by E. F. Benson
CHAPTER VI
The same delightful prospect at the end of the High Street, over themarsh, which had witnessed not so long ago the final encounter in theWars of the Roses and the subsequent armistice, was, of course, found tobe peculiarly attractive that morning to those who knew (and who didnot?) that the combatants had left by the 11.20 steam-tram to fightamong the sand-dunes, and that the intrepid Padre had rushed after themin a taxi. The Padre's taxi had returned empty, and the driver seemed toknow nothing whatever about anything, so the only thing for everybody todo was to put off lunch and wait for the arrival of the next tram, whichoccurred at 1.37. In consequence, all the doors in Tilling flew openlike those of cuckoo clocks at ten minutes before that hour, and thispleasant promenade was full of those who so keenly admired autumn tints.
From here the progress of the tram across the plain was in full view;so, too, was the shed-like station across the river, which was theterminus of the line, and expectation, when the two-waggoned littletrain approached the end of its journey, was so tense that it wasalmost disagreeable. A couple of hours had elapsed since, like thefishers who sailed away into the West and were seen no more till thecorpses lay out on the shining sand, the three had left for thesand-dunes, and a couple of hours, so reasoned the Cosmic Consciousnessof Tilling, gave ample time for a duel to be fought, if the Padre wasnot in time to stop it, and for him to stop it if he was. No surgicalassistance, as far as was known, had been summoned, but the reason forthat might easily be that a surgeon's skill was no longer, alas! of anyavail for one, if not both, of the combatants. But if such was the case,it was nice to hope that the Padre had been in time to supply spiritualaid to anyone whom first-aid and probes were powerless to succour.
The variety of _denouements_ which the approaching tram, that had nowcut off steam, was capable of providing was positively bewildering. Theywhirled through Miss Mapp's head like the autumn leaves which sheadmired so much, and she tried in vain to catch them all, and, whencaught, to tick them off on her fingers. Each, moreover, furnisheddiverse and legitimate conclusions. For instance (taking the thumb)
I. If nobody of the slightest importance arrived by the tram, that might be because
(_a_) Nothing had happened, and they were all playing golf.
(_b_) The worst had happened, and, as the Padre had feared, the duellists had first shot him and then each other.
(_c_) The next worst had happened, and the Padre was arranging for the reverent removal of the corpse of
(i) Major Benjy, or
(ii) Captain Puffin, or those of
(iii) Both.
Miss Mapp let go of her thumb and lightly touched her forefinger.
II. The Padre might arrive alone.
In that case anything or nothing might have happened to either or bothof the others, and the various contingencies hanging on this arrivalwere so numerous that there was not time to sort them out.
III. The Padre might arrive with two limping figures whom he assisted.
Here it must not be forgotten that Captain Puffin always limped, and theMajor occasionally. Miss Mapp did not forget it.
IV. The Padre might arrive with a stretcher. Query--Whose?
V. The Padre might arrive with two stretchers.
VI. Three stretchers might arrive from the shining sands, at the town where the women were weeping and wringing their hands.
In that case Miss Mapp saw herself busily employed in strengthening poorEvie, who now was running about like a mouse from group to group pickingup crumbs of Cosmic Consciousness.
Miss Mapp had got as far as sixthly, though she was aware she had notexhausted the possibilities, when the tram stopped. She furtively tookout from her pocket (she had focussed them before she put them in) theopera-glasses through which she had watched the station-yard on a daywhich had been very much less exciting than this. After one glance sheput them back again, feeling vexed and disappointed with herself, forthe _denouement_ which they had so unerringly disclosed was one thathad not entered her mind at all. In that moment she had seen that out ofthe tram there stepped three figures and no stretcher. One figure, it istrue, limped, but in a manner so natural, that she scorned to draw anydeductions from that halting gait. They proceeded, side by side, acrossthe bridge over the river towards the town.
It is no use denying that the Cosmic Consciousness of the ladies ofTilling was aware of a disagreeable anti-climax to so many hopes andfears. It had, of course, hoped for the best, but it had not expectedthat the best would be quite as bad as this. The best, to put itfrankly, would have been a bandaged arm, or something of that kind.There was still room for the more hardened optimist to hope thatsomething of some sort had occurred, or that something of some sort hadbeen averted, and that the whole affair was not, in the delicious newslang phrase of the Padre's, which was spreading like wildfire throughTilling, a "wash-out." Pistols might have been innocuously dischargedfor all that was known to the contrary. But it looked bad.
Miss Mapp was the first to recover from the blow, and took Diva's podgyhand.
"Diva, darling," she said, "I feel so deeply thankful. What a wonderfuland beautiful end to all our anxiety!"
There was a subconscious regret with regard to the anxiety. The anxietywas, so to speak, a dear and beloved departed.... And Diva did not feelso sure that the end was so beautiful and wonderful. Her grandfather,Miss Mapp had reason to know, had been a butcher, and probably someinherited indifference to slaughter lurked in her tainted blood.
"There's the portmanteau still," she said hopefully. "Pistols in theportmanteau. Your idea, Elizabeth."
"Yes, dear," said Elizabeth; "but thank God I must have been very wrongabout the portmanteau. The outside-porter told me that he brought it upfrom the station to Major Benjy's house half an hour ago. Fancy your notknowing that! I feel sure he is a truthful man, for he attends thePadre's confirmation class. If there had been pistols in it, Major Benjyand Captain Puffin would have gone away too. I am quite happy about thatnow. It went away and it has come back. That's all about theportmanteau."
She paused a moment.
"But what does it contain, then?" she said quickly, more as if she wasthinking aloud than talking to Diva. "Why did Major Benjy pack it andsend it to the station this morning? Where has it come back from? Whydid it go there?"
She felt that she was saying too much, and pressed her hand to her head.
"Has all this happened this morning?" she said. "What a full morning,dear! Lovely autumn leaves! I shall go home and have my lunch and rest.Au reservoir, Diva."
Miss Mapp's eternal reservoirs had begun to get on Diva's nerves, and asshe lingered here a moment more a great idea occurred to her, whichtemporarily banished the disappointment about the duellists. Elizabeth,as all the world knew, had accumulated a great reservoir of provisionsin the false book-case in her garden-room, and Diva determined that, ifshe could think of a neat phrase, the very next time Elizabeth said _aureservoir_ to her, she would work in an allusion to Elizabeth's ownreservoir of corned beef, tongue, flour, bovril, dried apricots andcondensed milk. She would have to frame some stinging rejoinder whichwould "escape her" when next Elizabeth used that stale old phrase: itwould have to be short, swift and spontaneous, and therefore requiredcareful thought. It would be good to bring "pop" into it also. "Yourreservoir in the garden-room hasn't gone 'pop' again, I hope, darling?"was the first draft that occurred to her, but that was not sufficientlycondensed. "Pop goes the reservoir," on the analogy of the weasel, wasbetter. And, better than either, was there not some sort of corn calledpop-corn, which Americans ate?... "Have you any pop-corn in yourreservoir?" That would be a nasty one....
But it all required thinking over, and the sight of the Padre and theduellists crossing the field below, as she still lingered on thisescarpment of the hill, brought the duel back to her mind. It would havebeen considered inquisitive even at Tilling to put direct questions tothe combatan
ts, and (still hoping for the best) ask them point-blank"Who won?" or something of that sort; but until she arrived at some sortof information, the excruciating pangs of curiosity that must be enduredcould be likened only to some acute toothache of the mind with nodentist to stop or remove the source of the trouble. Elizabeth hadalready succumbed to these pangs of surmise and excitement, and hadfrankly gone home to rest, and her absence, the fact that for the nexthour or two she could not, except by some extraordinary feat on thetelephone, get hold of anything which would throw light on the wholeprodigious situation, inflamed Diva's brain to the highest pitch ofinventiveness. She knew that she was Elizabeth's inferior in point ofreconstructive imagination, and the present moment, while the other wasrecuperating her energies for fresh assaults on the unknown, was Diva'sopportunity. The one person who might be presumed to know more thananybody else was the Padre, but while he was with the duellists, it wasas impossible to ask him what had happened as to ask the duellists whohad won. She must, while Miss Mapp rested, get hold of the Padre withoutthe duellists.
Even as Athene sprang full grown and panoplied from the brain of Zeus,so from Diva's brain there sprang her plan complete. She even resistedthe temptation to go on admiring autumn tints, in order to see how theinteresting trio "looked" when, as they must presently do, they passedclose to where she stood, and hurried home, pausing only to purchase,pay for, and carry away with her from the provision shop a large andexpensively-dressed crab, a dainty of which the Padre was inordinatelyfond. Ruinous as this was, there was a note of triumph in her voicewhen, on arrival, she called loudly for Janet, and told her to layanother place at the luncheon table. Then putting a strong constraint onherself, she waited three minutes by her watch, in order to give thePadre time to get home, and then rang him up and reminded him that hehad promised to lunch with her that day. It was no use asking him tolunch in such a way that he might refuse: she employed without remorsethis pitiless _force majeure_.
The engagement was short and brisk. He pleaded that not even now couldhe remember even having been asked (which was not surprising), and saidthat he and wee wifie had begun lunch. On which Diva unmasked her lastgun, and told him that she had ordered a crab on purpose. That silencedfurther argument, and he said that he and wee wifie would be round in ajiffy, and rang off. She did not particularly want wee wifie, but therewas enough crab.
Diva felt that she had never laid out four shillings to better purpose,when, a quarter of an hour later, the Padre gave her the full account ofhis fruitless search among the sand-dunes, so deeply impressive was hissense of being buoyed up to that incredibly fatiguing and perilousexcursion by some Power outside himself. It never even occurred to herto think that it was an elaborate practical joke on the part of thePower outside himself, to spur him on to such immense exertions to nopurpose at all. He had only got as far as this over his interruptedlunch with wee wifie, and though she, too, was in agonized suspense asto what happened next, she bore the repetition with great equanimity,only making small mouse-like noises of impatience which nobody heard. Hewas quite forgetting to speak either Scotch or Elizabethan English, soobvious was the absorption of his hearers, without these added aids tocommand attention.
"And then I came round the corner of the club-house," he said, "andthere were Captain Puffin and the Major finishing their match on theeighteenth hole."
"Then there's been no duel at all," said Diva, scraping the shell of thecrab.
"I feel sure of it. There wouldn't have been time for a duel and a roundof golf, in addition to the impossibility of playing golf immediatelyafter a duel. No nerves could stand it. Besides, I asked one of theircaddies. They had come straight from the tram to the club-house, andfrom the club-house to the first tee. They had not been alone for amoment."
"Wash-out," said Diva, wondering whether this had been worth fourshillings, so tame was the conclusion.
Mrs. Bartlett gave a little squeak which was her preliminary to speech.
"But I do not see why there may not be a duel yet, Kenneth," she said."Because they did not fight this morning--excellent crab, dear Diva, sogood of you to ask us--there's no reason why there shouldn't be a duelthis afternoon. O dear me, and cold beef as well: I shall be quitestuffed. Depend upon it a man doesn't take the trouble to write achallenge and all that, unless he means business."
The Padre held up his hand. He felt that he was gradually growing to bethe hero of the whole affair. He had certainly looked over the edge ofnumberless hollows in the sand-dunes with vivid anticipations of havinga bullet whizz by him on each separate occasion. It behoved him to takea sublime line.
"My dear," he said, "business is hardly a word to apply to murder. Thatwithin the last twenty-four hours there was the intention of fighting aduel, I don't deny. But something has decidedly happened which hasaverted that deplorable calamity. Peace and reconciliation is the resultof it, and I have never seen two men so unaffectedly friendly."
Diva got up and whirled round the table to get the port for the Padre,so pleased was she at a fresh idea coming to her while still dearElizabeth was resting. She attributed it to the crab.
"We've all been on a false scent," she said. "Peace and reconciliationhappened before they went out to the sand-dunes at all. It happened atthe station. They met at the station, you know. It is proved that MajorFlint went there. Major wouldn't send portmanteau off alone. And it'sproved that Captain Puffin went there too, because the note which hishousemaid found on the table before she saw the challenge from theMajor, which was on the chimney-piece, said that he had been called awayvery suddenly. No: they both went to catch the early train in order togo away before they could be stopped, and kill each other. But whydidn't they go? What happened? Don't suppose the outside porter showedthem how wicked they were, confirmation-class or no confirmation-class.Stumps me. Almost wish Elizabeth was here. She's good at guessing."
The Padre's eye brightened. Reaction after the perils of the morning,crab and port combined to make a man of him.
"Eh, 'tis a bonny wee drappie of port whatever, Mistress Plaistow," hesaid. "And I dinna ken that ye're far wrang in jaloosing that MistressMapp might have a wee bitty word to say aboot it a', 'gin she had themind."
"She was wrong about the portmanteau," said Diva. "Confessed she waswrong."
"Hoots! I'm not mindin' the bit pochmantie," said the Padre.
"What else does she know?" asked Diva feverishly.
There was no doubt that the Padre had the fullest attention of the twoladies again, and there was no need to talk Scotch any more.
"Begin at the beginning," he said. "What do we suppose was the cause ofthe quarrel?"
"Anything," said Diva. "Golf, tiger-skins, coal-strike, summer-time."
He shook his head.
"I grant you words may pass on such subjects," he said. "We feel keenly,I know, about summer-time in Tilling, though we shall all be reconciledover that next Sunday, when real time, God's time, as I am venturing tocall it in my sermon, comes in again."
Diva had to bite her tongue to prevent herself bolting off on this newscent. After all, she had invested in crab to learn about duelling, notabout summer-time.
"Well?" she said.
"We may have had words on that subject," said the Padre, booming as ifhe was in the pulpit already, "but we should, I hope, none of us go sofar as to catch the earliest train with pistols, in defence of ourconviction about summer-time. No, Mrs. Plaistow, if you are right, andthere is something to be said for your view, in thinking that they bothwent to such lengths as to be in time for the early train, in order tofight a duel undisturbed, you must look for a more solid cause thanthat."
Diva vainly racked her brains to think of anything more worthy of thehighest pitches of emotion than this. If it had been she and Miss Mappwho had been embroiled, hoarding and dress would have occurred to her.But as it was, no one in his senses could dream that the Captain and theMajor were sartorial rivals, unless they had quarrelled over thequestion as to which of them wore the snuf
fiest old clothes.
"Give it up," she said. "What did they quarrel about?"
"Passion!" said the Padre, in those full, deep tones in which nextSunday he would allude to God's time. "I do not mean anger, but theflame that exalts man to heaven or--or does exactly the opposite!"
"But whomever for?" asked Diva, quite thrown off her bearings. Such athing had never occurred to her, for, as far as she was aware, passion,except in the sense of temper, did not exist in Tilling. Tilling wasfar too respectable.
The Padre considered this a moment.
"I am betraying no confidence," he said, "because no one has confided inme. But there certainly is a lady in this town--I do not allude to MissIrene--who has long enjoyed the Major's particular esteem. May not somedeprecating remark----"
Wee wifie gave a much louder squeal than usual.
"He means poor Elizabeth," she said in a high, tremulous voice. "Fancy,Kenneth!"
Diva, a few seconds before, had seen no reason why the Padre shoulddrink the rest of her port, and was now in the act of drinking some ofthat unusual beverage herself. She tried to swallow it, but it was toolate, and next moment all the openings in her face were fountains ofthat delicious wine. She choked and she gurgled, until the last drop hadleft her windpipe--under the persuasion of pattings on the back from theothers--and then she gave herself up to loud, hoarse laughter, throughwhich there shrilled the staccato squeaks of wee wifie. Nothing, even ifyou are being laughed at yourself, is so infectious as prolongedlaughter, and the Padre felt himself forced to join it. When one of themgot a little better, a relapse ensued by reason of infection from theothers, and it was not till exhaustion set in, that this triple volcanobecame quiescent again.
"Only fancy!" said Evie faintly. "How did such an idea get into yourhead, Kenneth?"
His voice shook as he answered.
"Well, we were all a little worked up this morning," he said. "Theidea--really, I don't know what we have all been laughing at----"
"I do," said Diva. "Go on. About the idea----"
A feminine, a diabolical inspiration flared within wee wifie's mind.
"Elizabeth suggested it herself," she squealed.
Naturally Diva could not help remembering that she had found Miss Mappand the Padre in earnest conversation together when she forced her wayin that morning with the news that the duellists had left by the 11.20tram. Nobody could be expected to have so short a memory as to haveforgotten _that_. Just now she forgave Elizabeth for anything she hadever done. That might have to be reconsidered afterwards, but at presentit was valid enough.
"Did she suggest it?" she asked.
The Padre behaved like a man, and lied like Ananias.
"Most emphatically she did not," he said.
The disappointment would have been severe, had the two ladies believedthis confident assertion, and Diva pictured a delightful interview withElizabeth, in which she would suddenly tell her the wild surmise thePadre had made with regard to the cause of the duel, and see how shelooked then. Just see how she looked then: that wasall--self-consciousness and guilt would fly their colours....
* * * * *
Miss Mapp had been tempted when she went home that morning, afterenjoying the autumn tints, to ask Diva to lunch with her, but rememberedin time that she had told her cook to broach one of the tins ofcorned-beef which no human wizard could coax into the store-cupboardagain, if he shut the door after it. Diva would have been sure to saysomething acid and allusive, to remark on its excellence being happilynot wasted on the poor people in the hospital, or, if she had not saidanything at all about it, her silence as she ate a great deal would havehad a sharp flavour. But Miss Mapp would have liked, especially when shewent to take her rest afterwards on the big sofa in the garden-room, tohave had somebody to talk to, for her brain seethed with conjectures asto what had happened, was happening and would happen, and discussion wasthe best method of simplifying a problem, of narrowing it down to thelimits of probability, whereas when she was alone now with her ownimaginings, the most fantastic of them seemed plausible. She had,however, handed a glorious suggestion to the Padre, the one, that is,which concerned the cause of the duel, and it had been highlysatisfactory to observe the sympathy and respect with which he hadimbibed it. She had, too, been so discreet about it; she had not comewithin measurable distance of asserting that the challenge had been inany way connected with her. She had only been very emphatic on the pointof its not being connected with poor dear Irene, and then occupiedherself with her sweet flowers. That had been sufficient, and she feltin her bones and marrow that he inferred what she had meant him toinfer....
The vulture of surmise ceased to peck at her for a few moments as sheconsidered this, and followed up a thread of gold.... Though the Padrewould surely be discreet, she hoped that he would "let slip" to dearEvie in the course of the vivid conversation they would be sure to haveover lunch, that he had a good guess as to the cause which had led tothat savage challenge. Upon which dear Evie would be certain to ply himwith direct squeaks and questions, and when she "got hot" (as in animal,vegetable and mineral) his reticence would lead her to make a goodguess too. She might be incredulous, but there the idea would be in hermind, while if she felt that these stirring days were no time forscepticism, she could hardly fail to be interested and touched. Beforelong (how soon Miss Mapp was happily not aware) she would "pop in" tosee Diva, or Diva would "pop in" to see her, and, Evie observing adiscretion similar to that of the Padre and herself, would soon enabledear Diva to make a good guess too. After that, all would be well, fordear Diva ("such a gossiping darling") would undoubtedly tell everybodyin Tilling, under vows of secrecy (so that she should have the pleasureof telling everybody herself) just what her good guess was. Thus, verypresently, all Tilling would know exactly that which Miss Mapp had notsaid to the dear Padre, namely, that the duel which had been fought (orwhich hadn't been fought) was "all about" her. And the best of it was,that though everybody knew, it would still be a great and beautifulsecret, reposing inviolably in every breast or chest, as the case mightbe. She had no anxiety about anybody asking direct questions of theduellists, for if duelling, for years past, had been a subject which nodelicately-minded person alluded to purposely in Major Benjy's presence,how much more now after this critical morning would that subject betaboo? That certainly was a good thing, for the duellists if closelyquestioned might have a different explanation, and it would be highlyinconvenient to have two contradictory stories going about. But, as itwas, nothing could be nicer: the whole of the rest of Tilling, underpromise of secrecy, would know, and even if under further promises ofsecrecy they communicated their secret to each other, there would be noharm done....
After this excursion into Elysian fields, poor Miss Mapp had to getback to her vulture again, and the hour's rest that she had felt was dueto herself as the heroine of a duel became a period of extraordinarycerebral activity. Puzzle as she might, she could make nothing whateverof the portmanteau and the excursion to the early train, and she got uplong before her hour was over, since she found that the more shethought, the more invincible were the objections to any conclusion thatshe drowningly grasped at. Whatever attack she made on this mystery, thegarrison failed to march out and surrender but kept their flag flying,and her conjectures were woefully blasted by the forces of the mostelementary reasons. But as the agony of suspense, if no fresh topic ofinterest intervened, would be frankly unendurable, she determined toconcentrate no more on it, but rather to commit it to the ice-house orsafe of her subconscious mind, from which at will, when she feltrefreshed and reinvigorated, she could unlock it and examine it again.The whole problem was more superlatively baffling than any that shecould remember having encountered in all these inquisitive years, justas the subject of it was more majestic than any, for it concerned nothoarding, nor visits of the Prince of Wales, nor poppy-trimmed gowns,but life and death and firing of deadly pistols. And should love beadded to this august list? Certainly not by her, th
ough Tilling might dowhat it liked. In fact Tilling always did.
She walked across to the bow-window from which she had conducted so manyexciting and successful investigations. But to-day the view seemed asstale and unprofitable as the world appeared to Hamlet, even though Mrs.Poppit at that moment went waddling down the street and disappearedround the corner where the dentist and Mr. Wyse lived. With a sense offatigue Miss Mapp recalled the fact that she had seen the housemaidcleaning Mr. Wyse's windows yesterday--("Children dear, was ityesterday?")--and had noted her industry, and drawn from it theirresistible conclusion that Mr. Wyse was probably expected home. Heusually came back about mid-October, and let slip allusions to hisenjoyable visits in Scotland and his _villeggiatura_ (so he was pleasedto express it) with his sister the Contessa di Faraglione at Capri. ThatContessa Faraglione was rather a mythical personage to Miss Mapp's mind:she was certainly not in a mediaeval copy of "Who's Who?" which was theonly accessible handbook in matters relating to noble and notablepersonages, and though Miss Mapp would not have taken an oath that shedid not exist, she saw no strong reason for supposing that she did.Certainly she had never been to Tilling, which was strange as herbrother lived there, and there was nothing but her brother's allusionsto certify her. About Mrs. Poppit now: had she gone to see Mr. Wyse orhad she gone to the dentist? One or other it must be, for apart fromthem that particular street contained nobody who counted, and at thebottom it simply conducted you out into the uneventful country. Mrs.Poppit was all dressed up, and she would never walk in the country insuch a costume. It would do either for Mr. Wyse or the dentist, for shewas the sort of woman who would like to appear grand in the dentist'schair, so that he might be shy of hurting such a fine lady. Then again,Mrs. Poppit had wonderful teeth, almost too good to be true, and beforenow she had asked who lived at that pretty little house just round thecorner, as if to show that she didn't know where the dentist lived! Orhad she found out by some underhand means that Mr. Wyse had come back,and had gone to call on him and give him the first news of the duel,and talk to him about Scotland? Very likely they had neither of thembeen to Scotland at all: they conspired to say that they had been toScotland and stayed at shooting-lodges (keepers' lodges more likely) inorder to impress Tilling with their magnificence....
Miss Mapp sat down on the central-heating pipes in her window, and fellinto one of her reconstructive musings. Partly, if Mr. Wyse was back, itwas well just to run over his record; partly she wanted to divert hermind from the two houses just below, that of Major Benjy on the one sideand that of Captain Puffin on the other, which contained the key to thegreat, insoluble mystery, from conjecture as to which she wanted toobtain relief. Mr. Wyse, anyhow, would serve as a mild opiate, for shehad never lost an angry interest in him. Though he was for eight monthsof the year, or thereabouts, in Tilling, he was never, for a singlehour, _of_ Tilling. He did not exactly invest himself with an air ofcondescension and superiority--Miss Mapp did him that justice--but hemade other people invest him with it, so that it came to the same thing:he was invested. He did not drag the fact of his sister being theContessa Faraglione into conversation, but if talk turned on sisters,and he was asked about his, he confessed to her nobility. The samephenomenon appeared when the innocent county of Hampshire was mentioned,for it turned out that he knew the county well, being one of the Wysesof Whitchurch. You couldn't say he talked about it, but he made otherpeople talk about it.... He was quite impervious to satire on suchpoints, for when, goaded to madness, Miss Mapp had once said that shewas one of the Mapps of Maidstone, he had merely bowed and said: "A veryold family, I believe," and when the conversation branched off on toold families he had rather pointedly said "we" to Miss Mapp. So poorMiss Mapp was sorry she had been satirical.... But for some reason,Tilling never ceased to play up to Mr. Wyse, and there was not atea-party or a bridge-party given during the whole period of hisresidence there to which he was not invited. Hostesses always startedwith him, sending him round a note with "To await answer," written inthe top left-hand corner, since he had clearly stated that he consideredthe telephone an undignified instrument only fit to be used forhousehold purposes, and had installed his in the kitchen, in the mannerof the Wyses of Whitchurch. That alone, apart from Mr. Wyse'sold-fashioned notions on the subject, made telephoning impossible, foryour summons was usually answered by his cook, who instantly beganscolding the butcher irrespective and disrespectful of whom you were.When her mistake was made known to her, she never apologized, butgrudgingly said she would call Mr. Figgis, who was Mr. Wyse's valet. Mr.Figgis always took a long time in coming, and when he came he sneezed ordid something disagreeable and said: "Yes, yes; what is it?" in a verytesty manner. After explanations he would consent to tell his master,which took another long time, and even then Mr. Wyse did not comehimself, and usually refused the proffered invitation. Miss Mapp hadtried the expedient of sending Withers to the telephone when she wantedto get at Mr. Wyse, but this had not succeeded, for Withers and Mr.Wyse's cook quarrelled so violently before they got to business that Mr.Figgis had to calm the cook and Withers to complain to Miss Mapp....This, in brief, was the general reason why Tilling sent notes to Mr.Wyse. As for chatting through the telephone, which was the main use oftelephones, the thing was quite out of the question.
Miss Mapp revived a little as she made this piercing analysis of Mr.Wyse, and the warmth of the central heating pipes, on this baffling dayof autumn tints, was comforting.... No one could say that Mr. Wyse wasnot punctilious in matters of social etiquette, for though he refusedthree-quarters of the invitations which were showered on him, heinvariably returned the compliment by an autograph note hoping that hemight have the pleasure of entertaining you at lunch on Thursday next,for he always gave a small luncheon-party on Thursday. These invitationswere couched in Chesterfield-terms: Mr. Wyse said that he had met amutual friend just now who had informed him that you were in residence,and had encouraged him to hope that you might give him the pleasure ofyour company, etc. This was alluring diction: it presented the image ofMr. Wyse stepping briskly home again, quite heartened up by this chanceencounter, and no longer the prey to melancholy at the thought that youmight not give him the joy. He was encouraged to hope.... These politeexpressions were traced in a neat upright hand on paper which, when hehad just come back from Italy, often bore a coronet on the top with"Villa Faraglione, Capri" printed on the right-hand top corner and"Amelia" (the name of his putative sister) in sprawling gilt on theleft, the whole being lightly erased. Of course he was quite right tofilch a few sheets, but it threw rather a lurid light on his characterthat they should be such grand ones.
Last year only, in a fit of passion at Mr. Wyse having refused sixinvitations running on the plea of other engagements, Miss Mapp hadheaded a movement, the object of which was that Tilling should notaccept any of Mr. Wyse's invitations unless he accepted its. This hadmet with theoretical sympathy; the Bartletts, Diva, Irene, the Poppitshad all agreed--rather absently--that it would be a very proper thing todo, but the very next Thursday they had all, including the originator,met on Mr. Wyse's doorstep for a luncheon-party, and the movement thenand there collapsed. Though they all protested and rebelled against sucha notion, the horrid fact remained that everybody basked in Mr. Wyse'seffulgence whenever it was disposed to shed itself on them. Much as theydistrusted the information they dragged out of him, they adored hearingabout the Villa Faraglione, and dressed themselves in their very bestclothes to do so. Then again there was the quality of the lunch itself:often there was caviare, and it was impossible (though the interrogatorwho asked whether it came from Twemlow's feared the worst) not to bemildly excited to know, when Mr. Wyse referred the question to Figgis,that the caviare had arrived from Odessa that morning. The haunch ofroe-deer came from Perthshire; the wine, on the subject of which theMajor could not be silent, and which often made him extremely talkative,was from "my brother-in-law's vineyard." And Mr. Wyse would taste itwith the air of a connoisseur and say: "Not quite as good as last year:I must tell the Cont---- I m
ean my sister."
Again when Mr. Wyse did condescend to honour a tea-party or abridge-party, Tilling writhed under the consciousness that their generaldeportment was quite different from that which they ordinarily practisedamong themselves. There was never any squabbling at Mr. Wyse's table,and such squabbling as took place at the other tables was conducted inlow hissings and whispers, so that Mr. Wyse should not hear. Diva neverhaggled over her gains or losses when he was there, the Padre nevertalked Scotch or Elizabethan English. Evie never squeaked like a mouse,no shrill recriminations or stately sarcasms took place betweenpartners, and if there happened to be a little disagreement about therules, Mr. Wyse's decision, though he was not a better player than anyof them, was accepted without a murmur. At intervals for refreshment, inthe same way, Diva no longer filled her mouth and both hands withnougat-chocolate; there was no scrambling or jostling, but the ladieswere waited on by the gentlemen, who then refreshed themselves. And yetMr. Wyse in no way asserted himself, or reduced them all to politenessby talking about the polished manners of Italians; it was Tilling itselfwhich chose to behave in this unusual manner in his presence. SometimesDiva might forget herself for a moment, and address something witheringto her partner, but the partner never replied in suitable terms, andDiva became honey-mouthed again. It was, indeed, if Mr. Wyse hadappeared at two or three parties, rather a relief not to find him at thenext, and breathe freely in less rarefied air. But whether he came ornot he always returned the invitation by one to a Thursdayluncheon-party, and thus the high circles of Tilling met every week athis house.
Miss Mapp came to the end of this brief retrospect, and determined, whenonce it was proved that Mr. Wyse had arrived, to ask him to tea onTuesday. That would mean lunch with him on Thursday, and it wasunnecessary to ask anybody else unless Mr. Wyse accepted. If he refused,there would be no tea-party.... But, after the events of the lasttwenty-four hours, there was no vividness in these plans andreminiscences, and her eye turned to the profile of the Colonel's house.
"The portmanteau," she said to herself.... No: she must take her mindoff that subject. She would go for a walk, not into the High Street, butinto the quiet level country, away from the turmoil of passion (in thePadre's sense) and quarrels (in her own), where she could cool hercuriosity and her soul with contemplation of the swallows and the whitebutterflies (if they had not all been killed by the touch of frost lastnight) and the autumn tints of which there were none whatever in thetreeless marsh.... Decidedly the shortest way out of the town was thatwhich led past Mr. Wyse's house. But before leaving the garden-room shepractised several faces at the looking-glass opposite the door, whichshould suitably express, if she met anybody to whom the cause of thechallenge was likely to have spread, the bewildering emotion which theunwilling cause of it must feel. There must be a wistful wonder, theremust be a certain pride, there must be the remains of romanticexcitement, and there must be deep womanly anxiety. The carriage of thehead "did" the pride, the wide-open eyes "did" the wistful wonder andthe romance, the deep womanly anxiety lurked in the tremulous smile, anda violent rubbing of the cheeks produced the colour of excitement. Inanswer to any impertinent questions, if she encountered such, she meantto give an absent answer, as if she had not understood. Thus equippedshe set forth.
It was rather disappointing to meet nobody, but as she passed Mr. Wyse'sbow-window she adjusted the chrysanthemums she wore, and she had a goodsight of his profile and the back of Mrs. Poppit's head. They appeareddeep in conversation, and Miss Mapp felt that the tiresome woman wasprobably giving him a very incomplete account of what had happened. Shereturned late for tea, and broke off her apologies to Withers for beingsuch a trouble because she saw a note on the hall table. There was acoronet on the back of the envelope, and it was addressed in the neat,punctilious hand which so well expressed its writer. Villa Faraglione,Capri, a coronet and Amelia all lightly crossed out headed the page, andshe read:
"DEAR MISS MAPP,
"It is such a pleasure to find myself in our little Tilling again, and our mutual friend Mrs. Poppit, M.B.E., tells me you are in residence, and encourages me to hope that I may induce you to take _dejeuner_ with me on Thursday, at one o'clock. May I assure you, with all delicacy, that you will not meet here anyone whose presence could cause you the slightest embarrassment?
"Pray excuse this hasty note. Figgis will wait for your answer if you are in.
"Yours very sincerely,
"ALGERNON WYSE."
Had not Withers been present, who might have misconstrued her action,Miss Mapp would have kissed the note; failing that, she forgave Mrs.Poppit for being an M.B.E.
"The dear woman!" she said. "She has heard, and has told him."
Of course she need not ask Mr. Wyse to tea now....
