Mrs. Tim of the Regiment

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘We’ll have cocktails first,’ announces Mrs. Loudon surprisingly. ‘I’ve never tasted the things, and I’ve often wondered what they were like.’

  ‘You’ll do as you please, of course, Elspeth,’ says Mrs. Falconer, sinking into a cane chair with a groan of fatigue. ‘I, for one, shall not risk it.’

  ‘You’ll take sherry, then,’ says Mrs. Loudon firmly. ‘It will do you good.’ She summons the waiter in her queenliest manner, and orders two cocktails and one sherry.

  ‘Yes, madame.’ He bows, and reels off a string of the different kinds obtainable at the hotel. The list is long enough and peculiar enough to daunt a stout-hearted man, but Mrs. Loudon rises to the occasion nobly.

  ‘I’ll have a Broncho,’ she says gravely. ‘What about you, Hester? Two Bronchos, please. I don’t know why you are laughing, Hester, but if it is a good joke you might share it with us. Good gracious, there’s the Baker man!’

  ‘The baker man!’ echoes Mrs. Falconer, peering round shortsightedly.

  Mrs. Loudon is not listening. ‘He hasn’t seen us,’ she announces in a relieved voice. Personally I feel sure Mr. Baker has seen us, but, not having sufficient aplomb to deal with the situation created by his Elsie, has shirked the issue by pretending to be stone blind.

  We drink our cocktails peacefully, and enter the dining room, where Mrs. Loudon’s manner procures us the instant attention of the head waiter and a delightful table near the window. I look round and find to my satisfaction that all our neighbours are complete strangers. The McTurks are at the other end of the room near the band, and the Bakers are giving a luncheon party to their friends at the large centre table. Elsie is looking very pretty in flowered voile; she talks and laughs in an animated way, and seems to be enjoying herself immensely. The young man on her right with the fair wavy hair and the Adam’s apple must be Guthrie’s supplanter. She is so enchanted with his wit that it is not until the luncheon party is nearly over that her eye falls upon me.

  I should like to have to record that she turns pale, and that the laughter dies on her lips, but nothing of the sort occurs. She merely looks a trifle surprised, and smiles at me in a friendly manner.

  Meanwhile Mrs. Loudon has seen Elsie and her entourage. She gives no sign of recognition, but her mouth hardens and her thin fingers pluck at her bread.

  ‘We’ll go when you’ve finished, Millie,’ she says quietly.

  ‘But we haven’t had the ice!’ exclaims Mrs. Falconer, who enjoys her food. ‘Don’t you want the ice, Elspeth?’

  At this moment Tony appears through the swing doors. He sees us at once, and comes across the room to our table.

  ‘Well,’ he says, smiling gravely. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Has Burnside been burnt to the ground or what?’

  ‘What,’ I reply instantly.

  ‘Ah, I’m glad it’s what,’ he says. ‘Burnside is too pleasant a place to go up in smoke. May I sit down at your table? and how does the Cannibal Feast strike you, Mrs. Loudon?’

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ replies Mrs. Loudon, moving her gloves and bag from the chair to make room for Tony.

  ‘It’s difficult, isn’t it? Why should a Cannibal Queen fall for an Adam’s apple? And the answer is because however tired an elephant may be, he can’t sit down on his trunk.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you,’ says Mrs. Falconer helplessly.

  ‘I like you all the better for it,’ replies Tony. ‘I simply can’t bear being followed. If you knew what I had been through before the Adam’s apple appeared on the scene and took the hotel by storm, you would understand my feelings.’

  Mrs. Falconer gives up the unequal struggle, and falls to with a will upon the large pink ice which has appeared before her as if by magic. She is obviously afraid that ‘Elspeth’ will drag her away before she has finished it.

  The McTurks now descend upon us, and invite us to take coffee in the lounge an invitation which can hardly be refused without rank discourtesy. They wait politely until Mrs. Falconer’s ice has disappeared, and then we all file into the lounge. Tony and I are the last through the swing door. He holds it open for me, and whispers, ‘It’s frightfully amusing, but I really don’t know why.’

  Seats are found for us beneath the spreading branches of a palm tree, and Mr. McTurk orders large cups of ‘special coffee’ for the whole party. He induces Mrs. Loudon to try a Benedictine, and my poor friend is so bewildered at finding herself in this galley that she has not the strength to refuse. Mrs. McTurk has seated herself as far away from Mrs. Falconer as possible, and keeps a wary eye on that harmless lady in case she should ‘go off suddenly’.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard about the elopement,’ says Mr. McTurk, turning to me with a beaming smile.

  ‘It’s the talk of the hotel,’ adds Mrs. McTurk. ‘I must say we’ve been lucky in our visit to Avielochan this year. It makes a difference if you’ve got something to talk about when you’re in an hotel like this. It makes it so much more exciting on account of the feud it’s a real Highland feud, you know, Mrs. Christie.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I reply feebly.

  ‘Mr. MacArbin was here last night or no, it was the night before looking for his sister. It was quite exciting. And then who should walk in but Sir Hector MacQuill, looking for his son ’

  (I look at Tony for confirmation of this, and he nods imperceptibly, and whispers ‘Frightful, wasn’t it?’)

  ‘And we’ve made such a lot of nice friends this time,’ says Mr. McTurk, continuing the saga.

  ‘Indeed we have,’ agrees Mrs. McTurk. ‘Mr. McTurk and I were just saying this morning what a lot of nice friends we had made. Mrs. Loudon and Major Morley – and Captain Loudon, of course –and the Bakers, and Mr. Stuart Thompson. Everybody is sure that they’re going to be married – I mean Elsie and Mr. Thompson – quite a romance it’s been. I declare it’s just like a book–’

  Mrs. Loudon looks at me in a dazed manner. Her misery is apparent, and I wish that I could get her away and explain everything to her; but we can’t do these obvious things in civilised society; we must sit and smile at the right moment, and sip our ‘special coffee’ until the correct time for departure arrives.

  If it were not for Mrs. Loudon’s misery I should be enjoying myself, for it is a pleasant party, and the McTurks are on their best behaviour. I realise that it is only because they have accomplished their object, and that they have used me in a shameless manner as a means of getting to know Mrs. Loudon; but they are so kind and hospitable, and are trying so hard to be nice that I can’t help liking them. I can hardly believe that these are the same people who were so rude to us at Kiltwinkle so snobbish and vulgar and selfish.

  The Baker party now bursts into the lounge, laughing and talking with gay abandon. Mr. Stuart Thompson is giving one of his famous ‘take offs’, to the intense amusement of his friends. Some of them are doubled up with mirth, others have the strength to beat him warmly on the back. They have evidently partaken of an excellent lunch at Mr. Baker’s expense, and the champagne has been poured forth like water.

  ‘Mr. Thompson is impersonating the manager,’ Tony whispers. ‘It is always the manager when he walks with his chest well forward like that. I believe his “take off ” of me is very lifelike, and chiefly consists of remarking, in a strange high-pitched voice, “Haw haw – don’tcherknow.” Have you ever heard me say “Haw haw – don’tcherknow,” Hester?’

  I reply that it is a well-known fact that majors in His Majesty’s Army are in the habit of saying ‘Haw haw – don’tcherknow’ at every opportunity.

  ‘Well, you ought to know what you’re talking about,’ says Tony, with a sigh. ‘The remark seems somewhat fatuous to me, I must say.’

  ‘Now don’t you worry about what Mr. Thompson says,’ Mrs. McTurk adjures him, bending towards him with a fat smile creasing her face. ‘It’s just his fun, and he doesn’t mean anything nasty. Why, he took off Mr. McTurk the other day, and – Mr. McTurk didn’t mind a bit ’


  She breaks off, and looks up in time to see Mr. Baker come through the swing door. He has been left behind – obviously to tip the waiter and sign the bill. He stands there alone, looking for his guests, but his guests have vanished. They have no use for Mr. Baker except to foot the bill, and the little man is aware of the fact. He is a lonely, dejected figure and I can’t help feeling sorry for him. Does he approve of Elsie’s change of heart, I wonder; has he offered Mr. Thompson a partnership in that comfortable little business at Portsmouth; or does he realise that a man so inimitable at ‘take offs’ might make but a poor partner in a serious concern?

  Mr. McTurk, who has quite a kind heart, calls to Mr. Baker and invites him to join us, but the little man is too frightened to accept. He bows politely to the whole party – with a special obeisance to Mrs. Loudon – and trails away after his daughter and her friends.

  ‘What’s the matter, Hester?’ enquires Tony. ‘Are you breaking your heart over Mr. Baker?’

  ‘I am rather,’ I admit. ‘They are so horrid to him, and he’s really rather a dear.’

  ‘You’re too soft-hearted,’ Tony says. ‘He’ll be as happy as a grig – whatever that may be – when the grandchildren begin to arrive. I can imagine Mr. Baker with a grandchild on either knee, jigging them up and down, and singing “The fox is off to its den – oh.’’ ’

  I can imagine it too, and the vision is comforting. Tony is an astounding person.

  At the correct moment Mrs. Loudon rises, and we say good-bye and are whirled home to Burnside in the Bentley. Mrs. Falconer is delighted with her ‘ride’, and confesses that she never was a great walker, and, even when she was young, preferred to go in the carriage with Mama than to walk with the other girls. ‘But we always took it in turns,’ she adds with a sigh. ‘And there were so many of us that my turn did not come round as often as I could have wished.’ I commiserate with her somewhat half-heartedly I fear. ‘Yes,’ she continues, ‘dear Mama liked to take us girls to pay calls with her only one at a time, of course. She considered it an important part of our education to know exactly how many cards to leave at each house, and to learn to take part in cultured conversation.’

  Mrs. Loudon follows me into my room when I go to take off my hat, and I am not at all surprised, for I know she has been boiling with bewilderment and wrath for the last hour.

  ‘Well!’ she says, sitting down on my bed and looking at me. ‘Well, of all the blatant hussies! Guthrie will have to be told it’s beyond everything ’

  ‘Guthrie knows,’ I tell her briefly. ‘I’d have told you before, but I didn’t want to say anything until it was absolutely settled ’

  ‘Guthrie knows that she’s carrying on with that frightful-looking man?’

  ‘She told him yesterday – at least she tried to tell him – Guthrie found it hard to believe – ’

  ‘Then it’s off,’ she says. ‘Thank God the boy has come to his senses – and thank you, Hester. For I believe you had a lot to do with it, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live – Hester.’

  She holds out her arms and I hug her tight. I try to tell her the truth of the matter, and point out that it was none of my doing, but simply because Elsie had the sense to see that Guthrie and she were unsuited to each other, but Mrs. Loudon does not listen. She is convinced that I – aided and abetted by that nice Major Morley – have saved her son from the clutches of a harpy. ‘I’ll never forget it as long as I live,’ she says again. ‘If ever there’s anything I can do for you – but there won’t be – there never is, when you want there to be. There’s the gong for tea, I declare. Come away, and get something to eat – I don’t believe I ate much lunch, it seemed to choke me. Anyway, I’m starving now.’

  We go down to tea, arm in arm.

  At tea Mrs. Loudon is as gay as a girl; she teases Mrs. Falconer, and crosses swords with Guthrie and me. But I notice that sometimes she looks at Guthrie when his attention is directed elsewhere, and there is a radiance in her face that is wonderful to see. She loves him so dearly. Her dry manner covers a very tender heart.

  Guthrie has come back to her, and it is almost as if he had come back to her from the grave.

  Dinner is over. We are all comfortably settled in the drawing room, and Guthrie and I have started our usual game of chess. Guthrie is an extremely careful player, and ponders long over every move; he considers me rash to the verge of insanity, but has only managed to beat me once, so far. I will admit to the sacred page of my journal – though never to Guthrie that my dashing moves are more often matters of pure luck than well-thought-out manoeuvres.

  ‘There’s a car coming up the drive,’ says Mrs. Loudon suddenly.

  ‘Can it be Tim?’ I cry. It would be just like Tim to arrive before he was expected. Nothing pleases him more than to surprise people like that.

  But our visitor is not Tim, it is Tony Morley. He comes in, smiling cheerfully, and is warmly welcomed by Mrs. Loudon. I notice that Mrs. Falconer and Guthrie greet him with perceptibly less warmth he is no favourite with either of them.

  ‘I wondered if any of you would like to come up to the fair,’ says Tony. ‘It’s such a lovely mild night. There’s a fair over at Inverquill – quite a good fair, with roundabouts and things. I could run you over in the car.’

  ‘What an extraordinary idea!’ remarks Guthrie (moving his queen without having considered the matter with his usual care).

  Tony is in no way dashed. ‘I thought Hester might like to see a real Highland fair,’ he says persuasively.

  ‘So I should,’ I reply (taking Guthrie’s queen with my last remaining knight, who has been lying in wait for her for some time). ‘I should simply love to see a real Highland fair.’

  ‘There’s no real Highland about it,’ Guthrie says, pushing the board away crossly. ‘All fairs are exactly the same wherever they are sordid shows with a crowd of dirty people shoving their elbows into your ribs– ’

  ‘Well, there’s no need for you to go,’ says Mrs. Loudon. ‘Hester can go with Major Morley. I’d go myself if I were ten years younger, but it’s not for an old woman like me to go gallivanting off to fairs at this time of night.’

  ‘Oh, if Hester wants to go, I’ll go too,’ says Guthrie quickly. ‘I don’t suppose she’ll enjoy it when she gets there–’

  I rush upstairs to change into warm clothes – tweeds will probably be best, and my thick grey coat with the fur collar, and a red tammy. I reflect, as I hastily powder my nose, that the evening will not be without its difficulties. Guthrie will take every opportunity of being rude to Tony (he is already in an unpleasant frame of mind) and Tony will retaliate by making a fool of Guthrie, which seems to give him untold pleasure. Why can’t they be friendly and pleasant, as they were that dreadful morning when Betty was lost? How difficult life is! Difficult enough without people going out of their way to make things awkward for themselves and all around them.

  For a moment I wish that I had refused to go, and then I look out of the window, and the night calls me. The sun is setting now, and, above the hills, the sky is aflame. It will soon be dark – and darkness is ideal for a fair. The lights flare so gaily in the darkness and throw dancing shadows on the jostling throngs. It will be fun. My spirits rise with a bound, and I feel ready to cope with anything.

  Betty calls to me from her room, next door. ‘I can’t sleep, Mummie,’ she says. ‘The sun’s so glowing bright. It’s making my room all red.’ There is a patter of bare feet, and Betty stands beside me. ‘You’ll get cold,’ I point out, but only half-heartedly, for it seems impossible that anybody could get cold tonight. ‘No I won’t,’ says Betty. ‘You can’t get cold when it’s quite warm.’ She kneels up on the window seat, and the setting sun turns her yellow curls to gold. ‘Mummie,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘Where is the sun’s nest? I think it’s just behind Ben Seoch, don’t you? I think it’s going there now, very slowly, because it’s tired. I’d like to peep over Ben Seoch and see the sun settling down all warm and cosy in its nest�
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  I pick up my daughter and carry her back to bed. ‘You settle down warm and cosy in your nest,’ I tell her, as I tuck her in. ‘I’ll tell you about the sun tomorrow.’

  ‘Darling Mummie,’ she says sleepily. ‘Daddy’s coming soon. How lovely that will be ’

  My two cavaliers are waiting for me in the hall. They are a handsome enough pair to look at, for both are tall, and Guthrie is broad in proportion, but handsome is as handsome does, and it remains to be seen how they will behave themselves this evening. We climb into the Bentley and are off like the wind; it is a lovely sensation flying through the gloaming. All the light seems to have drained out of the woods, leaving them black as pitch; but, on the road, and over the open moor, there is still a ghostly sort of radiance, and the sky is not yet dark, but darkening fast. The Bentley makes short work of the twenty miles or so which stretch before us to Inverquill, and soon we hear the distant sound of the organ in the roundabout, and see the lights from the booths flaring in the twilight.

  First we visit the shooting gallery (in spite of Guthrie’s repeated assurances that the coconut shies are infinitely more amusing). It is situated in a wooden shed, full of flaring light and a strange smell of humanity.

  ‘Three shots a penny,’ yells a small man in an ancient khaki jacket which, I feel sure, saw its best days during the war. ‘Three shots a penny; only a penny for three shots, and win a brooch for your young lady, if you get ’em all bulls – come along, gentlemen, three shots a penny and win a brooch –make way there for the gentleman – ’

  A burly farmer hands his rifle to Tony with a wink. ‘If you would be aiming high left every time you might be getting a bull,’ he says confidentially. ‘For my part I’m better with a gun than one of these toys.’

  Tony thanks him and takes careful aim. At first his shots go rather wide, but after several pennies’ worth, he settles down to it and gets three bulls without apparent difficulty. The khaki man congratulates him warmly upon his achievement, and invites him to take his pick of the brooches on the tray.