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Lady of the Basement Flat

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<h3>Chapter Five.</h3> <h4>Pastimes—And Mr Maplestone.</h4> The next morning, bright and early, we called on the house-agent to sign and seal the agreement which should make us the happy owners of Pastimes for a term of years agreeably elastic. Mr Edwards was a small, dapper little man, typically house-agenty in manner, even to the point of assuring us gravely that another tenant was urgently in the field, and that we had secured our lease by the very skin of our teeth. Charmion lifted incredulous eyebrows. “But, Mr Edwards, you wrote to me a second time, only a fortnight ago, to say the house was still on your hands!” “Quite so, madam. And it was. But only on Monday Mr Maplestone motored over from Wembly. Mr Maplestone is Squire there—a very influential gentleman in these parts. He is looking out a house for a relative, and had only just heard that Pastimes was vacant. He drove over, as I say, and telegraphed to his friend that the house was too good to lose. He expected a reply this evening.” “When it will be too late!” Charmion said calmly. “You told him, of course, that you were in treaty with another tenant?” “I did, madam. Quite so. But”—the little man hesitated, and fidgeted uncomfortably—“Mr Maplestone is—er—accustomed to get his own way! I explained that I must accept a definite offer, and that you had the first option, but I am afraid that he hardly realises—” Charmion waved an imperial hand. “We are not concerned with Mr Maplestone, or what he expects. Pastimes is ours, and that settles the question. To-morrow morning Miss Wastneys and I will meet you at eleven o’clock, to go over the house together. It is in good order, but we shall require a little decoration and painting here and there. You will be able to advise us how to get it done well and quickly. When I say quickly I mean quickly! Plenty of men must be put on to begin the work and finish it in a few days’ time, not one or two who will drag on for weeks. You can get us an estimate for time, as well as for cost.” Mr Edwards bowed, murmured, and waved his hands. He looked overcome, poor man, as well he might, for if one would-be client demanded his own way, the other was obviously determined to have hers. Between the two his path was not easy! I smiled at him ingratiatingly, just to help things along, but he took little notice of me. Obviously, in Charmion’s company I did not “take the eye!” On the way home I expressed sympathy for the disappointed Mr Maplestone, but Charmion refused to agree. “I don’t know the man, so his pleasures and disappointments don’t enter into my sphere. Promiscuous universal sympathy is too great a tax on the nervous system. Why should I distress myself about a man I have never seen?” “Not distress yourself exactly, but you might cast a kindly thought. He will be disappointed, and the poor little agent will have a bad half-hour.” “Now you are asking sympathy for the agent, too! Evelyn, aren’t you the least little bit in the world inclined to wear your heart on your sleeve?” “Charmion, aren’t you the least little bit inclined to be hard?” She agreed with unflinching candour. “I am. It’s the safer plan if one doesn’t want to be hurt!” “But—what about the other people? Mayn’t they be hurt instead?” She looked at me gravely for a moment, then with a smile which grew gradually broad and roguish. “We ought to strike a happy mean between us, eh, Evelyn? You are all credulity and gush, and I refuse to disturb myself about other people, or their affairs.” “That’s not true! You disturbed yourself about me!” “Because it affected myself. I had grown fond of you, and so you entered into my life. Pure selfishness, my dear!” “I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it! It’s no good trying to disillusion me, Charmion. I’ve put you on a topmost pinnacle, and it would take a mighty effort to tumble you down!” “Dear thing!” murmured Charmion fondly. “Well—suppose we talk of the drawing-room walls? I’m a great believer in occupying oneself with the next step. Revelations of character will follow in due course—I plump for white!” “White certainly. A warm cream white, with not a touch of blue in it. And the prevailing colour?” “Let’s count three quickly, and then each say what we think!” We counted, and the two words leapt crisply forth. “Rose!” said I. “Purple!” said Charmion. Then we looked at one another beneath puckered brows. “Rose lights up better!” “Purple is more uncommon.” “Rose is more cheerful in winter!” “Purple is restful in summer!” It seemed for a moment as if we had reached an impasse, then came an illuminating thought. “Why not—both? They harmonise well. Purple curtains and carpet—the plain colour, very soft and subdued, and cushions and shades of the right rose. With our united treasures we ought to have a lovely room. Where are your things, Charmion?” “Stored,” she said shortly. “I tried a house for a few months, but it was too lonely an experience. But I have a passion for beautiful furniture. It has amused me to pick up good specimens here and there. Now we shall enjoy them together! Wait till you see my Spanish leather screen!” “Wait till you see my Chinese cabinet!” I retorted, and we talked “things” industriously for the next hour. After luncheon Charmion settled herself to write business letters, drawing a big screen round her writing-table, the better, as she informed me, to protect herself against my chatter. “You promise to be quiet, but in five minutes’ time you begin again! Now please to remember that to all intents and purposes I am in another room, and that until I choose to come forth, I am dead to you and everyone else! Do you understand? These letters positively must get off to-night!” “Dear me! I don’t want to talk! I shall be thankful to sit by the fire and enjoy a quiet read,” I said loftily, and promptly drew up an old arm-chair, and buried myself in the book which I had bought to while away the hours of my journey, and then left unread, because my own affairs were at the moment so much more absorbing than those of a fictitious heroine. Now that my mind was more at ease, I found the story interesting enough, and had read on for about an hour with undisturbed enjoyment, when suddenly the door was flung open, and a voice announced:— “Mr Maplestone!” I leapt up, putting up a hasty hand to smooth my ruffled hair. That was the worst of having only one sitting-room! Visitors were hurled in upon one without a moment’s warning. Happy Charmion behind the screen! I stared across the room and beheld a tall—very tall—thin man, with short reddish hair and light blue, angry-looking eyes. He was dressed in riding costume, which, so far as his figure went, became him exceedingly well. He was probably somewhere about thirty-five, and one glance at his tightly-set lips and firm square chin was enough to demonstrate the truth of Mr Edwards’ assertion that he was “a gentleman who likes his own way”. He had probably heard by now that for once he was to be thwarted, and had come to tell me what he thought about it. At this moment I forgot to be sorry for his disappointment in my exceeding sympathy for myself! I glanced helplessly at the screen. “Mrs Fane, I believe.” “I am Miss Wastneys. Mrs Fane is engaged. Perhaps it is something that I—” He laid his hat and stick on the table. “May I have a few minutes’ conversation? You will allow me to sit down?” “Certainly.” I pushed aside the easy-chair and seated myself on one of the six “uprights” which were ranged about the room. It felt so much more business-like and supporting. Mr Maplestone seated himself opposite to me, and rested his hands on his knees. “I am told that you have some idea of renting a house called Pastimes, near here!” “We have taken Pastimes. Mrs Fane and myself have this morning signed the lease.” He waved an impatient hand. “This morning! So I am told. Edwards has behaved very badly. I warned him that things should not be hurried through.” “They have not been hurried. It is several months since Mrs Fane first saw the house, and three weeks since negotiations were opened a second time.” “I only heard this week that the house was vacant.” “And should Mr Edwards”—(the innocent inquiry of my voice was growing more and more marked)—“was it his duty to have told you?” His eyes sent out a flash. I could see the muscles of his hand clench against his knee. I had scored a point, and his anger was correspondingly increased. “Perhaps I had better explain,” he began in a tone of elaborate forbearance. “I live at Wembly. Most of the land between here and there belongs to me. Pastimes happens to be outside the limit, and so it escaped my memory. I have not been over it before. I did not know the last tenants. For the last few weeks I have been looking for a house for my friend—a member of the family who is returning from abroad. Invalided!” He pronounced the last word with emphasis, staring fixedly at me the while. I adapted my features to express polite commiseration. “It is natural that he should wish to live within driving distance of his friends.” “Oh, quite!” “The moment that I saw Pastimes I knew for a sure thing that it would be just his house—” “I am sorry, but as he has not seen it, he can’t be disappointed. There must be other houses—” “I have already said I have been searching round for—the—last—three—weeks,” Mr Maplestone repeated, in the carefully deliberate tone which disguises irritation. “Nothing else will suit anything like so well.” I murmured indefinitely, and glanced at the screen. Mentally I could see Charmion leaning back in her chair, smiling her slow fine smile, inquisitively waiting to see just how firm or how weak I could be. I was not inclined to be weak. There was something in the personality of this big domineering man which roused an imp of contradiction. We sat silent, eyeing one another across the room. “I believe you and—er—Mrs Fane are strangers to this neighbourhood?” “Yes! That is so.” “You have no—er—special link or attraction?” I saw the trap, and protested blandly. “Oh, yes! We are delighted with Pastimes. It exactly suits our requirements.” Mr Maplestone frowned, and fidgeted to and fro, then suddenly leant forward, straightening his face into what was obviously intended to be a smile. “Miss Wastneys! Will you forgive me if I am perfectly frank and honest, and tell you exactly what is in my mind?” “Of course I will. I am sure,” I declared mendaciously, “there can be nothing to forgive!” He had the grace to look a trifle ashamed, but his resolution did not waver. Not a bit! He looked straight in my eyes, and said deliberately:— “I want Pastimes! For the moment it has slipped through my fingers, but a couple of hours cannot seriously affect your arrangements. On my cousin’s behalf I am anxious to take over the lease. It would be an act of grace on your part if you would agree to this arrangement, and deal with me as his representative!” The audacity of it! For a moment I was silent for sheer want of breath, but I could feel the blood rushing into my cheeks, and knew that my eyes were sending out flashes to meet his own. My appearance must have prepared him for my answer before it came, uttered in a very calm, very haughty, aggravatingly deliberate tone. “We are not in the habit of changing our plans in a couple of hours. Pastimes suits us. It is unnecessary to look for another house. The matter was decided this morning.” “You understand that my cousin is an invalid, and that he has a special reason for wishing to live in this neighbourhood?” “There are other houses. Pastimes is not the only one that is vacant.” “It is the only one that is suitable,” he repeated doggedly, and there followed a silence during which he sat back in his chair, staring at me with the light blue eyes, which of all eyes in the world can look at once the coldest and the most angry. If he could have done what he wanted at that moment, he would have taken me by the shoulders and shaken me well. To have made up his mind that a thing must be, and to find himself thwarted by a bit of a girl—it was unsupportable!—so unsupportable, that even now he refused to believe it could be true. Giving himself a little shake, like a dog who rouses himself to fresh efforts, he again made that industrious attempt at a smile, and began slowly:— “I am afraid I have made a bad beginning! Please forgive me if I have seemed discourteous. When we have talked things over quietly, I have no doubt that we shall be able to reach a satisfactory agreement.” “I’m afraid I can’t see how that can be! There is only one Pastimes, so one of us is bound to be disappointed!” He pounced on that as if scenting a hopeful weakness. “Exactly. Yes; but the disappointment would vary in intensity. That is what I am anxious to point out. When Edwards told me that the tenant was a lady I felt reassured, for it is a matter in which a woman’s kindliness and good heart—” My eyes roved to the screen. Charmion’s ears were assuredly open at this moment, straining to hear my reply. I raised my eyebrows, and said frostily:— “We are speaking of a business arrangement. I am afraid that is the only light in which we can consider the matter. We shall honourably fulfil our part of the agreement which we have signed.” “You refuse to show any consideration for an invalid returning home—after many years?” “Not at all. If it is ever in our power, as neighbours, to show him any kindness, we shall be eager to do all that is possible—short of giving up our own house for his benefit. Would you do it yourself, Mr Maplestone—for the sake of a stranger you had never seen?” He stood staring at me, his cheeks bulging with the moving lumps which show that people are swallowing down words which they dare not allow themselves to say. With the same air of elaborate patience which he had shown before, he explained slowly:— “My cousin has been stationed in India. In a border regiment. He has served his country for thirty years. Now he has had a paralytic stroke, and is making his way home by slow stages. A man who has worked and suffered as he has done deserves a home, and the gratitude of his fellow-countrymen.” “There are two sides to every question, Mr Maplestone. If I chose to go into details, I might convince you that Mrs Fane and I have our own claims, which seem to us equally strong.” He leapt from his seat, and advanced until he stood directly facing my chair. “That finishes it! It is no use appealing to your feelings. Let us make it pure business then! I offer you a hundred pounds down for the reversion of the lease!” So it had come to this. Bribery undisguised! I lowered my eyelids, and sat silent, an image of outraged dignity. “You refuse! It is not enough? Two hundred then! Three!” Still silence. But my listening ears caught a threatening rustle behind the screen. “Three hundred! It is a good offer. You are not bound to this neighbourhood. You can find other houses to suit you. Still not enough? Name your own terms then. How much will you take?” “A million pounds!” The words leapt out of my mouth as it seemed of their own volition. I was tired of this farcical bargaining, and determined to put an end to it, once for all. I stood up and faced his blank stare of amazement, without at least any outward shrinking. “Surely it is useless to prolong this bargaining. It is very unpleasant and humiliating.” Mr Maplestone set his square jaw. “You are only one partner to this transaction. Mrs Fane is probably your senior. If I were to see her, she might be induced to name a more—er—shall I say reasonable (oh, the cutting sarcasm of that tone!) figure.” “Two millions.” The high clear tone struck across the room. Mr Maplestone wheeled round and beheld Charmion standing just outside the opening of the screen, one hand raised to rest lightly on the curved wood coping. She might have posed as a picture of graceful, imperturbed ease, so calm, so smiling, so absolutely unflurried and detached in both manner and bearing did she appear. Mr Maplestone looked at her and—this was a curious thing—at one glance realised his defeat. All my efforts at dignity and firmness had failed to convince him, but behind Charmion’s frail, essentially feminine exterior, those keen eyes had at once detected that strain of inflexibility which I was only slowly beginning to realise. It was hopeless to bandy words. The Squire knew as much, and turned to the table to lift his hat and whip. He gave a short scornful laugh. “The terms seem a trifle—high! I am afraid I must retire from the bidding. Pastimes is yours. I hope”—he looked from me to Charmion, and his expression was not pleasant to see—“I hope you may not have cause to repent your bargain!” We bowed. He bowed. The door opened and shut. Charmion looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “A declaration of war! We have begun our campaign by quarrelling with the most ‘influential gentleman in these parts!’ Things are getting exciting, Evelyn!” I did not speak. Reaction had set in, and I felt a pang of remorse. I did not want to quarrel with anyone, influential or uninfluential. I was sorry I had been ungracious. I felt a pang of sympathy for the poor, big, bad-tempered man riding homeward after his defeat. I wondered when and how we should meet him again. <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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