Wigs on the Green

by Nancy Mitford

  ‘I don’t notice you being specially loyal to the wretched Noel.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Nobody understands about me and Noel; ours is a very complicated relationship which began nearly twenty years ago when we were new boys together at our private. It is chiefly based on the fact that Noel expects a certain type of treatment from me, he would be very much put out if he got any other. The truth is that he gets a great deal of vicarious pleasure out of my evil doings. For instance, he likes having me down here, enjoys my company and so on; but what he positively adores is the feeling that he is forced to keep me here by the most unprincipled blackmail on my part. It wouldn’t be a quarter the satisfaction to him if I were to pay for myself like any ordinary person, because then I shouldn’t be living up to his conception of my character.’

  ‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ said Poppy, doubtfully.

  ‘Besides, think what a wonderfully good turn I did him with that old Local Beauty. Why, the girl was gunning for me, you know, as hard as she could, but after half an hour’s conversation with me she turned right about and started gunning for Noel instead, and from that day to this she has never looked back once. No, you can’t pretend that I’m disloyal.’

  ‘I shouldn’t call it a sign of loyalty to throw anyone into the arms of that awful, affected, pretentious Mrs Lace.’

  ‘Bella, Horrida Bella? I think she’s quite a cup of tea. But the point is, you don’t know the old boy like I do. The only love that counts for a row of pins from his point of view is the hopeless sort. As soon as a girl begins to be able to sit in the same room with him he sheers off. If the old L.B., or Local Beauty, had still been after me, he would still have been mad about her, as it is, he is cooling down wonderfully. Darling Miss Smith, now you might as well admit that I am a loyal guy.’

  ‘All right, my poppet, don’t make such a to-do. I expect even you have got a few good qualities, everybody has. I was only suggesting that, judged by the usual standards, you are a bit of a burglar.’

  ‘Oh! well,’ said Jasper gloomily, ‘if that’s all – a chap has got to live somehow you know, it’s one long struggle to survive in one’s environment. But look here, why don’t you marry me? I’ll promise to give up being a burglar and work for my living some other way – how about that?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Poppy. ‘I don’t really approve of marriage, you know. I think settlements are the thing to go for, these days.’

  ‘Why did you marry Anthony St Julien?’

  ‘How stupid you are. A girl must marry once, you can’t go on being called Miss – Miss all your life, it sounds too idiotic. All the same, marriage is a great bore – chap’s waistcoats lying about in one’s bedroom, and so on. It gets one down in time. Hullo! Look! here come Eugenia and Vivian Jackson. Hail!’ she cried.

  ‘Hail, Union Jackshirts!’ Eugenia trotted up to them and dismounted, sending Vivian Jackson about his business with a tremendous whack on the hind-quarters, ‘have you been to see T.P.O.F.? She was in an awful stew when I left.’

  ‘We have,’ said Poppy, ‘and she’s calmed down again nicely.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eugenia anxiously, ‘but what did you arrange?’

  ‘It’s all right. There’s to be no tee-d up garden party, but the pageant is to take place just the same, with a small charge for admission.’

  ‘Oh! good,’ said Eugenia, greatly relieved. ‘That makes it all the easier for us to have our Grand S.U. rally. I must begin to see about the posters and leaflets – I thought we might distribute some Social Unionist hymns and propaganda while we are about it.’

  ‘T.P.O.F. seems quite enthusiastic about Union Jackshirtism.’

  ‘Yes, she thinks it’s the Women’s Institute and she’s all for it. Keeps on saying how pleased she is that I do something for the village at last. Nanny’s the one who hates it so much. I’m always afraid she’s going to tell on me, the old Pacifist.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think she’d do that.’

  ‘She’d better not, unless she wants to be beaten up by the Comrades.’

  There was a pause in the conversation. Eugenia began to hum, as she often did, the tune of ‘Deutschland Deutschland Uber Ailes!’ to which she sang the substituted words, ‘Union Jackshirts Up and At ’Em, Push their faces in the mud!’

  Presently Jasper said: ‘Poppy and I were just talking about getting married.’

  ‘To whom?’

  ‘To each other, dear.’

  Eugenia looked at them severely. ‘If cousin Poppy St Julien had the true principles of Social Unionism at heart she would return to her husband and present him with several healthy male children.’

  ‘Darling Eugenia,’ cried Poppy, ‘he wouldn’t like that a bit. Why, when I think of all the trouble I’ve taken —’

  ‘Is your husband an Aryan?’

  ‘I really don’t quite know what an Aryan is.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite easy. A non-Aryan is the missing link between man and beast. That can be proved by the fact that no animals, except the Baltic goose, have blue eyes.’

  ‘How about Siamese cats?’ said Jasper.

  ‘That’s true. But Siamese cats possess, to a notable degree, the Nordic virtue of faithfulness.’

  ‘Indeed they don’t,’ said Poppy. ‘We had one last summer and he brought back a different wife every night. Even Anthony was quite shocked.’

  Eugenia was in no way put out. ‘I know, they may not be faithful to non-Aryan cats,’ she said, ‘why should they be? But they love their Nordic owners, and even go for long walks with them.’

  ‘So your definition of an Aryan is somebody who will go for long walks with other Aryans? Come on now, Miss Smith, does Anthony St Julien go for long walks with you or is he the missing link?’

  ‘Union Jackshirt Aspect,’ said Eugenia sharply, ‘no levity, please.’ She turned to Poppy and said, ‘If your husband is an Aryan you should be able to persuade him that it is right to live together and breed; if he is a filthy non-Aryan it may be your duty to leave him and marry Jackshirt Aspect. I am not sure about this, we want no immorality in the Movement …’

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ said Jasper, ‘you can take it from me that Anthony St Julien is a very low type, there is nothing of the Baltic goose about him.’

  Eugenia paid no attention. ‘I have just been to see Union Jackshirt Foster and was obliged to speak to him about his association with Mrs Lace. It may, of course, be perfectly innocent, but it causes much talk in the village, so my Comrades tell me. It must come to an end therefore; at best it gives the Pacifists a peg on which they may hang libellous statements about the party to which Union Jackshirt Foster belongs, at worst he may be luring her away from her duty as the wife and mother of Aryans.’

  ‘Well, well, what a governessy little thing it is,’ said Jasper. ‘So what had Union Jackshirt Foster to say for himself?’

  ‘His statement was neither satisfactory nor convincing,’ replied Eugenia, ‘in fact, I shall be obliged to write a request for his formal resignation from the Movement to-night.’

  ‘I don’t know which is the worse, you or T.P.O.F.’

  ‘This country must be purged of petty vice before it can be fit to rule the world,’ cried Eugenia. She remounted Vivian Jackson and galloped away.

  ‘That’s a fine girl,’ said Jasper. ‘If she had been born twenty years sooner she would have been a suffragette.’

  15

  Jasper and Noel sat in the bar, deserted by their women kind who were at Comberry Manor trying on dresses for the pageant. They drank quantities of beer and talked about themselves, the conversation having opened in a tone of extreme cordiality. It appeared that Noel was now rather uncomfortably involved in the affair Lace; Anne-Marie, having abandoned that philosophical serenity which he had found so unusual and so admirable, had recently embarked upon a series of painful scenes. Major Lace, too, according to his wife, was both jealous and suspicious, and trouble was to be anticipated from that
quarter.

  ‘Of course I was a fool to imagine it,’ Noel said drearily, ‘but she honestly did seem a bit different from other girls. I must try and remember another time that they are all the same in the end.’

  ‘The great thing about women,’ said Jasper, ‘is that they have a passion for getting relationships cut and dried. It seems to be their first object in life. If they are having an ordinary love-affair they can’t be happy until they have turned it into a romance of the till-death-us-do-part description, while matrimony, even in these days, is never as far as it might be from the back of their minds. They are wonderfully adept at herding chaps into that particular pen, no method is too dishonest which achieves that end. If they are themselves unmarried they pretend that their mother has forbidden them to see one, if married that the husband is getting jealous, until, maddened by all these restrictions, one ends by proposing. Of course neither mother nor husband would have the smallest idea that anything unusual was going on if the little darlings weren’t continually dropping dark hints. Oh! what maddening creatures. I do envy people whose tastes lie in any other direction. All the same,’ he added, ‘I’m bound to say that my Miss Smith seems exceptional in that respect.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Noel, cheerfully, ‘she’s just leaving a side door open in case she can persuade that husband of hers to take her back.’

  ‘Blast you,’ said Jasper gloomily. He had long suspected as much himself.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Noel, ‘she has one great advantage – she does at least realize that you can’t afford to marry. I wish to goodness I could convince Anne-Marie the same about me – that ring was a bad tactical error on my part, ever since I gave it to her she seems to suppose that I am vastly rich. Why, what on earth do you think she suggested this morning? That I should buy a villa for her in the south of France, if you please, and install her there as my mistress! The girl must be wrong in the head.’

  Jasper giggled. ‘I think that’s funny.’

  ‘It’s not funny for me,’ said Noel, ‘I’m getting too much tied up altogether and it’s damned tiresome I can tell you. As soon as this pageant is over I’m jolly well going to cut and run.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Back to my old job at Fruel’s again, I suppose,’ said Noel drearily, ‘as I seem to have ratted all these heiresses I shall be obliged to go on working for my living.’ As he said these words a horrid vision rose before his eyes of Miss Brisket the plain typist, Miss Clumps the pretty one, and the ferret eyes and astute nose of Mr Farmer the head clerk. They were framed in olde oake and stained glass, and looked like demons in hell waiting to torment him.

  Jasper’s voice recalled him to earth. ‘Actually,’ it was saying, ‘I don’t think you’ll be going back to Fruel’s.’

  ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘Because when I was up in London the other day I went round to New Broad Street and had a chat with Sir Percy. I explained to him that I am really in many ways more suited to that particular line of business than you are, and do you know he quite saw my point – quite. Charming and intelligent man, Sir Percy. He told me that you had left for good this time. I begin work on the first of next month.’

  Noel paled. The vision which had seemed so devilish a moment ago recurred to him with a strangely altered aspect. Miss Brisket, Miss Clumps and Mr Farmer, in their old-world setting, now appeared as angels of light, singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.

  ‘Jasper,’ he said bitterly, ‘I always knew you were the biggest swine I knew, but I never knew quite what a swine you were until now.’

  ‘My dear old boy,’ said Jasper, in pained surprise, raising his eyebrows very high, ‘now don’t let’s have any ill feeling about this, please. You had definitely resigned, hadn’t you? As jobs go it’s a good job, and it seemed only sensible to keep it in the family, so to speak. Honestly, old boy, I’m most exceedingly sorry that you are upset about this, but I’m bound to say I don’t see what you’re complaining of.’

  ‘All right,’ said Noel suddenly, ‘as you’ve got my job and as you’re welcome to my share of Mrs Lace, you can’t do me any more dirt, so I can stop paying your bills in this lousy hole. That’s one comfort. Here, miss! Put all these beers down to room 8, will you?’

  For once in his life Jasper was left with nothing to say.

  After this Noel began taking steps to find himself work. He stayed on at Chalford because he was infected with the general excitement over the pageant, and besides London at the moment was hot and empty of influential people. So he wrote letters. He felt that it was useless to hope for an invitation to resume his old position in the office of Fruel and Grimthorpe; after the barbed shafts which had doubtless been inserted into the mind of Sir Percy Fruel by Jasper, an application there would only be made at the risk of a colossal snub. Noel therefore wrote to his three uncles, all of whom occupied good positions in the world of finance. He explained that he was wasting his time in a stockbroker’s office, it was an occupation which he felt gave him too little scope for his talents. He would prefer some job where he could make use of his languages and his rather special knowledge of central European conditions. If Jasper can bluff his way through life, he thought, as he wrote this, so should I be able to. The uncles, he knew, rightly regarded him as a young man who, while lacking in brilliance, could be relied upon to execute anything he might be given to do with steady industry. They had for years deprecated his friendship with the notorious Mr Aspect and might be very much inclined to assist him to a job abroad, far from that malign influence. Noel also thought that once away from Chalford it would be no bad thing to put the German ocean between himself and Mrs Lace for a time. Whilst awaiting developments however, he continued to dally with that lady, to whose attractions he was perhaps not quite so insensible as he liked to imagine.

  ‘How very mysterious,’ said Poppy, who, accompanied by Jasper, had just returned from a rehearsal of the Chalford group’s episode. It was the last but one before the pageant and had been a heavy failure. ‘How very mysterious, here’s an enormous parcel for me. It is strange, as nobody knows I’m here, except I suppose Anthony, and he wouldn’t be likely to send me a parcel.’

  ‘No, only a writ,’ said Jasper.

  ‘So queer,’ Poppy continued. ‘It’s not my birthday or anything either, besides, nobody gets a post here ever, except the detectives.’ She pulled at its brown paper wrapping, ‘Why, it’s just like a very heavy hat box, registered too. I simply don’t understand it.’

  When at last she had made a hole in the brown paper, which was of a particularly tough brand, a neat wooden box was revealed, clearly needing hammer and chisel to open it. Jasper, who was by now almost as curious as Poppy, went off and borrowed these implements from Mr Birk.

  ‘It’s exactly the sort of box my wedding presents used to arrive in,’ said Poppy, hovering round while Jasper bashed away at it. ‘Somebody always used to injure themselves opening them, and then one would plough one’s way through oceans of shavings in order to reveal some awful little glass inkstand. How I used to cry when I was engaged.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Marriage with old missing link St Julien can’t have been a very pretty future for a nice Nordic girl like you to contemplate.’

  ‘Hullo!’ said Poppy, ‘so what did I tell you? Oceans of shavings. How like old times – now for the inkpot.’

  Inside the shavings was a large red leather case.

  ‘Whoever sent this wasn’t going to risk having their precious inkpot broken.’

  Inside the large red leather case was a large diamond tiara.

  Poppy and Jasper blinked. They looked at each other and looked again at the tiara and neither spoke. After a few minutes Poppy placed it carefully on the hall table and removing her gaze from it with some reluctance she began to search once more among the shavings. This she did in the purely mechanical manner of one whose reflexes have been conditioned to a particular reaction on the receipt of diamond tiaras. She soon fou
nd what she was looking for, a visiting-card. The name engraved upon it was the name of Jasper’s grandfather, and on it was written in pencil, ‘To a very charming little lady from an old friend, who hopes that soon he may boast a more intimate relationship.’

  Jasper took it from her and read it in his turn.

  ‘Good,’ he said comfortably, ‘now we really shall be able to be married.’

  Poppy, who was trying on the tiara in front of a looking-glass, said, ‘Why?’

  ‘On the proceeds, silly.’

  ‘Proceeds of what? I don’t somehow think I intend to sell my tiara,’ said Poppy, ‘if that’s what you mean.’ She twisted her head about to make it sparkle. ‘Really, it suits me a treat, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Remember you are going to be a poor man’s wife, you can’t afford these expensive treats.’

  ‘Yes, but if I stay with Anthony St Julien I can afford them easily.’

  ‘Well, I’m bound to say that’s pretty cool. If you stay with Anthony St Julien it is to be hoped you will be sufficiently honourable to hand over that tiara.’

  ‘To whom, pray?’

  ‘To me, of course. After all, the old boy sent it along as a wedding present for me, didn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t agree at all. Just read that card again and show me one single mention either of you or of a wedding on it. I might possibly return it to the duke, but it has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Here look,’ said Jasper, holding up the card, ‘“who hopes he may soon boast a more intimate relationship with her.” How about that?’

  ‘I hope the duke has honourable intentions,’ said Poppy carelessly. She picked up the tiara and put it back into its case, and then, still holding it, she walked through the hall, ‘Mr Birk!’ she called.

  Mr Birk appeared from his parlour.

  ‘Could I borrow your car now, at once? I want to go to the bank at Rackenbridge.’