by E. F. Benson
The minutes passed on pleasantly enough, for there was plenty going on. The two Miss Antrobuses frisked about the green, jumping over the stocks in their playful way, and running round the duck-pond in the eternal hope of attracting Colonel Boucher’s attention to their pretty nimble movements. For many years past, they had tried to gain Georgie’s serious attention, without any result, and lately they had turned to Colonel Boucher. There was Mrs Antrobus there, too, with her ham-like face and her ear-trumpet, and Mrs Weston was being pushed round and round the asphalt path below the elms in her bath-chair. She hated going slow, and her gardener and his boy took turns with her during her hour’s carriage exercise, and propelled her, amid streams of perspiration, at a steady four miles an hour. As she passed Mrs Antrobus she shouted something at her, and Mrs Antrobus returned her reply, when next she came round.
Suddenly all these interesting objects vanished completely from Georgie’s ken, for his dark suspicions were confirmed, and there was Lucia in her “Hightum” hat and her “Hightum” gown making her gracious way across the green. She had distinctly been wearing one of the “Scrub” this morning at the class, so she must have changed after lunch, which was an unheard of thing to do for a mere stroll on the green. Georgie knew well that this was no mere stroll; she was on her way to pay a call of the most formal and magnificent kind. She did not deviate a hair-breadth from her straight course to the door of the Arms, she just waggled her hand to Mrs Antrobus, blew a kiss to her sprightly daughters, made a gracious bow to Colonel Boucher, who stood up and took his hat off, and went on with the inexorability of the march of destiny, or of fate knocking at the door in the immortal fifth symphony. And in her hand she carried a note. Through his glasses Georgie could see it quite plainly, and it was not a little folded-up sheet, such as she commonly used, but a square thick envelope. She disappeared in the Arms and Georgie began thinking feverishly. A great deal depended on how long she stopped there.
A few little happenings beguiled the period of waiting. Mrs Weston desisted from her wild career, and came to anchor on the path just opposite the door into the Arms, while the gardener’s boy sank exhausted on to the grass. It was quite easy to guess that she proposed to have a chat with Lucia when she came out. Similarly the Miss Antrobuses who had paid no attention to her at all before, ceased from their pretty gambolings, and ran up to talk to her, so they wanted a word too. Colonel Boucher, a little less obviously, began throwing sticks into the ducking-pond for his bull-dog (for Lucia would be obliged to pass the ducking-pond) and Mrs Antrobus examined the stocks very carefully, as if she had never seen them before.
And then, before a couple of minutes had elapsed Lucia came out. She had no longer the note in her hand, and Georgie began taking his opera-glasses to bits, in order to wash the lenses. For the present they had served their purpose. “She has left a note on Olga Bracely,” said Georgie quite aloud, so powerful was the current of his thoughts. Then as a corollary came the further proposition which might be considered as proved, “But she had not seen her.”
The justice of this conclusion was soon proved, for Lucia had hardly disengaged herself from the group of her subjects, and traversed the green on her way back to her house, when a motor passed Georgie’s bathroom window, closely followed by a second; both drew up at the entrance to the Ambermere Arms. With the speed of a practised optician Georgie put his opera glass together again, and after looking through the wrong end of it in his agitation was in time to see a man get out of the second car, and hold the carriage-door open for the occupants of the first. A lady got out first, tall and slight in figure, who stood there unwinding her motor veil, then she turned round again, and with a thump of his heart that surprised Georgie with its violence, he beheld the well-remembered features of his Brunnhilde.
Swiftly he passed into his bedroom next door, and arrayed himself in his summer Hightums; a fresh (almost pearly) suit of white duck, a mauve tie with an amethyst pin in it, socks, tightly braced up, of precisely the same colour as the tie, so that an imaginative beholder might have conjectured that on this warm day the end of his tie had melted and run down his legs; buckskin shoes with tall slim heels and a straw hat completed this pretty Hightum. He had meant to wear it for the first time at Lucia’s party tomorrow, but now, after her meanness, she deserved to be punished. All Riseholme should see it before she did.
The group round Mrs Weston’s chair was still engaged in conversation when Georgie came up, and he casually let slip what a bore it was to pay calls on such a lovely day, but he had promised to visit Miss Olga Bracely, who had just arrived. So there was another nasty one for Lucia, since now all Riseholme would know of her actual arrival before Lucia did.
“And who, Mr Georgie,” asked Mrs Antrobus presenting her trumpet to him in the manner in which an elephant presents its trunk to receive a bun, “who was that with her?”
“Oh, her husband, Mr Shuttleworth,” said Georgie. “They have just been married, and are on their honeymoon.” And if that was not another staggerer for Lucia, it is diffy, as Georgie would say, to know what a staggerer is. For Lucia would be last of all to know that this was not Mr Bracely.
“And will they be at Mrs Lucas’s party tomorrow?” asked Mrs Weston.
“Oh, does she know them?” asked Georgie.
“Haw, haw, by Jove!” began Colonel Boucher. “Very handsome woman. Envy you, my boy. Pity it’s their honeymoon. Haw!”
Mrs Antrobus’s trumpet was turned in his direction at this moment, and she heard these daring remarks.
“Naughty!” she said, and Georgie, the envied, passed in into the inn.
He sent in his card, on which he had thought it prudent to write “From Lady Ambermere,” and was presently led through into the garden behind the building. There she was, tall and lovely and welcoming, and held out a most cordial hand.
“How kind of you to come and see us,” she said. “Georgie, this is Mr Pillson. My husband.”
“How do you do, Mr Shuttleworth,” said Georgie to shew he knew, though his own Christian name had given him quite a start. For the moment he had almost thought she was speaking to him.
“And so Lady Ambermere asked you to come and see us?” Olga went on. “I think that was much kinder of her than to ask us to dinner. I hate going out to dinner in the country almost as much as I hate not going out to dinner in town. Besides with that great hook nose of hers, I’m always afraid that in an absent moment I might scratch her on the head and say ‘Pretty Polly.’ Is she a great friend of yours, Mr Pillson? I hope so, because everyone likes his best friends being laughed at.”
Up till that moment Georgie was prepared to indicate that Lady Ambermere was the hand and he the glove. But evidently that would not impress Olga in the least. He laughed in a most irreverent manner instead.
“Don’t let us go,” she went on. “Georgie, can’t you send a telegram saying that we have just discovered a subsequent engagement and then we’ll ask Mr Pillson to show us round this utterly adorable place, and dine with us afterwards. That would be so much nicer. Fancy living here! Oh, and do tell me something, Mr Pillson. I found a note when I arrived half an hour ago, from Mrs Lucas asking me and Mr Shuttleworth to go to a garden-party tomorrow. She said she didn’t even hope that I should remember her, but would we come. Who is she? Really I don’t think she can remember me very well, if she thinks I am Mrs Bracely. Georgie says I must have been married before, and that I have caused him to commit bigamy. That’s pleasant conversation for a honeymoon, isn’t it? Who is she?”
“Oh, she’s quite an old friend of mine,” said Georgie, “though I never knew she had met you before; I’m devoted to her.”
“Extremely proper. But now tell me this, and look straight in my face, so that I shall know if you’re speaking the truth. Should I enjoy myself more wandering about this heavenly place than at her garden party?”
Georgie felt that poor Lucia was really punished enough by this time.
“You will give her a great
deal of pleasure if you go,” he began.
“Ah, that’s not fair; it is hitting below the belt to appeal to unselfish motives. I have come here simply to enjoy myself. Go on; eyes front.”
The candour and friendliness of that beautiful face gave Georgie an impulse of courage. Besides, though no doubt in fun, she had already suggested that it would be much nicer to wander about with him and dine together than spend the evening among the splendours of The Hall.
“I’ve got a suggestion,” he said. “Will you come and lunch with me first, and we’ll stroll about, and then we can go to the garden-party, and if you don’t like it I’ll take you away again?”
“Done!” she said. “Now don’t you try to get out of it, because my husband is a witness. Georgie, give me a cigarette.”
In a moment Riseholme-Georgie had his cigarette-case open.
“Do take one of mine,” he said, “I’m Georgie too.”
“You don’t say so! Let’s send it to the Psychical Research, or whoever those people are who collect coincidences and say it’s spooks. And a match please, one of you Georgies. Oh, how I should like never to see the inside of an Opera House again. Why mayn’t I grow on the walls of a garden like this, or better still, why shouldn’t I have a house and garden of my own here, and sing on the village-green, and ask for halfpennies? Tell me what happens here! I’ve always lived in town since the time a hook-nosed Hebrew, rather like Lady Ambermere, took me out of the gutter.”
“My dear!” said Mr Shuttleworth.
“Well, out of an orphan-school at Brixton and I would much prefer the gutter. That’s all about my early life just now, because I am keeping it for my memoirs which I shall write when my voice becomes a little more like a steam-whistle. But don’t tell Lady Ambermere, for she would have a fit, but say you happen to know that I belong to the Surrey Bracelys. So I do; Brixton is on the Surrey side. Oh, my dear, look at the sun. It’s behaving like the best sort of Claude! Heile Sonne!”
“I heard you do that last May,” said Georgie.
“Then you heard a most second-rate performance,” said she. “But really being unlaced by that Thing, that great fat profligate beery Prussian was almost too much for me. And the duet! But it was very polite of you to come, and I will do better next time. Siegfried! Brunnhilde! Siegfried! Miaou! Miaou! Bring on the next lot of cats! Darling Georgie, wasn’t it awful? And you had proposed to me only the day before.”
“I was absolutely enchanted,” said Riseholme-Georgie.
“Yes, but then you didn’t have that Thing breathing beer into your innocent face.” Georgie rose; the first call on a stranger in Riseholme was never supposed to last more than half an hour, however much you were enjoying it, and never less, however bored you might be, and he felt sure he had already exceeded this.
“I must be off,” he said. “Too delightful to think that you and Mr Shuttleworth will come to lunch with me tomorrow. Half past one, shall we say?”
“Excellent; but where do you live?”
“Just across the green. Shall I call for you?” he asked.
“Certainly not. Why should you have that bother?” she said. “Ah, let me come with you to the inn-door, and perhaps you will shew me from there.”
She passed through the hall with him, and they stood together in the sight of all Riseholme, which was strolling about the green at this as at most other hours. Instantly all faces turned round in their direction, like so many sunflowers following the sun, while Georgie pointed out his particular mulberry tree. When everybody had had a good look, he raised his hat.
“A domani then,” she said. “So many thanks.”
And quite distinctly she kissed her hand to him as he turned away….
“So she talks Italian too,” thought Georgie, as he dropped little crumbs of information to his friends on his way to his house. “Domani, that means tomorrow. Oh yes; she was meaning lunch.”
It is hardly necessary to add that on the table in his hall there was one of Lucia’s commoner kinds of note, merely a half sheet folded together in her own manner. Georgie felt that it was scarcely more necessary to read it, for he felt quite sure that it contained some excuse for not coming to his house at six in order to call on Mr and Mrs Bracely. But he gave a glance at it before he rolled it up in a ball for Tipsipoozie to play with, and found its contents to be precisely what he expected, the excuse being that she had not done her practising. But the post-script was interesting, for it told him that she had asked Foljambe to give her his copy of Siegfried….
Georgie strolled down past The Hurst before dinner. Mozart was silent now, but there came out of the open windows the most amazing hash of sound, which he could just recognise as being the piano arrangement of the duet between Brunnhilde and Siegfried at the end. He would have been dull indeed if he had not instantly guessed what that signified.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
A fresh thrill went through an atmosphere already super-saturated with excitement, when next morning all Lucia’s friends who had been bidden to the garden-party (Tightum) were rung up on the telephone and informed that the party was Hightum. That caused a good deal of extra work, because the Tightum robes had to be put away again, and the Hightums aired and brushed and valetted. But it was well worth it, for Riseholme had not the slightest difficulty in conjecturing that Olga Bracely was to be among the guests. For a cultured and artistic centre the presence of a star that blazed so regally in the very zenith of the firmament of art absolutely demanded the Hightum which the presence of poor Lady Ambermere (though she would not have liked that) had been powerless to bring out of their cupboards. And these delightful anticipations concentrated themselves into one rose-coloured point of joy, when no less than two independent observers, without collusion, saw the piano-tuner either entering or leaving The Hurst, while a third, an ear-witness, unmistakably heard the tuning of the piano actually going on. It was thus clear to all penetrating minds that Olga Bracely was going to sing. It was further known that something was going on between her and Georgie, for she had been heard by one Miss Antrobus to ask for Georgie’s number at the telephone in the Ambermere Arms. Etiquette forbade her actually to listen to what passed, but she could not help hearing Olga laugh at something (presumably) that Georgie said. He himself took no part in the green-parliament that morning, but had been seen to dash into the fruiterer’s and out again, before he went in a great hurry to The Hurst, shortly after twelve-thirty. Classes on Eastern philosophy under the tuition of Mrs Quantock’s Indian, were already beginning to be hinted at, but today in the breathless excitement about the prima-donna nobody cared about that; they might all have been taking lessons in cannibalism, and nobody would have been interested. Finally about one o’clock one of the motors in which the party had arrived yesterday drew up at the door of the Ambermere Arms, and presently Mr Bracely, — no, dear, Mr Shuttleworth got in and drove off alone. That was very odd conduct in a lately-married bridegroom, and it was hoped that there had been no quarrel.
Olga had, of course, been given no directions as to Hightum or Tightum, and when she walked across to Georgie’s house shortly after half-past one only Mrs Weston who was going back home to lunch at top speed was aware that she was dressed in a very simple dark blue morning frock, that would almost have passed for Scrub. It is true that it was exceedingly well cut, and had not the look of having been rolled up in a ball and hastily ironed out again that usually distinguished Scrub, and she also wore a string of particularly fine pearls round her neck, the sort of ornament that in Riseholme would only be seen in an evening Hightum, even if anybody in Riseholme had owned such things. Lucia, not long ago had expressed the opinion that jewels were vulgar except at night, and for her part she wore none at all, preferring one Greek cameo of uncertain authenticity.
Georgie received Olga alone, for Hermy and Ursy were not yet back from their golf.
“It is good of you to let me come without my husband,” she said. “His excuse is toothache and he has driven into Brinton
—”
“I’m very sorry,” said Georgie.
“You needn’t be, for now I’ll tell you his real reason. He thought that if he lunched with you he would have to come on to the garden party, and that he was absolutely determined not to do. You were the thin edge of the wedge, in fact. My dear, what a delicious house. All panelled, with that lovely garden behind. And croquet — may we play croquet after lunch? I always try to cheat, and if I’m found out I lose my temper. Georgie won’t play with me, so I play with my maid.”
“This Georgie will,” said he.
“How nice of him! And do you know what we did this morning, before the toothache didn’t begin? We went all over that house three doors away, which is being done up. It belongs to the proprietor of the Ambermere Arms. And — oh, I wonder if you can keep a secret?”
“Yes,” said Georgie. He probably had never kept one yet, but there was no reason why he shouldn’t begin now.
“Well, I’m absolutely determined to buy it, only I daren’t tell my husband until I’ve done it. He has an odd nature. When a thing is done, settled, and there’s no help for it, he finds it adorable, but he also finds fatal objections to doing it at all, if he is consulted about it before it is done. So not a word! I shall buy it, make the garden, furnish it, down to the minutest detail, and engage the servants, and then he’ll give it me for a birthday present. I had to tell somebody or I should burst.”