Appleby at Allington by Michael Innes Page B

Scrape, who was continuing conscientiously to frequent the humbler of his flock, could be glimpsed in negotiation over a jar of pickled onions. (The beans in their bottle had been counted; the draw for the gin, lemon squash, tomato ketchup and whatever had taken place; Owain Allington Esquire had been weighed.)
    ‘That’s right, Enzo.’ Allington had turned back into the room, and was nodding to the Italian youth who appeared to be on his promotion as butler at the Park. Enzo had begun to pour champagne. ‘A haven of peace in the midst of turmoil,’ Allington continued to his guests in general. He glanced at Wilfred Osborne. ‘ Pax in bello , eh?’
    The effect of this speech was surprising – or at least it surprised Appleby, who happened to be watching. For Osborne – a benign elderly presence, although not, as Travis had called him, exactly doddering – had flushed darkly, and turned away with some curt word. It was necessary to suppose that a joke had been intended, and that it had decidedly failed to come off.
    ‘Judith,’ Appleby murmured to his wife, ‘what on earth was that about?’
    ‘It was about the motto of the Duke of Leeds.’ Judith had secured one of the first glasses of champagne.
    ‘I don’t see why that should nettle Wilfred.’
    ‘Osborne was the family name of the Leedses. And the first Mr Osborne – our first Mr Osborne, I mean, who imported all that tallow – pinched the Leeds arms and motto. Not that he mayn’t have been a relation. The dukes were descended from a London merchant.’
    ‘I see.’ It was one of the occasions upon which Appleby marvelled at the amount of useless information of this kind that Judith stored in her head. ‘Well, I suppose it was a tactless quip of Allington’s. This was Wilfred’s own drawing-room only a few years ago, after all.’
    ‘A man isn’t well-bred just because he’s descended from some jumped-up fellow in the reign of Henry the Eighth.’
    ‘Oh, isn’t he? I didn’t know.’ Appleby, who had also got hold of a glass of champagne, made rather a rapid business of drinking it. ‘Then don’t you think,’ he said hopefully, ‘that Wilfred might like to be taken away now? Perhaps he doesn’t like any of these people very much. I’m pretty sure I don’t.’
    ‘I like Enzo. He’s extremely handsome.’
    ‘Judith, I do not propose to remain here simply in order that you may initiate an amour with a menial. It’s worse than that fellow Travis and his Miss Junkin.’
    ‘I’d like to do some studies of Enzo. I believe he’d make a lovely bronze. Do you think Mr Allington would lend him to me?’
    ‘He’d put the worst construction possible on anything of the sort. So would Enzo. Let’s clear out.’
    ‘We can’t possibly. Not for a quarter of an hour.’ Judith was firm. ‘You’ve been introduced to these people. You must get round at least half of them.’
    ‘Oh, very well.’ Appleby resigned himself to his fate. ‘You go clockwise and I’ll go anti-clockwise. When we meet, that’s it.’
    ‘That’s it.’
    Appleby’s first attempt at communication was with Rasselas. The creature, after all, now bore a familiar face. But Rasselas appeared to disapprove of the party – unreasonably, since all the guests were persons of some consideration in the neighbourhood. And even towards Appleby, whom he had so recently met upon a more intimate occasion, he now maintained an air of marked reserve. Appleby passed on.
    ‘Sir John Appleby, I think?’
    The question – which had been delivered into his left ear – made an extremely agreeable impression at once. This was because the voice uttering it had carried a quite mysteriously attractive quality. He turned, and saw that the voice’s owner was a dazzlingly pretty girl.
    ‘I’m Hope Allington, a niece of Owain’s. I arrived rather late. I think you’ve met my sisters and their husbands.’
    ‘How do you do. Yes, indeed. And their sons and daughters as well.’ Appleby