“Just looked in to see how you were getting on,” he apologized.
“How nice of you! I was feeling so lonely,” said Mrs. Bold smiling at him pathetically.
By Jove, she was lonely too, thought Colonel Weatherhead—must be dashed lonely for a woman living by herself, and she was always so bright and cheery. Plucky little creature! Pretty little creature! He was emboldened to pat the hand which she held out to him—Mrs. Bold made no objection.
“Well,” he said, “it is lonely living alone—nobody to talk to or anything.” He sat down beside her on the sofa and told her all about how lonely he was, living in The Bridge House all by himself. Mrs. Bold listened and sympathized.
It was very cozy and comfortable in Mrs. Bold’s drawing-room. The fire burned brightly. Colonel Weatherhead noticed that it was composed of coal and logs—an ideal fire. He said so to his hostess. They talked about fires and found that their tastes tallied exactly—it was astonishing.
Colonel Weatherhead began to think he had been a fool. He had known Mrs. Bold for four years—she had lived opposite his gate for that period—and, although he had always liked and admired the little woman in a vague way, he had never, until this moment, realized how charming she was, how sensible and intelligent, how sympathetic.
He glanced at her sideways; her eyes were fixed upon the fire that irradiated her small round face with rosy light—how pretty she was! Her hair was pretty too. It was brown with reddish glints in it, and it curled prettily round her forehead and at the back of her neck. She was talking about the Coal People and telling Colonel Weatherhead what trouble she had with them. She had ordered two tons that morning, and the men had insisted on bringing the heavy carts into the garden instead of carrying it in bag by bag as they usually did. The consequence was they had broken a drain pipe which had been put too near the surface of the drive. She had known this would happen—it had happened before when she moved into the house and the furniture van had driven in—but the coal-man wouldn’t listen to her and now she would have to send for a plumber. Colonel Weatherhead had no idea—she told him—how dreadfully these sort of people imposed on a lone woman.
“Don’t be one anymore, Dorothea,” said Colonel Weather-head earnestly.
This fell far short of the dashing manner in which Major Waterfoot had proposed to Mrs. Mildmay, but it was quite as effective. Dorothea was in his arms and he was kissing her before he knew where he was—it was a delightful sensation.
The Colonel did not go home until it was quite late; the moon was still shining, but it did not make him feel sad, in fact it made him feel somewhat light-headed. Simmons and his wife had gone to bed long ago of course. The Colonel let himself into his silent house and went to bed also—he had all sorts of strange unusual feelings. Presently he went to sleep and dreamed about Dorothea.
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg did not enjoy her two days in London. She had not intended to go to London herself just now; it was not the right time of year for London. Christmas was coming on and the hotel was crowded; she could not get a room to suit her tastes. The streets were wet and drafty, the shops were stuffy and overheated, there was flu about—and Mrs. Featherstone Hogg was terrified of flu—but in spite of all these horrors which she had known about before ever she started she was obliged to go to London because of Edwin’s stupidity. Edwin’s visit to the lawyer had been a complete failure. He had returned to Silverstream with the information that Mr. Spark was of the opinion that they had no case for a libel action against Abbott & Spicer. It was always unsatisfactory to bring up a case of libel based upon a novel. It was so unsatisfactory that it was scarcely ever attempted. Nothing would be gained by it.
Edwin appeared to think that he had done all that was necessary in consulting Mr. Spark. Mrs. Featherstone Hogg did not share his views, and she told him so all the way up to London in the car.
“Do you mean to tell me that you will allow any low-down scribbler to say what he likes about me without moving a finger to have him punished?” she inquired.
“Well, I asked Spark,” Edwin pointed out.
“You asked Spark,” repeated Mrs. Featherstone Hogg scornfully.
“Yes, I asked Spark, and he said it was no use.”
“So you decided to do nothing about it,” declared the lady, her eyes flashing dangerously. “It’s nothing to you, I suppose, if I am insulted, ridiculed, held up to scorn? Have you no pride, Edwin? Can you sit at your ease and have it bruited abroad that I was in the chorus when you married me?”
“But you were, Agatha,” Mr. Featherstone Hogg pointed out with amazing indiscretion.
“You liar!” screamed Agatha. “I had a speaking part.”
“You said, ‘Girls, girls, what a wonderful time we are having!’” said Mr. Featherstone Hogg reminiscently. “And then you all danced. You were third from the end in the front row.”
“Well, and what of that? It’s nothing against a girl if she has to earn her own living, is it?”
“Nothing,” replied Mr. Featherstone Hogg promptly. “Nothing in my opinion—it was you who—”
“Stop it now,” cried his better half holding her ears tightly.
“I was only going to say it was you who seemed ashamed of it,” said Mr. Featherstone Hogg mildly. “I’m not, and never was.”
The interview with Mr. Spark took place that afternoon. It was a very unsatisfactory interview. Mr. Spark merely reiterated the arguments which he had used to Mr. Featherstone Hogg; he hadn’t even read the book which Mrs. Featherstone Hogg had sent him to read; he did not see any object in reading the book; he thought the matter was closed. Mrs. Featherstone Hogg disabused his mind of this idea. She commanded him to read Disturber of the Peace and made an appointment with him for the following day.
Mr. Spark read the book and enjoyed it—especially the bits about Mrs. Featherstone Hogg—but he was even less anxious to take the case to court after he had read it. He visualized the scene in court—everyone giggling, the judge making witticisms—what barrister would take such a case? He imagined the roars of laughter as the passages objected to by his client were read aloud. (Mrs. Featherstone Hogg had marked the offending passages in red ink so that there should be no mistake about it.)
When the Featherstone Hoggs appeared on the following day at the appointed hour Mr. Spark had decided on his line—
“My dear Mrs. Featherstone Hogg,” he said, rising and offering her a chair, “I have been reading the novel (quite a second-rate affair and not worthy of your notice, I assure you), and the character which you object to is not you at all. You have been too sensitive altogether.”
“It is Mrs. Horsley Downs.”
“I know, I know. You marked it for me. It bears—I admit—some small resemblance to you; but that is merely a coincidence. Fundamentally you are totally unlike Mrs. Horsley Downs—totally unlike. Of course it is quite natural that anyone with your sensitive nature should be hurt by—by the mere suggestion that a character in a novel of this description should be based upon your unusual personality, but believe me you are laboring under a misconception. Believe me the resemblances are mere chance resemblances; the differences are fundamental. I would even go so far as to say—”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Featherstone Hogg, unmoved by this peroration. “The thing is a libel. It’s not only a libel upon me, it’s a libel upon the whole of Silverstream. I’ve got the whole of Silverstream behind me—they’ll all bring actions—”
“I very much doubt it,” said Mr. Spark. “The case would serve no good purpose and would bring a great deal of unpleasant ridicule upon the plaintiffs.”
At this stage in the proceedings, Mrs. Featherstone Hogg completely lost her temper. (In her defense be it said that she had been having a very trying time for the last ten days. Disturber of the Peace had
disturbed her peace most thoroughly. The foundations of her social position in Silverstream were shaking, and her social position in Silverstream was of supreme importance to Mrs. Featherstone Hogg.) She raged and stormed at Mr. Spark and Edwin, she pointed out that the book was a disgusting book, it had ridiculed her, she wanted an abject apology and large damages. She explained, somewhat incoherently, that the character of Mrs. Horsley Downs was a horrible character and not in the least like her, but that it was obviously intended for her, because it was exactly like her, and that therefore it was a libel and as such ought to be punished to the utmost rigor of the law. She said the same thing a dozen times in different words, but always loudly, until Mr. Spark thought his head would burst. Her language became more picturesque and less polite every moment. Mr. Spark began to wonder whether she really had been in the chorus when Mr. Featherstone Hogg had been so misled as to marry her and elevate her to a higher sphere of life.
When, at last, she paused for breath, Mr. Spark merely shook his head and said that it was no use.
“You mean you refuse to help us?” asked Mrs. Featherstone Hogg, incredulously.
“I do,” replied Mr. Spark with spirit. The Featherstone Hoggs were wealthy clients, and he could ill afford to lose them, but there were limits to his endurance, and he had reached the limits now.
“We shall go elsewhere then,” announced Mrs. Featherstone Hogg, rising, and gathering up her sables with the air of a tragedy queen.
Mr. Featherstone Hogg had contributed absolutely nothing to the conversation—if conversation it could be called. He had remained in the background twiddling his thumbs and wishing from the bottom of his heart that he had stayed at home. But now that the interview was at an end and Agatha had said all that she wanted to say he leaned forward a little and cleared his throat.
“Did you speak, Edwin?” inquired his wife, turning upon him with a quelling glance.
“No, but I’m going to,” replied the worm, turning at last. He too had read Disturber of the Peace and the seeds of rebellion had been planted in his heart by that amazing publication. The seeds had taken some time to germinate, for Edwin’s heart was poor soil in which to grow rebellion, but they were beginning to grow now.
“I intend to take Mr. Spark’s advice,” said Mr. Featherstone Hogg, blinking a little nervously.
“You intend to.”
“Yes, Agatha. I intend to take Mr. Spark’s advice. I have no money to throw away upon a hopeless lawsuit. I have no wish to look ridiculous—”
“You look ridiculous already,” snapped Agatha.
Mr. Featherstone Hogg took no notice of this unladylike remark. He found his hat and gloves and shook hands with Mr. Spark.
“I may be calling upon you in a few days to make some alterations in my Will,” said Mr. Featherstone Hogg in very distinct and somewhat significant tones.
“Any time that suits you,” the lawyer replied effusively.
“I may come—or again I may not. It all depends upon circumstances,” said Mr. Featherstone Hogg.
“Just as you please—my time is at your disposal,” said Mr. Spark. “You might like to have a look over your Will with me. Perhaps there are some minor points you would like to revise.”
“It is a major alteration I have in mind,” said Mr. Featherstone Hogg firmly.
Mr. Spark accompanied the couple to the door with admirable courtesy. He stood upon the step, bowing until the Daimler had borne them away. Then he went back to his sanctum, and shut the door carefully, and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Chapter Thirteen
Colonel Weatherhead and Mrs. Bold
The first thing that Mrs. Featherstone Hogg did on her return to Silverstream was to ring up Colonel Weatherhead. Simmons answered the telephone and informed her that the Colonel was out.
“When will he be back?” inquired Mrs. Featherstone Hogg.
“I don’t know at all, ma’am.”
“Where has he gone? Has he gone to London?”
“Oh no, ma’am—I think he’s over at Mrs. Bold’s.”
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg rang off. It was most annoying; the man was never in when she wanted him. She supposed that Colonel Weatherhead had gone to talk it all over with Dorothea Bold. It seemed obvious, but, wasn’t it a trifle—well—indelicate? In Disturber of the Peace Major Waterfoot had proposed to Mrs. Mildmay—some people said he had seduced her; surely that put their prototypes in a very awkward position. Most people would have wanted to avoid each other, at any rate, until the first strangeness of the position wore off. Still, some people were queer, not everybody had such sensitive feelings about matters of this kind as she had, and anyhow it was their own affair; if they liked to talk it over with each other it did not affect Mrs. Featherstone Hogg. She decided to go down to Dorothea’s and meet the Colonel there; they could all talk it over together and decide what was to be done.
She ordered the car to come round directly after lunch. It had just brought her down from London and the chauffeur had started to clean it, but that did not disturb Mrs. Featherstone Hogg in the least. Cars were there to be used; chauffeurs were there to drive you when and where you wanted to be driven. It had started to rain and Mrs. Featherstone Hogg’s chauffeur was not very pleased about it.
It will be seen that Mrs. Featherstone Hogg had by no means abandoned her campaign against John Smith. The action for libel was definitely off; Edwin had been most unreasonable about the whole thing. He had told her—as they drove away from Mr. Spark’s door—that he did not wish to hear another word upon the subject, and she had bowed to his decision. She was obliged to bow to Edwin’s decision because he had been so very queer about his Will. As it stood the Will suited Agatha exactly—it left her everything without any restriction whatever—why alter it then?
Agatha had no wish to lose Edwin; he was, as a rule, quite docile, and very little trouble. He never interfered with her, and he gave her a generous allowance; but we must all die sometime, and Edwin was twenty years older than Agatha and suffered from a weak heart. It was only reasonable to suppose that he would pass on to a better land before she did. Agatha felt that she could bear the loss more courageously if she had all of Edwin’s money to comfort her in her bereavement—every penny of it without any stupid restrictions about remarriage, or anything else—
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg thought all this over very carefully and decided that she would say no more about the libel action; it was safer not to. Edwin was not likely to do anything very drastic, but he might—he had been quite unlike his usual self ever since the somewhat stormy interview with Mr. Spark. The libel action must go, but that was no reason why John Smith should get off scot-free. Something else must be thought of; somehow or other, the mystery of the book’s authorship must be solved and the man punished.
Before going down in the car to see Dorothea Bold, she rang up Mr. Bulmer on the telephone and they had a long conversation about Disturber of the Peace. Mr. Bulmer told her that he was alone in the house; he had sent Margaret and the children to her people in Devonshire for a long visit. It seemed wiser, said Mr. Bulmer. Mrs. Featherstone Hogg praised his forethought. Neither of them mentioned why it was wiser to banish Margaret from Silverstream at the moment, but both knew that it was because Mr. Bulmer did not want his wife to read Disturber of the Peace, nor to hear it discussed by the inhabitants of Silverstream. Mrs. Featherstone Hogg wished that she could have banished Edwin before he had been contaminated by the book. She heaved a sigh.
“What are you doing about it?” inquired Mr. Bulmer. “Are you going to sue them for libel?”
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg replied that it was all off—the laws of England were in such a decadent condition—they must take the law into their own hands. Did Mr. Bulmer think it would be a good plan to hold a Meeting in Mrs. Featherstone Hogg’s drawing-room and invite all the people who were annoyed about
Disturber of the Peace?
Mr. Bulmer thought the plan sound.
Surely between them they would elucidate the mystery of John Smith—suggested Mrs. Featherstone Hogg—a clue here and another clue there, put together they would discover John Smith.
Mr. Bulmer thought they might.
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg said she would let him know what day—she thought perhaps Thursday—it would give them time to collect everybody. Besides it was the half-day in Silverstream so Mrs. Goldsmith could come too. She had heard that Mrs. Goldsmith was annoyed about Disturber of the Peace.
By this time Mr. Bulmer was tired of the conversation. He replied briefly that Thursday afternoon would suit him, and rang off.
Mrs. Featherstone Hogg got into her car, which had been waiting at the door for twenty minutes—
“Mrs. Bold’s house,” she said laconically.
She was pleased with the idea of the Meeting—it was an inspiration. It had come to her quite suddenly when she was speaking to Mr. Bulmer (great inspirations often come quite suddenly and unexpectedly to their fortunate recipients). Surely the combined brains of Silverstream would discover the identity of John Smith. It had become an absolute obsession to Mrs. Featherstone Hogg, the thing had got on her nerves, she felt she could not rest until she had found him. Once they knew who it was they could decide what was to be done; everything depended upon who the man was—whether he was the sort of man who could be terrorized, ostracized, or horse-whipped. At the very least he could be made to apologize and hounded out of Silverstream. In this case the punishment must be made to fit the criminal. Mrs. Featherstone Hogg decided that Colonel Weatherhead would be the best person to wield the horse-whip should the horse-whip be necessary. She was a little doubtful as to what horse-whipping really was, but Colonel Weatherhead would know.
Miss Buncle's Book Page 11