Three

AT 6:30 P.M.

I
“Well, here we are, all set,” said Miss Blacklock. She looked round thedouble drawing room with an appraising eye. The rose-patterned chintzes—the two bowls of bronze chrysanthemums, the small vase of violets andthe silver cigarette box on a table by the wall, the tray of drinks on thecentre table.

Little Paddocks was a medium-sized house built in the early Victorianstyle. It had a long shallow veranda and green shuttered windows. Thelong, narrow drawing room which lost a good deal of light owing to theveranda roof had originally had double doors at one end leading into asmall room with a bay window. A former generation had removed thedouble doors and replaced them with portieres of velvet. Miss Blacklockhad dispensed with the portieres so that the two rooms had become defin-itely one. There was a fireplace each end, but neither fire was lit althougha gentle warmth pervaded the room.

“You’ve had the central heating lit,” said Patrick.

Miss Blacklock nodded.

“It’s been so misty and damp lately. The whole house felt clammy. I gotEvans to light it before he went.”

“The precious precious coke?” said Patrick mockingly.

“As you say, the precious coke. But otherwise there would have been theeven more precious coal. You know the Fuel Office won’t even let us havethe little bit that’s due to us each week—not unless we can say definitelythat we haven’t got any other means of cooking.”

“I suppose there was once heaps of coke and coal for everybody?” saidJulia with the interest of one hearing about an unknown country.

“Yes, and cheap, too.”

“And anyone could go and buy as much as they wanted, without fillingin anything, and there wasn’t any shortage? There was lots of it there?”

“All kinds and qualities—and not all stones and slates like what we getnowadays.”

“It must have been a wonderful world,” said Julia, with awe in hervoice.

Miss Blacklock smiled. “Looking back on it, I certainly think so. But thenI’m an old woman. It’s natural for me to prefer my own times. But youyoung things oughtn’t to think so.”

“I needn’t have had a job then,” said Julia. “I could just have stayed athome and done the flowers, and written notes … Why did one write notesand who were they to?”

“All the people that you now ring up on the telephone,” said Miss Black-lock with a twinkle. “I don’t believe you even know how to write, Julia.”

“Not in the style of that delicious ‘Complete Letter Writer’ I found theother day. Heavenly! It told you the correct way of refusing a proposal ofmarriage from a widower.”

“I doubt if you would have enjoyed staying at home as much as youthink,” said Miss Blacklock. “There were duties, you know.” Her voice wasdry. “However, I don’t really know much about it. Bunny and I,” shesmiled affectionately at Dora Bunner, “went into the labour market early.”

“Oh, we did, we did indeed,” agreed Miss Bunner. “Those naughty,naughty children. I’ll never forget them. Of course, Letty was clever. Shewas a business woman, secretary to a big financier.”

The door opened and Phillipa Haymes came in. She was tall and fair andplacid-looking. She looked round the room in surprise.

“Hallo,” she said. “Is it a party? Nobody told me.”

“Of course,” cried Patrick. “Our Phillipa doesn’t know. The only womanin Chipping Cleghorn who doesn’t, I bet.”

Phillipa looked at him inquiringly.

“Here you behold,” said Patrick dramatically, waving a hand, “the sceneof a murder!”

Phillipa Haymes looked faintly puzzled.

“Here,” Patrick indicated the two big bowls of chrysanthemums, “are thefuneral wreaths and these dishes of cheese straws and olives representthe funeral baked meats.”

Phillipa looked inquiringly at Miss Blacklock.

“Is it a joke?” she asked. “I’m always terribly stupid at seeing jokes.”

“It’s a very nasty joke,” said Dora Bunner with energy. “I don’t like it atall.”

“Show her the advertisement,” said Miss Blacklock. “I must go and shutup the ducks. It’s dark. They’ll be in by now.”

“Let me do it,” said Phillipa.

“Certainly not, my dear. You’ve finished your day’s work.”

“I’ll do it, Aunt Letty,” offered Patrick.

“No, you won’t,” said Miss Blacklock with energy. “Last time you didn’tlatch the door properly.”

“I’ll do it, Letty dear,” cried Miss Bunner. “Indeed, I should love to. I’lljust slip on my goloshes—and now where did I put my cardigan?”

But Miss Blacklock, with a smile, had already left the room.

“It’s no good, Bunny,” said Patrick. “Aunt Letty’s so efficient that she cannever bear anybody else to do things for her. She really much prefers todo everything herself.”

“She loves it,” said Julia.

“I didn’t notice you making any offers of assistance,” said her brother.

Julia smiled lazily.

“You’ve just said Aunt Letty likes to do things herself,” she pointed out.

“Besides,” she held out a well-shaped leg in a sheer stocking, “I’ve got mybest stockings on.”

“Death in silk stockings!” declaimed Patrick.

“Not silk—nylons, you idiot.”

“That’s not nearly such a good title.”

“Won’t somebody please tell me,” cried Phillipa plaintively, “why thereis all this insistence on death?”

Everybody tried to tell her at once—nobody could find the Gazette toshow her because Mitzi had taken it into the kitchen.

Miss Blacklock returned a few minutes later.

“There,” she said briskly, “that’s done.” She glanced at the clock.

“Twenty past six. Somebody ought to be here soon—unless I’m entirelywrong in my estimate of my neighbours.”

“I don’t see why anybody should come,” said Phillipa, looking be-wildered.

“Don’t you, dear?… I dare say you wouldn’t. But most people are rathermore inquisitive than you are.”

“Phillipa’s attitude to life is that she just isn’t interested,” said Julia,rather nastily.

Phillipa did not reply.

Miss Blacklock was glancing round the room. Mitzi had put the sherryand three dishes containing olives, cheese straws and some little fancypastries on the table in the middle of the room.

“You might move that tray—or the whole table if you like—round thecorner into the bay window in the other room, Patrick, if you don’t mind.

After all, I am not giving a party! I haven’t asked anyone. And I don’t in-tend to make it obvious that I expect people to turn up.”

“You wish, Aunt Letty, to disguise your intelligent anticipation?”

“Very nicely put, Patrick. Thank you, my dear boy.”

“Now we can all give a lovely performance of a quiet evening at home,”

said Julia, “and be quite surprised when somebody drops in.”

Miss Blacklock had picked up the sherry bottle. She stood holding it un-certainly in her hand.

Patrick reassured her.

“There’s quite half a bottle there. It ought to be enough.”

“Oh, yes—yes …” She hesitated. Then, with a slight flush, she said:

“Patrick, would you mind … there’s a new bottle in the cupboard in thepantry … Bring it and a corkscrew. I—we—might as well have a newbottle. This—this has been opened some time.”

Patrick went on his errand without a word. He returned with the newbottle and drew the cork. He looked up curiously at Miss Blacklock as heplaced it on the tray.

“Taking this seriously, aren’t you, darling?” he asked gently.

“Oh,” cried Dora Bunner, shocked. “Surely, Letty, you can’t imagine—”

“Hush,” said Miss Blacklock quickly. “That’s the bell. You see, my intelli-gent anticipation is being justified.”