Singing in the Shrouds (18 page)

Dale performed this ceremony. Alleyn, who was perched on the edge of the pool near the steps that led down into it, watched the reaction. It would have been untrue to say that anybody gasped when Mrs. Dillington-Blick relinquished her bathing-robe. Rather, a kind of trance overtook her fellow passengers. Mr. Cuddy, who had been frisking in the waters, grasped the rim of the pool and grinned horridly through his wet fringe. Mr. Merryman, who wore an old-fashioned gown and an equally old-fashioned bathing-dress and whose hair had gone into a damp fuzz like a baby’s, stared over his spectacles, as startled as Mr. Pickwick in the Maiden Lady’s four-poster. Mr. McAngus, who had been dozing, opened his eyes and his mouth at the same time and turned dark red in the face. On the bridge, Captain Bannerman was transfixed. Two deckhands stood idle for several seconds round a can of red lead and then self-consciously fell to work with their heads together.

Mrs. Cuddy tried to catch somebody’s eye but, failing to do so, stared in amazement at her infatuated husband.

Miss Abbott looked up from the letter she was writing, blinked twice and looked down again.

Father Jourdain, who had been reading, made a slight movement with his right hand. Alleyn told himself it was absurd to suppose that Father Jourdain had been visited by an impulse to cross himself.

Brigid broke the silence. She called out, “Jolly good! Come in, it’s heaven.”

Mrs. Dillington-Blick put on a bathing cap, removed her sandals, precariously climbed the ladder up to the rim of the pool, avoided looking at Mr. Cuddy and held out her hands to Alleyn.

“Launch me,” she invited winningly and at the same moment lost her balance and fell like an avalanche into the brimming pool. The water she displaced surged over the edges. Alleyn, Mr. Cuddy, Brigid and Tim bobbed about like flotsam and jetsam. Aubyn Dale was drenched. Mrs. Dillington-Blick surfaced, gasping and astounded, and struck out for the nearest handhold.

“Ruby!” Aubyn Dale cried anxiously, as he dashed the seawater from his face. “What have you done?”

For the first time in the voyage Mr. Merryman burst into peals of ungovernable laughter.

This incident had a serio-comic sequel. While Mrs. Dillington-Blick floated in a corner of the pool, clinging to the edges, Mr. Cuddy swam slyly alongside and with a quick grab pulled her under. There was a struggle from which she emerged furious and half-suffocated. Her face was streaked with mascara, her nose was running and her bathing cap was askew. She was a terrible sight. Alleyn helped her up the submerged steps. Dale received her on the far side and got her down to deck level.

“That horrible man!” she choked out. “That horrible man!”

Mr. McAngus also hurried to her side while Mr. Cuddy leered over the rim of the pool.

A ridiculous and rather alarming scene ensued. Mr. McAngus, in an unrecognizably shrill voice, apostrophized Mr. Cuddy. “You’re an unmitigated bounder, sir,” he screamed and actually shook his fist in Mr. Cuddy’s wet face.

“I must say, Cuddy!” Dale said, all restraint and seemly indignation. “You’ve got an extraordinary idea of humour.”

Mr. Cuddy still leered and blinked. Mrs. Cuddy from her deck-chair cried anxiously, “Dear! You’re forgetting yourself.”

“You’re an ape, sir!” Mr. McAngus added and he and Dale simultaneously each placed an arm round Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

“I’ll look after her,” said Dale coldly.

“Let me help you,” said Mr. McAngus. “Come and sit down.”

“Leave her alone. Ruby, darling—”

“Oh, shut up, both of you!” said Mrs. Dillington-Blick. She snatched up her robe and made off — a mountain of defaced femininity.

Mr. Merryman continued to laugh, the other gentlemen separated and Mr. Cuddy swam quietly about the pool by himself.

It was the only incident of note in an otherwise torpid day. After luncheon all the passengers went to their respective cabins and Alleyn allowed himself a couple of hours’ sleep. He woke, as he had arranged with himself to wake, at four o’clock and went down to tea. Everybody was limp and disinclined to talk. Dale, Mr. McAngus, and Mr. Cuddy had evidently decided to calm down. Mr. Merryman’s venture into the pool had brought on his “touch of the sun” again. He looked feverish and anxious and actually didn’t seem to have the energy to argue with anyone. Brigid came over to him. She very prettily knelt by his chair, and begged him to let her find Tim and ask him to prescribe. “Or at least take some aspirin,” she said. “I’ll get some for you. Will you?” She put her hand on his but drew it away quickly.

“I think I may have a slight infection,” he said in explanation and positively added, “But thank you, my dear.”

“You’re terribly hot.” She went away and returned with the aspirin and water. He consented to take three tablets and said he would lie down for a little while. When he went out they all noticed that he was quite shaky.

“Well,” Mr. Cuddy said, “I’m sure I hope it’s nothing catching.”

“It’s not very considerate,” Mrs. Cuddy said, “to sit round with everybody if it is. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Good, thanks, dear. My little trouble,” Mr. Cuddy said to everybody, “has cleared up nicely. I’m a box of birds. I really quite enjoy the heat, something a bit intoxicating about the tropics, to my way of thinking.”

He himself was not urgently intoxicating. His shirt had unlovely dark areas about it, the insides of his knees were raddled with prickly heat and his enormous hands left wet patches on everything they touched. “I’m a very free perspirer,” he said proudly, “and that’s a healthy sign, I’m told.”

The observation met with a kind of awed silence, broken by Mr. McAngus.

“Has everybody seen?” he asked, turning his back on Mr. Cuddy. “There’s going to be a film tonight. They’ve just put up a notice. On the boat-deck, it’s going to be.”

There was a stir of languid interest. Father Jourdain muttered to Alleyn, “That disposes of our canasta party.”

“How lovely!” Mrs. Dillington-Blick said. “Where do we sit?”

“I
think,
” Mr. McAngus fluted, at once tripping up to her, “that we all sit on deck-chairs on the top of the hatch. Such a good idea! You must lie on your chaise longue, you know. You’ll look quite wonderful,” he added with his timid little laugh. “Like Cleopatra in her barge with all her slaves round her. Pagan, almost.”

“My dear!”

“What’s the film?” Dale asked.

“
Othello
. With that large American actor.”

“Oh, God!”

“Mr. Merryman
will
be pleased,” said Brigid, “It’s his favourite. If he approves, of course.”

“Well,
I
don’t think he ought to come,” Mrs. Cuddy at once objected. “He should consider other people.”

“It’ll be in the open air,” Miss Abbott countered, “and there’s no need, I imagine, for you to sit next to Mr. Merryman.”

Mrs. Cuddy smiled meaningly at her husband.

Brigid said, “But how exciting! Orson Welles and everything! I couldn’t be better pleased.”

“We’d rather have a nice musical,” said Mrs. Cuddy. “But then we’re not arty, are we, dear?”

Mr. Cuddy said nothing. He was looking at Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

The film version of
Othello
began to wind up its remarkable course. Mr. Merryman could be heard softly invoking the retribution of the gods upon the head of Mr. Orson Welles.

In the front row Captain Bannerman sighed windily, Mrs. Dillington-Blick’s jaw quivered, and Dale periodically muttered, “Oh,
no
!” Alleyn, who was flabbergasted by the film, was able to give it only a fraction of his attention.

Behind the captain’s party sat the rest of the passengers, while a number of ship’s officers were grouped together at one side. Dennis and his fellow stewards watched from the back.

The sea was perfectly calm, stars glittered with explosive brilliance. The cinema screen, an incongruous accident, with a sterile life of its own, glowed and gestured in the surrounding darkness.

Brigid caught her breath and Tim reached for her hand. They were moved by a single impulse and by one thought — that it was superbly right for them to listen together to this music.

“
Promethean heat,
” Father Jourdain murmured appreciatively.

The final movement emerged not entirely obscured by the treatment that had been accorded it. A huge face loomed out of the screen.

A white cloth closed like a shroud about Desdemona’s face and tightened horridly.

The screen was no longer there. At their moment of climax Othello and Desdemona were gone and their audience was in darkness. The pulse of the ship’s engines emerged and the chief engineer’s voice saying that a fuse had blown somewhere. Matches were struck. There was a group of men round the projector. Alleyn produced his torch, slipped out of his seat, which was at the end of the row, and walked slowly along the hatch.

None of the passengers had stirred but there was a certain amount of movement among the stewards, some of whom, including Dennis, had already left.

“The circuit’s gone,” a voice near the projector said and another added, “That’s the story. Hold everything.” One of the figures disentangled itself and hurried away.

“ ‘Put out the light,’ ” a junior officer quoted derisively, “ ‘and then put out the light.’ ” There was a little gust of laughter. Mrs. Cuddy, in the middle of the third row, tittered. “He stifles her, doesn’t he, dear? Same thing again! We don’t seem to be able to get away from it, do we?”

Miss Abbott said furiously, “Oh, for pity’s
sake
!”

Alleyn had reached the edge of the hatch. He stood there, watching the backs of the passengers’ chairs, now clearly discernible. Immediately in front of him were Tim and Brigid, their hands enlaced, leaning a little towards each other. Brigid was saying, “I don’t want to pull it to pieces yet. After all there
are
the words.”

A figure rose up from the chair in the middle of the row. It was Mr. Merryman.

“I’m off,” he announced.

“Are you all right, Mr. Merryman?” Brigid asked.

“I am nauseated,” Mr. Merryman rejoined, “but not for the reason you suppose. I can stomach no more of this slaughterous — this impertinent travesty — Pray excuse me.”

He edged past them and past Father Jourdain, moved round the end of the row and thus approached Alleyn.

“Had enough?” Alleyn asked.

“A bellyful, thank you.”

He sat on the edge of the hatch, his back ostentatiously presented to the invisible screen. He was breathing hard. His hand which had brushed against Alleyn’s was hot and dry.

“I’m afraid you’ve still got a touch of your bug, whatever it is,” Alleyn said. “Why don’t you turn in?”

But Mr. Merryman was implacable. “I do not believe,” he said, “in subjecting myself to the tyranny of indisposition. I do not, like our Scottish acquaintance, surrender to hypochondriacal speculations. On the contrary, I fight back. Besides,” he added, “in this Stygian gloom, where is the escape? There is none.
J’y suis, et j’y reste
.”

And so in fact he remained. The fuse was repaired, the film drew to its close. An anonymous choir roared its anguish and, without benefit of authorship, ended the play. The lights went up and the passengers moved to the lounge for supper. Mr. Merryman alone remained outside, seated in a deck-chair by the open doors and refusing sustenance.

Alleyn, and indeed all of them, were to remember that little gathering very vividly. Mrs. Dillington-Blick had recovered her usual form and was brilliant. Dressed in black lace, though not that of her Spanish dress, and wreathed in the effulgence of an expensive scent that had by now acquired the authority of a signature tune, she held her customary court. She discussed the film — it had, she said,
really
upset her. “My dear! That ominous man! Terrifying! But all the same — there’s something. One could quite see why she married him.”

“I thought it disgusting,” Mrs. Cuddy said. “A black man. She deserved all she got.”

Mrs. Dillington-Blick laughed. She and Aubyn Dale, Alleyn noticed, kept catching each other’s eye and quickly looking away again. Neither Mr. Cuddy nor Mr. McAngus could remove his gaze from her. The captain hung over her; even Miss Abbott watched her with a kind of brooding appreciation while Mrs. Cuddy resentfully stared and stared. Only Brigid and Tim, bent on their common voyage of discovery, were unmindful of Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

Presently she yawned, and she even managed to yawn quite fetchingly.

“I’m for my little bed,” she announced.

“Not even a stroll round the deck?” asked the captain.

“I
don’t
think so, really.”

“Or a cigarette on the verandah?” Dale suggested loudly.

“I might.”

She laughed and walked over to the open doors. Mr. Merryman straggled up from his deck-chair. She wished him goodnight, looked back into the lounge and smiled intimately and brilliantly at Mr. McAngus. “Goodnight,” she repeated softly and went out on the deserted deck.

Father Jourdain caught his breath. “All right,” Alleyn muttered. “You carry on here.”

Tim glanced at Alleyn and nodded. The captain had been buttonholed by Mr. McAngus and looked restive. Brigid was talking to Mr. Merryman, who half rose, bestowed on her an old-fashioned bow and sank groggily back into his chair. Aubyn Dale was drinking and Mr. Cuddy was in the grasp of his wife, who now removed him.

Alleyn said, “Good-night, everybody.” He followed the Cuddys into the passageway, turned left and went out to the deck by the port side door. He was just in time to see Mrs. Dillington-Blick disappear round the verandah corner of the engine house. Before he could reach it she returned, paused for a second when she saw him and then swam gaily towards him.