The Visitors by Sally Beauman Page A

his wife to execute the coup de grâce.
    ‘You must decide, Myrtle,’ Helen said. ‘But of course, if you and Lucy were to take the train, we could travel up together. Why, Frances and Lucy could even share a sleeper.’
    Poor Miss Mack! She was now in a state of consternation. I could see which way she was leaning; the mention of giant rats had made the train journey a near-certainty. I had no doubt that it was Frances who had engineered this outcome, and I was touched by her wily determination. But I was beginning to feel tender towards Miss Mack and knew the best solution would be to let her down gently. I suggested we go and inspect the steamboats minutely, and then decide.
    ‘Oh, Lucy!’ Miss Mack burst out, when we’d returned to our rooms. ‘I was in such a fret – but I feel much better now. How sensible you are! We’ll inspect those darn boats first thing tomorrow. I shall pay close attention to the plumbing systems. Then I’ll know what to do.’
    ‘Of course you will,’ I replied cautiously: that ganging-up had made me anxious. I was experiencing a seeping sense of disloyalty.
    ‘What a dear, good child you are, Lucy,’ she said, and, for the first time since I’d known her, she dropped a kiss on my forehead and gathered me in her arms. I returned the hug awkwardly. No one had embraced me since my mother died. I was unsure how to respond. Out of practice, I suppose.

8
    ‘The train?’ Frances asked, on my return from the steamboat inspection the next morning.
    ‘The train,’ I replied.
    ‘That is what you wanted?’
    ‘I wouldn’t have minded any of the alternatives.’
    ‘Liar! You were angling for the train as much as I was, Lucy Payne.’
    ‘No I wasn’t. I stayed neutral.’
    ‘Not true! And don’t look so goody-goody. You don’t fool me. ’
    I wondered who was right about my character, Frances or I. Linking her arm in mine, she marched me up the great staircase at Shepheard’s: it was time for my daily dancing practice. Thanks to Frances, I’d now learned the five basic ballet positions. I hadn’t mastered them, and couldn’t claim to perform them well, but I had learned the rudiments. We were now ready for the final push: the day of Madame Masha’s test was fast approaching.
    We’d been unable to use Madame’s studio at Shepheard’s to practise – that was out of bounds, but we’d needed a barre, so had improvised. We’d ended up in the huge mausoleum of a bathroom next to my bedroom; there, the daylight was dimmed and filtered through windows of pearly glass, which gave our exercises a ghostly air. But there was a long towel rail of about the right height, and a door we could lock, so there was no danger of any outsider glimpsing my ugly, patchy hair or witnessing my clumsiness and ineptitude. At first, I had practised with Frances alone. Then, on the third day, we’d been joined by Lady Rose, the little girl whom I’d seen at Madame’s class – she claimed she needed extra practice too. That morning, I discovered, we were to be joined by Rose again, and also by her infant brother Peter, otherwise known as Viscount Hurst, aged three. This did not please me – and neither did the fact that Frances had kept this development a secret.
    ‘Why do we have to have them ?’ I complained, drawing Frances aside and into my bedroom, leaving Rose and Peter at play in the bathroom beyond. ‘It’s bad enough having that stupid, stuck-up Rose. Now we’re landed with a three-year-old cry-baby witha ridiculous title as well.’
    ‘Oh, come on. Peter can’t help the title. He’s not a cry-baby, he’s cute. And Rose isn’t stupid or stuck-up – when you know her better, you’ll like her. Besides, it’s not their fault, it’s their mother’s: she insisted on bringing them out to Egypt, and now they’re in Cairo she’s always dumping them on someone – usually Eve.’
    ‘Rubbish. They must have a nanny or something.’
    ‘They did. But she was a snoop, so she got