“They might have warned us.”
“I expect they thought that if we had time we should try and stop them coming.”
“How right they were. Have the Connollies been fed?”
“I think so. At any rate Marlene was terribly sick in the car.”
“I’m dying to see these Connollies,” said Basil.
“You shall,” said his sister grimly.
But they were not in the lobby where they had been left. Barbara rang the bell. “Benson, you remember the Connolly children?”
“Vividly, madam.”
“They’re back.”
“Here, madam?”
“Here. Somewhere in the house. You’d better institute a search.”
“Very good, madam. And when they are found, they will be going away immediately?”
“Not immediately. They’ll have to stay here tonight. We’ll find somewhere for them in the village tomorrow.”
Benson hesitated. “It won’t be easy, madam.”
“It won’t be, Benson.”
He hesitated again; thought better of whatever he meant to say, and merely added: “I will start the search, madam.”
“I know what that means,” said Barbara as the man left them. “Benson is yellow.”
The Connollies were found at last and assembled. Doris had been in Barbara’s bedroom trying out her make-up, Micky in the library tearing up a folio, Marlene grovelling under the pantry sink eating the remains of the dogs’ dinners. When they were together again, in the lobby, Basil inspected them. Their appearance exceeded anything he had been led to expect. They were led away to the bachelors’ wing and put together into a large bedroom.
“Shall we lock the door?”
“It would be no good. If they want to get out, they will.”
“Could I speak to you for a moment, madam?” said Benson.
When Barbara returned she said, “Benson is yellow. He can’t take it.”
“Wants to leave?”
“It’s him or the Connollies, he says. I can’t blame him. Freddy will never forgive me if I let him go.”
“Babs, you’re blubbing.”
“Who wouldn’t?” said Barbara, pulling out a handkerchief and weeping in earnest. “I ask you, who wouldn’t?”
“Don’t be a chump,” said Basil, relapsing, as he often did with Barbara, into the language of the schoolroom. “I’ll fix it for you.”
“Swank. Chump yourself. Double chump.”
“Double chump with knobs on.”
“Darling Basil, it is nice to have you back. I do believe if anyone could fix it, you could.”
“Freddy couldn’t, could he?”
“Freddy isn’t here.”
“I’m cleverer than Freddy. Babs, say I’m cleverer than Freddy.”
“I’m cleverer than Freddy. Sucks to you.”
“Babs, say you love me more than Freddy.”
“You love me more than Freddy. Double sucks.”
“Say I, Barbara, love you, Basil, more than him, Freddy.”
“I won’t. I don’t… Beast, you’re hurting.”
“Say it.”
“Basil stop at once or I shall call Miss Penfold.” They were back twenty years, in the schoolroom again. “Miss Penfold, Miss Penfold, Basil’s pulling my hair.”
They scuffled on the sofa. Suddenly a voice said, ” ‘Ere, Missus.” It was Doris. “Missus!”
Barbara stood up, panting and dishevelled. “Well, Doris, what is it?”
“Marlene’s queer again.”
“Oh dear. I’ll come up. Run along.” Doris looked languishingly at Basil. ” ‘Aving a lark, eh?” she said. “I like a lark.”
“Run along, Doris. You’ll get cold.”
“I ain’t cold. Pull my hair if you like, mister.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Basil.
“Dessay I shall. I dream a lot of funny things. Go on, mister, pull it. Hard. I don’t mind.” She offered her bobbed head to Basil and then with a giggle ran out of the room.
“You see,” said Barbara. “A problem child.”
When Marlene had been treated for her queerness, Barbara came back to say good night.
“I’ll stay up a bit and work on this book.”
“All right, darling. Good night,” She bent over the back of the sofa and kissed the top of his head.
“Not blubbing any more?”
“No, not blubbing.”
He looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back; it was the same smile. They saw themselves, each in the other’s eyes. There’s no one like Basil, thought Barbara, seeing herself no one like him, when he’s nice.
Next morning Basil was called by Benson, who was the only manservant indoors since Freddy had drawn in his horns. (He had taken his valet with him to the yeomanry and supported him now, in a very much lower standard of comfort, at the King’s expense.) Lying in bed and watching the man put out his clothes, Basil reflected that he still owed him a small sum of money from his last visit.
“Benson, what’s this about your leaving?”
“I was cross last night, Mr. Basil. I couldn’t ever leave Malfrey, and Mrs. Sothill ought to know that. Not with the Captain away, too.”
“Mrs. Sothill was very upset.”
“So was I, Mr. Basil. You don’t know what those Connollies are. They’re not human.”
“We’ll find a billet for them.”
“No one will take the Connollies in these parts. Not if they were given a hundred pounds.”
“I have an idea I owe you some money.”
“You do, Mr. Basil. Twelve pound ten.”
“As much as that? Time I paid it back.”
“It is.”
“I will, Benson.”
“I hope so, sir, I’m sure.”
Basil went to his bath pondering. No one will take the Connollies in these parts. Not for a hundred pounds. Not for a hundred pounds.
Since the war began Barbara had taken to breakfasting downstairs in the mistaken belief that it caused less trouble. Instead of the wicker bed-table tray, a table had to be laid in the small dining-room, the fire had to be lit there two hours earlier, silver dishes had to be cleaned and the wicks trimmed under them. It was an innovation deplored by all.
Basil found her crouched over the fire with her cup of coffee; she turned her curly black head and smiled; both of them had the same devastating combination of dark hair and clear blue eyes. Narcissus greeted Narcissus from the watery depths as Basil kissed her.
“Spoony,” she said.
“I’ve squared Benson for you.”
“Darling, how clever of you.”
“I had to give the old boy a fiver.”
“Liar.”
“All right, don’t believe me then.”
“I don’t, knowing Benson and knowing you. I remember last time you stayed here I had to pay him over ten pounds that you’d borrowed.”
“You paid him?”
“Yes. I was afraid he’d ask Freddy.”
“The old double-crosser. Anyway he’s staying.”
“Yes; thinking it over I knew he would. I don’t know why I took it so hard last night. I think it was the shock of seeing the Connollies.”
“We must get them settled to-day.”
“It’s hopeless. No one will take them.”
“You’ve got powers of coercion.”
“Yes, but I can’t possibly use them.”
“I can,” said Basil. “I shall enjoy it.”
After breakfast they moved from the little dining-room to the little parlour. The corridor, though it was one of the by-ways of the house, had a sumptuous cornice and a high, coved ceiling; the door cases were enriched with classic pediments in whose broken entablatures stood busts of philosophers and composers. Other busts stood at regular intervals on marble pedestals. Everything in Malfrey was splendid and harmonious; everything except Doris, who, that morning, lurked in their path rubbing herself on a pilaster like a cow on a stump.
“Hullo,” she said.
“Hullo, Doris. Where are Micky and Marlene?”
“Outside. They’re all right. They’ve found the snowman the others made and they’re mucking him up.”