Kitabı oku: «Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes», sayfa 10

PART XXI
THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER

In the Morning Room. Time —Sunday morning; just after breakfast.

Captain Thicknesse (outside, to Tredwell). Dogcart round, eh? everything in? All right – shan't be a minute. (Entering.) Hallo, Pilliner, you all alone here? (He looks round disconcertedly.) Don't happen to have seen Lady Maisie about?

Pilliner. Let me see – she was here a little while ago, I fancy… Why? Do you want her?

Captain Thicknesse. No – only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off.

Pilliner. Off? To-day! You don't mean to tell me your chief is such an inconsiderate old ruffian as to expect you to travel back to your Tommies on the Sabbath! You could wait till to-morrow if you wanted to. Come now!

Captain Thicknesse. Perhaps – only, you see, I don't want to.

Pilliner. Well, tastes differ. I shouldn't call a cross-country journey in a slow train, with unlimited opportunities of studying the company's bye-laws and traffic arrangements at several admirably ventilated junctions, the ideal method of spending a cheery Sunday, myself, that's all.

Captain Thicknesse (gloomily). Dare say it will be about as cheery as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.

Pilliner. I admit we were most of us a wee bit chippy at breakfast. The bard conversed – I will say that for him – but he seemed to diffuse a gloom somehow. Shut you up once or twice in a manner that might almost be described as damned offensive.

Captain Thicknesse. Don't know what you all saw in what he said that was so amusin'. Confounded rude I thought it!

Pilliner. Don't think anyone was amused – unless it was Lady Maisie. By the way, he might perhaps have selected a happier topic to hold forth to Sir Rupert on than the scandalous indifference of large landowners to the condition of the rural labourer. Poor dear old boy, he stood it wonderfully, considering. Pity Lady Cantire breakfasted upstairs; she'd have enjoyed herself. However, he had a very good audience in little Lady Maisie.

Captain Thicknesse. I do hate a chap that jaws at breakfast… Where did you say she was?

Lady Maisie's voice (outside, in conservatory). Yes, you really ought to see the orangery and the Elizabethan garden, Mr. Blair. If you will be on the terrace in about five minutes, I could take you round myself. I must go and see if I can get the keys first.

Pilliner. If you want to say good-bye, old fellow, now's your chance!

Captain Thicknesse. It – it don't matter. She's engaged. And, look here, you needn't mention that I was askin' for her.

Pilliner. Of course, old fellow, if you'd rather not. (He glances at him.) But I say, my dear old chap, if that's how it is with you, I don't quite see the sense of chucking it up already, don't you know. No earthly affair of mine, I know; still, if I could manage to stay on, I would, if I were you.

Captain Thicknesse. Hang it all, Pilliner, do you suppose I don't know when the game's up! If it was any good stayin' on – And besides, I've said good-bye to Lady C., and all that. No, it's too late now.

Tredwell (at the door). Excuse me, sir, but if you're going by the 10.40, you haven't any too much time.

Pilliner (to himself after Captain Thicknesse has hurried out). Poor old chap, he does seem hard hit! Pity he's not Lady Maisie's sort. Though what she can see in that long-haired beggar – ! Wonder when Vivien Spelwane intends to come down; never knew her miss breakfast before… What's that rustling?.. Women! I'll be off, or they'll nail me for church before I know it.

[He disappears hastily in the direction of the Smoking-room as Lady Cantire and Mrs. Chatteris enter.

Lady Cantire. Nonsense, my dear, no walk at all; the church is only just across the park. My brother Rupert always goes, and it pleases him to see the Wyvern pew as full as possible. I seldom feel equal to going myself, because I find the necessity of allowing pulpit inaccuracies to pass without a protest gets too much on my nerves; but my daughter will accompany you. You'll have just time to run up and get your things on.

Mrs. Chatteris (with arch significance). I don't fancy I shall have the pleasure of your daughter's society this morning. I just met her going to get the garden keys; I think she has promised to show the grounds to – Well, I needn't mention whom. Oh dear me, I hope I'm not being indiscreet again!

Lady Cantire. I make a point of never interfering with my daughter's proceedings, and you can easily understand how natural it is that such old friends as they have always been —

Mrs. Chatteris. Really? I thought they seemed to take a great pleasure in one another's society. It's quite romantic. But I must rush up and get my bonnet on if I'm to go to church. (To herself, as she goes out.) So she was "Lady Grisoline," after all! If I was her mother – But dear Lady Cantire is so advanced about things.

Lady Cantire (to herself). Darling Maisie! He'll be Lord Dunderhead before very long. How sensible and sweet of her! And I was quite uneasy about them last night at dinner; they scarcely seemed to be talking to each other at all. But there's a great deal more in dear Maisie than one would imagine.

Sir Rupert (outside). We're rather proud of our church, Mr. Undershell – fine old monuments and brasses, if you care about that sort of thing. Some of us will be walking over to service presently, if you would like to —

Undershell (outside – to himself). And lose my tête-à-tête with Lady Maisie! Not exactly! (Aloud.) I am afraid, Sir Rupert, that I cannot conscientiously —

Sir Rupert (hastily). Oh, very well, very well; do exactly as you like about it, of course. I only thought – (To himself.) Now, that other young chap would have gone!

Lady Cantire. Rupert, who is that you are talking to out there? I don't recognise his voice, somehow.

Sir Rupert (entering with Undershell). Ha, Rohesia, you've come down, then? slept well, I hope. I was talking to a gentleman whose acquaintance I know you will be very happy to make – at last. This is the genuine celebrity this time. (To Undershell.) Let me make you known to my sister, Lady Cantire, Mr. Undershell. (As Lady Cantire glares interrogatively.) Mr. Clarion Blair, Rohesia, author of hum – ha —Andromache.

Lady Cantire. I thought we were given to understand last night that Mr. Spurrell – Mr. Blair – you must pardon me, but it's really so very confusing – that the writer of the – ah – volume in question had already left Wyvern.

Sir Rupert. Well, my dear, you see he is still here – er – fortunately for us. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave Mr. Blair to entertain you; got to speak to Adams about something.

[He hurries out.

Undershell (to himself). This must be Lady Maisie's mamma. Better be civil to her, I suppose; but I can't stay here and entertain her long! (Aloud.) Lady Cantire, I – er – have an appointment for which I am already a little late; but before I go, I should like to tell you how much pleasure it has given me to know that my poor verse has won your approval; appreciation from —

Lady Cantire. I'm afraid you must have been misinformed, Mr. – a – Blair. There are so many serious publications claiming attention in these days of literary over-production that I have long made it a rule to read no literature of a lighter order that has not been before the world for at least ten years. I may be mistaken, but I infer from your appearance that your own work must be of a considerably more recent date.

Undershell (to himself). If she imagines she's going to snub Me – ! (Aloud.) Then I was evidently mistaken in gathering from some expressions in your daughter's letter that —

Lady Cantire. Entirely. You are probably thinking of some totally different person, as my daughter has never mentioned having written to you, and is not in the habit of conducting any correspondence without my full knowledge and approval. I think you said you had some appointment; if so, pray don't consider yourself under any necessity to remain here.

Undershell. You are very good; I will not. (To himself, as he retires.) Awful old lady, that! I quite thought she would know all about that letter, or I should never have – However, I said nothing to compromise any one, luckily!

Lady Culverin (entering). Good morning, Rohesia. So glad you felt equal to coming down. I was almost afraid – after last night, you know.

Lady Cantire (offering a cold cheekbone for salutation). I am in my usual health, thank you, Albinia. As to last night, if you must ask a literary Socialist down here, you might at least see that he is received with common courtesy. You may, for anything you can tell, have advanced the Social Revolution ten years in a single evening!

Lady Culverin. My dear Rohesia! If you remember, it was you yourself who – !

Lady Cantire (closing her eyes). I am in no condition to argue about it, Albinia. The slightest exercise of your own common sense would have shown you – But there, no great harm has been done, fortunately, so let us say no more about it. I have something more agreeable to talk about. I've every reason to hope that Maisie and dear Gerald Thicknesse —

Lady Culverin (astonished). Maisie? But I thought Gerald Thicknesse spoke as if – !

Lady Cantire. Very possibly, my dear. I have always refrained from giving him the slightest encouragement, and I wouldn't put any pressure upon dear Maisie for the world – still, I have my feelings as a mother, and I can't deny that, with such prospects as he has now, it is gratifying for me to think that they may be coming to an understanding together at this very moment. She is showing him the grounds; which I always think are the great charm of Wyvern, so secluded!

Lady Culverin (puzzled). Together! At this very moment! But – but surely Gerald has gone?

Lady Cantire. Gone! What nonsense, Albinia! Where in the world should he have gone to?

Lady Culverin. He was leaving by the 10.40, I know. For Aldershot. I ordered the cart for him, and he said good-bye after breakfast. He seemed so dreadfully down, poor fellow, and I quite concluded from what he said that Maisie must have —

Lady Cantire. Impossible, my dear, quite impossible! I tell you he is here. Why, only a few minutes ago, Mrs. Chatteris was telling me – Ah, here she is to speak for herself. (To Mrs. Chatteris, who appears, arrayed for divine service.) Mrs. Chatteris, did I, or did I not, understand you to say just now that my daughter Maisie – ?

Mrs. Chatteris (alarmed). But, dear Lady Cantire, I had no idea you would disapprove. Indeed you seemed – And really, though she certainly seems to find him rather well —sympathetic– I'm sure —almost sure – there can be nothing serious – at present.

Lady Cantire. Thank you, my dear, I merely wished for an answer to my question. And you see, Albinia, that Gerald Thicknesse can hardly have gone yet, since he is walking about the grounds with Maisie.

Mrs. Chatteris. Captain Thicknesse? But he has gone, Lady Cantire! I saw him start. I didn't mean him.

Lady Cantire. Indeed? then I shall be obliged if you will say who it is you did mean.

Mrs. Chatteris. Why, only her old friend and admirer – that little poet man, Mr. Blair.

Lady Cantire (to herself). And I actually sent him to her! (Rising in majestic wrath.) Albinia, whatever comes of this, remember I shall hold you entirely responsible!

[She sweeps out of the room; the other two ladies look after her, and then at one another, in silent consternation.

PART XXII
A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS

In the Elizabethan Garden. Lady Maisie and Undershell are on a seat in the Yew Walk. Time —About 11 A.M.

Lady Maisie (softly). And you really meant to go away, and never let one of us know what had happened to you!

Undershell (to himself). How easy it is after all to be a hero! (Aloud.) That certainly was my intention, only I was – er – not permitted to carry it out. I trust you don't consider I should have been to blame?

Lady Maisie (with shining eyes). To blame? Mr. Blair! As if I could possibly do that! (To herself.) He doesn't even see how splendid it was of him!

Undershell (to himself). I begin to believe that I can do no wrong in her eyes! (Aloud.) It was not altogether easy, believe me, to leave without even having seen your face; but I felt so strongly that it was better so.

Lady Maisie (looking down). And – do you still feel that?

Undershell. I must confess that I am well content to have failed. It was such unspeakable torture to think that you, Lady Maisie, you of all people, would derive your sole idea of my personality from such an irredeemable vulgarian as that veterinary surgeon – the man Spurrell!

Lady Maisie (to herself, with an almost imperceptible start). I suppose it's only natural he should feel like that – but I wish – I do wish he had put it just a little differently! (Aloud.) Poor Mr. Spurrell! perhaps he was not exactly —

Undershell. Not exactly! I assure you it is simply inconceivable to me that, in a circle of any pretensions to culture and refinement, an ill-bred boor like that could have been accepted for a single moment as – I won't say a Man of Genius, but —

Lady Maisie (the light dying out of her eyes). No, don't– don't go on, Mr. Blair. We were all excessively stupid, no doubt, but you must make allowances for us – for me, especially. I have had so few opportunities of meeting people who are really distinguished – in literature, at least. Most of the people I know best are – well, not exactly clever, you know. I so often wish I was in a set that cared rather more about intellectual things!

Undershell (with infinite pity). How you must have pined for freer air! How you must have starved on such mental provender as, for example, the vapid and inane commonplaces of that swaggering carpet-soldier, Captain – Thickset, isn't it?

Lady Maisie (drawing back into her corner). You evidently don't know that Captain Thicknesse distinguished himself greatly in the Soudan, where he was very severely wounded.

Undershell. Possibly; but that is scarcely to the point. I do not question his efficiency as a fighting animal. As to his intelligence, perhaps, the less said the better.

Lady Maisie (contracting her brows). Decidedly. I ought to have mentioned at once that Captain Thicknesse is a very old friend of mine.

Undershell. Really? He, at least, may be congratulated. But pray don't think that I spoke with any personal animus; I merely happen to entertain a peculiar aversion for a class whose profession is systematic slaughter. In these Democratic times, when Humanity is advancing by leaps and bounds towards International Solidarity, soldiers are such grotesque and unnecessary anachronisms.

Lady Maisie (to herself, with a little shiver). Oh, why does he – why does he? (Aloud.) I should have thought that, until war itself is an anachronism, men who are willing to fight and die for their country could never be quite unnecessary. But we won't discuss Captain Thicknesse, particularly now that he has left Wyvern. Suppose we go back to Mr. Spurrell. I know, of course, that, in leaving him in ignorance as you did, you acted from the best and highest motives; but still —

Undershell. It is refreshing to be so thoroughly understood! I think I know what your "but still" implies – why did I not foresee that he would infallibly betray himself before long? I did. But I gave him credit for being able to sustain his part for another hour or two – until I had gone, in fact.

Lady Maisie. Then you didn't wish to spare his feelings as well as ours?

Undershell. To be quite frank, I didn't trouble myself about him: my sole object was to retreat with dignity; he had got himself somehow or other into a false position he must get out of as best he could. After all, he would be none the worse for having filled my place for a few hours.

Lady Maisie (slowly). I see. It didn't matter to you whether he was suspected of being an impostor, or made to feel uncomfortable, or – or anything. Wasn't that a little unfeeling of you?

Undershell. Unfeeling! I allowed him to keep my evening clothes, which is more than a good many —

Lady Maisie. At all events, he may have had to pay more heavily than you imagine. I wonder whether – But I suppose anything so unromantic as the love affairs of a veterinary surgeon would have no interest for you?

Undershell. Why not, Lady Maisie? To the Student of Humanity, and still more to the Poet, the humblest love-story may have its interesting – even its suggestive – aspect.

Lady Maisie. Well, I may tell you that it seems Mr. Spurrell has long been attached, if not actually engaged, to a maid of mine.

Undershell (startled out of his self-possession). You – you don't mean to Miss Phillipson?

Lady Maisie. That is her name. How very odd that you – But perhaps Mr. Spurrell mentioned it to you last night?

Undershell (recovering his sangfroid). I am hardly likely to have heard of it from any other quarter.

Lady Maisie. Of course not. And did he tell you that she was here, in this very house?

Undershell. No, he never mentioned that. What a remarkable coincidence!

Lady Maisie. Yes, rather. The worst of it is that the foolish girl seems to have heard that he was a guest here, and have jumped to the conclusion that he had ceased to care for her; so she revenged herself by a desperate flirtation with some worthless wretch she met in the housekeeper's room, whose flattery and admiration, I'm very much afraid, have completely turned her head!

Undershell (uncomfortably). Ah, well, she must learn to forget him, and no doubt, in time – How wonderful the pale sunlight is on that yew hedge!

Lady Maisie. You are not very sympathetic! I should not have told you at all, only I wanted to show you that if poor Mr. Spurrell did innocently usurp your place, he may have lost – But I see all this only bores you.

Undershell. Candidly, Lady Maisie, I can't affect a very keen interest in the – er – gossip of the housekeeper's room. Indeed, I am rather surprised that you should condescend to listen to —

Lady Maisie (to herself). This is really too much! (Aloud.) It never occurred to me that I was "condescending" in taking an interest in a pretty and wayward girl who happens to be my maid. But then, I'm not a Democrat, Mr. Blair.

Undershell. I – I'm afraid you construed my remark as a rebuke; which it was not at all intended to be.

Lady Maisie. It would have been rather superfluous if it had been, wouldn't it? (Observing his growing uneasiness.) I'm afraid you don't find this bench quite comfortable?

Undershell. I – er – moderately so. (To himself.) There's a female figure coming down the terrace steps. It's horribly like – But that must be my morbid fancy; still, if I can get Lady Maisie away, just in case – (Aloud.) D – don't you think sitting still becomes a little – er – monotonous after a time? Couldn't we —

[He rises, spasmodically.

Lady Maisie (rising too). Certainly; we have sat here quite long enough. It is time we went back.

Undershell (to himself). We shall meet her! and I'm almost sure it's – I must prevent any – (Aloud.) Not back, Lady Maisie! You – you promised to show me the orchid-house – you did, indeed!

Lady Maisie. Very well; we can go in, if you care about orchids. It's on our way back.

Undershell (to himself). This is too awful! It is that girl Phillipson. She is looking for somebody! Me! (Aloud.) On second thoughts, I don't think I do care to see the orchids. I detest them; they are such weird, unnatural, extravagant things. Let us turn back and see if there are any snowdrops on the lawn behind that hedge. I love the snowdrop, it is so trustful and innocent, with its pure green-veined – Do come and search for snowdrops!

Lady Maisie. Not just now. I think – (as she shields her eyes with one hand) – I'm not quite sure yet – but I rather fancy that must be my maid at the other end of the walk.

Undershell (eagerly). I assure you, Lady Maisie, you are quite mistaken. Not the least like her!

Lady Maisie (astonished). Why, how can you possibly tell that, without having seen her, Mr. Blair?

Undershell. I – I meant – You described her as "pretty," you know. This girl is plain – distinctly plain!

Lady Maisie. I don't agree at all. However, it certainly is Phillipson, and she seems to have come out in search of me; so I had better see if she has any message.

Undershell. She hasn't. I'm positive she hasn't. She – she wouldn't walk like that if she had. (In feverish anxiety.) Lady Maisie, shall we turn back? She – she hasn't seen us yet!

Lady Maisie. Really, Mr. Blair! I don't quite see why I should run away from my own maid!.. What is it, Phillipson?

[She advances to meet Phillipson, leaving Undershell behind, motionless.

Undershell (to himself). It's all over! That confounded girl recognises me. I saw her face change! She'll be jealous, I know she'll be jealous – and then she'll tell Lady Maisie everything!.. I wish to Heaven I could hear what she is saying. Lady Maisie seems agitated… I – I might stroll gently on and leave them; but it would look too like running away, perhaps. No, I'll stay here and face it out like a man! I won't give up just yet. (He sinks limply upon the bench.) After all, I've been in worse holes than this since I came into this infernal place, and I've always managed to scramble out – triumphantly too! If she will only give me five minutes alone, I know I can clear myself; it isn't as if I had done anything to be ashamed of… She's sent away that girl. She seems to be expecting me to come to her… I – I suppose I'd better.

[He rises with effort, and goes towards Lady Maisie with a jaunty unconsciousness that somehow has the air of stopping short just above the knees.