Free Overture to Death by Ngaio Marsh Page B

grinned.
    “She said she wouldn’t disappoint her audience, and that she could rearrange the fingering of her piece. It’s the ‘Venetian Suite,’ as usual, of course?”
    “It is,” said Dinah grimly. “ ‘Dawn’ and ‘On the Canal’ for the overture, and the ‘Nocturne’ for the entr’acte. She’ll never give way.”
    “Selia says she wouldn’t mind betting old Idris has put poison in her girl friend’s gloves like the Borgias,” said Dr. Templett, and added: “Good Lord, I oughtn’t to have repeated that! It’s the sort of thing that’s quoted against you in a place like this.”
    “I won’t repeat it,” said Dinah.
    She asked Miss Prentice if she would rather not appear at the piano.
    “How thoughtful of you, Dinah, my dear,” rejoined Miss Prentice, with her holiest smile. “But I shall do my little best. You may depend upon me.”
    “But, Miss Prentice, your finger!”
    “Ever so much better,” said Eleanor in a voice that somehow suggested that there was something slightly improper in mentioning her finger.
    “They are waiting to print the programmes. Your name — ”
    “Please don’t worry, dear. My name may appear in safety. Shall we just not say any more about it, but consider it settled?”
    “Very well,” said Dinah uneasily. “It’s very heroic of you.”
    “Silly child!” said Eleanor playfully.
     
    iii
    And now, on Thursday, November the 25th, two nights before the performance, Dinah stood beside the paraffin heater in the aisle of the parish hall, and with dismay in her heart prepared to watch the opening scenes in which she herself did not appear. There was to be no music at the dress rehearsal.
    “Just to give my silly old finger time to get
quite
well,” said Miss Prentice.
    But Henry had told Dinah that both he and his father had seen Eleanor turn so white after knocking her finger against a chair that they thought she was going to faint.
    “You won’t stop her,” said Henry. “If she has to play the bass with her feet, she’ll do it.”
    Dinah gloomily agreed.
    She had made them up for the dress rehearsal and had attempted to create a professional atmosphere in a building that reeked of parochial endeavour. Even now her father’s unmistakably clerical voice could be heard beyond the green serge curtain, crying obediently:
    “Beginners, please.”
    In front of Dinah, six privileged Friendly Young Girls, who were to sell programmes and act as ushers at the performance, sat in a giggling row to watch the dress rehearsal. Dr. Templett and Henry were their chief interest. Dr. Templett was aware of this and repeatedly looked round the curtain. He had insisted on making himself up, and looked as if he had pressed his face against a gridiron and then garnished his chin with the hearth-brush. Just as Dinah was about to ring up the curtain, his head again bobbed round the comer.
    “Vy do you, ’ow you say, gargle so mooch?” he asked the helpers. A renewed paroxysm broke out.
    “Dr. Templett!” shouted Dinah. “Clear stage,
please
.”
    “Ten thousand pardons, Mademoiselle,” said Dr. Templett. “I vaneesh.” He made a comic face and disappeared.
    “All ready behind, Daddy?” shouted Dinah.
    “I think so,” said the rector’s voice doubtfully.
    “Positions, everybody. House lights, please.” Dinah was obliged to execute this last order herself, as the house lights switch was in the auditorium. She turned it off and the six onlookers yelped maddeningly.
    “Ssh, please! Curtain!”
    “Just a minute,” said the rector dimly.
    The curtain rose in a series of uneven jerks, and the squire, who should have been at the telephone, was discovered gesticulating violently to someone in the wings. He started, glared into the house, and finally took up his position.
    “Where’s that telephone bell?” demanded Dinah.
    “Oh, dear!” said the rector’s voice dismally. He could be heard scuffling about in the prompt-corner and presently an unmistakable