A Surfeit of Lampreys. Ngaio Marsh
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Inside them were pale people who looked at once alert, tired, and preoccupied. In a traffic jam a dark-blue car came so close alongside that the men in the back seat were only a few inches away from Roberta and the Lampreys.
‘That’s one of the new police cars, Frid,’ said Henry.
‘How do you know?’
‘Well, I know it is. I expect those enormous men are Big Fours.’
‘I wish they’d move on,’ said Frid. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if we fell into their hands one of these days.’
‘Why?’ asked Roberta.
‘Well, the twins were saying at breakfast yesterday that they thought the only thing to be done was for them to turn crooks and be another lot of Mayfair boys.’
‘It was rather a good idea, really,’ said Henry. ‘You see Colin said he’d steal some incredibly rich dowager’s jewels and Stephen would establish his alibi at the Ritz or somewhere. Nobody can tell them apart, you know.’
‘And then, you know,’ added Frid, ‘if one of them was arrested they’d each say it was the other and as one of them must be innocent, they’d have to let both of them go.’
‘From which,’ said Henry, ‘you will have gathered we are in the midst of a financial crisis.’
Roberta started at the sound of that familiar phrase.
‘Oh, no!’ she said.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Henry, ‘and what’s more it’s a snorter. Everybody seems to be furious with us.’
‘Mummy’s going to pop the pearls this afternoon,’ added Frid, ‘on her way to the manicurist.’
‘She’s never done that before,’ said Henry. ‘This is the Strand, Robin. That church is either St Clemence Dane or St Mary le Strand and the next one is whatever that one isn’t. We’d better explain about the crisis, I suppose.’
‘I wish you would,’ said Roberta. In her bemused condition the Lampreys’ affairs struck a friendly and recognizable note. She could think sharply about their debts but she could scarcely so much as gape at the London she had greatly longed to see. It was as if her powers of receptivity were half anaesthetized and would respond only to familiar impressions. She listened attentively to a long recital of how Lord Charles had invested a great deal of the money he still mysteriously possessed in something called San Domingoes and how it had almost immediately disappeared. She heard of a strange venture in which Lord Charles planned to open a jewellery business in the City, run on some sort of commission basis, with Henry and the twins as salesmen. ‘And at least,’ said Frid, ‘there would have been Mummy’s things that she got out of pawn when Cousin Ruth died. It would have been better to sell than to pop them, don’t you think?’ This project, it appeared, had depended on somebody called Sir David Stein who had recently committed suicide, leaving Lord Charles with an empty office and a ten years’ lease on his hands.
‘And so now,’ said Henry, ‘we appear to be sunk. That’s Charing Cross Station. We thought we would take you to a play tonight, Robin.’
‘And we can dance afterwards,’ said Frid. ‘Colin’s in love with a girl in the play so I expect he’ll want her to come whizzing on with us, which is rather a bore. Have you asked Mary to come, Henry?’
‘No,’ said Henry. ‘We’ve only got five seats and the twins both want to come and anyway I want to dance with Robin, and Colin’s actress isn’t coming.’
‘Well, Stephen could take Mary off your hands.’
‘He doesn’t like her.’
‘Mary is Henry’s girl,’ explained Frid. ‘Only vaguely, though.’
‘Well, she’s quite nice really,’ said Henry.
‘Charming, darling,’ said Frid handsomely.
Roberta suddenly felt rather desolate. She stared out of the window and only half-listened to Henry who seemed to think he ought to point out places of interest.
‘This is Trafalgar Square,’ said Henry. ‘Isn’t that thing in the middle too monstrous? Lions, you see, at each corner, but of course you’ve met them in photographs.’
‘That building over there is the Tate Gallery,’ said Frid.
‘She means the National Gallery, Robin. I suppose you will want to see one or two sights, won’t you?’
‘Well, I suppose I ought to.’
‘Patch and Mike are at home for the holidays,’ said Frid. ‘It will be good for them to take Robin to some sights.’
‘Perhaps I could look some out for myself,’ Roberta suggested with diffidence.
‘You’ll find it difficult to begin,’ Henry told her. ‘There’s something so cold-blooded about girding up your loins and going out to find a sight. I’ll come to one occasionally if you like. It may not be so bad once the plunge is taken. We are getting a very public-spirited family, Robin. The twins and I are territorials. I can’t tell you how much we dislike it but we stiffened our upper lips and bit on the bullets and when the war comes we know what we have to do. In the meantime, of course, I’ve got to get a job, now we’re sunk.’
‘We’re not definitely sunk until Uncle G. has spoken,’ Frid pointed out.
‘Uncle G.!’ Robin exclaimed. ‘I’d almost forgotten about him. He’s always sounded like a myth.’
‘It’s to be hoped he doesn’t behave like one,’ said Henry. ‘He’s coming to see us tomorrow. Daddy has sent him an SOS I can’t tell you how awful he is.’
‘Aunt V. is worse,’ said Frid gloomily. ‘Let’s face it, Aunt V. is worse. And they’re both coming in order to go into a huddle with Daddy and Mummy about finance. We hope to sting Uncle G. for two thousand.’
‘It’ll all come to Daddy when they’re dead, you see, Robin. They’ve no young of their own.’
‘I thought,’ said Roberta, ‘that they were separated.’
‘Oh, they’re always flying apart and coming together again,’ said Frid. ‘They’re together at the moment. Aunt V. has taken up witchcraft.’
‘What!’
‘Witchcraft,’ said Henry. ‘It’s quite true. She’s a witch. She belongs to a little black-magic club somewhere.’
‘I don’t believe you!’
‘You may as well, because it’s true. She started by taking up with a clergyman in Devon who had discovered an evil place on Dartmoor. It seems that he told Aunt V. that he thought he might as well sprinkle some holy water on this evil place but when he went there, the holy water was dashed out of his hands by an unseen power. He lent Aunt V. some books about black magic and instead of being horrified she took the wrong turning and thought it sounded fun. I understand she goes to the black mass and everything.’
‘How can you possibly know?’
‘Her maid, Miss Tinkerton, told Nancy. Tinkerton says Aunt V. is far gone in black magic. They have meetings at Deepacres. The real Deepacres, you know, in Kent. Aunt V. is always buying books about witchcraft, and she’s got a lot of very queer friends. They’ve all got names like Olga and Sonia and Boris. Aunt V. is half-Rumanian, you know,’ said Frid.
‘Half-Hungarian, you mean,’ corrected Henry.
‘Well, all central-European anyway. Her name isn’t Violet at all.’
‘What is it?’ asked Roberta.
‘Something Uncle G. could neither spell nor pronounce so he called her Violet. A thousand years ago he picked her up in Budapest