‘You will pardon me, sir, for making free with my knuckle, I am sure, sir,’ said the glittering figure in the hall. ‘But you are impatiently awaited, sir, and no wonder if I may say so.’
‘If you
His remark meant nothing at all but it was the only thing he could think of to say.
‘And now, sir,’ continued the butler, lifting his voice into a higher register which gave quite a new expression to his face – ‘if you will be so gracious as to follow me, I will lead the way to madam.’
He moved to one side and cried out into the darkness.
‘Forward, gentlemen! if you please,’ and turning smartly on his heel he began to lead Bellgrove through the hall and down a number of short passageways until a wider space, at the foot of a flight of stairs, brought him and his followers to a halt.
‘I have no doubt, sir,’ the butler said, inclining himself reverentially as he spoke – and to Bellgrove’s way of thinking the man was speaking overmuch – ‘I have no doubt, sir, that you are familiar with the customary procedure.’
‘Of course, my man. Of course,’ said Bellgrove. ‘What is it?’
‘O sir!’ said the butler. ‘You are very humorous,’ and he began to titter – an unpleasant sound to come from the top of a cracker.
‘There are many “procedures”, my man. Which one were you referring to?’
‘To the one, sir, that pertains to the order in which the guests are announced – by name, of course, as they file through the doorway of the salon. It is all very cut and dried, sir.’
‘What
‘And so it is, sir, in all respects, save that it is customary for the headmaster, which would be you, sir, to bring up the rear.’
‘The rear?’
‘Quite so sir. As a kind of shepherd, I suppose sir, driving his flock before him, as it were.’
There was a short silence during which Bellgrove began to realize that to be the last to present himself to his hostess, he would be the first to hold any kind of conversation with her.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘The tradition must, of course, remain inviolate. Ridiculous as it seems in the face of it, I shall, as you put it, bring up the rear. Meanwhile, it is getting late. There is no time to sort out the staff into age-groups, and so on. None of them are chickens. Come along now, gentlemen, come along; and if you will be so kind as to stop combing your hair before the door is opened, Cutflower, I would, as one who is responsible for his staff, be grateful. Thank you.’
Just then, the door which faced the staircase opened and a long rectangle of gold light fell across a section of the embattled masters. Their gowns flamed. Their faces shone like spectres. Turning almost simultaneously after a few minutes of dazzling blankness they shuffled into the surrounding shadow. Around the corner of the open door through which the light was pouring a large face peered out at them.
‘Name?’ it whispered thickly. An arm crept around the door and drew the nearest figure forwards and into the light by a fistful of wine-red linen.
‘Name?’ it whispered again.
‘The name is Cutflower,
The crude footman bent down and brought his lip to Cutflower’s ear. ‘I … will … kill … you …’ he whispered, but in such an abstracted way as to give Cutflower quite a turn. It was as though the fellow was passing on a scrap of inside information – casually (like a spy) but in confidence. Before Cutflower had recovered he found himself pushed forward, and he was suddenly alone in the long room. Alone, except for a line of servants along the right-hand wall, and away ahead of him, his host and hostess, very still, very upright in the glow of many candles.
Had Bellgrove worked out beforehand the order in which to have his staff announced, it is unlikely that he would have hit upon so happy an idea as that of choosing Cutflower from his pack, and leading off, as it were, with a card so lacking in the solid virtues.
But
