are not in charge I don’t see …’

‘Oh, I’d better look into it, I suppose. Mrs. Siddal would probably expect it. What have you lost?’

Mrs. Cove gave the details in as few words as possible.

‘I saw it in my suitcase last night,’ she said. ‘That was the last time I had it unlocked until five minutes ago, when I opened it to get
a handkerchief. I missed the carving at once. I always carry my keys. But it’s a cheap suitcase. Most keys would open it, I’m afraid.’

‘Had your room been done?’ asked Miss Ellis.

‘Yes, as much as any room ever gets done here. The beds were made.’

‘Hmph! And the room has never been empty since you saw your carving last night until you all went down to breakfast this morning?’

‘That is so. It must have been taken this morning, within the last hour. I should like Nancibel to be questioned.’

‘Certainly, Mrs. Cove. I’ll call her.’

Miss Ellis, with lofty satisfaction, rang a bell which was supposed to summon Fred. But nobody had ever dreamed of calling him in this way and, though he heard it, he did not realize that it was for him. So the bell remained unanswered.

‘You’d better go and find somebody,’ suggested Mrs. Cove contemptuously.

Miss Ellis went to the door into the kitchen passage and yelled orders that Nancibel was to be sent
immediately
to the office.

‘It’s what I’ve never been accustomed to,’ she said to Mrs. Cove when she came back. ‘Servants living out. In a good hotel you don’t find that sort of thing. It gives them so much more opportunity….’

‘Has anything else been missed?’ asked Mrs. Cove.

‘Not that I’ve heard of. But people don’t always find out at once,’ said Miss Ellis.

‘Is she a good servant?’

‘Very bad. Quite untrained. And very lazy and impertinent. I don’t think she had a reference. She came here straight out of the A.T.S. I may say that
I
thought certain things disappeared in a mysterious way. Soap, for instance. And a roller towel was missing. And I never could make out what became of all the jam. Of course, nowadays, when everything is so valuable … ah … here she is.’

Nancibel appeared and stood by the office door. She was surprised at this summons, and showed it.

‘Now, Nancibel,’ began Miss Ellis. ‘Please answer truthfully.’

The girl flushed, but she controlled her tongue and waited.

‘Did you take anything out of Mrs. Cove’s room this morning?’

‘I took the slops, Miss Ellis.’

‘We don’t mean the slops. A valuable ornament has been stolen from Mrs. Cove’s room during the last hour. You were the only person known to have entered that room. Can you tell us anything about it?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

Miss Ellis looked at Nancibel and smiled.

‘Because,’ she said, ‘if you did yield to a sudden temptation it would be very much better to confess to it now. In that case, provided you give back what you took, I daresay Mrs. Cove will overlook the theft.’

Nancibel did not reply. She turned and marched off to the kitchen where Duff and Robin were finishing a very late breakfast.

‘Will you tell Mrs. Siddal I’ve gone home,’ she said to them. ‘And I’m afraid I can’t come back here till Miss Ellis has gone. Miss Ellis will explain why.’

She went to the peg by the back door where her bag and her outdoor shoes were kept. Robin and Duff, horror-struck at the thought of losing her, came out too, entreating her to think better of it and wait till their mother came home.

‘I can’t,’ she said, changing her shoes. ‘Miss Ellis has as good as called me a thief. I don’t stand for that from anybody.’

Voices were heard at the end of the passage. Miss Ellis was unctuously reassuring Mrs. Cove.

‘But, of course, that goes without saying. She shan’t leave the house … why, Nancibel … what are you doing?’

‘I’m going home, Miss Ellis.’

‘What’s in that bag?’ put in Mrs. Cove, sharply.

‘That’s where I put my overall.’

‘A very large bag for such a purpose, don’t you think, Miss Ellis?’

‘It is indeed, Mrs. Cove. I’ve always thought so, but of course my opinion was never asked. How can one check up on what goes out of the house….’

‘You’re welcome to search it,’ said Nancibel
contemptuously
.

She held it out and Mrs. Cove took it. Duff, unable to contain his indignation, stepped forward.

‘This is perfectly monstrous,’ he said. ‘We’ve known Nancibel all our lives….’

‘Ah,’ exclaimed Mrs. Cove. ‘Here it is.’

She held up a small dark object.

‘Here is the piece I lost.’

‘That!’ exclaimed Nancibel in astonishment. ‘Why …. that’s my great grannie’s. It belongs to her.’

‘I say …’ burst out Robin.

‘It’s mine,’ said Mrs. Cove. ‘I bought it in
Porthmerryn
. It was in my suitcase last night. This morning it was gone. How does it come to be in your bag?’

‘I found it on the grass outside the house when I came to work this morning,’ said Nancibel. ‘And I picked it up and put it in my bag. I forgot about it till this minute. I thought you said it was a valuable ornament you’d lost.’

‘It’s very valuable. It’s black amber.’

‘
I say!
’

‘Is it a habit of yours to pocket any little things you find lying about?’ asked Mrs. Cove. ‘Why didn’t you hand it in to the office?’

‘Found it on the grass! She never! What a tale …’ cried Miss Ellis.

‘I meant to ask Mrs. Siddal, but I forgot. I thought it was my great grannie’s. It is too. It is hers. I’d know it anywhere.’

‘And why, pray,’ asked Miss Ellis, ‘should your great grannie’s junk be lying on Pendizack lawn?’

‘It is hers. It’s got my uncle Ned’s initials scratched on the bottom. I looked to see, and you can look too if you like.’

Here Robin emerged from his first exclamatory surprise.

‘Then it was you,’ he said fiercely to Mrs. Cove. ‘You did buy that poor old woman’s carving. You knew it was valuable, and you only gave her five pounds ten.’

But Mrs. Cove ignored him.

‘It vanished from my suitcase and now I find it in your bag,’ she said to Nancibel. ‘That’s all I know. I’ve a very good mind to send for the police.’

‘I shall fetch Sir Henry,’ declared Robin. ‘He knows all about it. He knows how she’s cheated poor old Mrs. Pearce.’

He rushed off just as Nancibel burst into tears.

‘It was on the grass,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t know how it came there, but it was.’

‘Nobody’s going to believe that,’ Miss Ellis proclaimed. ‘You’ve been caught this time, my lady.’

Duff advanced and took Nancibel by the arm.

‘Don’t cry,’ he adjured her. ‘Everybody will believe you. Everybody knows you. If you say it was on the grass, then it was.’

‘I shall charge her with the theft,’ said Mrs. Cove.

‘I really think you ought,’ agreed Miss Ellis, ‘if only for the sake of other visitors. If it’s known that Mrs. Siddal is deliberately sheltering a dishonest servant … well … people will know to be careful of their things.’

‘
You’d
better be careful what you say,’ Duff warned them. ‘Nancibel could have you up for slander.’

Sir Henry and Robin here appeared, and Sir Henry at once asked Mrs. Cove if it was true that she had bought the piece in dispute from Mrs. Pearce on Monday afternoon.

‘I don’t really see that it’s anyone’s business where I bought it,’ said Mrs. Cove. ‘It certainly belongs to me.’

‘I only ask because I was particularly anxious to look at that piece. I was very much disappointed when I heard that it had been sold. I was hoping you would allow me to see it.’

‘Why?’ asked Mrs. Cove suspiciously

‘I collect amber. If it’s really black amber it must be a find. I … I suppose you wouldn’t sell it….’

There was a pause and Mrs. Cove looked thoughtful. Duff, who had taken the sobbing Nancibel into the kitchen, could be heard saying:

‘Let her send for the police. Everyone will believe you. And all the newspapers will get the story of how she cheated your great-grandmother.’

‘Suppose we go somewhere quieter,’ suggested Sir Henry.

Still a little doubtfully, Mrs. Cove agreed. She went with him and Robin into the lounge. Miss Ellis, her eyes popping, tried to follow them, but Mrs. Cove said coldly:

‘Thank you, Miss Ellis. That will do. I shall take no proceedings against Nancibel this time, as I have my carving back.’

In order to emphasize the dismissal she shut Miss Ellis out of the lounge. Half eagerly, half reluctantly, she handed the piece to Sir Henry, who examined it carefully.

‘You know, Mrs. Cove,’ he said at last, ‘I really think that old lady ought to have this back. I should like to buy it and give it back to her. What will you take?’

‘A
thousand guineas,’ said Mrs. Cove.

‘You think it’s worth that?’

‘That’s what it’s worth to me.’

‘Yet you bought it for five pounds ten,’ he pointed out. ‘This old woman is almost destitute. She’s threatened with the workhouse. She’s very ignorant. She has no idea of the value of a thing like this. Do you really think it’s …’

Mrs. Cove interrupted him, her eyes blazing.

‘And who will pay for her in the workhouse? Who
pays her old age pension? Who pays for all these wretched improvident people who haven’t troubled to save for their old age? Their children? The people who ought to look after them? Oh no, I have to. Three-quarters of my income is taken from me for people like that. I’ve not the slightest sympathy for the so-called poor, Sir Henry. They get everything done for them, their children educated, doctors, hospitals, everything. Just because they’re too lazy to work and earn enough to keep
themselves
decently. I think that nowadays people in our class are justified in looking after themselves. We know very well they’d take every penny from us if they could.’

‘My wife would agree with you,’ said Sir Henry. ‘But are you really taxed 75 per cent.? Of course, super-tax is pretty steep nowadays but … oh, well, that’s not the point. About this object … will you take ten pounds for it?’

He held up the carved figure.

‘Ten pounds!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cove. ‘You must think I’m feeble-minded. Give it back, please.’

In spite of a gesture from Robin, Sir Henry gave it back saying:

‘You really won’t take ten pounds?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Well … I thought you probably wouldn’t. I’d have been stung if you had. The thing isn’t amber. It’s only soapstone, and I doubt if it’s worth a guinea.’

‘Mr. Siddal,’ reported Fred, ‘sends his compliments, and he’s not dressed yet.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Anna impatiently. ‘I must see somebody, and there’s no one in the office. Either
take me to him or tell him to put on a dressing-gown and come to me.’

Fred departed. After a considerable interval Mr. Siddal, in his dressing-gown, came to her room.

‘It’s no use sending for me, Anna,’ he protested. ‘I’m nothing in this hotel.’

‘You let me the rooms on Monday.’

‘Yes. And a nice hullabaloo there was about it too.’

‘I don’t wonder. You only did it to annoy Barbara. Well, all I want is to find somebody capable of giving her a message. She seems to be out and Ellis has gone to ground and Fred is wanting.’

‘You could have given it to Nancibel.’

‘No, I couldn’t. She’s the last person I could have given it to, as a matter of fact. There’s only you. Will you tell Barbara that I’m going away for a night or two, but will be back before the end of the week?’

‘If I remember. But you’d much better write her a note. Is Antinous going too?’

‘Bruce? Of course he’s going too. Who’ll drive the car if he doesn’t go?’

‘Who indeed. Does he know he’s going?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Very wise. May one ask where you’re taking him?’

‘Up the coast to St. Merricks. Polly’s got a house there for the summer, and I promised I’d spend a couple of nights there before I went back to London. I might as well go now.’

‘Polly? Not Polly Palmer? I thought she was dead.’

‘Why should she be dead?’

‘I’m sure it’s time she was.’

‘My dear Dick! She’s not old.’

‘No. But most of her circle are dead, aren’t they? She’s got no business to survive them like this. I thought they all died on the coal boats coming home in 1940.’

‘Some did. But the rest are still alive.’

‘Then where are they? One never hears of them. How do they live? They can’t go back because their
relations can’t send any remittances to them. Where do they live now?’

‘With Polly mostly,’ said Anna. ‘She has money.’

‘Still?’

‘She had an awful lot of it to begin with, you
remember
? And she still has some left, I believe. You never hear of any of them because in this benighted country they can only hope to survive by keeping quiet.’

‘Poor Poll. I suppose she now supports the whole damned crew. I must say for her, she was always generous. And a very lovely girl … once. What’s she like now? Pretty
delabrée,
I suppose.’

‘What you’d expect.’

‘But why St. Merricks?’

‘She must live somewhere.’

‘Very little drink there, I should have thought, and no golliwogs.’