Wigs on the Green

by Nancy Mitford

  ‘Yes, by all means, Miss Smith.’

  ‘It’s after five now,’ said Jasper, ‘banks shut at three, you know, dear.’ Mr Birk looked from one to the other. Poppy said to him, ‘I have got a piece of jewellery here that I am very anxious to see safely locked up, Mr Birk. Do you think there is any way I could get hold of the bank manager?’

  ‘Yes, certainly, Miss Smith. As it happens the manager is my wife’s brother – I will drive you into Rackenbridge myself, and see to it. I’m sure he will do anything to oblige you. If you will wait a moment I will go and start the car.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ said Poppy, ‘I will come round to the garage with you.’ A few minutes later she could be seen driving off in the direction of Rackenbridge, still clutching the precious red leather case.

  That Jane has learnt a thing or two since she has been down here, thought Jasper, with some admiration. He turned automatic steps towards the bar where he was met by Mrs Birk.

  ‘Excuse me troubling you, sir,’ she said, ‘but here is your account for last week. Mr Foster told us that yours is to be kept separate as from last Thursday.’

  ‘Oh! yes, thanks,’ said Jasper. The bill seemed to him enormous. He read the items, recognized with a sigh that they were correct, and wrote out a cheque for the amount, which he handed airily to Mrs Birk.

  ‘A double whisky, please,’ he added.

  16

  The countryside for many miles round Chalford was now made hideous by enormous posters, carefully printed out by hand in black ink, which for weeks past had occupied the leisure hours of Eugenia and her Comrades, and which combined a little discreet propaganda with the announcement that a Grand Social Unionist Rally, Pageant, Garden Party and Olde Englyshe Fayre would take place at Chalford House. The gates would be open at 2.30 p.m. on the Wednesday following, entrance is. Eugenia pointed out to Jasper the true chic of these posters which lay in the fact that no two were alike.

  ‘Oh really, aren’t they?’ said Jasper, ‘but I thought they looked exactly the same – anyway, they all seem to have a picture of King Kong on them.’

  ‘How stupid you are,’ said Eugenia, angrily fingering her dagger, ‘can’t you see that’s a Union Jackshirt Comrade handing on the torch of Social Unionism to the youth of Britain? They all have that, I mean that the wording of each is different, according to where it is to be hung. Haven’t you read the one outside the Jolly Roger for instance?’

  ‘I didn’t read it,’ said Jasper, ‘because I was too busy admiring King – I mean the Union Jackshirt Comrade.’

  ‘Well, you should. It refers to the decadence of high society in these post-War days, pointing out that its members are no longer of any value to the community as they possess neither moral sense nor political integrity. That’s meant for all of you.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, I’m sure,’ said Jasper.

  ‘The posters in Rackenbridge speak of the yellow hand of the Pacifist incendiaries, and how the fate of Van der Lubbe will surely o’ertake all enemies to the Social Unionist cause. There is one on Major Lace’s big cowshed comparing our agricultural policy with that of jelly-breasted Tory politicians, and explaining that agriculture will be nationalized under the régime and farmers allowed no longer to muddle about in their own way. The one on the vicarage wall says that whereas religion has failed so notably in this country Social Unionism will soon be here to take its place, the one on Mr Isaac’s house promises that all Jews will be sent to live in Jerusalem the Golden with milk and honey blest, and the one on Lord Alexander’s park gates has information with regard to the obsolete nature of hereditary legislation.’

  ‘I expect you must be making yourself most wonderfully popular in these paris.’

  ‘What is popularity?’ cried Eugenia with contempt. ‘What is life itself compared to The Flag? The Comrades are simply thrilled for Wednesday. I can’t tell you,’ she went on, ‘how splendidly they have arranged everything. Seven big charabancs full of Union Jackshirts are expected, and they are all coming over for the dress-rehearsal on Monday as well. Those who aren’t actually performing are going to dress-up in the proper clothes of the period and help swell the cheering for George the Third. Oh, bother! it is really too bad we have got to have Mrs Lace in that coach.’

  ‘Never mind, you will have to concentrate on Mr Wilkins, he seems to be quite an enthusiastic member now.’

  ‘Yes, that’s one comfort. I’m going to ask him if he will wear his little emblem on his robes, after all George the Third was a sort of prophet, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Quite batty, I believe,’ said Jasper.

  ‘Miss Trant has been wonderful,’ continued Eugenia, ‘I can’t think what we should have done without her to help us. She has managed to hire a hundred Dolly Varden and a hundred Dresden Shepherd costumes for only half a crown each, and she is organizing the tea. I must go now and write out post cards to remind all branches concerned that the dress-rehearsal will be at 2 p.m. on Monday, not 3 as originally settled. Oh! you do think it’s going to be a success Union Jackshirt Aspect, don’t you?’

  ‘I am certain that it will prove a highly entertaining afternoon,’ said Jasper. She trotted away on her little black horse. ‘Yes, Mr Birk?’ ‘So sorry to trouble you,’ said Mr Birk. He held in his hand a cheque, which Jasper had no difficulty in recognizing as the one with which he had paid Mrs Birk some days previously. ‘This has been sent back R/D,’ said Mr Birk, ‘there must be some mistake.’

  Jasper took it, glanced at it casually and said, ‘Oh, I see, a small misunderstanding no doubt. How stupid of my bank, I suppose I shall have to go and send a telegram to that fool of a manager.’

  He strolled away in the direction of the post office, where he sent a telegram to his sister, urging her to wire him ten pounds, signing it ‘S.O.S. Jasper’. He felt low. Poppy still pursued her plan of keeping him on tenterhooks so that he had no idea whether she also was emotionally committed or not. The detectives had left Chalford, vanishing as suddenly and as mysteriously as they had appeared, and this seemed to be worrying her. ‘It looks as though they have the evidence they wanted,’ she said. ‘We were mad not to be more careful.’ Jasper thought that there could be nothing in the world so depressing as financial troubles coupled with emotional uncertainty. He very much hoped, incidentally, that his sister would not have gone abroad yet.

  Noel now accentuated Jasper’s sufferings by suddenly assuming the demeanour of excessive cheerfulness. He boasted continually of wonderful jobs which his uncles were going to find for him on the Continent. They had, in fact, written to him quite kindly on this subject, and he was expecting any day to hear more definitely from one or other of them.

  Hopeful of this he kept Mrs Lace at bay with vague but interesting promises, an achievement which was not at the moment very difficult, as all her thoughts and energies were concentrated on the pageant. So engrossed was she with dreams of the great day near at hand that she never noticed the unusual behaviour of the Rackenbridge young men. Mr Leader cut her in the High Street one morning, Mr Forderen had not even answered a letter in which she had invited him to photograph her in some eighteenth-century moods. It did not occur to her to conclude from these and other omens that Rackenbridge might be making its own plans for Wednesday afternoon.

  The day before the pageant broke in a downpour which was perfectly solid and had every appearance of being the sort that lasts for a week at least.

  ‘Set in for wet,’ said Mr Birk cheerfully, whistling between his teeth. The weather forecast in the Daily Mail supported him in this dreary prophecy; ‘Further outlook uncertain,’ it said.

  Poppy, Marjorie, Jasper and Noel herded together in the parlour for company, gazed at the drifting sheets of rain and wondered whether it would be giving too much trouble to ask Mrs Birk to substitute a fire for the ferns and crinkly paper in the fireplace. Early in the afternoon Eugenia and Mrs Lace joined them and they all gloomed together. The labour of weeks, the excited expectation as it seemed of a lifetim
e, were being balked of an object before their very eyes; they felt hopelessly dejected.

  ‘There is the squash court,’ Eugenia muttered, without much conviction. Besides, the dress-rehearsal, which had taken place the day before, had been an utter failure in every respect, and everyone had been unanimous in deciding that it was essential to have another, but, of course, this was now impossible.

  Conversation progressed in snatches, by common consent all pretended to take it for granted that tomorrow would be fine.

  ‘Mr Wilkins must remember to take off his hat, or bow, or something to the cheering populace. He sat right back and one couldn’t see him at all.’

  ‘I thought he was just wonderful,’ said Lady Marjorie.

  ‘Besides, I think he ought to sit on the left-hand side, so that he can get out first and hand out Mrs Lace.’

  ‘Noel is handing me out,’ said Mrs Lace.

  ‘Eugenia, if you can remember, do tell the coachman to drive at foot’s pace, after all, we must try and make the arrival really impressive, it is far the most important episode. To my mind everything depends on how that goes off.’

  ‘Didn’t you think the platform looked rather bare? I thought it might be hung with flags or something to cheer it up a bit.’

  ‘Union Jacks,’ said Eugenia, ‘I will see to that.’

  ‘The first messenger must be very strictly told not to approach the platform until little Margaret Cooper has finished presenting her bouquet to Queen Charlotte. All that part was so fearfully rushed yesterday.’

  ‘I think myself that we ought to have the Morris dancing first, before the episodes begin.’

  ‘That’s not a bad plan, but if we do we mustn’t forget to tell Miss Trant.’

  ‘And Mr Wilkins.’

  ‘Oh, this rain!’

  ‘You know the episodes do vary frightfully. I thought the Boston Tea Party was a pretty good flop myself.’

  ‘Well, of course it was. None of the principals turned up for it you see and Miss Trant had to read all their parts in turn, so I suppose it was bound to be rather dreary.’

  ‘Anyway it was exactly like Alice in Wonderland – and always will be.’

  ‘Who is responsible for the Boston Tea Party?’

  ‘The Barton branch,’ said Eugenia, ‘and I had a letter this morning from their leader saying that their charabanc broke down on the way here. It will be mended by tomorrow. I say, Union Jackshirt Aspect, can’t you make Mr Wilkins speak up in the: “Leave our great Empire then, vile democrats” speech at the Boston T.P. It is a frightfully important speech and he mumbled it dreadfully.’

  ‘I thought he was just wonderful,’ said Lady Marjorie. ‘Oh, dear! how divine he looked in his robes too.’

  ‘Oh, this rain!’

  ‘One thing,’ said Eugenia, ‘if it rains an inch tomorrow we do get £100 out of the insurance.’ Jasper had arranged this transaction, gaining a small commission for himself in the process. ‘We’ll get that anyhow,’ he said, ‘it is going to be measured in the schoolmaster’s rain gauge and I thought of nipping round there with a small watering can some time during the day.’

  ‘You know, Jasper, something must be done about Nelson’s arm, so that it doesn’t show. Yesterday one could see it under the pinned-up sleeve all the time, it did look so idiotic.’

  ‘Yes, and why does Nelson limp and pretend to be deaf? Gross overacting, I call it.’

  ‘Of course the whole Nelson episode is a bit unsatisfactory. For instance, was Lady Hamilton really so matey with George the Third? I have a sort of idea she was never received at Court at all, and anyway he was batty by then.’

  ‘Nobody will know that.’

  ‘Well, I dare say, but I’m sure everyone knows she wasn’t at Nelson’s death-bed. There is a very famous picture of it for one thing.’

  ‘She isn’t meant to be in it,’ cried Jasper despairing, ‘I’ve told her time and again to keep off. She quite ruins the “Kiss me, Hardy” bit.’

  ‘Oh! but what happened yesterday was that Hardy never turned up, and as somebody had to kiss the old boy, Lady Hamilton did seem to be the obvious person.’

  ‘It appears she’s nuts about him, in real life, I mean. Miss Trant told me.’

  ‘Anyway, I saw a letter in the Sunday Times saying it was really Kismet, Hardy.’

  ‘I don’t care, Hardy kissed him all right. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Oh, this rain!’

  ‘Didn’t you think the bit where Wolfe recites Gray’s “Elegy” to his troops dragged rather? I suppose it couldn’t be pruned at all?’

  ‘And Napoleon on board the Bellerophon looked exactly like the “Wounding of Nelson at the Canary Islands”. I told you it would.’

  ‘It struck me that Napoleon was blind, anyway.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know where he found anything to drink, I never did.’

  ‘The ennobling of Pitt was nice,’ said Eugenia. ‘I must tell the Comrades to cheer like anything for that. Had Pitt been alive today he would have been a Social Unionist, of course. So would Fox.’

  ‘Oh, this rain!’

  ‘By the way,’ said Eugenia, ‘one of the old carriage horses has gone quite lame since yesterday, so we are going to use Vivian Jackson instead. He is awfully pleased, the darling, he loves to be in on things.’

  The rain continued all the evening without a break. It poured and poured. At tea-time the telegram Jasper had sent his sister returned to him, ‘Gone abroad, whereabouts not known’.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ he said gloomily, ‘it never rains but it pours. I suppose when cheques begin coming back on one it is quite natural for telegrams to follow suit. I say old boy, lend me ten pounds.’

  ‘Sorry, old boy.’

  ‘Darling Miss Smith,’ he said, much later in the evening, ‘are you going to marry me or aren’t you? I should be glad to know soon.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if not I think I shall bunk after the pag.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Uruguay.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Then marry me.’

  ‘I will tell you tomorrow,’ said Poppy, ‘after the pageant is over – if it ever takes place at all. Oh, this rain!’

  Jasper wondered why he found it impossible to borrow ten pounds from Poppy. He had never been troubled by such diffidence before in his relations with women. Poor little Marigold, indeed, had once been left in pawn in a Paris hotel where he had found it impossible to pay the bill, and for all he knew she was still there. He could not quite imagine himself meting out such treatment to Poppy.

  ‘Good night, darling,’ he said, ‘oh, this rain!’

  There was but little sleep in the Jolly Roger that night, the weather was too much on everybody’s mind. Some composed themselves for rest with their curtains drawn back so that they could observe from their beds the smallest change, others tried to forget their anxiety by shutting the windows, but soon found themselves making continual pilgrimages to open them again. At 2 a.m. the rain suddenly stopped and except for the regular dripping of trees there was no sound. The sky could not be seen, or any stars, there was a profound darkness. Shortly before five o’clock advancing daylight revealed that the village was wrapped in an opaque white mist. At eight o’clock this began to clear, and by nine a hot sun was pouring down its rays on to the steamy fields. It was a perfect summer day.

  17

  It was a perfect summer day. Morning sun blazed into the windows of the Jolly Roger, but quite failed to awaken the occupants. As soon as they felt perfectly confident that this fine weather was an indisputable fact, they had all made up for a wakeful night by sinking into happy, carefree slumber. The more the sun shone the sounder they slept. It was not until nearly eleven o’clock, when Eugenia and Vivian Jackson appeared on Chalford green, that they were finally aroused by a hideous din, compounded of shouting, neighing, and the cracking of a whip. Sleepy faces appeared, one by one, in four windows.

  ‘Hai
l! and arise, Union Jackshirt Comrades!’ cried Eugenia. ‘I don’t know how you could still be in bed on such a day – I myself have been out since dawn. There is much work for all to do in Chalford Park – I command you, as your district leader, to follow me there without delay.’ She dragged Vivian Jackson’s head right round, whereupon he reared twice and gave several tremendous buck-jumps, after which he galloped away, while Eugenia, sitting like a rock, sang at the top of her voice, ‘Land of Union Jackshirts, Mother of the Flag’.

  Poppy was the first to be ready. She abandoned her usual post in the battle of the bathroom, having had the wily idea that it might be possible to take a hot, deep bath in Chalford House whilst dressing for the pageant. She came downstairs delighted at having thus stolen a march on the others. On the hall table she saw, for the first time since she had been at the Jolly Roger, a letter addressed to herself. And, what was more, addressed in the once loved and always familiar handwriting of Anthony St Julien. She felt a little giddy as she opened it.

  It was, for him, a long letter, four pages of writing which began by being small and neat and which ended up large and untidy. In it he suggested that Poppy should return to him at once. He said that his house was getting very uncomfortable, the cook had given notice and the housemaid, although he reminded her daily, either could not or would not send the loose covers to be cleaned. He considered too, that the weekly books were over large. He then went on to say, towards the end of the second page, that no other woman would ever mean much in his life, and that if she was prepared to let bygones be bygones he would be glad to welcome her home again. No direct reference to the detectives or the débutante. Poppy wondered what she would do. Anthony St Julien was, after all, her husband, and she loved her little house in Chapel Street. She did not have to close her eyes in order to visualize her drawing-room with its trellis wall-paper, red plush-curtains and satinwood furniture. It would be much harder to leave a dwelling to which she was singularly devoted, than a husband for whom devotion was now a thing of the past. In a position in which many women would be weighing an old loyalty against a new passion, she found herself wondering whether it would be possible to smuggle her writing-table out of the house, should she decide to throw in her lot with Mr Aspect. This indecision in no way troubled her, she felt sure that once the Grand Union Jackshirt Pageant and Garden Party was over she would with certainty know her own mind.