"I'm not joking. I'm very serious."
"No, you're not. I can tell by your eyes. You're playing with me all the time, just as if I was a silly little girl."
"Alice-in-Wonderland. That was a good idea of mine. Have you bought your sash and your hair-ribbon yet?"
"I warn you. You'll get the surprise of your life when you do see me in my fancy dress."
"I'm sure I shall. Get on with your peach and don't talk with your mouth full. I've got a lot of letters to write after dinner." He did not wait for me to finish. He got up and strolled about the room, and asked Frith to bring the coffee in the library. I sat still, sullenly, being as slow as I could, hoping to keep things back and irritate him, but Frith took no notice of me and my peach, he brought the coffee at once and Maxim went off to the library by himself.
When I had finished I went upstairs to the minstrel's gallery to have a look at the pictures. I knew them well of course by now, but had never studied them with a view to reproducing one of them as a fancy dress. Mrs. Danvers was right of course. What an idiot I had been not to think of it before. I always loved the girl in white, with a hat in her hand. It was a Raeburn, and the portrait was of Caroline de Winter, a sister of Maxim's great-great grandfather. She married a great Whig politician, and was a famous London beauty for many years, but this portrait was painted before that, when she was still unmarried. The white dress should be easy to copy. Those puffed sleeves, the flounce, and the little bodice. The hat might be rather difficult, and I should have to wear a wig. My straight hair would never curl in that way. Perhaps that Voce place in London that Mrs. Danvers had told me about would do the whole thing. I would send them a sketch of the portrait and tell them to copy it faithfully, sending my measurements.
What a relief it was to have decided at last! Quite a weight off my mind. I began almost to look forward to the ball. Perhaps I should enjoy it after all, almost as much as little Clarice.
I wrote to the shop in the morning, enclosing a sketch of the portrait, and I had a very favorable reply, full of honor at my esteemed order, and saying the work would be put in hand right away, and they would manage the wig as well.
Clarice could hardly contain herself for excitement, and I, too, began to get party fever as the great day approached. Giles and Beatrice were coming for the night, but nobody else, thank heaven, although a lot of people were expected to dinner first. I had imagined we should have to hold a large house-party for the occasion, but Maxim decided against it. "Having the dance alone is quite enough effort," he said; and I wondered whether he did it for my sake alone, or whether a large crowd of people really bored him as he said. I had heard so much of the Manderley parties in the old days, with people sleeping in bathrooms and on sofas because of the squash. And here we were alone in the vast house, with only Beatrice and Giles to count as guests.
The house began to wear a new, expectant air. Men came to lay the floor for dancing in the great hall, and in the drawing room some of the furniture was moved so that the long buffet tables could be placed against the wall. Lights were put up on the terrace, and in the rose garden too, wherever one walked there would be some sign of preparation for the ball. Workmen from the estate were everywhere, and Frank came to lunch nearly every day. The servants talked of nothing else, and Frith stalked about as though the whole of the evening would depend on him alone. Robert rather lost his head, and kept forgetting things, napkins at lunch, and handing vegetables. He wore a harassed expression, like someone who has got to catch a train. The dogs were miserable. Jasper trailed about the hall with his tail between his legs, and nipped every workman on sight. He used to stand on the terrace, barking idiotically, and then dash madly to one corner of the lawn and eat grass in a sort of frenzy. Mrs. Danvers never obtruded herself, but I was aware of her continually. It was her voice I heard in the drawing room when they came to put the tables, it was she who gave directions for the laying of the floor in the hall. Whenever I came upon the scene she had always just disappeared; I would catch a glimpse of her skirt brushing the door, or hear the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. I was a lay figure, no use to man or beast. I used to stand about doing nothing except get in the way. "Excuse me, Madam," I would hear a man say, just behind me, and he would pass, with a smile of apology, carrying two chairs on his back, his face dripping with perspiration.
"I'm awfully sorry," I would say, getting quickly to one side, and then as a cover to my idleness, "Can I help you? What about putting those chairs in the library?" The man would look bewildered. "Mrs. Danvers' orders, Madam, was that we were to take the chairs round to the back, to be out of the way."
"Oh," I said, "yes, of course. How silly of me. Take them round to the back, as she said." And I would walk quickly away murmuring something about finding a piece of paper and a pencil, in a vain attempt to delude the man into thinking I was busy, while he went on across the hall, looking rather astonished, and I would feel I had not deceived him for a moment.
The great day dawned misty and overcast, but the glass was high and we had no fears. The mist was a good sign. It cleared about eleven, as Maxim had foretold, and we had a glorious still summer's day without a cloud in the blue sky. All the morning the gardeners were bringing flowers into the house, the last of the white lilac, and great lupins and delphiniums, five foot high, roses in hundreds, and every sort of lily.
Mrs. Danvers showed herself at last; quietly, calmly, she told the gardeners where to put the flowers, and she herself arranged them, stacking the vases with quick, deft fingers. I watched her in fascination, the way she did vase after vase, carrying them herself through the flower room to the drawing room and the various corners of the house, massing them in just the right numbers and profusion, putting color where color was needed, leaving the walls bare where severity paid.
Maxim and I had lunch with Frank at his bachelor establishment next door to the office to be out of the way. We were all three in the rather hearty, cheerful humor of people after a funeral. We made pointless jokes about nothing at all, our minds eternally on the thought of the next few hours. I felt very much the same as I did the morning I was married. The same stifled feeling that I had gone too far now to turn back.
The evening had got to be endured. Thank heaven Messrs Voce had sent my dress in time. It looked perfect, in its folds of tissue paper. And the wig was a triumph. I had tried it on after breakfast, and was amazed at the transformation. I looked quite attractive, quite different altogether. Not me at all. Someone much more interesting, more vivid and alive. Maxim and Frank kept asking me about my costume.
"You won't know me," I told them, "you will both get the shock of your lives."
"You are not going to dress up as a clown, are you?" said Maxim gloomily. "No frightful attempt to be funny?"
"No, nothing like that," I said, full of importance.
"I wish you had kept to Alice-in-Wonderland," he said.
"Or Joan of Arc with your hair," said Frank shyly.
"I never thought of that," I said blankly, and Frank went rather pink. "I'm sure we shall like whatever you wear," he said in his most pompous Frank-ish voice.
"Don't encourage her, Frank," said Maxim. "She's so full of her precious disguise already there's no holding her. Bee will put you in your place, that's one comfort. She'll soon tell you if she doesn't like your dress. Dear old Bee always looks just wrong on these occasions, bless her. I remember her once as Madame Pompadour and she tripped up going in to supper and her wig came adrift. 'I can't stand this damned thing,' she said, in that blunt voice of hers, and chucked it on a chair and went through the rest of the evening with her own cropped hair. You can imagine what it looked like, against a pale blue satin crinoline, or whatever the dress was. Poor Giles did not cope that year. He came as a cook, and sat about in the bar all night looking perfectly miserable. I think he felt Bee had let him down."
"No, it wasn't that," said Frank, "he'd lost his front teeth trying out a new mare, don't you remember, and he was so shy about it he wou
ldn't open his mouth."
"Oh, was that it? Poor Giles. He generally enjoys dressing-up."
"Beatrice says he loves playing charades," I said. "She told me they always have charades at Christmas."
"I know," said Maxim, "that's why I've never spent Christmas with her."
"Have some more asparagus, Mrs. de Winter, and another potato?"
"No, really, Frank, I'm not hungry, thank you."
"Nerves," said Maxim, shaking his head. "Never mind, this time tomorrow it will all be over."
"I sincerely hope so," said Frank seriously. "I was going to give orders that all cars should stand by for five a.m."
I began to laugh weakly, the tears coming into my eyes. "Oh dear," I said, "let's send wires to everybody not to come."
"Come on, be brave and face it," said Maxim. "We need not give another one for years. Frank, I have an uneasy feeling we ought to be going up to the house. What do you think?"
Frank agreed, and I followed them unwillingly, reluctant to leave the cramped, rather uncomfortable little dining room that was so typical of Frank's bachelor establishment, and which seemed to me today the embodiment of peace and quietude. When we came to the house we found that the band had arrived, and were standing about in the hall rather pink in the face and self-conscious, while Frith, more important than ever, offered refreshments. The band were to be our guests for the night, and after we had welcomed them and exchanged a few slightly obvious jokes proper to the occasion, the band were borne off to their quarters to be followed by a tour of the grounds.
The afternoon dragged, like the last hour before a journey when one is packed up and keyed to departure, and I wandered from room to room almost as lost as Jasper, who trailed reproachfully at my heels.
There was nothing I could do to help, and it would have been wiser on my part to have kept clear of the house altogether and taken the dog and myself for a long walk. By the time I decided upon this it was too late, Maxim and Frank were demanding tea, and when tea was over Beatrice and Giles arrived. The evening had come upon us all too soon.
"This is like old times," said Beatrice, kissing Maxim, and looking about her. "Congratulations to you for remembering every detail. The flowers are exquisite," she added, turning to me. "Did you do them?"
"No," I said, rather ashamed, "Mrs. Danvers is responsible for everything."
"Oh. Well, after all..." Beatrice did not finish her sentence, she accepted a light for her cigarette from Frank, and once it was lit she appeared to have forgotten what she was going to say.
"Have you got Mitchell's to do the catering as usual?" asked Giles.
"Yes," said Maxim. "I don't think anything has been altered, has it, Frank? We had all the records down at the office. Nothing has been forgotten, and I don't think we have left anyone out."
"What a relief to find only ourselves," said Beatrice. "I remember once arriving about this time, and there were about twenty-five people in the place already. All going to stop the night."
"What's everyone going to wear? I suppose Maxim, as always, refuses to play?"
"As always," said Maxim.
"Such a mistake I think. The whole thing would go with much more swing if you did."
"Have you ever known a ball at Manderley not to go with a swing?"
"No, my dear boy, the organization is too good. But I do think the host ought to give the lead himself."
"I think it's quite enough if the hostess makes the effort," said Maxim. "Why should I make myself hot and uncomfortable and a damn fool into the bargain?"
"Oh, but that's absurd. There's no need to look a fool. With your appearance, my dear Maxim, you could get away with any costume. You don't have to worry about your figure like poor Giles."
"What is Giles going to wear tonight?" I asked, "or is it a dead secret?"
"No, rather not," beamed Giles; "as a matter-of-fact it's a pretty good effort. I got our local tailor to rig it up. I'm coming as an Arabian sheik."
"Good God," said Maxim.
"It's not at all bad," said Beatrice warmly. "He stains his face of course, and leaves off his glasses. The head-dress is authentic. We borrowed it off a friend who used to live in the East, and the rest the tailor copied from some paper. Giles looks very well in it."
"What are you going to be, Mrs. Lacy?" said Frank.
"Oh, I'm afraid I haven't coped much," said Beatrice, "I've got some sort of Eastern getup to go with Giles, but I don't pretend it's genuine. Strings of beads, you know, and a veil over my face."
"It sounds very nice," I said politely.
"Oh, it's not bad. Comfortable to wear, that's one blessing. I shall take off the veil if I get too hot. What are you wearing?"
"Don't ask her," said Maxim. "She won't tell any of us. There has never been such a secret. I believe she even wrote to London for it."
"My dear," said Beatrice, rather impressed, "don't say you have gone a bust and will put us all to shame? Mine is only homemade, you know."
"Don't worry," I said, laughing, "it's quite simple really. But Maxim would tease me, and I've promised to give him the surprise of his life."
"Quite right too," said Giles. "Maxim is too superior altogether. The fact is he's jealous. Wishes he was dressing up like the rest of us, and doesn't like to say so."
"Heaven forbid," said Maxim.
"What are you doing, Crawley?" asked Giles.
Frank looked rather apologetic. "I've been so busy I'm afraid I've left things to the last moment. I hunted up an old pair of trousers last night, and a striped football jersey, and thought of putting a patch over one eye and coming as a pirate."
"Why on earth didn't you write to us and borrow a costume?" said Beatrice. "There's one of a Dutchman that Roger had last winter in Switzerland. It would have suited you excellently."
"I refuse to allow my agent to walk about as a Dutchman," said Maxim. "He'd never get rents out of anybody again. Let him stick to his pirate. It might frighten some of them."
"Anything less like a pirate," murmured Beatrice in my ear.
I pretended not to hear. Poor Frank, she was always rather down on him.
"How long will it take me to paint my face?" asked Giles.
"Two hours at least," said Beatrice. "I should begin thinking about it if I were you. How many shall we be at dinner?"
"Sixteen," said Maxim, "counting ourselves. No strangers. You know them all."
"I'm beginning to get dress fever already," said Beatrice. "What fun it all is. I'm so glad you decided to do this again, Maxim."
"You've got her to thank for it," said Maxim, nodding at me.
"Oh, it's not true," I said. "It was all the fault of Lady Crowan."
"Nonsense," said Maxim, smiling at me, "you know you're as excited as a child at its first party."
"I'm not."
"I'm longing to see your dress," said Beatrice.
"It's nothing out of the way. Really it's not," I insisted.
"Mrs. de Winter says we shan't know her," said Frank.
Everybody looked at me and smiled. I felt pleased and flushed and rather happy. People were being nice. They were all so friendly. It was suddenly fun, the thought of the dance, and that I was to be the hostess.
The dance was being given for me, in my honor, because I was the bride. I sat on the table in the library, swinging my legs, while the rest of them stood round, and I had a longing to go upstairs and put on my dress, try the wig in front of the looking glass, turn this way and that before the long mirror on the wall. It was new this sudden unexpected sensation of being important, of having Giles, and Beatrice, and Frank and Maxim all looking at me and talking about my dress. All wondering what I was going to wear. I thought of the soft white dress in its folds of tissue paper, and how it would hide my flat dull figure, my rather sloping shoulders. I thought of my own lank hair covered by the sleek and gleaming curls.
"What's the time?" I said carelessly, yawning a little, pretending I did not care. "I wonder if we ought to thi
nk about going upstairs...?"
As we crossed the great hall on the way to our rooms I realized for the first time how the house lent itself to the occasion, and how beautiful the rooms were looking. Even the drawing room, formal and cold to my consideration when we were alone, was a blaze of color now, flowers in every corner, red roses in silver bowls on the white cloth of the supper table, the long windows open to the terrace, where, as soon as it was dusk, the fairy lights would shine. The band had stacked their instruments ready in the minstrel's gallery above the hall, and the hall itself wore a strange, waiting air; there was a warmth about it I had never known before, due to the night itself, so still and clear, to the flowers beneath the pictures, to our own laughter as we hovered on the wide stone stairs.
The old austerity had gone. Manderley had come alive in a fashion I would not have believed possible. It was not the still quiet Manderley I knew. There was a certain significance about it now that had not been before. A reckless air, rather triumphant, rather pleasing. It was as if the house remembered other days, long, long ago, when the hall was a banqueting hall indeed, with weapons and tapestry hanging upon the walls, and men sat at a long narrow table in the center laughing louder than we laughed now, calling for wine, for song, throwing great pieces of meat upon the flags to the slumbering dogs. Later, in other years, it would still be gay, but with a certain grace and dignity, and Caroline de Winter, whom I should present tonight, would walk down the wide stone stairs in her white dress to dance the minuet. I wished we could sweep away the years and see her. I wished we did not have to degrade the house with our modern jig-tunes, so out of place and unromantic. They would not suit Manderley. I found myself in sudden agreement with Mrs. Danvers. We should have made it a period ball, not the hotchpotch of humanity it was bound to be, with Giles, poor fellow, well-meaning and hearty in his guise of Arabian sheik. I found Clarice waiting for me in my bedroom, her round face scarlet with excitement. We giggled at one another like schoolgirls, and I bade her lock my door. There was much sound of tissue paper, rustling and mysterious. We spoke to one another softly like conspirators, we walked on tiptoe. I felt like a child again on the eve of Christmas. This padding to and fro in my room with bare feet, the little furtive bursts of laughter, the stifled exclamations, reminded me of hanging up my stocking long ago. Maxim was safe in his dressing-room, and the way through was barred against him. Clarice alone was my ally and favored friend. The dress fitted perfectly. I stood still, hardly able to restrain my impatience while Clarice hooked me up with fumbling fingers.