Look to the Lady (11 page)

‘My dear lady, I don't want to sell. And just at the moment,' he added simply, ‘I'm afraid I don't feel much like business of any sort.'

‘Oh, of course. Poor Diana.' Mrs Dick was not in the least abashed. ‘I always think it best to face things,' she went on, bellowing the words like a bad loudspeaker. ‘Mawkishness never did anyone any good. The only wonder to my mind is that it didn't happen years ago, Cobden's such an old fool. I wouldn't let him vet me for chilblains.'

By this time the entire Gyrth family were smarting. Only their inborn politeness saved Mrs Dick and her protégés from an untimely and undignified exit. Mr Campion stood by smiling foolishly as though the lady had irresistible charm for him.

Mrs Dick moved towards the door. ‘Come on,' she said. ‘I'm not very interested in these things myself, but Mr Putnam is amused by all this ancient rubbish.'

Penny hung back. ‘The Chalice is veiled,' she said. ‘It always is, for ten days after a –' The word ‘death' died on her lips as Mrs Dick interrupted her.

‘Then unveil it, my dear,' she said. ‘Now come along, all of you – we can't keep the horses waiting. How you've let this place go down since your wife's time, Colonel! Poor Helen, she always believed in making a good show.'

Impelled by the very force of her vigorous personality, the little company followed her. At least three of the party were bristling at her outrageous monologue, but she was superbly oblivious of any effect she might create. It was this quality which had earned her the unique position in the county which she undoubtedly occupied. Everybody knew her, nobody liked her, and most people were a little afraid of her. Her astounding success with any species of horseflesh earned her a grudging admiration. Nobody snubbed her because the tongue capable of it had not yet been born. Her rudeness and studied discourtesy were a byword for some fifty square miles, yet she came and went where she pleased because the only way of stopping her would have been to hurl her bodily from one's front door, no mean feat in itself, and this method had not yet occurred to the conservative minds of her principal victims.

Outside on the gravel path there was still a very marked reluctance on the part of the members of the household to continue towards the Cup House, but at last the Colonel, realizing that there was no help for it, decided to get the matter over as soon as possible. Branch was dispatched for the keys and the little procession wandered round the east wing, through a small gate at the side, and came out into the flower garden. Mrs Dick still held forth, maintaining a running commentary calculated to jade the strongest of nerves.

‘A very poor show of roses, Colonel. But then roses are like horses, you know. If you don't understand 'em, better leave 'em alone.'

She stood aside as Branch advanced to unlock the heavy oak and iron door of the chapel. The lock was ancient and prodigiously stiff, so that the little butler experienced considerable difficulty in inserting the great key, and there was a momentary pause as he struggled to turn it.

Before Val could step forward to assist the old man, Mrs Dick had intervened. She thrust Branch out of her way like a cobweb, and with a single twist of her fingers shot the catch back. Major King laughed nervously.

‘You're strong in the wrist,' he observed.

She shot him a single withering glance. ‘You can't be flabby in my profession,' she said.

The unpleasant Mr Putnam laughed. ‘That's one for you, Major,' he said. ‘I was watching Mrs Shannon dealing with Bitter Aloes this morning. That mare will beat you,' he added, turning to the lady. ‘She's got a devil in her. I thought she was going to kill you. A bad woman and a vicious mare, they're both incorrigible. Lose 'em or shoot 'em, it's the only way.'

He turned to the rest of the party, who were unimpressed.

‘There was Bitter Aloes rearing up, pawing with her front feet like a prizefighter,' he said, ‘and Mrs Shannon hanging on to the halter rope, laying about with a whip like a ring-master. She got the brute down in the end. I never saw such a sight.'

It was with this conversation that the unwelcome visitors came into the ancient and sacred Chapel of the Cup.

It was a low room whose slightly vaulted ceiling was supported by immensely thick brick and stone columns, and was lit only by narrow, diamond-paned windows set at irregular intervals in the walls, so that the light was always dim even on the brightest day. The floor was paved with flat tombstones on which were several very fine brasses. It was entirely unfurnished save for a small stone altar at the far end of the chamber, the slab of which was covered with a crimson cloth held in place by two heavy brass candlesticks.

Let into the wall, directly above the centre of the altar, was a stout iron grille over a cavity in the actual stone, which was rather ingeniously lit by a slanting shaft open to the air many feet above, and sealed by a thick sheet of glass inserted at some later period than the building of the chapel.

At the moment the interior of the orifice was filled by a pyramid of embroidered black velvet.

Colonel Gyrth explained.

‘Immediately a death occurs in the family,' he murmured, ‘the Chalice is veiled. This covering was put on here three days ago. It is the custom,' he added, ‘not to disturb it for at least ten days.' He hesitated pointedly.

Mrs Dick stood her ground. ‘I suppose the grille opens with another key,' she said. ‘What a business you make of it! Is there a burglar alarm concealed in the roof?'

Quite patently it had dawned upon the Colonel that the only way to get rid of his unwelcome visitors was to show them the Chalice and have done with it. He was a peace-loving man, and realizing that Mrs Dick would not shy at a scene, he had no option but to comply with her wishes. He took the smaller key which Branch handed him, and bending across the altar carefully unlocked the grille, which swung open like a door. With reverent hands he lifted the black covering.

Mr Campion, whose imagination ran always to the comic, was reminded irresistibly of a conjuring trick. A moment later his mental metaphor was unexpectedly made absolute.

There was a smothered exclamation from the Colonel and a little scream from Penny. The removal of the black cloth had revealed nothing more than a couple of bricks taken from the loose pedestal of one of the columns.

Of the Chalice there was no sign whatever.

Mrs Dick was the only person who did not realize immediately that some calamity had occurred.

‘Not my idea of humour.' Her stentorian voice reverberated through the cool, dark chapel. ‘Sheer bad taste.'

But Val stared at Mr Campion, and his father stared at Branch, and there was nothing but complete stupefaction and horror written on all their faces.

It was Colonel Gyrth who pulled himself together and provided the second shock within five minutes.

‘Of course,' he said, ‘I had quite forgotten. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed today, Mr Putnam. The Chalice is being cleaned. Some other time.'

With remarkable composure he smiled and turned away, murmuring to Val as he passed him: ‘For God's sake get these people out of the house, my boy, and then come into the library, all of you.'

—

C
OLONEL
S
IR
P
ERCIVAL
G
YRTH
walked up and down the hearthrug in his library, while his two children, with Mr Campion and Branch, stood looking at him rather helplessly.

‘Thank God that woman's gone.' The old man passed his hand across his forehead. ‘I don't know if my explanation satisfied her. I hope so, or we'll have the whole country buzzing with it within twenty-four hours.'

Val stared at his father. ‘Then it really has gone?'

‘Of course it has.' There was no misunderstanding the consternation in the Colonel's voice. ‘Vanished into thin air. I veiled it myself on Sunday evening, just after you said that busybody Cairey was fooling about in the courtyard. It was perfectly safe then. I brought the keys back and put them in my desk. Branch, you and I, I suppose, are the only people who knew where they were kept.'

Branch's expression was pathetic, and his employer reassured him. ‘Don't worry, man. I'm not accusing anybody. It's ridiculous. The thing can't have gone.'

For a moment no one spoke. The suddenness of the loss seemed to have stunned them.

‘Hadn't I better send someone for the police, sir? Or perhaps you'd rather I phoned?' It was Branch who made the suggestion.

Sir Percival hesitated. ‘I don't think so, thank you, Branch,' he said. ‘Anyway, not yet. You see,' he went on, turning to the others, ‘to make a loss like this public entails very serious consequences. We are really the guardians of the Chalice for the Crown. I want the chapel locked as usual, Branch, and no mention of the loss to be made known to the staff, as yet.'

‘But what shall we do?' said Val breathlessly. ‘We can't sit down and wait for it to reappear.'

His father looked at him curiously. ‘Perhaps not, my boy,' he said. ‘But there's one point which must have occurred to all of you. The Chalice is both large and heavy, and no stranger has left the house since I locked it up myself. No one except ourselves could possibly have had access to it, and we are all very particularly concerned in keeping it here.'

‘According to that argument,' said Val bluntly, ‘it can't have gone. And if so, where is it? Can't you send for the Chief Constable? He used to be a friend of yours.'

His father hesitated. ‘I could, of course,' he said, ‘though I don't see what he could do except spread the alarm and question all the servants – search the house, probably, and make a lot of fuss. No, we must find this thing ourselves.'

There was an astonishing air of finality in his tone which was not lost upon the others.

‘I'm not calling in the police,' he said, ‘not yet, at any rate. And I must particularly ask you not to mention this loss to anyone. I'm convinced,' he went on as they gasped at him, ‘that the relic is still in the house. Now I should like to be left alone.'

They went out, all of them, except Val, who lingered, and when the door had closed behind the others he went over to the old man, who had seated himself at his desk.

‘Look here, Dad,' he said, ‘if you've hidden the Cup for some reason or other, for Heaven's sake let me in on it. I'm all on edge about this business, and frankly I feel I've got a right to know!

‘For Heaven's sake, boy, don't be a fool.' The older man's voice was almost unrecognizable, and the face he lifted towards his son was grey and haggard. ‘This is one of the most serious, most terrifying things I have ever experienced in my whole lifetime,' he went on, his voice indubitably sincere. ‘All the more so because, as it happens, we are so situated that at the moment it is impossible for me to call in the police.'

He looked the boy steadily in the eyes. ‘You come of age in a week. If your birthday were today perhaps I should find this easier to explain.'

Early the following morning Mr Campion walked down the broad staircase, through the lounge-hall, and out into the sunlight. There seemed no reason for him to be particularly cheerful. So far his activities at Sanctuary seemed to have met with anything rather than conspicuous success. Lady Pethwick had died mysteriously within eight hours of his arrival, and now the main object of his visit had disappeared from almost directly beneath his nose.

Yet he sat down on one of the ornamental stone seats which flanked the porch and beamed upon a smiling world.

Presently, as his ears detected the sound for which he was listening, he began to stroll in a leisurely fashion down the drive. He was still sauntering along the middle of the broad path when the squawk of a motor-horn several times repeated made him turn to find Penny, in her little red two-seater sports car, looking at him reprovingly. She had had to stop to avoid running him over. He smiled at her foolishly from behind his spectacles.

‘Where are you going to, my pretty maid?' he said. ‘Would you like to give a poor traveller a lift?'

The girl did not look particularly pleased at the suggestion.

‘As a matter of fact,' she said, ‘I'm running up to Town to see my dressmaker. I'll give you a lift to the village if you like.'

‘I'm going to London too,' said Mr Campion, climbing in. ‘It's a long way from here, isn't it?' he went on with apparent imbecility. ‘I knew I'd never walk it.'

Penny stared at him, her cheeks flushing. ‘Surely you can't go off and leave the Tower unprotected,' she said, and there was a note of amusement in her voice.

‘Never laugh at a great man,' said Mr Campion. ‘Remember what happened to the vulgar little girls who threw stones at Elisha. I can imagine few worse deaths than being eaten by a bear,' he added conversationally.

The girl was silent for a moment. She was clearly considerably put out by the young man's unexpected appearance.

‘Look here,' she said at last, ‘I'm taking Beth with me, if you really want to know. I'm meeting her at the end of the lane.'

Mr Campion beamed. ‘That's all right,' he said. ‘I shan't mind being squashed. Don't let me force myself on you,' he went on. ‘I shouldn't dream of doing that, but I've got to get to London somehow, and Lugg told me I couldn't use the Bentley.'

The girl looked at him incredulously. ‘What is that man Lugg?' she said.

Her companion adjusted his spectacles. ‘It depends how you mean,' he said. ‘A species, definitely human, I should say, oh yes, without a doubt. Status – none. Past – filthy. Occupation – my valet.'

Penny laughed. ‘I wondered if he were your keeper,' she suggested.

‘Tut, tut,' said Mr Campion, mildly offended. ‘I hope I'm going to enjoy my trip. I don't want to be “got at” in a parroty fashion all the way up. Ah, there's your little friend waiting for us. Would you like me to sit in the dickey?'