The Lady of the Basement Flat Part 12

"You have cut the knot with your heroic rescue! The Squire will call; the General will call; the neighbouring sheep will follow in their train. We shall be graciously 'forgiven' and admitted into the fold.

Our quiet, sent-to-Coventry existence is at an end."

I looked at her anxiously. From voice and manner it was impossible to tell what she was really feeling. Above all things I wanted to please her. But still--

"Are you sorry, Charmion? Would you be sorry? I suppose they _will_ come, but there is no necessity to receive them, if you would rather not. After ignoring us so long, they could not complain. I will leave it to you to decide."

"Then they shall come," she said firmly. "You've been a brick about it, dear, but I'm not blind. I know that it has been a trial for you to be cut off from general society. You are a sociable creature, and need friends around you. We have had a happy _tete-a-tete_, and I've enjoyed it thoroughly, but it couldn't go on. I should not have _allowed_ it to go on. I am a selfish woman in many ways, but not selfish enough to make a hermit of you at twenty-six. So!--let them all come. In any case, we shall probably be making a move before very long, so we can't be drawn very deeply into the rustic maelstrom!"

"_We shall be making a move_."

The words gave me a jar. My "Kensington" flat is now in order, and ready to receive my furniture whenever I care to send it in. I am still in love with the Pixie scheme; but, while summer lasts, and the garden grows more beautiful every day, I want to stay here! In my own mind I had settled down till September at least. I had believed that Charmion was as happy as myself, but now the old restlessness sounded in her voice. I looked at her, and saw her eyes staring wearily into s.p.a.ce.

Oh dear, oh dear, the narcotic of the new life is already losing its power; the grim spectre of the past is casting its shadow between us!

They have called! This afternoon, when we were having tea in the garden, General Underwood's bath-chair appeared suddenly on the scene.

First came a crunching of gravel, and when we turned our heads to discover the cause, the front wheel was already turning the corner of the path, and the next moment there was the General smiling benevolently upon us, the valet pus.h.i.+ng the handle, and walking by his side the Squire himself, very red in the face and puckered about the brow, exactly like a naughty boy who is being dragged forward to say he is "sorry."

Fortunately there was no time to consider the situation. We shook hands, and found a chair for Mr Maplestone, and ordered more tea, and discussed the weather in its various branches, all with the utmost propriety, until gradually the ice thawed. Charmion is a gracious hostess, and the General is as genial and simple in manner as most men who have spent their lives "east of the Suez". After five minutes in his society one understands why he is the idol of the neighbourhood. He looks ill, poor dear, but his blue eyes are still clear and alert, and he twinkles them at you in such a shrewd, kindly fas.h.i.+on.

Not a word did he say about the accident until tea was half over and I handed him some cake, when he looked full at me, and asked slyly:--

"How is the poor arm?"

"Progressing beautifully, thank you. _And_--the poor feet?"

"Ah," he said eloquently, "that was a moment! I am ashamed of my ingrat.i.tude; but, my dear young lady, if you could have felt--"

"I know," I said humbly. "Eight stone six. But I had no choice; and at the worst, it was not so bad as being spilt into the road."

"Indeed, yes. I am under the impression that I owe you a great deal.

It is difficult to express--"

"Please don't!" I said hastily. "I could hardly have done less, but I could very easily have done it in a less clumsy way; and--it's so embarra.s.sing to be thanked! Let us talk of something else. Would you care to see our garden? We have worked very hard at it all spring, and are so proud of our effects. We love showing people round!"

Then I suddenly remembered and blushed, and glanced guiltily at the Squire, to discover that he was doing exactly the same at me, and we all three got up in a hurry, and disputed who should push the bath-chair.

The Squire did it, of course, and Charmion and I walked one on each side and played show-women, and the dear old man admired everything he saw, and asked for seeds in the autumn, and offered _us_ seeds in return, and did everything nice and polite that nice polite people do do on garden visits.

As for the Squire, he kept on saying nothing.

Our tour ended at the gate, and when we said our final good-byes, General Underwood explained he was not up to calling, as he was often unable to go out, but that at any time, if we could spare half an hour to visit _him_, it would be doing a kindness to a lonely old man. "And will you allow me to wish you much happiness and prosperity in your beautiful home?"

Charmion thanked him with serene unconsciousness, and the Squire and I stared elaborately into s.p.a.ce, so elaborately that on parting we made two separate dives before we succeeded in finding each other's hands.

Then the valet came forward, and the little procession turned out of the gate.

"Charmion," I said solemnly, "I feel a worm. That dear, heroic old man!

I wish we had let him have 'Pastimes' ten times over."

"Mistaken heroism, my dear. He can be still more heroic at 'Uplands'."

"Er--what do you think of--the other one?"

"Er--honestly, Evelyn, I don't think of him at all!"

Mrs Maplestone has called, and the three or four other county magnates, none of them particularly interesting from our point of view. We are now formally and definitely "received," and the first result has been a violent increase of intimacy on the part of the Vicar's wife. I think she has always "hankered" to know us, but not having enough individuality to act for herself, she has waited for a lead before taking the plunge.

Now it appears that she is organising a garden fete and wants us to help. It is her own idea, and she says it is for the organ fund. I don't want to be uncharitable, but I think it is equally designed for the amus.e.m.e.nt and diversion of Delphine Merrivale! I am uneasy about that girl. Nature never designed her for a clergyman's wife; she is restless and bored, while that dear, good, fine man, who loves her so much, is as blind as a bat, and believes that all is well. To-day she sent for me to come to tea, and he came into the room while she was volubly discussing various plans, which struck me as likely to cost more money than they were ever likely to gain. When he appeared she gave a little shrug of impatience, and for a few moments lapsed into silence, but her self-control being soon exhausted, she took up her tale and babbled on as enthusiastically as before.

It appears that every summer a "Sale" is held in the vicarage garden to dispose of the articles manufactured by the "Working Party" throughout the winter session. They consist of serviceable garments for the poor, which are eagerly purchased by the members of the Needlework Guild, and also of a selection of "fancy" articles which n.o.body wants, such as brush and comb bags of pink and white crochet, shaving paper cases with embroidered backs (first catch the man who uses them!) and handkerchief sachets of white satin, on which are painted (badly) sprays of wild roses and maidenhair fern!

The parish has always meekly a.s.sembled itself together for the fray, paid threepence for a plain tea, and departed peacefully on its way; but this year--_this_ year, there is to be a band, and a man to cut out silhouettes, and ices, and strawberries and cream, and quite a variety of excitements.

"A treasure hunt for one, at an entrance fee of a s.h.i.+lling a head. The treasures to be supplied as voluntary offerings by the ladies of the neighbourhood."

Mrs Merrivale paused and c.o.c.ked an interrogative eye at me, and her husband said gently:--

"Dear, aren't you too ambitious? Our ordinary quiet sale has done very well until now. Why land yourself with a great deal of extra work and fatigue, to say nothing of expense, for an altogether problematical result!"

"Oh, Jacky," she cried deeply. "It is not problematical. We shall make pounds and pounds. I don't mind the work. I like it. Think how lovely it would be if we could clear off the whole debt!"

He smiled at her with the tenderest appreciation. Oh, if any man looked at me like that, I would work my fingers to the bone to help him.

Honestly and truly, he believed that she was bracing herself to the fray out of the purest, most disinterested motives. Never for one moment did it occur to him that a grown woman could hanker after such ploys for her own amus.e.m.e.nt. There is much in his unconsciousness which is beautiful, but--there is danger, too! Surely, surely when two people live together in such a terribly close relations.h.i.+p as husband and wife, before all things it must be necessary to understand!

"Then I leave it to you, dearest," he said. "Arrange as you think best.

And now, if Miss Wastneys will excuse me, I must say good-bye. Poor Mrs Evans is worse this afternoon. They fear that an operation may be necessary. She has had terrible pain."

Mrs Merrivale threw out her hand impulsively. I was amazed to see that she had grown quite white.

"Don't, Jacky--don't! You know _I_ can't bear it. _Why_ will you speak of such things when I have begged you not?"

"I'm sorry, darling. I forgot. My mind was so engrossed." He laid his hand on her shoulder as he pa.s.sed, and said to me, in an apologetic voice, "This poor child is so sensitive. The pain of the world wounds her tender heart. I am inconsiderate in bringing my burdens to her."

The door shut behind him, and we stared at one another for a long tense moment. I _knew_, and she knew that I knew, and suddenly the long strain of pretending to be what she was not reached the snapping point, and she spoke out in a burst of impotent irritation:--

"It's not true! I'm _not_ tender-hearted. They don't wound me at all, all these sordid miserable details; they just irritate and disgust and asphyxiate. Oh, I'm so tired of it all--so _tired_--and he doesn't see, doesn't understand! He puts me on a pedestal, and burns incense at my feet, and believes that I am as interested as himself, and all the time--all the time I am smothered with boredom and impatience. I don't know why I am saying all this to you. Yes, I do. I saw in your eyes that you saw through me, and knew what I really felt. Now I suppose you are horribly shocked?"

"Not a bit. I don't understand enough to judge you one way or another; but I wish, as you have begun, you would tell me a little more. I'm young myself, you see, so I should probably understand. Lots of people tell me their secrets, and I'm always sorry, and very rarely shocked.

We all have our own faults. Why should we be so very hard on other people because theirs are a different brand from our own?"

She stared at me with her big blue eyes.

"What are your faults?"

"Well," I laughed, "the list would take a long time! Shall we leave it for another day? What I want to know now is, why, with your temperament, did you come to marry a country parson?"

"Because I loved him, of course," came the ready reply. "He came to take duty in our church while our own clergyman was ill, and he stayed in our house. He was so much older than I--fifteen years--that I never thought of him--like that! I just thought he was a dear, and liked to talk to him, and show him about the garden, and get him to help me in little odd ways. He was so learned and serious and staid that all the others were in awe of him, but I ordered him about, and made him wait on me, and teased him because he did it so badly. It was such fun! I enjoyed myself frightfully. Mother read me a long lecture one night, and said Mr Merrivale would be pained to see father's daughter was such a frivolous girl. But he wasn't. He fell in love with me instead.

Doesn't that seem queer?"

I didn't think it was queer at all. Imagination conjured up scenes in the summer garden where the gay pretty girl had held her little court, and queened it over the grave, silent man. It was a thousand to one on his falling under the spell. The mischief of it was that he had expected the marriage ceremony to convert a b.u.t.terfly into a staid, parochial wife. John Courtney Merrivale had a thousand virtues, but imagination was not his strong point.