Kitabı oku: «Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes», sayfa 3

PART VI
ROUND PEGS IN SQUARE HOLES

In the Entrance Hall at Wyvern.

Tredwell (to Lady Cantire). This way, if you please, my lady. Her ladyship is in the Hamber Boudwore.

Lady Cantire. Wait. (She looks round.) What has become of that young Mr. Androm – ? (Perceiving Spurrell, who has been modestly endeavouring to efface himself.) Ah, there he is! Now, come along, and be presented to my sister-in-law. She'll be enchanted to know you!

Spurrell. But indeed, my lady, I – I think I'd better wait till she sends for me.

Lady Cantire. Wait? Fiddlesticks! What! A famous young man like you! Remember Andromeda, and don't make yourself so ridiculous!

Spurrell (miserably). Well, Lady Cantire, if her ladyship says anything, I hope you'll bear me out that it wasn't —

Lady Cantire. Bear you out? My good young man, you seem to need somebody to bear you in! Come, you are under my wing. I answer for your welcome – so do as you're told.

Spurrell (to himself, as he follows resignedly). It's my belief there'll be a jolly row when I do go in; but it's not my fault!

Tredwell (opening the door of the Amber Boudoir). Lady Cantire and Lady Maisie Mull (To Spurrell.) What name, if you please, sir?

Spurrell (dolefully). You can say "James Spurrell" – you needn't bellow it, you know!

Tredwell (ignoring this suggestion). Mr. James Spurrell.

Spurrell (to himself, on the threshold). If I don't get the chuck for this, I shall be surprised, that's all!

[He enters.

In a Fly.

Undershell (to himself). Alone with a lovely girl, who has no suspicion, as yet, that I am the poet whose songs have thrilled her with admiration! Could any situation be more romantic? I think I must keep up this little mystification as long as possible.

Phillipson (to herself). I wonder who he is? Somebody's Man, I suppose. I do believe he's struck with me. Well, I've no objection. I don't see why I shouldn't forget Jim now and then – he's quite forgotten me! (Aloud.) They might have sent a decent carriage for us instead of this ramshackle old summerhouse. We shall be hours getting to the house at this rate!

Undershell (gallantly). For my part, I care not how long we may be. I feel so unspeakably content to be where I am.

Phillipson (disdainfully). In this mouldy, lumbering old concern? You must be rather easily contented, then!

Undershell (dreamily). It travels only too swiftly. To me it is a veritable enchanted car, drawn by a magic steed.

Phillipson. I don't know whether he's magic – but I'm sure he's lame. And stuffiness is not my notion of enchantment.

Undershell. I'm not prepared to deny the stuffiness. But cannot you guess what has transformed this vehicle for me – in spite of its undeniable shortcomings – or must I speak more plainly still?

Phillipson. Well, considering the shortness of our acquaintance, I must say you've spoken quite plainly enough as it is!

Undershell. I know I must seem unduly expansive, and wanting in reserve; and yet that is not my true disposition. In general, I feel an almost fastidious shrinking from strangers —

Phillipson (with a little laugh). Really? I shouldn't have thought it!

Undershell. Because, in the present case, I do not – I cannot – feel as if we were strangers. Some mysterious instinct led me, almost from the first, to associate you with a certain Miss Maisie Mull.

Phillipson. Well, I wonder how you discovered that. Though you shouldn't have said "Miss" —Lady Maisie Mull is the proper form.

Undershell (to himself). Lady Maisie Mull! I attach no meaning to titles – and yet nothing but rank could confer such perfect ease and distinction. (Aloud.) I should have said Lady Maisie Mull, undoubtedly – forgive my ignorance. But at least I have divined you. Does nothing tell you who and what I may be?

Phillipson. Oh, I think I can give a tolerable guess at what you are.

Undershell. You recognize the stamp of the Muse upon me, then?

Phillipson. Well, I shouldn't have taken you for a groom exactly.

Undershell (with some chagrin). You are really too flattering!

Phillipson. Am I? Then it's your turn now. You might say you'd never have taken me for a lady's maid!

Undershell. I might – if I had any desire to make an unnecessary and insulting remark.

Phillipson. Insulting? Why, it's what I am! I'm maid to Lady Maisie. I thought your mysterious instinct told you all about it?

Undershell (to himself – after the first shock). A lady's maid! Gracious Heaven! What have I been saying – or rather, what haven't I? (Aloud.) To – to be sure it did. Of course, I quite understand that. (To himself.) Oh, confound it all, I wish we were at Wyvern!

Phillipson. And, after all, you've never told me who you are. Who are you?

Undershell (to himself). I must not humiliate this poor girl! (Aloud.) I? Oh – a very insignificant person, I assure you! (To himself.) This is an occasion in which deception is pardonable – even justifiable!

Phillipson. Oh, I knew that much. But you let out just now you had to do with a Mews. You aren't a rough-rider, are you?

Undershell. N – not exactly– not a rough-rider. (To himself.) Never on a horse in my life! – unless I count my Pegasus. (Aloud.) But you are right in supposing I am connected with a muse – in one sense.

Phillipson. I said so, didn't I? Don't you think it was rather clever of me to spot you, when you're not a bit horsey-looking?

Undershell (with elaborate irony). Accept my compliments on a power of penetration which is simply phenomenal!

Phillipson (giving him a little push). Oh, go along – it's all talk with you – I don't believe you mean a word you say!

Undershell (to himself). She's becoming absolutely vulgar. (Aloud.) I don't – I don't; it's a manner I have; you mustn't attach any importance to it – none whatever!

Phillipson. What! Not to all those high-flown compliments? Do you mean to tell me you are only a gay deceiver, then?

Undershell (in horror). Not a deceiver, no; and decidedly not gay. I mean I did mean the compliments, of course. (To himself.) I mustn't let her suspect anything, or she'll get talking about it; it would be too horrible if this were to get round to Lady Maisie or the Culverins – so undignified; and it would ruin all my prestige! I've only to go on playing a part for a few minutes, and – maid or not – she's a most engaging girl!

[He goes on playing the part, with the unexpected result of sending Miss Phillipson into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

At a Back Entrance at Wyvern. The Fly has just set down Phillipson and Undershell.

Tredwell (receiving Phillipson). Lady Maisie's maid, I presume? I'm the butler here – Mr. Tredwell. Your ladies arrived some time back. I'll take you to the housekeeper, who'll show you their rooms, and where yours is, and I hope you'll find everything comfortable. (In an undertone, indicating Undershell, who is awaiting recognition in the doorway.) Do you happen to know who it is with you?

Phillipson (in a whisper). I can't quite make him out – he's so flighty in his talk. But he says he belongs to some Mews or other.

Tredwell. Oh, then I know who he is. We expect him right enough. He's a partner in a crack firm of Vets. We've sent for him special. I'd better see to him, if you don't mind finding your own way to the housekeeper's room, second door to the left, down that corridor. (Phillipson departs.) Good evening to you, Mr. – ah – Mr. – ?

Undershell (coming forward). Mr. Undershell. Lady Culverin expects me, I believe.

Tredwell. Quite correct, Mr. Undershell, sir. She do. Leastwise, I shouldn't say myself she'd require to see you – well, not before to-morrow morning – but you won't mind that, I dare say.

Undershell (choking). Not mind that! Take me to her at once!

Tredwell. Couldn't take it on myself, sir, really. There's no particular 'urry. I'll let her ladyship know you're 'ere; and if she wants you, she'll send for you; but, with a party staying in the 'ouse, and others dining with us to-night, it ain't likely as she'll have time for you till to-morrow.

Undershell. Oh, then whenever her ladyship should find leisure to recollect my existence, will you have the goodness to inform her that I have taken the liberty of returning to town by the next train?

Tredwell. Lor! Mr. Undershell, you aren't so pressed as all that, are you? I know my lady wouldn't like you to go without seeing you personally; no more wouldn't Sir Rupert. And I understood you was coming down for the Sunday!

Undershell (furious). So did I– but not to be treated like this!

Tredwell (soothingly). Why, you know what ladies are. And you couldn't see Deerfoot – not properly, to-night, either.

Undershell. I have seen enough of this place already. I intend to go back by the next train, I tell you.

Tredwell. But there ain't any next train up to-night – being a loop line – not to mention that I've sent the fly away, and they can't spare no one at the stables to drive you in. Come, sir, make the best of it. I've had my horders to see that you're made comfortable, and Mrs. Pomfret and me will expect the pleasure of your company at supper in the 'ousekeeper's room, 9.30 sharp. I'll send the steward's room boy to show you to your room.

[He goes, leaving Undershell speechless.

Undershell (almost foaming). The insolence of these cursed aristocrats! Lady Culverin will see me when she has time, forsooth! I am to be entertained in the servants' hall! This is how our upper classes honour Poetry! I won't stay a single hour under their infernal roof. I'll walk. But where to? And how about my luggage?

[Phillipson returns.

Phillipson. Mr. Tredwell says you want to go already! It can't be true! Without even waiting for supper?

Undershell (gloomily). Why should I wait for supper in this house?

Phillipson. Well, I shall be there; I don't know if that's any inducement.

[She looks down.

Undershell (to himself). She is a singularly bewitching creature; and I'm starving. Why shouldn't I stay – if only to shame these Culverins? It will be an experience – a study in life. I can always go afterwards. I will stay. (Aloud.) You little know the sacrifice you ask of me, but enough; I give way. We shall meet – (with a gulp) – in the housekeeper's room!

Phillipson (highly amused). You are a comical little man. You'll be the death of me if you go on like that!

[She flits away.

Undershell (alone). I feel disposed to be the death of somebody! Oh, Lady Maisie Mull, to what a bathos have you lured your poet by your artless flattery – a banquet presided over by your aunt's butler!

PART VII
IGNOTUM PRO MIRIFICO

The Amber Boudoir at Wyvern immediately after Lady Cantire and her daughter have entered.

Lady Cantire (in reply to Lady Culverin). Tea? oh yes, my dear; anything warm! I'm positively perished – that tedious cold journey and the long drive afterwards! I always tell Rupert he would see me far oftener at Wyvern if he would only get the company to bring the line round close to the park gates, but it has no effect upon him! (As Tredwell announces Spurrell, who enters in trepidation.) Mr. James Spurrell! Who's Mr. – ? Oh, to be sure; that's the name of my interesting young poet —Andromeda, you know, my dear! Go and be pleasant to him, Albinia, he wants reassuring.

Lady Culverin (a trifle nervous). How do you do, Mr. – ah – Spurrell? (To herself.) I said he ended in "ell"! (Aloud.) So pleased to see you! We think so much of your Andromeda here, you know. Quite delightful of you to find time to run down!

Spurrell (to himself). Why, she's chummy, too! Old Drummy pulls me through everything! (Aloud.) Don't name it, my la – hum – Lady Culverin. No trouble at all; only too proud to get your summons!

Lady Culverin (to herself). He doesn't seem very revolutionary! (Aloud.) That's so sweet of you; when so many must be absolutely fighting to get you!

Spurrell. Oh, as for that, there is rather a run on me just now, but I put everything else aside for you, of course!

Lady Culverin (to herself). He's soon reassured. (Aloud, with a touch of frost.) I am sure we must consider ourselves most fortunate. (Turning to the Countess.) You did say cream, Rohesia? Sugar, Maisie dearest?

Spurrell (to himself). I'm all right up to now! I suppose I'd better say nothing about the horse till they do. I feel rather out of it among these nobs, though. I'll try and chum on to little Lady Maisie again; she may have got over her temper by this time, and she's the only one I know. (He approaches her.) Well, Lady Maisie, here I am, you see. I'd really no idea your aunt would be so friendly! I say, you know, you don't mind speaking to a fellow, do you? I've no one else I can go to – and – and it's a bit strange at first, you know!

Lady Maisie (colouring with mingled apprehension, vexation, and pity). If I can be of any help to you, Mr. Spurrell – !

Spurrell. Well, if you'd only tell me what I ought to do!

Lady Maisie. Surely that's very simple; do nothing; just take everything quietly as it comes, and you can't make any mistakes.

Spurrell (anxiously). And you don't think anybody'll see anything out of the way in my being here like this?

Lady Maisie (to herself). I'm only too afraid they will! (Aloud.) You really must have a little self-confidence. Just remember that no one here could produce anything a millionth part as splendid as your Andromeda! It's too distressing to see you so appallingly humble! (To herself.) There's Captain Thicknesse over there – he might come and rescue me; but he doesn't seem to care to!

Spurrell. Well, you do put some heart into me, Lady Maisie. I feel equal to the lot of 'em now!

Pilliner (to Miss Spelwane). Is that the poet? Why, but I say – he's a fraud! Where's his matted head? He's not a bit ragged, or rusty either. And why don't he dabble? Don't seem to know what to do with his hands quite, though, does he?

Miss Spelwane (coldly). He knows how to do some very exquisite poetry with one of them, at all events. I've been reading it, and I think it perfectly marvellous!

Pilliner. I see what it is, you're preparing to turn his matted head for him? I warn you you'll only waste your sweetness. That pretty little Lady Maisie's annexed him. Can't you content yourself with one victim at a time?

Miss Spelwane. Don't be so utterly idiotic! (To herself.) If Maisie imagines she's to be allowed to monopolise the only man in the room worth talking to! —

Captain Thicknesse (to himself, as he watches Lady Maisie). She is lookin' prettier than ever! Forgotten me. Used to be friendly enough once, though, till her mother warned me off. Seems to have a good deal to say to that poet fellow; saw her colour up from here the moment he came near; he's begun Petrarchin', hang him! I'd cross over and speak to her if I could catch her eye. Don't know, though; what's the use? She wouldn't thank me for interruptin'. She likes these clever chaps; don't signify to her if they are bounders, I suppose. I'm not intellectual. Gad, I wish I'd gone back to Aldershot!

Lady Cantire (by the tea-table). Why don't you make that woman of yours send you up decent cakes, my dear? These are cinders. I'm afraid you let her have too much of her own way. Now, tell me – who are your party? Vivien Spelwane! Never have that girl to meet me again, I can't endure her; and that affected little ape of a Mr. Pilliner – h'm! Do I see Captain Thicknesse? Now, I don't object to him. Maisie and he used to be great friends… Ah, how do you do, Captain Thicknesse? Quite pleasant finding you here; such ages since we saw anything of you! Why haven't you been near us all this time? … Oh, I may have been out once or twice when you called; but you might have tried again, mightn't you? There, I forgive you; you had better go and see if you can make your peace with Maisie!

Captain Thicknesse (to himself, as he obeys). Doosid odd, Lady Cantire comin' round like this. Wish she'd thought of it before.

Lady Cantire (in a whisper). He's always been such a favourite of mine. They tell me his uncle, poor dear Lord Dunderhead, is so ill – felt the loss of his only son so terribly. Of course it will make a great difference – in many ways.

Captain Thicknesse (constrainedly to Lady Maisie). How do you do? Afraid you've forgotten me.

Lady Maisie. Oh no, indeed! (Hurriedly.) You – you don't know Mr. Spurrell, I think? (Introducing them.) Captain Thicknesse.

Captain Thicknesse. How are you? Been hearin' a lot about you lately. Andromeda, don't you know; and that kind of thing.

Spurrell. It's wonderful what a hit she seems to have made – not that I'm surprised at it, either; I always knew —

Lady Maisie (hastily). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, you haven't had any tea! Do go and get some before it's taken away.

[Spurrell goes.

Captain Thicknesse. Been tryin' to get you to notice me ever since you came; but you were so awfully absorbed, you know!

Lady Maisie. Was I? So absorbed as all that! What with?

Captain Thicknesse. Well, it looked like it – with talkin' to your poetical friend.

Lady Maisie (flushing). He is not my friend in particular; I – I admire his poetry, of course.

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). Can't even speak of him without a change of colour. Bad sign that! (Aloud.) You always were keen about poetry and literature and that in the old days, weren't you? Used to rag me for not readin' enough. But I do now. I was readin' a book only last week. I'll tell you the name if you give me a minute to think – book everybody's readin' just now – no end of a clever book.

[Miss Spelwane rushes across to Lady Maisie.

Miss Spelwane. Maisie, dear, how are you? You look so tired! That's the journey, I suppose. (Whispering.) Do tell me – is that really the author of Andromeda drinking tea close by? You're a great friend of his, I know. Do be a dear, and introduce him to me! I declare the dogs have made friends with him already. Poets have such a wonderful attraction for animals, haven't they?

[Lady Maisie has to bring Spurrell up and introduce him; Captain Thicknesse chooses to consider himself dismissed.

Miss Spelwane (with shy adoration). Oh, Mr. Spurrell, I feel as if I must talk to you about Andromeda. I did so admire it!

Spurrell (to himself). Another of 'em! They seem uncommonly sweet on "bulls" in this house! (Aloud.) Very glad to hear you say so, I'm sure. But I'm bound to say she's about as near perfection as anything I ever – I dare say you went over her points —

Miss Spelwane. Indeed, I believe none of them were lost upon me; but my poor little praise must seem so worthless and ignorant!

Spurrell (indulgently). Oh, I wouldn't say that. I find some ladies very knowing about these things. I'm having a picture done of her.

Miss Spelwane. Are you really? How delightful! As a frontispiece?

Spurrell. Eh? Oh no – full length, and sideways – so as to show her legs, you know.

Miss Spelwane. Her legs? Oh, of course– with "her roseal toes cramped." I thought that such a wonderful touch!

Spurrell. They're not more cramped than they ought to be; she never turned them in, you know!

Miss Spelwane (mystified). I didn't suppose she did. And now tell me – if it's not an indiscreet question – when do you expect there'll be another edition?

Spurrell (to himself). Another addition! She's cadging for a pup now! (Aloud.) Oh – er – really – couldn't say.

Miss Spelwane. I'm sure the first must be disposed of by this time. I shall look out for the next so eagerly!

Spurrell (to himself). Time I "off"ed it. (Aloud.) Afraid I can't say anything definite – and, excuse me leaving you, but I think Lady Culverin is looking my way.

Miss Spelwane. Oh, by all means? (To herself.) I might as well praise a pillar-post! And after spending quite half an hour reading him up, too! I wonder if Bertie Pilliner was right; but I shall have him all to myself at dinner.

Lady Cantire. And where is Rupert? too busy of course to come and say a word! Well, some day he may understand what a sister is – when it's too late. Ah, here's our nice unassuming young poet coming up to talk to you. Don't repel him, my dear!

Spurrell (to himself). Better give her the chance of telling me what's wrong with the horse, I suppose. (Aloud.) Er – nice old-fashioned sort of house this, Lady Culverin. (To himself.) I'll work round to the stabling by degrees.

Lady Culverin (coldly). I believe it dates from the Tudors – if that is what you mean.

Lady Cantire. My dear Albinia, I quite understand him; "old-fashioned" is exactly the epithet. And I was born and brought up here, so perhaps I should know.

[A footman enters, and comes up to Spurrell mysteriously.

Footman. Will you let me have your keys, if you please, sir?

Spurrell (in some alarm). My keys! (Suspiciously.) Why, what do you want them for?

Lady Cantire (in a whisper). Isn't he deliciously unsophisticated? Quite a child of nature! (Aloud.) My dear Mr. Spurrell, he wants your keys to unlock your portmanteau and put out your things; you'll be able to dress for dinner all the quicker.

Spurrell. Do you mean – am I to have the honour of sitting down to table with all of you?

Lady Culverin (to herself). Oh, my goodness, what will Rupert say? (Aloud.) Why, of course, Mr. Spurrell; how can you ask?

Spurrell (feebly). I – I didn't know, that was all. (To Footman.) Here you are, then. (To himself.) Put out my things? – he'll find nothing to put out except a nightgown, sponge bag, and a couple of brushes! If I'd only known I should be let in for this, I'd have brought dress-clothes. But how could I? I – I wonder if it would be any good telling 'em quietly how it is. I shouldn't like 'em to think I hadn't got any. (He looks at Lady Cantire and her sister-in-law, who are talking in an undertone.) No, perhaps I'd better let it alone. I – I can allude to it in a joky sort of way when I come down!