by E. F. Benson
CHAPTER III
Diva was sitting at the open drawing-room window of her house in theHigh Street, cutting with a pair of sharp nail scissors into the oldchintz curtains which her maid had told her no longer "paid for themending." So, since they refused to pay for their mending any more, shewas preparing to make them pay, pretty smartly too, in other ways. Thepattern was of little bunches of pink roses peeping out through trelliswork, and it was these which she had just begun to cut out. ThoughTilling was noted for the ingenuity with which its more fashionableladies devised novel and quaint effects in their dress in an economicalmanner, Diva felt sure, ransack her memory though she might, that nobodyhad thought of _this_ before.
The hot weather had continued late into September and showed no signsof breaking yet, and it would be agreeable to her and acutely painful toothers that just at the end of the summer she should appear in aperfectly new costume, before the days of jumpers and heavy skirts andlarge woollen scarves came in. She was preparing, therefore, to take thelight white jacket which she wore over her blouse, and cover the broadcollar and cuffs of it with these pretty roses. The belt of the skirtwould be similarly decorated, and so would the edge of it, if there wereenough clean ones. The jacket and skirt had already gone to the dyer's,and would be back in a day or two, white no longer, but of a rich purplehue, and by that time she would have hundreds of these little pink rosesready to be tacked on. Perhaps a piece of the chintz, trellis and all,could be sewn over the belt, but she was determined to have singlelittle bunches of roses peppered all over the collar and cuffs of thejacket and, if possible, round the edge of the skirt. She had alreadytried the effect, and was of the opinion that nobody could possiblyguess what the origin of these roses was. When carefully sewn on theylooked as if they were a design in the stuff.
She let the circumcised roses fall on to the window-seat, and from timeto time, when they grew numerous, swept them into a cardboard box.Though she worked with zealous diligence, she had an eye to themovements in the street outside, for it was shopping-hour, and therewere many observations to be made. She had not anything like Miss Mapp'sgenius for conjecture, but her memory was appallingly good, and this wasthe third morning running on which Elizabeth had gone into the grocer's.It was odd to go to your grocer's every day like that; groceries twice aweek was sufficient for most people. From here on the floor above thestreet she could easily look into Elizabeth's basket, and she certainlywas carrying nothing away with her from the grocer's, for the only thingthere was a small bottle done up in white paper with sealing wax, which,Diva had no need to be told, certainly came from the chemist's, and wasno doubt connected with too many plums.
Miss Mapp crossed the street to the pavement below Diva's house, andprecisely as she reached it, Diva's maid opened the door into thedrawing-room, bringing in the second post, or rather not bringing in thesecond post, but the announcement that there wasn't any second post.This opening of the door caused a draught, and the bunches of roseswhich littered the window-seat rose brightly in the air. Diva managed tobeat most of them down again, but two fluttered out of the window.Precisely then, and at no other time, Miss Mapp looked up, and onesettled on her face, the other fell into her basket. Her trainedfaculties were all on the alert, and she thrust them both inside herglove for future consideration, without stopping to examine them justthen. She only knew that they were little pink roses, and that they hadfluttered out of Diva's window....
She paused on the pavement, and remembered that Diva had not yetexpressed regret about the worsted, and that she still "popped" as muchas ever. Thus Diva deserved a punishment of some sort, and happily, atthat very moment she thought of a subject on which she might be able tomake her uncomfortable. The street was full, and it would be pretty tocall up to her, instead of ringing her bell, in order to save trouble topoor overworked Janet. (Diva only kept two servants, though of coursepoverty was no crime.)
"Diva darling!" she cooed.
Diva's head looked out like a cuckoo in a clock preparing to chime thehour.
"Hullo!" she said. "Want me?"
"May I pop up for a moment, dear?" said Miss Mapp. "That's to say ifyou're not very busy."
"Pop away," said Diva. She was quite aware that Miss Mapp said "pop" incrude inverted commas, so to speak, for purposes of mockery, and so shesaid it herself more than ever. "I'll tell my maid to pop down and openthe door."
While this was being done, Diva bundled her chintz curtains together andstored them and the roses she had cut out into her work-cupboard, forsecrecy was an essential to the construction of these decorations. Butin order to appear naturally employed, she pulled out the woollen scarfshe was knitting for the autumn and winter, forgetting for the momentthat the rose-madder stripe at the end on which she was now engaged wasmade of that fatal worsted which Miss Mapp considered to have beenfeloniously appropriated. That was the sort of thing Miss Mapp neverforgot. Even among her sweet flowers. Her eye fell on it the moment sheentered the room, and she tucked the two chintz roses more securely intoher glove.
"I thought I would just pop across from the grocer's," she said. "What apretty scarf, dear! That's a lovely shade of rose-madder. Where can Ihave seen something like it before?"
This was clearly ironical, and had best be answered by irony. Diva wasno coward.
"Couldn't say, I'm sure," she said.
Miss Mapp appeared to recollect, and smiled as far back as herwisdom-teeth. (Diva couldn't do that.)
"I have it," she said. "It was the wool I ordered at Heynes's, and thenhe sold it you, and I couldn't get any more."
"So it was," said Diva. "Upset you a bit. There was the wool in theshop. I bought it."
"Yes, dear; I see you did. But that wasn't what I popped in about. Thiscoal-strike, you know."
"Got a cellar full," said Diva.
"Diva, you've not been hoarding, have you?" asked Miss Mapp with greatanxiety. "They can take away every atom of coal you've got, if so, andfine you I don't know what for every hundredweight of it."
"Pooh!" said Diva, rather forcing the indifference of this rudeinterjection.
"Yes, love, pooh by all means, if you like poohing!" said Miss Mapp."But I should have felt very unfriendly if one morning I found you werefined--found you were fined--quite a play upon words--and I hadn'twarned you."
Diva felt a little less poohish.
"But how much do they allow you to have?" she asked.
"Oh, quite a little: enough to go on with. But I daresay they won'tdiscover you. I just took the trouble to come and warn you."
Diva did remember something about hoarding; there had surely beendreadful exposures of prudent housekeepers in the papers which were veryuncomfortable reading.
"But all these orders were only for the period of the war," she said.
"No doubt you're right, dear," said Miss Mapp brightly. "I'm sure I hopeyou are. Only if the coal strike comes on, I think you'll find that theregulations against hoarding are quite as severe as they ever were. Foodhoarding, too. Twemlow--such a civil man--tells me that he thinks weshall have plenty of food, or anyhow sufficient for everybody for quitea long time, provided that there's no hoarding. Not been hoarding food,too, dear Diva? You naughty thing: I believe that great cupboard is fullof sardines and biscuits and bovril."
"Nothing of the kind," said Diva indignantly. "You shall see foryourself"--and then she suddenly remembered that the cupboard was fullof chintz curtains and little bunches of pink roses, neatly cut out ofthem, and a pair of nail scissors.
There was a perfectly perceptible pause, during which Miss Mapp noticedthat there were no curtains over the window. There certainly used to be,and they matched with the chintz cover of the window seat, which wasdecorated with little bunches of pink roses peeping through trellis.This was in the nature of a bonus: she had not up till then connectedthe chintz curtains with the little things that had fluttered down uponher and were now safe in her glove; her only real object in this callhad been to instil a general uneasiness into Diva's
mind about the coalstrike and the danger of being well provided with fuel. That she humblyhoped that she had accomplished. She got up.
"Must be going," she said. "Such a lovely little chat! But what hashappened to your pretty curtains?"
"Gone to the wash," said Diva firmly.
"Liar," thought Miss Mapp, as she tripped downstairs. "Diva would havesent the cover of the window-seat too, if that was the case. Liar," shethought again as she kissed her hand to Diva, who was looking gloomilyout of the window.
* * * * *
As soon as Miss Mapp had gained her garden-room, she examined themysterious treasures in her left-hand glove. Without the smallest doubtDiva had taken down her curtains (and high time too, for they were sadlyshabby), and was cutting the roses out of them. But what on earth wasshe doing that for? For what garish purpose could she want to usebunches of roses cut out of chintz curtains?
Miss Mapp had put the two specimens of which she had providentiallybecome possessed in her lap, and they looked very pretty against thenavy-blue of her skirt. Diva was very ingenious: she used up all sortsof odds and ends in a way that did credit to her undoubtedlyparsimonious qualities. She could trim a hat with a tooth-brush and abanana in such a way that it looked quite Parisian till you firmlyanalysed its component parts, and most of her ingenuity was devoted todress: the more was the pity that she had such a roundabout figure thather waistband always reminded you of the equator....
"Eureka!" said Miss Mapp aloud, and, though the telephone bell wasringing, and the postulant might be one of the servants' friends ringingthem up at an hour when their mistress was usually in the High Street,she glided swiftly to the large cupboard underneath the stairs which wasfull of the things which no right-minded person could bear to throwaway: broken basket-chairs, pieces of brown paper, cardboard boxeswithout lids, and cardboard lids without boxes, old bags with holes inthem, keys without locks and locks without keys and worn chintz covers.There was one--it had once adorned the sofa in the garden-room--coveredwith red poppies (very easy to cut out), and Miss Mapp dragged itdustily from its corner, setting in motion a perfect cascade ofcardboard lids and some door-handles.
Withers had answered the telephone, and came to announce that Twemlowthe grocer regretted he had only two large tins of corned beef, but----
"Then say I will have the tongue as well, Withers," said Miss Mapp."Just a tongue--and then I shall want you and Mary to do some cuttingout for me."
The three went to work with feverish energy, for Diva had got a start,and by four o'clock that afternoon there were enough poppies cut out tofurnish, when in seed, a whole street of opium dens. The dress selectedfor decoration was, apart from a few mildew-spots, the colour of ripecorn, which was superbly appropriate for September. "Poppies in thecorn," said Miss Mapp over and over to herself, remembering some sweetverses she had once read by Bernard Shaw or Clement Shorter or somebodylike that about a garden of sleep somewhere in Norfolk....
"No one can work as neatly as you, Withers," she said gaily, "and Ishall ask you to do the most difficult part. I want you to sew my lovelypoppies over the collar and facings of the jacket, just spacing them alittle and making a dainty irregularity. And then Mary--won't you,Mary?--will do the same with the waistband while I put a border of themround the skirt, and my dear old dress will look quite new and lovely. Ishall be at home to nobody, Withers, this afternoon, even if the Princeof Wales came and sat on my doorstep again. We'll all work together inthe garden, shall we, and you and Mary must scold me if you think I'mnot working hard enough. It will be delicious in the garden."
Thanks to this pleasant plan, there was not much opportunity for Withersand Mary to be idle....
* * * * *
Just about the time that this harmonious party began their work, a farfrom harmonious couple were being just as industrious in the grandspacious bunker in front of the tee to the last hole on the golf links.It was a beautiful bunker, consisting of a great slope of loose, steepsand against the face of the hill, and solidly shored up with timber.The Navy had been in better form to-day, and after a decisive victoryover the Army in the morning and an indemnity of half-a-crown, its matchin the afternoon, with just the last hole to play, was all square. SoCaptain Puffin, having the honour, hit a low, nervous drive that tappedloudly at the timbered wall of the bunker, and cuddled down below it,well protected from any future assault.
"Phew! That about settles it," said Major Flint boisterously. "Bad placeto top a ball! Give me the hole?"
This insolent question needed no answer, and Major Flint drove, skyingthe ball to a prodigious height. But it had to come to earth sometime,and it fell like Lucifer, son of the morning, in the middle of the samebunker.... So the Army played three more, and, sweating profusely, gotout. Then it was the Navy's turn, and the Navy had to lie on its keelabove the boards of the bunker, in order to reach its ball at all, andmissed it twice.
"Better give it up, old chap," said Major Flint. "Unplayable."
"Then see me play it," said Captain Puffin, with a chewing motion of hisjaws.
"We shall miss the tram," said the Major, and, with the intention ofgiving annoyance, he sat down in the bunker with his back to CaptainPuffin, and lit a cigarette. At his third attempt nothing happened; atthe fourth the ball flew against the boards, rebounded briskly againinto the bunker, trickled down the steep, sandy slope and hit theMajor's boot.
"Hit you, I think," said Captain Puffin. "Ha! So it's my hole, Major!"
Major Flint had a short fit of aphasia. He opened and shut his mouth andfoamed. Then he took a half-crown from his pocket.
"Give that to the Captain," he said to his caddie, and without lookinground, walked away in the direction of the tram. He had not gone ahundred yards when the whistle sounded, and it puffed away homewardswith ever-increasing velocity.
* * * * *
Weak and trembling from passion, Major Flint found that after a fewtottering steps in the direction of Tilling he would be totally unableto get there unless fortified by some strong stimulant, and turned backto the Club-house to obtain it. He always went dead-lame when beaten atgolf, while Captain Puffin was lame in any circumstances, and the two,no longer on speaking terms, hobbled into the Club-house, one after theother, each unconscious of the other's presence. Summoning his lastremaining strength Major Flint roared for whisky, and was told that,according to regulation, he could not be served until six. There waslemonade and stone ginger-beer.... You might as well have offered aman-eating tiger bread and milk. Even the threat that he would instantlyresign his membership unless provided with drink produced no effect on apolite steward, and he sat down to recover as best he might with an oldvolume of _Punch_. This seemed to do him little good. His forcedabstemiousness was rendered the more intolerable by the fact thatCaptain Puffin, hobbling in immediately afterwards, fetched from hislocker a large flask full of the required elixir, and proceeded to mixhimself a long, strong tumblerful. After the Major's rudeness in thematter of the half-crown, it was impossible for any sailor of spirit totake the first step towards reconciliation.
Thirst is a great leveller. By the time the refreshed Puffin hadpenetrated half-way down his glass, the Major found it impossible to beproud and proper any longer. He hated saying he was sorry (no man more)and wouldn't have been sorry if he had been able to get a drink. Hetwirled his moustache a great many times and cleared his throat--itwanted more than that to clear it--and capitulated.
"Upon my word, Puffin, I'm ashamed of myself for--ha!--for not taking mydefeat better," he said. "A man's no business to let a game ruffle him."
Puffin gave his alto cackling laugh.
"Oh, that's all right, Major," he said. "I know it's awfully hard tolose like a gentleman."
He let this sink in, then added:
"Have a drink, old chap?"
Major Flint flew to his feet.
"Well, thank ye, thank ye," he said. "Now where's that
soda water youoffered me just now?" he shouted to the steward.
The speed and completeness of the reconciliation was in no wayremarkable, for when two men quarrel whenever they meet, it follows thatthey make it up again with corresponding frequency, else there could beno fresh quarrels at all. This one had been a shade more acute thanmost, and the drop into amity again was a shade more precipitous.
Major Flint in his eagerness had put most of his moustache into thelife-giving tumbler, and dried it on his handkerchief.
"After all, it was a most amusing incident," he said. "There was I withmy back turned, waiting for you to give it up, when your bl--wretchedlittle ball hit my foot. I must remember that. I'll serve you with thesame spoon some day, at least I would if I thought it sportsmanlike.Well, well, enough said. Astonishing good whisky, that of yours."
Captain Puffin helped himself to rather more than half of what nowremained in the flask.
"Help yourself, Major," he said.
"Well, thank ye, I don't mind if I do," he said, reversing the flaskover the tumbler. "There's a good tramp in front of us now that the lasttram has gone. Tram and tramp! Upon my word, I've half a mind totelephone for a taxi."
This, of course, was a direct hint. Puffin ought clearly to pay for ataxi, having won two half-crowns to-day. This casual drink did notconstitute the usual drink stood by the winner, and paid for with cashover the counter. A drink (or two) from a flask was not the samething.... Puffin naturally saw it in another light. He had paid for thewhisky which Major Flint had drunk (or owed for it) in hiswine-merchant's bill. That was money just as much as a florin pushedacross the counter. But he was so excessively pleased with himself overthe adroitness with which he had claimed the last hole, that he quiteoverstepped the bounds of his habitual parsimony.
"Well, you trot along to the telephone and order a taxi," he said, "andI'll pay for it."
"Done with you," said the other.
Their comradeship was now on its most felicitous level again, and theysat on the bench outside the club-house till the arrival of theirunusual conveyance.
"Lunching at the Poppits' to-morrow?" asked Major Flint.
"Yes. Meet you there? Good. Bridge afterwards, suppose."
"Sure to be. Wish there was a chance of more red-currant fool. That wasa decent tipple, all but the red-currants. If I had had all the oldbrandy that was served for my ration in one glass, and all the champagnein another, I should have been better content."
Captain Puffin was a great cynic in his own misogynistic way.
"Camouflage for the fair sex," he said. "A woman will lick up half abottle of brandy if it's called plum-pudding, and ask for more, whereasif you offered her a small brandy and soda, she would think you wereinsulting her."
"Bless them, the funny little fairies," said the Major.
"Well, what I tell you is true, Major," said Puffin. "There's old Mapp.Teetotaller she calls herself, but she played a bo'sun's part in thatred-currant fool. Bit rosy, I thought her, as we escorted her home."
"So she was," said the Major. "So she was. Said good-bye to us on herdoorstep as if she thought she was a perfect Venus Ana--Ana something."
"Anno Domini," giggled Puffin.
"Well, well, we all get long in the tooth in time," said Major Flintcharitably. "Fine figure of a woman, though."
"Eh?" said Puffin archly.
"Now none of your sailor-talk ashore, Captain," said the Major, in highgood humour. "I'm not a marrying man any more than you are. Better if Ihad been perhaps, more years ago than I care to think about. Dear me,my wound's going to trouble me to-night."
"What do you do for it, Major?" asked Puffin.
"Do for it? Think of old times a bit over my diaries."
"Going to let the world have a look at them some day?" asked Puffin.
"No, sir, I am not," said Major Flint. "Perhaps a hundred yearshence--the date I have named in my will for their publication--someonemay think them not so uninteresting. But all this toasting and butteringand grilling and frying your friends, and serving them up hot for allthe old cats at a tea-table to mew over--Pah!"
Puffin was silent a moment in appreciation of these noble sentiments.
"But you put in a lot of work over them," he said at length. "Often whenI'm going up to bed, I see the light still burning in your sitting-roomwindow."
"And if it comes to that," rejoined the Major, "I'm sure I've oftendozed off when I'm in bed and woken again, and pulled up my blind, andwhat not, and there's your light still burning. Powerful long roadsthose old Romans must have made, Captain."
The ice was not broken, but it was cracking in all directions under thisunexampled thaw. The two had clearly indicated a mutual suspicion ofeach other's industrious habits after dinner.... They had never gotquite so far as this before: some quarrel had congealed the surfaceagain. But now, with a desperate disagreement just behind them, and theunusual luxury of a taxi just in front, the vernal airs continuedblowing in the most springlike manner.
"Yes, that's true enough," said Puffin. "Long roads they were, and dryroads at that, and if I stuck to them from after my supper everyevening till midnight or more, should be smothered in dust."
"Unless you washed the dust down just once in a while," said MajorFlint.
"Just so. Brain-work's an exhausting process; requires a littlestimulant now and again," said Puffin. "I sit in my chair, youunderstand, and perhaps doze for a bit after my supper, and then I'llget my maps out, and have them handy beside me. And then, if there'ssomething interesting the evening paper, perhaps I'll have a look at it,and bless me, if by that time it isn't already half-past ten or eleven,and it seems useless to tackle archaeology then. And I just--just whileaway the time till I'm sleepy. But there seems to be a sort of legendamong the ladies here, that I'm a great student of local topography andRoman roads, and all sorts of truck, and I find it better to leave it atthat. Tiresome to go into long explanations. In fact," added Puffin in aburst of confidence, "the study I've done on Roman roads these last sixmonths wouldn't cover a threepenny piece."
Major Flint gave a loud, choking guffaw and beat his fat leg.
"Well, if that's not the best joke I've heard for many a long day," hesaid. "There I've been in the house opposite you these last two years,seeing your light burning late night after night, and thinking tomyself, 'There's my friend Puffin still at it! Fine thing to be anenthusiastic archaeologist like that. That makes short work of a lonelyevening for him if he's so buried in his books or his maps--Mapps, ha!ha!--that he doesn't seem to notice whether it's twelve o'clock or oneor two, maybe!' And all the time you've been sitting snoozing andboozing in your chair, with your glass handy to wash the dust down."
Puffin added his falsetto cackle to this merriment.
"And, often I've thought to myself," he said, "'There's my friend theMajor in his study opposite, with all his diaries round him, making anote here, and copying an extract there, and conferring with the Viceroyone day, and reprimanding the Maharajah of Bom-be-boo another. He'sspending the evening on India's coral strand, he is, having tiffin andshooting tigers and Gawd knows what--'"
The Major's laughter boomed out again.
"And I never kept a diary in my life!" he cried. "Why there's enoughcream in this situation to make a dishful of meringues. You and I, youknow, the students of Tilling! The serious-minded students who do a hardday's work when all the pretty ladies have gone to bed. Often and oftenhas old--I mean has that fine woman, Miss Mapp, told me that I work toohard at night! Recommended me to get earlier to bed, and do my workbetween six and eight in the morning! Six and eight in the morning!That's a queer time of day to recommend an old campaigner to be awakeat! Often she's talked to you, too, I bet my hat, about sitting up lateand exhausting the nervous faculties."
Major Flint choked and laughed and inhaled tobacco smoke till he gotpurple in the face.
"And you sitting up one side of the street," he gasped, "pretending tobe interested in Roman roads, and me on the other pulli
ng a long faceover my diaries, and neither of us with a Roman road or a diary to ournames. Let's have an end to such unsociable arrangements, old friend;you bring your Roman roads and the bottle to lay the dust over to me onenight, and I'll bring my diaries and my peg over to you the next. Neverdrink alone--one of my maxims in life--if you can find someone to drinkwith you. And there were you within a few yards of me all the timesitting by your old solitary self, and there was I sitting by my oldsolitary self, and we each thought the other a serious-minded oldbuffer, busy on his life-work. I'm blessed if I heard of two suchpompous old frauds as you and I, Captain! What a sight of hypocrisythere is in the world, to be sure! No offence--mind: I'm as bad as you,and you're as bad as me, and we're both as bad as each other. But nomore solitary confinement of an evening for Benjamin Flint, as long asyou're agreeable."
The advent of the taxi was announced, and arm in arm they limped downthe steep path together to the road. A little way off to the left wasthe great bunker which, primarily, was the cause of their present amity.As they drove by it, the Major waggled his red hand at it.
"Au reservoir," he said. "Back again soon!"
* * * * *
It was late that night when Miss Mapp felt that she was physicallyincapable of tacking on a single poppy more to the edge of her skirt,and went to the window of the garden-room where she had been working, toclose it. She glanced up at the top story of her own house, and saw thatthe lights in the servants' rooms were out: she glanced to the right andconcluded that her gardener had gone to bed: finally, she glanced downthe street and saw with a pang of pleasure that the windows of theMajor's house showed no sign of midnight labour. This was intenselygratifying: it indicated that her influence was at work in him, for inresponse to her wish, so often and so tactfully urged on him, that hewould go to bed earlier and not work so hard at night, here was thedarkened window, and she dismissed as unworthy the suspicion which hadbeen aroused by the red-currant fool. The window of his bedroom wasdark too: he must have already put out his light, and Miss Mapp madehaste over her little tidyings so that she might not be found atransgressor to her own precepts. But there was a light in CaptainPuffin's house: he had a less impressionable nature than the Major andwas in so many ways far inferior. And did he really find Roman roads sowonderfully exhilarating? Miss Mapp sincerely hoped that he did, andthat it was nothing else of less pure and innocent allurement that kepthim up.... As she closed the window very gently, it did just seem to herthat there had been something equally baffling in Major Flint'segoistical vigils over his diaries; that she had wondered whether therewas not something else (she had hardly formulated what) which kept hislights burning so late. But she would now cross him--dear man--and hislate habits, out of the list of riddles about Tilling which awaitedsolution. Whatever it had been (diaries or what not) that used to keephim up, he had broken the habit now, whereas Captain Puffin had not. Shetook her poppy-bordered skirt over her arm, and smiled her thankful wayto bed. She could allow herself to wonder with a little moredefiniteness, now that the Major's lights were out and he was abed, whatit could be which rendered Captain Puffin so oblivious to the passage oftime, when he was investigating Roman roads. How glad she was that theMajor was not with him.... "Benjamin Flint!" she said to herself as,having put her window open, she trod softly (so as not to disturb theslumberer next door) across her room on her fat white feet to her bigwhite bed. "Good-night, Major Benjy," she whispered, as she put herlight out.
* * * * *
It was not to be supposed that Diva would act on Miss Mapp's alarminghints that morning as to the fate of coal-hoarders, and give, say, aton of fuel to the hospital at once, in lieu of her usual smallerChristmas contribution, without making further inquiries in the properquarters as to the legal liabilities of having, so she ascertained,three tons in her cellar, and as soon as her visitor had left her thismorning, she popped out to see Mr. Wootten, her coal-merchant. Shereturned in a state of fury, for there were no regulations whatever inexistence with regard to the amount of coal that any householder mightchoose to amass, and Mr. Wootten complimented her on her prudence inhaving got in a reasonable supply, for he thought it quite probablethat, if the coal strike took place, there would be some difficulty inmonth's time from now in replenishing cellars. "But we've had a goodsupply all the summer," added agreeable Mr. Wootten, "and all mycustomers have got their cellars well stocked."
Diva rapidly recollected that the perfidious Elizabeth was among them.
"O but, Mr. Wootten," she said, "Miss Mapp popped--dropped in to see mejust now. Told me she had hardly got any."
Mr. Wootten turned up his ledger. It was not etiquette to disclose theaffairs of one client to another, but if there was a cantankerouscustomer, one who was never satisfied with prices and quality, thatclient was Miss Mapp.... He allowed a broad grin to overspread hisagreeable face.
"Well, ma'am, if in a month's time I'm short of coal, there are friendsof yours in Tilling who can let you have plenty," he permitted himselfto say....
It was idle to attempt to cut out bunches of roses while her hand was sofeverish, and she trundled up and down the High Street to cool off. Hadshe not been so prudent as to make inquiries, as likely as not she wouldhave sent a ton of coal that very day to the hospital, so strongly hadElizabeth's perfidious warning inflamed her imagination as to the fateof hoarders, and all the time Elizabeth's own cellars were glutted,though she had asserted that she was almost fuelless. Why, she must havein her possession more coal than Diva herself, since Mr. Wootten hadclearly implied that it was Elizabeth who could be borrowed from! Andall because of a wretched piece of rose-madder worsted....
By degrees she calmed down, for it was no use attempting to plan revengewith a brain at fever-heat. She must be calm and icily ingenious. As thecooling-process went on she began to wonder whether it was worsted alonethat had prompted her friend's diabolical suggestion. It seemed morelikely that another motive (one strangely Elizabethan) was the cause ofit. Elizabeth might be taken for certain as being a coal-hoarderherself, and it was ever so like her to divert suspicion by pretendingher cellar was next to empty. She had been equally severe on any whomight happen to be hoarding food, in case transport was disarranged andsupplies fell short, and with a sudden flare of authentic intuition,Diva's mind blazed with the conjecture that Elizabeth was hoarding foodas well.
Luck ever attends the bold and constructive thinker: the apple, forinstance, fell from the tree precisely when Newton's mind was gropingafter the law of gravity, and as Diva stepped into her grocer's to beginher morning's shopping (for she had been occupied with roses ever sincebreakfast) the attendant was at the telephone at the back of the shop.He spoke in a lucid telephone-voice.
"We've only two of the big tins of corned beef," he said; and there wasa pause, during which, to a psychic, Diva's ears might have seemed togrow as pointed with attention as a satyr's. But she could only hearlittle hollow quacks from the other end.
"Tongue as well. Very good. I'll send them up at once," he added, andcame forward into the shop.
"Good morning," said Diva. Her voice was tremulous with anxiety andinvestigation. "Got any big tins of corned beef? The ones that containsix pounds."
"Very sorry, ma'am. We've only got two, and they've just been ordered."
"A small pot of ginger then, please," said Diva recklessly. "Will yousend it round immediately?"
"Yes, ma'am. The boy's just going out."
That was luck. Diva hurried into the street, and was absorbed by theheadlines of the news outside the stationer's. This was a favouriteplace for observation, for you appeared to be quite taken up by thetopics of the day, and kept an oblique eye on the true object of yourscrutiny.... She had not got to wait long, for almost immediately thegrocer's boy came out of the shop with a heavy basket on his arm,delivered the small pot of ginger at her own door, and proceeded alongthe street. He was, unfortunately, a popular and a conversational youth,who had a great
deal to say to his friends, and the period of waiting tosee if he would turn up the steep street that led to Miss Mapp's housewas very protracted. At the corner he deliberately put down the basketaltogether and lit a cigarette, and never had Diva so acutely deploredthe spread of the tobacco-habit among the juvenile population.
Having refreshed himself he turned up the steep street.
He passed the fishmonger's and the fruiterer's; he did not take the turndown to the dentist's and Mr. Wyse's. He had no errand to the Major'shouse or to the Captain's. Then, oh then, he rang the bell at MissMapp's back door. All the time Diva had been following him, keeping herhead well down so as to avert the possibility of observation from thewindow of the garden-room, and walking so slowly that the motion of herfeet seemed not circular at all.... Then the bell was answered, and hedelivered into Withers' hands one, two tins of corned beef and a roundox-tongue. He put the basket on his head and came down the street again,shrilly whistling. If Diva had had any reasonably small change in herpocket, she would assuredly have given him some small share in it.Lacking this, she trundled home with all speed, and began cutting outroses with swift and certain strokes of the nail-scissors.
Now she had already noticed that Elizabeth had paid visits to thegrocer's on three consecutive days (three consecutive days: think ofit!), and given that her purchases on other occasions had been on thesame substantial scale as to-day, it became a matter of thrillinginterest as to where she kept these stores. She could not keep them inthe coal cellar, for that was already bursting with coal, and Diva, whohad assisted her (the base one) in making a prodigious quantity of jamthat year from her well-stocked garden, was aware that the kitchencupboards were like to be as replete as the coal-cellar, before thosehoardings of dead oxen began. Then there was the big cupboard under thestairs, but that could scarcely be the site of this prodigious cache,for it was full of cardboard and curtains and carpets and all therubbishy accumulations which Elizabeth could not bear to part with. Thenshe had large cupboards in her bedroom and spare rooms full tooverflowing of mouldy clothes, but there was positively not anothercupboard in the house that Diva knew of, and she crushed her temples inher hands in the attempt to locate the hiding-place of the hoard.
Diva suddenly jumped up with a happy squeal of discovery, and in herexcitement snapped her scissors with so random a stroke that shecompletely cut in half the bunch of roses that she was engaged on. Therewas another cupboard, the best and biggest of all and the most secretand the most discreet. It lay embedded in the wall of the garden-room,cloaked and concealed behind the shelves of a false book-case, whichcontained no more than the simulacra of books, just books with titlesthat had never yet appeared on any honest book. There were twelvevolumes of "The Beauties of Nature," a shelf full of "Elegant Extracts,"there were volumes simply called "Poems," there were "Commentaries,"there were "Travels" and "Astronomy" and the lowest and tallest shelfwas full of "Music." A card-table habitually stood in front of thisfalse repository of learning, and it was only last week that Diva, pryingcasually round the room while Elizabeth had gone to take off hergardening-gloves, had noticed a modest catch let into the wood-work.Without doubt, then, the book-case was the door of the cupboard, andwith a stroke of intuition, too sure to be called a guess, Diva wasaware that she had correctly inferred the storage of this nefarioushoard. It only remained to verify her conclusion, and, if possible,expose it with every circumstance of public ignominy. She was in nohurry: she could bide her time, aware that, in all probability, everyday that passed would see an addition to its damning contents. Some day,when she was playing bridge and the card-table had been moved out, insome rubber when she herself was dummy and Elizabeth greedily playingthe hand, she would secretly and accidentally press the catch which heracute vision had so providentially revealed to her....
She attacked her chintz curtains again with her appetite for the pinkroses agreeably whetted. Another hour's work would give her sufficientbunches for her purpose, and unless the dyer was as perfidious asElizabeth, her now purple jacket and skirt would arrive that afternoon.Two days' hard work would be sufficient for so accomplished aneedlewoman as herself to make these original decorations.
In the meantime, for Diva was never idle, and was chiefly occupied withdress, she got out a certain American fashion paper. There was in it thedescription of a tea-gown worn by Mrs. Titus W. Trout which she believedwas within her dressmaking capacity. She would attempt it, anyhow, andif it proved to be beyond her, she could entrust the more difficultparts to that little dressmaker whom Elizabeth employed, and who wascertainly very capable. But the costume was of so daring and splendid anature that she feared to take anyone into her confidence about it, lestsome hint or gossip--for Tilling was a gossipy place--might leak out.Kingfisher blue! It made her mouth water to dwell on the sumptuoussyllables!
* * * * *
Miss Mapp was so feverishly occupied all next morning with theapplication of poppies to the corn-coloured skirt that she paid verylittle attention to the opening gambits of the day, either as regardsthe world in general, or, more particularly, Major Benjy. After hisearly retirement last night he was probably up with the lark thismorning, and when between half-past ten and eleven his sonorous"Qui-hi!" sounded through her open window, the shock she experiencedinterrupted for a moment her floral industry. It was certainly very oddthat, having gone to bed at so respectable an hour last night, he shouldbe calling for his porridge only now, but with an impulse of unusualoptimism, she figured him as having been at work on his diaries beforebreakfast, and in that absorbing occupation having forgotten how late itwas growing. That, no doubt, was the explanation, though it would benice to know for certain, if the information positively forced itself onher notice.... As she worked, (framing her lips with elaborate motionsto the syllables) she dumbly practised the phrase "Major Benjy."Sometimes in moments of gallantry he called her "Miss Elizabeth," andshe meant, when she had got accustomed to it by practice, to say "MajorBenjy" to him by accident, and he would, no doubt, beg her to make ahabit of that friendly slip of the tongue.... "Tongue" led to a newtrain of thought, and presently she paused in her work, and pulling thecard-table away from the deceptive book-case, she pressed the concealedcatch of the door, and peeped in.
There was still room for further small precautions against starvationowing to the impending coal-strike, and she took stock of herprovisions. Even if the strike lasted quite a long time, there would nowbe no immediate lack of the necessaries of life, for the cupboardglistened with tinned meats, and the flour-merchant had sent a verysensible sack. This with considerable exertion she transferred to a highshelf in the cupboard, instead of allowing it to remain standing on thefloor, for Withers had informed her of an unpleasant rumour about amouse, which Mary had observed, lost in thought in front of thecupboard. "So mousie shall only find tins on the floor now," thoughtMiss Mapp. "Mousie shall try his teeth on tins." ... There was tea andcoffee in abundance, jars of jam filled the kitchen shelves, and if thismorning she laid in a moderate supply of dried fruits, there was noreason to face the future with anything but fortitude. She would seeabout that now, for, busy though she was, she could not miss theshopping-parade. Would Diva, she wondered, be at her window, snippingroses out of chintz curtains? The careful, thrifty soul. Perhaps thistime to-morrow, Diva, looking out of her window, would see that somebodyelse had been quicker about being thrifty than she. That would be fun!
The Major's dining-room window was open, and as Miss Mapp passed it, shecould not help hearing loud, angry remarks about eggs coming frominside. That made it clear that he was still at breakfast, and that ifhe had been working at his diaries in the fresh morning hours andforgetting the time, early rising, in spite of his early retirement lastnight, could not be supposed to suit his Oriental temper. But a changeof habits was invariably known to be upsetting, and Miss Mapp washopeful that in a day or two he would feel quite a different man.Further down the street was quaint Irene lounging at the door of her newstudio (a c
onverted coach-house), smoking a cigarette and dressed like ajockey.
"Hullo, Mapp," she said. "Come and have a look round my new studio. Youhaven't seen it yet. I shall give a house-warming next week.Bridge-party!"
Miss Mapp tried to steel herself for the hundredth time to appear quiteunconscious that she was being addressed when Irene said "Mapp" in thatodious manner. But she never could summon up sufficient nerve to be rudeto so awful a mimic....
"Good morning, dear one," she said sycophantically. "Shall I peep in fora moment?"
The decoration of the studio was even more appalling than might havebeen expected. There was a German stove in the corner made of pinkporcelain, the rafters and roof were painted scarlet, the walls were ofmagenta distemper and the floor was blue. In the corner was a verylarge orange-coloured screen. The walls were hung with specimens ofIrene's art, there was a stout female with no clothes on at all, whom itwas impossible not to recognize as being Lucy; there were studies of fatlegs and ample bosoms, and on the easel was a picture, evidently inprocess of completion, which represented a man. From this Miss Mappinstantly averted her eyes.
"Eve," said Irene, pointing to Lucy.
Miss Mapp naturally guessed that the gentleman who was almost in thesame costume was Adam, and turned completely away from him.
"And what a lovely idea to have a blue floor, dear," she said. "Howoriginal you are. And that pretty scarlet ceiling. But don't you findwhen you're painting that all these bright colours disturb you?"
"Not a bit: they stimulate your sense of colour."
Miss Mapp moved towards the screen.
"What a delicious big screen," she said.
"Yes, but don't go behind it, Mapp," said Irene, "or you'll see my modelundressing."
Miss Mapp retreated from it precipitately, as from a wasp's nest, andexamined some of the studies on the wall, for it was more than probablefrom the unfinished picture on the easel that Adam lurked behind thedelicious screen. Terrible though it all was, she was conscious of anunbridled curiosity to know who Adam was. It was dreadful to think thatthere could be any man in Tilling so depraved as to stand to be lookedat with so little on....
Irene strolled round the walls with her.
"Studies of Lucy," she said.
"I see, dear," said Miss Mapp. "How clever! Legs and things! But whenyou have your bridge-party, won't you perhaps cover some of them up, orturn them to the wall? We should all be looking at your pictures insteadof attending to our cards. And if you were thinking of asking the Padre,you know...."
They were approaching the corner of the room where the screen stood,when a movement there as if Adam had hit it with his elbow made MissMapp turn round. The screen fell flat on the ground and within a yard ofher stood Mr. Hopkins, the proprietor of the fish-shop just up thestreet. Often and often had Miss Mapp had pleasant little conversationswith him, with a view to bringing down the price of flounders. He hadlittle bathing-drawers on....
"Hullo, Hopkins, are you ready?" said Irene. "You know Miss Mapp, don'tyou?"
Miss Mapp had not imagined that Time and Eternity combined could hold soembarrassing a moment. She did not know where to look, but wherever shelooked, it should not be at Hopkins. But (wherever she looked) she couldnot be unaware that Hopkins raised his large bare arm and touched theplace where his cap would have been, if he had had one.
"Good-morning, Hopkins," she said. "Well, Irene darling, I must betrotting, and leave you to your----" she hardly knew what to callit--"to your work."
She tripped from the room, which seemed to be entirely full of unclothedlimbs, and redder than one of Mr. Hopkins's boiled lobsters hurried downthe street. She felt that she could never face him again, but would beobliged to go to the establishment in the High Street where Irene dealt,when it was fish she wanted from a fish-shop.... Her head was in a whirlat the brazenness of mankind, especially womankind. How had Irenestarted the overtures that led to this? Had she just said to Hopkinsone morning: "Will you come to my studio and take off all your clothes?"If Irene had not been such a wonderful mimic, she would certainly havefelt it her duty to go straight to the Padre, and, pulling down herveil, confide to him the whole sad story. But as that was out of thequestion, she went into Twenlow's and ordered four pounds of driedapricots.