And Denry saw that something great, something decisive, must be done anddone with rapidity.
II
His thoughts turned to the Countess of Chell. The original attempt toengage her moral support in aid of the Thrift Club had ended in adangerous fiasco. Denry had been beaten by circumstances. And thoughhe had emerged from the defeat with credit, he had no taste for defeat.He disliked defeat even when it was served with jam. And hisindomitable thoughts turned to the Countess again. He put it to himselfin this way, scratching his head:
"I 've got to get hold of that woman, and that's all about it!"
The Countess at this period was busying herself with the policemen ofthe Five Towns. In her exhaustless passion for philanthropy, bazaars,and platforms, she had already dealt with orphans, the aged, the blind,potter's asthma, creches, churches, chapels, schools, economic cookery,the smoke-nuisance, country holidays, Christmas puddings and blankets,healthy musical entertainments, and barmaids. The excellent andbeautiful creature was suffering from a dearth of subjects when thepolicemen occurred to her. She made the benevolent discovery thatpolicemen were overworked, underpaid, courteous and trustworthy publicservants, and that our lives depended on them. And from this discoveryit naturally followed that policemen deserved her energetic assistance.Which assistance resulted in the erection of a Policemen's Institute atHanbridge, the chief of the Five Towns. At the Institute policemenwould be able to play at draughts, read the papers, and drink everythingnon-alcoholic at prices that defied competition. And the Institute alsoconferred other benefits on those whom all the Five Mayors of the FiveTowns fell into the way of describing as "the stalwart guardians of thelaw." The Institute, having been built, had to be opened with duesplendour and ceremony. And naturally the Countess of Chell was theperson to open it, since without her it would never have existed.
The solemn day was a day in March, and the hour was fixed for threeo'clock, and the place was the large hall of the Institute itself,behind Crown Square, which is the Trafalgar Square of Hanbridge. TheCountess was to drive over from Sneyd. Had the epoch been ten yearslater she would have motored over. But probably that would not havemade any difference as to what happened.
In relating what did happen I confine myself to facts, eschewingimputations. It is a truism that life is full of coincidences, butwhether these events comprised a coincidence, or not, each reader mustdecide for himself according to his cynicism or his faith in humannature.
The facts are: First, that Denry called one day at the house of Mrs.Kemp a little lower down Brougham Street, Mrs. Kemp being friendly withMrs. Machin, and the mother of Jock, the Countess's carriage-footman,whom Denry had known from boyhood. Second, that a few days later, whenJock came over to see his mother, Denry was present, and thatsubsequently Denry and Jock went for a stroll together in the Cemetery,the principal resort of strollers in Bursley. Third, that on theafternoon of the opening ceremony the Countess's carriage broke down inSneyd Vale, two miles from Sneyd and three miles from Hanbridge. Fourth,that five minutes later Denry, all in his best clothes, drove up behindhis mule. Fifth, that Denry drove right past the breakdown, apparentlynot noticing it. Sixth, that Jock touching his hat to Denry as if to astranger (for, of course, while on duty a footman must be dead to allhuman ties) said:
"Excuse me, sir," and so caused Denry to stop.
These are the simple facts.
Denry looked round with that careless half-turn of the upper part of thebody which drivers of elegant equipages affect when their attention iscalled to something trifling behind them. The mule also lookedround--it was a habit of the mule's--and if the dog had been there thedog would have shown an even livelier inquisitiveness; but Denry hadleft the faithful animal at home.
"Good afternoon, Countess," he said, raising his hat, and trying toexpress surprise, pleasure, and imperturbability all at once.
The Countess of Chell, who was standing in the road, raised her lorgnon,which was attached to the end of a tortoiseshell pole about a foot long,and regarded Denry. This lorgnon was a new device of hers, and it wasalready having the happy effect of increasing the sale of long-handledlorgnons throughout the Five Towns.
"Oh! It's you, is it?" said the Countess. "I see you 've grown abeard."
It was just this easy familiarity that endeared her to the district. Asobservant people put it, you never knew what she would say next, and yetshe never compromised her dignity.
"Yes," said Denry. "Have you had an accident?"
"No," said the Countess bitterly: "I 'm doing this for idle amusement."
The horses had been taken out, and were grazing by the roadside likecommon horses. The coachman was dipping his skirts in the mud as he bentdown in front of the carriage and twisted the pole to and fro and roundabout and round about. The footman, Jock, was industriously watchinghim.
"It's the pole-pin, sir," said Jock.
Denry descended from his own hammer-cloth. The Countess was not smiling.It was the first time that Denry had ever seen her without an efficientsmile on her face.
"Have you got to be anywhere particular?" he asked. Many ladies wouldnot have understood what he meant. But the Countess was used to theFive Towns.
"Yes," said she. "I have got to be somewhere particular. I 've got tobe at the Police Institute at three o'clock particular, Mr. Machin. AndI shan't be. I 'in late now. We 've been here ten minutes."
The Countess was rather too often late for public ceremonies. Nobodyinformed her of the fact. Everybody, on the contrary, assiduouslypretended that she had arrived to the very second. But she was wellaware that she had a reputation for unpunctuality. Ordinarily, beingtoo hurried to invent a really clever excuse, she would assert lightlythat something had happened to her carriage. And now something in truthhad happened to her carriage--but who would believe it at the PoliceInstitute?
"If you 'll come with me I 'll guarantee to get you there by threeo'clock," said Denry.
The road thereabouts was lonely. A canal ran parallel with it at adistance of fifty yards, and on the canal a boat was moving in thedirection of Hanbridge at the rate of a mile an hour. Such was the onlyother vehicle in sight. The outskirts of Knype, the nearest town, didnot begin until at least a mile further on; and the Countess, dressedfor the undoing of mayors and other unimpressionable functionaries,could not possibly have walked even half a mile in that rich dark mud.
She thanked him, and without a word to her servants took the seat besidehim.
III
Immediately the mule began to trot the Countess began to smile again.Relief and content were painted upon her handsome features. Denry soonlearnt that she knew all about mules--or almost all. She told him howshe had ridden hundreds of miles on mules in the Apennines, where therewere no roads, and only mules, goats, and flies could keep their feet onthe steep stony paths. She said that a good mule was worth forty poundsin the Appenines, more than a horse of similar quality. In fact, shewas very sympathetic about mules. Denry saw that he must drive with asmuch style as possible, and he tried to remember all that he had pickedup from a book concerning the proper manner of holding the reins. Forin everything that appertained to riding and driving the Countess was anexpert. In the season she hunted once or twice a week with the NorthStaffordshire Hounds, and the _Signal_ had stated that she was afearless horsewoman. It made this statement one day when she had beenthrown and carried to Sneyd senseless.
The mule, too, seemingly conscious of its responsibilities and its highdestiny, put its best foot foremost and behaved in general like a mulethat knew the name of its great-grandfather. It went through Knype inadmirable style, not swerving at the steam-cars nor exciting itselfabout the railway bridge. A photographer who stood at his doormanoeuvring a large camera startled it momentarily, until it rememberedthat it had seen a camera before. The Countess, who wondered why onearth a photographer should be capering round a tripod in a doorway,turn
ed to inspect the man with her lorgnon.
They were now coursing up the Cauldon Bank towards Hanbridge. They werealready within the boundaries of Hanbridge, and a pedestrian here andthere recognised the Countess. You can hide nothing from the quidnuncof Hanbridge. Moreover, when a quidnunc in the streets of Hanbridgesees somebody famous or striking or notorious, he does not pretend thathe has seen nobody. He points unmistakably to what he has observed, ifhe has a companion, and if he has no companion he stands still andstares with such honest intensity that the entire street stands andstares too. Occasionally you may see an entire street standing andstaring without any idea of what it is staring at. As the equipagedashingly approached the busy centre of Hanbridge, the region of fineshops, public-houses, hotels, halls, and theatres, more and more of theinhabitants knew that Iris (as they affectionately called her) wasdriving with a young man in a tumble-down little victoria behind a mulewhose ears flapped like an elephant's. Denry being far less renowned inHanbridge than in his native Bursley, few persons recognised him. Afterthe victoria had gone by people who had heard the news too late rushedfrom shops and gazed at the Countess's back as at a fading dream untilthe insistent clanging of a car-bell made them jump again to thefootpath.
At length Denry and the Countess could see the clock of the Old TownHall in Crown Square, and it was a minute to three. They were less thana minute off the Institute.
"There you are!" said Denry proudly. "Three miles if it's a yard, inseventeen minutes. For a mule it's none so dusty."
And such was the Countess's knowledge of the language of the Five Townsthat she instantly divined the meaning of even that phrase "none sodusty."
They swept into Crown Square grandly.
And then, with no warning, the mule suddenly applied all the automaticbrakes which a mule has, and stopped.
"Oh, Lor!" sighed Denry. He knew the cause of that arresting.
A large squad of policemen, a perfect regiment of policemen, was movingacross the north side of the square in the direction of the Institute.Nothing could have seemed more reassuring, less harmful, than that bandof policemen, off duty for the afternoon and collected together for thepurpose of giving a hearty and policemanly welcome to their benefactressthe Countess. But the mule had his own views about policemen. In theearly days of Denry's ownership of him, he had nearly always shied atthe spectacle of a policeman. He would tolerate steam-rollers, and evenfalling kites, but a policeman had ever been antipathetic to him. Denryby patience and punishment had gradually brought him round almost to theCountess's view of policemen--namely, that they were a courteous andtrustworthy body of public servants, not to be treated as scarecrows orthe dregs of society. At any rate, the mule had of late monthspractically ceased to set his face against the policing of the FiveTowns. And when he was on his best behaviour he would ignore apoliceman completely.
But there were several hundreds of policemen in that squad, the majorityof all the policemen in the Five Towns. And clearly the mule consideredthat Denry, in confronting him with several hundred policemensimultaneously, had been presuming upon his good nature.
The mule's ears were saying agitatedly:
"A line must be drawn somewhere, and I have drawn it where my forefeetnow are."
The mule's ears soon drew together a little crowd.
It occurred to Denry that if mules were so wonderful in the Apenninesthe reason must be that there are no policemen in the Apennines. It alsooccurred to him that something must be done to this mule.
"Well?" said the Countess inquiringly.
It was a challenge to him to prove that he and not the mule was incharge of the expedition.
He briefly explained the mule's idiosyncrasy, as it were apologising forits bad taste in objecting to public servants whom the Countesscherished.
"They 'll be out of sight in a moment," said the Countess. And both sheand Denry tried to look as if the victoria had stopped in that specialspot for a special reason and that the mule was a pattern of obedience.Nevertheless, the little crowd was growing a little larger.
"Now," said the Countess encouragingly. The tail of the regiment ofpolicemen had vanished towards the Institute.
"Tchk! Tchk!" Denry persuaded the mule. No response from thoseforefeet!
"Perhaps I 'd better get out and walk," the Countess suggested. Thecrowd was becoming inconvenient and had even begun to offer unsolicitedhints as to the proper management of mules. The crowd was also sayingto itself, "It's her! It's her! It's her!" Meaning that it was theCountess.
"Oh, no!" said Denry. "It's all right."
And he caught the mule "one" over the head with his whip.
The mule, stung into action, dashed away, and the crowd scattered as ifblown to pieces by the explosion of a bomb. Instead of pursuing a rightline the mule turned within a radius of its own length, swinging thevictoria round after it as though the victoria had been a kettleattached to it with string. And Countess, Denry, and victoria were raptwith miraculous swiftness away--not at all towards the Policemen'sInstitute, but down Longshaw Road, which is tolerably steep. They werepursued, but ineffectually. For the mule had bolted and was winged.They fortunately came into contact with nothing except a large barrow ofcarrots, turnips, and cabbages which an old woman was wheeling upLongshaw Road. The concussion upset the barrow, half filled thevictoria with vegetables, and for a second stayed the mule; but no realharm seemed to have been done, and the mule proceeded with vigour. Thenthe Countess noticed that Denry was not using his right arm, which swungabout rather uselessly.
"I must have knocked my elbow against the barrow," he muttered. Hisface was pale.
"Give me the reins," said the Countess.
"I think I can turn the brute up here," he said.
And he did in fact neatly divert the mule up Birches Street, which issteeper even than Longshaw Road. The mule for a few instants pretendedthat all gradients, up or down, were equal before its angry might. ButBirches Street has the slope of a house-roof. Presently the mulewalked, and then it stood still. And half Birches Street emerged togaze. For the Countess's attire was really very splendid.
"I 'll leave this here, and we 'll walk back," said Denry. "You won'tbe late--that is, nothing to speak of. The Institute is just round thetop here."
"You don't mean to say you 're going to let that mule beat you!"exclaimed the Countess.
"I was only thinking of your being late," said he.
"Oh, bother!" said she. "Your mule may be ruined." The horse-trainerin her was aroused.
"And then my arm?" said Denry.
"Shall I drive back?" the Countess suggested.
"Oh, do!" said Denry. "Keep on up the street, and then to the left."
They changed places, and two minutes later she brought the mule to anobedient rest in front of the Police Institute, which was all newly redwith terra-cotta. The main body of policemen had passed into thebuilding, but two remained at the door, and the mule haughtily toleratedthem. The Countess despatched one to Longshaw Road to settle with theold woman whose vegetables they had brought away with them. The otherpoliceman who, owing to the Countess's philanthropic energy, hadreceived a course of instruction in first aid, arranged a sling forDenry's arm. And then the Countess said that Denry ought certainly togo with her to the inauguration ceremony. The policeman whistled a boyto hold the mule. Denry picked a carrot out of the complex folds of theCountess's rich costume. And the Countess and her saviour entered theportico and were therein met by an imposing group of important malepersonages, several of whom wore mayoral chains. Strange tales of whathad happened to the Countess had already flown up to the Institute, andthe chief expression on the faces of the group seemed to be one ofastonishment that she still lived.
IV
Denry observed that the Countess was now a different woman. She hadsuddenly put on a manner to match her costume, which in certain partswas stiff with embroidery. From the informal companion and the
tamer ofmules she had miraculously developed into the public celebrity, thepeeress of the realm, and the inaugurator-general of philanthropicschemes and buildings. Not one of the important male personages butwould have looked down on Denry! And yet, while treating Denry as ajolly equal, the Countess with all her embroidered and stiff politenesssomehow looked down on the important male personages--and they knew it.And the most curious thing was that they seemed rather to enjoy it. Theone who seemed to enjoy it the least was Sir Jehoshophat Dain, awhite-bearded pillar of terrific imposingness.
Sir Jee--as he was then beginning to be called--had recently beenknighted, by way of reward for his enormous benefactions to thecommunity. In the _role_ of philanthropist he was really much moreeffective than the Countess. But he was not young, he was not pretty,he was not a woman, and his family had not helped to rule England forgenerations--at any rate, so far as anybody knew. He had made moremoney than had ever before been made by a single brain in themanufacture of earthenware, and he had given more money to public causesthan a single pocket had ever before given in the Five Towns. He hadnever sought municipal honours, considering himself to be somewhat abovesuch trifles. He was the first purely local man to be knighted in theFive Towns. Even before the bestowal of the knighthood his sense ofhumour had been deficient, and immediately afterwards it had vanishedentirely. Indeed, he did not miss it. He divided the population of thekingdom into two classes--the titled and the untitled. With Sir Jee,either you were titled, or you were n't. He lumped all the untitledtogether; and to be just to his logical faculty, he lumped all thetitled together. There were various titles--Sir Jee admitted that--buta title was a title, and therefore all titles were practically equal.The Duke of Norfolk was one titled individual, and Sir Jee was another.The fine difference between them might be perceptible to the titled, andmight properly be recognised by the titled when the titled were amongthemselves, but for the untitled such a difference ought not to existand could not exist.