The Simpkins Plot

  CHAPTER V.

  Mr. Eustace St. Clair Simpkins preferred to have his letters addressed"E. St. Clair-Simpkins, Esq.," as if his second Christian name werepart of his surname. He belonged by birth to the _haute aristocratie_,and believed that the use of a hyphen made this fact plain to themembers of the middle classes with whom he came in contact. He was aman of thirty-five years of age, but looked slightly older, because hishair was receding rapidly from the left side of his forehead. He hadenjoyed, for a time, the education afforded by one of the greatest ofthe English public schools; but at the age of sixteen, being thenclassed with boys so small that he looked ridiculous among them, he wasremoved at the special request of the headmaster. A private tutor,heavily paid, took him in hand, but was no more successful with himthan the schoolmasters had been. At the age of eighteen he was foundunfit to pass any of the examinations which open the way to gentlemanlyemployment. Various jobs were found for him by his desponding parents,but on every occasion he was returned to them politely. He drifted atlast into an Irish land-agent's office. Mr. Tempest was a successfulman of business, and managed estates in various parts of the countryfrom his Dublin office. He was under an obligation to a Londonsolicitor, whose wife was the sister of Mrs. Simpkins, the mother ofEustace St. Clair. He felt that he could not very well refuse to givethe young man such a chance as a clerkship afforded. Things went onfairly satisfactorily until Mr. Simpkins conceived the idea of marryinghis employer's daughter. He reasoned, quite rightly, that MissTempest, being an only child, was likely to have a substantial fortune.Mr. Tempest, unimpressed by the hyphened St. Clair, was unwilling toallow the courtship to proceed. He sent Mr. Simpkins down to Ballymoy,and charged him with the management of such parts of the Buckley estateas were not already sold to tenants.

  Mr. Simpkins, for the first time in his life, felt that he had found aposition which really suited him. There was very little work to do.He received the ground rents of the town of Ballymoy; saw that BallymoyHouse was kept in repair and the grounds in tolerable order; and letthe fishing of the river every year by means of advertisements insporting papers. Many men would have found the life dull, but Mr.Simpkins had a busy and vigorous mind of a sort not uncommon amongincompetent people. By temperament he was a reformer of minor abuses,and Ballymoy afforded him an almost unique opportunity for the exerciseof his powers. There were, of course, difficulties. The inhabitantsof Ballymoy, long unaccustomed to the presence of a reformer amongstthem, had drifted into quiet, easy ways of living. Mr. Simpkins, whowas not lacking in a certain quality of quiet persistence, troubledevery one with fine impartiality, and became exceedingly unpopular inBallymoy. The Resident Magistrate hated being obliged to enforceunnecessary laws such as that which forbids cyclists to ride onfootpaths, and that which ordains the carrying of lighted lanterns oncarts at night. The postman, at the other end of the official scale,liked loitering on his rounds, and had adopted a pleasant habit ofhanding on letters to any wayfarer who might be supposed to beproceeding in the direction of the place to which the letters wereaddressed. Every one with a public duty of any sort to perform wasstimulated by Mr. Simpkins, and consequently came to hate him.

  After a while Mr. Doyle, on whom, as chief citizen, the duty naturallydevolved, got up a petition to Mr. Tempest. The necessity for removingMr. Simpkins was presented in the strongest terms. Mr. Tempest, whowas a man of wide experience and kindly heart, sympathised with Mr.Doyle and the others who signed the petition, but he did not recall Mr.Simpkins. He knew of no place in Ireland further from Dublin thanBallymoy is; and it appeared to him above all things desirable to keepMr. Simpkins at a distance. It was better, in his opinion, thatBallymoy should suffer, than that his own house should be haunted onSundays and his office disorganised on week-days by Mr. Simpkins. Heacknowledged the receipt of the Ballymoy petition, and promised,mendaciously, to consider the matter.

  Meldon drove into Ballymoy on the first morning of his holiday, andwent straight to Mr. Simpkins' house. He left a card there, and thenwalked on to the office. Mr. Simpkins was in the office, and Meldongreeted him with a warmth which seemed actually affectionate. Mr.Simpkins was surprised, and rubbed his hand, which had been hurt by thehearty way in which Meldon shook it.

  "Is there," he asked, in a puzzled tone, "anything that I can do foryou?"

  "Nothing," said Meldon; "nothing whatever. If there was I'm sure you'ddo it, and I shouldn't hesitate to ask you. But there isn't. I simplycalled in to have a chat. You won't mind if I smoke, will you?"

  "I never smoke in my office," said Simpkins. "I dislike free and easyand slipshod ways of doing business."

  Meldon filled and lit his pipe.

  "You're perfectly right," he said. "There's nothing impresses theintelligent stranger so unfavourably as the smell of tobacco in anoffice when he comes into it in the hope of doing business with acompetent man. I wish you would impress your idea on that subject, andI may say a good many other subjects, on the people of this town. Theyare lamentably deficient in what I may call the etiquette of commerciallife; and yet all these little points count for a lot. You and I knowthat."

  Simpkins hesitated. He was at first inclined to be angry. Meldon wassmoking vigorously, and his tobacco was of the kind described as"full-flavoured." But the remarks about the etiquette of business werecertainly sound. Mr. Simpkins really believed that he had a mission toteach manners and method to the people of Ballymoy.

  "Would you mind telling me," he said at last, "who you are?"

  "Not in the least," said Meldon; "I shall be quite pleased. At thesame time I think I ought to point out to you that, if you'd been onspeaking terms with Major Kent, you'd have heard all about me weeksago, and very likely would have been asked to dinner to meet me lastnight. Why have you quarrelled with the poor Major? He's a niceenough sort of man, and most people find him easy enough to get onwith."

  "It was he who quarrelled with me. I had no intention--"

  "So it was. I remember that now; something about fishing, wasn't it?Curious how people will lose their tempers about ridiculous littletrifles. That's the worst of places like this. The people who havenever lived anywhere else become irritable and take offence aboutnothing, simply because their minds are cut off from wider interests.You and I, now, know that no fish in the world, however large, is worthfighting about. We wouldn't, either of us, mind a bit if some otherfellow came along and hooked the whale which we had marked down as ourprivate prey."

  Simpkins was puzzled again. The doctrine about fishing rights struckhim as slightly socialistic. It might possibly be applicable in thecase of whales, but society could scarcely survive as an organisedwhole if many men regarded the possession of salmon as of noimportance. At the same time he was pleased; it gratified himimmensely to be hailed as a fellow citizen of a larger world.

  "Would you mind," he said, speaking in quite a friendly tone, "tellingme your name?"

  "Not in the least," said Meldon. "I said so before. As a matter offact, so far from having any wish to conceal my name from you, I wentround to your house before I called here and left my card on you.You'll find it there when you get back. I always like to be strict inthe observance of the rules of civilised society. I particularlydislike the slack ways into which people in places like this areinclined to drift. I must say for the Major, he's not as bad as therest in that respect. He always dresses for dinner."

  "So do I."

  "I'm glad to hear it. That ought to be a bond of union between you andthe Major. You must be the only two men in Ballymoy who do. By theway, have you met Miss King?"

  "No. She arrived yesterday, I hear; but I haven't seen her."

  "You ought to go up and call on her at once. You'll like her, I'msure. She's very good-looking."

  He paused for a moment. The announcement did not seem to exciteSimpkins' interest. He was, indeed, not of the temperament which isstrongly moved by beauty or personal charm.

  "She's also very rich," s
aid Meldon.

  "I thought she must be pretty well off when she took Ballymoy House."

  "She is. And what's more, she's uncommonly well connected. Her uncleis an earl. I forget at this moment what his exact title is; but Iknow he's an earl, and I have it on very good authority that he'slikely to be made a marquis quite soon."

  He paused, and was gratified to observe that Simpkins appeared to begreatly interested by this information about Miss King. He pursued hisadvantage at once.

  "I shall call on her myself," he said, "though there's not really muchuse in my making myself agreeable to her. I'm married already. TheMajor would have told you that, too, if you'd been on speaking termswith him. You really must make it up with the Major, Simpkins. I hopeto see a good deal of you while I'm in Ballymoy, and it will be mostinconvenient for me if you won't speak to the Major while I'm stayingin his house."

  "Did you say that you knew Miss King?"

  "Not intimately," said Meldon; "at least not very intimately. Itravelled down in the train with her yesterday, and we had a pleasantchat together. If I wasn't married already--but there's no use talkingabout that. And I don't for a moment suppose that the Major will careabout having a try. He's a confirmed old bachelor. Though it would bea right good thing for him if he did. Miss King must have a whole potof money, and she looks to me the sort of woman whom it would be quiteeasy to marry. I'm afraid I must be going now. I'm so glad I caughtyou, Simpkins. I've heard a lot about you during the short time I'vebeen in Ballymoy; and I may say, without the least wish to flatter,that I was most anxious to meet you. Good-bye, and be sure to call onMiss King. It's a pity to think of that poor girl all alone in a greatbarrack of a place like Ballymoy House, without a civilised creature tospeak to."

  Meldon left the Office very well satisfied with himself. He went nextinto the hotel. The day was hot, and there was very little going on inthe town. The streets were almost empty, for the country people werebusy on their farms. The hotel appeared to be entirely deserted. Thewaiter had left the coffee room, and gone to visit a friend in thepolice barrack. The barmaid, after finishing one penny novel, had goneinto the shop next door to borrow another from the milliner. Meldonpenetrated to the kitchen, and found an untidy maid asleep, veryuncomfortably, on an upright chair. She woke with a start when hebanged a frying-pan against the front of the oven.

  "I hope I haven't startled you," he said politely. "I shall be greatlyobliged if you will tell me where Mr. Doyle is to be found."

  "He's within in his own room; and what's more, the doctor's along withhim, and he did say that nobody was to be let next or nigh him byreason of his being busy."

  "If he's busy," said Meldon, "he's the only man in Ballymoy that is,excepting myself; and any way that prohibition doesn't apply to me.I'm an old friend. I'll just step in and see him. You needn'tannounce me. If you like you can go to sleep again; but if I were youI'd be beginning to get the dinner. It's near twelve o'clock."

  "Is it, then?"

  "It is. Is your name Bridget or Mary?"

  "It's Sabina they call me."

  "You're not a bad-looking girl, Sabina; and if you'd attend to yourbusiness instead of going to sleep in the middle of the day, you mightdie a rich woman yet."

  "I would not, then. How would the like of me be rich?"

  "You certainly won't be," said Meldon, "if you don't do your work."

  "The potatoes is in the pot," said Sabina.

  "They may be; but Mr. Doyle will be looking for more than potatoes atdinner time. He doesn't look as if he lived entirely on potatoes."

  Sabina grinned. Doyle was a portly man.

  "It won't take me long to fry a couple of rashers," she said, "once thegrease is hot."

  "And is fried bacon and potatoes all you're going to give the poor man?What wages does he pay you?"

  "Six pounds."

  "Very well. Now listen to me, Sabina. You put your back into it andcook the man a decent dinner. Give him soup, and then a nicely donechop with a dish of spinach and some fried potatoes. After that asweet omelette--"

  "Glory be to God!" said Sabina.

  "And then a little savoury, tomato and olives, beaten to a cream, withthe yolk of a hard-boiled egg served up on toast, cut into dice."

  "Arrah, what talk!" said Sabina.

  "Get him accustomed to that sort of dinner for three weeks or a month,and then ask him for a rise in your wages. He'll give it to you."

  "He would not."

  "He would. Any man would. The mistake you make is half-starving him.That makes his temper bad, and--"

  "I wouldn't say then that ever I heard a cross word out of his mouth,"said Sabina, "unless it might be when he'd be talking of Mr. Simpkinsor the like."

  "I suppose he swears then," said Meldon.

  "He does terrible."

  "I don't wonder. I never swear myself. Being a clergyman, I can't, ofcourse. But from what I've seen of Mr. Simpkins, and from what I'veheard about him, I should think he'd make most men swear. Do you knowhim at all intimately, Sabina?"

  "I do not; but the girl that's with him beyond in the house is a cousinof my own, and I hear her talking about him. She does be saying thatthe like of him for nonsensical goings on she never seen. She--"

  "Thank you," said Meldon. "I don't want to hear your cousin's views ofMr. Simpkins' domestic arrangements. She's red-haired, if she's thegirl that opened the door to me a while ago, and I never knew one ofher colour that spoke the truth."

  Sabina was loyal to her family. She resented Meldon's remark.

  "If you were to put me on my oath," she said, "I wouldn't call the hairthat's on your own head black, nor yet yellow."

  "My hair," said Meldon, "is what's called auburn; and in any case Ihave more strength of character than to be driven into untruthfulnessby the colour of my hair. Did you say it was Dr. O'Donoghue was insidewith Mr. Doyle?"

  "It is," said Sabina.

  "I suppose, now, he isn't particularly fond of Mr. Simpkins either."

  Sabina grinned broadly.

  "From the pleasant way in which you're smiling," said Meldon, "I thinkI may take it for granted that Dr. O'Donoghue wouldn't go far out ofhis way to find out exactly the kind of medicine that would cure Mr.Simpkins if by any chance he happened to fall sick."

  "He would not. But they do say he'd poison him if he got the chance."

  "I don't want him to do that. I should be very sorry if he did. All Iwant to be sure of is that the doctor wouldn't put himself out to cureMr. Simpkins if anybody else poisoned him."

  "The Lord save us!" said Sabina. "Is it murder you're thinking of?"

  "It is not," said Meldon. "Don't get any foolish idea of that kindinto your head. I'm not a murderer. I'm merely putting what is calleda supposititious case, with a view to finding out what Dr. O'Donoghue'sreal feelings are. I don't suppose you know what a supposititious caseis?"

  "I do not. It was a backward place where I was reared, and I wasn'tkept to school regular; and what's more, the Irish wasn't taught inthem times."

  "It wouldn't have helped you much if it was," said Meldon. "Asupposititious case is the same thing, very nearly, as a hypotheticalproposition. It consists of two parts, a protasis and an apodosis.For instance--"

  "It's laughing at me you are."

  "It is not, but trying to educate you a little. For instance, I shouldbe putting a hypothetical case if I were to say, 'Supposing you cookedthe dinner I described every day for Mr. Doyle--'"

  "I couldn't do it then, for I wouldn't be fit."

  "That's exactly what makes it a supposititious case," said Meldon."Now perhaps you'll understand that I don't intend to poison Mr.Simpkins myself."

  "Nor the doctor won't do it for you," said Sabina.

  "You said a minute ago that he would."

  "He would not, for he's a nice gentleman, as simple and innocent as achild, only an odd time when his temper would be riz."

  "Any way he won't be aske
d to. Good-bye, Sabina. I'll look in and seeyou next time I'm passing. Don't let that red-haired cousin of yoursbe putting phosphorous paste, or any of those patent rat poisons, intoMr. Simpkins' food. She'll get herself into trouble if she does."