It was during tea that Thomasina realized how fortunate she was to be boarding with the Miss Tremletts, and not with anyone else. Devoted adherents of Peveril Craddock’s they might be, but they remained obstinately faithful to quite ordinary things to eat. There was no health tea in their cottage, no special brand of coffee which was made out of something quite different, none of the cereals which so strongly resemble little packets of chopped straw. There was brown bread, it is true, and there was porridge, but after that the line was firmly drawn.
Miranda had a health tea of her own of a pale greenish colour, and it had lemon in it instead of milk. Thomasina found it quite incredibly nasty. There were also home-made biscuits with a good deal of charcoal in them, a conserve of rowan and elderberry which combined mawkishness with acidity, and a savoury cake which tasted strongly of sage. It was not an inspiring meal, and the dreadful thing was that Miranda was quite overwhelmingly hospitable, and not only told them exactly how everything was made, but continued to press her horrid handiwork upon them in such a manner that it could not be refused.
“I really think my best batch of preserve! Augustus said not enough sugar, but it is keeping remarkably well. And the cake- an experiment, and really quite a striking success, I think, and I am sure that you will too. Elaine, you are eating nothing… No, Gwyneth, I really cannot take a refusal-you must positively try these sandwiches. Quite a new filling, and I’m not going to tell you what it is, because I want you to guess… Oh, no, it is not one of Peveril’s. Advanced as he is in some ways, he is inclined to be unprogressive in the matter of food. Experiment must go before experience. We cannot always see where the next step will take us. Miss Elliot-or may I say Ina-these forms are so meaningless, do you not think so-you have positively nothing to eat. Now, which is it to be-the cake, the sandwiches, or the biscuits?”
The sandwiches seemed the smallest. Thomasina took one, and found that two more were being pressed upon her plate.
“Something quite new, and I am sure that you will like them.”
They were quite incredibly nasty, with several lingering flavours which she found it impossible to resolve. She did refuse a second dose of pale green tea, but her cup was filled and she had to go on sipping from it. The one stroke of luck was being able to slip the two extra sandwiches into the pocket of her coat, where the filling oozed and left a horrid stain upon the lining. She would not have been able to do it if it had not been for the unheralded appearance of Augustus Remington, who wandered into the room in a pale blue smock with a tambour frame in one hand and an embroidery needle connected with it by a strand of orange silk in the other. Since the heads of all three ladies were immediately turned in his direction, she snatched the opportunity and dealt with the sandwiches.
A sad protesting voice rose above the welcoming twitter of the Miss Tremletts and the hospitable insistence of Miranda.
“No-no-not a thing. Charcoal in those biscuits is a mistake -a mere dissonance. And I always told you there wasn’t enough sugar in that conserve. No-no-I won’t take anything at all. And certainly not herbal cake. Nor sandwiches. They remind me too, too painfully of that horror of childhood’s days, the picnic-spiders down the back of the neck and earwigs in the milk. Besides, I have no appetite at all. This morning’s rude intrusion! Too shattering to the vibrations! I did not come here for food, but for companionship. I heard your voices in my solitude, where I was endeavouring to compose myself with my embroidery, and my feet brought me here.” He waved the tambour frame at Miss Gwyneth and dropped his voice to a low and confidential tone. “My latest composition.”
“What is it, Augustus?”
Both the Miss Tremletts peered at the fine stretched canvas upon which there was depicted a dark grey cloud tinged with pink, a human eye surrounded by three sunflower heads, and a twining plant with scarlet berries. The eye had been completed, but only one of the sunflowers and part of the trailing plant. The cloud was in a fairly advanced state. As an example of the embroiderer’s art it stood high, a fact immediately pointed out by Miranda.
“I told you he did the most exquisite needlework”-she addressed Thomasina-“No, it wasn’t you, it was that Miss Silver. But he does, doesn’t he?”
“What does it mean?” repeated the Miss Tremletts, both speaking together.
Mr. Remington appeared to wave the question away.
“That surely is for you to say. I conceive the idea-I endeavour to give it form and substance. It is not for me to supply the perceptive intelligence as well. Beauty is given to the world-it is for the world to receive it.” He flung himself into a chair as he spoke, put a couple of stitches into one of the sunflowers, and murmured in a languid voice, “The inspiration fails. After this morning I am not yet attuned.”
Thomasina had already heard so much about the morning that she could not imagine Miss Gwyneth and Miss Elaine having anything more to say about it. But in that she was wrong. Not only they but Miranda and Augustus appeared to have an endless store of speculation, supposition and comment to offer. And they all appeared to be very much taken up with Mr. John Robinson.
“Such a strange person.”
“All those windows boarded up.”
“No one knows anything at all about him.”
“We have never ever spoken to him. He seems positively to avoid us”-that was the Miss Tremletts. “Distressingly secretive.”
Sometimes they all talked at once, sometimes Miranda’s deep ringing voice bore everyone down. Thomasina remembered the story of the Scapegoat. She thought it would be very convenient if the police could be induced to fix their attention upon Mr. John Robinson, who though in the Colony was not really of it.
“Of course,” said Miss Gwyneth, “we are all quite sure that this horrid affair can have nothing to do with us.”
“Peveril was wonderful!” said Miss Elaine. “Such dignity- such composure. But that he should be subjected-that any of us should be subjected to being questioned by the police!”
Miranda looked over the tops of their heads and said,
“He stands too high to be touched by it.”
Augustus Remington pushed away his tambour frame in rather a pettish manner.
“Dear Miranda, how true! And so, I hope, do we all. Yet innocence should be vindicated. It has occurred to me that you might contribute to this end by your art. As you know, I am somewhat of a sceptic as to the-no, I will not say authenticity, since that would imply a doubt of your integrity which I would, of course, never for a moment entertain.”
Miranda lapsed into her blunter manner.
“If you will say what you mean, Augustus, and stop wrapping it up!
He closed his eyes for a moment.
“I cannot be hurried-it disturbs the thought process. I was about to say that if I were not somewhat of a skeptic as to the practical uses of the crystal, I would suggest that you should employ it in order to clear this matter up.”
Miss Gwyneth brightened.
“Miranda sees things in the crystal,” she explained to Thomasina. “If she were to look into it she might see something about Mr. Robinson or-or-anyone.” She turned eagerly. “Miranda, have you tried?”
Miranda waved a noncommittal hand.
“It has all been dark-”
“But it mightn’t be today-with all of us here in sympathy!” Miss Elaine’s voice was eager too.
Augustus made a slight negative gesture.
“I am half a sceptic. You must not rely on me.”
Thomasina had been brought up to be polite to her elders, or she would have added, “Or on me.”
But it became apparent that opposition had merely roused Miranda’s spirit, and that with or without any further urging she proposed to accede to the Miss Tremletts’ request. The tea-table was cleared and a square of black velvet laid upon it, the crystal, a large round ball on an ebony stand, placed exactly in the centre, and all the lights turned out except for one which cast a single dazzling ray. It was all very odd, and something in Thomasina didn’t like it. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care, because what she felt had nothing to do with reason. It harked right back to the child or the savage who is afraid of the dark. And what that child or that savage wanted to do was to hit right out at the crystal ball and to break it, and then run screaming from the room. Naturally the civilized person who was Thomasina hadn’t the slightest notion of doing any such thing.