Mrs. Fitz

by J. C. Snaith

  CHAPTER II

  TRIBULATIONS OF A M.F.H.

  Brasset it certainly was. And when he came into the room lookingdelightfully healthy, decidedly handsome, and a great deal more seriousthan a minister of the Crown, his first words were to the effect thatMorton had telephoned through to say that they had a foot of snow onthe wolds and that hounds had better stay where they were.

  "Awfully good of you, Brasset, to come and tell us," said I, heartily."Have some breakfast?"

  "No, thanks," said Brasset. "The fact is, as we are not going over toMorton's, I thought this would be a good opportunity to--to----"

  For some reason the noble Master did not appear to know how to completehis sentence.

  "Yes, Lord Brasset," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, with an air of acuteintelligence.

  "A good opportunity to--to----" said Brasset, who in spite of hisseriousness really looked absurdly young to be the master of such apack as ours.

  "Yes, Lord Brasset," said Mrs. Arbuthnot again.

  "Yes, quite so, my dear fellow," said I, without, as I hope andbelieve, the least appearance of levity, for the uncompromising eye ofauthority was upon me.

  "What's up, Brasset?" said Jodey, who contrary to the regulations waslighting his pipe at the breakfast table, and who combined with hismany engaging qualities an extremely practical mind. "You want a glassof beer. Parkins, bring his lordship a glass of beer."

  With this aid to the body corporeal in his hand, and with a pair oflarge, serious and admirably solicitous eyes fixed upon him, the nobleMaster made a third attempt to complete his sentence. This time hesucceeded.

  "The fact is," said he, "I thought this would be a good opportunityto--to"--here the noble Master made a heroic dash for England, home andglory--"to talk over this confounded business of Mrs. Fitz."

  Mrs. Arbuthnot sat bolt upright with an air of ecstasy and theexpression "There, what did I tell you!" written all over her

  "Quite so, my dear fellow," said I, in simple good faith, but happeningat that moment to intercept a glance from a feminine eye, had perforceto smother my countenance somewhat hastily in the voluminous folds ofthe _Times_.

  "What about her?" inquired the occupant of the breakfast table, who,whatever the angels might happen to be doing at any given moment, neverhesitated to walk right in with both feet. "I was saying to Arbuthnotand my sister just as you came in, that you people down here have gotMrs. Fitz on the brain."

  "Yes, I am afraid we have," said Brasset, ruefully. "The fact is,things are coming to such a pass that they can't go on."

  "I agree with you, Lord Brasset," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, with conviction.

  "Something must be done."

  "It is so uncomfortable for everybody," said Mrs. Arbuthnot. "And Ican promise this, Lord Brasset"--the fair speaker looked ostentatiouslyaway from the vicinity of the leading morning journal--"whatever stepsyou decide to take in the matter will have the entire sympathy andsupport of every woman subscriber to the Hunt."

  "Thank you very much indeed, Mrs. Arbuthnot," said the noble Master,with feeling, "I am very grateful to you. It will help me very much."

  "We held a meeting in Mrs. Catesby's drawing-room on Sunday afternoon.We passed a resolution expressing the fullest confidence in you--Iwish, Lord Brasset, you could have heard what was said about you." TheMaster's picturesque complexion achieved a more roseate tinge. "Ourunanimous support and approval was voted to you in all that you mayfeel called upon to do."

  "A thousand thanks, my dear Mrs. Arbuthnot."

  "And we hope you will turn Mrs. Fitz out of the Hunt. I also broughtforward an amendment that Fitz be turned out as well, but it wasdecided by six votes to four to give him another chance. But in thecase of Mrs. Fitz the meeting was absolutely unanimous."

  "My God," said the occupant of the breakfast table. "If that ain't thelimit!"

  "Mrs. Fitz is a good deal more than the limit." Mrs. Arbuthnot's eyessparkled with truculence.

  "Have a cigarette, my dear fellow," said I, offering my case to theunfortunate Brasset as soon as the state of my emotions would permit meto do so.

  Brasset selected a cigarette with an air of intense melancholy. As heapplied the lighted match that was also offered him he favoured me withan eye that was so woebegone that it must have moved a heart of stoneto pity. On the contrary, my fellow-pilgrim through this vale of tearshad turned a most becoming shade of pink, which she invariably doeswhen she is really out upon the warpath. Also in her china-blueeyes--I hope such a description of these weapons will pass thecensor--was a look of grim, unalterable ruthlessness, before which menquite as stout as Brasset have had to quail.

  The noble Master took a nervous draw at his Egyptian.

  "Look here, Arbuthnot," said he, "you are a wise chap, ain't you?"

  "He thinks he's wise," said my helpmeet.

  "Every man does," said I, modestly, "not necessarily as an article offaith but as a point of ritual."

  "Yes, of course," said Brasset, with an air of intelligence thatimposed upon nobody. "But everybody says you are a wise chap. Thatlittle Mrs. Perkins says you are the wisest chap she has met out ofLondon."

  This indiscretion on the part of Brasset--some men have so littletact!--provoked a stiffening of plumage; and if the china-blue eyes didnot shoot forth a spark this chronicle is not likely to be of muchaccount.

  "Stick to the point, if you please," said I. "I plead guilty to beinga Solomon."

  "Well, as you are a wise chap," said the blunderer, "and I'm by way ofbeing an ass----"

  "I don't agree with you at all, Lord Brasset," piped a fair admirer.

  "Oh, but I am, Mrs. Arbuthnot," said Brasset, dissenting with thatcourtesy in which he was supreme. "It's awfully good of you to say I'mnot, but everybody knows I am not much of a chap at most things."

  "You may not be so clever as Odo," said the wife of my bosom, "becauseOdo's exceptional. But you are an extremely _able_ man all the same,Lord Brasset."

  "She means to attend that sale at Tatt's on Wednesday," said theoccupant of the breakfast table in an aside to the marmalade.

  "Well, if I am not such a fool as I think I am"--so perfect a sinceritydisarmed criticism--"it is awfully good of you, Mrs. Arbuthnot, to sayso. But what I mean is, I should like Arbuthnot's advice on thesubject of--on the subject of----"

  "On the subject of Mrs. Fitz," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, with the coo of thedove and the glance of the rattlesnake.

  "Ye-es," said the noble Master, nervously dropping the ash from hiscigarette on to a very expensive tablecloth.

  "Odo will be very pleased indeed, Lord Brasset," said the superior halfof my entity, "to give you advice about Mrs. Fitz. He agrees with meand Mary Catesby and Laura Glendinning, that she must be turned out ofthe Hunt."

  Poor Brasset removed a bead of perspiration from the perplexedmelancholy of his features with a silk handkerchief of vivid hue, ownbrother to the one sported by the Bayard at the breakfast table, in afutile attempt to cope with his dismay.

  "Is it usual, Mrs. Arbuthnot?"

  "It may not be usual, Lord Brasset, but Mrs. Fitz is not a usual woman."

  "My dear Irene," said I, judicially--Mrs. Arbuthnot rejoices in theclassical name of Irene--"my dear Irene, I understand Brasset to meanthat there is nothing in the articles of association of theCrackanthorpe Hunt to provide against the contingency of Mrs. Fitz orany other British matron overriding hounds as often as she likes."

  Although I have had no regular legal training beyond having oncelunched in the hall of Gray's Inn, everybody knows my uncle the judge.But I regret to say that this weighty deliverance did not meet withentire respect in the quarter in which it was entitled to look for it.

  "That is nonsense, Odo," said Mrs. Arbuthnot. "I am sure the Quorn----"

  Brasset's misery assumed so acute a phase at the mention of the Quornthat Mrs. Arbuthnot paused sympathetically.

  "The Quorn--my God!" muttered the Bayard at the breakfast table in anaside to the tea-kett
le.

  "Or the Cottesmore," continued the undefeated Mrs. Arbuthnot, "wouldnot stand such behaviour from a person like Mrs. Fitz."

  "Do you think so, Mrs. Arbuthnot?" said the noble Master. "You see, weshouldn't like to get our names up by doing something unusual."

  "An unusual person must be dealt with in an unusual way," said Mrs.Arbuthnot, with great sententiousness.

  "Mary Catesby thinks----"

  The long arm of coincidence is sometimes very startling, and I canvouch for it that the entrance of Parkins at this psychological moment,to herald the appearance of Mary Catesby in the flesh, greatlyimpressed us all as something quite beyond the ordinary.

  "Why, here _is_ Mary," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, giving that source of lightand authority a cross-over kiss on both checks. It is the hall-mark ofthe married ladies of our neighbourhood that they all delight toexhibit an almost exaggerated reverence for Mary Catesby.

  I have great esteem for Mary Catesby myself. For one thing, she hasdeserved well of her country. The mother of three girls and five boys,she is the British matron _in excelsis_; and apart from the habit shehas formed of riding in her horse's mouth, she has every attribute ofthe best type of Christian gentlewoman. She owns to thirty-nine--tofollow the ungallant example of Debrett!--is the eldest daughter of apeer, and is extremely authoritative in regard to everything under thesun, from the price of eggs to the table of precedence.

  The admirable Mary--her full name is Mary Augusta--may be a trifleover-elaborated. Her horses are well up to fourteen stone. And asmatter and mind are one and the same, it is sometimes urged against herthat her manner is a little overwhelming. But this is to seek forblemishes on the noonday sun of female excellence. One of a morefragile cast might find such a weight of virtue a burden. But MaryCatesby wears it like a flower.

  In addition to her virtue she was also wearing a fur cloak which wasthe secret envy of the entire feminine population of the county,although individual members thereof made it a point of honour toproclaim for the benefit of one another, "Why _does_ Mary persist inwearing that ermine-tailed atrocity! She really can't know what afright she looks in it."

  As a matter of fact, Mary Catesby in her fur cloak is one of the mostimpressive people the mind of man can conceive. That fur cloak of herscan stop the Flying Dutchman at any wayside station between Land's Endand Paddington; and on the platform at the annual distribution ofprizes at Middleham Grammar School, I have seen more than one small boyso completely overcome by it, that he has dropped "Macaulay's Essays"on the head of the reporter of the _Advertiser_.

  Besides this celebrated garment, Mary was adorned with a bowler hatwith enormous brims, not unlike that affected by Mr. Weller the Elderas Cruikshank depicted him, and so redoubtable a pair of butcher bootsas literally made the earth tremble under her.

  Her first remark was addressed, quite naturally, to the unfortunateBrasset, who had been rendered a little pinker and a little moreperplexed than he already was by this notable woman's impressive entry.

  "I consider this weather disgraceful," said she. "It always is when wego over to Morton's. Why is it, Reggie?"

  She spoke as though the luckless Reggie was personally responsible forthe weather and also for the insulting manner in which thatmuch-criticised British institution had deranged her plans.

  "I am awfully sorry, Mrs. Catesby. Not much of a day, is it?"

  "Disgraceful. If one can't have better weather than this, one might aswell go and have a week's skating at Prince's."

  The idea of Mary Catesby having a week's skating at Prince's seemed toappeal to Joseph Jocelyn De Vere. At least that sportsman was pleasednot a little.

  "English style or Continental?" said he.

  Mary Catesby did not deign to heed.

  "I am awfully sorry, Mrs. Catesby," said Brasset again, with reallybeautiful humility.

  Mrs. Catesby declined to accept this delightfully courteous apology,but gazed down her chin at the unfortunate Brasset with that ample airwhich invariably makes her look like Minerva as Titian conceived thatdeity. Silently, pitilessly, she proceeded to fix the wholeresponsibility for the weather upon the Master of the Crackanthorpe.

  She had just performed this feat with the greatest efficiency, when byno means the least of her admirers put in an oar.

  "I'm so glad you've come, Mary," said Mrs. Arbuthnot. "We were justhaving it out with Lord Brasset about Mrs. Fitz."

  An uncomfortable silence followed.

  "Is she a subject for discussion in a mixed company?" said I, torelieve the tension.

  "I should say not," said Mary. "But Reggie has been so weak that thereis no help for it."

  "The victim of circumstances, perhaps," said I, with generous unwisdom.

  "People who are weak always are the victims of circumstances. IfReggie had only been firmer at the beginning, we should not now be alaughing-stock for everybody. To my mind the first requisite in amaster of hounds is resolution of character."

  "Hear, hear," said the occupant of the breakfast table, _sotto voce_.

  The miserable Brasset, whose pinkness and perplexity were everincreasing, fairly quailed before the Great Lady's forensic power.

  "Do you think, Mrs. Catesby, I ought to resign?" said he, with thehumility that invites a kicking.

  "Not _now_, surely; it would be too abject. If you felt the situationwas beyond you, you should have resigned at the beginning. You mustshow spirit, Reggie. You must not submit to being trampled on publiclyby--by----"

  The Great Lady paused here, not because she was at a loss for a word,but because, like all born orators, she had an instinctive knowledge ofthe value of a pause in the right place.

  "By a circus rider from Vienna," she concluded in a level voice.