Read Night at the Vulcan for Free Online

the foyer. This was Clark Bennington. He addressed himself to Miss Hamilton.
    “Hullo,” he said, ‘I’ve been talking to John Rutherford.”
    “What about?” she asked and sounded nervous.
    “About that kid. Young Gay. He’s been at her again. So’s Adam.”
    He glanced at Martyn. “I wanted to talk to you,” he added discontentedly.
    “Well, so you shall. But I’ve got to change now, Ben. And look, this is my new dresser, Martyn Tarne.”
    He eyed Martyn with more attention. “Quite a change from old Tansley,” he said. “And a very nice change, too.” He turned away. “Is Adam down?” He jerked his head at the wall.
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll see you later, then.”
    “All right, but — yes, all right.”
    He went out, leaving a faint rumour of alcohol behind him.
    She was quite still for a moment after he had gone. Martyn heard her fetch a sigh, a sound half-impatient, half-anxious. “Oh, well,” she said, “let’s get going, shall we?”
    Martyn had been much exercised about the extent of her duties. Did, for instance, a dresser undress her employer? Did she kneel at her feet and roll down her stockings? Did she unhook and unbutton? Or did she stand capably aside while these rites were performed by the principal herself? Miss Hamilton solved the problem by removing her dress, throwing it to Martyn and waiting to be inserted into her dressing-gown. During these operations a rumble of male voices sounded at intervals in the adjoining room. Presently there was a tap at the door. Martyn answered it and found the little dresser with a florist’s box in his hands. “Mr. Poole’s compliments,” he said and winked broadly before retiring.
    Miss Hamilton by this time was spreading a yellow film over her face. She asked Martyn to open the box and, on seeing three orchids that lay crisp and fabulous on their mossy bed, sang “Darling!” on two clear notes. The voice beyond the wall responded. “Hullo?”
    “They’re quite perfect. Thank you, my sweet.”
    “Good,” the voice said. Martyn laid the box on the dressing-table and saw the card:
Until to-morrow. Adam
.
    She got through the next half hour pretty successfully, she hoped. There seemed to be no blunders and Miss Hamilton continued charming and apparently delighted. There were constant visitors. A tap on the door would be followed by a head looking round and always by the invitation to come in. First there was Miss Gay Gainsford, a young and rather intense person with a pretty air of deference, who seemed to be in a state of extreme anxiety.
    “Well, darling,” Miss Hamilton said, glancing at her in the glass. “Everything under strict control?”
    Miss Gainsford said unevenly: “I suppose so. I’m trying to be good and sort of
biddable
, do you know, but underneath I realize that I’m seething like a cauldron. Butterflies the size of
bats
in the stomach.”
    “Well, of course. But you mustn’t be terrified, really, because whatever happens we all know John’s written a good play, don’t we?”
    “I suppose we do.”
    “We do indeed. And Gay — you’re going to make a great personal success in this part. I want you to tell yourself you are. Do you know?
Tell
yourself.”
    “I wish I could believe it.” Miss Gainsford clasped her hands and raised them to her lips. “It’s not very easy,” she said, “when he — John — Dr. Rutherford — so obviously thinks I’m a misfit. Everybody keeps telling me it’s a marvellous part, but for me it’s thirteen sides of hopeless hell. Honestly, it is.”
    “Gay, what
nonsense
! John may seem hard—”
    “
Seem
!”
    “Well, he may
be
hard, then. He’s famous for it, after all. But you’ll get your reward, my dear, when the time comes. Remember,” said Miss Hamilton with immense gravity, “we all have faith in you.”
    “Of course,” said Miss Gainsford with an increased quaver in her voice, “it’s too marvellous your feeling like that about it. You’ve been so