Works of E F Benson

by E. F. Benson

  He put up his hand and whispered an aside to Miss Mapp: “Revolutionized the theory of navigation.”

  Major Benjy was certainly rather gay and rather indistinct, but his polite gallantry could not fail to be attractive. It was naughty of him to have said that he went to bed early on alternate nights, but really… Still, it might be better to slip away unrecognized, and, thinking it would be nice to scriggle by him and disappear in the mist, she made a tactical error in her scriggling, for she scriggled full into the light that streamed from the open door where Captain Puffin was standing.

  He gave a shrill laugh.

  “Why, it’s Miss Mapp,” he said in his high falsetto. “Blow me, if it isn’t our mutual friend Miss Mapp. What a ‘strordinary coincidence.”

  Miss Mapp put on her most winning smile. To be dignified and at the same time pleasant was the proper way to deal with this situation. Gentlemen often had a glass of grog when they thought the ladies had gone upstairs. That was how, for the moment, she summed things up.

  “Good evening,” she said. “I was just going down to the pillar-box to post a letter,” and she exhibited her envelope. But it dropped out of her hand, and the Major picked it up for her.

  “I’ll post it for you,” he said very pleasantly. “Save you the trouble. Insist on it. Why, there’s no stamp on it! Why, there’s no address on it! I say, Puffie, here’s a letter with no address on it. Forgotten the address, Miss Mapp? Think they’ll remember it at the post office? Well, that’s one of the mos’ comic things I ever came across. An, an anonymous letter, eh?”

  The night air began to have a most unfortunate effect on Puffin. When he came out it would have been quite unfair to have described him as drunk. He was no more than gay and ready to go to bed. Now he became portentously solemn, as the cold mist began to do its deadly work.

  “A letter,” he said impressively, “without an address is an uncommonly dangerous thing. Hic! Can’t tell into whose hands it may fall. I would sooner go ‘bout with a loaded pistol than with a letter without any address. Send it to the bank for safety. Send for the police. Follow my advice and send for the p’lice. Police!”

  Miss Mapp’s penetrating mind instantly perceived that that dreadful Captain Puffin was drunk, and she promised herself that Tilling should ring with the tale of his excesses to-morrow. But Major Benjy, whom, if she mistook not, Captain Puffin had been trying, with perhaps some small success, to lead astray, was a gallant gentleman still, and she conceived the brilliant but madly mistaken idea of throwing herself on his protection.

  “Major Benjy,” she said, “I will ask you to take me home. Captain Puffin has had too much to drink — —”

  “Woz that?” asked Captain Puffin, with an air of great interest.

  Miss Mapp abandoned dignity and pleasantness, and lost her temper.

  “I said you were drunk,” she said with great distinctness. “Major Benjy, will you — —”

  Captain Puffin came carefully down the two steps from the door on to the pavement.

  “Look here,” he said, “this all needs ‘splanation. You say I’m drunk, do you? Well, I say you’re drunk, going out like this in mill’ of the night to post letter with no ‘dress on it. Shamed of yourself, mill’aged woman going out in the mill’ of the night in the mill’ of Tilling. Very shocking thing. What do you say, Major?”

  Major Benjy drew himself up to his full height, and put on his hat in order to take it off to Miss Mapp.

  “My fren’ Cap’n Puffin,” he said, “is a man of strictly ‘stemious habits. Boys together. Very serious thing to call a man of my fren’s character drunk. If you call him drunk, why shouldn’t he call you drunk? Can’t take away man’s character like that.”

  “Abso — —” began Captain Puffin. Then he stopped and pulled himself together.

  “Absolooly,” he said without a hitch.

  “Tilling shall hear of this to-morrow,” said Miss Mapp, shivering with rage and sea-mist.

  Captain Puffin came a step closer.

  “Now I’ll tell you what it is, Miss Mapp,” he said. “If you dare to say that I was drunk, Major and I, my fren’ the Major and I will say you were drunk. Perhaps you think my fren’ the Major’s drunk too. But sure’s I live, I’ll say we were taking lil’ walk in the moonlight and found you trying to post a letter with no ‘dress on it, and couldn’t find the slit to put it in. But ‘slong as you say nothing, I say nothing. Can’t say fairer than that. Liberal terms. Mutual Protection Society. Your lips sealed, our lips sealed. Strictly private. All trespassers will be prosecuted. By order. Hic!”

  Miss Mapp felt that Major Benjy ought instantly to have challenged his ignoble friend to another duel for this insolent suggestion, but he did nothing of the kind, and his silence, which had some awful quality of consent about it, chilled her mind, even as the sea-mist, now thick and cold, made her certain that her nose was turning red. She still boiled with rage, but her mind grew cold with odious apprehensions: she was like an ice-pudding with scalding sauce… There they all stood, veiled in vapours, and outlined by the red light that streamed from the still-open door of the intoxicated Puffin, getting colder every moment.

  “Yessorno,” said Puffin, with chattering teeth.

  Bitter as it was to accept those outrageous terms, there really seemed, without the Major’s support, to be no way out of it.

  “Yes,” said Miss Mapp.

  Puffin gave a loud crow.

  “The ayes have it, Major,” he said. “So we’re all frens again. Goonight everybody.”

  Miss Mapp let herself into her house in an agony of mortification. She could scarcely realize that her little expedition, undertaken with so much ardent and earnest curiosity only a quarter of an hour ago, had ended in so deplorable a surfeit of sensation. She had gone out in obedience to an innocent and, indeed, laudable desire to ascertain how Major Benjy spent those evenings on which he had deceived her into imagining that, owing to her influence, he had gone ever so early to bed, only to find that he sat up ever so late and that she was fettered by a promise not to breathe to a soul a single word about the depravity of Captain Puffin, on pain of being herself accused out of the mouth of two witnesses of being equally depraved herself. More wounding yet was the part played by her Major Benjy in these odious transactions, and it was only possible to conclude that he put a higher value on his fellowship with his degraded friend than on chivalry itself… And what did his silence imply? Probably it was a defensive one; he imagined that he, too, would be included in the stories that Miss Mapp proposed to sow broadcast upon the fruitful fields of Tilling, and, indeed, when she called to mind his bellowing about worm-casts, his general instability of speech and equilibrium, she told herself that he had ample cause for such a supposition. He, when his lights were out, was abetting, assisting and perhaps joining Captain Puffin. When his window was alight on alternate nights she made no doubt now that Captain Puffin was performing a similar rôle. This had been going on for weeks under her very nose, without her having the smallest suspicion of it.

  Humiliated by all that had happened, and flattened in her own estimation by the sense of her blindness, she penetrated to the kitchen and lit a gas-ring to make herself some hot cocoa, which would at least comfort her physical chatterings. There was a letter for Withers, slipped sideways into its envelope, on the kitchen table, and mechanically she opened and read it by the bluish flame of the burner. She had always suspected Withers of having a young man, and here was proof of it. But that he should be Mr. Hopkins of the fish-shop!

  There is known to medical science a pleasant device known as a counter-irritant. If the patient has an aching and rheumatic joint he is counselled to put some hot burning application on the skin, which smarts so agonizingly that the ache is quite extinguished. Metaphorically, Mr. Hopkins was thermogene to Miss Mapp’s outraged and aching consciousness, and the smart occasioned by the knowledge that Withers must have encouraged Mr. Hopkins (else he could scarcely have written a letter so fa
miliar and amorous), and thus be contemplating matrimony, relieved the aching humiliation of all that had happened in the sea-mist. It shed a new and lurid light on Withers, it made her mistress feel that she had nourished a serpent in her bosom, to think that Withers was contemplating so odious an act of selfishness as matrimony. It would be necessary to find a new parlour-maid, and all the trouble connected with that would not nearly be compensated for by being able to buy fish at a lower rate. That was the least that Withers could do for her, to insist that Mr. Hopkins should let her have dabs and plaice exceptionally cheap. And ought she to tell Withers that she had seen Mr. Hopkins … no, that was impossible: she must write it, if she decided (for Withers’ sake) to make this fell communication.

  Miss Mapp turned and tossed on her uneasy bed, and her mind went back to the Major and the Captain and that fiasco in the fog. Of course she was perfectly at liberty (having made her promise under practical compulsion) to tell everybody in Tilling what had occurred, trusting to the chivalry of the men not to carry out their counter threat, but looking at the matter quite dispassionately, she did not think it would be wise to trust too much to chivalry. Still, even if they did carry out their unmanly menace, nobody would seriously believe that she had been drunk. But they might make a very disagreeable joke of pretending to do so, and, in a word, the prospect frightened her. Whatever Tilling did or did not believe, a residuum of ridicule would assuredly cling to her, and her reputation of having perhaps been the cause of the quarrel which, so happily did not end in a duel, would be lost for ever. Evie would squeak, quaint Irene would certainly burst into hoarse laughter when she heard the story. It was very inconvenient that honesty should be the best policy.

  Her brain still violently active switched off for a moment on to the eternal problem of the portmanteau. Why, so she asked herself for the hundredth time, if the portmanteau contained the fatal apparatus of duelling, did not the combatants accompany it? And if (the only other alternative) it did not —— ?

  An idea so luminous flashed across her brain that she almost thought the room had leaped into light. The challenge distinctly said that Major Benjy’s seconds would wait upon Captain Puffin in the course of the morning. With what object then could the former have gone down to the station to catch the early train? There could be but one object, namely to get away as quickly as possible from the dangerous vicinity of the challenged Captain. And why did Captain Puffin leave that note on his table to say that he was suddenly called away, except in order to escape from the ferocious neighbourhood of his challenger?

  “The cowards!” ejaculated Miss Mapp. “They both ran away from each other! How blind I’ve been!”

  The veil was rent. She perceived how, carried away with the notion that a duel was to be fought among the sand-dunes, Tilling had quite overlooked the significance of the early train. She felt sure that she had solved everything now, and gave herself up to a rapturous consideration of what use she would make of the precious solution. All regrets for the impossibility of ruining the character of Captain Puffin with regard to intoxicants were gone, for she had an even deadlier blacking to hand. No faintest hesitation at ruining the reputation of Major Benjy as well crossed her mind; she gloried in it, for he had not only caused her to deceive herself about the early hours on alternate nights, but by his infamous willingness to back up Captain Puffin’s bargain, he had shown himself imperviously waterproof to all chivalrous impulses. For weeks now the sorry pair of them had enjoyed the spurious splendours of being men of blood and valour, when all the time they had put themselves to all sorts of inconvenience in catching early trains and packing bags by candle-light in order to escape the hot impulses of quarrel that, as she saw now, were probably derived from drained whisky-bottles. That mysterious holloaing about worm-casts was just such another disagreement. And, crowning rapture of all, her own position as cause of the projected duel was quite unassailed. Owing to her silence about drink, no one would suspect a mere drunken brawl: she would still figure as heroine, though the heroes were terribly dismantled. To be sure, it would have been better if their ardour about her had been such that one of them, at the least, had been prepared to face the ordeal, that they had not both preferred flight, but even without that she had much to be thankful for. “It will serve them both,” said Miss Mapp (interrupted by a sneeze, for she had been sitting up in bed for quite a considerable time), “right.”

  To one of Miss Mapp’s experience, the first step of her new and delightful strategic campaign was obvious, and she spent hardly any time at all in the window of her garden-room after breakfast next morning, but set out with her shopping-basket at an unusually early hour. She shuddered as she passed between the front doors of her miscreant neighbours, for the chill of last night’s mist and its dreadful memories still lingered there, but her present errand warmed her soul even as the tepid November day comforted her body. No sign of life was at present evident in those bibulous abodes, no qui-his had indicated breakfast, and she put her utmost irony into the reflection that the United Services slept late after their protracted industry last night over diaries and Roman roads. By a natural revulsion, violent in proportion to the depth of her previous regard for Major Benjy, she hugged herself more closely on the prospect of exposing him than on that of exposing the other. She had had daydreams about Major Benjy and the conversion of these into nightmares annealed her softness into the semblance of some red-hot stone, giving vengeance a concentrated sweetness as of saccharine contrasted with ordinary lump sugar. This sweetness was of so powerful a quality that she momentarily forgot all about the contents of Withers’s letter on the kitchen table, and tripped across to Mr. Hopkins’s with an oblivious smile for him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hopkins,” she said. “I wonder if you’ve got a nice little dab for my dinner to-day? Yes? Will you send it up then, please? What a mild morning, like May!”

  The opening move, of course, was to tell Diva about the revelation that had burst on her the night before. Diva was incomparably the best disseminator of news: she walked so fast, and her telegraphic style was so brisk and lucid. Her terse tongue, her revolving feet! Such a gossip!

  “Diva darling, I had to look in a moment,” said Elizabeth, pecking her affectionately on both cheeks. “Such a bit of news!”

  “Oh, Contessa di Faradidleony,” said Diva sarcastically. “I heard yesterday. Journey put off.”

  Miss Mapp just managed to stifle the excitement which would have betrayed that this was news to her.

  “No, dear, not that,” she said. “I didn’t suspect you of not knowing that. Unfortunate though, isn’t it, just when we were all beginning to believe that there was a Contessa di Faradidleony! What a sweet name! For my part I shall believe in her when I see her. Poor Mr. Wyse!”

  “What’s the news then?” asked Diva.

  “My dear, it all came upon me in a flash,” said Elizabeth. “It explains the portmanteau and the early train and the duel.”

  Diva looked disappointed. She thought this was to be some solid piece of news, not one of Elizabeth’s ideas only.

  “Drive ahead,” she said.

  “They ran away from each other,” said Elizabeth, mouthing her words as if speaking to a totally deaf person who understood lip-reading. “Never mind the cause of the duel: that’s another affair. But whatever the cause,” here she dropped her eyes, “the Major having sent the challenge packed his portmanteau. He ran away, dear Diva, and met Captain Puffin at the station running away too.”

  “But did — —” began Diva.

  “Yes, dear, the note on Captain Puffin’s table to his housekeeper said he was called away suddenly. What called him away? Cowardice, dear! How ignoble it all is. And we’ve all been thinking how brave and wonderful they were. They fled from each other, and came back together and played golf. I never thought it was a game for men. The sand-dunes where they were supposed to be fighting! They might lose a ball there, but that would be the utmost. Not a life. Poor Padre! Going out there to
stop a duel, and only finding a game of golf. But I understand the nature of men better now. What an eye-opener!”

  Diva by this time was trundling away round the room, and longing to be off in order to tell everybody. She could find no hole in Elizabeth’s arguments; it was founded as solidly as a Euclidean proposition.

  “Ever occurred to you that they drink?” she asked. “Believe in Roman roads and diaries? I don’t.”

  Miss Mapp bounded from her chair. Danger flags flapped and crimsoned in her face. What if Diva went flying round Tilling, suggesting that in addition to being cowards those two men were drunkards? They would, as soon as any hint of the further exposure reached them, conclude that she had set the idea on foot, and then ——

  “No, Diva darling,” she said, “don’t dream of imagining such a thing. So dangerous to hint anything of the sort. Cowards they may be, and indeed are, but never have I seen anything that leads me to suppose that they drink. We must give them their due, and stick to what we know; we must not launch accusations wildly about other matters, just because we know they are cowards. A coward need not be a drunkard, thank God! It is all miserable enough, as it is!”

  Having averted this danger, Miss Mapp, with her radiant, excited face, seemed to be bearing all the misery very courageously, and as Diva could no longer be restrained from starting on her morning round they plunged together into the maelstrom of the High Street, riding and whirling in its waters with the solution of the portmanteau and the early train for life-buoy. Very little shopping was done that morning, for every permutation and combination of Tilling society (with the exception, of course, of the cowards) had to be formed on the pavement with a view to the amplest possible discussion. Diva, as might have been expected, gave proof of her accustomed perfidy before long, for she certainly gave the Padre to understand that the chain of inductive reasoning was of her own welding and Elizabeth had to hurry after him to correct this grabbing impression; but the discovery in itself was so great, that small false notes like these could not spoil the glorious harmony. Even Mr. Wyse abandoned his usual neutrality with regard to social politics and left his tall malacca cane in the chemist’s, so keen was his gusto, on seeing Miss Mapp on the pavement outside, to glean any fresh detail of evidence.