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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
though she had just discovered she was sitting on a
pin. “There usually is.”
“Nice of you to let me off the hook so easily.” Lord
Dunstairs dipped his spoon into his soup and drew it
to his lips. “And I do suppose the likeliest explanation
is that my housekeeper forgot to post the letter. She’s
not the brightest woman alive, but as I’m sure you’ll all
agree,”
looking
around
the
table,
“it’s
almost
impossible to get decent servants these days.”
Dickie felt himself go hot under the collar, and was
about to speak when Woodcock appeared at his side
and, in handing him another roll, placed discreet
pressure on his arm. The room was thus left for a few
moments in uncomfortable silence, and the mood of
those seated around the table never seemed to pick up
during the rest of the meal. George made the liveliest
attempt at conversation, but nobody paid him much
attention,
so
with
equal
goodwill
he
began
concentrating his energies on his wineglass. Madge sat
fidgeting with the front of her frock as if feeling for the
amber beads she had misplaced. Mrs. Bagworthy’s
usually unassailable appetite seemed to have failed
her. Mr. Ambleforth was mainly silent, and his wife a
little disjointed in her conversation. Dickie didn’t want
to think about what Foof had on her mind as she
pushed her food around on her plate. As for Lord
Dunstairs, Dickie ground his teeth and pictured what
the man would look like with an egg custard sitting on
his head.
At last the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen
to their port, and after staring glumly at the unlit cigar
in his hand, Dickie excused himself, saying he had the
most
confounded
headache.
Over
George’s
protestations that he would feel better for a game of
cards, Dickie went up to his room. Twenty minutes
later Woodcock joined him.
“Very clever of you,” Dickie looked up from the
chair in which he was reclining, “persuading Mercer
that he didn’t feel up to snuff so that you could take
his place at dinner.”
“A liberty, sir.”
“So, what did you think of his lordship?”
“A
remarkably
good-looking
man.”
Woodcock
poured his employer a glass of brandy.
“That’s all you can say?” Dickie glowered. “I felt
93
like tearing his tongue out when he made that remark
about it being impossible to find good help, and I
would have done so if you hadn’t pinched my arm.”
“It was not my place to take offence, sir,” Woodcock
handed over the glass, “and I intended only to brush a
fly off your sleeve. I do, however, most humbly beg
your pardon.”
“Oh, cut the cackle, you old poser!” Dickie downed
half the brandy and leaned back in his chair. “If you
saw nothing amiss with his lordship I’m sure I’m no
end delighted. I’ve obviously been overreacting to his
pursuit of my fiancée, and I suppose it was my blasted
imagination that made me think that every time he
looked at me he did so with the most gloating of
expressions. Get me a refill, Woodcock,” he said,
handing back his glass, “while I make a mental note
not to make snap decisions about people in future.”
“Very wise, sir.”
“Well, I wonder what his lordship is up to at this
moment. Kissing Lady Felicity in the garden springs to
mind, but I’m such a pessimist.”
“I believe, sir,” said Woodcock lifting the decanter,
“that he has engaged to play cards with Mr. Stodders.
But at the moment, he may be in discussion with Mrs.
Bagworthy. I saw his lordship talking with her in the
alcove to the right of the stairs as I was proceeding
down the gallery to this room, sir.”
“Always said you’re a positive mine of information.”
Dickie forced a smile.
“I endeavor to be of use.” Woodcock dabbed around
the rim of the brandy glass with a white cloth before
returning it to his employer. “Is there anything more
you will be needing? Because if not, sir, I would very
much appreciate your permission to use the telephone.
You have my assurance that I will leave fourpence in
the box on the table.”
“I suppose you had better,” said Dickie, “even
though I’ve never known you to use the phone before.
Father often gets a bee in his bonnet (goes with the
hobby), and now he’s come up with the idea of making
everyone—including myself and Mother—pay for our
calls. Oh, stuff, perhaps it’s as well Felicity won’t
marry me. What with Uncle Wilfred’s nose and
Father’s nutty episodes, our children could be a sorry
bunch.”
During the rest of the evening, Dickie endeavored
94
to resign himself to his lot by looking for other reasons
that would indicate that being jilted was a cause for
celebration. By the time he retired for the night he had
drunk sufficient brandy to enable him to fall asleep
after only half an hour of tossing from one side to the
other. He woke once or twice during the small hours to
a feeling of uneasiness, but each time fell back asleep
before
sorting
his
way
through
the
layers
of
consciousness to the source. And when he sat up in
bed the next morning, the only thing that was crystal
clear to him was that he had the worst headache. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
