Death in a White Tie

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Roderick,” said Lady Alleyn, looking at her son over the top of her spectacles, “I am coming out.”

“Out?” repeated Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn vaguely. “Out where, mama? Out of what?”

“Out into the world. Out of retirement. Out into the season. Out. Dear me,” she added confusedly, “how absurd a word becomes if one says it repeatedly. Out.”

Alleyn laid an official-looking document on the breakfast-table and stared at his mother.

“What can you be talking about?” he said.

“Don’t be stupid, darling. I am going to do the London season.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“I think perhaps I have. I have told George and Grace that I will bring Sarah out this coming season. Here is a letter from George and here is another from Grace. Government House, Suva. They think it charming of me to offer.”

“Good Lord, mama,” said Alleyn, “you must be demented. Do you know what this means?”

“I believe I do. It means that I must take a flat in London. It means that I must look up all sorts of people who will turn out to be dead or divorced or remarried. It means that I must give little luncheon-parties and cocktail-parties and exchange cutlets with hard-working mothers. It means that I must sit in ballrooms praising other women’s granddaughters and securing young men for my own. I shall be up until four o’clock five nights out of seven and I’m afraid, darling, that my black lace and my silver charmeuse will not be quite equal to the strain. So that in addition to buying clothes for Sarah I shall have to buy some for myself. And I should like to know what you think about that, Roderick?”

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