At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [30]
I had not thought of Truscott for years. At the university he had been billed for a great career: prime minister: lord chancellor: famous poet: it was never finally decided which role he would most suitably ornament; perhaps all three. Now I remembered being told by someone or other that Widmerpool, before himself leaving the firm, had contrived to have Truscott ejected from Donners-Brebner. The General had certainly brought a crisp, military appraisal to the situation. I was wondering what to answer—since I saw no way of giving a simple reply to a subject so complicated as Widmerpool’s character—when the maid reappeared to announce another guest.
‘Lady Frederica Budd.’
The niece whose condition of unassailable rectitude had given such satisfaction to Alfred Tolland, and at the same time caused some unfriendly amusement to Molly Jeavons, was shown into the room. This crony of Mrs. Conyers, widow with several children and lady-in-waiting, was a handsome woman in her thirties. She was dressed in a manner to be described as impregnable, like a long, neat, up-to-date battle-cruiser. You felt that her clothes were certainly removed when she retired for the night, but that no intermediate adjustment, however minor, was ever required, or would, indeed, be practicable. This was the eldest of the Tolland sisters, formed physically in much the same mould as Blanche and Priscilla; though I could see no resemblance between her and her brothers as I remembered them. She kissed Mrs. Conyers. The General greeted her warmly, though with a touch of irony in his manner. I was introduced. Lady Frederica looked at me carefully, rather as if she were engaged upon an army inspection: a glance not unfriendly, but extensively searching. I could see at once that she and Molly Jeavons would not be a couple easily to agree. Then she turned towards the General.
‘How are you feeling after your fall?’ she asked.
‘A bit stiff. A bit stiff. Took a fearful toss. Nearly broke my neck. And you, Frederica?’
‘Oh, I’ve been rather well,’ she said. ‘Christmas was spoiled by two of the children developing measles. But they have recovered now. All very exhausting while it lasted.’
‘I spent Christmas Day cleaning out the kennels,’ said the General. ‘Went to Early Service. Then I got into my oldest clothes and had a thorough go at them. Had luncheon late and a good sleep after. Read a book all the evening. One of the best Christmas Days I’ve ever had.’
Frederica Tolland did not seem gready interested by this account of the General’s Christmas activities. She turned from him to Mrs. Conyers, as if she hoped for something more congenial.
‘What have you been doing, Bertha?’ she asked.
‘I went to the sales yesterday,’ said Mrs. Conyers, speaking as if that were a somewhat disagreeable duty that had been long on her mind.
‘Were you nearly trampled to death?’
‘I came away with a hat.’
‘I went earlier in the week,’ said Frederica. ‘Looking for a cheap black dress, as a matter of fact. So many royalties nearing their century, we’re bound to be in mourning again soon.’
‘Have they been working you hard?’ asked the General.
I had the impression that he might be a little jealous of Frederica, who, for her part, was evidently determined that he should not be allowed to take himself too seriously. There was just a touch of sharpness in their interchanges.