What's Become of Waring, page 20
‘Why, good afternoon.’
It was Lipfield. He marched across the room, looking as military as he could in mufti—which was considerably more military than he did in uniform—and shook hands. I explained that I was waiting for Hudson and that we were going to have a late dinner together that evening.
‘And how is Mr. Judkins?’ Lipfield said.
‘He has had a bit of a breakdown, as a matter of fact.’
‘Has he?’ said Lipfield. ‘That is interesting.’
‘Why?’
‘I had an idea something of the sort might happen.’
‘What made you think so?’
Lipfield shook his head.
‘I sent Mr. Judkins one of the usual notifications of a sitting some weeks ago,’ he said. ‘We hadn’t seen him for some time as he had been away. The letter that arrived back would have surprised you.’
‘What did it say?’
‘What didn’t it say? I’ve known Mr. Judkins in some strange moods but never like this. I didn’t answer it. I saw there must be something wrong with his health.’
‘Did he say he disapproved?’
‘That is exactly what he did say,’ said Lipfield; ‘and he put it in a nasty way too. But I won’t talk any more about it. He couldn’t have been himself. I expect he will write to me when he is better. But when are we going to have the pleasure of your company again?’
‘You promised you would invite me one day.’
‘Did you tell me you were not going to dine with Captain Hudson until half-past nine or ten?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why don’t you come to Miss M’Kechnie’s this evening? Just a small party. We have a new medium. An Oriental. A splendid young fellow. You ought to have the experience of hearing him.’
‘But I can’t just break in like that.’
‘Miss M’Kechnie will be very pleased,’ said Lipfield. ‘Why don’t you come? It would be doing us a kindness to increase our numbers.’
‘I shan’t be able to get there in time. You will want to start at once.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Lipfield, ‘I shall be here for another half-hour. Why not tell Captain Hudson to pick you up at Miss M’Kechnie’s? I can run you there in my car.’
‘All right.’
‘Then I will find you here in about twenty-five minutes’ time.’
Lipfield went off, very pleased with himself that he had discovered an additional victim for his séance. I read an evening paper that I found on one of the tables. Hudson came in a minute or two later.
‘I was a bit longer than I thought I should be,’ he said.
‘Lipfield looked in just now. He persuaded me to come to one of his sittings this evening. I shall be let out about the time you want to dine.’
‘Where is this happening?’
‘At Miss M’Kechnie’s. She lives somewhere near Sloane Square. I’ll find out the exact address when Lipfield comes to fetch me.’
‘And have I got to be there?’
‘If I have to wait until ten o’clock for my dinner you must allow me to arrange my own amusements between now and then.’
‘I suppose that is just,’ Hudson said. ‘But I think you are mad. What was it you wanted to tell me?’
‘I stayed with the Pimleys the other day to negotiate the sale of the stamps.’
‘I said you would.’
‘Beryl has found out that Alec is T. T. Waring.’
‘How the hell did she do that?’
‘Her grandfather died while we were away. She discovered some letters Alec wrote to him. You remember the first T. T. Waring book—about Ceylon?’
‘The one he cribbed from a book that had been published in India.’
‘Captain Pimley himself wrote it as a young man.’
‘But it was anonymous.’
‘Probably that was what gave Alec the idea.’
‘But if Alec had read his grandfather’s book presumably the rest of the family had too.’
‘If so, they didn’t notice anything.’
‘The old man himself must have known.’
‘He seems to have thought it a good joke.’
‘So the grandfather is dead. Do the rest of the family know about T. T. Waring?’
‘Beryl has hidden the letters.’
‘What is she going to do about it?’
‘Nothing. She just wanted me to tell you. She thought they might help you write the book.’
‘Did you tell her the book was off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you give her back the iron?’
‘Yes.’
Hudson stood up.
‘Good,’ he said.
He rolled up the newspaper and tapped it on the table.
‘It’s not much good doing anything now,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Even if one married,’ he said, ‘wives are only allowed where I’m going for about a month in the year.’
‘Perhaps you might graduate to another job.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said.
‘I’m changing my employment too.’
‘What? Leaving Judkins & Judkins?’
‘I’m going back into advertising.’
We were still discussing our future occupations when Lipfield put his head round the door.
‘All ready?’ Lipfield said. ‘I suppose I can’t persuade you to come too, sir? Do you remember what a good evening we had when you last attended?’
‘I must stay here,’ Hudson said. ‘What time will things be over at Miss M’Kechnie’s?’
Lipfield made a calculation. He also wrote Miss M’Kechnie’s address on the back of one of his visiting-cards. Hudson put the card in his pocket.
‘I’ll be there,’ he said.
As we drove towards the centre of London Lipfield said:
‘I promised to take the medium to Miss M’Kechnie’s in the car, so we have got to pick him up before going to Sloane Square.’
‘Where does the medium live?’
‘He has a bed-sitting-room in Bloomsbury. I think you will like him. He is an unassuming young fellow.’
‘An Oriental, you said?’
‘They sometimes have remarkable powers of clairvoyance,’ Lipfield said. ‘He was Miss M’Kechnie’s discovery. She was staying with friends in the country and he came over to tea. The hostess suggested planchette. Since then he hasn’t looked back.’
‘Only into the future?’
‘Ah, you will have your joke,’ said Lipfield. ‘You’re like Captain Hudson in that way. Well, it’s bad news that we are going to lose our adjutant. Field-days won’t be the same without him. But I believe he has some private trouble.’
‘He has.’
‘Sad,’ said Lipfield. ‘So often happens to the best fellows. Here we are.’
He had stopped the car in front of a house in a long narrow square. There were several bells beside the front door with brass plates or cards stuck above them. Lipfield rang one of the bells. We waited for a time. Lipfield rang again. There was no answer.
‘I think one is meant to walk in,’ Lipfield said; ‘the front door doesn’t seem to be locked.’
I followed him into a dark hall that smelt abominably. There was a slab with a lot of dirty letters lying about on it, looking as if they had been there for months, and a staircase straight ahead. A passage led past the staircase to three or four white doors. The noise of several people talking at the top of their voices came from behind one of these. Lipfield said:
‘Really I am not sure which one it is. It would never do to walk into the wrong room.’
He stood there for a time, unable to decide what to do next. From the other side of the passage wall the clamour of arguing increased. The voices sounded like those of three women, one of whom was speaking with a strong accent.
‘I think this is the one,’ Lipfield said.
He knocked. The wrangling died down at once.
‘Mr. Lal?’ said Lipfield.
The door was opened by a young man. He began explaining something to Lipfield very quickly in a high voice. I did not see that he was an Indian until he turned to the light.
‘We must start at once, Mr. Lal,’ said Lipfield, ‘we are more than a little late already.’
‘Very well—’
Mr. Lal paused for a moment as if he could not make up his mind whether or not to invite us into the room. Then he turned away to speak to someone inside. In doing this he took his hand from the door. It swung wide open. A woman was standing behind him, wearing a hat.
‘Why, hullo, Beryl!’
Beryl Pimley said nothing. She only stared. Lipfield and Mr. Lal showed relief that Beryl and I should know each other. They both began to talk at the same time. I stepped forward to speak to Beryl and, owing to a flanking movement on the part of Lipfield, found myself within the room. On the other side of the door, a little way to the left and out of sight from the passage, Winefred Pimley was sitting on a chair. She had rather more colour in her face than usual and was watching the scene with her neck craning forward.
‘So you are here too, Winefred? I didn’t see you.’
‘I recognised your voice,’ she said.
‘I take it,’ said Lipfield, ‘that these ladies would like to come to the sitting?’
Mr. Lal cast his eyes wildly round on the two sisters. It was apparent that Lipfield and I had interrupted a squabble, presumably caused by Beryl’s efforts to persuade Winefred to give up the association. Lal, who was dressed in neatly pressed brown flannel trousers, a blue double-breasted coat, and red-and-white striped tie, looked on the whole a little more robust than most of his countrymen to be seen in that neighbourhood; but the situation presented too difficult a problem for him to offer any immediate solution. He only rolled his eyes and smiled nervously. Winefred got up from her chair.
‘I haven’t introduced you to my fiancé yet,’ she said. ‘I suppose you are coming to the sitting too?’
‘Winefred—’ said Beryl.
Mr. Lal and I shook hands. He showed a lot of white teeth.
‘Mr. Lipfield—Miss Winefred Pimley—Miss Beryl Pimley,’ he said, ‘daughters of Major-General Pimley.’
‘Delighted that you two ladies can come,’ said Lipfield. ‘I don’t want to hurry anyone, but really we ought to be going now. Have you got your hat, Mr. Lal?—but, of course, I forgot you never wear one.’
‘We are quite ready,’ said Winefred.
‘I am not going—’ began Beryl.
Lipfield looked surprised.
‘Tiger is picking me up there at nine-thirty,’ I said. ‘Why not come and have a word with him after? I know he’d like to see you.’
‘Is Tiger going to be there?’ said Winefred.
‘He is only arriving at the end. We are dining together.’
‘Then you must certainly come,’ Winefred said.
She took her sister by the arm. Beryl shook her off. Winefred was insistent.
‘You must come,’ she said. ‘Why are you being so silly? You know you want to see Tiger again.’
‘He certainly wants to see you,’ I said. ‘It’s the last chance there will be, because he leaves the country early next week.’
‘Does he?’
‘Come along, please,’ said Lipfield.
He went off down the passage, followed by Mr. Lal and Winefred. Beryl was still hesitating. She made a move as if to go with them. We were left alone together in the room.
‘What’s been happening here?’
‘I came up to London for the night to see my dentist. I was trying to prevent her from meeting Lal again when you arrived,’ she said.
‘You’d better come with us now.’
‘All right. I will.’
We all crammed into Lipfield’s car. Beryl sat in front and the rest of us at the back with Winefred in the middle between Lal and myself. Lal leaned across.
‘You often come to sittings?’
‘Only once before.’
‘He-he-he,’ he said.
Winefred sat in silence most of the way. Towards the end of the journey she said:
‘How did you turn out to be with Lipfield?’
‘I met him down at the Territorial headquarters and came along with him.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
‘There seemed to be a clash of temperaments in progress.
‘Beryl was trying to interfere.’
‘But where does Lipfield come in? I thought your fiancé was at the R.M.C.?’
‘He left there. He decided that he would do better out of the Army with his exceptional psychic gifts.’
‘Useful qualities in the Directorate of Military Intelligence.’
Winefred did not answer. She moved a little further away on the seat. Neither of us spoke again until we arrived at our destination.
The nature of the entertainment offered at Miss M’Kechnie’s was of a less professional order than the same thing at Mrs. Cromwell’s. The room was small. There was a lot of flowered cretonne everywhere and some silhouettes in black-and-gold frames. A circle of chairs had been arranged in the drawing-room, where Miss M’Kechnie herself was waiting with an elderly white-haired woman whom I recognised as having been present at Mrs. Cromwell’s séance. Miss M’Kechnie seemed on the whole pleased that the gathering had increased in number from unexpected sources.
‘I sent a card to Mr. Judkins,’ she said, ‘but I haven’t seen him for some time. I think he must be away.’
‘He won’t come,’ said Lipfield. ‘I can tell you that, Miss M’Kechnie.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he doesn’t approve any longer.’
‘He hasn’t approved,’ said Miss M’Kechnie, ‘for years. However, he is usually punctual, so perhaps he has another engagement.’
‘I think he may be in Scotland,’ I said. ‘He was going there when I last heard of him.’
‘In that case,’ said Miss M’Kechnie, ‘we need not wait. How are you feeling, Mr. Lal? Do you think you will be in the vein?’
In these friendly surroundings Lal seemed to be recovering his composure. I did not know for how long a time before Lipfield and I had arrived he had had to undergo Beryl’s lecturings. It must have been long enough to work him up into a state of considerable nervous discomfort.
‘I will do my best,’ he said. ‘I am not feeling so well as I do sometimes. Perhaps we might try singing Kipling’s Recessional first.’
‘With the piano?’ said Miss M’Kechnie. ‘Shall I play, Mr. Lal?’
‘No. I would rather you did not play.’
‘Or what about Keep the Home Fires Burning?’ said the woman with the white hair. ‘You were wonderful, Mr. Lal, the night we sang that.’
‘Very well, then, Keep the Home Fires Burning.’ Lal smiled gently.
‘If you begin to feel the slightest strain,’ Winefred said, ‘you must stop. After all, you have been through a great deal this evening.’
She glared across the room at Beryl. Winefred’s manner when she spoke to Lal was not much different from her way of addressing anyone else. If anything, her gruffness was stressed to imply ownership.
The arranging of the room took some time to complete. Just before the light was extinguished the front-door bell rang.
‘I wonder who that is?’ Miss M’Kechnie said.
Everyone who knew him was surprised when Hugh Judkins was shown into the room.
‘You are rather late, Mr. Judkins,’ said Miss M’Kechnie, ‘so we were going to begin without you.’
Hugh took hardly any notice of her. He was not looking himself yet. His suit hung on him as if he had been using it for some weeks as pyjamas, and his tie was riding up at the back of his collar. He allowed himself to be introduced to Lal and the Pimleys. Lipfield said ‘Good-evening, Mr. Judkins’ in a marked mannner, but Hugh seemed not to hear him. An extra chair was needed, and one with a cork seat had to be brought in from the bathroom.
‘How are you feeling, Hugh?’ I said, when this had been done.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Why?’
The faint hairs that shimmered on the top of his head in an irregular mossy covering gave him, with the light behind him, more than ever the appearance of having a halo. One expected him to be carrying a gridiron or some other instruments of martyrdom like a saint in a stained-glass window.
Miss M’Kechnie put out all the lights except one small globe with a red covering of rubber. Lal sat between Miss M’Kechnie and Winefred; then Hugh, the white-haired woman, myself, Beryl, and Lipfield, who completed the circle by holding Winefred’s other hand. Beryl, like Hugh, moved as one in a dream. In the car Lipfield’s battery of small talk seemed to have made her forget the scene at Lal’s lodgings. Now she appeared to have no idea why we were all at Miss M’Kechnie’s nor what we proposed to do there. Soon after arrival she had said:
‘And is Tiger really coming?’
‘Yes,’ I told her, ‘when this is over.’
When she felt certain of this she settled down as if she were prepared to go through with anything that might be required of her.
Proceedings opened slowly. Lal went off into a comatose state. We sang a little and waited. Nothing happened. We sang again. Beryl joined in the singing quite loudly. She may have thought that it was an end in itself. A long silence followed our last burst of singing.
This was broken at length by Lal himself. He heaved about for a time on his chair. Then he rubbed his eyes and stretched as if he had just got out of bed.
‘I am afraid I have not the right disposition tonight,’ he said. ‘Something has upset me.’
‘Poor Mr. Lal,’ said Miss M’Kechnie. ‘Is there anything we can do?’
‘Thank you, no. I will tell you what. Tonight I will just be clairvoyant.’
