‘My dear, why all this Fall-of-the-House-of-Usher stuff?’ enquired Claud. ‘I mean, this is too good to be true. Where do we go from here?’
Seth was giving the chauffeur his instructions, and in this pause just before their adventure really began, Flora gazed up searchingly at the windows of the farmhouse. ***They were dead as the eyes of fishes, reflecting the dim, pallid blue of the fading west. The crenellated line of the roof thrust blind ledges against a sky into which the infusion of the darkness was already beginning to seep. The livid silver tongues of the early stars leaped between the shapes of the chimney-pots, backwards and forwards, like idiot children dancing to a forgotten tune. As Flora watched, a dim light flowered slowly behind a drawn blind in the window of a room immediately above the kitchen, and she saw a shadow move hesitatingly, as though it had lost a bootlace and was searching dumbly for it, across the blind. The light was like the waxing and waning of the eye in the head of a dying beast. The house seemed to settle deeper into the yard as darkness came. Not a sound broke its quiescence. But the light, strangely naked and innocent, burned waveringly on in the deepening gloom.
The car moved forward, and Flora, for one, was immensely bucked to be off.
‘Well, Flora, you look extremely nice,’ said Claud, studying her. ‘That dress is quite charming. As for your protégée,’ he added, in a lower tone, ‘she is beautiful. Now tell me all about it.’
So, also lowering her voice, Flora told him. He was amused and interested, but a little discontented with his own role. ‘I feel,’ he complained, ‘like a minor character out of “Cinderella”.’
Flora soothed him by telling him that this excursion into the hinterland of Sussex should afford him a pleasant change from the excessive urbanity of those circles in which he habitually moved, and the rest of their journey passed pleasantly enough. Seth was inclined to swagger, as he was nervous of Claud’s tail coat and white waistcoat and irritated by his casual voice, but he was too excited and looking forward too much to the dance to make himself really disagreeable.
The Assembly Rooms at Godmere were reached by the party without mishap. The High Street was crowded with traffic, for most of the guests had come in from outlying villages and houses in their cars, and a big crowd had come in by bus, from miles round, to gather outside the doors in the Market Place to see the guests going in.
The party from Cold Comfort was fortunate in being in the hands of a competent chauffeur. He actually found a site in a narrow cul-de-sac just round a turning close to the Rooms where he parked their car. Flora instructed him to return at twelve o’clock, when the ball was over, and enquired how he proposed to spend the rest of his evening.
‘I shall go to the talkies, madam,’ he replied, respectfully.
‘Ay, there’s Marie Rambeau in “Red Heels” at th’ Orpheum,’ broke in Seth, eagerly.
‘Yes, well, that will do very well,’ said Flora, graciously, frowning slightly at Seth; and she slipped her fingers within the arm of Claud, and they moved slowly off through the crowd to the Rooms.
A red carpet had been placed down the flight of steps leading up to the entrance and along the pavement as far as the kerb. On either side of this carpet was assembled a large crowd of sightseers, whose interested and admiring faces were illumined by two flambeaux which burned at either side of the entrance.
Just as Flora’s party was mounting the first steps amid a murmur of admiration from the crowd, she thought she heard someone say her name, and, looking in the direction from which the sound came, she perceived none other than Mr Mybug, perilously poised upon the plinth of a lamp-post, and accompanied by another gentleman of disordered dress and wild appearance, whom she judged to be one of his intellectual peers.
Mr Mybug waved gaily to Flora, and he looked cheerful enough, but she (foolish creature) felt a little sorry for him because he was rather fat and his clothes were not very good, and when she compared his personal appearance with that of Charles, who was always so neat except when a lock of his black hair descended over his forehead while he was playing tennis or otherwise agitated, she felt that Mr Mybug was one of our more desolate figures, and almost wished that he were coming to the ball.
‘Who is that?’ enquired Claud, glancing in the direction of her gaze.
‘A Mr Mybug. I met him in London.’
‘Good God!’ observed Claud, in a tone of deep distaste.
Had Flora been alone, she would have called pleasantly to Mr Mybug across the heads of the crowd:
‘How do you do?… How amusing to see you here! Are you copy-hunting?’
But she felt that upon this occasion she stood in the relation of a chaperone and sponsor to Elfine, and that her own conduct must be carefully regulated so as not to give rise to a breath of adverse comment.
She contented herself, therefore, with bowing very pleasantly to Mr Mybug, who looked rather miserable and tried to pull down his cardigan, which had worked up all wrinkly round his waist.
Mr Aubrey Featherweight, who had designed the Assembly Rooms of Godmere in the year 1830, had not been content to provide them with one broad and not unshapely flight of steps as an approach. He had constructed another flight leading down into the large ball-room, which was built slightly below the level of the street.
Now when Flora, emerging from the draughty ladies’ cloakroom immediately within the entrance hall of the Rooms accompanied by the stately and beautiful Elfine, saw this second staircase and realized that it led down into the ball-room, so intense a glow of gratitude filled her heart that she could have fallen upon her knees and thanked Fate.
Did not the Abbé? F.-M. say: ‘Lost is that man who sees a beautiful woman descending a noble staircase’, and were not both these ingredients here, and ready to her hand? What else but a staircase could so perfectly set off the jewel she had made of Elfine?
A handsome lady of some sixty years stood at the head of the staircase to welcome those guests who passed from the hall on their way to the ball-room, and at her side, aiding her in the task of welcoming each guest, stood a large young woman in a cruel shade of electric blue, whom Flora rightly judged to be Mrs Hawk-Monitor’s daughter Joan.
The four young people slowly approached their hostess.
Flora’s fine eyes, that were so observant, noticed how propitious was this moment for their entry.
The hour was nearly nine. All the guests of importance had already arrived, and the fine flower of the county of Sussex was circling to the strains of the ‘Twelve Sweet Hours’ waltz in the ball-room below, the gowns of the young women and the elegant dark purple and white of the young men’s clothes being admirably set off by the florid crimson walls, the slender white pillars capped by gold acanthus leaves, and the banks of dark green foliage which decorated the alcoves of the room.
Claud moved forward to present Flora and Elfine to Mrs Hawk-Monitor, who received Flora with a gracious smile, and whose sudden, startled glance at Elfine was all that Flora could wish; and then Elfine, in response to a gentle motion from Flora (who had been detained for a moment in conversation by Joan Hawk-Monitor) began to descend the crimson-covered stairs.
It was at this moment that the sweet, leisurely last notes of the ‘Twelve Hours’ waltz ceased, and the dancers below slowly came to a standstill and stood clapping and smiling.
Then a startled hush fell upon the clapping. All eyes were turned upon the staircase. A low hum of admiration, the most delightful sound in the world that a woman’s ears can receive, rose into the stillness.
Here was beauty. It silenced all comment except that of eager praise. A generation that had admired piquante women, boyish women, ugly, smart and fascinating women was now confronted by simple beauty, pure and undeniable as that of the young Venus whom the Greeks loved to carve; and responded immediately, in delighted and surprised homage, to its challenge.
Just as no human creature who has eyes to see can deny the beauty of an almond-tree in full flower, no human eyes could deny beauty to
Elfine. The slow descent of this young girl down the staircase was like the descent of a sunlit cloud down the breast of a mountain. Her candid beauty, set off by the snowy-silver folds of her simple dress, refreshed the dancers who stood silently looking up at her as the sight of a cluster of flowers or a moonlit expanse of sea refreshes the eyes.
And Flora, silently watching from the head of the staircase, saw that a tall young man who stood just at its foot was looking up at Elfine as the young shepherd must once have looked at the moon goddess; and she was satisfied.
The entranced pause was broken by music. The orchestra began to play a gay polka, and the young man (who was Richard Hawk-Monitor himself) came forward to give his hand to Elfine and lead her into the mazes of the dance.
Flora and Claud (who was much amused by all this) came down the stairs into the ball-room a little later and also joined the dancers.
Flora had every reason to feel smug and satisfied with her evening’s work as she floated round the room in the arms of Claud, who danced admirably. Without seeming to take so obvious an interest in the movements of Elfine and her partner that her gaze became ill-bred, she observed their every action.
What she saw pleased her much. Richard appeared to be deeply in love. It is usual to see a young man looking down into the face of a girl with whom he is dancing with an expression of soft admiration, and Flora was used to such spectacles. But she had not often seen a young man’s face so rapt, so almost awed, with adoration and another emotion which can only be defined as gratitude, as was the face of Richard Hawk-Monitor. Wonder, too, was in his expression. He held Elfine preciously, as a man might hold a flowering branch of some rare tree which he has seen for the first time and is bringing back to his cave.
The miracle for which she had conjured the love god had befallen. Richard had realized, not that Elfine was beautiful, but that he loved Elfine. (Young men frequently need this fact pointing out to them, as Flora knew by observing the antics of her friends.)
Now she must wait patiently until the end of the ball, when Elfine would tell her whether Richard had proposed marriage. She felt that the anxiety of waiting to know whether her diplomacy had succeeded might impair the pleasure of the evening for her, but resolved to bear the trial with calmness.
However, as it turned out, she began to enjoy the ball so much that she almost forgot her anxiety.
The ball was, indeed, a very agreeable one. Perhaps it was more by luck than by judgement that Mrs Hawk-Monitor had combined two of the essentials for a successful ball (too many guests in a smallish room), but both were there, and when these were combined with the elegance and lavishness of the supper-tables and the sober richness of the appointments, and the fact that most of the people who were present knew each other slightly, all the ingredients for success were present, and success was achieved.
Flora overheard many comments upon Elfine’s beauty, and was asked several times who her lovely companion was. She smilingly replied that she was a cousin, a Miss Starkadder, and would say no more save that Elfine lived in the neighbourhood. She did not make the mistake of snobbishly embroidering upon Elfine’s ancestry and charm. She let Elfine’s serious beauty do its own work, and very well it did it. Elfine danced most of the dances with Richard Hawk-Monitor, but she gave many others to the group of eager young men who gathered round her as soon as the music paused.
Flora observed that Mrs Hawk-Monitor, from her position in an alcove on the balcony above the ball-room, was beginning to look vaguely anxious, especially during those dances that Elfine gave to Richard.
Flora divided her dances chiefly between Claud and Seth.
Seth appeared to be enjoying the evening immensely. In one way and another he had nearly as spectacular a success as Elfine. A group of some nine young persons whose dress proclaimed that they had come down from London for the ball took possession of Seth early in the evening, and would not let him go. Flora overheard two or three of the young women telling each other that their dears, he was too creditable and merely body-thrilling, and Seth just smiled his slow, warm smile and drawled: ‘Ay’ and ‘Nay’ when asked if he did not adore farming, and what he wanted from life, and didn’t he think the important thing was to experience everything?
Several young men approached Flora, and seemed anxious to appropriate her company after they had danced with her, and all this was very satisfactory, but she had resolved that for this evening at any rate she must keep herself in the background and make no attempt to rival Elfine. So she danced mostly with Claud, after Seth had been carried off to supper by his adoring tribe of young girls. Flora knew that she did not look so beautiful as Elfine, but, then, she did not want to. She knew that she looked distinguished, elegant and interesting. She asked for nothing more.
Only one disagreeable incident marred the pleasure of the evening. Just as she and Claud were making their way to the supper-tables in an adjoining room a disturbance broke out on the balcony above their heads, and Flora looked up in time to see the back of a gentleman, which was only too familiar to her, being hustled out through the entrance with some haste by two of the flunkeys.
‘Somebody trying to gate-crash,’ called a laughing young man to Claud, in passing, as he came running down the stairs. He had been giving the flunkeys a hand.
Flora felt rather distressed. She sat down at the little table which Claud had reserved for them, which was charmingly wreathed with spring leaves and flowers, with a sober expression on her face.
‘My dear Flora, was that a friend of yours?’ asked Claud, motioning to the waiter to open some champagne.
‘It was Mr Mybug,’ said Flora, simply; ‘and I cannot help feeling, Claud, that if I had thought of trying to get him an invitation he would not have had to try and gate-crash.’
‘It is a good thing that everybody who hasn’t got invitations for things doesn’t have to try and gate-crash,’ observed Claud.
‘I cannot help feeling,’ pursued Flora, picking up her fork to begin on the crab mousse, ‘rather sorry for Mr Mybug.’
‘We are purified by suffering,’ said Claud, helping himself to crab.
But Flora went on: ‘You see, he is rather fat. I always feel sorry for people who are fat. And I haven’t got the heart to tell him that’s why I won’t let him kiss me. He thinks it’s because I’m inhibited.’
‘But, my dear, he would. Don’t distress yourself. Have some more crab.’
And Flora did, and telling herself that it was her duty to look pleasant, for Elfine’s sake, she thought no more of Mr Mybug that evening.
Flora and Claud lingered long over the supper-table, enjoying the spectacle of the brilliantly-lit, elegantly decorated apartment filled with young persons of both sexes, most of them handsome and all of them happy. Claud, who had served in the Anglo-Nicaraguan wars of ’46, was at his ease in the comfortable silence in which they sat, and allowed the irony and grief of his natural expression to emerge from beneath the mask of cheerful idiocy with which he usually covered his sallow, charming face. He had seen his friends die in anguish in the wars. For him, the whole of the rest of his life was an amusing game which no man of taste and intelligence could permit himself to take seriously.
Much as Flora was enjoying the ball, she was doing so more as a spectator than as a participant. She wished regretfully that some others of her friends might have been present: Mrs Smiling, looking vague in a white gown; the handsome Julia; Charles in the severe tail-coat of darkest blue which so well became his height and gravity.
As at all good parties, an atmosphere, impalpable as a perfume yet as real, rose above the heads of the laughing guests. It was the aroma of enjoyment and gaiety. No one could inhale it without instinctively smiling and glancing good-naturedly round the room. Gay voices rose every second above the roar of the general conversation like individual trills of water from the rush of a stream in spate. A laughing mouth, three youthful heads gathered together, while a fourth, distorted with laughter, uttered gasping protests; ch
ins lifted and eyes narrowed between lashes with mirth; an azalea plant revealed as two persons drew back from the table to shout with laughter: such were the outward signs of a Good Party. And above them floated this invisible glittering cloud of success.
Suddenly Flora gave a slight start. Elfine had appeared at the door of the supper-room, accompanied by Richard Hawk-Monitor. They were glancing round the room as if in search of someone, and when Elfine caught sight of Flora’s raised hand, in its pale-green glove, she smiled eagerly and said something over her shoulder to the young Hawk-Monitor, and they began to make their way between the tables to where Flora and Claud sat.
Flora’s spirits, already excited by the pleasure of the ball, rose still higher. Richard must have proposed, and have been accepted. Nothing else could have made the two look so peculiarly radiant.
They came towards her, threading their way between the laughing groups, who looked up from their talk to smile at Dick and to look curiously at Elfine; and then Elfine had paused at their table, and Claud had risen to his feet, and Elfine, reaching backwards for Richard’s hand, drew him forward and said:
‘Oh, Flora, I do so want you to meet Dick.’
Flora bowed and smiled, and said: ‘How do you do? I have heard so much about you, and I am so pleased to meet you’; but she found her hand taken into a friendly clasp and met the beam of a wind-reddened, open, boyish countenance. She noticed that he had perfect teeth, white as those of a young lion, and a little black moustache.
‘I say, I’m awfully glad to meet you. Elf has told me all about you, too. I say, this is jolly, isn’t it? Marvellous idea of the mater’s, having the orgy here instead of in the family crematorium, what? I say, Miss Poste, it was awfully decent of you to bring Elfine. I simply can’t thank you enough, you know. I mean, it’s made all the difference in the world. We’re engaged, as a matter of fact.’
‘My dear! How charming! I am delighted. I congratulate you!’ cried Flora, who was indeed overcome with relief and satisfaction.