by Ian Hay
CHAPTER XII
MICE AND MEN
"Sylvia, is your father in from his walk?"
Miss Sylvia Mainwaring, attired in a sage-green robe and distressinglyrational boots, turned and surveyed her male parent's recumbent formupon the sofa.
"Yes, mother mine," she replied. (Sylvia was rather addicted to littlepreciosities of this kind.)
"Is he awake?"
"He is reading 'The Spectator,' Mother," was the somewhat Delphicresponse.
"Then ring for tea, dear."
It was a bleak Saturday afternoon in late February. Darkness wasclosing in, and the great fire in the hall at The Towers flickeredlovingly upon our leading weekly review, which, temporarily divertedfrom its original purpose in order to serve as a supplementary waistcoatfor Mr. Mainwaring, rose and fell with gentle regularity in the warmglow.
Mr. Mainwaring's daughter rang a bell and switched on the electric lightwith remorseless severity; his wife came rustling down the broad oakstaircase; and Mr. Mainwaring himself, realising that a further foldingof the hands to sleep was out of the question, peeled off "TheSpectator" and sat up.
"Abel," observed Lady Adela--her husband's baptismal name was aperpetual thorn in her ample flesh, but she made a point of employing iton all occasions, as a sort of reducing exercise to her familypride--"tea will be here in a moment."
Mr. Mainwaring rose to his feet. He was an apologetic little gentleman,verging on sixty, with a few wisps of grey hair brushed carefully acrosshis bald head. At present these were hanging down upon the wrong side,giving their owner a mildly leonine appearance. A kindly, shy,impulsive man, Abel Mainwaring was invariably mute and ill at easebeneath the eye of his wife and daughter. Their patrician calmoppressed him; and his genial expansive nature only blossomed in thepresence of his erratic but affectionate son.
"Tea?" he exclaimed with mild alacrity--"Who said tea?"
"Abel," announced Lady Adela in tones which definitely vetoed anyfurther conversational openings originating in tea, "I think it onlyright to tell you that a visitor may arrive at any moment; and yourpresent appearance, to put it mildly, is hardly that of the master of alarge household."
"My dear, I fly!" said Mr. Mainwaring hurriedly, and disappeared. Atthe same moment there was a tinkle in the back premises.
"There goes the front-door bell," said Sylvia. "I never heard thecarriage. Can it be Connie already?"
"A caller, probably," sighed her mother. "How tiresome people are. Seewho it is, Milroy, and then bring tea."
The butler, who had entered from the dining-room, crossed the hall tothe curtained alcove which screened the front door.
"Hardly a caller on an afternoon like this," said Sylvia, shiveringdelicately. "It is raining in sheets."
"My experience," replied Lady Adela peevishly, "has always been thatwhen one's neighbours have made up their minds to be thoroughlyannoying, no weather will stop them."
Simultaneously with this truthful but gloomy reflection Lady Adelacomposed her fine features into an hospitable smile of welcome and roseto her feet.
"Misterilands!" announced Milroy, drawing back the curtain of the outerhall.
Lady Adela, still smiling, rolled an enquiring eye in the direction ofher daughter.
"New curate!" hissed Sylvia.
Through the curtained archway advanced a short, sturdy, spectacled youngman, dumbly resisting Mr. Milroy's gracious efforts to relieve him ofhis hat and stick.
Lady Adela extended her hand.
"How do you do, Mr. Highlands?" she enquired, as the ruffled Milroy,shaken off like an importunate limpet, disappeared into the dining-room.
"My name," replied the visitor apologetically, "is Rylands--notHighlands."
"How stupid of me!" said Lady Adela condescendingly. "But my butler isa most inarticulate person, and in any case we give him the benefit ofthe doubt where H's are concerned."
"It's of no consequence," Mr. Rylands assured her. "Oh, I beg yourpardon!"
He picked up his walking-stick, which had fallen upon the polished floorwith a shattering crash, and continued breathlessly:--
"The fact is, Lady Adela, the Archdeacon asked me to come round thisafternoon and warn Mr.--Mr.--" he was uncertain of Mr. Mainwaring'sexact status and title, so decided to hedge--"your husband, about theFirst Lesson in to-morrow morning's service. The Arch-deacon--"
"Be seated, Mr. Rylands," said Lady Adela, in the voice which shereserved for golfers, politicians, and other people who attempted totalk shop in her presence. "My husband will be downstairs presently.This is my--"
"The Archdeacon," continued the conscientious Rylands, "thinks it wouldbe better to substitute an alternative Lesson--"
At this point his walking-stick, which he had after several effortssucceeded in leaning against the corner of the mantelpiece, fell asecond time upon the floor, and a further hail of apology followed.
"--An alternative Lesson to-morrow morning," he resumed pertinaciously,"in view of the fact that certain passages--"
"This is my daughter Sylvia," said Lady Adela coldly.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" exclaimed the curate to Sylvia, starting up anddropping his hat. "I did n't see you. My glasses are rather dimmed bythe rain. I have come here," he recommenced rapidly, evidently hopingfor a more receptive auditor this time, "at the request of theArch-deacon, to see Mr.--your father--about an alteration in the FirstLesson to-morrow--"
"I don't think you need trouble, Mr. Rylands," replied the dutifulSylvia. "My father will probably read the wrong Lesson in any case."
"Who is taking my name in vain?" enquired the playful voice of Mr.Mainwaring, as its owner, newly kempt, descended the stairs.
"This is Mr. Rylands, Abel, who has recently come among us," said LadyAdela. "To assist the Archdeacon," she added, with feeling.
Mr. Mainwaring shook hands with characteristic friendliness.
"Welcome to Shotley Beauchamp, Mr. Rylands!" he said warmly.
"Thank you, sir, very much," replied the curate, flushing with pleasure."I have called," he continued with unabated enthusiasm--evidently he sawport ahead at last--"at the request of the Archdeacon, with reference tothe First Lesson at Matins to-morrow. One of those rathercharacteristic Old Testament passages--"
"Mr. Rylands," interposed Lady Adela, with the air of one who cannotstand this sort of thing much longer, "how many lumps of sugar do youtake?"
"Four, please," replied Mr. Rylands absently, with his finger in Mr.Mainwaring's buttonhole.
Lady Adela's eyebrows rose an eighth of an inch.
"Four, did you say?"
The curate came suddenly to himself.
"I beg your pardon," he said cringingly, "I meant none."
"Then why did you specify four, Mr. Rylands?" enquired Sylvia, whodisliked what she called "vague" people.
"Well, the fact is," explained the curate, in a burst of shyconfidence--"I always take four when I am alone in my lodgings. Butwhen I go out to tea anywhere, four always seems such a fearful lot toask for, that--oh, I beg your pardon!"
He had stepped heavily back into a cake-stand, and _patisserie_ strewedthe hearthrug.
But both crime and apology passed unnoticed, for at this moment Milroy,who had crossed the hall a minute previously, reappeared at thecurtained entrance, and announced, in tones of intense personalsatisfaction:--
"Mrs. Carmyle!"
Even the female Mainwarings had no eyes for any one else when ConnieCarmyle entered a room.
During the melee of greetings and embraces which ensued, Mr. Rylands,blessing the small deity who had descended to his aid, found time toright a capsized plum-cake and restore four highly-speckled cylinders ofbread and butter to the plate on the bottom storey of the cake-stand.He even succeeded in grinding a hopelessly leaky chocolate _eclair_ intothe woolly hearthrug with his heel. By the time that the Mainwaringshad removed their visitor's furs and escorted her to the fireplace, n
otrace of the outrage remained. The undetected criminal sat nervouslyupon the edge of an _art nouveau_ milking-stool in the chimney-corner,waiting to be introduced.
"This is Mr. Rylands, Connie," announced Lady Adela. "Mrs. Carmyle."
"How do you do, Mr. Rylands?" said Connie, holding out her hand with afriendly smile.
Mr. Rylands, with an overfull teacup in one hand and a tiny plateentirely obscured by an enormous bun in the other, rose cautiously tohis feet, and bestowing a sickly smile upon Mrs. Carmyle, entered atonce upon a series of perilous feats of legerdemain with a view togetting a hand free.
"Let me hold your cup for you," suggested Connie kindly. "That'sbetter!"
The curate, gratefully adopting this expedient, ultimately succeeded inwringing his benefactress by the hand.
"What has the Archdeacon been up to lately?" enquired Connie, gentlymassaging her fingers.
The curate's face brightened.
"It is curious that you should mention the Archdeacon's name," he said."The fact is, I have just come _from_ the Arch--"
"Constance dear," enquired Lady Adela in trumpet tones, "did you seeanything of Dick on your way down?"
"No, Lady Adela," said Connie, extending a slim foot towards the blazinglogs. ("Mr. Rylands, would you mind bringing me one of those littlecakes? No, not those--the indigestible-looking ones. Thank you somuch!) Are you expecting him for the week-end?"
"Yes, but I am afraid there is a little disappointment in store for him.I invited Norah Puncheon down--a sweet girl, Constance!--but at the lastmoment she has had to go to bed with one of her throats."
"Poor thing!" murmured Mrs. Carmyle absently. The reason for her owninvitation--by telegraph--had just been made apparent to her.
"So perhaps you would not mind keeping Dick amused," concluded LadyAdela. "You and he used to be such particular friends," she addedarchly.
"Bow-_wow_!" observed Mrs. Carmyle dreamily into Mr. Rylands's left ear.
The curate choked, then glowed with gentle gratification. He realisedthat he had come face to face at last with one of the Smart Set, ofwhich one heard so much nowadays.
"The naughty boy," concluded the fond mother, "must have missed histrain."
"The naughty boy," replied Mrs. Carmyle, "is probably coming down by thefour-fifteen. It is a much better train. Mr. Rylands, will you pleasechoose me a nice heavy crumpet?"
"In that case," said Lady Adela, "he will probably be here in about halfan hour. Sylvia dear, will you go upstairs and see if Constance's roomis ready? I forgot to give orders about a fire."
Sylvia obediently disappeared, and Lady Adela crossed the hall to achair under a lamp, where her husband was furtively perusing the eveningpaper. Mr. Mainwaring was now favoured with a brief but masterlydisplay of the fast dying art of pantomime, from which he gatheredwithout any difficulty whatever that he was to remove himself and Mr.Rylands to another part of the house, and that right speedily.
Mr. Mainwaring coughed submissively, and rose.
"Mr. Rylands, will you come and smoke a cigarette with me?" he said.
"Second Chronicles?" remarked Connie's clear voice. "I shall look it upduring the sermon to-morrow." The Archdeacon's emissary had unburdenedhis soul at last.
Lady Adela extended a stately hand. "Good-bye, Mr. Rylands," she said."My husband insists on carrying you off to the smoking-room."
Mr. Rylands, by this time hopelessly enmeshed in Connie Carmyle's net,sprang guiltily to his feet.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed. "Good-bye! Good-bye, Mrs.Carmyle!"
He shook hands, gathered together his impedimenta, and hurried blindlyup the staircase.
"Remember I am coming to hear you preach to-morrow," Connie called afterhim, with a dazzling smile. "Morning or evening?"
The godly but mesmerised youth halted, and broke out afresh. "I ampreaching at Evensong," he began, "but--"
"This way, Mr. Rylands," said Lady Adela patiently, indicating herhusband, who was standing by a swing door at the opposite side of thehall.
Mr. Rylands, utterly confounded, pattered headlong downstairs again, anddisappeared with Mr. Mainwaring, still apologising.
Lady Adela tapped Connie playfully but heavily upon the cheek. ("_Likebeing tickled by a mastodon_" wrote that lady to her husband a shorttime later.)
"Constance dear," she said, with a reproving smile, "you areincorrigible. Now let us sit down and have a cosy chat."
The incorrigible one sat submissively down upon the sofa and waited.She knew that her hostess had not rendered the hall a solitude fornothing.
Presently the cosy chat began. Not too suddenly, though. Lady Adelafirst enquired after the health of Mr. Carmyle, and expressed regretthat he had been prevented from accompanying his wife to The Towers.
"He was sent for about his wretched canal," explained Connie. "But hesaw me off at Waterloo, and promised to come down on Monday if he couldget away."
"Is it the first time you have been parted?" asked Lady Adela.
"Yes," said Connie, in quite a small voice.
Her hostess, suddenly human, patted her hand.
"The time will soon pass, dear," she said. "You will find this housequiet but soothing. I like it much better than town myself. Mr.Mainwaring is no trouble, and things are so cheap. The only drawback isSylvia. She dislikes the people about here."
"By the way," enquired Connie, recovering her spirits, "what is Sylvia'sexact _line_ just at present? Last year it was slumming; the yearbefore it was poker-work, and the year before that it was ChristianScience. What does that sage-green gown mean? Don't tell me she hasbecome a Futurist, or a Post-Impressionist, or anything!"
"I never attempt," replied Lady Adela, closing her eyes resignedly, "tocope with Sylvia's hobbies. At present she is a Socialist of some kind.She is evolving a scheme, I believe, under which the masses and classesare to intermarry for the next twenty years. By that time, sheconsiders, social distinctions will have ceased to exist, andconsequently the social problem will have solved itself."
Mrs. Carmyle nodded her head comprehendingly.
"I see," she said, "it sounds a good idea. I shall start looking out inthe 'Morning Post' for the announcement of Sylvia's engagement to aplumber. Just half a cup more, please."
Lady Adela now decided to begin the cosy chat. She accordinglydischarged what is known on rifle-ranges as a sighting shot.
"By the way, dear Constance, have you and your husband seen much of Dicklately?"
"Oh, we meet him about occasionally," replied Connie, casting about forcover--"at parties, and so on."
"I fear," continued Lady Adela, with what the police call "intent,""that the poor boy is lonely."
"The last time I saw him," replied Connie, "he was entertaining fivepeople to luncheon at the Trocadero. He did n't _look_ lonely."
"There is a loneliness of spirit, dear," replied Lady Adela gently, "ofwhich some of us know nothing. I think it shows that Dick _must_ befeeling lonely if he requires no less than five people to cheer him up."
"I am sure you are right," said the obliging Mrs. Carmyle.
"Was Norah Puncheon of the party, by any chance?" enquired Lady Adelacarelessly.
"No. I did n't know any of the people. Is Norah a friend of Dicky's?"
"They have seen a good deal of one another of late, I believe," repliedthe diplomatic Lady Adela, much as a motorist with his radiator full offeathers might admit having recently noticed a hen somewhere."Constance dear," she continued, coming in her maternal solicitude quiteprematurely to the point, "you are always so discreet. It is high timeDick was married, and this time I really do think--no, I _feel_ itinstinctively--that Norah Puncheon is the right woman for him."
"The right woman!" replied the late First Reserve pensively. "How awfulthat always sounds! The wrong one is always so much nicer!"
"My dear," exclaimed the horrified Lady Adela, "whoever put such anotion into your head?"
"Dicky. He told me
so himself."
"Has Norah Puncheon much influence over him, do you know?" continuedLady Adela, falling back on to safer ground.
"Yes, lots," replied Connie, stifling the tiniest of yawns. "There goesyour telephone."
"Milroy will attend to it, dear. Let me see," pursued Lady Adela, withstudious vagueness--"what were we talking about?"
"Norah Puncheon's influence over Dicky," replied Connie, popping a lumpof sugar into her mouth and crunching it with all the satisfaction of achild of six.
"You have noticed it yourself, then?"
Connie, quite speechless, nodded.
Lady Adela beamed. The scent was growing stronger.
"In what way, dear?" she asked, with unfeigned interest.
"Well," said Connie, after an interval of profound reflection, "Dickywanted to back Prince Caramel for the St. Leger, and Norah would n't lethim. He was so grateful to her afterwards!"
Lady Adela summoned up a lopsided smile--the smile of a tarpon-fisherwho has pulled up a red herring.
"I think her influence goes deeper than that, dearest," she rejoined inpatient reproof. "You, who only knew my son as a rather careless andlight-hearted boy, would hardly credit--"
"A telephone message, my lady!" announced Milroy, appearing at thedining-room door.
Lady Adela, tripped up on her way to a striking passage, sighed with anair of pathetic endurance, and enquired:--
"From whom, Milroy?"
"From Mr. Richard, my lady."
"Mr. Richard? Where is he?"
"He has telephoned from Shotley Post-Office, my lady," replied Milroy,keenly appreciating the mild sensation he was about to create; "to saythat he has arrived by the four-fifteen and is walking up."
"_Walking_--on a night like this?" cried Lady Adela, all the mother inher awake at once. "Tell him to wait, and I will send the motor."
"Mr. Richard said he preferred walking, my lady," rejoined Milroy,growing more wooden as he approached the _clou_ of his narrative. "Hesaid he would explain when he arrived. But the luggage-cart was to godown."
"For one portmanteau?"
"For the young lady's trunks, my lady."
"Young lady?" Lady Adela turned a puzzled countenance to her companion."Constance, dear, was not your luggage sent up with you?"
"Yes," replied Connie, scenting fun; "it was. I fancy this must be someother lady."
Light broke in on Lady Adela.
"Norah Puncheon, after all!" she exclaimed joyfully. "Her throat mustbe better, and that headstrong son of mine has compelled her to comedown by the four-fifteen."
"And walk up in the rain," supplemented Connie.
"The thoughtless boy!" wailed Lady Adela insincerely. "He will give herpneumonia."
"Perhaps it is n't Miss Puncheon," suggested Connie soothingly.
"But, my dear," said Lady Adela, refraining with great forbearance fromslapping the small but discouraging counsellor by her side, "who elsecan it be?" She turned to Milroy.
"Did Mr. Richard mention if he was bringing the young lady up with him?"she asked.
"Yes, my lady," replied Milroy with unction--"he did."
"Did he mention her name, Milroy?" enquired Connie.
"No, Miss. He just said 'the young lady.' Will there be anythingfurther, my lady?"
"No," snapped Lady Adela; and her aged retainer, as feverishly anxiousbeneath his perfectly schooled exterior to solve the mystery of hisbeloved Master Dick's latest escapade as his mistress, departed to layanother place for dinner.
In the hall there was a long silence. The wind roared round the house,and the rain drummed softly upon the diamond panes of the big orielwindow.
"It might be some old friend of the family," said Lady Adelahopefully--"some one whom Dick has encountered unexpectedly and inviteddown. You know his impulsive, hospitable way! Aunt Fanny, perhaps."
"A _young_ lady, I think Milroy said," replied the Job's comforterbeside her.
"Perhaps," pursued Lady Adela, still endeavouring to keep her courageup, "it is only one of the foolish boy's practical jokes."
These speculations were cut short by the prolonged buzz of an electricbell, followed by the sound of a spirited tattoo executed upon thepanels of the front door, apparently by a walking-stick. The Freak (andparty) had arrived.
Lady Adela sat bolt upright, almost pale.
"Mercy! here they are!" she said.
Milroy, who had appeared from his lair with uncanny celerity, wasalready in the outer hall. There was the sound of a heavy door beingopened; the curtains bulged out with the draught; and a voice was hearduplifted in cheery greeting.
Then the door banged, and Dicky Mainwaring appeared through thecurtains.
He was alone, and very wet.
"What ho, Mum!" he observed, after the fashion of the presentgeneration.
"My son!" exclaimed Lady Adela, advancing with outstretched arms.
Dicky, enduring a somewhat lengthy embrace, suddenly caught sight of asmall alert figure on the sofa. Curtailing the maternal caress asgently as possible, he darted forward.
"Connie!" he cried enthusiastically. "What tremendous luck meetingyou!" He shook his ancient ally by both hands.
"I want you more at this moment," he continued earnestly, "than at anyother period of my life."
Connie Carmyle pointed an accusing finger at him.
"Dicky Mainwaring," she enquired sternly, "where is your lady friend?"
"I was just going to introduce her," replied Dicky, with a rapturoussmile. "I wonder where she has got to, by the way. Found a mirror, Iexpect."
Then he raised his voice and cried:--
"Tilly!"
"Hallo!" replied an extremely small voice; and a shrinking figureappeared in the opening of the curtains.
