by E. F. Benson
At the moment, as she paused, a window in the music-room was opened, and Piggy's odious head looked out.
‘Oh, Mrs Lucas,’ she said, ‘Goosie and I have got beautiful seats, and Mamma is quite close to the piano, where she will hear excellently. Has she promised to sing Siegfried? Is Mr Georgie going to play for her? It's the most delicious surprise; how could you be so sly and clever as not to tell anybody?’
Lucia cloaked her rage under the most playful manner, as she ran into the music-room through the hall.
‘You naughty things!’ she said. ‘Do all come into the garden! It's a garden-party, and I couldn't guess where you had all gone. What's all this about singing and playing! I know nothing of it!’ She herded the incredulous crowd out into the garden again, all in their Hitums, every one of them, only to meet Lady Ambermere, with Pug and Miss Lyall, coming in.
‘Better be going, Miss Lyall,’ she said. ‘Kindly run out and find my people. Oh, here's Mrs Lucas. Been very pleasant indeed, thank you. Goodbye. Your charming garden. Yes.’
‘Oh, but it's very early,’ said Lucia. ‘It's hardly six yet.’
‘Indeed!’ said Lady Ambermere. ‘Been so charming,’ and she marched out after Miss Lyall into Shakespeare's garden.
It was soon terribly evident that other people were sharing Lady Ambermere's conclusion about the delights of the afternoon, and the necessity of getting home. Colonel Boucher had to take his bull-dogs for a run, and walk off the excitement of the party; Piggy and Goosie explained to their mother that nobody was going to sing, and by silvery laughter tried to drown her just indignation, and presently Lucia had the agony of seeing Mrs Quantock seated on one of the thrones that had been designed for much worthier ends, and Pepino sitting on the other, while a few guests drifted about the lawn with the anaemic purposelessness of autumn leaves. What with the Guru presumably meditating upstairs still, and with Olga Bracely most conspicuously absent, she had hardly nervous energy left to wonder what could have become of Georgie. Never in all the years of his ministry had he failed to be at her elbow through the entire duration of her garden-parties, flying about on her errands like a tripping Hermes, and herding her flocks if she wanted them in one part of the garden rather than another, like a sagacious sheep-dog, and coming back to heel again ready for further tasks. But to-day Georgie was mysteriously away, for he had neither applied for leave nor given any explanation, however improbable, of his absence. He at least would have prevented Lady Ambermere, the only corner-stone of the party, from going away in what must be called a huff, and have continued to tell Lucia how marvellous she was, and what a beautiful party they were having. With the prospect of two other much more magnificent corner-stones, Lucia had not provided any further entertainment for her guests: there was not the conjuror from Brinton, nor the three young ladies who played banjo-trios, nor even the mild performing doves which cooed so prettily and walked up their mistress's outstretched fingers according to order, if they felt disposed. There was nothing to justify Hitums; there was scarcely even sufficient to warrant Titums. Scrub was written all over the desert's dusty face!
It was about half-past six when the miracles began, and without warning the Guru walked out into the garden. Probably he had watched the departure of the great motor, with its chauffeur and footman, and Miss Lyall and Lady Ambermere and Pug, and with his intuitive sagacity had conjectured that the danger from Madras was over. He wore his new red slippers, a wonderful turban and an ecstatic smile. Lucia and Daisy met him with cries of joy, and the remaining guests, those drifting autumn leaves, were swept up, as it were, by some compelling broom and clustered in a heap in front of him. There had been a Great Message, a Word of Might, full of Love and Peace. Never had there been such a Word…
And then, even before they had all felt the full thrill of that, once more the door from the house opened, and out came Olga Bracely and Georgie. It is true that she had still her blue morning frock, which Mrs Weston had designated as Scrub, but it was a perfectly new Scrub, and if it had been completely covered with Paris labels, they would not have made its provenance one whit clearer.
‘Dear Mrs Lucas,’ she said, ‘Mr Georgie and I are terribly late, and it was quite my fault. There was a game of croquet that wouldn't come to an end, and my life has been guided by only one principle, and that is to finish a game of croquet whatever happens. I missed six trains once by finishing a game of croquet. And Mr Georgie was so unkind: he wouldn't give me a cup of tea, or let me change my frock, but dragged me off to see you. And I won!’
The autumn leaves turned green and vigorous again, and while Georgie went to get refreshment for his conqueror, they were all introduced. She allowed herself to be taken with the utmost docility – how unlike Somebody – into the tent with the thrones: she confessed to having stood on tiptoe and looked into Mrs Quantock's garden, and wanted to see it so much from the other side of the wall. And this garden, too – might she go and wander all over this garden when she had finished the most delicious peach that the world held? She was so glad she had not had tea with Mr Georgie: he would never have given her such a good peach…
Now the disappointed and departed guests in their Hitums lingering on the village green a little, and being rather sarcastic about the utter failure of Lucia's party, could hardly help seeing Georgie and Olga emerge from his house and proceed swiftly in the direction of The Hurst, and Mrs Antrobus, who retained marvellous eyesight as compensation for her defective hearing, saw them go in, and simultaneously thought that she had left her parasol at The Hurst. Next moment she was walking thoughtfully away in that direction. Mrs Weston had been the next to realize what had happened, and though she had to go round by the road in her bath-chair, she passed Mrs Antrobus a hundred yards from the house, her pretext for going back being that Lucia had promised to lend her the book by Antonio Caporelli (or was it Caporetto?).
So once more the door into the garden opened, and out shot Mrs Weston. Olga by this time had made her tour of the garden, and might she see the house? She might. There was a pretty music-room… At this stage, just as Mrs Weston was poured out into the garden, as with flood-gates being opened, the crowd that had gone away and now returned, came surging into Shakespeare's garden, and never had the mermaid's tail, behind which was secreted the electric bell, experienced such feverish usage. Pressure after pressure invoked its aid, and the pretexts for readmission were soon not made at all, or simply disregarded by the parlourmaid. Colonel Boucher might have left a bull-dog, or Mrs Antrobus an ear-trumpet, or Miss Antrobus (Piggy) a shoe-lace, or the other Miss Antrobus (Goosie) a shoe-horn: but in brisk succession the guests who had been so sarcastic about the party on the village green jostled each other in order to revisit the scenes of their irony. Miss Olga Bracely had been known to enter the portals and, as many of them who entered after her found, a Guru as well.
Olga was in the music-room, whither the crowd in the hall followed her. People were introduced to her, and sank down in the nearest chairs: Mrs Antrobus took up her old place by the keyboard of the piano. Everybody seemed to be expecting something, and by degrees the import of their longing was borne in upon Olga. They waited, and waited, and waited, much as she had waited for a cigarette the evening before. She looked at the piano, and there was a comfortable murmur from her audience. She looked at Lucia, who gave a great gasp, and said nothing at all. She was the only person present who was standing now, except her hostess, and Mrs Weston's gardener, who had wheeled his mistress's chair into an admirable position for hearing. She was not too well pleased, but after all…
‘Would you like me to sing?’ she asked Lucia. ‘Yes? Ah, there's the copy of Siegfried. Do you play?’
Lucia could not smile any more than she was smiling already.
‘Is it very diffy?’ she asked. ‘Could I read it, Georgie? Shall I try?’
She slid on to the music-stool.
‘Me to begin?’ she asked, finding that Olga had opened the book at the Salutation of Brünnhilde, which
Lucia had practised so diligently all the morning.
She got no answer. Olga, standing by her, had assumed a perfectly different aspect. For her gaiety, her lightness, was substituted an air of intense concentrated seriousness, which Lucia did not understand at all. She was looking straight in front of her, gathering herself in, and paying not the smallest attention to Lucia or anybody else.
‘One, two,’ said Lucia. ‘Three. Now,’ and she plunged wildly into a sea of demi-semi-quavers.
Olga had just opened her mouth, but shut it again.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Once more,’ and she whistled the motif.
‘Oh! it's so diffy!’ said Lucia, beginning again. ‘Georgie! turn over!’
Georgie turned over, and Lucia, counting audibly to herself, made an incomparable mess all over the piano.
Olga turned to her accompanist.
‘Shall I try?’ she said.
She sat down at the piano, and made some sort of sketch of the accompaniment, simplifying, and yet retaining the essence. And then she sang…
8
Throughout August Guruism reigned supreme over the cultured life of Riseholme, and the priestess and dispenser of its mysteries was Lucia. Never before had she ruled from so elite a pinnacle, nor wielded so secure a supremacy. None had access to the Guru but through her: all his classes were held in the smoking-parlour, and he meditated only in ‘Hamlet’, or in the sequestered arbour at the end of the laburnum walk. Once he had meditated on the village green, but Lucia did not approve of that, and had led him, still rapt, home by the hand.
The classes had swelled prodigiously, for practically all Rise-holmeists now were at some stage of instruction, with the exception of Hermy and Ursy, who pronounced the whole thing ‘piffle’, and, as gentle chaff for Georgie, sometimes stood on one leg in the middle of the lawn and held their breath. Then Hermy would say, ‘One, two, three!’ and they shouted ‘Om!’ at the tops of their discordant voices. Now that the Guru was practically interned in The Hurst, they had actually never set eyes on him, for they had not chosen to come to the Hitum garden-party, preferring to have a second round of golf, and meeting Lucia next day had been distinctly irreverent on the subject of Eastern philosophy. Since then she had not been aware of their existence.
Lucia now received instruction from the Guru in a class all by herself, so prodigious was her advance in Yoga, for she could hold her breath much longer than anybody else, and had mastered six postures, while the next class consisted of the other original members, namely, Daisy Quantock, Georgie and Pepino. They had got on very well too, but Lucia had quite shot away from them, and now, if the Guru had other urgent spiritual claims on him, she gave instruction to a less advanced class herself. For this purpose, she habited herself in a peculiarly becoming dress of white linen, which reached to her feet and had full, flowing sleeves, like a surplice. The girdle of it was a silver cord with long tassels, and it had mother-of-pearl buttons and a hood at the back, lined with white satin, which came over her head. Below its hem as she sat and taught in a really rather advanced posture, showed the toes of her white morocco slippers, and she called it her ‘Teacher's Robe’. The class which she taught consisted of Colonel Boucher, Piggy Antrobus and Mrs Weston: sometimes the Colonel brought his bull-dogs with him, who lay and snorted precisely as if they were doing breathing exercises too. A general air of joyful mystery and spiritual endeavour blew balmily round them all, and without any doubt the exercises and the deep breathing were extremely good for them.
One evening towards the end of the month Georgie was sitting in his garden, for the half-hour before dressing-time, thinking how very busy he was, and yet how extraordinarily young and well he felt. Usually this month, when Hermy and Ursy were with him, was very fatiguing, and in ordinary years he would have driven away with Foljambe and Dickie on the day after their departure, and had a quiet week by the sea-side. But now, though his sisters were going away to-morrow morning, he had no intention of taking a well-earned rest, in spite of the fact that not only had he been their host all this time, but had done an amazing quantity of other things as well. There had been the daily classes to begin with, which entailed much work in the way of meditation and exercises, as well as the actual learning, and also he had had another job which might easily have taxed his energies to the utmost any other year. For Olga Bracely had definitely bought that house without which she had felt that life was not worth living, and Georgie all this month had, at her request, been exercising a semi-independent supervision over its decoration and furnishing. She had ordered the general scheme herself and had sent down from London the greater part of the furniture, but Georgie was commissioned to report on any likely pieces of old stuff that he could find, and if expedition was necessary to act on his own responsibility and buy them. But, above all, secrecy was still necessary till the house was so complete that her Georgie might be told, and by the end of the month Riseholme generally was in a state of prostration caused by the violent and feverish curiosity as to who had taken the house. Georgie had gone so far as to confess that he knew, but the most frantic appeals as to the owner's identity had fallen on obdurate, if not deaf, ears. Not the smallest hint would he give on the subject, and though those incessant visits to the house, those searchings for furniture, the bestowal of it in suitable places, the superintendence of the making of the garden, the interviewings of paperhangers, plumbers, upholsterers, painters, carpenters, and so forth, occupied a great deal of time, the delicious mystery about it all, and the fact that he was doing it for so adorable a creature, rendered his exertions a positive refreshment. Another thing which, in conjunction with this and his youth-giving studies, made him feel younger than ever, was the discreet arrival and perfect success of his toupet. No longer was there any need to fear the dislocation of his espaliered locks. He felt so secure and undetectable in that regard that he had taken to wearing no hat, and was soon about to say that his hair was growing more thickly than ever in consequence. But it was not quite time for that yet: it would be inartistic to suggest that just a couple of weeks of hatlessness had produced so marked a result.
As he sat at ease after the labours of the day he pondered how the coming of Olga Bracely to Riseholme would affect the economy of the place. It was impossible to think of her, with her beauty, her charm, her fame, her personality, as taking any second place in its life. Unless she was really meaning to use Riseholme as a retreat, to take no part in its life at all, it was hard to see what part she would take, except the first part. One who by her arrival at Lucia's ever-memorable party, had converted it in a moment from the most dull of Scrubs (in a psychical sense) to the Hitumest gathering ever known, could not lay aside her distinction and pre-eminence. Never had Lucia ‘scored’ so amazingly as over Olga's late appearance, which had the effect of bringing back all her departed guests with the compulsion of a magnet over iron-filings, and sending up the whole party like a rocket into the zenith of social success. All Riseholme knew that Olga had come (after playing croquet with Georgie the entire afternoon) and had given them, free, gratis, and for nothing, such a treat as only the wealthiest could obtain with the most staggering fees. Lady Ambermere, driving back to the Hall with Pug and poor Miss Lyall, was the only person who had not shared in that, and she knew all about it next day, for Georgie had driven out on purpose to tell her, and met Lucia coming away. How, then, would the advent of Olga affect Riseholme's social policies generally, and how would it affect Lucia in particular? And what would Lucia say when she knew on whose behalf Georgie was so busy with plumbers and painters, and buying so many of the choicest treasures in the Ambermere Arms?
Frankly, he could not answer these conundrums: they presupposed inconceivable situations, which yet, though inconceivable, were shortly coming to pass, for Olga's advent might be expected before October, that season of tea-parties that ushered in the multifarious gaieties of the winter. Would Olga form part of the moonlit circle to whom Lucia played the first movement of the ‘Moonlight Sonat
a’, and give a long sigh at the end, like all the rest of them? And would Lucia, when they had all recovered a little from the invariable emotion, go to her and say ‘Olga mia, just a little bit out of the Valkyrie? It would be so pleasant.’ Somehow Georgie, with all his imagination, could not picture such a scene. And would Olga take the part of second citizeness, or something of the sort, when Lucia played Portia? Would Olga join the elementary class of Yoga? and be instructed by Lucia in her Teacher's Robe? Would she sing treble in the Christmas Carols, while Lucia beat time, and said, in syllables dictated by the rhythm: ‘Trebles a little flat! My poor ears!’? Georgie could not imagine any of these things, and yet, unless Olga took no part in the social life of Riseholme at all (and that was equally inconceivable), what was the alternative? True, she had said that she was coming here because it was so ideally lazy a backwater, but Georgie did not take that seriously. She would soon see what Riseholme was when its life poured down in spate, whirling her punt along with it. And, finally, what would happen to him when Olga was set as a shining star in this firmament? Already he revolved about her, he was aware, like some eager, delighted little moon, drawn away from the orbit where it had circled so contentedly by the more potent planet. And the measure of his detachment from that old orbit might be judged precisely by the fact that the process of detachment which was already taking place was marked by no sense of the pull of opposing forces at all. The great new star sailing into the heavens had just picked him up by force of its superior power of attraction, even as by its momentary conjunction with Lucia at the garden-party it had raised her to a magnitude she had never possessed before. That magnitude was still hers, and no doubt would be until the great star appeared again. Then, without effort, its shining must surely eclipse every other illumination, just as without effort it must surely attract all the little moons to itself. Or would Lucia manage somehow or other, either by sheer force of will, by desperate and hostile endeavour, or, on the other hand, by some supreme tact and cleverness, to harness the great star to her own chariot? He thought the desperate and hostile endeavour was more in keeping with Lucia's methods, and this quiet evening hour represented itself to him as the lull before the storm.