The long case clock was striking three as I reached the hall and came face-to-face with Lady Fiona. Having seen her portrait, there was no mistaking her. She had aged, as is said, gracefully. I explained who I was, and she said I could call her Fiona if I wished. She was very much the way I had imagined she would be at her present stage of life: tall and thin, with good bones, fine eyes, and a vague, drifting way of moving. I sensed that even when talking or listening, she would always be somewhat removed from the scene.
“The little girl opened the door for me and then vanished, saying she had to wash her hair before Mrs. Hopkins chopped off her head and it didn’t matter anymore. Family life is different today, isn’t it? In Nanny Pierce’s opinion, our parents had the sense to keep out of the way until they could make some useful contribution.”
“She said something like that to me yesterday.”
“I really must do something for her, take her out to luncheon this Wednesday; yes, I will mention it to her. I suppose she’ll be here?” Before I could answer she glided down the hall. “Really, I have neglected her sadly in recent months, but I hear she has some young woman living with her now at the Dower House.”
“Her great-niece.”
“I seem to remember there was one-and, I think, a brother. Didn’t turn out well. Gambled or drank to excess. Went to live in Ireland-or am I thinking of another family? The Bledstowes, from Cambridge… yes, I think now it was they. They had a dog that could play the piano.” She was now looking through the open drawing-room door.
“Will we be having tea in here?”
“In the conservatory. Betty thought you would like that.”
“Who? Oh, yes, that will be the new maid. The people who bought Cragstone came into money from an aunt in New Zealand, I believe it was. They’ll be able to take on plenty of help. I do hope they kept Mavis on. She hasn’t had an easy time. I seem to remember she grew up in an orphanage and had to sort rags in order to buy stockings.”
Before she could say that maybe she was thinking of a book she had read-I was pretty sure I knew the one-she drifted on down the hall and I entered the conservatory behind her. There was no one else there as yet, so we had our choice of sofas and chairs.
“I miss Cragstone,” she said. “Particularly this room.”
It was attractive, with its abundance of plants on stands and tables. The glass walls provided a sweeping panorama of the grounds, but I was preoccupied with adjusting my nose to the smell of earth and mold, which is not one of my particular favorites. Then I looked up at the ceiling. It was indeed something to behold. A celestial nudist colony! Patriarchal males, all of whom looked as though they were named Zeus, disported themselves on cloud sofas. Women with crimped gold tresses and rounded bellies cavorted in streams of sunlight. The Sistine Chapel it wasn’t. Religious, no; ribald, yes. What it had been like before Mr. Gallagher’s request for more cloud cover I did not care to imagine. My heart went out to the cherubs, who looked more shocked than soulful. For the first time since meeting her I found myself in complete agreement with Ariel. That ceiling needed a speedy coat of whitewash.
Presumably inured to its impact, Lady Fiona sat down on a sofa and asked how I liked England and if I found it cold after living abroad so long. “How is your aunt in Jamaica doing, Mrs. Honeywood?”
I was about to remind her my name was Haskell, and say I didn’t have any aunts, when Mrs. Malloy came into the conservatory with a plate of dainty sandwiches. I got up to make the introductions. Mrs. M, who has an intense aversion to mold, pressed a handkerchief over her face, which made her look like a bank robber waiting for the bank to open.
“And what of your cousin’s little boy?” Lady Fiona asked me. “The one who accidentally swallowed his goldfish and insisted on having his stomach pumped, so it could be taken out alive. You do believe it to have been an accident?” She took a sandwich from the silver tray Mrs. M proffered. “Such a worry for his parents if he did it on purpose.”
While I was avoiding Mrs. Malloy’s eyes, Betty and Tom came into the room with Mr. Scrimshank, whose looks had not improved since yesterday. If anything, he looked even more like someone who has been brought back to life after being badly embalmed. When I went over to him, he gave no sign of remembering who I was. And even when Mrs. M removed her mask and asked if he’d like cucumber or cheese and tomato, the doggy brown eyes in his white face looked none the wiser.
“We were at your office yesterday, to see me sister, Melody,” she told him, “and you was nice enough to point out we’d come in the wrong door.”
“Ah!” Light had dawned. “Miss Tabby. Yes, yes! She was late getting those letters on my desk. Never happened before in nearly forty years. I do hope she’s not cracking up. I’ve wondered about that possibility recently, ever since I heard she’d taken up knitting. These enthusiasms can take a terrible hold on a woman of her advanced age.”
Mrs. Malloy raised her eyebrows at me in both outrage and inquiry. Luckily for him, Mr. Scrimshank left us without another word to sit beside Lady Fiona.
“Ah, Fiona!” He intoned the name through his nose. “Any further word from Nigel?”
“None. It was a relief to hear that he rang you that once, Archibald. It set my mind at ease that nothing untoward had happened to him. Preferable perhaps if he had got in touch with me instead, but I understand his reasoning. He would have worried that Miss Pierce would get on the line and keep talking, making it seem it would be forever before he could get back to exploring the Amazon or wherever he is. Devoted as he has always been to Nanny, Nigel has intimated that there have been occasions when he found her constant fussing over him irksome. He didn’t mind so much while he was still in his forties, but… I say no more. It will please him on his return to find her settled in the Dower House. I acted in accordance with what I knew would be his wishes. Somebody was just telling me”-she looked vaguely around the room-“that Nanny has some friend or relation living with her. I hope it works out until the time she finally hangs up her butterfly net, to use Nigel’s phrase.”
The expression did seem preferable to kick the bucket. But before I could murmur this opinion to Mrs. Malloy, who was setting out more trays of perfectly presented sandwiches, delectable-looking iced fancies, and fruit tartlets and currant scones, our eyes were drawn to the door where Frances Edmonds cowered against her husband’s shoulder.
“Oh, whatever’s wrong with her now?” Betty brushed past Tom to draw the peeping twosome back into the hall. Remembering that someone, possibly me, needed to start handing round cups and saucers, I moved to the buffet table, where if I strained my ears sufficiently I could hear voices and hiccuping sobs.
“For goodness’ sake, Frances! Why would I think to mention Mr. Scrimshank would be here? It was Lady Fiona you were so keen to see. How could I know he sacked you for not cleaning behind the radiators and you never want to see him again? Stan, get her to stop crying. Oh, come on, both of you, let’s go into the kitchen so you can both have a cup of tea before slipping out the back door, if that’s what you want to do. I wonder what’s been keeping Ben from joining us in the conservatory?” Betty’s voice faded away, along with the dwindling footsteps.
“Now you take that look of your face, Mrs. H,” whispered Mrs. Malloy, “like you’re sure he’s in the pantry canoodling with that Val. Miss Pierce felt a bit faint after the walk up here and he had her sit down in the kitchen and found her a glass of brandy. They’ll all be in soon. I wonder what’s keeping them two vicars?”