12
Before Lunch
On the following morning Lord and Lady Bond and Miss Starter were seated at breakfast. Sunshine flooded the room. Outside the gardeners were busily removing every twig and leaf brought down by the storm and raking over the gravel sweep. Young Mr Bond was not there and his mother concluded that he was still asleep.
‘I must tell you a very interesting thing, Lucasta,’ said Miss Starter. ‘Last night I actually took some melted butter and a piece of toast: not my own toast, but ordinary toast. I was so much interested in your brother’s conversation that I quite forgot about myself for once. And the extraordinary thing is that I have felt no bad effects at all.’
‘I always told you you imagined a lot of your complaints, Juliana,’ said Lady Bond, who was rapidly going through her correspondence.
‘You have such a wonderful constitution that you don’t understand suffering as I do,’ said Miss Starter, which was most provoking of her, for however well people may be themselves they like to think that they are more sensitive than their neighbours. ‘And another really most extraordinary thing that has just, only just occurred to me is that I ate some ice pudding, which every doctor I have been to says is Poison for me.’
‘Sounds like faith healing, or Christian Science or something of the sort,’ said Lord Bond. ‘Glad to hear it, Juliana. I hope we’ll see you eating a leg of mutton before you leave.’
‘I fear not,’ said Miss Starter reprovingly. ‘One can do much when mentally distracted – I do not mean deranged, merely entertained or amused – that one cannot do under ordinary conditions. The whole flow of the bile is affected.’
‘We must get Stoke over again then while you’re here,’ said Lord Bond. ‘You ought to try a pinch of bicarbonate, Juliana. Never known it fail.’
‘When I leave you on Thursday,’ said Miss Starter, speaking very pointedly to her hostess, ‘I shall go to my doctor at once and tell him what happened here. He will be immensely interested.’
‘Spencer,’ said Lady Bond, ‘remind me that I shall have a number of letters for the afternoon post. It’s important.’
‘Very well, my lady,’ said Spencer.
Presently Miss Starter went to her room to write letters, a Victorian accomplishment which she had never lost, driving the housemaids mad wherever she went, as they had to have her bedroom tidied and cleared far earlier than they thought suitable. Lord and Lady Bond discussed some plans and congratulated each other on the party. Lady Bond then expressed some dissatisfaction at her son’s late hours.
‘I think C.W. had breakfast more than an hour ago, my dear,’ said Lord Bond. ‘I saw him going off in his car while I was shaving.’
‘He might have said good-bye,’ said his unsuspicious mother.
‘I don’t think he has gone to London,’ said Lord Bond. ‘Only to Skeynes.’
‘What would he want to go to Skeynes for?’ said Lady Bond in an annihilating way, and gathering up her letters she went to her sitting-room, where, to her surprise and annoyance, her husband followed her and began fidgeting with the books on a table till she could hardly bear it.
‘Do you want anything, Alured?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Lord Bond. ‘No,’ he added thoughtfully, looking out of the window, ‘no. Not exactly. There’s C.W.’
‘Then I suppose we shall know why he went to Skeynes,’ said Lady Bond, seating herself at her desk and opening her engagement book. ‘Could we dine with the Leslies at Rushwater on Friday week, Alured? Lady Emily sent a message over by John last night. Well, C.W., you were up very early. Good morning, Daphne. Did you bicycle?’
‘Good morning, mother,’ said young Mr Bond, kissing the side of his mother’s forehead. ‘I brought Daphne over, because we are engaged and I thought you’d like to know.’
Lady Bond behaved very well, merely asking her son to say again what he had just said.
‘We got engaged last night,’ said young Mr Bond. ‘You must have seen it coming, mother. So I thought I’d better bring Daphne over this morning and I brought Denis too, father, because he said you wanted to see him about something. He is in the drawing-room because you said something about music.’
‘Quite right, my boy,’ said Lord Bond. ‘I’ll go to him in a minute. Well, Daphne my dear, I’m just as pleased about it this morning as I was last night. And so will my wife be.’
‘Do you mean to say you knew last night, Alured?’ said Lady Bond.
‘I couldn’t help telling father,’ said young Mr Bond, now joyfully reckless of all consequences, ‘because he saw us when he came to look for the Marie Antoinette musical box.’
‘I don’t understand this at all,’ said Lady Bond.
‘Well, I’m awfully sorry, but Cedric and I got engaged last night,’ said Daphne.
In Lady Bond’s rather slow-moving mind a struggle was going on between her natural tendency to disapprove of everything which she had not originated herself and a real wish to show pleasure in her son’s choice, even if it were not quite her own. She also would much have liked to relieve her feelings by bullying her husband for his complicity. The result was that she remained completely silent and everyone felt uncomfortable, none more so than Lord Bond, when a distraction was mercifully offered by the sound, too rare alas, of horses’ hoofs on the gravel.
‘Good God,’ said Lord Bond, who was still at the window. ‘It’s Pomfret and young Wicklow. Wonderful the way Pomfret goes on riding. Over eighty and I’ve hardly ever seen him in a car in his own part of the country. I wonder what he wants. If it’s the Barsetshire Benevolent Association I suppose I’ll have to be steward again, though fifty guineas is pretty stiff.’
Daphne and young Mr Bond did not know whether to stay or to slink from the room, but before they could decide Lord Pomfret was announced and came in followed by his agent Roddy Wicklow, whose sister Sally had married Lord Pomfret’s heir.
‘It is very nice to see you so early, Lord Pomfret,’ said Lady Bond, getting up.
Lord Pomfret shook hands with Lord and Lady Bond and nodded to young Mr Bond.
‘You know Wicklow,’ he said. ‘Just got engaged to Barton’s daughter Alice. Nice girl she is. Come on a lot lately.’
‘Good luck, Wicklow,’ said young Mr Bond, seeing a good opportunity to consolidate his position. ‘I’ve just got engaged too,’ he added, taking Daphne’s hand.
‘That’s right,’ said Lord Pomfret. ‘Young man like you, coming into a nice little place, can’t get engaged too soon. Keep you steady. Congratulations, young lady. What’s your name, eh?’
‘Daphne Stonor,’ said Daphne, a little overawed by Lord Pomfret’s impressive size, his bald head, his bushy eyebrows and his fierce little eyes.
‘Any relation of Stonor of the twenty-third?’ said Lord Pomfret.
‘He was my father,’ said Daphne.
‘My boy was in the twenty-third,’ said Lord Pomfret, alluding to his only son Lord Mellings who had been killed as a young man in a frontier skirmish. ‘Good regiment. Glad to have met you, young lady. Now, Bond, I daresay you want to know why I’ve come. I was riding round with Wicklow to look at that drain where the vixen got drowned last February, and I thought I’d look in to say I’ve settled Hibberd for good.’
‘Do you mean he won’t build on Pooker’s Piece?’ said Lord Bond.
‘Wait a minute. Let me tell it my own way,’ said Lord Pomfret, glaring at everyone. ‘No, I won’t sit down. Sit quite enough as it is. I met Hibberd yesterday afternoon in Barchester at the County Club. Can’t think how the feller got in, but they have anyone nowadays. So I told him what I thought. Didn’t mince matters. Said it would be damned uncomfortable for him in the county if he went on like that, only I put it a bit more strongly.’
‘Then what will he do with Pooker’s Piece?’ said Lady Bond.
‘Won’t do anything,’ said Lord Pomfret with a bellicose chuckle. ‘I bought it. He said he’d take a hundred more for it than he gave. No, no, I said, that w
on’t do. No profiteering. I’ll give what you gave, or you can take the consequences. I frightened him, I think,’ said his lordship meditatively.
‘Well, that’s very public-spirited of you, Pomfret,’ said Lord Bond. ‘We are all extremely grateful. Have you decided what to do with it? It’s rather far from your property.’
‘Now don’t think you or Palmer are going to get it,’ said Lord Pomfret. ‘Too old a bird to be caught by that sort of chaff. No, I’m going to make it over to the National Trust or one of these damned meddling affairs, to be kept as it is, in memory of my wife. Children can play there and that sort of thing. Edith would have liked it.’
There was a moment’s silence, for everyone knew that Lord Pomfret missed his countess more than he would allow. Then Lord and Lady Bond congratulated and thanked him again warmly.
‘I’m going on to tell Middleton,’ said Lord Pomfret. ‘Bit of a gas-bag that feller, but I like his wife. Well, good-bye. Good-bye, young lady. This place needs a few children about. Brighten things up.’
‘Thanks awfully, Lord Pomfret,’ said Daphne. ‘I mean to have about six.’
‘Do you really think so many, Daphne?’ said young Mr Bond, slightly alarmed by this access of maternity.
‘Young lady’s quite right,’ barked Lord Pomfret, ‘and don’t you meddle with her, young man. She knows her own business.’
Upon which he went away, followed by his silent and devoted agent and accompanied by Lord Bond.
During the interruption Lady Bond had managed to get her feelings under control and was quite ready to accept and embrace Daphne, but the thought of victory was still uppermost in her mind and she had to express it before yielding to the softer emotions.
‘Lord Pomfret has done the county a great service,’ she said impressively. ‘It will be a great weight off everyone’s mind.’
‘Then now we needn’t send the invitations to the Public Meeting,’ said Daphne. ‘I’ll tear them up. Where are they, Lady Bond? I thought I left them on your desk, to go this afternoon.’
‘Are you sure you didn’t put them in a drawer?’ said Lady Bond.
‘Quite. They couldn’t have got posted, could they?’
‘I gave Spencer special orders that they were to go by the afternoon post,’ said Lady Bond.
‘Then I bet he’s sent them by the morning post,’ said Daphne. ‘Shall I ring?’
Without waiting for an answer she rang with a violence that set every bell in the basement jarring and made the third footman rush to Spencer’s pantry without putting his coat on to say that her ladyship’s sitting-room was ringing like mad. Spencer crushed his underling and proceeded at his own pace to Lady Bond’s room.
‘I say, Spencer,’ said Daphne, ‘did you post those letters?’
‘What letters, miss?’ said Spencer.
‘I particularly said I wanted my letters to go by the afternoon post,’ said Lady Bond, ‘and I can’t find them anywhere.’
‘I understood your ladyship to say that the letters was to go particularly by the afternoon post,’ said Spencer, ‘and as one of the men was going down to Skeynes on his bike I thought I would take advantage of the event to give him the letters. They will catch the twelve o’clock post, my lady, and be delivered earlier than by the afternoon post.’
‘It is most vexatious,’ said Lady Bond.
‘Yes, my lady,’ said Spencer. ‘Was that all, my lady?’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Daphne, roused to indignation on her future mother-in-law’s behalf. ‘It was frightfully interfering of you, Spencer, when Lady Bond said the afternoon post, and it’s going to make a frightful muddle and be a great nuisance to everyone and all your fault. What is the good of people telling you things if you don’t listen. Don’t do it again.’
Of course under any other circumstance Spencer would have given notice on the spot, but Something, as he reverently said when describing the scene to Mrs Alcock the housekeeper later on, told him that something was up between Miss Stonor and Mr Bond and under these peculiar circumstances he felt he had better leave things be.
To everyone’s intense surprise he said,
‘I’m very sorry, my lady, very sorry indeed, miss. It shall not occur again,’ and left the room.
Lady Bond gazed at Daphne with an admiration past words.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Daphne. ‘There’s still time to get the letters back. It’s only eleven, and we’ll all look awful fools if they are posted now that Lord Pomfret has settled it all.’
‘But my dear, we can’t,’ said Lady Bond piteously. ‘They are in the post now.’
‘Miss Phipps will get them out if I ask her,’ said Daphne negligently. ‘Look here, Cedric, you run me down at once and we’ll rescue them before the twelve o’clock collection. Would you like to come?’ she added kindly to Lady Bond. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to hurry.’
Luckily Lady Bond kept a felt hat and some gloves in the hall against sudden incursions into the garden and in two minutes young Mr Bond was driving much too fast down the drive, with Daphne and Lady Bond in the back seat.
‘Don’t go right up to the Post Office,’ said Daphne, poking her affianced in the back. ‘Miss Phipps mightn’t like it if it was you. I’ll go in.’
So young Mr Bond drew up in front of the Fleece and Daphne went over to the Post Office. Opening the door of the little cottage, she walked into the office and said good morning.
‘Good morning, miss,’ said Miss Phipps. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got those peppermint bull’s-eyes in yet, but I’m expecting them at every minute.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Daphne. ‘I’ll come in again. Oh, and that idiot from Staple Park posted a whole lot of letters I’d written for Lady Bond by mistake. Be an angel and let me have them out or I’ll get into frightful trouble. They’re all typewritten, with the crown thing on the flap, so they’ll be quite easy to find.’
‘Well, miss, I really oughtn’t,’ said Miss Phipps. ‘Of course you oughtn’t,’ said Daphne. ‘But you’ll save me a frightful blowing up from Lady Bond if you do. Let’s have a look.’
Very obligingly Miss Phipps emptied the contents of the mail bag on to the counter. Daphne sorted out the invitations with no difficulty.
‘Thanks awfully, Miss Phipps,’ she said. ‘You’re an angel. And if you hear something about me in a day or two, don’t be surprised. I’ll come in for the peppermints later.’ She ran back to the car with her treasure. Miss Phipps, also guided by a Something, followed her to the door and looked out. What she saw evidently satisfied her, for she remarked aloud to herself, ‘And a very nice young ladyship too,’ and went back to her Post Office, where she served her next customers with such scorn, born of a secret knowledge which she had no intention of using except to mystify and tantalize her clients, that several of them said she was on her high horse again.
‘Here you are, Lady Bond,’ said Daphne, putting the pile of letters on the back seat and getting in beside young Mr Bond.
‘I can’t thank you enough, my dear,’ said Lady Bond. Kiss me.’
Daphne turned round in the seat and leaning into the back of the car gave Lady Bond a very hearty hug.
‘I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘I had to make you out a bit of a Tartar to Miss Phipps. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘I daresay I deserved it,’ said Lady Bond magnanimously. ‘And now, my dear, I think we will go on to the White House. I would like to tell your stepmother how delighted Lord Bond and I am, and we can discuss the date for the wedding. I suppose you and C.W. will want to get married before he goes back to New York.’
As the millennium appeared to have arrived Daphne and young Mr Bond accepted the miracle gratefully and the car’s head was turned towards the Laverings lane.
Mr and Mrs Middleton and Mr Cameron had also breakfasted very comfortably in the sunny dining-room. Mr Cameron had decided to tell his host and hostess about his lucky release when breakfast was over, but he could not conceal a happines
s which came as a relief to Mrs Middleton after all the gloom of the last fortnight, though she could not quite account for it. When breakfast was over they went out on to the terrace, where the form of Pucken, who had been hanging about to catch them, presently became manifest.
‘Well, Pucken, did you get that manure?’ said Mr Middleton.
Before Lunch Page 26
