The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [49]
The invitations were timed for eight o’clock. She wondered whether that were too early—she had heard tales of parties that began very late—but as the afternoon dragged on unendurably, and rich twilight enveloped the house, Bella became glad that she had set a short term on this exhausting wait.
At six she went up to dress. The hairdresser was there with a bag full of tongs and combs. He brushed and coiled her hair and whiffed it up and generally manipulated it until it became orderly and formal and apparently far more copious. She put on all her jewellery and, standing before the cheval glass in her room, could not forbear a gasp of surprise. Then she limped downstairs.
The house looked magnificent in the candlelight. The band was there, the twelve hired footmen, Riley in knee breeches and black silk stockings.
It struck eight. Bella waited. Nobody came.
She sat down on a gilt chair at the head of the stairs, looked steadily before her with her blank, blue eyes. In the hall, in the cloakroom, in the supper room, the hired footmen looked at one another with knowing winks. “What does the old girl expect? No one’ll have finished dinner before ten.”
The linkmen on the steps stamped and chafed their hands.
At half past twelve Bella rose from her chair. Her face gave no indication of what she was thinking.
“Riley, I think I will have some supper. I am not feeling altogether well.”
She hobbled slowly to the dining room.
“Give me a stuffed quail and a glass of wine. Tell the band to start playing.”
The Blue Danube waltz flooded the house. Bella smiled approval and swayed her head a little to the rhythm.
“Riley, I am really quite hungry. I’ve had nothing all day. Give me another quail and some more champagne.”
Alone among the candles and the hired footmen, Riley served his mistress with an immense supper. She enjoyed every mouthful.
Presently she rose. “I am afraid there must be some mistake. No one seems to be coming to the ball. It is very disappointing after all our trouble. You may tell the band to go home.”
But just as she was leaving the dining room there was a stir in the hall. Guests were arriving. With wild resolution Bella swung herself up the stairs. She must get to the top before the guests were announced. One hand on the banister, one on her stick, pounding heart, two steps at a time. At last she reached the landing and turned to face the company. There was a mist before her eyes and a singing in her ears. She breathed with effort, but dimly she saw four figures advancing and saw Riley meet them and heard him announce:
“Lord and Lady Mockstock, Sir Samuel and Lady Gordon.”
Suddenly the daze in which she had been moving cleared. Here on the stairs were the two women she had not invited—Lady Mockstock the draper’s daughter, Lady Gordon the American.
She drew herself up and fixed them with her blank, blue eyes.
“I had not expected this honour,” she said. “Please forgive me if I am unable to entertain you.”
The Mockstocks and the Gordons stood aghast; saw the mad blue eyes of their hostess, her crimson dress; the ballroom beyond, looking immense in its emptiness; heard the dance music echoing through the empty house. The air was charged with the scent of chrysanthemums. And then the drama and unreality of the scene were dispelled. Miss Fleace suddenly sat down, and holding out her hands to her butler, said, “I don’t quite know what’s happening.”
He and two of the hired footmen carried the old lady to a sofa. She spoke only once more. Her mind was still on the same subject.