‘It was all there was, my lady. Expediency is all in matters of larceny. Now if you’ll just stop hooting I shall find you some more elegant glassware and you can move onto “the good stuff”.’
‘Quite right. Quite right. Your reputation is saved.’ She swayed slightly and I looked around for a suitable glass. There being none to hand, I tipped the dregs of her wine into a nearby aspidistra pot – to judge from the vinous aroma issuing therefrom, I don’t think I was the first – and decanted the cognac into the empty glass.
She was loudly effusive in her thanks and appreciation of my attentiveness, and I left her singing my praises to a small group of Miss Clarissa’s friends as I once more sought out my tray of drinks and nibbles and set about serving as unobtrusively as possible and listening to the band. I had found a suitable spot just as an instrumental number ended.
‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. We’re going to take a short break now, but we’ll be back in the jiffiest of jiffies.’
And with that, they put down their instruments and stepped down from the low stage one by one. Just my luck.
The trumpeter disappeared, presumably off to the library, but the others milled about, chatting to each other and accepting the congratulations and admiration of the guests. Roland Richman had been buttonholed by Lady Farley-Stroud. She seemed to be at about the same stage of uninhibited merriment as Lady Hardcastle and from the snippets I could overhear over the chatter she seemed to be bombarding him with comically ill-informed questions about the music couched in girlishly flirtatious language which should have been mortifyingly embarrassing but actually made me warm to her a little. It was good to see that the flame hadn’t gone out.
Sylvia Montgomery sidled up to me. ‘I say, are you the girl I saw in the corridor just now?’
‘I am, madam, yes.’
‘Any luck?’
‘I’m afraid not, madam. I managed to locate the stash but it proved more difficult than I had imagined to liberate more than a glassful for my mistress.’
‘Not to worry, dear. Nelson “remembered” that he has a little scotch tucked away in his things. He’s gone to fetch it.’
I smiled. ‘A generous fellow. He’s the trumpeter?’
‘He is.’
‘He’s very good. You’re all very good. I’m so glad I came.’
‘Then I’m glad you came, too. Thank you. And thank you for trying to see us right. It’s much appreciated.’
She turned away and went back to her friends.
The rest of the evening passed all too quickly and I found myself getting busier as the party slowly wound down. I heard little of the band, but they seemed a little less lively than they had earlier so I didn’t feel I was missing too much.
I did as much of the clearing away as I felt was my proper share, probably a little more if truth be told. Maude had deigned to pitch in but she was working painfully slowly and although it galled me to make things too easy for her, I didn’t want the burden to fall too heavily on the rest of the household. In truth, they were probably used to it, but it gave me a pleasantly self-satisfied feeling to lift some of the load from the junior staff.
By midnight I was dismissed with grateful thanks by Jenkins, who assured me that my assistance wouldn’t be forgotten and that help was always available to me at The Grange if ever I should need it. I shook his hand and asked if perhaps I might take advantage of his kind offer immediately.
‘Obviously Lady Hardcastle isn’t staying at The Grange, but we don’t yet have our own transport. Might I trouble Bert for a ride back to the house?’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ll have him prepare the motorcar and bring it to the front of the house. He should be ready in ten minutes.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and went off in search of Lady Hardcastle.
I found her in the ballroom, sitting on a chair in the corner and surrounded once more by Miss Clarissa’s young friends, including the handsome Nepalese man, as though by a circle of adoring acolytes. I could hear the familiar end of one of her favourite anecdotes about her adventures in China and was gratified to hear that my own part in it had not been diminished by the repeated retellings. I waited until we were safely concealed in the ox cart and heading for the Burmese border before discreetly signalling that I wished to speak to her.
‘Well, my lovely darlings,’ she said, ‘I fear the time has come for dear old Aunt Emily to make her grand exit. My maid – you remember her from the story? She’s the chap that broke that ruffian’s nose. My maid seems to require my attention. If I know her at all well, she’ll have arranged transport home. She’s an absolute poppet like that. It’s been wonderful to meet you all.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet, saying her goodbyes to the excitable youngsters. The Nepalese emissary kissed her hand with elegant courtesy and expressed his desire to hear more of her adventures.
She smiled. ‘Thank you, Mr Verma, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. Now then, the rest of you, do have fun, and if you absolutely must get up to wickedness, do please try not to make too much noise; it alarms the old folk.’
With that she left them and walked over to me with exaggerated care. She suddenly remembered that she was still holding a brandy bottle in her hand and turned to give it back to Miss Clarissa.
‘Thank you so much for finding this, my dear,’ she slurred. ‘It’s just the medicine Aunt Emily needed.’
I raised an eyebrow, thinking I could have heard a little more of the band if I’d not been off on my own, now seemingly unnecessary, brandy quest. ‘Bert is bringing the car round, my lady.’
‘You, Flo,’ she said, linking arms with me, ‘are an absolute poppet. Have I told you that? I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
I led her to the front door. We passed Sir Hector and Lady Farley-Stroud on the way and she thanked them for a lovely evening, kissing them both on the cheek. I managed to steer her out the front door before she went any further – I once saw her kiss her host, a rather diminutive Earl, on the top of his bald head to the eye-popping alarm of his wife – and poured her into the waiting motor car.
Bert took us home.
I knew Lady Hardcastle wouldn’t even be awake, much less up and about, until quite late the next morning so I’d taken rare advantage of the opportunity for a lie in. Or tried to. By eight o’clock the indolence was too much for me and I’d risen, washed, dressed and gone downstairs looking for things to do.
By half-past nine, there was bread proving beside the range and I was well into the mending when the doorbell rang. I put down my sewing and went to the door.
‘Morning, Miss Armstrong,’ said Constable Hancock as I opened it. ‘Is your mistress at home?’
‘Good morning to you, too, Constable. She’s “at home” in the sense of actually being here, but “at home to callers” I couldn’t say. She was at The Grange last evening and is still lying in.’