Works of E F Benson

by E. F. Benson

  So Lucia felt fairly easy, having planned these treats for Riseholme on Monday, as to her aloofness to-day, and then her conscience brought up the question of the Museum. Here she stoutly defended herself: she knew nothing about the Museum (except what Pepino had seen through the window a few Sundays before); she had not been consulted about the Museum, she was not on the committee, and it was perfectly proper for her to take her party to see it. She could not prevent them bursting into shrieks of laughter at Queen Charlotte’s mittens and Daisy’s drain-pipes, nor could she possibly prevent herself from joining in those shrieks of laughter herself, for surely this was the most ridiculous collection of rubbish ever brought together. A glass case for Queen Charlotte’s mittens, a heap of fossils such as she had chipped out by the score from the old quarry, some fragments of glass (Georgie ought to have known better), some quilts, a dozen coins, lent, only lent, by poor Daisy! In fact the only object of the slightest interest was the pair of stocks which she and Pepino had bought and set up on the village green. She would see about that when she came down in August, and back they should go on to the village green. Then there was the catalogue: who could help laughing at the catalogue which described in most pompous language the contents of this dustbin? There was nothing to be uneasy about over that. And as for Mrs. Boucher having driven right through her party without a glance of recognition, what did that matter? On her own side also, Lucia had given no glance of recognition to Mrs. Boucher: if she had, Mrs. Boucher would have told them all about her asparagus or how her Elizabeth had broken a plate. It was odd, perhaps, that Mrs. Boucher hadn’t stopped . . . and was it rather odd also that, though from the corner of her eye she had seen all Riseholme standing about on the Green, no one had made the smallest sign of welcome? It was true that she had practically cut them (if a process conducted at the distance of fifty yards can be called a cut), but she was not quite sure that she enjoyed the same process herself. Probably it meant nothing; they saw she was engaged with her friends, and very properly had not thrust themselves forward.

  Her guests mostly breakfasted upstairs, but by the middle of the morning they had all straggled down. Lucia had brought with her yesterday her portrait by Sigismund, which Sophy declared was a masterpiece of adagio. She was advising her to clear all other pictures out of the music-room and hang it there alone, like a wonderful slow movement, when Mr. Merriall came in with the Sunday paper.

  “Ah, the paper has come,” said Lucia. “Is not that Riseholmish of us? We never get the Sunday paper till midday.”

  “Better late than never,” said Mr. Merriall, who was rather addicted to quoting proverbial sayings. “I see that Mrs. Shuttleworth’s coming down here to-day. Do ask her to dine and perhaps she’ll sing to us.”

  Lucia paused for a single second, then clapped her hands.

  “Oh, what fun that would be!” she said. “But I don’t think it can be true. Dearest Olga popped in — or did I pop in — yesterday morning in town, and she said nothing about it. No doubt she had not made up her mind then whether she was coming or not. Of course I’ll ring her up at once and scold her for not telling me.”

  Lucia found from Olga’s caretaker that she and a friend were expected, but she knew they couldn’t come to lunch with her, as they were lunching with Mr. Pillson. She ‘couldn’t say, I’m sure’ who the friend was, but promised to give the message that Mrs. Lucas hoped they would both come and dine. . . . The next thing was to ring up Georgie and be wonderfully cordial.

  “Georgino mio, is it ‘oo?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Georgie. He did not have to ask who it was, nor did he feel inclined for baby-talk.

  “Georgino, I never caught a glimpse of you yesterday,” she said. “Why didn’t ‘oo come round and see me?”

  “Because you never asked me,” said Georgie firmly, “and because you never told me you were coming.”

  “Me so sorry,” said Lucia. “But me was so fussed and busy in town. Delicious to be in Riseholme again.”

  “Delicious,” said Georgie.

  Lucia paused a moment.

  “Is Georgino cross with me?” she asked.

  “Not a bit,” said Georgie brightly. “Why?”

  “I didn’t know. And I hear my Olga and a friend are lunching with you. I am hoping they will come and dine with me to-night. And do come in afterwards. We shall be eight already, or of course I should ask you.”

  “Thanks so much, but I’m dining with her,” said Georgie.

  A pause.

  “Well, all of you come and dine here,” said Lucia. “Such amusing people, and I’ll squeeze you in.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t accept for Olga,” said Georgie. “And I’m dining with her, you see.”

  “Well, will you come across after lunch and bring them?” said Lucia. “Or tea?”

  “I don’t know what they will feel inclined to do,” said Georgie. “But I’ll tell them.”

  “Do, and I’ll ring up at lunch-time again, and have ickle talk to my Olga. Who is her friend?”

  Georgie hesitated: he thought he would not give that away just yet. Lucia would know in heaps of time.

  “Oh, just somebody whom she’s possibly bringing down,” he said, and rang off.

  Lucia began to suspect a slight mystery, and she disliked mysteries, except when she made them herself. Olga’s caretaker was ‘sure she couldn’t say,’ and Georgie (Lucia was sure) wouldn’t. So she went back to her guests, and very prudently said that Olga had not arrived at present, and then gave them a wonderful account of her little intime dinner with Olga and Princess Isabel. Such a delightful amusing woman: they must all come and meet Princess Isabel some day soon in town.

  Lucia and her guests, with the exception of Sophy Alingsby who continued to play primitive tunes with one finger on the piano, went for a stroll on the Green before lunch. Mrs. Quantock hurried by with averted face, and naturally everybody wanted to know how the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland was. Lucia amused them by a bright version of poor Daisy’s ouija-board and the story of the mulberry tree.

  “Such dears they all are,” she said. “But too killing. And then she planted broccoli instead of phlox. It’s only in Riseholme that such things happen. You must all come and stay with me in August, and we’ll enter into the life of the place. I adore it, simply adore it. We are always wildly excited about something. . . . And next door is Georgie Pillson’s house. A lamb! I’m devoted to him. He does embroidery, and gave those broken bits of glass to the Museum. And that’s dear Olga’s house at the end of the road. . . .”

  Just as Lucia was kissing her hand to Olga’s house, her eagle eye had seen a motor approaching, and it drew up at Georgie’s house. Two women got out, and there was no doubt whatever who either of them were. They went in at the gate, and he came out of his front door like the cuckoo out of a clock and made a low bow. All this Lucia saw, and though for the moment petrified, she quickly recovered, and turned sharply round.

  “Well, we must be getting home again,” she said, in a rather strangled voice. “It is lunch-time.”

  Mr. Merriall did not turn so quickly, but watched the three figures at Georgie’s door.

  “Appearances are deceptive,” he said. “But isn’t that Olga Shuttleworth and Princess Isabel?”

  “No! Where?” said Lucia looking in the opposite direction.

  “Just gone into that house; Georgie Pillson’s, didn’t you say?”

  “No, really?” said Lucia. “How stupid of me not to have seen them. Shall I pop in now? No, I think I will ring them up presently, unless we find that they have already rung me up.”

  Lucia was putting a brave face on it, but she was far from easy. It looked like a plot: it did indeed, for Olga had never told her she was coming to Riseholme, and Georgie had never told her that Princess Isabel was the friend she was bringing with her. However, there was lunch-time in which to think over what was to be done. But though she talked incessantly and rather satirically about Riseholme, she said
no more about the prima donna and the princess. . . .

  Lucia might have been gratified (or again she might not) if she had known how vivacious a subject of conversation she afforded at Georgie’s select little luncheon party. Princess Isabel (with her mouth now full of Mrs. Boucher’s tomatoes) had been subjected during this last week to an incessant bombardment from Lucia, and had heard on quite good authority that she alluded to her as “Isabel, dear Princess Isabel.”

  “And I will not go to her house,” she said. “It is a free country, and I do not choose to go to her kind house. No doubt she is a very good woman. But I want to hear more of her, for she thrills me. So does your Riseholme. You were talking of the Museum.”

  “Georgie, go on about the Museum,” said Olga.

  “Well,” said Georgie, “there it was. They all went in, and then they all came out again, and one of them was reading my catalogue — I made it — aloud, and they all screamed with laughter.”

  “But I daresay it was a very funny catalogue, Georgie,” said Olga.

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Merriall read out about Queen Charlotte’s mittens presented by Lady Ambermere.”

  “No!” said Olga.

  “Most interesting!” said the Princess. “She was my aunt, big aunt, is it? No, great-aunt — that is it. Afterwards we will go to the Museum and see her mittens. Also, I must see the lady who kills mulberry trees. Olga, can’t you ask her to bring her planchette and prophesy?”

  “Georgie, ring up Daisy, and ask her to come to tea with me,” said Olga. “We must have a weedj.”

  “And I must go for a drive, and I must walk on the Green, and I must have some more delicious apple pie,” began the Princess.

  Georgie had just risen to ring up Daisy, when Foljambe entered with the news that Mrs. Lucas was on the telephone and would like to speak to Olga.

  “Oh, say we’re still at lunch, please, Foljambe,” said she. “Can she send a message? And you say Stephen Merriall is there, Georgie?”

  “No, you said he was there,” said Georgie. “I only described him.”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure it is he, but you will have to go sometime this afternoon and find out. If it is, he’s Hermione, who’s always writing about Lucia in the Evening Gazette. Priceless! So you must go across for a few minutes, Georgie, and make certain.”

  Foljambe came back to ask if Mrs. Lucas might pop in to pay her respects to Princess Isabel.

  “So kind of her, but she must not dream of troubling herself,” said the Princess.

  Foljambe retired and appeared for the third time with a faint, firm smile.

  “Mrs. Lucas will ring up Mrs. Shuttleworth in a quarter of an hour,” she said.

  The Princess finished her apple-tart.

  “And now let us go and see the Museum,” she said.

  Georgie remained behind to ring up Daisy, to explain when Lucia telephoned next that Olga had gone out, and to pay his visit to The Hurst. To pretend that he did not enjoy that, would be to misunderstand him altogether. Lucia had come down here with her smart party and had taken no notice of Riseholme, and now two people a million times smarter had by a clearly providential dealing come down at the same time and were taking no notice of her. Instead they were hobnobbing with people like himself and Daisy whom Lucia had slighted. Then she had laughed at the Museum, and especially at the catalogue and the mittens, and now the great-niece of the owner of the mittens had gone to see them. That was a stinger, in fact it was all a stinger, and well Lucia deserved it.

  He was shown into the music-room, and he had just time to observe that there was a printed envelope on the writing-table addressed to the Evening Gazette, when Lucia and Mr. Merriall came hurrying in.

  “Georgino mio,” said Lucia effusively. “How nice of you to come in. But you’ve not brought your ladies? Oh, this is Mr. Merriall.”

  (Hermione, of the Evening Gazette, it’s proved, thought Georgie.)

  “They thought they wouldn’t add to your big party,” said Georgie sumptuously. (That was another stinger).

  “And was it Princess Isabel I saw at your door?” asked Mr. Merriall with an involuntary glance at the writing-table. (Lucia had not mentioned her since.)

  “Oh yes. They just motored down and took pot-luck with me.”

  “What did you give them?” asked Lucia, forgetting her anxieties for a moment.

  “Oh, just cold lamb and apple tart,” said Georgie.

  “No!” said Lucia. “You ought to have brought them to lunch here. O Georgie, my picture, look. By Sigismund.”

  “Oh yes,” said Georgie. “What’s it of?”

  “Cattivo!” said Lucia. “Why, it’s a portrait of me. Sigismund, you know, he’s the great rage in London just now. Everyone is crazy to be painted by him.”

  “And they look crazy when they are. It’s a mad world, my masters,” said Mr. Merriall.

  “Naughty,” said Lucia. “Is it not wonderful, Georgie?”

  “Yes. I expect it’s very clever,” said Georgie. “Very clever indeed.”

  “I should so like to show it dearest Olga,” said Lucia, “and I’m sure the Princess would be interested in it. She was talking about modern art the other day when I dined with Olga. I wonder if they would look in at tea-time, or indeed any other time.”

  “Not very likely, I’m afraid,” said Georgie, “for Daisy Quantock’s coming to tea, I know. We’re going to weedj. And they’re going out for a drive sometime.”

  “And where are they now?” asked Lucia. It was terrible to have to get news of her intimate friends from Georgie, but how else was she to find out?

  “They went across to see the Museum,” said he. “They were most interested in it.”

  Mr. Merriall waved his hands, just in the same way as Georgie did.

  “Ah, that Museum!” he said. “Those mittens! Shall I ever get over those mittens? Lucia said she would give it the next shoe-lace she broke.”

  “Yes,” said Georgie. “The Princess wanted to see those mittens. Queen Charlotte was her great-aunt. I told them how amused you all were at the mittens.”

  Lucia had been pressing her finger to her forehead, a sign of concentration. She rose as if going back to her other guests.

  “Coming into the garden presently?” she asked, and glided from the room.

  “And so you’re going to have a sitting with the ouija-board,” said Mr. Merriall. “I am intensely interested in ouija. Very odd phenomena certainly occur. Strange but true.”

  A fresh idea had come into Georgie’s head. Lucia certainly had not appeared outside the window that looked into the garden, and so he walked across to the other one which commanded a view of the Green. There she was heading straight for the Museum.

  “It is marvellous,” he said to Mr. Merriall. “We have had some curious results here, too.”

  Mr. Merriall was moving daintily about the room, and Georgie wondered if it would be possible to convert Oxford trousers into an ordinary pair. It was dreadful to think that Olga, even in fun, had suggested that such a man was his double. There was the little cape as well.

  “I have quite fallen in love with your Riseholme,” said Mr. Merriall.

  “We all adore it,” said Georgie, not attending very much because his whole mind was fixed on the progress of Lucia across the Green. Would she catch them in the Museum, or had they already gone? Smaller and smaller grew her figure and her twinkling legs, and at last she crossed the road and vanished behind the belt of shrubs in front of the tithe-barn.

  “All so homey and intimate. ‘Home, Sweet Home,’ in fact,” said Mr. Merriall. “We have been hearing how Mrs. Shuttleworth loves singing in this room.”

  Georgie was instantly on his guard again. It was quite right and proper that Lucia should be punished, and of course Riseholme would know all about it, for indeed Riseholme was administering the punishment. But it was a very different thing to let her down before those who were not Riseholme.

  “Oh yes, she sings here constantly,”
he said. “We are all in and out of each other’s houses. But I must be getting back to mine now.”

  Mr. Merriall longed to be asked to this little ouija party at Olga’s, and at present his hostess had been quite unsuccessful in capturing either of the two great stars. There was no harm in trying. . . .

  “You couldn’t perhaps take me to Mrs. Shuttleworth’s for tea?” he asked.

  “No, I’m afraid I could hardly do that,” said Georgie. “Good-bye. I hope we shall meet again.”

  Nemesis meantime had been dogging Lucia’s footsteps, with more success than Lucia was having in dogging Olga’s. She had arrived, as Georgie had seen, at the Museum, and again paid a shilling to enter that despised exhibition. It was rather full, for visitors who had lunched at the Ambermere Arms had come in, and there was quite a crowd round Queen Charlotte’s mittens, among whom was Lady Ambermere herself who had driven over from the Hall with two depressed guests whom she had forced to come with her. She put up her glasses and stared at Lucia.

  “Ah, Mrs. Lucas!” she said with the singular directness for which she was famous. “For the moment I did not recognise you with your hair like that. It is a fashion that does not commend itself to me. You have come in, of course, to look at Her late Majesty’s mittens, for really there is very little else to see.”

  As a rule, Lucia shamelessly truckled to Lady Ambermere, and schemed to get her to lunch or dinner. But today she didn’t care two straws about her, and while these rather severe remarks were being addressed to her, her eyes darted eagerly round the room in search of those for whom she would have dropped Lady Ambermere without the smallest hesitation.

  “Yes, dear Lady Ambermere,” she said. “So interesting to think that Queen Charlotte wore them. Most good of you to have presented them to our little Museum.”

  “Lent,” said Lady Ambermere. “They are heirlooms in my family. But I am glad to let others enjoy the sight of them. And by a remarkable coincidence I have just had the privilege of showing them to a relative of their late owner. Princess Isabel. I offered to have the case opened for her, and let her try them on. She said, most graciously, that it was not necessary.”