“The unseen what?” asked Lady Katherine who had caught this last phrase.
“The unseen forces.”
Lord Wutherwood made exasperated sounds and turned his back.
“What sort of forces?” persisted Lady Katherine against the combined mental opposition of the Lampreys.
“Do you seek,” asked Lady Wutherwood with a formidable air of contempt, “to learn in a few words the wisdom of all the ages? A lifetime is too short to reach full understanding.”
“Of what?”
“Esoteric Lore.”
“What’s that?”
Charlot suddenly made a bold dash into this strange conversation, and Roberta with something like terror saw that she had decided on the line she would take with her sister-in-law. Evidently it was to be a line of gentle banter. Charlot leant towards Lady Wutherwood and said gaily: “I’m as bewildered as Aunty Kit, Violet. Is esoteric lore the same as— what? Witchcraft? Don’t turn into a witch, darling.”
Lady Wutherwood stared at Charlot. “It’s a great mistake,” she said in her deep voice, “to laugh at necromancy, Imogen. There are more things in Heaven and earth—”
“I suppose there are, Violet, but I don’t want to meet them.”
“The church,” said Lady Katherine in her loudest whisper, “takes a firm stand in such matters. I imagine you know, Violet; that you are in danger of—”
The Lampreys all began to talk at once. They talked persistently, not raising their voices but overpowering their guests with a sort of gentle barrage. They seemed by tacit agreement to have split into two groups: Frid, Patch and their mother tackling Lord Wutherwood, while Henry and the twins concentrated on his wife. Lord Charles, nervously polishing his eye-glass, stood aside like a sort of inadequate referee. The scene now developed in accordance with the best traditions of polite drawing-room comedy. Roberta was irresistably reminded of the play she had seen the previous night and, once possessed of this idea, it seemed to her that the Lampreys and their relations had begun to pitch their voices like actors and actresses and to use gestures that were a little larger than life. The scene was building towards some neat and effective climax. There was perhaps a superfluity of character parts and with Lady Katherine Lobe smiling and nodding in her corner the eccentric dowager was not lacking. Partly to dispel this idea and in the hope that she might be of some service to the cause, Roberta moved to Lady Katherine who, true to family form, instantly began to confide in her, saying that she had heard most disquieting news of Violet and asking Roberta if she thought the Lampreys would rather she went away as poor Charles must be given a free hand with Gabriel. All this was fortunately uttered in such a muffled aside that Roberta could hear no more than half of it. Lady Katherine was too insistent, however, for Roberta to divide her own attention and she had no idea of what went forward between the Lampreys and the Wutherwoods until she heard Frid say: “No, Uncle Gabriel, I shall be bitterly humiliated if you don’t ask us to do one for you.” Roberta saw that Lord Wutherwood looked slightly less disagreeable. Frid was presenting herself as a lovely and attentive niece.
“I’m so glad you agree with me,” whispered Lady Katherine. “There is no doubt at all, in my mind, of our duty to these poor things.” Roberta did not know if she spoke of the Lampreys, of ailing children, or of Jewish refugees, in all of whom she seemed to be passionately interested. Frid had refilled her uncle’s glass. Lady Wutherwood was droning interminably to Henry and the twins who appeared to be enraptured with the recital. Charlot suddenly broke up this comparatively peaceful picture by making the much-discussed announcement.
“Children,” she said gaily. “Frid’s been telling Uncle Gabriel about your charades. Do you think you could do a very quick rhyming charade now, for Aunt Violet and Aunt Kit and Uncle Gabriel? Don’t take ages deciding what to do; just do the first thing that comes into your heads. We’ll give you a word. Out you go.”
“Come on, Robin,” said Henry.
Robin, full of misgivings, followed the Lampreys into the ball.
Chapter V
Mike Puts the Pot on It
“This is a mistake,” said Henry gloomily as soon as he had shut the door. “Obviously Uncle G.’s in a foul temper and we won’t improve it by cutting capers in front of him. I must say he’s a loathsome old man.”
“Well, let’s compromise,” said Frid. “We won’t do one about bums. Let’s do one about witchcraft. Uncle G. will like that because he’ll think it’s making nonsense of Aunt V. and Aunt V. will be interested if we do it well enough.”
“She’s quite m-mad, you know, poor thing,” said Stephen. “D-don’t you consider she’s mad, Colin?”
“Stark ravers,” said Colin. “Where’s Mike?”
“Talking to Giggle about toy trains, I think. He’s better out of this.”
“Let’s get going,” said Patch. “Mummy said we were to hurry.”
The door opened and Charlot looked out. “It’s to rhyme with ‘pale,’ ” she said loudly and then lowering her voice she hissed: “It’s ‘nail.’ Don’t do either of the other things. Too risky.” The door shut and Charlot called from the other side: “Hurry up!”
Frid made a helpless gesture. “Well, there you are,” she said. “No bums and no witches and the word is ‘nail.’ Evidently Mummy wants us to get it right at the first stab. What shall we do?”
“Bite our nails?” suggested Patch.
“Put a nail in Uncle G.’s coffin,” said Henry viciously.
“Nailing our colours to the mast?”
“I know,” said Frid. “We’ll do Jael and Sisera.”
“What did they d-do?” asked Stephen.
“Something with a nail. What was it, Robin?”
“Didn’t Jael hammer a nail through Sisera’s head?”
“That’s right,” said Colin. “Well, we can be clever and do wail and hail and Jael and nail all at once. A compound charade.”
The Lampreys threw open the door of their enormous hall cupboard and began to dress themselves up.
“I’ll be Jael,” said Frid, “and Henry can be Sisera and the twins guards and Robin a faithful slave.”
“What am I?” demanded Patch, putting on Lord Wutherwood’s bowler.
“Another faithful slave. Wait a moment.”
Frid ran down the passage towards the kitchen. Roberta could hear her shouting: “A skewer, Baskett, a skewer! We’re doing a charade. Quick!”
“Did Jael make love to Sisera,” asked Colin, “before he slew her?”
“Jael’s the female,” said Stephen.
“Oh. Give me that ghastly scarf, will you. Is it Uncle G.’s?”
“Yes. I want it for a loin cloth.”
“I’m going to be a Circassian slave,” said Patch.
“This is most frightfully bogus,” said Henry, taking two yachting caps out of the wardrobe. “I can’t tell you how much I object to cavorting in front of these repellent people. You could use yachting caps as breast-plates, Robin. There’s some string.”
“Thank you. Aren’t you going to dress up, Henry?”
Henry hung a pair of field-glasses round his neck. “I shall play it modern,” he muttered. “Colonel Sisera Blimp.” He drew a pair of fur-lined motoring gloves over his hands.
Frid came back with a long silver-plated skewer.
“Be careful how you muck about my head with that thing,” said Henry.
“I want a hammer.”
“Use your boot. Let’s get it over.”
“In you go, Robin and Patch. Take that rug and hold it like a tent. You too, twins. Say how beautiful I am,” ordered Frid, “and wonder if the day has been Sisera’s.”
Robin, Patch and the twins entered the drawing-room unnoticed. Their audience was sitting with its back to the door.
“We’ve begun,” said Patch loudly. “I wonder how the battle went. Dost thou know if the day is Sisera’s?”
“Nay,” said Stephen.
“Dost thou?”
“Nay,” said Colin.
“And thou?” continued Patch, irritably, to Robin.
“Nay, I wot not,” said Robin and she added hurriedly: “How beautiful Jael is!”
“She is like the new-blown moon,” agreed Patch.
“Lo,” said Colin, “here she comes.”
“How beautiful she is!” said Stephen.