Overture to Death

iii

Meanwhile with the enthusiasm that all Jernighams brought to a new project Jocelyn and his son began to cast the play. Almost a century ago there had been what Eleanor, when cornered, called an “incident” in the family history. The Mrs. Jernigham of that time was a plain silly woman and barren into the bargain. Her Jocelyn, the fourth of that name, had lived openly with a very beautiful and accomplished actress and had succeeded in getting the world to pretend that his son by her was his lawful scion, and had jockeyed his wife into bringing the boy up as her own. By this piece of effrontery he brought to Pen Cuckoo a dram of mummery, and ever since those days most of the Jernighams had had a passion for theatricals. It was as if the lovely actress had touched up the family portraits with a stick of rouge. Jocelyn and Henry had both played in the O.U.D.S. They both had the trick of moving about a stage as if they grew out of the boards, and they both instinctively bridged that colossal gap between the stage and the front row of the stalls. Jocelyn thought himself a better actor than he was, but Henry did not realise how good he might be. Even Miss Prentice, a Jernigham, as the squire had pointed out, on her mother’s side, had not escaped that dram of player’s blood. Although she knew nothing about theatre, mistrusted and disliked the very notion of the stage as a career for gentle people, and had no sort of judgment for the merit of a play, yet in amateur theatricals she was surprisingly composed and perfectly audible, and she loved acting. She knew now that Idris Campanula expected her to refuse to take part in Shop Windows, and more than half her inclination was so to refuse. “What,” she thought. “To have my own play put aside for something chosen by that woman! To have to look on while they parcel out the parts!” But even as she pondered on the words with which she would offer her resignation, she pictured Lady Appleby of Moorton Grange accepting the part that Jocelyn said was so good. And what was more, the rector would think Eleanor herself uncharitable. That decided her. She waited for a pause in the chatter round Jocelyn, and then she turned to the rector.

“May I say just one little word?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Mr. Copeland. “Please, everybody. Order!”

“It’s only this,” said Miss Prentice, avoiding the eye of Miss Campanula. “I do hope nobody will think I am going to be disappointed or hurt about my little play. I expect it is rather out-of-date, and I am only too pleased to think that you have found one that is more suitable. If there is anything that I can do to help, I shall be only too glad. Of course.”

She received, and revelled in, the rector’s beaming smile, and met Idris Campanula’s glare with a smile of her own. Then she saw Selia Ross watching her out of the corners of her eyes and suddenly she knew that Selia Ross understood her.

“That’s perfectly splendid,” exclaimed Mr. Copeland. “I think it is no more than we expected of Miss Prentice’s generosity, but we are none the less grateful.” And he added confusedly, “A very graceful gesture.”

Miss Prentice preened and Miss Campanula glowered. The others, vaguely aware that something was expected of them, made small appreciative noises.

“Now, how about casting the play?” said Dr. Templett.

iv

There was no doubt that the play had been well chosen. With the exception of one character, it practically cast itself. The squire was to play the General; Miss Prentice, the Duchess; Miss Campanula, of whom everybody felt extremely frightened, was cast for Mrs. Arbuthnot, a good character part. Miss Campanula, when offered this part, replied ambiguously:

“Who knows?” she asked darkly. “Obviously, it is not for me to say.”

“But you will do it, Idris?” murmured Miss Prentice.

“I have but one comment,” rejoined Miss Campanula. “Wait and see.” She laughed shortly, and the rector, in a hurry, wrote her name down opposite the part. Dinah and Henry were given the two young lovers, and Dr. Templett said he would undertake the French Ambassador. He began to read some of the lines in violently broken English. There remained the part of Hélène, a mysterious lady who had lost her memory, and who turned up in the middle of the first act at a country house-party.

“Obviously, Selia,” said Dr. Templett, “you must be Hélène.”

“No, no,” said Mrs. Ross, “that isn’t a bit what I meant. Now do be quiet, Billy, or they’ll all think I came here with an ulterior motive.”

With the possible exception of the squire, that was precisely what they all did think, but not even Miss Campanula had the courage to say so. Having accepted Mrs. Ross’s play they could do nothing but offer her the part, which, as far as lines went, was not a long one. Perhaps only Dinah realised quite how good Hélène was. Mrs. Ross protested and demurred.

“If you are quite sure you want me,” she said, and looked sideways at the squire. Jocelyn, who had glanced through the play and found that the General had a love-scene with Hélène, said heartily that they wanted her very much indeed. Henry and Dinah, conscious of their own love-scenes, agreed, and the rector formally asked Mrs. Ross if she would take the part. She accepted with the prettiest air in the world. Miss Prentice managed to maintain her gentle smile and Miss Campanula’s behaviour merely became a degree more darkly ominous. The rector put on his glasses and read his notes.

“To sum up,” he said loudly. “We propose to do this play in the Parish Hall on Saturday 27th, three weeks from to-night. The proceeds are to be devoted to the piano-fund and the balance of the sum needed will be made up most generously by Mr. Jocelyn Jernigham. The committee and members of the Y.P.F.C. will organise the sale of tickets and will make themselves responsible for the — what is the correct expression, Dinah?”

“The front of the house, Daddy.”

“For the front of the house, yes. Do you think we can leave these affairs to your young folk, Miss Campanula? I know you can answer for them.”

“My dear man,” said Miss Campanula, “I can’t answer for the behaviour of thirty village louts and maidens, but they usually do what I tell them to. Ha!”

Everybody laughed sycophantly.

“My friend,” added Miss Campanula, with a ghastly smile, “my friend Miss Prentice is president. No doubt, if they pay no attention to me, they will do anything in the world for her.”

“Dear Idris!” murmured Miss Prentice.

“Who’s going to produce the play?” asked Henry. “I think Dinah ought to. She’s a professional.”

“Hear, hear!” said Dr. Templett, Selia Ross and the squire. Miss Prentice added rather a tepid little, “Of course, yes.” Miss Campanula said nothing. Dinah gri

“I’ll get all your sides typed by then,” she explained. “I’m sure Gladys Wright will do them, because she’s learning and wants experience. I’ll give her a proper part so that she gets the cues right. We’ll have a reading and if there’s time I’ll set positions for the first act.”

“Dear me,” said Miss Prentice, “this sounds very alarming. I’m afraid, Dinah dear, that you will find us all very amateurish.”

“Oh, no!” cried Dinah gaily. “I know it’s going to be marvellous.” She looked uncertainly at her father and added, “I should like to say, thank you all very much for asking me to produce. I do hope I’ll manage it all right.”

“Well, you know a dashed sight more about it than any of us,” said Selia Ross bluntly.