CHAPTER VI.
"We shall have to ask the engaged couple to dinner," I said toPalestrina one morning a few days later. "And I suppose one or twomore of the rest of The Family would like to be asked at the same time."
"I never know in what quantities one ought to ask the Jamiesons," saidmy sister, "nor how to make a proper selection. It seems invidious tosuggest that Kate and Eliza and Margaret should come, and not Maud andGracie; and yet what is one to do? The last time that you were awayfrom home I wrote and said, 'Will a few of you come?' And Mrs.Jamieson, the Pirate Boy, and four sisters came."
"One feels sure," I replied, "that the Jamiesons thought that was quitea modest number to take advantage of your invitation. One knows thathad they been inviting some girls from a boarding-school they wouldhave included the entire number of pupils."
Palestrina protested that as the meal to which our friends were to comewas dinner, it would be only reasonable to invite the same number ofladies and gentlemen; and to this I assented. She suggested asking theDarcey-Jacobs, whom we had not seen for a long time.
Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is a woman who always affords one considerableinward amusement, being herself, I believe, more conspicuously devoidof humour than any one else I have ever met. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs hasnever been known to see a joke. That she herself should appear to anyone in a humorous light would, I know, appear an inconceivablecontingency to her. She has a high Roman nose, and rather faded yellowhair, which was her principal claim to beauty when a girl. It is evennow thick and long, and is always worn in a sort of majestic coronet onthe top of her head. Her manner is somewhat formidable and emphatic,and the alarm which this engenders in timid or diffident persons isincreased by the habit she has of accentuating many of her remarks by aplayful but really somewhat severe rap over the knuckles of the personshe is addressing, with her fan or lorgnettes. She dresses handsomelyin expensive materials somewhat gaudy in colour, and she has an erectcarriage, of which she is very proud. Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs has a gooddeal to say on the subject of the feeble-mindedness of the male sex,and when something has been proved impossible of attainment by them shealways says, "A woman could have done it in five minutes."
At the time of her marriage, Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs (Miss Foljambe she wasthen) was a dowerless girl with two admirers, Major Jacobs and Mr.Morgan. Not being, it would seem, a young lady of very deepaffections, her choice of a husband was decided entirely by the extentof the worldly prospects he could offer, and the Major, being thebetter match of the two, was accepted. But how cruel are the tricksthat fate will sometimes play! Not long after her marriage Mr. Morgannot only inherited a large fortune, but shortly afterwards left thisworld for a better, and Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs is in the habit ofremarking, with a good deal of feeling, "If I had only chosen the otherI might have been a happy widow now!"
Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs lives in our quiet country neighbourhood during thegreater part of the year, on the distinct understanding that sheloathes every hour of it. When she goes abroad or to London she talksquite cheerfully of having had one breath of life. So fraught withhappy successes are these pilgrimages in her brocaded satin gowns intothe outer world that she often says that were she but free she mighthave the world at her feet to-morrow. And she has been known to referto the Major, still in the tone of cheerful resignation and with heremphasizing tap of the fan, as "a dead weight round her neck."
The Major himself is a guileless person, whose very simplicity causeshis wife more exquisite suffering than even a husband of keen,vindictive temper could inflict.
Does Mrs. Jacobs give a dinner-party, it is not unusual for the masterof the house to remark in a congratulatory tone from his end of thetable, "What has Mullens been doing to the silver, my dear? it looksunusually bright;" while his greeting to his friends as they arrive athis house, though distinctly cordial, often takes the form of a hearty"I had no idea that we were going to see you to-night." As Mrs.Darcey-Jacobs always sends some kind message from the Major in hernotes of invitation, this of course is most disconcerting, both for herand for her guests. This year when they were in Italy a friend of oursin the same hotel overheard a lady ask the Major if he were related tothe Darceys of Mugthorpe. "I really can't tell you," said the Major;"the Darcey was my wife's idea."
"Four Jamiesons," I said, "and the Darcey-Jacobs, and our two selves.Isn't it humiliating to think that we have invariably to invite thesame two men to balance our numbers at a dinner-party? I can't helpremarking that Anthony Crawshay and Ellicomb are present at everydinner-party in this neighbourhood, as surely as soup is on the table."
"We might ask Mrs. Fielden," said Palestrina; "she is sure to have somecolonels with her. Besides, I love Mrs. Fielden, though people say sheis a flirt. I think most men are in love with her; some propose toher, and some do not, but they all love her."
"Even when she refuses to marry them?"
"I have heard Mrs. Fielden say that an offer of marriage should berefused artistically," said Palestrina. "She says young girls hardlyever do it properly, and that they are brusque and brutal. I supposeshe herself has some charming way of her own of refusing men which doesnot hurt their feelings. I believe," said Palestrina, "that she wouldmarry Sir Anthony Crawshay if he could play Bridge."
"Anthony is an excellent fellow," I said.
Mr. Ellicomb is a young man of High Church principles and artistictastes who has taken an old Tudor farmhouse in the neighbourhood, andhas furnished it very well. He waxes eloquent on the monstrousinelegance of modern dress, and the decadence of Japanese art, and hesays he would rather sit in the dark than burn gas in his house, and hedusts his own blue china himself. In his house it is a sign of art todivert anything from its proper use, and to use it for another purposethan that for which it was originally intended. Poor Ellicomb uses acabbage-strainer as a fern-pot, a drain-tile for an umbrella-stand, hismother's old lace veils as antimacassars, bed-posts as palm-stands, alinen press as a book-case, and a brass spittoon for growing lilies.It is almost like playing at guessing riddles to go over his house withhim, and to try and discover for what purpose some of his things wereoriginally created. Their conversion to another use is, I am sure, avery high form of art.
"There are the Jamiesons," said my sister, as we sat in the hall readyto receive our guests.
It does not require any occult power to sit indoors and to be able todistinguish the Jamiesons' carriage-wheels from those of the otherarrivals, for the Jamiesons have, as usual, employed the "six-fifty"bus on its return journey from the station to set them down at ourgate. It is quite a subject of interest with our neighbours to findthemselves fellow-passengers with the young ladies, in their blackskirts and their more dressy style of bodice concealed beneath tweedcapes. And it generally gets about in Stowel circles before theevening is over, or certainly soon after the morning shopping hasbegun, that the Miss Jamiesons have been dining at such or such ahouse. Even the bus conductor has a sympathetic way of handing theyoung ladies into his conveyance when they are going out to dinner, andhe fetches a wisp of straw and wipes down the step if the night is wet.
Mr. Ward piloted the independent Kate up the short carriage-drive withquite an affectionate air of solicitude, frequently inquiring of her ifshe did not feel her feet a little damp; and Kate answered cheerfullyand kindly, feeling, no doubt, that this sort of fussing was one of thedrawbacks of prospective matrimony, but that it was only right toaccept the little attentions in the spirit in which they were made.The Pirate Boy, who followed with his sister Maud, begged her to takehis arm in a burly fashion, and fell a little distance behind. ThePirate Boy thinks that it is etiquette to place himself at a distancefrom any engaged couple, even during the shortest walk. He does soeven when he makes the untoward third in a party. On these occasionshe falls behind and puts on an air of abstraction a little overdone.The Jacobs arrived next, and then Anthony Crawshay, who drove over inhis high dog-cart, with its flashing lamps and glittering wheels--avery good light-running cart it i
s; Anthony and I used often to drivein it together--and Ellicomb arrived in a brougham, in which we have ashrewd suspicion that there is a foot-warmer.
Maud began to flirt with Mr. Ellicomb directly. I have never known herto be for long in the society of a gentleman without doing so, and hersisters are wont to say of Maud that she certainly has heropportunities, while the criticism of an unprejudiced observer might bethat she certainly makes them. Mr. Ellicomb, it is believed, haswritten an article in one of the magazines on the reformation of men'sclothing, and it is hoped he will become a member of the ReadingSociety. He ate very little at dinner, and talked in a low, culturedvoice about Church matters the whole of the evening, and uttered somevery decided views upon the subject of the celibacy of the clergy.
"I must say," said Major Jacobs, "that I also approve of celibacy inthe Church, and I may say in the army and in the navy. If I had mylife to live over again----"
"William!" said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs in an awful voice.
William was about to retreat precipitately from his position, butcatching sight perhaps of a sympathetic eye turned upon him from thatgood comrade of his, Anthony Crawshay, he blundered on,--
"If Confession, now, became more general in the English Church," hesaid, "secrets confided to the clergy could hardly be kept inviolate.A clergyman's wife might almost--well, not to put too fine a point onit--wring from him by force the secret that had been committed to him."
"I hope so, indeed," said Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs.
"The Anglican Church," said Mr. Ellicomb, "recognizes that difficulty,and has met it in the persons of the Fathers of the Church."
Maud Jamieson raised soft eyes to his, and said that a woman might be ahelp and a comfort to a man.
Mr. Ellicomb seemed disposed to admit that it might be so. "I havebeen in retreat at Cowley for some weeks," he said, "and the cookingwas certainly monstrous, and, would you believe it, they did not allowone to bring one's own servant with one." There is nothing monkishabout Ellicomb, nor is his asceticism overdone.
"I have been reading a book on sects and heresies," said Mrs. Fielden,"and I find I belong to them all."
Mr. Ellicomb interposed eagerly by saying, "If I had to state my ownconvictions exactly, I should certainly say that I was a Manichaean,with just a touch of Sabellianism."
"I think," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, "that I am a Rosicrucian heretic."
Mr. Ellicomb was interested and delighted. "I know," he said, "thatmany people would think that I had not exactly stated my position. Forinstance, a lady to whom I described my symptoms the other day, told meat once that I was a Buddhist by nature and an Antinomian by education,and I felt that in part she was right."
Mrs. Darcey-Jacobs here interposed, and gave it as her opinionemphatically that man was a contemptible creature whatever his beliefsmight be, and that he required a woman to look after him. "To lookafter him," she repeated, in a tone that said as plainly as possible,"to keep him in order," and she tapped Mr. Ellicomb sharply on theknuckles.
The Pirate Boy had some brave notions about what he called The Sex, andhere plunged into a long description of how he had rescued a faircreature out of the hands of cut-throats out there, and he illustratedhis action of saving the fair one by holding an imaginary six-shooterto Palestrina's head in a very alarming way. He talked of man as TheProtector, and thrust his hand into his cummerbund--the action, Isuppose, being intended to show that the six-shooter had beenreplaced--and glanced round the table with an air of defiance. "Thereis not a man," he remarked, "I don't care who he is, if he fail inrespect to a woman when I am present, that shall not get a decanterhurled straight at his head--straight at his head. I have said it!"He laid his hand impetuously upon one of two heavy cut-glass bottlesthat had been placed in front of me, and one trembled for the safety ofone's guests. "I remember," he said, "in one of those gambling-hellsin the Far West, where there was about as unruly a set of fellows andcut-throats as ever I came across----" The rest of the story was soevidently culled from the last number of the _Strand Magazine_ that ithardly seemed rude of Palestrina to interrupt it by bowing to Mrs.Fielden, and suggesting that they should adjourn. Maud Jamieson drewmy sister aside as they stood grouped round the fire-place in the halldrinking their coffee, and thanked her for introducing Mr. Ellicomb toher. "He is perfectly charming," she said. But Maud's sisters haveconfided to us that this is her invariable conclusion about the lastman she has met, and it is intended as a sort of previndication ofherself. Maud, it seems, intends to flirt with every one she sees, butif she pretends that her affections are really touched there can be noupbraidings on the part of The Family.
Kate Jamieson sat on the sofa, and twisted her engagement ringcomplacently round her finger. She thought that Mr. Ward had carriedhimself very well this evening. His quietness throughout the dinnercompared favourably with the conversation of other guests. Kate saidonce to Palestrina: "He is a man that I shall feel the utmostconfidence in taking about with me everywhere." And the remarkconveyed the suggestion that Mr. Ward would always be an appendage toKate Jamieson.
Anthony Crawshay is a very good fellow indeed. The most advanced andcultured young lady will never get him to talk about metaphysics in thecrush of a ballroom, nor to concern himself about the inartistic shapeof the clothes we wear nowadays. "If I didn't like them, I shouldn'twear them," says Anthony. He is a short, spare man, with a voicesomewhat out of proportion to his size, and the best cross-countryrider in the county. The habit he has of shouting all his remarksseems rather pleasantly in accordance with his honest nature. Anthonyvery seldom speaks of any one of whom he has not a good word to say;but if he does mention any one whom he dislikes, he does so in a veryhearty manner, which is almost as good as many other people's praise.He is as obstinate, as straightforward, and as good a fellow as acountry neighbour ought to be. "We have been hunting a May fox, byGad, Hugo," said Anthony, and he began to tell me about the run--athing I can hardly get any one to do nowadays.
The Pirate Boy, upon whom the word "horse" had a rousing effect,condemned the whole breed of English horses in one short speech. "Iassure you," he said, getting up and sawing the air with his hand,"there are some of those wild mustangs out there which would knockspots out of any horses in your stables."
Thus challenged, Anthony, who was standing on the hearthrug, turned,and stooping towards me asked, in what he intended to be a whisper, whothe young fellow was, and shouted abroad, "Rum chap that, very rumchap!"
By-and-by Maud Jamieson went to the piano and began to sing ballads toMr. Ellicomb; and we have an inward conviction--Palestrina and I--thatthis evening's report to the Jamieson family will be that Mr. Ellicombis "struck." Major Jacobs considers himself musical because he likeshearing the words of a song distinctly pronounced. He was charmed withMaud's singing, and Kate encouraged the girl in a little matronly waywhich she has lately assumed. She called forth Maud's best efforts bysaying, "What was the pretty Irish song you sang the other night?" or"You haven't given us 'We'd better bide a wee' yet, dear." Maudresponded with several ballads, and wished she had some of Lord HenrySomerset's songs with her, Mr. Ellicomb having expressed a fondness forthem. An opportunity was thus given for suggesting a call atBelmont--Maud knows mamma will be delighted--she wished Kennie werebetter at that sort of thing; the invitation to come in some afternoonmight perhaps have come more properly from a brother.
It was very gratifying to find that Mr. Ward, fortified by dinner,became more courageous than I have ever known him to be before. Hetip-toed almost boldly across the room, and sitting down beside mysister began to make a series of deliberate remarks to her, mostly inthe form of interrogation: "Do you care for Scotch songs?" "Have youever been in Ireland?" "Do you know Wales at all?" And to theseimportant questions Palestrina made suitable replies. "That is _most_interesting," I heard her say from time to time, using the formula ofthose who are bored to the extent of complete absence of mind.
Mrs. Fielden crossed the room sudde
nly with a shimmer of silken skirts.In spite of her frivolity she has a way of making herself necessary toevery party to which she goes. There used to be an old saying long agoin Scotland that wherever The Macgregor sat was the head of the table.Mrs. Fielden is always the centre of every party, although she has achildish habit, which in another woman might be ascribed to shyness, oftaking the least conspicuous seat in the room. Consequently, when shedispersed the little group that was standing or sitting about her,applauding everything she said, and came across the room in pink satinand roses and diamonds, and sat down beside my sofa, the action hadsomething regal about it, as though she had left a throne and come tospeak to me.
"I am going to teach you to play Bridge," she said.
"That is most kind of you."
"I am going to carry you off to Stanby next week to give you lessons,"she went on.
I have a strong conviction that if Mrs. Fielden were to give a beggar ahalfpenny he would probably stoop down and kiss the edge of her skirt,or do something equally unconventional and self-abasing. She might, asa great favour, give a courtier who had risked his life for her, herhand to kiss. When she smiles men become foolish about her.
"It is very kind of you to want us," I said.
"I want Bridge," said Mrs. Fielden, and, as usual when she is going tobe provoking, she looked prettier than ever, and began to smile.
"Any one will do to make up a rubber, I suppose?" I said.
"Oh yes, any one," said Mrs. Fielden.
"Consequently, my sister and I need not feel particularly distinguishedby being asked," I continued.
"I am so glad Palestrina is coming," said Mrs. Fielden, "becauseseveral men have written to tell me they are coming to stay, just whenmy sisters-in-law are leaving, and I suppose I oughtn't to entertain ahouseful of men alone, ought I?"
Mrs. Fielden does exactly as she pleases upon all occasions, but thisdoes not prevent her from pretending to have acute attacks of proprietysometimes.
"We will play Bridge and chaperon you with pleasure," I said.
"I thought of drowning myself yesterday," said Mrs. Fielden, "becauseit rained all day, and I had no one to amuse me, and then I thought Iwould ask you to come over and play Bridge instead. When I am bored Inever can make up my mind whether I shall commit suicide, or go into aconvent, or get married. Which do you advise?"
"I should advise you to marry," I said. "As far as I can gather, agreat source of discord and danger in our neighbourhood would beremoved if you did so."
Mrs. Fielden said with her eyes, "Hugo, you are very cross." But beingthe most good-natured woman in the world, and sharing that forbearancewhich most people extend to an invalid, she smiled instead.
"Why do you stay here when you are feeling so tired?" she said to mepresently.
"Because," I replied, "my sister lies awake half the night and thinks Iam going to die, if I show any signs of fatigue, or go to bed early.Besides, for us, you know, this is quite an exciting evening. We havethought about our dinner-party for days past."
"If you were nice," said Mrs. Fielden after a pause, "you would ask meto come into your library and smoke."
"Do you smoke?"
"No," said Mrs. Fielden, "I don't."
"I'm glad you don't," I said.
"For years," said Mrs. Fielden, "I tried to think it was wrong, andthen I quite enjoyed smoking; but there is a certain effort involved intrying to raise an innocent occupation to the level of a crime."
"It is a very unfeminine habit," I said; partly because I was in acontradictious mood, and partly because I wanted to snub Mrs. Fieldenfor being so beautiful and young and charming.
"The last man," said Mrs. Fielden gravely, "who made that remark diedshortly afterwards."
She was gathering up my cushions and pillows as she spoke, and sheturned to my sister as she crossed the hall, and said, "We are going tostudy philosophy in the library."
The library was lit by a single lamp, and the fire burned low in thegrate; but the room was illumined suddenly by a pink dress and rosesand diamonds, and Mrs. Fielden was arranging cushions, in the veryskilful way she has, on my sofa by the fire. She handed me mycigarette-box and matches, and spread a rug over my leg. For someoccult reason the rustling pink dress only whispered softly over thecarpet now, like a woman's hushed voice in a sick-room, and Mrs.Fielden, by the simple act of drawing up a chair to the fire andsitting in it, took the head of the table again, and became the centreof the room.
"May I really smoke," I asked, "after being such a brute as to say youmustn't?"
"I look upon smoking as a purely feminine habit, like drinking tea, orhaving headaches, or anything of that sort," said Mrs. Fielden. "Itwas simply because it was so expensive that men took to it in the firstplace. Ethics should not be based upon accident, should it?"
I handed Mrs. Fielden my cigarette-box.
"If you are quite sure you disapprove, I will have one," she said.
From the hall came the sound of Maud's singing. Her voice is not ofgreat compass, nor very strong, but it is clear and fresh, with atuneful cadence in it.
"You spend nearly all your days here?" said Mrs. Fielden, looking roundthe room.
"Until the afternoon," I said; "and then Palestrina and I go for alittle walk, and at tea-time I go to the hall sofa, and she asks peopleto come up and sit with me."
"I am glad you like books," said Mrs. Fielden.
"But really," I said, "the good folks in Stowel are all extraordinarilykind to me, and some of the Jamiesons are up nearly every day."
"I like the Jamiesons," said Mrs. Fielden; "they are so intelligent.Have you ever noticed that their watches all keep exact time, and thatthey tell you the hour to the very second? And they always know whatday of the month it is, and when Easter falls, and how much stuff ittakes to make a blouse."
"You wrong Eliza Jamieson," I said; "she studies philosophy."
"Oh," said Mrs. Fielden eagerly, "I forgot to tell you, I have begun tostudy philosophy. I began last week. Will you lend me some books,please? I want to be very wise and learned."
"Why?" I asked.
"I think," said Mrs. Fielden, "that it might be nice if people did notalways call one frivolous; and that if I studied philosophy----"
"I shall not lend you any books," I said.
"That is rather disobliging of you."
"Because," I said, "our lives should always show a perfect equation.If you are a frivolous person you should behave frivolously."
"You mean _as_ I am a frivolous person," said Mrs. Fielden.
"As you are a frivolous person," I repeated.
"And after all," said Mrs. Fielden with a contemplative air, "how sillyphilosophy is! I asked somebody the other day the meaning of asyllogism, and really I don't think I ever heard anything quite sofoolish."
"It is quite beneath your notice," I said.
"I did think of asking you if I might come over sometimes and readthese musty volumes of yours."
"You would probably find them as uninteresting as I am," I said.
Mrs. Fielden looked as if she thought that might be possible, and didnot press the matter.
I dislike being disloyal to my books, for they are such good friends ofmine. But a great wish came to me then to get up and do something,instead of for ever reading the doings and the thoughts of otherpeople. I thought how much I should like to live again, and just foronce sleep on the veldt with the stars overhead, or longed that I couldget astride of a horse, and follow a burst of the hounds over the wetfields in England. And so thinking I turned on the sofa and saidpetulantly, "I wish Maud Jamieson would not sing that song."
"Oh, that we two were maying," she sang, in the song that tells of loveand separation, and the longings and heartbreaks which it is muchbetter not to speak about, and the things which we want and cannot have.
"I hate yearners," I said. "Why can't she sing something cheerful?"
Mrs. Fielden rose from her chair by the fire and crossed the hear
thrug,and came and sat down on my sofa. She took my hand in hers and said:"Poor boy! is it very hard sometimes?"
"Of course," said Palestrina, as we went upstairs to bed after ourguests had departed, "you are sure to feel tired. The little party hasbeen too much for you, I'm afraid. It was very tiresome for you havingto leave us all."
"I felt rather a crock after dinner," I said, "and I think the hallgets hot in the evening."
"I wish I could make you better," said Palestrina affectionately; "itis horrid for you being ill."
"Every one," I said, "makes far too much fuss about health. Why, tenofficers of our regiment are buried in South Africa. I suppose halfthe pensioners in Chelsea Hospital have had wounds as bad as mine, anda cripple more or less in the world does not matter very much. Womenare kind enough to pity me. They even confide their troubles to mesometimes, because I am a poor thing lying on a sofa. I am reallyquite happy hobbling about with you, Palestrina; and when I am older, Ishall probably take an interest in the garden. There is a proper andphilosophical attitude of mind in respect of these things."
"O Hugo," said Palestrina, "I always know you are not happy when youbegin to be philosophical."
"Life is very easily explained without the assistance of philosophywhen everything goes all right," I replied.