No Wind of Blame Read online

  The Prince, who considered that Connie Bawtry had held the stage for long enough, said that for himself he preferred ethics to religious creeds, and added that the narrow-mindedness of the Church had done much to bring Bolshevism into power. No one showed the smallest desire to argue the point, and Tom Bawtry, seizing the opportunity thus afforded of starting a less objectionable topic, leaned across Mary to ask the Prince whether he had been mixed up in the Russian Revolution. The Prince smiled somewhat cynically, and replied: ‘Merely, I lost my all.’

  Any sympathy that might have been expressed was nipped in the bud by Mrs Bawtry, who said that worldly possessions were only dross, and that she knew many people who had given up their all to the Group Movement. Naturally, the Prince was not going to stand this kind of thing, and he said, with just as firm a smile as hers, that making voluntary sacrifices was very different from being stripped bare of your every possession, and cast into prison into the bargain.

  This was quite unanswerable, and had the effect of making the Prince at once the centre of attraction. Ermyntrude begged him, in a proprietary tone, to tell the rest of her guests about his dreadful experiences, and he at once began to do so, in a whimsical way which even Connie Bawtry thought very touching, and which made every man present feel a little unwell.

  Hugh, who had the advantage of being acquainted with several distinguished Russians, had written the Prince down as spurious within twenty minutes of first setting eyes on him, and could not now resist the temptation of asking him one or two rather awkward questions. The Prince, however, proved to be most adroit in sliding out of uncomfortable corners, and had no difficulty in holding the interest of the female half of his audience. Tom Bawtry, too, who never expected any foreigner to be anything but grotesque, was considerably impressed, and exclaimed at intervals: ‘By Jove!’ and: ‘Extraordinary fellers those Bolshies must be!’

  The thought of the Prince’s immeasurable losses had always the power to bring a little spring of tears to Ermyntrude’s eyes, but Connie Bawtry’s sympathy found a more practical expression. At the earliest opportunity, she told the Prince that if he would only put himself under God-control he would find that all his troubles would vanish. In proof of this statement, she cited the case of a certain business man, who (she said) was actually losing money when he got Changed. ‘But now,’ she said, ‘he’s absolutely God-controlled, and his whole business has taken a turn for the better, and he’s actually doing very well indeed.’

  Only two of her hearers appeared to be gratified by this uplifting reflection. Hugh said: ‘Connie, I love you dearly; in fact, I regard you almost in the light of an aunt, but you do utter the most repellent remarks.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Wally facetiously. ‘It sounds pretty good to me. You’d better try it, Prince.’

  ‘Why, it’s like a miracle, isn’t it?’ said Ermyntrude, looking round with a beaming smile. ‘Fancy!’

  For an almost imperceptible moment Hugh’s eyes met Mary’s across the table. Vicky’s voice, holding an imperious note, recalled his attention. ‘Crack these for me, please.’

  He took the walnuts from her, and stretched out his hand for the nut-crackers. She said rather belligerently: ‘I suppose you don’t believe in miracles?’

  ‘Not that kind of miracle. Do you?’

  ‘Oh, I think it’s lovely!’

  He peeled one of the nuts, and gave it back to her. Feeling her last remark to be quite unworthy of being replied to, he said nothing.

  Vicky put her elbows on the table, and began to nibble the nut. ‘Lawyers never believe anything. You are a lawyer, aren’t you?’

  ‘Barrister.’

  ‘Oh well, it’s just the same. Fusty.’

  He glanced down at her. ‘Thanks a lot! Where did you learn your pretty manners?’

  A sudden gurgle escaped her. ‘Absolute truth!’

  He smiled, but said softly: ‘Careful! What makes you think barristers are fusty?’

  ‘Oh, they all are!’

  ‘Of course, you know so many.’ He saw her hunch one bare shoulder, and added: ‘Come off it, Vicky! You’re forgetting that I knew you when you were a skinny brat with a band round your teeth. It won’t wash.’

  ‘I must have been rather sweet,’ she said reflectively.

  ‘You weren’t. You were a little pest.’

  ‘I think it’s so remembering and marvellous of you to know what I was like,’ she said. ‘I thought you were most frightfully grown-up and dull. In fact, I was rather hazy about you till I saw you tonight, and then, of course, it all came back to me. You haven’t altered a bit.’

  ‘You know, you have a real talent for small-talk,’ said Hugh. ‘Sorry I can’t return your compliment!’

  ‘Sorry?’ repeated Vicky, raising a pair of startled eyes to his face. ‘But don’t you think I’m much, much prettier now? Everyone else does!’

  ‘You wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t plastered so much make-up on your face,’ he replied coolly.

  ‘Ah, yes!’ she said, recovering her balance in a flash. ‘I thought you were rather the sort of man who’d prefer a violet by a mossy stone. Probably I shall be putting on that act one day.’

  He regarded her from under brows lifted in faint surprise. ‘Is your incredible life a series of “acts”?’ he inquired.

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘I couldn’t believe it. Don’t you find it a pretty rotten way of living?’

  ‘How silly! Of course not!’ she said scornfully. ‘Life seems to me a most frightfully overrated business, and practically always dull, if you stay the same person every day. On the other hand, you can’t be dull if you’re always somebody else.’

  ‘Adventures in the spirit?’

  Ermyntrude had risen to her feet. Vicky got up, remarking in a more friendly tone: ‘I still think you’re fusty, but not so fusty.’

  In the drawing-room, Mrs Bawtry became guided to explain the Group Movement to Mary. Lady Dering seized the opportunity to seat herself beside her hostess, and, presently, to broach the subject of the proposed new hospital. Vicky powdered her nose, and deepened the scarlet of her lips, until her appearance was fairly certain to shock sober-minded persons.

  Ermyntrude had had two card-tables set out, and had spent the greater part of the afternoon trying to arrange two Bridge fours. As she had once, at a Charity Bridge Afternoon, played with Connie Bawtry, who became very fierce over the game, and argued about the play of every hand, her task soon grew into an insoluble puzzle, for nothing, she had decided, would induce her to play at Connie’s table, or with Sir William, of whom she stood in considerable awe; while it was clearly unthinkable that she should not have the Prince at her table, or should fail to separate husbands and wives.

  However, when the men presently came into the drawing-room, it soon became apparent that the second table would have to be abandoned, for Hugh said firmly that he only took a hand if he was forced to do so, and Vicky developed a fit of contrariness., and said she hated Bridge. Ermyntrude was forced to fall back on Mary, an indifferent player, and on Wally, who had an unsuitable habit of cutting jokes all the time. But while she was trying to compose the two tables, the butler came into the room, and spoke in a disapproving undertone to Wally.

  Ermyntrude was feeling flustered, and unfortunately demanded of Peake what was wanted. Peake, who despised both his employers, said primly, but not without a certain satisfaction: ‘A person of the name of Baker wishes to see Mr Carter, madam.’ He added fiendishly: ‘Upon urgent business.’

  Ermyntrude turned white, and then red. Wally looked as discomfited as anyone of his temperament could, and said that it was all right, and he would come. Ermyntrude was so much upset by this contretemps that she lost any grip over the Bridge-question that she may ever have had, and weakly jettisoned the second table. Finally, th