Dance to Your Daddy

'They thought I might be able to help you.'

'I don't think they meant it. You are in great danger, you know, if you help me in the way I need help.'

'I am accustomed to take care of myself.'

'Are you a relative of this family?'

'Mr Romilly tells me that I am. Let me see you back to your room.'

'Oh, no. I like to keep it to myself. Good night. I hope you will sleep well.'

'Thank you. Good night.'

The visitor did not depart immediately. There were two candles on the dressing-table. She walked across the room, picked up one of them and held it up to light the picture of the two young men.

'How do you like it?' Dame Beatrice asked.

'I'm wondering why they put it there, that's all. It wasn't there before you came. That makes me suspicious, you know.'

'Is your name really Trilby?' Dame Beatrice asked.

'Is that what they told you? You don't need to believe them. It's not a bad name to give me, all the same. Romilly is rather like Svengali, don't you think? Have you heard that song called Puppet on a String? Well, that's how I think of myself. Watch out for them. Good night.'

(4)

The maid who had shown Dame Beatrice to her room brought early tea and asked whether she would breakfast in bed.

'What is the household custom? Do visitors usually breakfast in bed?' Dame Beatrice enquired.

'Us don't have visitors, m'lady. Not they as stop the noight. Messus Judeth have hern in bed, but Master, he have hisn downstairs. Only ever had one house-party all the toime Oi been here.'

Thinking that an opportunity for a tête-à-tête with her host might be advisable after last night's visit from his wife, Dame Beatrice said that she would breakfast downstairs.

'In the small doinen-room, m'lady. Oi'll get your barth ready.'

'You should address me as Dame Beatrice. I am not the daughter of a hundred earls, you know, Amabel.'

'Yes, mum. Thank ee, Dame Beatrice. Oi'll tell our Voilert.'

Dame Beatrice found her host already at breakfast. He apologised for having no morning newspaper to offer her.

'I generally drive into one of the villages, or to Wareham or Swanage, to get one,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd care to come with me. There are things I ought to tell you about your patient which can be better said away from the house. Trilby is cunning and sly. It is part of her disability, poor creature, and cannot be helped, but it can be very disconcerting to find her listening to matters not intended for her ears, and watching happenings which do not concern her.'

'I should have thought that some of them did concern her,' Dame Beatrice mildly remarked.

'Ah, you have been in conversation with Judith,' said Romilly, in a matter-of-fact tone. Trilby knows nothing of that relationship, I hope. To her, Judith is the housekeeper, nothing more.'

'Yesterday at tea-time your housekeeper mentioned that you are expecting a houseful of guests. I need not explain that I could hardly hope to do much for my patient in the midst of an exciting house-party.'

'Oh, the house-party won't be exciting and will have nothing to do with Trilby.'

'She can scarcely fail to be aware that the number of people here has been considerably increased.'

'Judith talks too much,' said Romilly. 'Well, while you are finishing your breakfast, I will go and get my car out of the garage and bring it round to the front of the house.'

'If you are going to tell me about your wife, it will be better if my man takes us in my own car. In that way you and I can give one another our undivided attention, and I am anxious to learn all I can about my patient.'

'Very well, then. Shall we say in half an hour from now? I have just remembered a letter I have to write. We can post it on our way.' He did not sound particularly pleased. Apparently he was not accustomed to having his plans subedited.

'Which way will that be?' asked Dame Beatrice.

'I suggest we go to Swanage. That will give me time to tell you everything about Trilby that I think you ought to know.' He left her and went out, humming a little tune. Dame Beatrice poured herself some coffee, and five minutes later she returned to her room. While she was there she wrote a short letter to Laura saying only that her surroundings were pleasant and her room comfortable and that she was hoping to begin the treatment of her patient later on that morning, and then she descended to the great hall and stepped out into the February sunshine to find that word had been conveyed to George and that he had the car at the foot of the steps.

'Good morning, George,' she said. 'Are they making you quite comfortable?'

'Oh, yes, madam, thank you, perfectly comfortable. One of the maids brought word you wanted the car this morning to go to Swanage, so I brought it round.'

'George,' said his employer, 'are you psychic?'

'I trust not, madam. It must make for fear and discomfort. All the same,' the stolid chauffeur added, opening the door of the car for her, 'I would not be surprised if I can guess why you asked the question. Something funny going on around these parts.'

'I wonder what makes you think that, George?'

'Talk in the servants' hall, madam, and talk which only takes place when the old man Luke isn't with us. Would you wish me to repeat what I have heard, madam?'

'I think it might help. We appear to have discovered a household which, in some respects, is out of the ordinary.'

'Sinister, madam, one might call it. It seems there is a lady living here who never goes outside the house at all, no further than an enclosed and overgrown bit of garden. Nobody acts unkind to her, but she always wears a suit of armour or other fancy dress, and, according to the maids, can't get at any ordinary clothes. The girls don't much like the set-up, but they get good wages and the work, they say, is easy, and the lady doesn't complain.'

'I have met the lady in question. She seems to be Mrs. Romilly Lestrange. She came to see me in my room last night. She appears to believe that her life is in danger. The whole atmosphere would tend to suggest that we find ourselves in the midst of Victorian melodrama, for me a unique experience. While I should not wish to betray too much interest in the gossip of the servants' hall, I feel that, for once, I am justified in asking you to keep your ears open and to report to me anything which you can learn concerning this somewhat extraordinary household. In short, George, I have been brought here to serve, I think, an infamous purpose, although what infamous purpose I have not yet worked out.'

CHAPTER TWO

RITUAL DANCE-LAMB TO THE SLAUGHTER

'Or, like a nymph, with long, dishevelled hair,

Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.'

Venus and Adonis.

Romilly's behaviour on the drive to Swanage and back added nothing to George's conviction that there was 'something funny going on.' He spoke of the girl with affection and concern, and, at Dame Beatrice's invitation, agreed to give a detailed account of what he referred to as 'poor little Trilby's aberration.'

'Although whether you or anybody else can rid her of the obsession is more than I can hope for,' he concluded. 'It seems to be very deep-seated.'

'I should wish to have as complete an account of her behaviour as you can give me,' said Dame Beatrice. 'It will help me to make my diagnosis. Confine yourself, if you please, to those matters which have come to your own personal notice. I may be able to fill in the details from other sources.'

'Very well. I married Trilby nearly three years ago-my second marriage and, as I soon discovered, a mistake. Did you ever read a poem by Charlotte Mew...'

'The Farmer's Bride? Yes, indeed. As I have interrupted you, may I ask whether Trilby is your wife's real name?'