A Night of Errors Read Free Page A

independence? Mr Greengrave did not know. Such ignorance about a parishioner disturbed him. Could the girl, he wondered, be drawn out? Perhaps now was a favourable time to gain her confidence, since her foster-brother was abroad and the atmosphere at Sherris Hall something less oppressive as a result.
    Not, Mr Greengrave reflected, that Sir Oliver could be called a dominant personality. Weak, vain, sensitive, easily depressed: the master of Sherris was not one to a brief view of whom distance lent any enchantment. Yet (and this the confidential annals of the parish abundantly attested) he was markedly attractive to women. How frequently do concrete human relationships run counter to expectation and rule! Mr Greengrave, to whom musings of this sort came more easily than that blending of tea-table talk with faint overtones of spiritual advice which is the parish priest’s task, turned left and took a procrastinating route round the lily pond.
    ‘One wonders,’ said Lucy, setting down the jugs, ‘if something might be done about Swindle.’
    ‘Done, dear?’
    ‘He was actually asleep. It’s like living at Dingley Dell with the Fat Boy.’
    ‘But Swindle is extremely thin.’
    ‘He certainly has a lean and hungry look. And possibly Dickens was wrong. If fat men sleep at night there may be an inference that it is thin ones who are inclined to sleep during the day. But it would be curious if Shakespeare threw any light on Swindle.’
    Lady Dromio put down the teapot. ‘Shakespeare?’ she said. ‘Well, that reminds me. I seem to have mislaid my novel. Such an interesting and unusual novel, Lucy, about a lot of people in a big hotel. Do you know, I think I must have left it in the drawing-room?’
    ‘It is no matter, mama. For Mr Greengrave is about to call. Were he a resolute man he would be with us now. Look beyond the lily pond.’
    ‘Well, that is very nice. He will bring us a breath of the great world.’
    ‘That doubtless.’
    Lady Dromio patted her well-ordered hair. ‘But it will mean more sandwiches, dear. And surely there must be another cake?’
    Lucy rose. ‘This time,’ she said with resolution, ‘I shall waken Swindle.’
    ‘I think it will be better to wait until Oliver gets home.’
    ‘But that may be months. We can’t have Swindle turned into a Rip van Winkle.’
    ‘No, dear – certainly not. I merely mean that about things in general we had better wait until Oliver gets home.’
    ‘Which, I hope, will be soon.’ Mr Greengrave, who usually made his eventual entry with a plunge, spoke heartily as he took Lady Dromio’s hand. ‘It will be a pleasure to hear him read the lessons again.’
    Lady Dromio produced a welcoming smile and a non-committal noise. Very possibly she doubted the propriety of describing as a pleasure anything that transacted itself within the walls of a church. ‘Lucy,’ she said, ‘if you could just ask Cook–’
    ‘Yes, mama. Sandwiches and a caraway cake and a cup and saucer.’
    Lady Dromio watched her adopted daughter trail across the lawn once more. ‘Dear, dutiful girl,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, indeed.’ But because this had been insincere Mr Greengrave in penance resolutely added: ‘It is to be hoped that she will marry.’
    ‘So it is!’ Lady Dromio spoke as if concurring in a novel and surprising thought. ‘But it is to be feared that she will not.’
    It occurred to Mr Greengrave that sometimes, and with an odd effect, the elder lady fell into the clipped and mannered speech of the younger. He felt that this pointed to Lucy’s possessing the stronger will. Of course a stranger would take Lady Dromio to possess no will at all – but that would be a mistake. Aloud Mr Greengrave conventionally said: ‘But so attractive a girl – and so advantageously placed in the county.’
    Lady Dromio received this old-world civility with a bow and at the same time turned in her garden chair. Perhaps she was looking for Lucy and the sandwiches, but the motion enabled