Here Comes a Chopper Page 4

  ‘It’s more than my job’s worth not to be,’ said the dark woman, Eunice Pigdon, speaking abruptly but with good humour. ‘You know that, Grannie. Don’t tease.’ She had removed her spectacles upon seating herself at the table, and now resumed them.

  ‘She’s my aunt’s secretary,’ Captain Ranmore continued, disregarding this mild rebuke, ‘and what she says goes, even among this somewhat mixed bag of relatives and friends. Well, then there are the two Clandons and, of course, Claudia Denbies.’ He paused, and his gaze rested unfathomably upon the red-haired woman. ‘I don’t know whether she’s superstitious or not, but, as she’s a celebrity, she probably is. Celebrities mostly are, I’ve noticed. They probably put down their success to luck, knowing it to be undeserved.’

  ‘Oh, but,’ said Dorothy quickly, ‘you wouldn’t call Miss Denbies’ success undeserved?’

  ‘Mrs Denbies is certainly gifted,’ said Captain Ranmore; but he did not answer the question. Instead, he went on, without a pause, ‘By the way, if you want to telephone your people, here’s your chance. There are going to be family speeches. Perish the thought, but don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ said Dorothy, grateful to him at last. ‘If you’re certain it wouldn’t look funny——’

  ‘Of course not. I see that your companion and stable-mate is trying very hard to catch your eye. He has summed up the situation accurately. And, look! Bugle is bringing round the crackers. Take advantage of the hubbub and slip out. No one will notice you’ve gone, and, if they do, it still won’t matter, take my word for it.’

  Dorothy took his advice. As soon as the butler had passed her, leaving a Christmas cracker beside her plate, she nodded to Roger, got up and slipped away. He joined her in the hall, where they encountered the footman carrying in a silver salver of presents.

  ‘The telephone, madam? You will find one in the room on your right. I beg your pardon, madam, but, if more convenient, Mr Bugle would soon have Sim round with the car if so be you will give me leave to go in first with Master George’s anniversary offerings, and give Sim the word of warning.’

  ‘The car? Oh, that would be simply marvellous,’ said Dorothy.

  ‘I shall explain to Lady Catherine, sir, that you had your train to catch,’ said the butler, coming out to them. ‘That will be quite the best thing, sir. So, if may be you would care to get your things, madam, Sim will be round immediate.’

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Roger, as soon as the butler had gone. ‘Isn’t it just a bit cool to shove us off home like this? Hang it all, we’ve done them a favour!’

  ‘We’ve had a good dinner and a bath, and a nice long rest, and I don’t suppose they want us any longer. Captain Ranmore seemed to think we ought to go.’

  ‘That’s true, too. Oh, well, see you later. Don’t be long!’

  ‘I won’t! I don’t like it here much!’

  She went on up the stairs and he to the cubbyhole cloak-room on the right of the entrance hall. He retrieved his ashplant and rucksack, and, what was more to his liking, his friendly pipe. He lighted this whilst he was waiting. Dorothy soon rejoined him, and, as she descended the stairs, the butler came out from the dining-room and they heard the car coming round.

  ‘Here,’ said Roger, handing Bugle five shillings.

  ‘Thank you very much, sir. A pleasant journey, sir, and I hope you have not been inconvenienced,’ said Bugle.

  ‘Not so that we noticed it,’ said Roger. ‘Please pay my respects to Mrs Bradley.’

  The butler opened the front door, the chauffeur opened the door of the car, Roger handed Dorothy in, and in another moment the car door was shut and they had sunk back against the comfortable upholstery and were being driven at a decorous pace along the drive and out into the woods.

  The woodland ride sloped steeply downwards and the chauffeur engaged his bottom gear. Roger slid his arm round Dorothy. She did not offer resistance to this manoeuvre. After the encounter with so many strangers she felt she knew him well. His nearness and his protective arm were comforting.

  She lay against him, rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. The chauffeur changed gear, the car gathered speed, and, in less time than Roger thought quite fair, the car drew up and he had no more than time to release Dorothy before the chauffeur opened the door.

  ‘The station, madam.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ said Roger, giving him half a crown.

  ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said the chauffeur. ‘You will find a down train in fifteen minutes, sir, and an up train in six minutes, madam. Whichever you might be wanting. A very good night, sir.’

  He climbed back into the car but did not start the engine. Roger, who did not lack intelligence, and Dorothy, who possessed the powers of intuition attributed (often absurdly) to her sex, gazed after him.

  ‘I suppose there’s nothing rummy about that bloke?’ said Roger slowly. ‘No, of course there isn’t! Come on. Let’s get the tickets. All the same, I thought he had a very funny look in his eye. What did you think?’

  Chapter Three

  ‘What need I travel, since I may

  More choicer wonders here survey?

  What need I aye for purple seek

  When I may find it in a cheek?

  Or sack the Eastern Shores? There lies

  More precious diamonds in her eyes.’

  JOHN CLEVELAND (possibly John Hall of Durham), Not to Travel

  ‘ I DON’T KNOW,’ said Dorothy, answering the last question as they approached the booking office from which shone out a gleam of kindly light by which a thin-faced booking clerk was reading an evening paper. ‘However, thank you very much, and—good night.’

  ‘What?’ said Roger. ‘I’m going to see you home, whatever happens.’

  ‘But that’s silly. You’re still on your walking tour.’

  ‘It’s too late to think of that now. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, and, also, I’ve nowhere to stay.’

  ‘Ask the booking clerk. He’s sure to know somewhere where you can put up for the night. Then tomorrow you can go off again, and enjoy your holiday. I’d simply hate to think I’d spoilt it for you.’

  ‘Oh, rot,’ said Roger, decisively. ‘Whatever happens, you haven’t done that!’ He turned towards the booking office, and spoke through the aperture. ‘Two singles to Pulteney Junction, please.’

  ‘Platform four, train in ten minutes,’ said the booking clerk, waking up and reaching for the tickets.

  ‘How long does it take from here?’

  ‘Matter of an hour and a half. Change at Shepton End. About forty minutes to there.’

  ‘Oh, Lord!’ said Roger, exasperated.

  ‘No through trains until the morning,’ said the booking clerk with great satisfaction.

  ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped, then.’ Roger led the way on to the platform. There were one or two other passengers standing about. The station was far from presenting the deserted appearance which Dorothy, in her heart, had begun to dread, and her conscience troubled her. She felt that she was ruining Roger’s plans.

  ‘You see,’ she said, ‘I shall be quite all right. Really, there’s no need for you to come. I really wish you wouldn’t. I do know the way to go home.’

  ‘Shut up! I’m coming,’ he replied. The train came in to time, and they secured a compartment to themselves. He unslung his rucksack to put it up on the rack. Suddenly, to his great astonishment, three half-crowns fell out and lay on the seat that backed towards the engine. He shoved the rucksack into position, then picked up the coins and stared at them. A jerk, as the train pulled out, caused him to seat himself hastily almost on Dorothy’s lap, but, regardless of this, he spread out the coins and studied them very closely.

  ‘Well, that’s a rum go,’ he observed.

  ‘What is? Haven’t you seen half-crowns before?’

  ‘Don’t rot, my child. It is a rum go. These must be the coins I handed to the butler, Bugle, and, respectively, the chauffeu
r Sim. He had a peculiar manner. Bugle, too. Sinister is the word. What do you think their game is? Didn’t I give them enough, and is this their delicate hint to that effect? If so, damn their eyes! Impertinent louts!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not that!’ said Dorothy, ‘It’s like——’

  ‘It’s like Benjamin’s sack, and I can’t explain it any more than he could,’ said Roger, transferring the coins to his pocket. ‘But, of course, it was all on the weird side, wasn’t it? From beginning to end I thought that.’

  ‘I’m glad we didn’t stay,’ said Dorothy, ‘We didn’t belong, and I’m sure they didn’t want us. Once the dinner business was settled we were rather in the way, I expect. Don’t let’s talk about them any more. Tell me about your job.’

  ‘My job is not one of the subjects that you and I discuss. I’m still smarting under this morning’s apt comment. Remember?’ He moved a little further off, and then smiled into her eyes. ‘I teach little boys in a prep. school, and am not even very good at that.’

  She blushed, looked contrite, and smiled.

  ‘I’m sorry for saying that. I was a pig.’

  ‘No, you weren’t. It was perfectly true. I say, will you come and see me play in the Seven-a-Sides on Saturday week?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At Twickenham. We’ll be knocked out first round, of course.’

  ‘I’d love to come.’

  ‘That’s a date, then. I’ll send you a ticket. Wonder whether old Bob will be able to make it? He wanted to come, I know, but I bet he won’t be able to, with that ankle.’

  ‘Oh, I expect he’ll be all right by then. And that reminds me. You’d better stay the night at our house.’

  Roger had been considering the question of his night’s lodging, and had hoped for this invitation.

  ‘That’s awfully good of you,’ he said. ‘Are you sure it will be all right?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’m the housekeeper while Mother’s away. If I want to invite you I can.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, then, thanks very much.’

  ‘And then, tomorrow, you can make a fresh start.’

  ‘Yes, I could do that. I say, fancy Claudia Denbies in that house!’

  ‘John Hackhurst, too. I wonder, really, what sort of people they are? Lady Catherine, and all her relatives, I mean.’

  ‘Well, I think they’ve got pots of money. The old lady had a secretary—that Pigdon woman—and the kid had a tutor, and the butler repudiated my five bob, it seems …’

  ‘I still think that’s awfully queer. I’d like to know more about that. Do you think the whole lot of them were honestly glad to see us?—from the point of view of the number at table, I mean?’

  ‘I expect so, although—well, perhaps you didn’t notice. Still, people are odd about the number thirteen. I remember going to an Old Boys’ dinner the year before last. At the last minute a fellow named Morrison absolutely refused to sit down at table because he spotted that if he did it would make thirteen.’

  ‘What happened? Didn’t he have any dinner?’

  ‘Oh yes. He had a small table all to himself. It was really a desk with a table napkin or a tray-cloth or something on it. He was ragged about it afterwards, of course, but nothing would budge him. You can’t really defend superstition, but you have to give in to it sometimes, and everybody knows about thirteen. Rather odd that you and I should have talked about omens, and bad luck, and so on, this morning.’

  ‘Yes; and that reminds me of a very queer remark Captain Ranmore made to me at dinner. He said John Hackhurst thought that Mr Lingfield—the host, you know, who didn’t turn up—was dead. Of course, it must be a joke, but it wasn’t really very funny. I suppose, actually, Mr Lingfield and Mrs Denbies must have quarrelled …’

  ‘After they had sent the boy ahead. Remember we spotted him riding home alone? I suppose he was in a hurry to get back for his birthday dinner.’

  ‘Yes, he must have wanted to be back in time for that …’

  ‘And then the two of them set to and had a scrap …’

  ‘And the man was upset and wouldn’t meet her again.’

  ‘But, funny, that, don’t you think? I don’t actually know of any blokes who would turn sulky in that sort of way. I should have thought he would simply have consigned her to the devil, don’t you know, and tried to carry on as though nothing had happened. It’s women who get all het up at the end of a show-down and go to their rooms and cry. At least, that’s my experience.’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t!’

  ‘Well. I have known cases. Really I have. Various girls.’

  ‘Not many!’

  ‘Well, I haven’t—I mean, I don’t go through life having scenes with women, of course. But don’t let’s scrap about that. It’s quite likely the fellow, having a horse and what-not, galloped away in a stew and went much too far—quite literally, I mean—and was too late, then, to show up at dinner, that’s all. Rather thick, though, as he was the host. Still, it must have happened like that.’

  Dorothy could not find herself in agreement with this reasoning. She was silent, and then said;

  ‘I wonder what they quarrelled about? We’re taking a lot for granted. They may not have quarrelled at all.’

  ‘Well, in that case, surely, Mrs Denbies would have brought a message. It was quite clear, I thought, from what was said, that old Lady Catherine had been expecting him up to the last minute. It was he who made number thirteen.’

  ’Oh, yes, that’s true. They were on the look-out for someone to save the situation, but, even if Mrs Denbies rode straight back, she couldn’t have been there so very long before us. I wonder what explanation she gave for coming back by herself, though?’

  ‘Talking of explanations, I’d like an explanation of how my half-crowns got put back into my rucksack. It makes me feel rather an ass.’

  ‘I expect the servants are forbidden to take tips from visitors, that’s all.’

  ‘But nobody would have known. There was no one else near when I slipped them the money, was there? No, I expect they’re used to millionaires—the servants, I mean—and the money wasn’t enough.’

  ‘They didn’t seem a bit like that to me. It was a good dinner, though, wasn’t it? I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Wizard, I thought. What was the nephew like? I hardly met him.’

  ‘Captain Ranmore? I didn’t like him much. Of course, he’s old—quite forty. I should think he’d make quite a nice father.’

  ‘Is George his son?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. It didn’t seem like that—and you know what you said about fathers, before we got to the house. There were lots of relations, though, weren’t there? I didn’t get them all sorted out. Captain Ranmore was telling me about them, but we didn’t get to the end. We were going all round the table, and then it came to the crackers. Oh, except that, funnily enough, he missed over the woman next to me, although he mentioned the man and girl on the other side of her—you know, the young ones. The girl was in pink. They were brother and sister. Name of Clandon.’

  ‘I think they’re twins.’

  ‘I thought they might be. I rather liked the look of him. Did you?’

  ‘Clandon? Oh, yes, he looked all right. So you don’t know who the woman was on your left? She was certainly an odd-looking wench. Repressed or something, I should say. Perpetual spinster, or family breadwinner, perhaps. Under the weather, anyhow.’

  ‘Perhaps she is Lady Catherine’s companion. I should think that might be rather wearing.’

  ‘Lord, yes! Although I think I preferred Lady Catherine to that female I got stuck with. Not Mrs Bradley. I liked her very much. I mean the other one. You know, the digger-up of unconsidered trifles—the archaeologist woman.’

  ‘Oh, was she? I’m not sure whether Captain Ranmore mentioned her or not. The tutor seemed nice, I thought.’

  ‘Yes, quite a good chap. Who was the heavyweight next to Ranmore on his right?’

  ‘Miss Pigdon, Lady Ca
therine’s secretary.’

  ‘Would she have a secretary and a companion? I thought they were jobs for one person.’

  ‘They ought to be, anyway. Perhaps the other girl, the queer one, is some sort of poor relation.’

  ‘Yes, I should think she must be. That would account for her, wouldn’t it? The monumental depression, and that sort of thing. And, talking of depression, is this bally train going to stop at every station?’

  It was a tiresome, crawling journey. Dorothy, who had taken a corner seat, leaned back and closed her eyes. Roger crossed over and sat beside her. He looked at her brown, small, childish hands, and, as he was speculating upon them, the train, like a tired horse approaching its stable, gave a sudden snort, gathered speed, and, as suddenly, jerked on its brakes with a hideous, involuntary squeal and pulled up sharply.

  ‘Now, what?’ said Roger. ‘I suppose we’ve lost a couple of wheels or something, or left a coach behind.’

  Dorothy sat up, now wide awake, and looked out of the window.

  ‘We’re not at a station,’ she said.

  ‘That’s nothing to occasion surprise on this line,’ Roger remarked. ‘I should think we must have stopped half a dozen times already outside stations.’

  ‘You really ought to have let me come back alone. It would have been ever so much better,’ said Dorothy, trying to see into the gloom.

  ‘I could never have faced old Bob,’ said Roger, grinning. ‘I say, what are those fellows playing at?’ He got up, let down the window and stuck his head out. ‘They’re going up and down the train with a lantern. I hope we’re not going to miss our connection through this!’

  He withdrew his head as, apart from the movements of the guard and the fireman with the lanterns, there was nothing to see. In about five minutes, however, the guard came past the window which Roger had left open wide, and asked, but not very hopefully, whether there was a doctor on the train.

  ‘I can do a bit of binding-up, but no diagnosis,’ said Roger. ‘Anything wrong?’

  ‘We don’t quite know, sir. Would you come and have a look at the driver? Had a shock, he has, and his wife expecting tonight. Bad luck he should be on duty, but the influenza’s that bad he couldn’t be spared.’