Wigs on the Green

by Nancy Mitford

  At this point a very old lady came up to the crowd, pushed her way through it and began twitching at Eugenia’s skirt. ‘Eugenia, my child,’ she said brokenly, ‘do get off that tub, pray, please get down at once. Oh! when her ladyship hears of this I don’t know what will happen.’

  ‘Go away Nanny,’ said Eugenia, who in the rising tide of oratory seemed scarcely aware that she had been interrupted. ‘How could anyone,’ she continued, ‘feel loyalty for these ignoble dotards, how can the sacred fire of patriotism glow in any breast for a State which is guided by such apathetic nonentities? Britons, I beseech you to take action. Oh! British lion, shake off the nets that bind you.’ Here the old lady again plucked Eugenia’s skirt. This time however, Eugenia turned round and roared at her, ‘Get out you filthy Pacifist, get out I say, and take your yellow razor gang with you. I will have free speech at my meetings. Now will you go of your own accord or must I tell the Comrades to fling you out? Where are my Union Jackshirts?’ Two hobbledehoys also dressed in red, white and blue shirts here came forward, saluted Eugenia and each taking one of the Nanny’s hands they led her to a neighbouring bench where she sat rather sadly but unresistingly during the rest of the speech.

  ‘We Union Jackshirts,’ remarked Eugenia to the company at large, ‘insist upon the right to be heard without interruption at our own meetings. Let the Pacifists’ – here she gave her Nanny a very nasty look – ‘hold their own meetings, we shall not interfere with them at all, but if they try to break up our meetings they do so at their own risk. Let me see, where had I got to – oh! yes. Patriotism is one of the primitive virtues of mankind. Allow it to atrophy and much that is valuable in human nature must perish. This is being proved today, alas, in our unhappy island as well as in those other countries, which, like ourselves, still languish ’neath the deadening sway of a putrescent democracy. Respect for parents, love of the home, veneration of the marriage tie, are all at a discount in England today, society is rotten with vice, selfishness, and indolence. The rich have betrayed their trust, preferring the fetid atmosphere of cocktail-bars and night-clubs to the sanity of a useful country life. The great houses of England, one of her most envied attributes, stand empty – why? Because the great families of England herd together in luxury flats and spend their patrimony in the divorce courts. The poor are no better than the rich, they also have learnt to put self before State, and satisfied with the bread and circuses which are flung to them by their politicians, they also take no steps to achieve a better spirit in this unhappy land.’

  ‘The girl’s a lunatic but she’s not stupid,’ said Jasper.

  ‘My friends, how can we be saved? Who can lift this country from the slough of Despond in which she has for too long wallowed, to a Utopia such as our corrupt rulers have never pictured, even in their wildest dreams? He who aims highest will reach the highest goal, but how can those ancient dipsomaniacs reach any goal at all? Their fingers are paralysed with gout – they cannot aim; their eyesight is impeded with the film of age – they see no goal. The best that they can hope is that from day to day they may continue to creep about the halls of Westminster like withered tortoises seeking to warm themselves in the synthetic sunlight of each other’s approbation.’

  ‘I’m liking this,’ said Jasper, ‘my father’s brother is a M.P.’

  ‘How then, if a real sun shall arise, arise with a heat which will shrivel to cinders all who are not true at heart? How if a real Captain, a man, and not a tortoise, shall appear suddenly at their adulterous bedsides, a cup of castor oil in the one hand, a goblet of hemlock in the other, and offer them the choice between ignominy and a Roman death?

  ‘Britons! That day is indeed at hand. There is a new spirit abroad, a new wine that shall not be poured into those ancient bottles. Britons are at last coming to their senses, the British lion is opening his mouth to roar, the attitude of mind which we call Social Unionism is going to save this country from her shameful apathy. Soon your streets will echo ’neath the tread of the Union Jack Battalions, soon the day of jelly-breasted politicians shall be no more, soon we shall all be living in a glorious Britain under the wise, stern, and beneficient rule of Our Captain.’

  ‘Hooray,’ cried Jasper, clapping loudly at this stirring peroration, ‘Hear! hear! splendid!’ The villagers turned and looked at him in amazement. Eugenia gave him a flashing smile.

  ‘Now, Britons,’ she continued, ‘do you wish to ask any questions? If so I will devote ten minutes to answering them.’

  The yokels stood first on one foot and then on the other. Finally one of them removed a straw from his mouth and remarked that they had all enjoyed Miss Eugenia’s speech very much, he was sure, and how was His Lordship’s hay-fever?

  ‘Better, thank you,’ said Eugenia politely, ‘it always goes away in July, you know.’ She looked disappointed. ‘No more questions? In that case I have an announcement to make. Anyone wishing to join our Union Jack Movement can do so by applying to me, either here or at Chalford House. You are asked to pay ninepence a month, the Union Jack shirt costs five shillings, and the little emblem is sixpence. Would any of you care to join up now?’

  The yokels immediately began to fade away. Already they paid two shillings a year to Lady Chalford towards the Conservative funds, and twopence a week for the Nursing Association; they failed, therefore, to see why any more of their hard-earned money should be swallowed up by the Malmains family. Jasper and Noel, on the other hand, snatched at this heaven-sent opportunity to ingratiate themselves with the heiress. They sprang forward and announced in chorus that they were anxious to be recruited. Eugenia’s face lit up with a perfectly radiant smile.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she said, coming down from her tub. She then began hitching up her skirt, disclosing underneath it a pair of riding breeches, from the pocket of which she produced two recruiting cards and a fountain-pen. ‘You sign here – see? You have to promise that you will obey the Captain in all things and pay ninepence.’

  ‘I promise,’ said Jasper.

  ‘It’s all very well,’ said Noel, ‘I suppose that’s O.K., but look here, who is the Captain? Is he a nice chap? Couldn’t I promise to obey him in most things? He might want me to do something very peculiar, mightn’t he?’

  Eugenia looked at him with lowering brow, fingering her dagger. ‘You had better be careful,’ she said gloomily. ‘That is no way to speak of the Captain.’

  ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ said Noel, nervously eyeing the weapon. ‘I’ll never do it again. Right then, here’s my ninepence.’

  ‘Lend me a bob, old boy,’ said Jasper.

  ‘Sorry, old boy,’ said Noel.

  ‘Don’t be a cad, you swine,’ said Jasper, kicking him gently on the shin.

  ‘Here, don’t kick me,’ said Noel.

  Eugenia looked from one to the other. Her sympathies were clearly with Jasper. ‘Are you perhaps unemployed?’ she asked him, ‘because if you are it’s only fourpence.’

  ‘Am I unemployed? Is unemployed my middle name? Lend me fourpence, old boy.’

  ‘Sorry, old boy.’

  ‘I will lend you fourpence,’ said Eugenia suddenly, ‘but you will have to pay me back soon, because what I really came down for this afternoon was to buy two twopenny bars at the village shop.’

  ‘Bars of what?’

  ‘Chocolate, of course.’

  On hearing this Noel was naturally obliged to produce fourpence for Jasper. Eugenia then persuaded him to pay for both their Union Jack shirts and little emblems as well. He thought that Fate, as usual, was being wonderful to Jasper, who was quite obviously top boy in Eugenia’s estimation, and who now capped all by suggesting that they should repair to the village shop in search of twopenny bars. While Noel paid for the bars he realized that the credit for them was going to Jasper. He decided that he must return this old-man-of-the-sea to London as soon as might be.

  ‘I’ve never seen you before, do you live near here?’ Eugenia asked Noel, as they all emerged, munching twopenny bars
, from the village shop.

  ‘No, we don’t, we are just staying at the Jolly Roger for a few weeks, or at least that is to say I am staying for a few weeks. My friend, Mr Aspect here, has to leave tomorrow, quite early. It is very unfortunate.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Jasper shortly, ‘not now I’ve met you, I’m not leaving. No such thing.’

  ‘Oh! good,’ said Eugenia, ‘it would really be too sad if you had to go, just when you’ve joined the Movement and everything. You’re the type of young men I need in this village, keen, active, energetic.’

  ‘That’s me,’ said Jasper.

  ‘Besides, you won’t be busy doing other things all day. I have some wonderful members in my detachment, but, of course, they are all working boys, except my two Union Jackshirt defenders you saw just now dealing with that old female Pacifist. I thought they did it very bravely; she would have razored them up for twopence, no tricks are too filthy for that gang, it seems. Yes, what we need here is educated people of leisure like yourselves, for canvassing and platform work. That’s why I’m so particularly glad you’re staying on.’

  ‘I suppose you are Eugenia Malmains?’ said Jasper. ‘I used to see you riding about the village here years ago when you were under the age of – quite a kid you know. You lived alone with your grandparents then.’

  ‘I still do, worse luck.’

  ‘Always down here? Don’t you ever go to London?’

  ‘No, you see, T.P.O.F. (that’s what I always call my grandmother, it stands for The Poor Old Female) says that nobody would speak to us in London if we did go. T.P.O.M. (The Poor Old Male, that’s my grandfather) used to go up to the House of Lords, before he had his stroke. As he was stone deaf it didn’t matter so much whether people spoke to him or not. It wouldn’t matter to me a bit, either, because I know the comrades at the Union Jack House would speak to me. T.P.O.F. has got a bee in her bonnet about it.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’

  ‘Of course I want to. I should see the Captain if I did, besides, I could march with the Union Jack Battalions.’

  ‘Who is the Captain?’

  ‘Captain Jack, founder of the Social Unionist Movement and Captain of the Union Jackshirts,’ said Eugenia, throwing up her hand in a salute.

  ‘Why don’t you marry and get away from here?’

  ‘Thank you, I am wedded to the Movement though. Oh! bother, here comes Nanny again, I must go.’ She put her hands to her mouth and called, on two peculiar notes, ‘Vivian Jack-son.’ A small black horse without saddle or bridle came trotting up to her, accompanied by an enormous mastiff. ‘This is Vivian Jackson, my horse,’ she explained. ‘My dog is called the Reichshund, after Bismarck’s dog you know. Goodbye.’ She swung herself on to the horse’s back, gave it a resounding smack on one side of its neck, and galloped away in the direction of Chalford Park.

  ‘Thank God for our English eccentrics,’ said Jasper. ‘Come on, old boy, they must be open by now.’

  3

  ‘What’s the news?’ asked Noel. He came into the garden of the Jolly Roger feeling hot and grumpy after a long walk. Noel, when in the country, always took large doses of fresh air and exercise. He believed in looking after his health. Jasper, who believed in having a good time, sat smoking cigarettes and reading the morning papers, which, it seemed, could be expected to arrive in that remote village, together with the one post, at any hour between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m.

  ‘Another body has been found in another trunk and two fearfully pretty Janes turned up here late last night. It appears that they intend to stay several days – just what we needed.’

  ‘I don’t see why,’ said Noel petulantly. ‘We’ve got Eugenia.’

  ‘Don’t you just? Well it’s like this old boy, the more the merrier. You can’t have enough of a good thing. Many hands make light work. And so on. Rather nice about the body too, the one in the trunk I mean. In fact I’m very suited by this place altogether.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I am. I also had three minutes’ conversation with Eugenia before Nanny got at us. Enchanting girl, I quite expect I shall marry her.’

  ‘Jasper, old boy, there’s something I must say to you. It’s not very easy for me, but I’ve known you long enough, I hope, to be able to speak my mind to you.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, old boy, don’t you worry. I’ve got some money coming in any day now – I shan’t be touching you for another penny I promise you.’

  Noel sighed deeply. He might have foreseen that this old-man-of-the-sea would be hard to shake off.

  ‘So what had Eugenia to say for herself?’ he asked with some irritation.

  ‘A lot more about how we are governed by octogenarian statesmen’s mistresses. I’m bound to say it’s a shaking thought, isn’t it?’

  ‘Which are octogenarians, the statesmen or their mistresses?’

  ‘Oh, I see. I must remember to ask her that some time. Whichever it is they must certainly be got rid of. Ignominy or a Roman death for them. Good – here’s the beer at last – some for you, old boy? Two more beers please miss, and put all that down to room 6, will you?’

  ‘Room 8,’ said Noel. His room was 6.

  ‘Oh, dear, now you’re going to be mean,’ said Jasper. ‘Put two down to room 6 and one down to room 8, and put the newspapers down to room 6 – no good old boy, you’ll have to read about the trunk sooner or later you know. I must say I hate all this cheese-paring.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Noel eagerly. ‘Tell you what, Jasper, I’ll give you this for your fare back to London and pay your bill here when you’ve gone. How’s that?’

  ‘Exceedingly generous of you,’ said Jasper, tucking thirty shillings into his note-case and settling down to more grisly details of the trunk murders.

  Later that day he remarked to Noel; ‘I say, there’s something very queer indeed about those new Janes. First of all they’ve signed the book here as Miss Smith and Miss Jones, both of Rickmansworth. Likely tale. Then they’ve taken a private sitting-room, which strikes me as odd. But the oddest thing of all is that the Miss Jones one spent her whole afternoon in the orchard picking ducal coronets out of her drawers and nightdresses. Bit fishy, the whole business I’m thinking.’

  ‘How d’you know they were ducal coronets?’

  ‘My dear old boy, I know a ducal coronet when I see it. You forget that my grandfather is a duke.’

  ‘Not a proper one.’

  ‘I imagine that proper is just what he isn’t anything else but. Not much chance for impropriety when one has been binned-up for thirty-five years, eh?’

  ‘That’s just it. I don’t count dukes that are binned-up same way I don’t count bankrupt dukes.’

  ‘Well, I mean, count him or not as you like. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.’

  ‘Go on telling me about Miss Jones’s drawers, won’t you?’

  ‘As soon as I made quite sure she was picking some kind of monogram out of them (I couldn’t see as well as I should have liked, through the hedge) I legged it upstairs to her bedroom, number 4, opposite the bath, and it’s full of ducal coronets wherever you look. On the brushes and combs even, the whole place is a regular riot of strawberry leaves. And the jewels she’s got lying about on her dressing-table! I managed to find two quid in cash as well, in the pocket of an old mackintosh – shouldn’t think she’ll miss it.’

  ‘You must be quite nicely off for cash now.’

  ‘Mm. But isn’t it extraordinary about Miss Jones. Is she an absconding duchess or a duchess’s absconding ladies’ maid or what? Anyway, I’ll stand you a drink at the Rose Revived. Eugenia should be round before long and I promised we’d meet her outside the twopenny-bar shop.’

  Eugenia, however, was in the middle of a gruelling interview with The Poor Old Female, her grandmother, who had come to hear something of her recent activities.

  ‘My child I cannot have you running round the village like a kitchen-maid,’ T.P.O.F. was saying, sadly rather than angrily, ‘ta
lking to strangers, worse than that, accepting sweets from them. Besides, I hear that you have been riding that pony of yours astride again – you are not a baby any more, my dear, and young ladies should not ride in that way. What must the village people think of you? I blame nurse for all this and I blame myself; I suppose I can hardly blame you, Eugenia. After all, your mother was a wicked sinful woman, and bad blood always comes out sooner or later.’

  ‘I’m not bad at all,’ said Eugenia, sullenly. ‘I never do sins, and I would gladly lay down my life for the Captain.’

  Lady Chalford, who vaguely supposed that Eugenia must be referring to the Deity, looked embarrassed. Religious fervour was, in her eyes, almost as shocking as sexual abandon, and quite likely to be associated with it. Many of the most depraved women whom she had known in her social days, had been deeply and ostentatiously religious.

  She went to church herself, of course, feeling it a patriotic duty so to do, but she had no personal feelings towards God, whom she regarded as being, conjointly with the King, head of the Church of England. However, if the girl was really obsessed by religion, a tendency which Lady Chalford had never noticed in her before, and which she presumed to be of recent origin, it might yet be possible to save her from following in her mother’s steps. Lady Chalford considered whether or not it would be advisable to call in the parson. Meanwhile she forced herself to say rather shyly, ‘The Captain was always obedient to those in authority. Try to follow His example, Eugenia.’

  ‘I don’t agree at all,’ was the reply. ‘The Captain’s ideas are most revolutionary, most, and he doesn’t have to obey anyone, being a Leader.’

  Lady Chalford knew herself to be unfitted for a theological argument on these lines. She decided that the parson would have to be called in.

  ‘Give unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,’ she said vaguely. ‘I suppose if you follow Him you won’t come to much harm. But pray don’t let me hear of you careering about the village and speaking to strange men, or you will end as your mother did.’