Free Final Curtain by Ngaio Marsh Page B

theatre. Here was a young Victorian Henry Ancred very much be-pointed, be-ruffed, encased and furbished, in a perfect welter of velvet, ribbon and leather; here a modern elderly Henry Ancred in a stylized and simplified costume that had apparently been made of painted scenic canvas. Yet both were the Duke of Buckingham.
    Miss Orrincourt joined a little fretfully in this pastime. Perched on the arm of Sir Henry’s chair and disseminating an aura of black market scent, she giggled tactlessly over the earlier photographs and yawned over the later ones. ‘My dear,’ she ejaculated, ‘look at you! You’ve got everything on but the kitchen sink!’ This was in reference to a picture of Sir Henry as Richard II. Cedric tittered and immediately looked frightened. Pauline said: ‘I must say, Papa, I don’t think anyone else has ever approached your flair for exactly the right costume.’
    â€˜My dear,’ her father rejoined, ‘it’s the way you wear ’em.’ He patted Miss Orrincourt’s hand. ‘You do very well, my child,’ he said, ‘in your easy modem dresses. How would you manage if, like Ellen Terry, you had two feet of heavy velvet in front of you on the stage and were asked to move like a queen down a flight of stairs? You’d fall on your nice little nose.’
    He was obviously a vain man. It was extraordinary, Troy thought, that he remained unmoved by Miss Orrincourt’s lack of reverence, and remembering Thomas’s remark about David and Abishag the Shunammite, Troy was forced to the disagreeable conclusion that Sir Henry was in his dotage about Miss Orrincourt.
    At ten o’clock a grog-tray was brought in. Sir Henry drank barley water, suffered the women of his family to kiss him goodnight, nodded to Paul and Cedric, and, to her intense embarrassment, kissed Troy’s hand. ‘ À demain ,’ he said in his deepest voice. ‘We meet at eleven. I am fortunate.’
    He made a magnificent exit, and ten minutes later, Miss Orrincourt, yawning extensively, also retired.
    Her disappearance was the signal for an outbreak among the Ancreds.
    â€˜Honestly, Milly! Honestly, Aunt Pauline. Can we believe our eyes !’ cried Cedric. ‘The Sunburst! I mean actually !’
    â€˜Well, Millamant,’ said Pauline, ‘I now see for myself how things stand at Ancreton.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t believe me when I told you, Pauline,’ Millamant rejoined. ‘You’ve been here a month, but you wouldn’t—’
    â€˜Has he given it to her, will somebody tell me?’ Cedric demanded.
    â€˜He can’t,’ said Pauline. ‘He can’t. And what’s more, I don’t believe he would. Unless—’ She stopped short and turned to Paul. ‘If he’s given it to her,’ she said, ‘he’s going to marry her. That’s all.’
    Poor Troy, who had been making completely ineffectual efforts to go, seized upon the silence that followed Pauline’s announcement to murmur: ‘If I may, I think I shall—’
    â€˜ Dear Mrs Alleyn,’ said Cedric, ‘I implore you not to be tactful. Do stay and listen.’
    â€˜I don’t see,’ Paul began, ‘why poor Mrs Alleyn should be inflicted—’
    â€˜She knows,’ said Fenella. ‘I’m afraid I’ve already told her, Paul.’
    Pauline suddenly made a gracious dive at Troy. ‘Isn’t it disturbing?’ she said with an air of drawing Troy into her confidence. ‘You see how things are? Really, it’s too naughty of Papa. We’re all so dreadfully worried. It’s not what’s happening so much as what might happen that terrifies one. And now the Sunburst. A little too much. In its way it’s a historic jewel.’
    â€˜It was a little cadeau d’estime from the Regent to Great-Great-Grandmama Honoria Ancred,’ Cedric cut in. ‘Not only