Part 16

"Lavinia dear," she began as soon as she got through, "I want you to help me a little to-night. It's too bad that Martin can't come; we're very disappointed that he won't be back till to-morrow but of course business must come first."

"He's very sorry too, but he simply can't help it."

"No, I quite understand. But about to-night, will you be rather specially attentive to Aunt Dora?"

"Oh Mother, I'm not very good with her."

"Nonsense! She's quite fond of you in her own way, and you know she feels a little hurt that Helen has never taken any trouble about her, and now she is annoyed by something that happened at Jessica's wedding, so you must just step into the breach, my dear."

"I know what happened at the wedding. She came late and got put into a back seat."

Lavinia's laugh rang clearly into the telephone, but Mrs. Rodney frowned anxiously as she answered: "Well, whatever it was I don't want it to crop up to-night, and if you'll just sit beside her after dinner and see that she doesn't feel neglected I'm sure everything will be quite all right."

"Very well, Mother, I'll try, but I don't think it will be very easy."

"My dear child, how absurd you are. Everything will be perfectly easy and smooth. It ought to be a very pleasant little party. Tell me, what frock are you wearing?"

"I haven't really thought. My new black I expect."

"Oh not black, dear. Don't you think yourself black is rather a pity?"

There was no answer.

"What did you say, dear?" asked Mrs. Rodney.

"I didn't say anything, Mother." Lavinia's voice sounded annoyed.

"Darling, surely you don't mind my just suggesting one of your pretty pale frocks rather than a black one?"

"I don't quite know what you mean by black being 'rather a pity'."

"It's only that I want you to look your best, you silly child, and a pale colour is so much younger and more gay. Besides, I'll be wearing black. Now don't forget Aunt Dora, will you, and remember that dinner is at quarter to eight. Your Grannie doesn't like it later. Good-bye till this evening."

She rang off, and sat at her desk for a moment, looking faintly disturbed, before putting on a call to Jessica.

"Hullo, who's there?" asked a brusque voice.

"Can I speak to Mrs. Hugh please? Mrs. Rodney speaking."

"I don't know where Mrs. Greene is, but I'll look for her if you'll wait a minute. Who did you say it was?"

"It's Mrs. Rodney Greene to speak to Mrs. Hugh if you please."

Edith spoke icily with an accent of rebuke, but the voice replied quite undaunted.

"Well hold on then, I'll look for her."

There was a long wait. Edith sat holding the receiver jotting down items on her shopping list, until ultimately she heard Jessica's voice.

"Hullo, is that you, Mrs. Greene?"

"Good morning, Jessica. I hope everything is all right with you? I just wanted a word with you about to-night. You're wearing your wedding frock of course?"

"Oh, do you want me to? I meant to wear my yellow georgette. I thought the wedding frock would be too dressed up just for a family party."

"I hardly think so, Jessica. After all the dinner is for you, and I think it would be a nice little courtesy to wear your gold tissue."

"Is the party really for me? How awful!"

This time it was Mrs. Rodney who maintained a silence of sheer annoyance.

"I don't mean 'awful' of course, I only mean rather frightening."

Jessica's voice was anxious as if she were conscious of having offended, but Mrs. Rodney replied briskly and coldly:

"There's no need to be frightened. It's very foolish of you. We only want to welcome you into the family."

"Thank you very much; of course I'll wear my gold."

"Well, we'll see you this evening then and don't be late. Grannie likes dinner to be very punctual. By the way, Jessica, you really must train your maid to answer the telephone properly."

A faint gasp fluttered along the wire. "Oh must I? I don't know how to."

"It's perfectly easy. You've only got to tell her exactly what to say when she takes the receiver off, and incidentally you might remind her to call you Mrs. Hugh, there are too many of us all to be Mrs. Greenes."

"I'll try, but it's terribly difficult. She is so much older and more severe than I am."

"I see I'll have to take you in hand a little my dear, but never mind now. Good-bye till to-night."

The faintly perturbed frown was still on Mrs. Rodney's face as she rang up Helen, and it deepened when a polite voice answered her request to speak to Mrs. Geoffrey. "I'm sorry, Madam, but Mrs. Geoffrey is engaged in her studio, and gave orders that she wasn't to be disturbed before eleven."

"But it's Mrs. Rodney Greene speaking."

"Could you ring up again in about half an hour, Madam, or shall I ask Mrs. Geoffrey to ring you?"

"No, I'll leave it now."

"Thank you Madam." The polite voice died away, and Mrs. Rodney petulantly pushed the telephone aside as her husband came into the room.

"Nothing wrong, Edith, I hope?" he asked, noticing her look of irritation.

"No, nothing, thank you, dear. Only sometimes I get a little cross with all the children's airs and graces."

"I shouldn't let them worry you. You've got enough to do without bothering over them. The car's here and I'm just starting to fetch Mother. We ought to be back in good time for lunch, and by the way dear, do you think we ought to send the car for Dora to-night?"

Edith raised her eyebrows.

"I've arranged to do that of course," she said in a slightly pained voice, "I'm just going to ring up Dora and let her know."

"Splendid; that's quite all right. Well I must be off now. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Rodney. Be sure the warm rug is in the car for your Mother."

Mrs. Rodney sat staring out of the window until the sound of the front door being shut disturbed her thoughts. Then she smoothed her hair, sat very upright in her chair, pulled the telephone once again towards her, and rang up Mrs. Edwin.

"Hullo, who are you?" she heard her sister-in-law ask.

"Good morning, Dora. It's Edith speaking. How are you?"

Her voice was unusually cordial, as if she hoped to establish a cheerful atmosphere even through the awkward medium of the telephone where her deliberately bright smile was lost.

"I'm not feeling very well thank you, Edith. This week is always a particularly trying one for me you know, and the strain seems to be telling on me more than usual this year."

"What do you say?"

"I say the strain is telling on me more than usual this year. What a bad connection this is."

"Yes, isn't it? I'm so sorry, but what did you say you were telling me?"

"I don't know what you mean, Edith. Hullo, are you there? This is a disgraceful connection. I only said I was feeling the strain of this week very badly."

"Oh! yes of course, I do sympathise with you, Dora. It's a sad time for you I know. I just wanted a word with you about to-night."

"Really, Edith, I don't know that I shall be able to face a party to-night."

"What do you say?"

"I said that I didn't really know whether I would be able to come to-night or not."

"Oh that's better now. I can hear you quite clearly. Well I do hope you'll manage to-night. We'll all be so disappointed if you can't. The children are looking forward to seeing you, and I know Grannie and Aunt Sarah are counting on it too."

"I don't flatter myself that the children, as you call them, care one way or the other about me."

"Oh! that's rubbish, Dora. We all hope you will come. Now, may I send the car for you?"

"Don't trouble, thank you very much. It is not the lack of a car that's preventing me coming."

"No of course not, I quite understand. But I really rang up just to offer you the car. Dinner is a little early you see because of the old ladies, and I thought it might be a convenience."

"Very kind of you I'm sure. But as it happens I've made my own arrangements. My friend Mrs. Blythe asked me several days ago to use her car both for going and coming."

"That's very nice then. I'm so glad you feel able to come after all."

"I don't know that I do really. I haven't felt quite myself since Jessica's wedding. The church was very draughty near the door and I got badly chilled."

"That's too bad. However, we will expect you to-night; it will be very nice to see you. Good-bye till then."

"What, Edith?"

"I said we would expect you to-night at quarter to eight. Good-bye for the present."

"But Edith, hullo Edith, are you still there? I was just explaining that I don't feel well enough to come."

"I'm so sorry, the telephone is really intolerable to-day, I didn't catch what you said."

"I said I wasn't feeling quite myself."

"Well, we'll all be most disappointed, Dora, but of course if you don't feel well enough, you're much wiser to stay at home."

"But I'd be sorry to disappoint you all. As I said before, it's a pity you chose this date for your party, but still, I must make the effort and come, only don't expect me to be very bright."

"How nice of you; that really is delightful."

Mrs. Rodney tried to infuse a note of warmth into her voice, but as she heard Mrs. Edwin's voice beginning plaintively "Of course I must say---" she added loudly and hurriedly,

"Well, au revoir, and I'm sure you'll be none the worse of it," and rang off.

Exasperated and depressed she got up and walked up and down the room in a state of uncharacteristic agitation. She was beset by minor difficulties: Lavinia's annoyance at the merest hint of what to wear; Jessica unable to manage her servant, in need of help and guidance, but quite probably ready to resent both; Dora in her most tiresome and difficult mood.

Mrs. Rodney sighed impatiently and rang the bell. When the butler appeared she sat down again at her desk, took up a list and ran through it.

"About dinner to-night, there are one or two things to arrange. First of all, Rayner, I want you to be on the upper landing to show everyone into the drawing-room. Evans must open the front door, but I specially want you to announce everyone in full. Mrs. Greene is staying in the house but I want her announced too, and be careful just to call her Mrs. Greene, and to give the others their full names. You know Mrs. Hugh Greene of course, but young Mr. Hugh and his wife must be announced as Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Beckett Greene."

"I quite understand, Madam. There will be Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Hugh Greene, Mrs. Edwin Greene, Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Greene and Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Beckett Greene."

"Yes, that's right. I'll order flowers for the table when I'm out this morning, and I want the Lowestoft service and the Wedgwood fruit plates of course. It's a family dinner, but in a way it's a celebration."

She smiled at Rayner, confident of his interest in everything pertaining to the family.

"I'll see to everything myself, Madam," he assured her.

"Mr. Greene has told you what champagne to bring up?" she asked.

"Yes Madam, but young Mrs. Hugh never takes champagne. Should I open a bottle of Chablis for her?"

"No, certainly not. She must take a little to-night."

"Thank you, Madam. Cook desired me to ask you if you would care for the ice pudding to be shaped like a bell and garnished with orange blossom. She can make a nice sugar wreath to decorate the dish."

"What a good idea. Yes, tell cook that will be very nice, and that it is very good of her to have thought out a little compliment for Miss Jessica. I think that's all, thank you."

An expression of satisfaction had chased away her frown. She was pleased that the servants at least should throw themselves so keenly into a family affair, even though the fact of their doing so sharpened her annoyance at her children's aloof unresponsiveness.

The telephone rang shrilly. Probably Dora, she thought, and took off the receiver reluctantly, but it was Helen's voice that said:

"Hullo, Mrs. Greene, is that you? Margaret told me you'd rung up while I was working. I'm sorry she didn't interrupt me; she ought to have known I'd speak to you to-day."

Mrs. Rodney was mollified by the flattering implication in Helen's words but she hoped for a further confirmation when she answered provocatively:

"Good morning, my dear. It was a little annoying of course, but still you mustn't make an exception of me."

Helen's reply was casual but final.

"I couldn't ordinarily. But to-day is rather special, isn't it."

Piqued as she was at not being given preferential treatment, Mrs. Rodney was so delighted with Helen for realising the importance of the occasion, that she decided to ignore the other point in the meantime. It could always be brought up later.

"I'm so glad you think so, dear," she said warmly. "It certainly is a special occasion from my point of view. Tell me, what are you thinking of wearing?"

"My silver and white brocade. It's much the grandest frock I've got, so what could be more suitable?"

Mrs. Rodney wondered momentarily if there was a faint note of mockery in Helen's tones, but decided that it must be due to the telephone.

"That's delightful. You always look so nice in it. And Helen dear, don't be late at all, will you. It worries Grannie if dinner is a minute later than quarter to eight."

"No, we won't be late I promise. I'll let Geoffrey drive the car."

"Do, Helen, I'm sure it's wiser."

"Was there anything else you wanted, Mrs. Greene?"

"No, nothing. I only thought I'd remind you about the hour."

"Well, good-bye Mrs. Greene, and good luck with your stage managing. I hope the production will be good."

"Helen, hullo Helen, don't go yet. Tell me what you mean, dear?"

Again a faint doubt of Helen's good faith crossed Mrs. Rodney's mind, but she was reassured by Helen's calm explanation.

"I mean about to-night. You'll have to stage manage the whole affair, and I'm sure it will go beautifully. I propose to enjoy myself enormously as one of the humbler members of the caste."

"Oh I see," Mrs. Rodney resolutely stilled her doubts, and went on playfully: "Of course a good hostess always has to stage manage a little, and even more in a family party. Good-bye, dear child, till this evening, and don't be late."

Going upstairs to put on her hat Edith Greene's mind was busy over the choice of flowers for the table. White flowers seemed to her the most ceremonial but she rejected chrysanthemums as being too clumsy and lilies of the valley as being reminiscent of the sick room. I must strike the right note with my flowers, she thought. I want the whole thing to be sufficiently important. Lilies, of course, Madonna lilies, so suitable both for old Mrs. Greene and Jessica; they would be exactly right.

Her face cleared and she went briskly out, confident that the scene was set for the evening's play.

II

It was only twenty-five to eight when Rayner opened the door to Lavinia.

"You are early, Madam," he said as he took her cloak, "I don't think anyone is down yet."

"I know I am; I wondered if there was a chance of seeing Grannie before the others arrived. Do you suppose she will be down soon?"

"I don't know at all, but I can send Mary up to tell her you are here."

"Yes do, Rayner; go and tell her now, I'll go up to the drawing-room."

On the upper landing Lavinia stopped to look at her reflection, tiny and faintly distorted, in a small convex mirror that had delighted her as a child.

She was wearing for the first time, in deference to her Mother's wishes, a yellow velvet frock, quite plain, very full skirted, and, in the fashion of the moment, short in front but dipping almost to the ground behind.

Suddenly she took her wide skirt in either hand, and curtsied very low to her own image. The mirror was flooded with the yellow of her frock, but as she rose and straightened herself the small grotesque reflection was re-established.

The drawing-room was in darkness except for the leaping firelight but she switched on the small lamp beside the fire, and sat down thinking dreamily how pretty it would be if a group of ladies in long old-fashioned frocks were to assemble there that night.

We would have to kiss Grannie's hand and Mother's too I suppose, and Helen and Jessica and I would curtsey very low to each other and say "Sister," and "Your servant, Sister." And there would be so much swaying and rustling of silks that it would seem like sixty Mrs. Greenes instead of six.

She sighed as she looked forward to the evening ahead.

Really it will be quite ordinary, she decided; a little flutter of excitement as each one comes in and then perfectly ordinary conversation. Aunt Sarah rather prim, and Grannie very crisp, and Aunt Dora pretty doleful, and Mother managing everything, and keeping us all in our proper places.

She stood up, and leaning against the mantel-piece looked round the shadowy room. Everything was orderly: the soft puce curtains hung in beautifully symmetrical folds, a bowl of giant chrysanthemums stood on a table, each petal tightly curled, the firelight shone on a vivid Chinese vase standing on a little lacquer cabinet between the windows.

An air of stillness and expectation hung over the room.

It's a lovely setting, Lavinia decided suddenly. After all there may be an atmosphere about this evening. Grannie is very old and Jessica is very young, and nearly all the happiness and unhappiness that lies in the years between them is bound up with the Greene family. Perhaps that will make Grannie younger and Jessica older, so that they will become alike and indistinguishable.

She shivered a little. I'm glad I'm out of it, she thought. This family feeling frightens me. I should hate to feel myself becoming akin to Aunt Dora.

Rayner came into the room, switching on the lights so that all the details of colour and form suddenly sprang into being.

"Mrs. Greene will be down in a moment," he said.

"Thank you," said Lavinia absently. "Rayner, it's going to be very odd to-night."

"I hope not, Madam, I'm sure."

"Yes, it's bound to be odd; I shall feel like the only human in a company of poor ghosts."

_Arosa, December 1927.--Geneva, May 1928._