‘Well,’ observed Ronald who, more than his host, had been responsible for the room’s deterioration, ‘time to turn in. I have a rendezvous with Lady Elinor. By the way, Charles,’ he went on, ‘have you given the servants instructions in anti-Elinor technique—told them only to admit visitors who can enter the house under their own steam, so to speak?’
‘Mildred thought it wisest, and I agree with her,’ said Mr. Ampleforth, ‘to tell the servants nothing at all. It might unsettle them, and we shall have hard work to keep them as it is.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Ronald. ‘Anyhow it’s no part of their duty to show the poor lady out. Charles, what were you going to say that wasn’t fit for ears polite when Mildred stopped you?’
Mr. Ampleforth reflected. ‘I wasn’t aware—’
‘Oh, yes, she nipped your smoking-room story in the bud. I asked “Who carries Lady Elinor out?” and you said “The undertaker’s men; she goes out with the corpse,” and you were going to say something else when you were called to order.’
‘Oh, I remember,’ said Mr. Ampleforth. ‘It was such a small point, I couldn’t imagine why Mildred objected. According to one story, she doesn’t go out with the corpse, she goes out in it.’
Ronald pondered. ‘Don’t see much difference, do you?’
‘I can’t honestly say I do.’
‘Women are odd creatures,’ Ronald said. ‘So long.’
The cat stood by the library door, miaowing. Its intention was perfectly plain. First it had wanted to go out; then it strolled up and down outside the window, demanding to come in; now it wanted to go out again. For the third time in half an hour Antony Fairfield rose from his comfortable chair to do its bidding. He opened the door gently—all his movements were gentle; but the cat scuttled ignominiously out, as though he had kicked it. Antony looked round. How could he defend himself from disturbance without curtailing the cat’s liberty of movement? He might leave the window and the door open, to give the animal freedom of exit and entrance; though he hated sitting in a room with the door open, he was prepared to make the sacrifice. But he couldn’t leave the window open because the rain would come in and spoil Mrs. Ampleforth’s beautiful silk cushions. Heavens, how it rained! Too bad for the farmers, thought Antony, whose mind was always busying itself with other people’s misfortunes. The crops had been looking so well as he drove in the sunshine from the station, and now this sudden storm would beat everything down. He arranged his chair so that he could see the window and not keep the cat waiting if she felt like paying him another visit. The pattering of the rain soothed him. Half an hour and they would be back—Maggie would be back. He tried to visualize their faces, all so well known to him: but the experiment was not successful. Maggie’s image kept ousting the others; it even appeared, somewhat grotesquely, on the top of Ronald’s well-tailored shoulders. They mustn’t find me asleep, thought Antony; I should look too middle-aged. So he picked up the newspaper from the floor and turned to the cross-word puzzle. ‘Nine points of the law’ in nine—ten letters. That was a very easy one: ‘Possession.’ Possession, thought Antony; I must put that down. But as he had no pencil and was too sleepy to get one, he repeated the word over and over again: Possession, Possession. It worked like a charm. He fell asleep and dreamed.
In his dream he was still in the library, but it was night and somehow his chair had got turned around so that he no longer faced the window, but he knew that the cat was there, asking to come in; only someone—Maggie—was trying to persuade him not to let it in. ‘It’s not a cat at all,’ she kept saying; ‘it’s a Possession. I can see its nine points, and they’re very sharp.’ But he knew that she was mistaken, and really meant nine lives, which all cats have: so he thrust her aside and ran to the window and opened it. It was too dark to see so he put out his hand where he thought the cat’s body would be, expecting to feel the warm fur; but what met his hand was not warm, nor was it fur. . . . He woke with a start to see the butler standing in front of him. The room was flooded with sunshine.
‘Oh, Rundle,’ he cried, ‘I was asleep. Are they back?’
The butler smiled.
‘No, sir, but I expect them every minute now.’
‘But you wanted me?’
‘Well, sir, there’s a young lady called, and I said the master was out, but she said could she speak to the gentleman in the library? She must have seen you, sir, as she passed the window.’
‘How very odd. Does she know me?’
‘That was what she said, sir. She talks rather funny.’
‘All right, I’ll come.’
Antony followed the butler down the long corridor. When they reached the tower their footsteps rang on the paved floor. A considerable pool of water, the result of the recent heavy shower, had formed on the flagstones near the doorway. The door stood open, letting in a flood of light; but of the caller there was no sign.
‘She was here a moment ago,’ the butler said.
‘Ah, I see her,’ cried Antony. ‘At least, isn’t that her reflected in the water? She must be leaning against the door-post.’
‘That’s right,’ said Rundle. ‘Mind the puddle, sir. Let me give you a hand. I’ll have this all cleared up before they come back.’
Five minutes later two cars, closely following each other, pulled up at the door, and the picnic party tumbled out.
‘Dear me, how wet!’ cried Mrs. Ampleforth, standing in the doorway. ‘What has happened, Rundle? Has there been a flood?’
‘It was much worse before you arrived, madam,’ said the butler, disappointed that his exertions with mop, floor-cloth, scrubbing-brush, and pail were being so scantily recognized. ‘You could have sailed a boat on it. Mr. Antony, he—’
‘Oh, has he arrived? Antony’s here, isn’t that splendid?’
‘Antony!’ they all shouted. ‘Come out! Come down! Where are you?’
‘I bet he’s asleep, the lazy devil,’ remarked Ronald.
‘No, sir,’ said the butler, at last able to make himself heard. ‘Mr. Antony’s in the drawing-room with a lady.’
Mrs. Ampleforth’s voice broke the silence that succeeded this announcement.
‘With a lady, Rundle? Are you sure?’
‘Well, madam, she’s hardly more than a girl.’
‘I always thought Antony was that sort of man,’ observed Ronald. ‘Maggie, you’d better—’
‘It’s too odd,’ interposed Mrs. Ampleforth hastily, ‘Who in the world can she be?’
‘I don’t see there’s anything odd in someone calling on us,’ said Mr. Ampleforth. ‘What’s her name, Rundle?’
‘She didn’t give a name, sir.’
‘That is rather extraordinary. Antony is so impulsive and kind-hearted. I hope—ah, here he is.’
Antony came towards them along the passage, smiling and waving his hands. When the welcoming and hand-shaking were over:
‘We were told you had a visitor,’ said Mrs. Ampleforth.
‘Yes,’ said Ronald. ‘I’m afraid we arrived at the wrong moment.’
Antony laughed and then looked puzzled. ‘Believe me, you didn’t,’ he said. ‘You almost saved my life. She speaks such a queer dialect when she speaks at all, and I had reached the end of my small talk. But she’s rather interesting. Do come along and see her: I left her in the library.’ They followed Antony down the passage. When they reached the door he said to Mrs. Ampleforth:
‘Shall I go in first? She may be shy at meeting so many people.’
He went in. A moment later they heard his voice raised in excitement.