Surfeit of Lampreys (5 page)

So it was for Roberta. From the Lampreys' car she saw the roundabout of Piccadilly, the great sailing buses, the sea of faces, the traffic of the Circus, and she felt a kind of realization stir in her heart.

“It's not so very big,” said Roberta.

“Quite small, really,” said Henry.

“I don't mean it's not thrilling,” said Roberta. “It is. I—I feel as if I'd like to be—sort of inside it.”

“I know,” agreed Henry. “Let's nip out, Frid, and walk round the corner to Angelo's.”

He said to the chauffeur: “Pick us up in twenty minutes, will you, Mayling?”

“Here's a jam,” said Frid. “Now's our chance. Come on.”

Henry opened the door and took Roberta's hand. She scrambled out. The voyage, the ship, and the sea all slid away into remoteness. A new experience took Roberta and the sounds that are London engulfed her.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE LAMPREYS LIVED
in two flats which occupied the entire top story of a building known as Pleasaunce Court Mansions. Pleasaunce Court is merely a short street connecting Cadogan Square with Lennox Gardens and the block of flats stands on the corner. To Roberta the outside seemed forbidding but the entrance hall had lately been redecorated and was more friendly. Pale green walls, a thick carpet, heavy armchairs and an enormous fire gave an impression of light and luxury. The firelight flickered on the chromium steel of a lift-cage in the centre of the hall and on a slotted framework that held the names of the flat owners. Roberta read the top one: No. 25 & 26. LORD AND LADY CHARLES LAMPREY. IN. Henry followed her gaze, crossed quickly to the board and moved a chromium-steel tab.

“LORD AND LADY CHARLES LAMPREY. OUT, I fancy,” muttered Henry.

“Oh, are they!” cried Roberta. “Are they away?”

“No,” said Henry. “Ssh!”

“Ssh!” said Frid.

They moved their heads slightly in the direction of the door. A small man wearing a bowler hat stood on the pavement outside and appeared to consult an envelope in his hands. He looked up at the front of the flats and then approached the steps.

“In to the lift!” Henry muttered and opened the doors. Roberta in a state of extreme bewilderment entered the lift. A porter, heavily smart in a dark green uniform and several medals, came out of an office.

“Hullo, Stamford,” said Henry. “Good morning to you. Mayling's got some luggage out there in the car.”

“I'll attend to it, sir,” said the porter.

“Thank you so much,” murmured the Lampreys politely, and Henry added, “His lordship is away this morning, Stamford.”

“Indeed, sir?” said the porter. “Thank you, sir.”

“Up we go,” said Henry.

The porter shut them in, Henry pressed a button and with a metallic sigh the lift took them to the top of the building.

“Stamford doesn't work the lift,” explained Henry. “He's only for show and to look after the service flats downstairs.”

In three days, photographs of the Pleasaunce Court lift would appear in six illustrated papers and in the files of the criminal-investigation department. It would be lit by flash lamps, sealed, dusted with powder, measured and described. It would be discussed by several million people. It was about to become famous. To Roberta it seemed very smart and she did not notice that, like the entrance hall, it had been modernized. The old liftman's apparatus, a handle projecting from a cylindrical casing was still there but above it was a row of buttons with the Lampreys' floor, the fourth, at the top. They came out on a well-lit landing with two light green doors numbered 25 and 26. Henry pushed No. 25 open and Roberta crossed a threshold into the past. The sensation of Deepacres, of that still-recurrent dream, came upon her so poignantly that she caught her breath. Here was the very scent of Deepacres, of the scented oil Lady Charles burnt in the drawing-room, of Turkish cigarettes, of cut flowers and of moss. The sense of smell works both consciously and subconsciously. About many households is an individual pleasantness of which human noses are only half aware and which is so subtle that it cannot be traced to one source. The Lampreys' house-smell, while it might suggest burning cedarwood, scented oil and hothouse flowers, was made up of these things and of something more, something that to Roberta seemed the very scent of their characters. It carried her back through four years and while the pleasure of this experience was still new she saw, in the entrance hall, some of their old possessions: a table, a steel-engraving, a green Chinese elephant. It was with the strangest feeling of familiarity that she heard Lady Charles's voice crying:

“Is that old Robin Grey?”

Roberta ran through the doorway into her arms.

There they all were, in a long white drawing-room with crackling fires at each end and a great gaiety of flowers. Lady Charles, thinner than ever, was not properly up and had bundled herself into a red silk dressing-gown. She wore a net over her grey curls. Her husband stood beside her in his well-remembered morning attitude, a newspaper dangling from his hand, his glass in his eye, and his thin colourless hair brushed across his head. He beamed with pale, myopic eyes at Roberta and inclined his head forward with an obedient air, ready for her kiss. The twins, with shining blond heads and solemn smiles, also kissed her. Patch, an overgrown schoolgirl in a puppy-fat condition, nearly knocked her over, and Mike, eleven years old, looked relieved when Roberta merely shook his hand.

“Such fun, darling,” said all the Lampreys in their soft voices. “Such fun to see you.”

Presently they were all sitting before the fire, with Charlot in her chair and Henry in his old place on the hearthrug and the twins collapsed on the sofa. Patch hurled herself onto the arm of Robin's chair, and Frid stood in an elegant attitude before the fire, and Lord Charles wandered vaguely about the room.

“Dear me,” said Henry, “I feel like Uriah Heep. It's as good as the chiming of old bells to see Robin Grey in the flesh.”

The twins murmured agreeably and Colin said: “You haven't grown much.”

“I know,” said Roberta. “I'm a pygmy.”

“A nice pygmy,” said Charlot.

“Do you think she's pretty?” asked Frid. “I do.”

“Not exactly pretty,” said Stephen. “I'd call her attractive.”

“Really!” said Lord Charles mildly. “Does Robin, who I must say looks delightful, enjoy a public dissection of her charms?”

“Yes,” said Roberta. “From the family, I do.”

“Of course she does,” shouted Patch, dealing Roberta a violent buffet across the shoulders.

“What do you think of
me
?” asked Frid, striking an attitude. “Aren't I quite, quite lovely?”

“Don't tell her she is,” said Colin. “The girl's a nymphomaniac.”

“Darling!” murmured Lady Charles.

“My dear Colin,” said his father, “it really would be a good idea if you stick to the words you understand.”

“Well,” Frid reasoned, “you may thank your lucky stars I am so lovely. After all, looks go a long way on the stage. I may have to keep you all, and in the near future, too.”

“Apropos,” said Henry, “I fancy there's a bum downstairs, chaps.”

“Oh
no
!” cried the Lampreys.

“The signs are ominous. I told Stamford you were out, Daddy.”

“Then I suppose I'd better stay in,” muttered Lord Charles. “Who can it be this time? Not Smith & Weekly's again, surely? I wrote them an admirable letter explaining that—”

“Circumstances over which we had no control,” suggested Stephen.

“I put it better than that, Stephen.”

“Mike,” said Lady Charles, “be an angel and run out on the landing. If you see a little man—”

“In a bowler,” said Henry and Frid.

“Yes, of course in a bowler. If you see him, don't say anything but just come and tell Mummy, darling, will you?”

“Righto,” said Mike politely. “Is he a bum, Mummy?”

“We think so but it's nothing to worry about. Do hurry, Mikey darling.”

Mike grinned disarmingly and began to hop out of the room on one leg.

“I can hop for miles,” he said.

“Well, run quietly for a change.”

Mike gave a Red-Indian call and began to crawl out. The twins rose in a menacing fashion. He uttered a shrill yelp and ran.

“Isn't he heaven?” Lady Charles asked Roberta.

“There's the lift!” Colin ejaculated.

“It'll only be Mike t-taking a run down and up,” said Stephen. “I understand that Mike's playing with the lift is rather unpopular.”

“I bet it's the bum,” said Colin. “Has Baskett been warned? I mean he may just lavishly show him in.”

“If Baskett doesn't know a bailiff's man,” said Lord Charles warmly, “after having lived with us for fifteen years, he is a stupider fellow than I take him for.”

“There's the bell!” cried Lady Charles.

“It's all right,” said Henry. “It'll only be Robin's luggage.”

“Thank heaven! Robin darling, you'd like to see your room, wouldn't you? Frid, darling, show Robin her room. It's too tiny and absurd, darling, but you won't mind, will you? Actually it was meant for a hall, but Mike and Patch turned it into a sort of railway-station so we're delighted to have it made sane again. I really must dress myself but I can't resist waiting to hear the worst about the bum.”

“Here's Mike,” said Frid.

Mike came back, still hopping on one leg, and singing:

Hallelujah, I'm a bum!

Hallelujah, bum again!

Hallelujah, give us a hand up to…

“Shut up,” said Stephen and Colin. “What do you mean? Is he there?”

“Nope,” whispered Mike. “Only
her
luggage.”

“Don't say ‘her,' ” said Stephen.

Mike began to hop up and down in front of the twins singing:

Two, two, the lily-white boys,

clothed all in green, oh.

Colin took him by the shoulders and Stephen seized his heels. They swung him to and fro and flung him, screaming with pleasure on the sofa.

“Lily-white boys!” yelled Mike. “I bet she doesn't know which is which. Do you?” He looked engagingly at Roberta. “Do you—Robin?”

The twins turned to her, and raised their eyebrows. “Do you?” they asked.

“I do when you speak,” said Roberta.

“I hardly stammer at all, now,” said Stephen.

“I know, but your voices are different, Stephen. And even if you didn't speak I'd only have to look behind your ears.”

“Oh,” said Mike, “It's not fair. She knows the secret. Stephen's old mole. Old mole-dy Stephen doesn't wash behind his ears, yah, yah, yah!”

“Let's go to your room,” said Frid. “Mike's turning mad dog, and the scare seems to be over.”

Roberta liked her room which was in 26. As Lady Charles had told her it was really the entrance hall but heavy curtains had been hung across it making a passage, through which the others would have to go to reach the real passage and their bedrooms. Frid showed her the rest of 26 which was all bedrooms with Nanny Burnaby living in the ex-kitchen where she could make the cups of Ovaltine that she still forced the Lampreys to drink before they went to bed. Nanny was sitting by the electric stove which she had converted into a sort of bureau. Her hair had turned much greyer. Her face was netted over with lines as if, thought Roberta, each good or ill deed of the young Lampreys had left it sign on that one face alone. She had been playing patience and received Roberta exactly as if four days instead of four years had gone by since their last meeting.

“Nanny,” said Frid, “things are gloomy. We're up the spout again and there's liable to be a bum at any moment.”