His Lordship's Leopard: A Truthful Narration of Some Impossible Facts

by W. W. Jacobs

  CHAPTER VII.

  IN WHICH MISS ARMINSTER VERIFIES THE PROVERB.

  The Bishop was pacing his garden. He was far from happy. It is true hehad not been worsted in his encounter with his sister. There had been adrawn battle, and he had retired with dignity, conceding nothing butthat he would ask Miss Arminster to come to his study at noon andexplain her position. He could not believe the charges against thecharming Violet, but nevertheless he felt decidedly uncomfortable: foreven if she cleared herself, she was still married, and the palacelacked a mistress.

  It was easy to say that Miss Matilda should be deposed, but who shouldtake her place? Not another man's wife, certainly. For the first timein all these years, his Lordship realised how lonely he had been. Heshould have remarried long before, and indeed even so unworldly a personas he knew that more than one young lady in Blanford would have viewedwith complacency the prospect of becoming Mrs. Bishop.

  A young wife, however, even as attractive as the fair Violet, was not,he told himself, exactly what he wanted. He had tried a period of doublerule in which his sister was the power behind the throne, and it wasinfinitely worse than the present regime. No; if he took anotherhelpmate, she must be a person of strong will, some one who could holdher own against all comers, some one who should have an inexhaustiblefund of sympathy for his work, some one whose appreciation of theexalted position of the Bishop of Blanford should be so great as toblind her, occasionally at least, to those minor faults to which,Scripture tells us, all flesh is heir.

  It was at just this point in his meditations that his Lordship, turningsharply round the corner of a large gooseberry-bush, came suddenly uponMrs. Mackintosh. Their surprise was mutual, for the good lady hadevidently been gardening, and was suffering from the rigour of the game.

  "That head man of yours is a duffer," she said sharply, pointing a veryearthy trowel at the unconscious figure of the gardener, who was busy inthe middle distance digging potatoes. "A man," she continued, "who callsa plain, every-day squash a vegetable marrow isn't fit to run awell-ordered truck-patch; though it's no more than might be expected ina country where they sell bread by the yard, and flour by the gallon.And what, I should like to know, is a 'punnet'?"

  "I'm afraid, madam, I must confess my ignorance," replied the Bishop.

  "I thought as much," she retorted. "And yet they put you in command of adiocese. Your gardener said to me this morning: 'I'll pick a "punnet" ofstrawberries to-day.' 'You'll do nothing of the kind,' I told him.'Pick them in a Christian basket, or not at all.'"

  His Lordship laughed.

  "It's some sort of measure, I imagine," he remarked.

  "I shouldn't wonder. And your cook's just as bad. She asked me yesterdayif I liked jugged hare. 'Let me see your jug,' said I, 'and then I'lltell you.' And as sure's I'm a sinner, she told me she never used onefor that dish!"

  "Now you speak of it," said his Lordship, "I don't think I ever saw onemyself. But what are you doing this morning?"

  "Straightening the peas."

  "Straightening the peas?" he asked, thoroughly mystified.

  "Yes, they're all waggly. When I plant my garden I take a string and twopegs and plant the seed along a line; but these just seem to be put inanyhow."

  "Is it good for the peas?" asked the Bishop suspiciously, as he saw thembeing rooted up and reset.

  "I can't say," she returned sharply. "But things ought to be straight atan episcopal palace, if they are anywhere."

  "So they should," he admitted mournfully, "but it's far from being thecase. That's why I came out to consult you."

  "Go ahead, then. You talk, and I'll dig."

  And while the plants were being arranged to an ecclesiastical standard,he retailed to her the charges against Violet.

  "Do you believe them?" she asked, jamming her trowel up to its hilt inthe soft earth.

  "Of course I do not."

  "Right you are," she said. "I know the whole story, and it's nothing tobe ashamed of, I give you my word."

  "You relieve me immensely."

  "It's merely American enterprise," continued the old lady. "That's whythey call her the Leopard."

  "The Leopard-- I don't understand. She asked me to call her that."

  "Well, I won't steal her thunder. She'll tell you herself."

  "But she is married?"

  "Oh, yes."

  The Bishop sighed.

  "That disappoints you?" said Mrs. Mackintosh thoughtfully, balancing apea-plant in her hand.

  "Yes; at least I'd hoped--"

  "I know. She told me. We haven't any secrets from each other."

  "You see," continued his Lordship, "if my sister leaves me, I must havesome one to take her place; otherwise--"

  "She won't go."

  "Yes," said the Bishop; "that's just the point."

  "You ought to marry at once."

  "I feel that myself; but then, you see, there's no one who would care tomarry me--no one at least who--"

  "You don't want a young chit."

  "No," said his Lordship. "Somebody more like you."

  Mrs. Mackintosh paused in her gardening.

  "Look here," she said. "Are you going to propose to me next?"

  "I--was--thinking of it," admitted the Bishop.

  "As a last resource?"

  "My dear Mrs. Mackintosh!"

  "I don't know as I ever could be a bishopess," replied that lady,inadvertently resetting a pea-plant upside down.

  "There's Jonah," said the Bishop, resorting to diplomacy. "I shall neverbe able to complete that last volume without the spur of yourappreciative criticism."

  "Well," she replied, partially relenting, "I'd do a good dealfor--Jonah."

  "Then you will!" he cried.

  "I've one row of those peas left," she returned, "and when I've resetthem I'll give you your answer. That'll be in fifteen minutes. Now goaway, or you'll fidget round, and I sha'n't get 'em straight." Andwithout another word she resumed her digging.

  Fifteen minutes later his Lordship was at her side.

  "There's one more plant left," remarked Mrs. Mackintosh, cleaning hertrowel and addressing herself to the task.

  "And are you going to say Yes when you have finished?"

  "Yes," said the lady, "I am, but it's mostly on account of Jonah."

  The Bishop ruthlessly set his foot on the tender shoot which intervenedbetween him and happiness, crushing it to the earth.

  Some time later Mrs. Mackintosh remarked:

  "The cathedral clock is striking twelve, and you're due in the study."

  "You mean, my dear, that _we_ are due," replied his Lordship.

  * * * * *

  On their arrival in the Bishop's sanctum, they found the full force ofthe company assembled to receive them.

  Miss Matilda looked on this gathering with suspicion.

  "I do not see," she said, "the need of so many witnesses to what mustprove, I fear, a humiliating confession."

  "I've come," returned Mrs. Mackintosh, "to lend moral support to--" Sheglanced at the Bishop, changed her mind, and supplemented--"MissArminster."

  "Shall I speak?" asked Miss Matilda, ignoring her remark.

  "I will speak," said his Lordship. "It is my house, and my place to doso."

  His sister sat down hurriedly.

  "I've sent for you, my dear," he continued, turning to Violet, "becausecertain charges have been made against you by Mr. Marchmont and--others,and, as my son informs me that you contemplate marrying Mr. Spotts, andasking me to perform the ceremony, I feel it is my duty--"

  "She's already--" broke in his sister.

  "I am speaking, Matilda," he said quietly, and she collapsed.

  "You mustn't think," he went on, "that my asking you to explain yourposition implies any belief on my part in the charges made against you.I've only requested this interview because I thought you'd like anopportunity to disprove idle gossip."

  "It's very kind of you," she replied, "and I shall avai
l myself of itgladly."

  "Quite so. Now my sister tells me that she's seen, in a neighbouringchurch, the record of your marriage to Mr. Spotts. Is this so?"

  "Certainly," said Violet. "I married him there in 1895."

  Miss Matilda sniffed viciously.

  "Mr. Marchmont," continued the Bishop, "in whose statements, I needhardly say, I place no reliance, informed my sister that you had beenmarried with unusual frequency; and my son tells me, also, that you'veadmitted to him a--er--a considerable number of--er--matrimonialalliances. Would you--er--er--consider it an intrusion on my part if Iasked how many times you have been married?"

  "I've had the marriage service performed over me," she replied,"thirty-seven times in four years."

  Miss Matilda threw up her hands in an access of horror.

  "But your husbands--" stammered his Lordship.

  "I never had but one husband," she said. "And here he stands." And shetook Spotts's hand in hers.

  "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the Bishop. "You surely haven't married himthirty-seven times?"

  "Yes, that is exactly the case," she returned.

  "But I don't understand."

  "The explanation is very simple," she replied. "My husband and I areboth actors. He plays the part of the hero, and I the part of theheroine. In the fifth act, after many struggles and disappointments,we're at last united. To have the marriage ceremony actually performedon the stage, or the next day at church, has always proved a greatattraction to our audiences. At first I objected. But I've been informedby a competent authority in my own country that there's no canonicalrule against it, and in remarrying my husband I merely renew my vows tohim, and I've never once gone through the ceremony lightly orthoughtlessly. I do not defend the practice, or expect you to approve ofit, and, now that you know the truth, I shouldn't think of asking you tomarry us again; but I don't consider that I've done anything of which Ineed be ashamed."

  "Dear me!" said the Bishop. "In my ecclesiastical position I can hardlyapprove of the course you've taken; but as a man--well, it's a greatrelief to me."

  "I consider it a sacrilege," exclaimed Miss Matilda, "and, as I remarkedto Cecil this morning, that young person leaves the palace to-day, or Ido!"

  "You'll naturally act as seems to you best," said her brother. "But Ibeg you to remember that I'm master of this house, and that this lady ismy guest."

  "And who, pray, will keep your house for you when I'm gone?" shesnapped.

  "I'm sure that Mrs. Spotts will attend to it for me until Mrs.Mackintosh and I are married."

  "Till you're married!" his sister repeated after him, too astounded tograsp fully the meaning of his words.

  "It is an event which I hope will occur shortly," her brother replied.

  "That's enough!" she retorted. "I leave Blanford this afternoon!"

  "I trust you'll not go in anger, Matilda," he said. "I'm sure a changewill do you good. Miss Arminster--I mean Mrs. Spotts--suggests a courseof mud-baths; and if you'll permit me to assume the expense--"

  "Josephus!" she returned shortly, "do not add insult to injury." And sheswept from the room.

  "I, too," said Professor Tybalt Smith, who had hitherto remainedsilent--"I, too, must be permitted to excuse myself. It may be that Ican comfort that injured lady in her exile." And he followed her out.

  "Oh, I'm delighted!" cried Violet, seizing Mrs. Mackintosh's hand.

  "And I, too," said Cecil.

  "Thank you," replied his stepmother-to-be. "That pleases me more thananything else. I hope you'll really make Blanford your home."

  "I shall indeed," he returned, "since no one will have me as a husband."

  "You've the great success of your book to comfort you," suggestedViolet. "What more can you ask?"

  "Well, as it seems a day of explanations," he said, "I should reallylike to know why you're called 'the Leopard'?"

  "It's a very trifling secret after all," she replied, laughing. "But tohave let you know it would have given away our little plot. Now itdoesn't matter. Tell him, Alvy."

  "It's merely this," said her husband gaily: "that, as much as she maymarry, HIS LORDSHIP'S LEOPARD CAN NEVER CHANGE HER SPOT(T)S."

  THE END.