The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 15

OF A TOWN THAT WOULD LAUGH AT THE GREAT. AND HOW A DULL COMPANY WAS CURED BY AN IRISH SONG.

We left the Misses Buzza engaged in rowing their papa homewards.

The Three Queens as they steered King Arthur to Avilion can have been no sadder pageant. It is true the Misses Buzza grieved for no Excalibur, but the Admiral had lost his c.o.c.ked-hat.

Picture to yourself that procession: the journey past the jetties; the faces that grinned down from overhanging hulls, or looked out hurriedly at cas.e.m.e.nts and grew pale; the blue-jerseyed Trojan lounging on the quay, and pausing in his whistle to stare; the Trojan maidens gazing, with arrested needle; the s.h.i.+pwrights dropping mallet and tar-pot; the ferrymen resting on their oars; the makers of s.h.i.+p's biscuit rus.h.i.+ng out, with ap.r.o.ns flying, to see the sight; the butcher, the baker, the candle-stick maker--each and all agog.

Then imagine the Olympian mirth that ran along the waterside when Troy saw the joke, and, hand on hip, laughed with all its lungs.

But even this was not the worst: no, nor the crowd of urchins that followed from the landing-stage and cheered at intervals.

It was when Admiral Buzza looked up and spied the face of Mrs.

Goodwyn-Sandys at an upper window of "The Bower," that the cup of his humiliation indeed brimmed over.

Mrs. Buzza, "t.i.ttivating" at the mirror, heard the stir, and, presentient of evil, rushed down-stairs. She saw her lord restored to her, dear but damp. Yet she "nor swooned, nor uttered cry:" she simply sat violently and suddenly down upon the hall-chair, and piteously stared.

"Emily, get up!"

She did so.

"You are wet, my love," she ventured timorously.

"_Wet!_ Woman, is this the time for airy _persiflage?_"

"My love," replied Mrs. Buzza, meekly, "nothing was further from my thoughts."

The Admiral glared upon her for a moment, but the retort died upon his lips. He flung his hands out with an appealing gesture and something like a sob.

"Emily," he cried, hoa.r.s.ely, "Troy has laughed at me again. Put me to bed."

O forgiving heart of woman! In a moment her arms were about him, and her tears mingling with the general dampness of the Admiral's costume. Then, having wept her fill, she smiled a little, dried her eyes, and put the Admiral to bed.

Out of doors Troy still laughed at the mishap. The whole story was soon related (with infinite humour) by the unfilial Sam. Down at the "Man-o'-War," in the bar-parlour, for seven days it formed the sole topic of discussion; and Mr. Moggridge (who ought to have respected Sophia's father) even wrote a humorous ode upon the theme, beginning--

"Ye G.o.ds and little fishes . . ."

and full of the quaintest conceits. For seven days, from dawn to nightfall, the river off Kit's House was crowded with boat-loads of curious gazers, and the Steam-Tug Company (Limited) neglected its serious business to run special excursions to the scene of the catastrophe.

The Trojan maidens especially would stare at the Notice by the half-hour (that being the time allowed by the Steam-Tug Company), and hope, with much blus.h.i.+ng and giggling, to catch a glimpse of Mr.

Fogo. But the hermit remained steadily indoors.

Meanwhile the Admiral sulked in bed, and nursed his ill-humour.

On Tuesday he was strangely softened and quiet; but:--

On Wednesday he recovered, and began to bully his wife as fiercely as ever.

On Thursday he broke the bell-rope again, and the servant gave warning.

On Friday he threatened to make his will, and refused his food.

On Sat.u.r.day he was still fasting.

On Sunday he ate voraciously, drank four gla.s.ses of grog, and threw the wash-hand basin out of window.

On Monday Mrs. Buzza revolted, and took herself off, with the girls, to Miss Limpenny's party.

Yes. Miss Limpenny had mustered courage to put on her best brooch and call at "The Bower" with Lavinia. Nor did her daring end here; it took the form of a little three-cornered note on that very evening, and on the next morning Mr. and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys accepted.

"Have great pleasure in accepting," read Miss Limpenny to her sister.

"The very words. I'm sure it's most affable."

"We must have cheesecakes--the famous cheesecakes--of course,"

reflected Miss Lavinia, "and a dish of trifle, and jellies, and--oh, Priscilla!"

"What, Lavinia?"

"Do you think a Tipsy Cake would be unbecoming?"

Miss Limpenny knit her brows over this bold proposal.

"I disapprove of the name," she said. "It has always seemed to me a trifle--ahem!--'fast,' if I may call it so. Still, we need not mention its name at supper, and the taste is undeniably grateful.

But, Lavinia, I was thinking of a more important matter. Who are to be asked?"

"Why not everybody, Priscilla dear?"

"The Simpsons, for instance? It is true his father was a respectable solicitor, and even Mayor of Devonport I have heard, but Mr.

Simpson's taste in _badinage_ is such as I cannot always approve.

It is very well in Troy here, where everybody knows them, but the Goodwyn-Sandys are certain to be most particular, and, Lavinia, that crimson gown of hers!"

"It _is_ bright," a.s.sented Miss Lavinia.

"And the Saunders! What a pity the girls cannot be invited without the boys."

"The boys have always come before, Priscilla."

Miss Limpenny groaned. "To meet an Honourable, Lavinia!"

The leaven was working.

However, on the following Monday everybody was a.s.sembled in the little drawing-room. The Vicar was there in evening dress; the doctor and his wife; Mr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson in the crimson gown; the Saunders boys in carpet slippers (at sight of which Miss Limpenny went hot and cold by turns); the Misses Buzza in book-muslin, with ultramarine sashes and bronze shoes laced sandal-wise; their mother in green satin and deadly terror lest the Admiral's voice should penetrate the party-wall. Mr. Moggridge was frowning gloomily in a corner at some humorous story of Sam Buzza's telling. In short, with the exception of their Admiral, all Trojan society had gathered to do honour to the new-comers.

Miss Limpenny, nervously toying with her best brooch, rose in a flutter as the door opened and admitted them.

"So afraid we are late! but the clocks at 'The Bower' have not yet recovered from their journey."

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys gazed calmly about her. There was a rustle throughout the room; two pink spots appeared on Miss Limpenny's cheeks; she stumbled in her words of welcome. The Vicar frowned and looked puzzled.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys wore a low-necked gown!

It was a shock; but it pa.s.sed. She was wonderfully pretty, all admitted, in her gown of a rich amber satin draped with delicate folds of black lace; around her white throat a diamond necklace glistened. How well I can remember her as she stood there toying with a b.u.t.ton of her glove! And how mean and dowdy we all looked beside this glittering vision!