The Penguin Complete Novels of Nancy Mitford

  Hail! The filthy old female Pacifist my grandmother has shut me up in my room because I was seen talking to you. She misuses me and tramples upon me as for many years France has misused and trampled upon Germany. It does not signify. Germany has now arisen and I shall soon arise and my day shall dawn blood red. Terrible must be the fate of the enemies of Social Unionism, so let the poor old female beware. I will meet you both tomorrow outside the twopenny-bar shop at four o’clock exactly.

  Yours in

  Social Unionism,

  EUGENIA MALMAINS.

  This document was adorned with a Swastika, Union Jack, and Skull and Cross bones, all carefully drawn in black ink.

  ‘She’s a fine girl,’ said Jasper, with his mouth full. ‘I hope to marry her yet. Tell you what, Noel old boy, I’m in love.’

  Noel was profoundly irritated by this statement, which took all the wind out of his own sails.

  ‘So am I,’ he said.

  ‘Good egg,’ said Jasper. They both went on eating in silence for a bit.

  ‘My Miss Smith,’ said Jasper, ‘is a dangerous good armful. She wriggles in an exceedingly delicious way when you kiss her. I’m fearfully in love.’

  Noel thought that there was no point in mentioning that he had not so far kissed his beloved. He wondered now why on earth this was, and supposed that the girl, while perfect in other ways, must be lacking in initiative. ‘My girl is called Anne-Marie,’ he said, ‘Anne-Marie Lace, she is wonderful.’

  ‘How did you pick her up?’ asked Jasper with interest.

  ‘We met,’ said Noel haughtily, ‘on the village green; she was looking for her children.’

  ‘And does she wriggle when you kiss her?’

  ‘Not exactly. She is a most fascinating creature, a natural highbrow. We had a long discussion on art and literature.’

  ‘Sounds a cracking old bore,’ said Jasper, ‘if there’s one thing I can’t abide it is culture in women. Miss Smith reads the Strand Magazine and hates foreigners. That’s all I found out about her intellect, but there’s nothing I can’t tell you about her physiological reactions. Darling Miss Smith, I love her like hell, Oh, gee – do I love Miss Smith.’

  Noel felt jealous. It began to look as though Jasper loved Miss Smith more than he, Noel, loved Mrs Lace. This was extremely boring for Noel, and he wished more than ever that Jasper was back in London.

  ‘You wait until you see Anne-Marie,’ he said crossly. ‘I should think she’ll make that Miss Smith of yours look like a – like a – well, like a twopenny bar.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jasper, ‘Miss Smith looks to me like a twopenny bar looks to Eugenia, and I’m sure you can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘What strikes one most particularly about Anne-Marie is her wonderfully original appearance. Her beauty is something different from what we are used to. I suppose it is that she belongs to her environment so exquisitely, she borrows nothing from your smart London women.’

  ‘Yes, I see, a great hulking dairy-maid with apple cheeks. Not my type at all, I’m bound to say.’

  ‘Oh! far from that,’ said Noel, with a superior smile, ‘if anything you would call her exotic. Very pale and delicate looking, with a rare quality that hardly seems to belong to our generation. A Dame aux Camélias, if you like.’

  ‘Tubercular is she?’ said Jasper. ‘You be careful, old boy.’

  5

  Next day the mystery of Miss Jones’s strawberry leaves was solved. Jasper brought the morning papers into Noel’s bedroom just before luncheon-time and showed him with glee the large photographs of Miss Jones which appeared in of all them under such headings as ‘It should have been her Wedding day’, ‘Orangeade instead of Orange Blossom’ or ‘Earl’s fatherless daughter’s misfortune’. The captions underneath announced, with hysteria, or with dignity, according to the calibre of the newspaper, that Lady Marjorie Merrith, whose marriage to the Duke of Dartford was to have taken place that very day, had been obliged to postpone it indefinitely, as she had been stricken with an attack of scarlet-fever and would therefore be in quarantine for the next six weeks; she was doing as well as could be expected. Lady Marjorie, they went on to say, was the daughter of the Countess of Fitzpuglington and of the late Earl, whose tragic death in the Titanic disaster left his wife a widow ere she was a mother, and his only child an orphan at birth.

  ‘She looks all right, considering,’ said Noel. He felt even more stupid than usual, having sat up with Jasper until five o’clock that morning talking about love.

  ‘Considering what?’

  ‘Considering she has scarlet-fever.’

  ‘Scarlet-fever my bottom. Try and pull yourself together old boy. How can I help you if you won’t help yourself at all? Could you listen to me intelligently for a few minutes, all this is really most interesting from our point of view. You see what has obviously happened – either she can’t take the Duke or the Duke can’t take her (doesn’t matter which) so they decided, or she decided off her own bat, that the only way to break it off at the eleventh hour would be for her to have some illness with a long quarantine. Good. The interesting part from our point of view is this – next, possibly, to Eugenia Malmains, Lady Marjorie Merrith (Miss Jones) is the greatest heiress in England. I believe it’s something fabulous how rich she is. Now here are we, two old bums, with two enormous fortunes dangling in front of our noses. Ours for the asking and God knows we need ’em.’

  ‘What makes you suppose they are ours for the asking?’

  ‘In the case of Eugenia I should have thought it was obvious. She would marry anybody to get away from T.P.O.F. In the case of Lady M. we have a powerful ally in the Rebound. Fantastic what a girl will do on the Rebound. But what I want you to understand now is that we must sketch out a plan of action – it’s no good both going for both, that would only end in neither getting either. So we must choose which we want. Now I thought of giving you first choice on condition that you go on financing this racket.’

  ‘I absolutely refuse to lend you another penny, if that’s what you’re driving at.’

  Jasper sighed. ‘If you don’t,’ he said, reluctantly, ‘I shall be forced to stay on here insolvent, which would be awkward for you under the circumstances, and make a pass at Mrs Lace.’

  Noel saw the force of this argument. Jasper had, before now, broken up many a happy love affair. ‘As a matter of fact old boy,’ he said, in a conciliatory tone of voice, ‘I was only joking. I like to have you here, it would be awfully dull all alone.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jasper, ‘just choose your girl then will you? I’m rather anxious to get on with the work in hand.’

  ‘My head aches,’ said Noel. ‘Let me go to sleep again please.’

  ‘You can, as soon as you’ve chosen. Now, think well, I can’t have you changing your mind about this later. Eugenia is richer, more beautiful and madder, Miss Jones is better dressed, more presentable and I should say on the whole lousier. Which will you have?’

  ‘You don’t seem to remember that I’m in love already,’ said Noel with simple dignity.

  ‘Oh, cut it out. I’m fearfully in love myself. Do you suppose I am going to let that stand in my way? Not likely. There are times, my dear old boy, when love has got to take its proper place as an unethical and anti-social emotion, and this is one of them. Come on, now choose?’

  ‘I will have Eugenia,’ Noel muttered into his bed-clothes, ‘anything for a quiet life.’

  ‘A quiet life is the last thing you are likely to enjoy with that girl, still have it your own way of course. I shall now go and tee myself up “très snob pour le sport” and pursue the elusive Lady Marjorie. I wonder if she’s about yet – never knew a girl to be so bedridden, goes to bed early, gets up late, and lies down most of the day with her face greased.’

  Noel called out after him that he did not want any luncheon, and once more composed
himself for sleep.

  Ten minutes later Jasper, contrary to all his plans, was kissing Miss Smith at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘Darling Miss Smith,’ he said, ‘do you know that I’m madly in love with you?’

  ‘Darling Mr Aspect, are you really? I call that sweet of you.’

  ‘Darling Miss Smith, could one be told who you are?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Because it happens to interest me.’

  ‘Well, I’m a lot of different things. At the present time I seem to be just a confidante.’

  ‘To Lady Marjorie?’

  ‘Oh! you know that now, do you? Yes, I’m her confidante. When Marge goes mad in white satin with flowers in her hair, I go mad in white linen with straws in my hair (literary allusion), that’s what we’re up to at the present moment.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Who is your husband?’

  ‘He’s called Anthony St Julien, I’m called Poppy St Julien. Call me Poppy if you want to.’

  ‘Thanks, you’re Miss Smith to me though. Where is Anthony St Julien now?’

  ‘Having a cocktail somewhere before lunch I should guess.’

  ‘Does he know that Poppy St Julien has been kissing Jasper Aspect under a willow tree, so early in the morning?’

  ‘He does not. Nor, if he did, would he care,’ said Mrs St Julien.

  ‘Good heavens, is the man an eel? Now tell me all about the heroine.’

  ‘She’s just a heroine you know.’

  ‘In what way so heroic?’

  ‘I mean, she’s not ordinary like you and me. One must either regard her as a monstrosity of selfishness or else as a heroine. To me she’s a heroine. Her gloves are always so much cleaner than anybody else’s, an attribute which I admire.’

  ‘Yes, I see. So why didn’t she marry the Duke?’

  ‘You never can tell with Marge why she does this, that or the other. Her mind doesn’t work in any comprehensible channels. She just decided to chuck the whole thing the day before yesterday, and then we came down here.’

  ‘Some people don’t know when they’re lucky,’ said Jasper.

  ‘That’s what I told her. Marge, I said, in three days’ time from now, if you take my advice, you’ll be a duch. It’s not necessary to look upon that as an end in itself, but think what a useful stepping-stone to all the things one would really like to be – a double duch, for instance, awfully chic, you can’t be a double duch without being an ordinary one first can you? Then think how enjoyable to be a dowager duch, or even a divorced duch.’

  ‘Or even a dear old duch,’ said Jasper.

  ‘But it was all no good, she hardly even listened to me. It appears that romance is what she’s after now, or some such nonsense – the girl’s been reading trash I suppose. So she left the classical notes on her pincushion, one for Osborne Dartford and one for her mamma, and she fondly imagines that they won’t find out where we are hiding, so you won’t tell anyone who would matter will you?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘And don’t let anyone see that we are – well – you know –’

  ‘Walking out you mean?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Anthony St Julien might get to hear of it.’

  ‘I thought you said he wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘He wouldn’t mind at all, quite the contrary, he’d be pleased. He wants to divorce me on account of he dotes on a débutante.’

  ‘Boy must be batty,’ said Jasper. ‘If I had a lovely wife like you I’d never go near débutantes.’

  ‘I say, you are sweet.’

  ‘I’m not sweet at all, only sane. So you don’t like the idea of being divorced by Anthony St Julien?’

  ‘Of course I don’t, why should I? It’s most unusual for ladies to be divorced you know, and besides I shouldn’t have any money to live on.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Anthony Dirty Sweep St Julien let you divorce him?’

  ‘Because it appears that débutantes don’t like marrying divorced gentlemen. You see, she won’t be a co-respondent herself, and she won’t let him take a lady to Brighton either.’

  ‘Sounds like a whist drive,’ said Jasper. ‘Winning lady moves up, and the losing gentleman moves down. I think your husband is a cad, Miss Smith, if there’s one sort of chap I do hate it’s a cad.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Poppy St Julien, ‘you are really sweet.’

  ‘Sweet’s my middle name. Good morning Miss Jones, how did you sleep?’

  ‘Wretchedly, thank you,’ said Lady Marjorie, ‘You should feel my bed.’

  ‘Oh! I say, I’d like to later on. You know, you must be a real princess, old girl.’

  ‘Are we on old girl terms?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Jasper. ‘By the way, there’s a whole heap about you in the papers this morning, orangeade instead of orange blossom. Have you seen it?’

  ‘Yes thanks, I have.’

  ‘I don’t think I quite approve of all this careless casting away of dukes you know, dear.’

  ‘Thank you so much. It’s immaterial to me what you think about my private affairs. And pray don’t call me “dear”.’

  There was a short silence. Jasper would have liked to get down in good earnest to his conquest of Miss Jones, but felt himself most unaccountably hampered by the presence of Miss Smith. He was very much disgusted by this weakness, and feared that it might indicate the presence of a real emotion.

  ‘Where’s your friend?’ asked Mrs St Julien.

  ‘Noel? He’s doing badly. He’s gone and fallen in love with a local beauty, poor old boy.’

  ‘Talking about local beauties,’ said Mrs St Julien, ‘I’ve got a mysterious cousin who must live somewhere in this neighbourhood. She’s called Eugenia Malmains and nobody has ever clapped eyes on her as far as I know – I thought I’d try and see her while I’m down here.’

  ‘Nothing easier,’ said Jasper. ‘If you will be outside the twopenny-bar shop this afternoon at four o’clock exactly, I will introduce to you your cousin Eugenia Malmains.’

  The day was very hot and breathless. Jasper, Noel, and the two ladies sat beneath a large lime tree on the village green and found little to say to each other. Jasper, who had a great many subjects in common with Mrs St Julien, when alone with her, and who could, he felt sure, have made a most pleasing impression on Lady Marjorie under the same circumstance, found it strangely difficult to deal with the two of them together. The presence of Noel, too, rather cramped his style. Lady Marjorie and Mrs St Julien made desultory conversation, while Jasper bided his time, and Noel silently considered where, when, and how, he should make a declaration to Mrs Lace.

  At four o’clock, exactly, Eugenia arrived, swinging down the village street with the gait of a triumphant goddess, and closely followed by Vivian Jackson and the Reichshund. ‘Hail!’ she cried, throwing up her arm in the Social Unionist salute.

  ‘Snow,’ replied Noel, laughing immoderately at this very poor joke.

  Eugenia regarded him with lowering brow. ‘Union Jackshirt Foster,’ she said sternly, ‘beware, I have had to speak to you once before. If you continue to be facetious at the expense of our Movement I shall be obliged to degrade you before the comrades. In fact I will cut off all your buttons with my own dagger.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Jasper ‘Ignominy or a Roman death for Union Jackshirt Foster. Miss Eugenia, I want to introduce you to your cousin Mrs St Julien, and to Lady Marjorie Merrith. They are staying at the Jolly Roger like us.’

  ‘Hail!’ said Eugenia. She saluted each in turn and then shook hands. ‘I am very pleased to see you here. We are badly in need of members for a women’s branch in this village, perhaps you would help me to organize one?’

  ‘Of course we will,’ said Poppy. She was attracted by her cousin.

  ‘Union Jackshirt Aspect,’ E
ugenia went on, ‘I have brought you a message from T.P.O.F. She says that your poor grandfather was one of her greatest friends and she wishes to meet you. Would it be convenient for you to take tea at Chalford House today?’

  ‘Perfectly convenient,’ said Jasper. ‘I accept with pleasure.’

  ‘Perhaps my cousin would care to come?’

  ‘Thank you, I should like to,’ said Poppy St Julien.

  Eugenia then rather half-heartedly invited the others. She evidently hoped that they would refuse, which they did. Noel had arranged to visit Mrs Lace at tea-time; Lady Marjorie said that she must grease her face and lie down for a bit.

  So the three of them set forth, with Vivian Jackson and the Reichshund trotting at their heels.

  ‘Is it far?’ asked Mrs St Julien.

  ‘Oh! no,’ Eugenia replied. Her cousin was not much reassured. Eugenia walked with effortless strides, giving the impression that twenty miles to her would be the merest stroll. Quite soon, however, they came upon the lodge gates of Chalford Park, which were large and beautiful, and surmounted by a marble arch of baroque design. The two lodges, one on each side, were small round temples. Inside the park there was an atmosphere of unreality. They advanced up an avenue of elm trees which hung in the sleepy air like large green balloons. The surface of the drive, although in perfect repair, was faintly tinged with mossy green; it was evident that wheeled traffic seldom passed that way.

  ‘Are we approaching the palace of the Sleeping Beauty?’ Jasper murmured.

  ‘You will see the house from the top of this rise,’ said Eugenia. She looked a little anxious, as though hoping so much that they would like it. She need not have worried. The house, when it appeared to view, presented the most beautiful vision that could be imagined. Built, in the Palladian style, of pale pink marble, it consisted of a central dome flanked by two smaller ones, to which it was connected by gleaming colonnades. The whole thing was raised above the level of the drive, and approached in the front by a huge twisted marble staircase. Beyond the house there lay a gleaming lake, beyond that again a formal garden of clipped yews, grass and statuary, and in the background of this picture was the pale but piercing blue of a far-distant landscape.