Coelebs: The Love Story of a Bachelor

Mrs Sommers' family. She was a young, nice-lookingwoman, and her presence, though welcomed by the other servants, wasbitterly resented by Eliza. In Mrs Sommers' nurse Eliza beheld arival, though where rivalry came in in a field that admitted nocompetition it were difficult to say.

  When Eliza had condescended to fill the position of housemaid in abachelor establishment she had not allowed for this objectionablepractice of family gathering. Clearly Mr Musgrave should spendChristmas in his sister's home and not introduce an entire family intohis house to the inconvenience of his servants. It was veryinconsiderate.

  Martha only laughed when Eliza aired her grievance. She liked familygatherings. As well cook for a dozen as for one, she declared. Thesame amount of trouble with a little extra labour went to thepreparation of the larger meals. And Martha loved to have Miss Belle inthe house, and Miss Belle's children. Miss Belle's husband was therealso, and a responsible-looking person who, with an anglicisedpronunciation, described himself as a valet. Eliza did not object sostrongly to this addition, his manners being irreproachable and the toneof his conversation gentlemanly. Also he saved her trouble by carryingthe hot water upstairs and performing many small duties that were not apart of his regular office. He sized Eliza up very quickly, and behavedtowards her with such exemplary chivalry that he speedily won hersusceptible heart, so that Eliza, with some reluctance, halfrelinquished the idea that she was destined to become eventually MrsJohn Musgrave, in order to entertain the possibility of being selectedby Fate as the wife of the gentlemanly valet. The valet, backed withthe comfortable safeguard of a wife at home, did nothing to discouragethe assumption. Men have not without reason won the distinction ofbeing considered deceivers of the fair sex.

  The arrival of the Sommers, and the contemporaneous arrival of ahouse-party at the Hall, resulted in a succession of entertainments suchas Moresby had not previously known. Mrs Chadwick conceived the ideaof getting up theatricals and a series of tableaux, in which the Moresbyresidents were invited to take part. She also got a kinema operatordown and invited the entire village to view the films.

  The kinema party was fixed for Boxing Night; the tableaux were to followa dinner to be given on Christmas Eve. The villagers were not bidden tothe Christmas Eve party, but the ringers were invited to go up to theHall after ringing the chime and regale themselves on hot punch.

  Moresby on the whole was pleasantly excited. Things were being done inthe good old style, even to the distribution of blankets and coals andother comforts acceptable to the season, though received with a certaingrudging mistrust which would appear to be the recognised spirit inwhich to accept charity. There is an etiquette even in the manner ofaccepting patronage; the recipient feels it incumbent on him to bepatronising to the giver of alms in order to retain a proper sense ofindependence. Let no one who gives blind himself to the fact that he isreceiving as well as distributing favours.

  John Musgrave gave regularly at Christmas, and handsomely, to his poorerneighbours; Miss Simpson also gave; but, since she demanded gratitude,and Mr Musgrave demanded nothing, regarding his charity in the light ofa duty which his more fortunate circumstances imposed, he received amore generous meed of thanks, and a less grudging acceptance of hisgifts. Mr Musgrave's bounty received his personal supervision, and waspacked and ultimately delivered by his chauffeur, with Mr Musgrave'scompliments and the season's greetings; Miss Simpson was her ownalmoner, and dispensed with her gifts a little timely homily on thevirtues of frugality and sobriety, and the need for a humble andgrateful heart. But humility--at best an objectionable virtue--has goneout of fashion, and gratitude is a plant which is not usually fosteredwith the care it deserves. The poor of Moresby accepted Miss Simpson'sgifts--they were glad enough to accept anything--but they ridiculed herhomilies behind her back.

  "I always believe in a word in season," she informed the vicar.

  "So do I," he returned. "Only it is so difficult to recognise theseason."

  Miss Simpson attended the Hall parties, not because she enjoyed them,but she could not keep away. She made unkind remarks about theChadwicks and their doings. She was, though she would not have admittedit, jealous. She resented the coming of these people; their carelesspatronage of the village, which their immense wealth made so easy thatit could scarcely be counted to them as a kindness; their untiringsocial efforts to bring Moresby and Rushleigh into contact, and togather all sorts and conditions of men and women beneath theirhospitable roof. The Chadwicks were altogether too democratic. Butabove and beyond everything else, the bright, gay personality of saucyPeggy Annersley proved the canker in the rose of her happiness. Shesuspected Peggy Annersley of having designs on Mr Musgrave, which wasunjust. Peggy had designs on no one at that period in her career.

  John Musgrave, despite the pressure that was brought to bear to shakehis resolution, refused to take part in the theatricals or to pose inthe groups for the living pictures. Mrs Chadwick asked him; Belleattempted persuasion; and Peggy coaxed unsuccessfully. Mr Musgrave wasembarrassed at the mere suggestion of dressing in character andposturing before the footlights of the newly-erected stage for theedification of Moresby and the amusement of Mrs Chadwick's guests. Hewas embarrassed, too, at being compelled to repeatedly refuse hispersistent tormentors.

  "I did so hope you would be Lancelot to my Guinevere," Peggy saidreproachfully. "And I wanted you to be Tristram and Othello to myIsolde and Desdemona. They are all lovely impersonations, and thecostumes are gorgeous. You'd make a heavenly gladiator, too."

  "I should not be at home in these parts," he said gravely.

  "But," urged Peggy, "it's so simple. I'll rehearse you. You'd find itawfully amusing."

  "I do not think so," he replied.

  "Then will you be Bill Sykes, with Diogenes and a revolver?--and I'll beNancy. You would only have to murder me. If you don't like the loverparts you'd enjoy that."

  There was a gleam in the grey eyes that John Musgrave was unable toaccount for; he saw nothing funny in such a sordid scene.

  "I do not like that idea any better," he said. Then he made a suddenappeal to her generosity, his air slightly apologetic, almost, itoccurred to Peggy, humble. "Please leave me out of it," he begged."I'm a very prosy person. These things are better suited to the youngergeneration. Many men will enjoy filling these parts with you; I shallenjoy looking on."

  Peggy gave in. She had not expected Mr Musgrave to agree to herproposes; she had, indeed, been guilty of teasing him. But sheendeavoured with some success to make him believe in her acutedisappointment, so that when he left her it was with a sense of his ownungraciousness, and a desire to make amends in any way possible forhaving been disobliging, if not actually discourteous, to a young ladywho was, he could not but admit, both amiable and charming. Thedifficulty was how to make amends. After considering the matterseriously and developing and rejecting many ideas, he decided that hewould be forced to remain indebted until the opportunity presenteditself for discharging the obligation. He really felt extremely andquite unnecessarily grateful to Miss Annersley. There was, on the faceof it, no obligation to discharge. Mr Musgrave was advancing a littleway along the road of complexities that go to the making of humanemotions. He had begun by feeling an interest in this young woman.Interest is a comprehensive term embodying many sentiments and capableof unforeseen developments. Peggy was undoubtedly a dangerously prettyperson to become an object of interest to a middle-aged bachelor.

  If Mr Musgrave thought Peggy pretty--and he did consider her pretty--onordinary occasions, he found her amazingly lovely tricked out in stageattire, when, at the conclusion of the Christmas Eve dinner, he repairedwith the other guests to the temporary theatre and viewed a successionof brilliantly arranged tableaux which, despite the fact that they wereexceedingly well done and perfectly staged, he mentally pronounced astupid form of entertainment for intelligent adults. Mummery of anykind appealed to him as undignified. Never in all his forty years hadhe felt the slightest temptation to
play the fool; it always surprisedhim to see other people doing it. And this histrionic grouping was butplaying the fool in serious fashion; it was a game of vanity bettersuited to children. But the pictures were pretty. He admitted that.Most of the guests appeared to enjoy them.

  "I am afraid you are bored with this," his host said, approaching himduring an interval in the performance, having observed with the turningup of the lights Mr Musgrave's serious expression. "Come along to thebilliard-room and have a smoke."

  "I am not bored," John Musgrave answered, as he left his seat andaccompanied Will Chadwick with a willingness which seemed to discredithis assertion. "I was interested, and--and surprised."

  "Surprised," suggested Mr Chadwick, "that people can find amusement inthis