Lucia Triumphant

by Tom Holt

  ‘Georgino caro,’ exclaimed she, ‘what an early riser! Not a particularly fine day to wake up early for, I’m afraid. More rain, perhaps even snow, for it is distinctly chilly, and I fear a cold front closing in from Iceland.’ (She’s read that in the paper, thought Georgie, but he said nothing.) ‘And now I suppose you would like some breakfast. I will get Grosvenor to bring us some fresh tea.’

  ‘Most thoughtful,’ said Georgie politely.

  This cheerfulness was ambiguous. Had she determined to ignore Elizabeth’s coup entirely—an established tactic, most irritating to the innovator, but hard to sustain over long periods of time—or had she already evolved her counter-strategy?

  ‘Is there anything in the papers this morning?’

  There had been nothing except the weather report, so she replied, ‘Nothing of any great importance, Georgino. How little seems to happen nowadays! We must all lead very uninteresting lives if the announcement that poor dear Elizabeth is going to buy a motor-bicycle and ride it up and down the Military Road all day sends us all into fits of excitement. Yet that is the spice of life, it appears, and boring old civic affairs interest us not at all.’

  ‘It wasn’t a motor-bicycle,’ said Georgie firmly, ‘it was a three-wheeler. And there aren’t any civic affairs to bore or interest us. I thought that was the whole problem.’

  ‘I dare say you are right about Elizabeth’s motor-vehicle. I can’t say I paid much attention to what she was saying. I feel we all lack employment in Tilling these days. Idle hands, Georgie, make for idle minds.’

  ‘I should hate to be employed and have no time for my needlework and my painting and playing the piano and seeing people. I find I have little enough spare time as it is.’

  ‘Rubbish, caro, one can find time for important things if one makes an effort. And I’ve just had a tremendous idea.’

  ‘Shall I like it?’ asked Georgie gloomily, for it was as he had feared. ‘Or will it be just another festival? That fell awfully flat when all those tar’some people said they couldn’t come. And I’d bought a new dress-suit to wear, but I hadn’t the heart when it was just us.’

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Lucia, her lofty plans temporarily driven from her mind by this exciting news. ‘Why didn’t you say! And why haven’t I seen it?’

  ‘It was to be a surprise. Mohair with silk facings. And now I shall have to wait until it’s summer again before I can try it out, because the cloth’s too thin to wear in the winter. It’s most frustrating, for it was quite expensive. But you were telling me about this scheme of yours. And I was saying—’

  ‘That you hoped it wouldn’t be just another festival. Well it isn’t. It’s even so much better than that, you’ll see. There’s lots for us both to do. In fact, there’s more for you than for me. You’ll be terribly important. Can you guess what it is?’

  ‘No,’ said Georgie without trying. ‘You’d better tell me.’

  So she did. The more Georgie heard, the more excited he became, so that as soon as Lucia had finished her most eloquent presentation, which she made with hardly any reference to her notes, he hurried away to the garden-room to start on his preliminary sketches. So involved did he become in this engrossing and gratifying work that Grosvenor had announced lunch before he remembered that he hadn’t had any breakfast.

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth’s new car, with Elizabeth proudly at the wheel, made its maiden trip into Tilling just three days later. Triumphant was Elizabeth’s progress up the hill and under the Landgate; indeed, she had all the air of a successful Roman general, with fascinated crowds to stare at her and Major Benjy to play the rôle of the slave who rides beside the conqueror in his chariot and whispers in his ear ‘Remember that thou art mortal.’ In fact, Benjy was more concerned with his own mortality than his wife’s, for her driving, although not at all bad for a beginner, nonetheless made him feel somewhat nervous.

  Only one of the Tillingites who observed that spectacle failed to evince the awe and wonder that is associated with Esquimaux who see their first steam-locomotive. Quaint Irene had been sketching at the Belvedere Platform and saw the motor-car coming. Without stopping to fold up her camp-stool or dismantle her easel, she abandoned her sketch to the risk of theft (although, given the nature of her work, that risk was slight) and sprinted up the High Street to her house. Just inside the front-door, laid ready for just this very emergency, was a peaked cap and a small purpose-made red flag. She lay in wait at the corner of West Street until the motor approached, darted out in front of it and proceeded to walk at a slow march all the way down to the Porpoise Street turning where Elizabeth was finally able to overtake her and leave behind the throng of small children who had gathered in her wake.

  Rather than attempt to turn the vehicle round in the road, she made a complete circuit of the town before turning up into Church Square on her way to Mallards (for she particularly wanted to drive past the garden-room and, taking one hand daringly from the wheel, wave gaily to her dear friends within). Unfortunately a baker’s van with a brewer’s dray behind it was coming in the opposite direction, with the result that three-wheeler and van were soon bumper to bumper in the attitude of two rutting stags locking horns to decide supremacy. The van-driver refused to back, pointing out that he had a team of horses behind him, while she was but six yards from the turning-place. Elizabeth, for her part, instructed Major Benjy to get out and order the man to go back. The Major complied with the first of these instructions only too eagerly but disregarded the second part; in his opinion she really should go back and he would give her directions. So clear were his directions and so skilled was Elizabeth in the manipulation of her vehicle that it took but a quarter of an hour to accomplish the manoeuvre, and the van-driver was then free to travel on his way, which he did. He also gave both Benjy and Elizabeth a good deal of useful advice as he passed, not all of it to do with motoring. When this distasteful incident was over, the Major did not resume his place in the passenger-seat: it was his opinion that his extra weight was making the machine difficult to handle at times, which would no doubt account for occasional spells of erratic steering. He would walk, or if necessary trot alongside as she drove, but get back in he would do under no circumstances.

  As the Athenians to the Pnyx, the antique Romans to the Campus Martius, or our Nordic ancestors to the All-Thing, so the folk of Tilling flocked to the High Street for extempore parliament. Diva, taking the chair in the doorway of Twistevant’s, was of the opinion that Elizabeth was to be admired for her daring and locomotive skill; the name of Miss Amy Johnson was cited as a parallel. Quaint Irene (leader of the opposition) snorted daintily and expressed grave concern for the public safety should the menace of powerful motor-vehicles in the hands of untrained drivers remain unchecked. A similar opinion was expressed by the Lords Spiritual (the Padre), who had watched the scene in Church Square with fascinated horror from his study window; he had recently had his garden planted out in crocus bulbs at some considerable expense. The motion was then thrown open to the Floor (consisting of Evie Bartlett), who had not yet formed an opinion and could only squeak excitedly.

  ‘ ’Tes a diabolic contraption to be exercising within sight o’God’s ane house and my wee bittie o’ garden so recently planted out wi’ bulbs,’ exclaimed the Padre. ‘And do ye no mind the interference wi’ the rightful users o’ the King’s Highway?’

  ‘You don’t object when the Wyses or Lucia drive their motors in Church Square,’ objected his wife, who had wanted the front garden planted out with roses. ‘I think it’s terribly brave of Elizabeth and she’s only just bought the vehicle.’

  ‘Then she should learn somewhere else,’ retorted Irene. ‘It’s all rank imitation of Lucia anyway, and very appropriate. Mapp’s just a potty little three-wheeler chugging along behind a Mayoral Rolls-Royce.’

  Diva generally opposed Irene in debates of this nature, for Irene had once whitewashed her Irish setter, Paddy, for a joke. ‘That’s nonsense,’ she said. ‘Just because
Lucia does something, it doesn’t follow that everyone else who does it is copying her. I had a kipper for breakfast this morning but it doesn’t mean that I invented the idea.’

  To complete the parliament came Mr. and Mrs. Wyse, representatives, surely, of the Lords Temporal—for were they not related to the Wyses of Whitchurch and, by marriage, to the Italian aristocracy? They were on foot, for the Royce had developed some curious wasting disease and was even now under the spanner. They had thought of hiring a motor for the day, but since no suitable machine could be procured and the furthest they might go from their front door would be a hundred yards, they had opted for a little exercise. As a result, they had witnessed Elizabeth’s début as pedestrians, susceptible to the glamour that all can vouch for who have trudged along on foot as others purr by on four (or even three) wheels.

  As was usual in Tilling, the presence of the Wyses curbed the tongues and improved the manners of those around them. Even Irene was quiet for a moment, but the excitement of combat was upon her like the berserk fury and she now sought to enlist the support of these most distinguished allies.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Wyse, Mrs. Wyse. No motor today?’ she enquired sweetly.

  ‘Alas, no,’ replied Mr. Wyse after his customary round of chivalrous greetings. ‘The Royce has unfortunately developed some slight mechanical disorder and so we must perforce do our little round of shopping on foot. No doubt we shall benefit greatly from a little pedestrian exercise. I have become too, too indolent of late—my bicycle hangs neglected from the rafters of the garage, so my worthy chauffeur tells me.’

  A silence generally fell on the company after Mr. Wyse had finished speaking; his language was so fine, so Augustan that it seemed a pity to defile its memory with effusions in the vulgar tongue.

  ‘What rotten luck!’ said the quaint one, with an effort. ‘If Mapp had bought a proper car she could have given you both a lift. Then you could have worn your sables, Mrs. Wyse.’ This was a good point to make if she wished to win round these new allies. Susan Wyse was the proud owner of a magnificent fur-coat which she wore even in the height of summer. Such was its weight, however, that motorised transport was needed to move it about and, now that she was confined to walking for a day, she had reluctantly been compelled to leave it at home.

  ‘But that’s typical of Mapp,’ continued Irene, ‘going and buying a two-seater. You’re always offering people lifts in your car. Why should a dog, a horse, a Mapp have transport and thou no car at all?’

  ‘You couldn’t expect Elizabeth to drive a great big thing,’ objected Diva.

  ‘Why not?’ chirruped the quaint one. ‘She drives Major Benjy—to the point of distraction, or so he says—and he’s a great big thing if ever I saw one.’

  This was a tactical error on Irene’s part, for Mr. Wyse gave her such a refined look than even her self-esteem was sorely tried. ‘I quite agree with you, Mrs. Plaistow,’ he said. ‘The gentle sex cannot be expected to cope with the physical effort of controlling full-sized machines. Yet they should not be denied the use of motor-vehicles. I believe that young ladies of the most exalted families nowadays drive themselves about in small motor-cars. They are to be seen in Hyde Park and in Norfolk.’

  This was weighty evidence indeed and again the gathering was silent as they digested its full implications. But the Padre was a man of conscience to whom principle was more important than expediency. Besides, his crocuses had not been planted in Hyde Park nor yet in Norfolk, but in Tilling.

  ‘I ken that a’ ye say is sooth,’ he said, choosing his words carefully, ‘but yon exalted folk of whom ye spake are responsible, God-fearing men and women, mindful o’ the public weal. But ’tes a sinful thing to venture forth in charge o’ a hazardous engine an ye no have the complete control on’t. There is risk to life and property.’

  So well chosen were his words that a pause was required for mental translation and while this process was being carried out, Lucia, basket on arm, and Georgie joined the little throng.

  ‘Risk to life and property!’ she exclaimed, after greeting her friends in a cheerful tone. ‘What can this be? Padre, I trust you speak but in jest. As Mayor of Tilling, I am in duty bound to protect both life and property.’

  ‘Then get Mapp off the roads,’ exclaimed Irene. ‘She’s worse than a Zeppelin raid in that motor-car of hers.’

  Lucia laughed her silvery laugh as expectation hung heavy in the air. For Lucia represented Government and actual power; could she not pass an ordinance sweeping her turbulent Mayoress from the streets?

  ‘My dear, is that all?’ warbled Lucia. ‘I was afraid that you were serious. I have every confidence in dear Elizabeth’s abilities as a motorist, for has not Major Benjy taught her the craft? And we all know how proficient he is.’

  Irene begged her to consult the corner of Malleson Street on that point but Lucia seemed not to have heard. Although her hearing was excellent, she had that gift to temporary deafness that is granted to so few.

  ‘I am sure that Elizabeth will soon be driving exquisitely; she will do this as well as everything she turns her versatile hand to. Now let us consider the benefit to us all that her new departure will bring. We shall see so much more of our dear friend now that she has transport of her own. I own that when I lived at Grebe I was content to walk in and out of town but I had only myself to please. Elizabeth has public duties to perform. In fact, I must ask my Council whether some small allowance—a mere token, you understand, so as not to appear offensive—cannot be found to contribute towards the upkeep of the vehicle, since it was doubtless the thought of her public duties that prompted her to purchase the machine. There was an ordinance in the fourteenth century providing the sum of five shillings a year to buy an ass to transport the Mayor into town if he lived outside the boundaries; if that ordinance has not since been repealed, we might revive it for dear Elizabeth’s sake, suitably modernised of course.’ And so saying, she passed on into the shop where Mr. Twistevant had been eyeing with growing frustration the knot of customers that had been standing outside for a full quarter of an hour. The Parliament was left with very mixed emotions. Did they really want to see so much more of their dear friend? And what was Lucia up to?

  The same question vexed Georgie as they walked back to Mallards, their marketing over for the day.

  ‘I can’t understand it,’ said he. ‘You were practically venomous about Elizabeth’s motor this morning and you said you couldn’t wait for her to apply for a maintenance allowance so that you could throw it out.’

  Lucia laughed, so that the street seemed full of little silver bells. ‘Georgino, how literally you take everything. What possible exception could I take to poor Elizabeth wanting a car? She is getting on, you know.’ In fact, she was younger than Lucia but that did not mean that Lucia’s statement was incorrect. ‘And I suppose that hill up from Grebe is in places a little steep. And since Elizabeth is clearly anxious to make some small sensation, to bathe herself in the public attention which you know I so heartily abhor, why should I deny her the pleasure?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ confessed Georgie, ‘but somehow that’s the way it always seems to happen. Whenever you start a particularly good thing, Elizabeth always tries to put you down—I don’t think she’s ever forgiven you for coming to Tilling in the first place. And then you always do the same to her, because you say it’s good for her not to be allowed to get away with making herself conspicuous. And you’re right, I suppose. She can be an awful nuisance when she thinks you’ve put her down, so you have to put her down to stop her doing it again.’

  ‘Quite so, Georgie,’ said Lucia, who had not understood a word. ‘In this instance, however, my only fear—on her behalf—is that she might continue to make herself appear as ludicrous as she did this morning in Church Square. That van-driver, caro, such power of expression! If his views were less intemperate, we could use him on the Council. But she will soon become aware of the risk to her dignity—she is not totally insensitive to the opinions of
others—and will quietly abandon her stunt. You will object that I, as her friend, ought to warn her of the danger she is in of becoming a laughing-stock and perhaps advise her—tactfully, of course—to dispose of her motor in the interests of her own physical safety, at the very least. But I have greater responsibilities than to my friends, I regret to say. Suppose I did act to suppress Elizabeth’s motor, privately or even publicly.’ (So she had thought of passing an ordinance!) ‘Imagine her wrath, Georgie, her bad humour! She would be sure to seek reprisals, perhaps even attempt to undermine the success of the Tapestry. And that I could not allow.’

  ‘You mean it’s to be peace between you and Elizabeth until after the Tapestry?’ cried Georgie, horrified. The prospect of a cessation of hostilities was appalling, for this warfare provided him with the excitement that no other occupation could hope to offer. ‘Isn’t that a bit drastic?’

  ‘As far as I am concerned, there has always been peace between me and dear Elizabeth,’ said his wife as she swept into Mallards. Georgie paused on the threshold for a moment as if hesitant to enter the habitation of such a perjurer lest it should be struck by lightning. Then a thought occurred to him and he hurried after her.

  ‘But Lucia,’ he said, ‘what if she tries to disrupt it anyway? If she thinks you’ve become weak and are letting her get away with the car, she might attack the Tapestry in any case, just to show that she’s on top.’

  ‘Just let her try,’ said the pacifist grimly.