The New Sonia Wayward (20 page)

‘Then,’ he said with some formality, ‘I will withdraw and allow you to get up. I’ll begin briefing you at lunch. No doubt Oxford has a decent hotel.’

‘My dear man, we catch the eleven-five to London. And you’ll need about three hundred pounds. The first thing I must have isn’t information about your Sonia.’ Susie smiled happily. ‘It’s clothes.’

It was certainly true that Susie’s wardrobe was in an unsatisfactory condition. The three hundred pounds was exhausted by tea-time, and in the last few shops Petticate found himself simply signing cheques. As Susie became more splendidly equipped hour by hour, the process went forward in an atmosphere of progressive obsequiousness throughout the afternoon. Petticate’s dismay before all this expenditure – the necessity of which had simply not occurred to him – was mitigated by the fact that Susie was undeniably assuming gentility – a rather aggressive yet amazingly convincing gentility – with each new outward token of it that she acquired. She was ending up quite amazingly like Sonia – Sonia when some windfall from a publisher had encouraged her to go on a spree. Moreover Susie’s memory seemed to be rapidly opening up upon stores of experience garnered long ago. She wasn’t at all the person whom Petticate had first encountered on that train: driven back upon the lower middle-class attitudes and expedients amid which she had presumably been bred. It was hard to believe that she had ever had an auntie who had been imposed upon by a Henry Higgins, and upon whose illusory good-fortune she had herself injudiciously relied in a matter of bad cheques. Petticate reflected that the poet Kipling, who had contended in a celebrated place that Judy O’Grady and the Colonel’s Lady are sisters under their skins, would have felt himself notably vindicated by the present afternoon’s proceedings.

Petticate himself got very little satisfaction from them. In a way he was, of course, delighted. It really did look as if this incredibly long shot could be brought off. But the very ease of the process so far was something that he found deeply disturbing. Susie’s success was going to be his salvation. Yet he was going to dislike it, just as he was going to dislike her. That the thing should be possible, that a person of plebeian origins and associations should have even a chance of getting away with such a deception, was deeply mortifying to his own innate aristocracy of mind and character. What was a country coming to, one had to ask, where such things could be? Of course it couldn’t
last
. Miss Susie Smith’s impersonation of Mrs Ffolliot Petticate, a woman of unchallengeably good family and breeding, could be no more than a flash in the pan – a skilfully timed flash. Even so, it was distasteful to Petticate. He looked forward to its being over.

Susie, when she had bought her last hat, decided that they must go to Fortnum’s for tea. She did, Petticate reflected as he crossed Piccadilly in her wake, have a decided flair for finding her way about. From the cup of tea which he had come upon her discussing that morning to the cup of tea which she presently poured out in this gustatory paradise there yawned a chasm which she was taking entirely in her stride. There appeared to be little doubt that, if given her head, Susie would soon be enunciating with confidence such propositions as that there are no more than half a dozen places left in London in which it is possible to dine.

To Petticate, with his wide power of philosophical generalization, there was food for thought in this. And as there was food of a more tangible order presently spread before him in pleasing variety, the succeeding half-hour became almost an agreeable one. He was turning over in his mind the rival claims of one or two delicacies which he might possibly buy on his way out through the shop, and was in consequence paying little attention to his immediate surroundings, when his ease was shattered by a single word, spoken with all too familiar vehemence from immediately behind him.

‘Sonia!’

He turned round in horror. Mrs Gotlop had just sat down at the next table. She was accompanied by the formidable old person whom he remembered to be Lady Edward Lifton. It was a moment of the most dire dismay. Susie, so far, had refused to discuss anything but clothes. She was uninstructed in the first thing that concerned the role she had to sustain.

‘Darling!’

With this unhesitating exclamation Susie had risen and thrown herself into Mrs Gotlop’s arms. Mrs Gotlop, who had also risen, embraced her and then roared with laughter.

‘Back to Blimp!’ Mrs Gotlop shouted. ‘Back to rural Blimp!’

If Susie was baffled by this, she certainly didn’t show it.

‘And,
darling
,’ she said, ‘– hasn’t it been an
age
?’

To this Mrs Gotlop roared a hilarious affirmative. Then she waved an arm towards her august companion.

‘Of course,’ she said, ‘you know dear old Daphne?’

Susie took only a second.

‘Never met Lady Edward, that I know of.’ Her voice was now brisk and almost cavalier. ‘How d’ye do?’

‘How d’ye do?’ Lady Edward was evidently impressed. She even favoured the false Sonia with a majestic bow.

‘And now, Ffolliot, we must go.’ Susie had turned sharply to Petticate and motioned him to his feet. He ought, of course, already to have been standing on them, but apprehensiveness and stupefaction had frozen him where he sat. ‘I’m taking Ffolliot,’ Susie went on in what was now her best talking-to-the-dog manner, ‘to see his tailor. So absurd that Englishmen should be let go to their tailors alone! Asking for robbery. Never happens in Rome. Or in Madrid.’

‘Is that so?’ Lady Edward was much impressed by this superior information, and clearly making a mental note of it for future use.

‘And you will, darling, come to our next small do?’ Susie had turned back to Mrs Gotlop as she put on her gloves. ‘Such
ages
! I’ll drop you a card. Good-bye, good-bye!’ And with an expansive wave entirely appropriate in a distinguished woman of letters, Susie sailed away, leaving Petticate to make his bow to the ladies and follow her.

Out in the street, while they waited for a taxi, Petticate felt entirely limp. He had quite forgotten his delicacies. Over the way, against the railings of Burlington House, the posters were saying something about a revolution. But he didn’t attend to them. He was absorbed in his recent extraordinary experience.

‘Well – how did it go?’ Susie had turned on him challengingly and a shade anxiously. ‘A sudden call, that was. Did I sound like your Sonia?’

‘Not in the least. That is – yes, you must have done.’ Petticate found that he was far too bewildered to produce a coherent answer. ‘You weren’t like her. You couldn’t be, since you never saw her and know nothing about her. We’ve taken on the sheerly impossible. I see that now. I’ve been quite mad. And yet…and yet that Gotlop woman hadn’t a flicker of doubt.’

‘
She
hadn’t because
I
hadn’t.’ Susie threw back her head and laughed, so that the commissionaire handing them to their cab glanced at her in respectful surprise. ‘That’s psychology, dearie. If I’d flickered, she’d have flickered, and it would have been all up with us.’ Susie sat back with unassuming satisfaction against the dusty upholstery of the cab. ‘It’s not knowing about your Sonia that’s needed. It’s nerve. And I’ve got nerve.’

Petticate drew a long breath.

‘So it seems,’ he said. ‘But you appear to have a certain amount of information too. How did you know that old woman was Lady Edward Lifton?’

‘Picture papers, silly. I’ve always had a fancy for turning over the society news. As for the nerve, don’t think I’ve had it always. If I had, things wouldn’t have got me down like how I was when we first met, dearie, or living like I’ve been doing in that nasty Eastmoor Road. No – it’s something that’s come back to me. And why? Because I like you, as I said.’ For a moment Susie was silent and thoughtful. ‘Queer, isn’t it? You’re not really very nice, I suppose. But I’ve taken to you all the same. Like some of the girls do to their ponces, I’d say. They’re chaps that aren’t very nice either.’

It was scarcely to be expected that Petticate should produce any articulate reply to this. It was certain that, on every front, his three weeks with Susie were to be a nightmare.

‘By the way,’ Susie went on, ‘tell him to drop me at Oxford Circus.’

‘Drop you?’ Petticate was disconcerted. ‘We’re going to Paddington. We’ll be in excellent time for the six forty-five.’

Susie shook her head – and so casually that he suddenly perceived that she was a woman of iron will.

‘Not for me tonight, dearie. I’ll get a morning train, and we’ll have a long quiet day getting up Sonia for all I’m worth. But it’s a holiday for Susie Smith till then.’ She sighed happily. ‘It’s been ages – it’s been ages and ages – since I’ve been in London with a little money in my bag.’

So, once more, Petticate travelled down to Snigg’s Green alone. He was grateful, after all, for the break. At Paddington he bought an evening paper, simply to hide himself if any neighbours turned up. He noticed that it seemed to say something about San Giorgio. But he was so tired that he didn’t bother to find out what it was.

During the latter part of his journey – a thing unusual with him – Colonel Petticate slept. He had been through a fantastic day – and a day which had followed immediately upon a fantastic night. No wonder he had felt quite done up. But now, as he walked slowly home from the railway station through the darkness, he found his head clearer and better able to take stock of his situation.

He had been worried about the tape-recorder, buried beneath the debris of the barn. But now it occurred to him that it lay entirely within his own discretion to say whether that debris should be cleared up or not. If he simply let it all slowly disappear beneath nettles and thistles, there would probably be nobody to protest or take the slightest interest in the matter. If, at some future date, the site was cleared and the smashed machine discovered, it would be no more than a matter of a few moments’ curiosity to the workmen involved. As to the rope, he must simply cut it off short where it disappeared among the masonry. Nobody pottering about in the ruins would then be remotely likely to come upon it.

No, the barn was not a problem – always provided that the Hennwifes could be sent silent and disgraced away. And there seemed to be little doubt about that. He knew just what he would do when he got home tonight. He would say crisply to Hennwife that his mistress was returning to Snigg’s Green tomorrow morning. Beyond that, he would say nothing at all. The Hennwifes would be staggered by the mere statement, and the succeeding twelve hours of bewildered suspense would thoroughly unnerve them. It was very likely that at the mere sight of the false Sonia they would snatch up a few possessions and bolt. It was true they knew that he had tried to kill them. But they surely realized that they had richly deserved that fate – and only the more so since they must now believe that they had based their insolent and evil conduct upon a false assumption.

Mopping up the Hennwifes, in fact, was going to be child’s play. And exceedingly agreeable child’s play at that. Petticate was chuckling at the prospect when, turning a corner of the road that led past his front gate, he became aware of a stationary motor van only a few yards in front of him.

It was late for the tradesmen to be delivering anything – and moreover the van was somehow a more sombre affair than any enterprising tradesman was likely to go in for. Seized by an obscure foreboding, Petticate forced himself to take a few more paces forward. Twenty yards beyond the stationary van there was a stationary motor-car. Its parking lights were switched on. And just above its roof there was an inexplicable dull blue glow.

The inexplicability lasted, of course, only for a moment. At a nearer view that dull blue glow would say ‘POLICE’. And the van was a police van too. In fact it was what, in his youth, had been vulgarly known as a Black Maria. Petticate felt a violent tremor seize and shake his frame. He wanted to turn round and run, but knew that something horrible would happen to his knees if he did. As it was, he stood transfixed, staring at his own front gate. And as he did so, he saw something stir beside it. Indeed, he saw something stir at either side of it. The gate-posts might have been unnaturally moving. Only he knew that these were not gateposts but the helmets of constables – of constables who were quietly waiting…

And now Petticate did manage to turn round. It was to face a bright light that shone momentarily on his face, and to feel a firm grip that took him by the arm.

‘All right,’ he heard Sergeant Bradnack’s voice say. ‘A bit of a shock, no doubt. But just take it easy.’

It was as a man in a dreadful dream that Petticate found himself led into his own hall. The Hennwifes were there, and a surprising number of policemen. Petticate stared at these policemen dully. He supposed that they must have come to turn over the rubble of the barn. The Hennwifes, it was clear, must have informed on him. They must have told of his plan to murder them, and of the fiendish manner in which they had outwitted him.

Petticate stood quite still. He didn’t attempt to take off his overcoat. He supposed it was quite likely to be chilly, jolting along to jail in that black van. There was a moment’s strange silence, and then Sergeant Bradnack cleared his throat and spoke.

‘A very delicate matter this, Colonel. Very delicate, indeed. I have strict orders from the Superintendent to say as little as need be. But, since considerable inconvenience is going to accrue’ – Sergeant Bradnack paused in some admiration over this expression – ‘is going to accrue to you, sir, as the employer of the apprehended persons, a word of explanation seems in place.’

Petticate found himself feeling rather blindly for a chair. For seconds his physical vision was actually clouded. When it cleared, it was upon a full view of the Hennwifes. There could be no doubt about it. He had never seen them looking remotely like that before. Whatever had happened, it was something that had told them they were cornered.

‘A charge of blackmail, sir, I am sorry to say. Always a very delicate matter, as you know, sir; always a very delicate matter indeed. The world being as it is, sir, the persons victimized don’t always care to be named in court. Not by no means. And, having come forward, they deserve the protection of the law. Which is the reason, you will understand, Colonel, why I can’t say much.’ Sergeant Bradnack paused upon this, all of which he had delivered himself of in a very loud voice. Now he suddenly leant forward and whispered loudly in Petticate’s ear. ‘Old bastard Sir Thomas Glyde, Colonel. Nasty habits. Very nasty habits, indeed. And your precious pair got on to him.’