III
“Lance!”
Elaine came hurrying forward towards him. She flung her arms round
his neck and hugged him with a schoolgirl abandon that Lance found
quite surprising.
“Hallo. Here I am.”
He disengaged himself gently.
“This is Jennifer?”
Jennifer Fortescue looked at him with eager curiosity.
“I’m afraid Val’s been detained in town,” she said. “There’s so much to
see to, you know. All the arrangements to make and everything. Of course
it all comes on Val. He has to see to everything. You can really have no idea
what we’re all going through.”
“It must be terrible for you,” said Lance gravely.
He turned to the woman on the sofa, who was sitting with a piece of
“Of course,” cried Jennifer, “you don’t know Adele, do you?”
Lance murmured, “Oh yes, I do,” as he took Adele Fortescue’s hand in
his. As he looked down at her, her
eyelids3 fluttered. She set down the
scone she was eating with her left hand and just touched the arrangement
of her hair. It was a feminine gesture. It marked her recognition of the
entry to the room of a personable man. She said in her thick, soft voice:
“Sit down here on the sofa beside me, Lance.” She poured out a cup of
tea for him. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she went on. “We badly need an-
other man in the house.”
Lance said:
“You must let me do everything I can to help.”
“You know—but perhaps you don’t know—we’ve had the police here.
They think—they think—” she broke off and cried out
passionately4: “Oh,
it’s awful! Awful!”
“I know.” Lance was grave and sympathetic. “As a matter of fact they
met me at London Airport.”
“The police met you?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“Well,” Lance was deprecating. “They told me what had happened.”
“He was poisoned,” said Adele, “that’s what they think, what they say.
Not food poisoning. Real poisoning, by someone. I believe, I really do be-
lieve they think it’s one of us.”
Lance gave her a sudden quick smile.
“That’s their pigeon,” he said consolingly. “It’s no good our worrying.
What a scrumptious tea! It’s a long time since I’ve seen a good English
tea.”
The others fell in with his mood soon enough. Adele said suddenly:
“But your wife—haven’t you got a wife, Lance?”
“I’ve got a wife, yes. She’s in London.”
“But aren’t you—hadn’t you better bring her down here?”
“Plenty of time to make plans,” said Lance. “Pat—oh, Pat’s quite all right
where she is.”
Elaine said sharply:
“You don’t mean—you don’t think—”
Lance said quickly:
“What a wonderful-looking chocolate cake. I must have some.”
Cutting himself a slice, he asked:
“Is Aunt Effie alive still?”
“Oh, yes, Lance. She won’t come down and have meals with us or any-
thing, but she’s quite well. Only she’s getting very
peculiar5.”
“She always was peculiar,” said Lance. “I must go up and see her after
tea.”
Jennifer Fortescue murmured:
“At her age one does really feel that she ought to be in some kind of a
home. I mean somewhere where she will be properly looked after.”
“Heaven help any old ladies’ home that got Aunt Effie in their midst,”
said Lance. He added, “Who’s the
demure6 piece of goods who let me in?”
Adele looked surprised.
“Didn’t Crump let you in? The butler? Oh no, I forgot. It’s his day out
today. But surely Gladys—”
Lance gave a description. “Blue eyes, hair parted in the middle, soft
voice, butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth. What goes on behind it all, I
wouldn’t like to say.”
“That,” said Jennifer, “would be Mary Dove.”
Elaine said:
“She sort of runs things for us.”
“Does she, now?”
Adele said:
“She’s really very useful.”
“Yes,” said Lance thoughtfully, “I should think she might be.”
“But what is so nice is,” said Jennifer, “that she knows her place. She
never presumes, if you know what I mean.”
“Clever Mary Dove,” said Lance, and helped himself to another piece of
chocolate cake.
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