Scoop-Evelyn-Waugh [65]
Nurse Granger was always first down in the drawing-room. Dinner was supposed to be at quarter-past eight, and for fifteen years she had been on time. She was sitting there, stitching a wool mat of modernistic design, when Mrs. Boot first entered. When Mrs. Boot had given her order to James, she smiled at her and said, "How is your patient tonight, nurse?" and Nurse Granger answered, as she had answered nightly for fifteen years, "A little low-spirited." "Yes," said Mrs. Boot, "she gets low-spirited in the evenings." The two women sat in silence, Nurse Granger snipping and tugging at the magenta wool; Mrs. Boot reading a gardening magazine to which she subscribed. It was not until Lady Trilby entered the room that she expressed her forebodings. "The boys are late," said Lady Trilby. "Aunt Anne," said Mrs. Boot gravely, "William's friend has arrived in a most peculiar condition." "I know. I watched him come up the drive. Reelin' all over the shop." "He let himself in and went straight off to sleep in the hall." "Best thing for him." "You mean...You don't think he could have been...?" "The man was squiffy," said Aunt Anne. "It was written all over him." Nurse Granger uttered a knowing little cluck of disapproval. "It's lucky Priscilla isn't here. What had we better do?" "The boys will see to him." "Here is Theodore. I will ask him at once. Theodore, William's friend from London has arrived and Aunt Anne and I very much fear that he has taken too much." "Has he, by Jove;" said Uncle Theodore rather enviously. "Now you mention it, I shouldn't be at all surprised. I talked to the fellow out of my window. He was pounding the front door fit to knock it in." "What ought we to do?" "Oh, he'll sober up," said Uncle Theodore from deep experience. Uncle Roderick joined them. "I say Rod, what d'you think? That journalist fellow of William's � he's sozzled." "Disgusting. Is he fit to come into dinner?" "We'd better keep an eye on him to see he doesn't get any more." "Yes. I'll tell James." Uncle Bernard joined the family circle. "Good evening, good evening," he said in his courtly fashion. "I'm nearly the last I see." "Bernard we have something to tell you." "And I have something to tell you. I was sitting in the library not two minutes ago when a dirty little man came prowling in � without any shoes on." "Was he tipsy?" "I daresay...now you mention it, I think he was." "That's William's friend." "Well he should be taken care of. Where is William?" William was playing dominoes with Nannie Bloggs. It was this custom of playing dominoes with her from six till seven every evening which had prevented him from meeting Mr. Salter at the station. On this particular evening the game had been prolonged far beyond its usual limit. Three times he had attempted to leave, but the old woman was inflexible. "Just you stay where you sit," she said. "You always were a headstrong, selfish boy, worse than your uncle. Gallivanting about all over Africa with a lot of heathens, and now you are home you don't want to spend a few minutes with your old Nannie." "But, Nannie, I've got a guest arriving." "Guest. Time enough for him. It's not you he's after I'll be bound. It's my pretty Priscilla. You leave them be...I'll make it half a sovereign this time." Not until the gong sounded for dinner would she let him go. "Wash your hands," she said, "and brush your hair nicely. I don't know what your mother will say at you, going down to dinner in your flannels. And mind you bring Priscilla's young man up afterwards and we'll have a nice game of cards. It's thirty-three shillings you owe me."
Mr. Salter had no opportunity of talking business at dinner. He sat between Mrs. Boot and Lady Trilby; never an exuberant man, he now felt subdued almost to extinction and took his place glumly between the two formidable ladies; he might feel a little stronger, he hoped, after a glass of wine. James moved heavily round the table with the decanters; claret for the ladies, William and Uncle Bernard, whisky and water for Uncle Theodore, medicated cider for Uncle Roderick. "Water, sir?" said a voice in Mr. Salter's ear. "Well, I think perhaps I would sooner..." A clear and chilling cascade fell into his tumbler and James returned to the sideboard. William, noticing a little shudder pass over his guest, leaned forward across the table. "I say, Salter, haven't they given you anything to drink?" "Well, as matter of fact..." Mrs. Boot frowned at her son