by E. F. Benson
CHAPTER VII
A white frost on three nights running and a terrible blackening ofdahlias, whose reputation was quite gone by morning, would probably haveconvinced the ladies of Tilling that it was time to put summer clothingin camphor and winter clothing in the back-yard to get aired, even ifthe Padre had not preached that remarkable sermon on Sunday. It was soremarkable that Miss Mapp quite forgot to note grammatical lapses andlistened entranced.
The text was, "He made summer and winter," and after repeating the wordsvery impressively, so that there might be no mistake about the origin ofthe seasons, the Padre began to talk about something quitedifferent--namely, the unhappy divisions which exist in Christiancommunities. That did not deceive Miss Mapp for a moment: she sawprecisely what he was getting at over his oratorical fences. He got atit....
Ever since Summer-time had been inaugurated a few years before, it hadbeen one of the chronic dissensions of Tilling. Miss Mapp, Diva and thePadre flatly refused to recognize it, except when they were going bytrain or tram, when principle must necessarily go to the wall, or theywould never have succeeded in getting anywhere, while Miss Mapp, withthe halo of martyrdom round her head, had once arrived at a Summer-timeparty an hour late, in order to bear witness to the truth, and, inconsequence, had got only dregs of tea and the last faint strawberry.But the Major and Captain Puffin used the tram so often, that they hadfallen into the degrading habit of dislocating their clocks and watcheson the first of May, and dislocating them again in the autumn, when theywere forced into uniformity with properly-minded people. Irene wasflippant on the subject, and said that any old time would do for her.The Poppits followed convention, and Mrs. Poppit, in naming the hour fora party to the stalwarts, wrote "4.30 (your 3.30)." The King, afterall, had invited her to be decorated at a particular hour, summer-time,and what was good enough for the King was good enough for Mrs. Poppit.
The sermon was quite uncompromising. There was summer and winter, byDivine ordinance, but there was nothing said about summer-time andwinter-time. There was but one Time, and even as Life only stained thewhite radiance of eternity, as the gifted but, alas! infidel poetremarked, so, too, did Time. But ephemeral as Time was, noon in theBible clearly meant twelve o'clock, and not one o'clock: towards even,meant towards even, and not the middle of a broiling afternoon. Thesixth hour similarly was the Roman way of saying twelve. Winter-time, infact, was God's time, and though there was nothing wicked (far from it)in adopting strange measures, yet the simple, the childlike, clung tothe sacred tradition, which they had received from their fathers andforefathers at their mother's knee. Then followed a long and eloquentpassage, which recapitulated the opening about unhappy divisions, andcontained several phrases, regarding the lengths to which such divisionsmight go, which were strikingly applicable to duelling. The perorationrecapitulated the recapitulation, in case anyone had missed it, and thecoda, the close itself, in the full noon of the winter sun, was full ofjoy at the healing of all such unhappy divisions. And now.... The rainrattling against the windows drowned the Doxology.
The doctrine was so much to her mind that Miss Mapp gave a shilling tothe offertory instead of her usual sixpence, to be devoted to theorganist and choir fund. The Padre, it is true, had changed the hour ofservices to suit the heresy of the majority, and this for a moment madeher hand falter. But the hope, after this convincing sermon, that nextyear morning service would be at the hour falsely called twelve decidedher not to withdraw this handsome contribution.
Frosts and dead dahlias and sermons then were together overwhelminglyconvincing, and when Miss Mapp went out on Monday morning to do hershopping, she wore a tweed skirt and jacket, and round her neck a longwoollen scarf to mark the end of the summer. Mrs. Poppit, alone in herdisgusting ostentation, had seemed to think two days ago that it wascold enough for furs, and she presented a truly ridiculous aspect in anenormous sable coat, under the weight of which she could hardly stagger,and stood rooted to the spot when she stepped out of the Royce. Briskwalking and large woollen scarves saved the others from feeling the coldand from being unable to move, and this morning the High Street wasdazzling with the shifting play of bright colours. There was quite agroup of scarves at the corner, where Miss Mapp's street debouched intothe High Street: Irene was there (for it was probably too cold for Mr.Hopkins that morning), looking quainter than ever in corduroys and mauvestockings with an immense orange scarf bordered with pink. Diva wasthere, wound up in so delicious a combination of rose-madder andCambridge blue, that Miss Mapp, remembering the history of therose-madder, had to remind herself how many things there were in theworld more important than worsted. Evie was there in vivid green with apurple border, the Padre had a knitted magenta waistcoat, and Mrs.Poppit that great sable coat which almost prevented movement. They wereall talking together in a very animated manner when first Miss Mapp camein sight, and if, on her approach, conversation seemed to wither, theyall wore, besides their scarves, very broad, pleasant smiles. Miss Mapphad a smile, too, as good as anybody's.
"Good morning, all you dear things," she said. "How lovely you alllook--just like a bed of delicious flowers! Such nice colours! My poordahlias are all dead."
Quaint Irene uttered a hoarse laugh, and, swinging her basket, wentquickly away. She often did abrupt things like that. Miss Mapp turned tothe Padre.
"Dear Padre, what a delicious sermon!" she said. "So glad you preachedit! Such a warning against all sorts of divisions!"
The Padre had to compose his face before he responded to thesecompliments.
"I'm reecht glad, fair lady," he replied, "that my bit discourse was toyour mind. Come, wee wifie, we must be stepping."
Quite suddenly all the group, with the exception of Mrs. Poppit, meltedaway. Wee wifie gave a loud squeal, as if to say something, but herhusband led her firmly off, while Diva, with rapidly revolving feet,sped like an arrow up the centre of the High Street.
"Such a lovely morning!" said Miss Mapp to Mrs. Poppit, when there wasno one else to talk to. "And everyone looks so pleased and happy, andall in such a hurry, busy as bees, to do their little businesses. Yes."
Mrs. Poppit began to move quietly away with the deliberate,tortoise-like progression necessitated by the fur coat. It struck MissMapp that she, too, had intended to take part in the general breaking upof the group, but had merely been unable to get under way as fast as theothers.
"Such a lovely fur coat," said Miss Mapp sycophantically. "Suchbeautiful long fur! And what is the news this morning? Has a little birdbeen whispering anything?"
"Nothing," said Mrs. Poppit very decidedly, and having now sufficientway on to turn, she went up the street down which Miss Mapp had justcome. The latter was thus left all alone with her shopping basket andher scarf.
With the unerring divination which was the natural fruit of so manyyears of ceaseless conjecture, she instantly suspected the worst. Allthat busy conversation which her appearance had interrupted, all thosesmiles which her presence had seemed but to render broader and morehilarious, certainly concerned her. They could not still have beentalking about that fatal explosion from the cupboard in the garden-room,because the duel had completely silenced the last echoes of that, andshe instantly put her finger on the spot. Somebody had been gossiping(and how she hated gossip); somebody had given voice to what she hadbeen so studiously careful not to say. Until that moment, when she hadseen the rapid breaking up of the group of her friends all radiant withmerriment, she had longed to be aware that somebody had given voice toit, and that everybody (under seal of secrecy) knew the uniquequeenliness of her position, the overwhelmingly interesting role thatthe violent passions of men had cast her for. She had not believed inthe truth of it herself, when that irresistible seizure of coquetry tookpossession of her as she bent over her sweet chrysanthemums; but thePadre's respectful reception of it had caused her to hope that everybodyelse might believe in it. The character of the smiles, however, thatwreathed the faces of her friends did not quite seem to give fruition tothat hope. There we
re smiles and smiles, respectful smiles, sympatheticsmiles, envious and admiring smiles, but there were also smiles ofhilarious and mocking incredulity. She concluded that she had to dealwith the latter variety.
"Something," thought Miss Mapp, as she stood quite alone in the HighStreet, with Mrs. Poppit labouring up the hill, and Diva already arose-madder speck in the distance, "has got to be done," and it onlyremained to settle what. Fury with the dear Padre for having hintedprecisely what she meant, intended and designed that he should hint, wasperhaps the paramount emotion in her mind; fury with everybody else fornot respectfully believing what she did not believe herself made animportant pendant.
"What am I to do?" said Miss Mapp aloud, and had to explain to Mr.Hopkins, who had all his clothes on, that she had not spoken to him.Then she caught sight again of Mrs. Poppit's sable coat hardly furtheroff than it had been when first this thunderclap of an intuitiondeafened her, and still reeling from the shock, she remembered that itwas almost certainly Mrs. Poppit who was the cause of Mr. Wyse writingher that exquisitely delicate note with regard to Thursday. It was aherculean task, no doubt, to plug up all the fountains of talk inTilling which were spouting so merrily at her expense, but a beginningmust be made before she could arrive at the end. A short scurry ofnimble steps brought her up to the sables.
"Dear Mrs. Poppit," she said, "if you are walking by my little house,would you give me two minutes' talk? And--so stupid of me to forget justnow--will you come in after dinner on Wednesday for a little rubber? Thedays are closing in now; one wants to make the most of the daylight, andI think it is time to begin our pleasant little winter evenings."
This was a bribe, and Mrs. Poppit instantly pocketed it, with theeffect that two minutes later she was in the garden-room, and haddeposited her sable coat on the sofa ("Quite shook the room with theweight of it," said Miss Mapp to herself while she arranged her plan).
She stood looking out of the window for a moment, writhing withhumiliation at having to be suppliant to the Member of the BritishEmpire. She tried to remember Mrs. Poppit's Christian name, and was evenprepared to use that, but this crowning ignominy was saved her, as shecould not recollect it.
"Such an annoying thing has happened," she said, though the words seemedto blister her lips. "And you, dear Mrs. Poppit, as a woman of theworld, can advise me what to do. The fact is that somehow or other, andI can't think how, people are saying that the duel last week, which wasso happily averted, had something to do with poor little me. So absurd!But you know what gossips we have in our dear little Tilling."
Mrs. Poppit turned on her a fallen and disappointed face.
"But hadn't it?" she said. "Why, when they were all laughing about itjust now" ("I was right, then," thought Miss Mapp, "and what a tactlesswoman!"), "I said I believed it. And I told Mr. Wyse."
Miss Mapp cursed herself for her frankness. But she could obliteratethat again, and not lose a rare (goodness knew how rare!) believer.
"I am in such a difficult position," she said. "I think I ought to letit be understood that there is no truth whatever in such an idea,however much truth there may be. And did dear Mr. Wyse believe--in fact,I know he must have, for he wrote me, oh, such a delicate, understandingnote. He, at any rate, takes no notice of all that is being said andhinted."
Miss Mapp was momentarily conscious that she meant precisely theopposite of this. Dear Mr. Wyse _did_ take notice, most respectfulnotice, of all that was being said and hinted, thank goodness! But aglance at Mrs. Poppit's fat and interested face showed her that theverbal discrepancy had gone unnoticed, and that the luscious flavour ofromance drowned the perception of anything else. She drew a handkerchiefout, and buried her thoughtful eyes in it a moment, rubbing them with astealthy motion, which Mrs. Poppit did not perceive, though Diva wouldhave.
"My lips are sealed," she continued, opening them very wide, "and I cansay nothing, except that I want this rumour to be contradicted. Idaresay those who started it thought it was true, but, true or false, Imust say nothing. I have always led a very quiet life in my littlehouse, with my sweet flowers for my companions, and if there is onething more than another that I dislike, it is that my private affairsshould be made matters of public interest. I do no harm to anybody, Iwish everybody well, and nothing--nothing will induce me to open my lipsupon this subject. I will not," cried Miss Mapp, "say a word to defendor justify myself. What is true will prevail. It comes in the Bible."
Mrs. Poppit was too much interested in what she said to mind where itcame from.
"What can I do?" she asked.
"Contradict, dear, the rumour that I have had anything to do with theterrible thing which might have happened last week. Say on my authoritythat it is so. I tremble to think"--here she trembled very much--"whatmight happen if the report reached Major Benjy's ears, and he found outwho had started it. We must have no more duels in Tilling. I thought Ishould never survive that morning."
"I will go and tell Mr. Wyse instantly--dear," said Mrs. Poppit.
That would never do. True believers were so scarce that it was wicked tothink of unsettling their faith.
"Poor Mr. Wyse!" said Miss Mapp with a magnanimous smile. "Do not think,dear, of troubling him with these little trumpery affairs. He will nottake part in these little tittle-tattles. But if you could let dear Divaand quaint Irene and sweet Evie and the good Padre know that I laugh atall such nonsense----"
"But they laugh at it, too," said Mrs. Poppit.
That would have been baffling for anyone who allowed herself to bebaffled, but that was not Miss Mapp's way.
"Oh, that bitter laughter!" she said. "It hurt me to hear it. It wasenvious laughter, dear, scoffing, bitter laughter. I heard! I cannotbear that the dear things should feel like that. Tell them that I sayhow silly they are to believe anything of the sort. Trust me, I am rightabout it. I wash my hands of such nonsense."
She made a vivid dumb-show of this, and after drying them on animaginary towel, let a sunny smile peep out the eyes which she hadrubbed.
"All gone!" she said; "and we will have a dear little party on Wednesdayto show we are all friends again. And we meet for lunch at dear Mr.Wyse's the next day? Yes? He will get tired of poor little me if he seesme two days running, so I shall not ask him. I will just try to get twotables together, and nobody shall contradict dear Diva, however manyshillings she says she has won. I would sooner pay them all myself thanhave any more of our unhappy divisions. You will have talked to themall before Wednesday, will you not, dear?"
As there were only four to talk to, Mrs. Poppit thought that she couldmanage it, and spent a most interesting afternoon. For two years now shehad tried to unfreeze Miss Mapp, who, when all was said and done, wasthe centre of the Tilling circle, and who, if any attempt was made toshove her out towards the circumference, always gravitated back again.And now, on these important errands she was Miss Mapp's accreditedambassador, and all the terrible business of the opening of thestore-cupboard and her decoration as M.B.E. was quite forgiven andforgotten. There would be so much walking to be done from house tohouse, that it was impossible to wear her sable coat unless she had theRoyce to take her about....
The effect of her communications would have surprised anybody who didnot know Tilling. A less subtle society, when assured from a first-hand,authoritative source that a report which it had entirely refused tobelieve was false, would have prided itself on its perspicacity, andsaid that it had laughed at such an idea, as soon as ever it heard it,as being palpably (look at Miss Mapp!) untrue. Not so Tilling. The veryfact that, by the mouth of her ambassador, she so uncompromisinglydenied it, was precisely why Tilling began to wonder if there was notsomething in it, and from wondering if there was not something in it,surged to the conclusion that there certainly was. Diva, for instance,the moment she was told that Elizabeth (for Mrs. Poppit remembered herChristian name perfectly) utterly and scornfully denied the truth of thereport, became intensely thoughtful.
"Say there's nothing in it?" she observed. "Can't underst
and that."
At that moment Diva's telephone bell rang, and she hurried out and in.
"Party at Elizabeth's on Wednesday," she said. "She saw me laughing. Whyask me?"
Mrs. Poppit was full of her sacred mission.
"To show how little she minds your laughing," she suggested.
"As if it wasn't true, then. Seems like that. Wants us to think it's nottrue."
"She was very earnest about it," said the ambassador.
Diva got up, and tripped over the outlying skirts of Mrs. Poppit's furcoat as she went to ring the bell.
"Sorry," she said. "Take it off and have a chat. Tea's coming. Muffins!"
"Oh, no, thanks!" said Mrs. Poppit. "I've so many calls to make."
"What? Similar calls?" asked Diva. "Wait ten minutes. Tea, Janet.Quickly."
She whirled round the room once or twice, all corrugated withperplexity, beginning telegraphic sentences, and not finishing them:"Says it's not true--laughs at notion of--And Mr. Wyse believes--ThePadre believed. After all, the Major--Little cock-sparrow CaptainPuffin--Or t'other way round, do you think?--No other explanation, youknow--Might have been blood----"
She buried her teeth in a muffin.
"Believe there's something in it," she summed up.
She observed her guest had neither tea nor muffin.
"Help yourself," she said. "Want to worry this out."
"Elizabeth absolutely denies it," said Mrs. Poppit. "Her eyes were fullof----"
"Oh, anything," said Diva. "Rubbed them. Or pepper if it was at lunch.That's no evidence."
"But her solemn assertion----" began Mrs. Poppit, thinking that she wasbeing a complete failure as an ambassador. She was carrying noconviction at all.
"Saccharine!" observed Diva, handing her a small phial. "Haven't gotmore than enough sugar for myself. I expect Elizabeth's gotplenty--well, never mind that. Don't you see? If it wasn't true shewould try to convince us that it was. Seemed absurd on the face of it.But if she tries to convince us that it isn't true--well, something init."
There was the gist of the matter, and Mrs. Poppit proceeding next to thePadre's house, found more muffins and incredulity. Nobody seemed tobelieve Elizabeth's assertion that there was "nothing in it." Evie ranround the room with excited squeaks, the Padre nodded his head, inconfirmation of the opinion which, when he first delivered it, had beenreceived with mocking incredulity over the crab. Quaint Irene, intent onMr. Hopkins's left knee in the absence of the model, said, "Good oldMapp: better late than never." Utter incredulity, in fact, was theambassador's welcome ... and all the incredulous were going toElizabeth's party on Wednesday.
Mrs. Poppit had sent the Royce home for the last of her calls, andstaggered up the hill past Elizabeth's house. Oddly enough, just as shepassed the garden-room, the window was thrown up.
"Cup of tea, dear Susan?" said Elizabeth. She had found an old note ofMrs. Poppit's among the waste paper for the firing of the kitchen ovenfully signed.
"Just two minutes' talk, Elizabeth," she promptly responded.
* * * * *
The news that nobody in Tilling believed her left Miss Mapp more thancalm, on the bright side of calm, that is to say. She had a fewindulgent phrases that tripped readily off her tongue for the dearthings who hated to be deprived of their gossip, but Susan certainly didnot receive the impression that this playful magnanimity was attainedwith an effort. Elizabeth did not seem really to mind: she was very gay.Then, skilfully changing the subject, she mourned over her dead dahlias.
Though Tilling with all its perspicacity could not have known it, theintuitive reader will certainly have perceived that Miss Mapp's partyfor Wednesday night had, so to speak, further irons in its fire. It hadoriginally been a bribe to Susan Poppit, in order to induce her tospread broadcast that that ridiculous rumour (whoever had launched it)had been promptly denied by the person whom it most immediatelyconcerned. It served a second purpose in showing that Miss Mapp was toohigh above the mire of scandal, however interesting, to know or care whomight happen to be wallowing in it, and for this reason she askedeverybody who had done so. Such loftiness of soul had earned her anamazing bonus, for it had induced those who sat in the seat of thescoffers before to come hastily off, and join the thin but unwaveringranks of the true believers, who up till then had consisted only ofSusan and Mr. Wyse. Frankly, so blest a conclusion had never occurred toMiss Mapp: it was one of those unexpected rewards that fall like ripeplums into the lap of the upright. By denying a rumour she had goteverybody to believe it, and when on Wednesday morning she went out toget the chocolate cakes which were so useful in allaying the appetitesof guests, she encountered no broken conversations and gleeful smiles,but sidelong glances of respectful envy.
But what Tilling did not and could not know was that this, the first ofthe autumn after-dinner bridge-parties, was destined to look on thefamous teagown of kingfisher-blue, as designed for Mrs. Trout. No doubtother ladies would have hurried up their new gowns, or at least havecamouflaged their old ones, in honour of the annual inauguration ofevening bridge, but Miss Mapp had no misgivings about being outshone.And once again here she felt that luck waited on merit, for though whenshe dressed that evening she found she had not anticipated thatartificial light would cast a somewhat pale (though not ghastly)reflection from the vibrant blue on to her features, similar in effectto (but not so marked as) the light that shines on the faces of thosewho lean over the burning brandy and raisins of "snapdragon," thisinteresting pallor seemed very aptly to bear witness to all that she hadgone through. She did not look ill--she was satisfied as to that--shelooked gorgeous and a little wan.
The bridge tables were not set out in the garden-room, which entailed ascurry over damp gravel on a black, windy night, but in the littlesquare parlour above her dining-room, where Withers, in the intervals ofadmitting her guests, was laying out plates of sandwiches and thechocolate cakes, reinforced when the interval for refreshments came withhot soup, whisky and syphons, and a jug of "cup" prepared according toan ancestral and economical recipe, which Miss Mapp had taken a greatdeal of trouble about. A single bottle of white wine, with suitableadditions of ginger, nutmeg, herbs and soda-water, was the mother of agallon of a drink that seemed aflame with fiery and probably spirituousingredients. Guests were very careful how they partook of it, sostimulating it seemed.
Miss Mapp was reading a book on gardening upside down (she had taken itup rather hurriedly) when the Poppits arrived, and sprang to her feetwith a pretty cry at being so unexpectedly but delightfully disturbed.
"Susan! Isabel!" she said. "Lovely of you to have come! I was readingabout flowers, making plans for next year."
She saw the four eyes riveted to her dress. Susan looked quite shabby incomparison, and Isabel did not look anything at all.
"My dear, too lovely!" said Mrs. Poppit slowly.
Miss Mapp looked brightly about, as if wondering what was too lovely: atlast she guessed.
"Oh, my new frock?" she said. "Do you like it, dear? How sweet of you.It's just a little nothing that I talked over with that nice Miss Greelein the High Street. We put our heads together, and invented somethingquite cheap and simple. And here's Evie and the dear Padre. So kind ofyou to look in."
Four more eyes were riveted on it.
"Enticed you out just once, Padre," went on Miss Mapp. "So sweet of youto spare an evening. And here's Major Benjy and Captain Puffin. Well,that is nice!"
This was really tremendous of Miss Mapp. Here was she meeting withoutembarrassment or awkwardness the two, who if the duel had not beenaverted, would have risked their very lives over some dispute concerningher. Everybody else, naturally, was rather taken aback for the moment atthis situation, so deeply dyed in the dramatic. Should either of thegladiators have heard that it was the Padre who undoubtedly had spreadthe rumour concerning their hostess, Mrs. Poppit was afraid that evenhis cloth might not protect him. But no such deplorable calamityoccurred, and only four more eyes were riveted to t
he kingfisher-blue.
"Upon my word," said the Major, "I never saw anything more beautifulthan that gown, Miss Elizabeth. Straight from Paris, eh? Paris in everyline of it."
"Oh, Major Benjy," said Elizabeth. "You're all making fun of me and mysimple little frock. I'm getting quite shy. Just a bit of old stuff thatI had. But so nice of you to like it. I wonder where Diva is. We shallhave to scold her for being late. Ah--she shan't be scolded. Diva,darl----"
The endearing word froze on Miss Mapp's lips and she turned deadlywhite. In the doorway, in equal fury and dismay, stood Diva, dressed inprecisely the same staggeringly lovely costume as her hostess. Had Divaand Miss Greele put their heads together too? Had Diva got a bit of oldstuff ...?
Miss Mapp pulled herself together first and moistened her dry lips.
"So sweet of you to look in, dear," she said. "Shall we cut?"
Naturally the malice of cards decreed that Miss Mapp and Diva should sitnext each other as adversaries at the same table, and the combinedeffect of two lots of kingfisher-blue was blinding. Complete silence onevery subject connected, however remotely, with dress was, of course,the only line for correct diplomacy to pursue, but then Major Benjy wasnot diplomatic, only gallant.
"Never saw such stunning gowns, eh, Padre?" he said. "Dear me, they arevery much alike too, aren't they? Pair of exquisite sisters."
It would be hard to say which of the two found this speech the moreprovocative of rage, for while Diva was four years younger than MissMapp, Miss Mapp was four inches taller than Diva. She cut the cards toher sister with a hand that trembled so much that she had to do itagain, and Diva could scarcely deal.
* * * * *
Mr. Wyse frankly confessed the next day when, at one o'clock, Elizabethfound herself the first arrival at his house, that he had been veryself-indulgent.
"I have given myself a treat, dear Miss Mapp," he said. "I have askedthree entrancing ladies to share my humble meal with me, and haveprovided--is it not shocking of me?--nobody else to meet them. Yourpardon, dear lady, for my greediness."
Now this was admirably done. Elizabeth knew very well why two out of thethree men in Tilling had not been asked (very gratifying, that reasonwas), and with the true refinement of which Mr. Wyse was so amplypossessed, where he was taking all the blame on himself, and putting itso prettily. She bestowed her widest smile on him.
"Oh, Mr. Wyse," she said. "We shall all quarrel over you."
Not until Miss Mapp had spoken did she perceive how subtle her wordswere. They seemed to bracket herself and Mr. Wyse together: all the men(two out of the three, at any rate) had been quarrelling over her, andnow there seemed a very fair prospect of three of the women quarrelingover Mr. Wyse....
Without being in the least effeminate, Mr. Wyse this morning lookedrather like a modern Troubadour. He had a velveteen coat on, a soft,fluffy, mushy tie which looked as if made of Shirley poppies, very neatknickerbockers, brown stockings with blobs, like the fruit of planetrees, dependent from elaborate "tops," and shoes with a cascade ofleather frilling covering the laces. He might almost equally well beabout to play golf over putting-holes on the lawn as the guitar. He madea gesture of polished, polite dissent, not contradicting, yet hardlyaccepting this tribute, remitting it perhaps, just as the King when heenters the City of London touches the sword of the Lord Mayor and tellshim to keep it....
"So pleasant to be in Tilling again," he said. "We shall have a cosy,busy winter, I hope. You, I know, Miss Mapp, are always busy."
"The day is never long enough for me," said Elizabeth enthusiastically."What with my household duties in the morning, and my garden, and ourpleasant little gatherings, it is always bed-time too soon. I want toread a great deal this winter, too."
Diva (at the sight of whom Elizabeth had to make a strong effort ofself-control) here came in, together with Mrs. Poppit, and the party wascomplete. Elizabeth would have been willing to bet that, in spite of thewarmness of the morning, Susan would have on her sable coat, and though,technically, she would have lost, she more than won morally, for Mr.Wyse's repeated speeches about his greediness were hardly out of hismouth when she discovered that she had left her handkerchief in thepocket of her sable coat, which she had put over the back of aconspicuous chair in the hall. Figgis, however, came in at the moment tosay that lunch was ready, and she delayed them all very much by a long,ineffectual search for it, during which Figgis, with a visible effort,held up the sable coat, so that it was displayed to the utmostadvantage. And then, only fancy, Susan discovered that it was in hersable muff all the time!
All three ladies were on tenterhooks of anxiety as to who was to beplaced on Mr. Wyse's right, who on his left, and who would be given onlythe place between two other women. But his tact was equal to anything.
"Miss Mapp," he said, "will you honour me by taking the head of my tableand be hostess for me? Only I must have that vase of flowers removed,Figgis; I can look at my flowers when Miss Mapp is not here. Now, whathave we got for breakfast--lunch, I should say?"
The macaroni which Mr. Wyse had brought back with him from Naplesnaturally led on to Italian subjects, and the general scepticism aboutthe Contessa di Faraglione had a staggering blow dealt it.
"My sister," began Mr. Wyse (and by a swift sucking motion, Diva drewinto her mouth several serpents of dependent macaroni in order to beable to listen better without this agitating distraction), "my sister, Ihope, will come to England this winter, and spend several weeks withme." (Sensation.)
"And the Count?" asked Diva, having swallowed the serpents.
"I fear not; Cecco--Francesco, you know--is a great stay-at-home. Ameliais looking forward very much to seeing Tilling. I shall insist on hermaking a long stay here, before she visits our relations at Whitchurch."
Elizabeth found herself reserving judgment. She would believe in theContessa Faraglione--no one more firmly--when she saw her, and hadreasonable proofs of her identity.
"Delightful!" she said, abandoning with regret the fruitless pursuitwith a fork of the few last serpents that writhed on her plate. "What anaddition to our society! We shall all do our best to spoil her, Mr.Wyse. When do you expect her?"
"Early in December. You must be very kind to her, dear ladies. She is aninsatiable bridge-player. She has heard much of the great players shewill meet here."
That decided Mrs. Poppit. She would join the correspondence classconducted by "Little Slam," in "Cosy Corner." Little Slam, for the sumof two guineas, payable in advance, engaged to make first-class playersof anyone with normal intelligence. Diva's mind flew off to the subjectof dress, and the thought of the awful tragedy concerning the tea-gownof kingfisher-blue, combined with the endive salad, gave a wry twist toher mouth for a moment.
"I, as you know," continued Mr. Wyse, "am no hand at bridge."
"Oh, Mr. Wyse, you play beautifully," interpolated Elizabeth.
"Too flattering of you, Miss Mapp. But Amelia and Cecco do not agreewith you. I am never allowed to play when I am at the Villa Faraglione,unless a table cannot be made up without me. But I shall look forward toseeing many well-contested games."
The quails and the figs had come from Capri, and Miss Mapp, greedilydevouring each in turn, was so much incensed by the information that shehad elicited about them, that, though she joined in the generalLobgesang, she was tempted to inquire whether the ice had not beenbrought from the South Pole by some Antarctic expedition. Her mind wasnot, like poor Diva's, taken up with obstinate questionings about thekingfisher-blue tea-gown, for she had already determined what she wasgoing to do about it. Naturally it was impossible to contemplate freshencounters like that of last night, but another gown, crimson-lake, thecolour of Mrs. Trout's toilet for the second evening of the Duke ofHampshire's visit, as Vogue informed her, had completely annihilatedNewport with its splendour. She had already consulted Miss Greele aboutit, who said that if the kingfisher-blue was bleached first the dye ofcrimson-lake would be brilliant and pure.... The thought of that, a
ndthe fact that Miss Greele's lips were professionally sealed, made herable to take Diva's arm as they strolled about the garden afterwards.The way in which both Diva and Susan had made up to Mr. Wyse duringlunch was really very shocking, though it did not surprise Miss Mapp,but she supposed their heads had been turned by the prospect of playingbridge with a countess. Luckily she expected nothing better of either ofthem, so their conduct was in no way a blow or a disappointment to her.
This companionship with Diva was rather prolonged, for the adhesiveSusan, staggering about in her sables, clung close to their host andsimulated a clumsy interest in chrysanthemums; and whatever the othertwo did, manoeuvred herself into a strong position between them and Mr.Wyse, from which, operating on interior lines, she could cut off eitherassailant. More depressing yet (and throwing a sad new light on hischaracter), Mr. Wyse seemed to appreciate rather than resent theappropriation of himself, and instead of making a sortie through thebeleaguering sables, would beg Diva and Elizabeth, who were so fond offuchsias and knew about them so well, to put their heads together overan afflicted bed of these flowers in quite another part of the garden,and tell him what was the best treatment for their anaemic condition.Pleasant and proper though it was to each of them that Mr. Wyse shouldpay so little attention to the other, it was bitter as the endive saladto both that he should tolerate, if not enjoy, the companionship whichthe forwardness of Susan forced on him, and while they absently staredat the fuchsias, the fire kindled, and Elizabeth spake with her tongue.
"How very plain poor Susan looks to-day," she said. "Such a colour,though to be sure I attribute that more to what she ate and drank thanto anything else. Crimson. Oh, those poor fuchsias! I think I shouldthrow them away."
The common antagonism, Diva felt, had drawn her and Elizabeth into themost cordial of understandings. For the moment she felt nothing butenthusiastic sympathy with Elizabeth, in spite of her kingfisher-bluegown.... What on earth, in parenthesis, was she to do with hers? Shecould not give it to Janet: it was impossible to contemplate the idea ofJanet walking about the High Street in a tea-gown of kingfisher-bluejust in order to thwart Elizabeth....
"Mr. Wyse seems taken with her," said Diva. "How he can! Rather a snob.M.B.E. She's always popping in here. Saw her yesterday going round thecorner of the street."
"What time, dear?" asked Elizabeth, nosing the scent.
"Middle of the morning."
"And I saw her in the afternoon," said Elizabeth. "That great lumberingRolls-Royce went tacking and skidding round the corner below mygarden-room."
"Was she in it?" asked Diva.
This appeared rather a slur on Elizabeth's reliability in observation.
"No, darling, she was sitting on the top," she said, taking the edge offthe sarcasm, in case Diva had not intended to be critical, by a littlelaugh. Diva drew the conclusion that Elizabeth had actually seen herinside.
"Think it's serious?" she said. "Think he'll marry her?"
The idea of course, repellent and odious as it was, had occurred toElizabeth, so she instantly denied it.
"Oh, you busy little match-maker," she said brightly. "Such an ideanever entered my head. You shouldn't make such fun of dear Susan. Come,dear, I can't look at fuchsias any more. I must be getting home and mustsay good-bye--au reservoir, rather--to Mr. Wyse, if Susan will allow meto get a word in edgeways."
Susan seemed delighted to let Miss Mapp get this particular word inedgewise, and after a little speech from Mr. Wyse, in which he said thathe would not dream of allowing them to go yet, and immediatelyafterwards shook hands warmly with them both, hoping that the reservoirwould be a very small one, the two were forced to leave the artful Susanin possession of the field....
It all looked rather black. Miss Mapp's vivid imagination altogetherfailed to picture what Tilling would be like if Susan succeeded inbecoming Mrs. Wyse and the sister-in-law of a countess, and she sat downin her garden-room and closed her eyes for a moment, in order toconcentrate her power of figuring the situation. What dreadful peoplethese climbers were! How swiftly they swarmed up the social ladder withtheir Rolls-Royces and their red-currant fool, and their sables! A fewweeks ago she herself had never asked Susan into her house, while thevery first time she came she unloosed the sluices of the store-cupboard,and now, owing to the necessity of getting her aid in stopping thatmischievous rumour, which she herself had been so careful to set onfoot, regarding the cause of the duel, Miss Mapp had been positivelyobliged to flatter and to "Susan" her. And if Diva's awful surmiseproved to be well-founded, Susan would be in a position to patronizethem all, and talk about counts and countesses with the same air ofunconcern as Mr. Wyse. She would be bidden to the Villa Faraglione, shewould play bridge with Cecco and Amelia, she would visit the Wyses ofWhitchurch....
What was to be done? She might head another movement to put Mr. Wyse inhis proper place; this, if successful, would have the agreeable resultof pulling down Susan a rung or two should she carry out her design. Butthe failure of the last attempt and Mr. Wyse's eminence did not arguewell for any further manoeuvre of the kind. Or should she poison Mr.Wyse's mind with regard to Susan?... Or was she herself causelesslyagitated?
Or----
Curiosity rushed like a devastating tornado across Miss Mapp's mind,rooting up all other growths, buffeting her with the necessity ofknowing what the two whom she had been forced to leave in the gardenwere doing now, and snatching up her opera-glasses she glided upstairs,and let herself out through the trap-door on to the roof. She did notremember if it was possible to see Mr. Wyse's garden or any part of itfrom that watch-tower, but there was a chance....
Not a glimpse of it was visible. It lay quite hidden behind thered-brick wall which bounded it, and not a chrysanthemum or a fuchsiacould she see. But her blood froze as, without putting the glasses down,she ran her eye over such part of the house-wall as rose above theobstruction. In his drawing-room window on the first floor were seatedtwo figures. Susan had taken her sables off: it was as if she intendedremaining there for ever, or at least for tea....
