Here Lies Gloria Mundy

4

Unbidden Guest

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I woke early next day and went to the window to see the long shadow of the copper beech lying slantwise across the lawn in the morning sun. Nobody else was stirring when I went downstairs except a housemaid busy in the dining-room. She asked whether I would like my breakfast, but I replied that I would wait until the usual hour, whenever that was.

‘The mistress has hers on a tray, sir, and Sandra mostly puts out the dining-room sideboard at nine, sir.’

I decided to take my car for a short run. It would disturb nobody, as it was parked at a considerable distance from the house. As I walked past the flowerbeds and through the kitchen garden to get to it, I felt an urge to look again at the family’s other house, that which had once been the lodging of Anthony’s great-grandfather’s mistress. Just as I reached it I met Coberley coming from the opposite direction. We exchanged greetings.

‘I wondered whether it was possible to go inside,’ I said, indicating the house.

‘Oh, I’ve got a key,’ he said. ‘I’ve got an option on the place. It would make a storehouse for all the junk my little boys collect. Dear me, what rubbish they do bring in, but children are inveterate collectors. The dangerous objects are already in a wooden box in the old house. I intend to start — ’

‘A school museum?’ I suggested.

‘Call it what you like. I’ve offered to buy the house from Wotton and do it up. By the time the parents have paid for it I shall see that there will be enough money left over to enlarge the pavilion in Wotton’s field.’

‘High finance,’ I commented.

‘Oh, one thing works in with another, and I do well with Common Entrance, so the parents are pleased.’ He produced a key and opened the front door. ‘I wouldn’t try the stairs,’ he said. ‘You could break your neck on them.’

‘So they wouldn’t be safe for Great-aunt Eglantine,’ I said lightly.

‘That old monstrosity will bring trouble on herself if she insists on regaling us with extracts from the Hammer of Evil,’ he said seriously. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Those two Dominicans who wrote the Malleus were fair, just and merciful men, considering the times in which they lived. They were also great ecclesiastical lawyers and, I would say, haters of heresy but not of heretics. They genuinely desired to save souls from perdition and only to condemn bodies to those ghastly punishments when everything else had been tried. But that overweight dabbler in the occult is treading on dangerous ground because she is only out for sensationalism and, once you get that bug, you can land up almost anywhere. Those men quite rightly saw witchcraft as the supreme heresy and not only as a religious but as a political danger. She has neither their intellect nor their concern for the human race, but only for her own entertainment and the assertion of her ego. I’m told that in her youth she learnt to toss the caber. No, I don’t believe it, either,’ he said in response to my ejaculation, ‘but I believe that in her day she was a first-class tennis player. I suppose all the muscle has gone to adipose tissue and that she’s taken up this witchcraft stuff to compensate her for losing the plaudits of the crowd.’

‘But there’s nothing in witchcraft,’ I said.

‘Not if you don’t believe in it. All the same, I’ve seen some very strange things in my time. What do you think of the only picture in the place?’ He led the way to a ground-floor room at the back of the house. ‘It belongs to Wotton, of course, but, in any case, I should discard it before I took over the house. It is not an object on which I should desire young boys to speculate.’

The picture hung on a wall opposite the window, so that the light of the emerging day fell full on it. It was the portrait (I guessed that it was a portrait) of a naked girl. She was thin to the point of emaciation, and yet the artist had contrived to give her a sensuousness, almost a voluptuousness, which seemed quite at variance with her meagre, childish body, long thin legs and unformed, skinny arms.

There was nothing in the face, either, of any pretensions to beauty. She was snub-nosed and her eyes were set close together. She had a low forehead and the most striking thing about her was her hair. It fell only to her shoulders, but was of two unimaginably contrasting colours, violently red on the right side of her head, almost coal-black on the other. In one apparently nerveless hand she held a rose between her thumb and first finger. The other hand fell lifelessly down to reach her thigh.

‘Well?’ said Coberley, watching me.

‘She is a witch,’ I said, ‘and the artist was a genius.’

We strolled back to Wotton’s house. I had forgotten my plan to take out my car. I wondered when the portrait had been painted, and whether Celia had ever seen it.

Aunt Eglantine did not appear at breakfast, but everyone else except Celia was there. Dame Beatrice, who took nothing but toast and coffee, sat next to me and proved to have read my biography of Horace Walpole.

‘He was a visitor to a property a few miles from here,’ she said, ‘and recommended it to a friend of his, William Cole. Have you been to Prinknash Abbey?’

‘No. My book concerned itself mostly with his writings after he retired to Strawberry Hill.’

‘You would enjoy Prinknash. The Benedictines have it now, and have built a new and much enlarged abbey. The old building is used as a retreat house, so you can probably get permission to be shown over it, if you are interested. It is a lovely Early Tudor building and the west court is particularly fine. On the outer wall of the east court there is a bas-relief of a young man reputed to be Henry the Eighth.’

‘I shouldn’t think that would find much favour with the monks,’ I said lightly.

‘Oh, the thing would have been sculptured long before the Dissolution. There are connections with Catherine of Aragon. Her badge of a pomegranate surmounted by a crown is to be seen here and there, and on the ceiling of the old chapel, which dates back to the later Middle Ages and has a misericord to every stall, there is the badge of Edward the Fourth, a rose and a falcon.’

At this point a servant came in to say that I was wanted on the telephone. As the only person to whom I had given my address in case there should be any queries about the brochures was McMaster, I guessed correctly that the call must come from him. I took it and went sadly back to the dining-room to tell Wotton that I had to leave forthwith.

‘I promised to place myself at McMaster’s disposal,’ I said apologetically, ‘so I’m afraid I shall have to go and see him.’

‘Oh, but why? Couldn’t you suggest meeting him here? I would like to see the old buster again. We used to play in the college fifteen, if you remember. Do ask him to come. Is he married?’

‘Yes, to somebody called Kate,’ I replied.

‘Well, tell him to bring the girl along. We have plenty of room now that Dame Beatrice has to leave us.’

I had discovered that Celia had repented of putting the earnest young Underedge on a camp bed in one of the attics. (In fact, I doubted whether that had ever been her serious intention.) ‘Roland and Kay are leaving after lunch, too.’ Anthony added.

Except for Wotton himself, the dining-room was empty when I came back from the telephone for the second time.

‘Grateful thanks from McMaster,’ I said. ‘Kate’s decided not to come. He hates leaving her, but won’t be here long. He thinks he and I can be through in about an hour.’

‘Oh, good. It would have been a great pity to lose you so soon after your arrival,’ said Anthony.

‘Thanks very much.’

‘You’ve made a big hit with Celia. She has never met a real live author before. I noticed you seemed to be getting on extremely well with Dame Beatrice, too. A pity you had to say goodbye to her so soon.’

‘She was telling me I ought to visit Prinknash Abbey.’

‘Oh, yes, you must do that. Apart from a lovely old house which used to be the monastery before they needed more room, the setting is quite supremely beautiful. The place lies in a valley surrounded by wooded hills. You can’t imagine a more delightful spot. I’m glad Dame Beatrice mentioned it.’

‘Does one ask any sort of permission to go and see the place?’

‘Oh, no. The grounds are open to the public. I don’t know whether you could be shown over the house, but at least you could look at the outside of it. It really is a picture.’

‘Talking of pictures,’ I said, ‘Coberley showed me the one in your other house.’

‘That’s the lady my great-grandfather kept there,’ he said. ‘She was reputed to have been a witch. I don’t have the picture in this house because it’s supposed to be unlucky. I’d get rid of it if it weren’t such a marvellous bit of painting.’

‘Strangely enough, McMaster described it to me,’ I said.

‘McMaster? He couldn’t have done. He’s never seen it. Of course, though! You mean he described Gloria Mundy to you.’

I could feel that there was tension in the air, so, to relieve it, this time it was I who changed the subject. I asked a question which it would have been impossible to put in the presence of the old lady herself.

‘You told me how you came to be acquainted with Dame Beatrice, but what was she doing here? I shouldn’t have thought psychiatry was much in your line. Was she here on the same terms as the rest of us, merely as a guest?’

‘It was Celia’s idea. She thinks — and with some justification — that poor old Aunt Eglantine is going off her rocker, so Dame Beatrice came to take a look at her and to advise us whether treatment is necessary.’

‘How is Aunt Eglantine going to respond, if Dame Beatrice does think it’s necessary?’

‘I don’t know what the outcome will be. Dame Beatrice will send us a report.’

McMaster was to join us after lunch, so, accepting Wotton’s offer to put a writing-desk in my room, I watched the four young people go off for a Sunday morning drive in Roland Thornbury’s car and then went upstairs to go through my notes for McMaster’s brochures so that I should be prepared for his arrival.

The desk Wotton had given me faced the window, so that every time Ï looked up I had a view of the lawn, the trees and the hills. There was not a great deal to go through in my notes, and at about eleven a servant came in with coffee, a flask of whisky and some biscuits. I had disposed of the coffee and biscuits, and was relaxing and wondering what queries McMaster might have to put to me concerning the brochures, when I saw a girl approaching the house. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater and was carrying a small suitcase. She was a stranger to me until I realised that I had seen, not herself, but a portrait of her. Allowing for the fact that she was clad, whereas the picture I had seen was that of a nude, she bore an uncanny resemblance to the picture of the girl in the old house. What clinched it was her hair. As she approached my window she had pulled off the woollen cap she was wearing and her hair, which had been tucked up under it, fell to her shoulders. Half of it was a fiery red, the rest of it was black.

She passed in front of my window, but very shortly she was back again. I was standing up by this time and she must have seen me, for she called out, ‘Hi, there! Come and let me in.’

The window was open at the top. I pushed it up from the bottom and leant out.

‘Ring the bell,’ I advised her. ‘I can’t let you in. I’m a visitor here.’

‘This is Tony’s pad, isn’t it?’

‘It belongs to Mr Wotton.’

‘Well, that’s Tony. I’m his cousin Gloria.’

‘The front door is round the corner. You must have passed it just now,’ I told her. She made a very rude gesture, walked on, and I heard the doorbell ring.

The four young ones had returned from their drive. Aunt Eglantine, who had taken affectionate leave of Dame Beatrice, was looking smug. Dame Beatrice, with the expression of a satisfied snake, had been escorted to her car, Celia, at the foot of the table, was looking pensive, Anthony, at its head, appeared gloomy and the newcomer, seated opposite Aunt Eglantine, was glancing brightly round at the company.

Anthony had introduced her to us as Miss Gloria Mundy, but made no mention of relationship. When it was my turn to greet her I had said that coincidence was a very strange thing.

‘Another friend of mine knows you,’ I said, ‘a man named McMaster. He mentioned you only a few weeks ago.’

‘Oh, dear old Hardie,’ she said. ‘We had great times together. He was tremendous fun.’

‘He’s coming here after lunch,’ said Celia. ‘You’ll be able to talk over old times, as perhaps you had hoped to do with Anthony.’

‘He is coming on business,’ said Anthony. ‘The person he will want to talk to is Corin.’

‘He will want to talk to me,’ said Gloria. She continued to look brightly but, I thought, challengingly around her at the others seated at table. Soup had been served, and she sat there opposite Aunt Eglantine, her soup spoon poised. She waved it. ‘What a bevy of beauties you have assembled, Tony darling,’ she said, looking straight at Marigold Coberley, ‘I wonder how you dare collect young, pretty girls around you now you are a married man. It was different in the old days, wasn’t it? My word! You stepped high and handsome then, you sporty boy, didn’t you? Don’t tell me the old Adam is coming out again. ’

It was Aunt Eglantine who made what I thought was the adequate response to this. She picked up a flat, soft bread-roll and lobbed it neatly and accurately into Gloria’s well-filled plate of soup.

‘Well, her ancient skills have not deserted her,’ said Celia, referring to the incident. ‘Appalling though it was of Aunt, and providing as it did visible proof that we had good reason for having Dame Beatrice take a look at her, it nearly killed me not to laugh.’

‘Dame Beatrice would have remained unmoved,’ I said.

‘I expect she is accustomed to eccentric patients. I thought Cranford Coberley looked distressed. I expect he was glad none of his boys was present to have such a bad example set them.’ Celia seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, presumably because there was no one in the room except ourselves — for McMaster had arrived and Anthony was showing him over the estate before Hardie and I settled down with the brochures — out she came with it.

‘Corin! That awful girl! Whatever could Anthony have seen in her? And why on earth should she come here? He finished with her years ago.’

‘Oh, I expect she found herself in the neighbourhood and thought she would look the two of you up.’

Celia was not pleased. She asked angrily, ‘Oh, why do men always try to cover up for one another?’

‘To oppose the monstrous regiment of women. Besides, aren’t women — don’t women — do the same?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes, I suppose, sometimes not. Well, I’m not always grateful to Aunt Eglantine, but I’m thankful to her for finding a way of getting rid of Gloria Mundy.’

‘Yes, the soup did splash about a bit, didn’t it? I wonder why there is always three times as much liquid when it’s spilt than when it is in the bowl.’

‘One of Parkinson’s Laws, isn’t it? I’ll tell you one thing, Corin. That girl is up to mischief of some sort.’

‘What sort?’

‘If I knew that, I’d know what to do about it. I wish Marigold Coberley hadn’t laughed when the soup went all over Gloria. Did you see the look she got while we were all mopping Gloria up?’

‘I wonder why that staggeringly beautiful young woman married a stick-in-the-mud like Coberley?’

‘Thereby hangs a tale, but it’s not my story. You must ask Anthony.’

Anthony, coming into the room, said firmly, ‘As I tried to tell you, he’s a ravening lion where she’s concerned. He risked a lot to marry her, you know. She stood trial for killing her former husband and only got off by the skin of her teeth. Surely you remember the case, Corin? Her name then was Maria Pinzón Campville. Coberley was called as a prosecution witness (most unwillingly, of course) and he married her as soon as the case was over. He threw up a lucrative job and bought the school just to get her away from all the publicity. He told me the story last Christmas when I’d got him nicely sozzled, but it’s old hat now.’

‘And did she do it?’ I asked. ‘Kill her husband, I mean?’

‘Quíen sabe? There were nine men on the jury, and you know how beautiful she is.’

‘At least one of the three women must have voted for an acquittal, though,’ I said, ‘and probably carried the other two with her. There are always women who think a man deserves everything he gets, so perhaps these ladies of the jury approved of the murder. The war between the sexes waxes fiercely in these days of women’s emancipation and the competition for top jobs, I suppose.’

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you,’ said Hara-kiri after we had gone through my notes and alterations.

‘With me? But you said you liked what I’d done with the brochures.’

‘I’m not talking about the brochures. Do you remember my mentioning Gloria Mundy when we last met?’

‘Yes, of course I remember.’

‘And I gave you an impression of what I thought of her?’

‘Unfavourable, on the whole, as I remember it.’

‘Well, I think you might have told me she was staying in the house when you relayed old Anthony’s invitation.’

‘But she isn’t staying here. She breezed in all unexpectedly and had to be asked to stay for lunch. You were probably on your way here by the time she turned up, so I couldn’t have let you know, even if I had thought of it. Anyway, there is no question of her staying here. She didn’t even stay long enough to finish her lunch. One of the other guests splashed soup all over her, so she upped and went.’

‘I spotted her in the kitchen garden after I had left my car.’

‘Well, she won’t be coming back, that’s for sure.’

‘You never know. I hope you’re right, that’s all. How long are you staying here?’

‘Only until Thursday. Don’t worry. I shall be on to the rest of the brochures in just a day or so.’

‘That is not what I meant. How did Wotton react when Gloria showed up?’

‘I wasn’t present at their meeting. I was up here.’

‘I wonder what she was after?’

‘Wanted a free lunch, perhaps,’ I said. ‘I don’t think she looks any more robust than when you knew her. Did you see her again while you were in the grounds with Wotton?’

‘No. She can’t have been up to any good coming here, Corin. Was there a hint of Auld Lang Syne, would you say?’

‘Honestly, Hardie, I have no idea.’

‘Up to no good at all,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘As for me, I’m going to sprinkle salt all round my bed tonight.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re as superstitious as that!’ I said.

He scowled at me, ‘That damn girl spells trouble. You mark my words,’ he muttered angrily. ‘I cut and ran as soon as I spotted that red and black hair above the bushes. I only saw the top of her head, but nobody can mistake her.’