CHAPTER XXI
THE SOUL OF MRS. POTTEN
Mrs. Potten was emerging from a shop in Broad Street when she caughtsight of Mr. Bingham, in cap and gown, passing her and called to him. Hestopped and walked a few steps with her, while she informed him that theproceeds of the Sale had come to ninety-three pounds, ten shillings andthreepence; but this was only in order to find out whether he had heardof that poor dear Warden's engagement. It was all so very foolish!
"Only that!" said Bingham, who was evidently in ignorance of the event;"and after I bought a table-cloth, which I find goes badly with mycurtains, and bedroom slippers, that are too small now I've tried themon. Well, Mrs. Potten, you did your best, anyhow, flinging notes aboutall over Christ Church. Was the second note found?"
"The second note?" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "What d'ye mean?"
"You dropped one note at Christ Church, and you would have lost anotherif Harding hadn't discovered that you had given him an extra note andrestored it to Miss Scott. I suppose Miss Scott pretended that it wasshe who had been clever enough to rescue the note for you?"
"No, she did not," said Mrs. Potten; and here she paused and remainedsilent, for her brain was seething with tumultuous thoughts.
"Well, but for Harding, the Sale would have made a cool ninety-threepounds, fifteen shillings and threepence. Do you follow me?"
Mrs. Potten did follow him and with much agitation.
"How do you know it was my note and not Miss Scott's own note?" sheasked, and there was in her tone a twang of cunning, for Bingham'sremarks had roused not only the emotional superficies of Mrs. Potten'snature, but had pierced to the very core where lay the thought of money.
"Because," replied Bingham, "Miss Scott, who was running like atwo-year-old, was not likely to have unfastened your note and fitted oneof her own under it so tightly that Harding, whose mind is quiteaccustomed to the solution of simple problems, had to blow 'poof' toseparate them. No, take the blame on yourself, Mrs. Potten, and infuture have a purse-bearer."
Mrs. Potten's mind was in such a state of inward indignation that shewent past the chemist's shop, and was now within a few yards of theSheldonian Theatre. She had become forgetful of time and place, and wasmuttering to herself--
"What a little baggage--what a little minx!" and other remarks unheardby Bingham.
"I see you are admiring that semicircle of splendid heads that crown thepalisading of the Sheldonian," said Bingham, as they came up close tothe historic building.
"Admiring them!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten. "They are monstrosities."
"They are perfectly sweet, as ladies say," contradicted Bingham; "wewouldn't part with them for the world."
"What are they?" demanded Mrs. Potten, trying hard to preserve anoutward calm and discretion.
"Jupiter Tonans--or Plato," said Bingham, "and in progressive stages ofsenility."
"Why don't you have handsome heads?" said Mrs. Potten, and she began tocross the road with Bingham. Bingham was crossing the road because hewas going that way, and Mrs. Potten drifted along with him because shewas too much excited to think out the matter.
"They are handsome," said Bingham.
Mrs. Potten was speechless. Suddenly she discovered that she washurrying in the wrong direction, just as if she were running away withMr. Bingham. She paused at the curb of the opposite pavement.
"Mr. Bingham," she said, arresting him.
He stopped.
"I must go back," she said. "I quite forgot that my car may be waitingfor me at the chemist's!" and then she fumbled with her bag, and thenlooked thoughtfully into Bingham's face as they stood together on thecurb. "Bernard always lunches with me on Sundays," she said; "I shall beglad to see you any Sunday if you want a walk, and we can talk about theremoval of those heads."
Bingham gave a cordial but elusive reply, and, raising his cap, hesauntered away eastwards, his gown flying out behind him in the lightautumn wind.
Mrs. Potten re-crossed the road and walked slowly back to the chemist's.Her car was there waiting for her, and it contained her weeklygroceries, her leg of mutton, and the unbleached calico for the makingof hospital slings which she had bought in Queen's Street, because shecould obtain it there at 4 1/2d. per yard.
She went into the chemist's and bought some patent pills, all the timethinking hard. She had two witnesses to Gwendolen Scott's havingpossession of the note: Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham; and one witness,Lady Dashwood, to her having delivered the collar and not the note! Allthese witnesses were unconscious of the meaning of the transaction.She, Mrs. Potten, alone could piece together the evidence and know whatit meant, and it was by a mere chance that she had been able to do this.If she had not met Mr. Bingham (and she had never met him before in thestreet), and if she had not happened to have mentioned the proceeds ofthe Sale, she would still be under the impression that the note had beenmislaid.
"And the impertinence of the young woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Potten, as shepaid for her pills. "And she fancies herself in a position of trust, ifyou please! She means to figure, if you please, at the head of anestablishment where we send our sons to be kept out of mischief for abit! Well, I never heard of anything like it. Why, she'll be tamperingwith the bills!"
Mrs. Potten's indignation did not wane as the moments passed, but ratherwaxed.
"And her mother is condescending about the engagement! Why," added Mrs.Potten to herself with emphasis, as she got into her car--"why, if thishad happened with one of my maids, I should have put it into the handsof the police."
"The Lodgings, King's," she said to the chauffeur. What was she going todo when she got there?
Mrs. Potten had no intention of bursting into the Lodgings in order todemand an explanation from Miss Scott. No, thank you, Miss Scott mustwait upon Mrs. Potten. She must come out to Potten End and make herexplanation! But Mrs. Potten was going to the Lodgings merely to ensurethat this would be done on the instant.
"Don't drive in," she called, and getting out of the car she walked intothe court and went up the two shallow steps of the front door and rangat the bell.
The retrousse nose of Robinson Junior appeared at the opened door. LadyDashwood was not at home and was not expected till half-past one. Itwas then one o'clock. Mrs. Potten mused for a little and then asked ifshe might see Lady Dashwood's maid for a moment. Robinson Juniorsuppressed his scornful surprise that any one should want to see Louise,and ushered Mrs. Potten into the Warden's breakfast-room, and there,seating herself near the window, she searched for a visiting card and apencil. Louise appeared very promptly.
"Madame wishes something?" she remarked as she closed the door behindher, and stood surveying Mrs. Potten from that distance.
"I do," said Mrs. Potten, taking in Louise's untidy blouse, her plainfeatures, thick complexion and luminous brown eyes in one comprehensiveglance. "Can you tell me if Miss Scott will be in for luncheon?" Mrs.Potten spoke French with a strong English accent and much originality ofstyle.
Yes, Miss Scott was returning to luncheon.
"And do you know if the ladies have afternoon engagements?"
Louise thought they had none, because Lady Dashwood was to be at home totea. That she knew for certain, and she added in a voice fraught withimport: "I shall urge Madame to rest after lunch."
"Humph! I see you look after her properly," said Mrs. Potten, beginningto write on her card with the pencil; "I thought she was looking verytired when I saw her this morning."
"Tired!" exclaimed Louise; "Madame is always tired in Oxford."
"Relaxing climate," said Mrs. Potten as she wrote.
"And this house does not suit Madame," continued Louise, motionless atthe door.
"The drains wrong, perhaps," said Mrs. Potten, with absoluteindifference.
"I know nothing of drains, Madame," said Louise, "I speak of otherthings."
"Sans doute il y a du 'dry rot,'" said Mrs. Potten, looking at what shehad written.
"Ah!" exclaimed Louise, clasping her hands, "Madame has
heard; I did notknow his name, but what matter? Ghosts are always ghosts, and my LadyDashwood has never been the same since that night, never!"
Mrs. Potten stared but she did not express surprise, she wanted to hearmore without asking for more.
"Madame knows that the ghost comes to bring bad news about the Warden!"
"Bad news!" said Mrs. Potten, and she put her pencil back into her bagand wondered whether the news of the Warden's engagement had reached theservants' quarters.
"A disaster," said Louise. "Always a disaster--to Monsieur the Warden.Madame understands?"
Louise gazed at Mrs. Potten as if she hoped that that lady hadinformation to give her. But Mrs. Potten had none. She was merelythinking deeply.
"Well," she said, rising, "I suppose most old houses pretend to haveghosts. We have one at Potten End, but I have never seen it myself, and,as far as I know, it does no harm and no good. But Madame didn't see theghost you speak of?" and here Mrs. Potten smiled a little satirically.
"It was Miss Scott," said Louise, darkly.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Potten, with a short laugh. "Oh, well!" and she cametowards the maid with the card in her hand. "Now, will you be goodenough to give this to Madame the moment that she returns and say thatit is 'Urgent,' d'une importance extreme."
"Well," said Mrs. Potten to herself, as she walked through the court andgained the street, "and I should think it _was_ a disaster for a quiet,respectable Warden of an Oxford college to marry a person of the Scotttype."
As to Louise, when she had closed the front door on Mrs. Potten'sretreating figure, she gazed hard at the card in her hand. The writingwas as follows:--
"Dear Lena,
"Can Miss Scott come to see me this afternoon without fail? Very kindly allow her to come early.
"M. P."
It did not contain anything more.
Now, Mrs. Potten really believed in ghosts, but she thought of them asdreary, uninteresting intruders on the world's history. There wasHamlet's father's ghost that spoke at such length, and there was thespirit that made Abraham's hair stand on end as it passed before him,and then there was the ghost of Samuel that appeared to Saul andprophesied evil. But of all ghosts, the one that Mrs. Potten thoughtmost dismal, was the ghost of the man-servant who came out from amansion, full of light and music, one winter night on a Devon bye-road.There he stood in the snow directing the lost travellers to the nearestinn, and (this was what struck Mrs. Potten's soul to the core) thehalf-crown (an actual precious piece of money) that was dropped into hishand--fell through the palm--on to the snow--and so the travellers knewthat they had spoken to a spirit, and were leaving behind them a ghostlyhouse with ghostly lights and the merriment of the dead.
Mrs. Potten's mind worked in columns, and had she been calm and happyshe would have spent the time returning to Potten End in completing thelist of ghosts she was acquainted with; but she was excited and full oftumultuous thoughts.
There was, indeed, in Mrs. Potten's soul the strife of various passions:there was the desire to act in a high-handed, swift Potten manner, thedesire to pursue and flatten any one who invaded the Potten preserves.There was the desire to put her heavy individual foot upon a specimen ofthe modern female who betrays the honour and the interest of her ownclass. There was also the general desire to show a fool that she was afool. There was also the desire to snub Belinda Scott; and lastly, butnot least, there was the desire to put her knife into any giddy younggirl who had thrown her net over the Warden.
These desires fought tooth and nail with a certain dogged sentiment offear--a fear of the Warden. If he was deeply in love, what might he door not do? Would he put Potten End under a ban? Would he excommunicateher, Marian Potten?
And so Mrs. Potten's mind whirled.
At a certain shop in the High there was May Dashwood, looking at awindow full of books. No doubt Lady Dashwood was inside, or, moreprobably, in the shop next door.
An inspiration came to Mrs. Potten. Was the Warden so very much in love?Belinda Scott laid great stress on his being very much in love, and thewhole thing being a surprise! Belinda Scott was a liar! And the littledaughter who could stoop to thieving ten shillings at a bazaar, mightwell have been put on by her mother to some equally noxious behaviour tothe Warden. She might have lain in wait for him behind doors and onstaircases; she might----Mrs. Potten stopped her car, got out of it, andwent behind May Dashwood and whispered in her ear.
May turned, her eyebrows very much raised, and listened to what Mrs.Potten had to say.
Great urgency made Mrs. Potten as astute as a French detective.
"I'm quite sorry," she whispered, "to find that your Aunt Lena seemsworried about the engagement. Now why on earth, oh why, did the Wardenrun himself into an engagement with a girl he doesn't really careabout?"
This question was a master-stroke. There was no getting out of this forMay Dashwood. Mrs. Potten clapped her hand over her mouth and drew in abreath. Then she listened breathless for the answer. The answer musteither be: "But he _does_ really care about her," or something evasive.
Not only Mrs. Potten's emotional superficies but her core of flintfeared the emphatic answer, and yearned for an evasive one. What was itto be?
May's face had suddenly blanched. Had her Aunt Lena told? No--surelynot; and yet Mrs. Potten seemed to _know_.
"How can I tell, Mrs. Potten?" said May, unsteadily. "I----"
"Evasive!" said Mrs. Potten to herself triumphantly.
"Never mind! things do happen," she said, interrupting May. "I suppose,at any rate, he has to make the best of it, now it's done."
Mrs. Potten was afraid that she was now going too far, and she swiftlyturned the subject sideways before May had time to think out a reply.
"Tell your Aunt Lena that I expect Gwendolen, without fail, after lunch.Please tell her; so kind of you! Good-bye, good-bye," and Mrs. Pottengot fiercely into her car.
"Well, I never!" she said, and she said it over and over again. A cloudof thoughts seemed to float with her as the car skimmed along the road,and through that cloud seemed to peer at her, though somewhat dimly, the"beaux yeux" of the Warden of King's.
"I think I shall," said Mrs. Potten, "I think I shall; but I shall makecertain first--absolutely certain--first."