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Lady of the Basement Flat

<h3>Chapter Ten.</h3> <h4>Mrs Merrivale Confesses.</h4> Next morning a groom came over with kind inquiries from the Hall. Mr and Mrs Maplestone were anxious to hear if Miss Wastneys had recovered from the shock of yesterday. Miss Wastneys returned thanks for kind inquiries. She was suffering a good deal of pain, but her injuries were not serious. Recovered, indeed! When I was a mass of bruises and aches, to say nothing of jumpy nerves. I was not inclined to make light of my injuries to Mr Robert Maplestone. Later on the General’s valet made his appearance. “General Underwood was anxious to hear how Miss Wastneys was this morning. He was distressed to hear that she had been hurt.” That was more tactful! Moreover, on receiving the bulletin, the man informed our maid that the old gentleman was rarely upset because he had been rude to the young lady. As soon as he was able he was coming in person to apologise. Charmion listened quietly to the repetition of this announcement. When the maid left the room, she turned to me as I lay on the sofa, being very sorry for myself, and lifted inquiring brows. “Well, Evelyn. You know what this means?” I did, or thought I did, but prevaricated, feeling self-conscious. “What?” “You have cut the knot with your heroic rescue! The Squire will call; the General will call; the neighbouring sheep will follow in their train. We shall be graciously ‘forgiven’ and admitted into the fold. Our quiet, sent-to-Coventry existence is at an end.” I looked at her anxiously. From voice and manner it was impossible to tell what she was really feeling. Above all things I wanted to please her. But still— “Are you sorry, Charmion? Would you be sorry? I suppose they will come, but there is no necessity to receive them, if you would rather not. After ignoring us so long, they could not complain. I will leave it to you to decide.” “Then they shall come,” she said firmly. “You’ve been a brick about it, dear, but I’m not blind. I know that it has been a trial for you to be cut off from general society. You are a sociable creature, and need friends around you. We have had a happy tête-à-tête, and I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly, but it couldn’t go on. I should not have allowed it to go on. I am a selfish woman in many ways, but not selfish enough to make a hermit of you at twenty-six. So!—let them all come. In any case, we shall probably be making a move before very long, so we can’t be drawn very deeply into the rustic maelstrom!” “We shall be making a move.” The words gave me a jar. My “Kensington” flat is now in order, and ready to receive my furniture whenever I care to send it in. I am still in love with the Pixie scheme; but, while summer lasts, and the garden grows more beautiful every day, I want to stay here! In my own mind I had settled down till September at least. I had believed that Charmion was as happy as myself, but now the old restlessness sounded in her voice. I looked at her, and saw her eyes staring wearily into space. Oh dear, oh dear, the narcotic of the new life is already losing its power; the grim spectre of the past is casting its shadow between us! They have called! This afternoon, when we were having tea in the garden, General Underwood’s bath-chair appeared suddenly on the scene. First came a crunching of gravel, and when we turned our heads to discover the cause, the front wheel was already turning the corner of the path, and the next moment there was the General smiling benevolently upon us, the valet pushing the handle, and walking by his side the Squire himself, very red in the face and puckered about the brow, exactly like a naughty boy who is being dragged forward to say he is “sorry.” Fortunately there was no time to consider the situation. We shook hands, and found a chair for Mr Maplestone, and ordered more tea, and discussed the weather in its various branches, all with the utmost propriety, until gradually the ice thawed. Charmion is a gracious hostess, and the General is as genial and simple in manner as most men who have spent their lives “east of the Suez”. After five minutes in his society one understands why he is the idol of the neighbourhood. He looks ill, poor dear, but his blue eyes are still clear and alert, and he twinkles them at you in such a shrewd, kindly fashion. Not a word did he say about the accident until tea was half over and I handed him some cake, when he looked full at me, and asked slyly:— “How is the poor arm?” “Progressing beautifully, thank you. And—the poor feet?” “Ah,” he said eloquently, “that was a moment! I am ashamed of my ingratitude; but, my dear young lady, if you could have felt—” “I know,” I said humbly. “Eight stone six. But I had no choice; and at the worst, it was not so bad as being spilt into the road.” “Indeed, yes. I am under the impression that I owe you a great deal. It is difficult to express—” “Please don’t!” I said hastily. “I could hardly have done less, but I could very easily have done it in a less clumsy way; and—it’s so embarrassing to be thanked! Let us talk of something else. Would you care to see our garden? We have worked very hard at it all spring, and are so proud of our effects. We love showing people round!” Then I suddenly remembered and blushed, and glanced guiltily at the Squire, to discover that he was doing exactly the same at me, and we all three got up in a hurry, and disputed who should push the bath-chair. The Squire did it, of course, and Charmion and I walked one on each side and played show-women, and the dear old man admired everything he saw, and asked for seeds in the autumn, and offered us seeds in return, and did everything nice and polite that nice polite people do do on garden visits. As for the Squire, he kept on saying nothing. Our tour ended at the gate, and when we said our final good-byes, General Underwood explained he was not up to calling, as he was often unable to go out, but that at any time, if we could spare half an hour to visit him, it would be doing a kindness to a lonely old man. “And will you allow me to wish you much happiness and prosperity in your beautiful home?” Charmion thanked him with serene unconsciousness, and the Squire and I stared elaborately into space, so elaborately that on parting we made two separate dives before we succeeded in finding each other’s hands. Then the valet came forward, and the little procession turned out of the gate. “Charmion,” I said solemnly, “I feel a worm. That dear, heroic old man! I wish we had let him have ‘Pastimes’ ten times over.” “Mistaken heroism, my dear. He can be still more heroic at ‘Uplands’.” “Er—what do you think of—the other one?” “Er—honestly, Evelyn, I don’t think of him at all!” <hr /> Mrs Maplestone has called, and the three or four other county magnates, none of them particularly interesting from our point of view. We are now formally and definitely “received,” and the first result has been a violent increase of intimacy on the part of the Vicar’s wife. I think she has always “hankered” to know us, but not having enough individuality to act for herself, she has waited for a lead before taking the plunge. Now it appears that she is organising a garden fête and wants us to help. It is her own idea, and she says it is for the organ fund. I don’t want to be uncharitable, but I think it is equally designed for the amusement and diversion of Delphine Merrivale! I am uneasy about that girl. Nature never designed her for a clergyman’s wife; she is restless and bored, while that dear, good, fine man, who loves her so much, is as blind as a bat, and believes that all is well. To-day she sent for me to come to tea, and he came into the room while she was volubly discussing various plans, which struck me as likely to cost more money than they were ever likely to gain. When he appeared she gave a little shrug of impatience, and for a few moments lapsed into silence, but her self-control being soon exhausted, she took up her tale and babbled on as enthusiastically as before. It appears that every summer a “Sale” is held in the vicarage garden to dispose of the articles manufactured by the “Working Party” throughout the winter session. They consist of serviceable garments for the poor, which are eagerly purchased by the members of the Needlework Guild, and also of a selection of “fancy” articles which nobody wants, such as brush and comb bags of pink and white crochet, shaving paper cases with embroidered backs (first catch the man who uses them!) and handkerchief sachets of white satin, on which are painted (badly) sprays of wild roses and maidenhair fern! The parish has always meekly assembled itself together for the fray, paid threepence for a plain tea, and departed peacefully on its way; but this year—this year, there is to be a band, and a man to cut out silhouettes, and ices, and strawberries and cream, and quite a variety of excitements. “A treasure hunt for one, at an entrance fee of a shilling a head. The treasures to be supplied as voluntary offerings by the ladies of the neighbourhood.” Mrs Merrivale paused and cocked an interrogative eye at me, and her husband said gently:— “Dear, aren’t you too ambitious? Our ordinary quiet sale has done very well until now. Why land yourself with a great deal of extra work and fatigue, to say nothing of expense, for an altogether problematical result!” “Oh, Jacky,” she cried deeply. “It is not problematical. We shall make pounds and pounds. I don’t mind the work. I like it. Think how lovely it would be if we could clear off the whole debt!” He smiled at her with the tenderest appreciation. Oh, if any man looked at me like that, I would work my fingers to the bone to help him. Honestly and truly, he believed that she was bracing herself to the fray out of the purest, most disinterested motives. Never for one moment did it occur to him that a grown woman could hanker after such ploys for her own amusement. There is much in his unconsciousness which is beautiful, but—there is danger, too! Surely, surely when two people live together in such a terribly close relationship as husband and wife, before all things it must be necessary to understand! “Then I leave it to you, dearest,” he said. “Arrange as you think best. And now, if Miss Wastneys will excuse me, I must say good-bye. Poor Mrs Evans is worse this afternoon. They fear that an operation may be necessary. She has had terrible pain.” Mrs Merrivale threw out her hand impulsively. I was amazed to see that she had grown quite white. “Don’t, Jacky—don’t! You know I can’t bear it. Why will you speak of such things when I have begged you not?” “I’m sorry, darling. I forgot. My mind was so engrossed.” He laid his hand on her shoulder as he passed, and said to me, in an apologetic voice, “This poor child is so sensitive. The pain of the world wounds her tender heart. I am inconsiderate in bringing my burdens to her.” The door shut behind him, and we stared at one another for a long tense moment. I knew, and she knew that I knew, and suddenly the long strain of pretending to be what she was not reached the snapping point, and she spoke out in a burst of impotent irritation:— “It’s not true! I’m not tender-hearted. They don’t wound me at all, all these sordid miserable details; they just irritate and disgust and asphyxiate. Oh, I’m so tired of it all—so tired—and he doesn’t see, doesn’t understand! He puts me on a pedestal, and burns incense at my feet, and believes that I am as interested as himself, and all the time—all the time I am smothered with boredom and impatience. I don’t know why I am saying all this to you. Yes, I do. I saw in your eyes that you saw through me, and knew what I really felt. Now I suppose you are horribly shocked?” “Not a bit. I don’t understand enough to judge you one way or another; but I wish, as you have begun, you would tell me a little more. I’m young myself, you see, so I should probably understand. Lots of people tell me their secrets, and I’m always sorry, and very rarely shocked. We all have our own faults. Why should we be so very hard on other people because theirs are a different brand from our own?” She stared at me with her big blue eyes. “What are your faults?” “Well,” I laughed, “the list would take a long time! Shall we leave it for another day? What I want to know now is, why, with your temperament, did you come to marry a country parson?” “Because I loved him, of course,” came the ready reply. “He came to take duty in our church while our own clergyman was ill, and he stayed in our house. He was so much older than I—fifteen years—that I never thought of him—like that! I just thought he was a dear, and liked to talk to him, and show him about the garden, and get him to help me in little odd ways. He was so learned and serious and staid that all the others were in awe of him, but I ordered him about, and made him wait on me, and teased him because he did it so badly. It was such fun! I enjoyed myself frightfully. Mother read me a long lecture one night, and said Mr Merrivale would be pained to see father’s daughter was such a frivolous girl. But he wasn’t. He fell in love with me instead. Doesn’t that seem queer?” I didn’t think it was queer at all. Imagination conjured up scenes in the summer garden where the gay pretty girl had held her little court, and queened it over the grave, silent man. It was a thousand to one on his falling under the spell. The mischief of it was that he had expected the marriage ceremony to convert a butterfly into a staid, parochial wife. John Courtney Merrivale had a thousand virtues, but imagination was not his strong point. “I think it was extremely natural. Just what I should have expected to happen. You are very pretty, you know, and I expect you made a charming task-mistress. And, of course, any sane girl must have been interested in him. But—what did you think about the life in this little place?” “Oh! I didn’t think about it at all,” she said calmly. “I was so happy, and—excited. And so busy getting my clothes, and the presents, and arranging for the wedding. I had a lovely wedding. Eight bridesmaids carrying rose-staves. And Jacky took me to Switzerland for the honeymoon, and was so young and gay himself. Like a boy. I had a perfectly glorious three months, and then—” She paused, and the pink and white face puckered into a grimace as she cast an expressive glance to right and left. “We came home! That was the first shock, seeing all this dingy, hideous furniture, and realising that it had to stay. Jacky likes it because it belonged to his mother, and he thinks it would be wicked waste to sell it for nothing, and buy new. I tried to brighten things up, but—if you look round this room you will realise that a few new things made the effect worse! I gave it up in despair, and all my pretty cushions and embroideries, and pictures and ornaments are hidden away in boxes in the attic.” “Oh, that’s hard! You have my unbounded sympathy. I should hate to live in uncongenial surroundings. Isn’t there any room in the house you could have for your own, and furnish just exactly as you like?” “All the rooms are full. I’ve given up trying to change things now, but they irritate me all the same. When I’ve been out all the day at meetings and guilds, it would be a rest to come home to a pretty room. I look at those maroon curtains, and this hideous patterny carpet, and feel all nervy and on edge; then Jacky thinks I am tired, and brings me hot milk.” She opened her speedwell blue eyes to their fullest width, and stared at me dolefully. “Oh, Miss Wastneys, it is so strenuous to have to live up to an ideal!” “It would be still more strenuous to—fall short,” I said curtly, and she gave a start of dismay. “Oh, goodness, yes! Anything rather than that! I wouldn’t for the world have Jacky find me out.” I felt like an aged grandam admonishing a silly child. Of course in the long run he was bound to find out, for Delphine’s discontent was obviously increasing, and the hour was at hand when her self-control would come to a sudden and violent end. Then there would be hasty words and recriminations, the memory of which no after remorse could wipe away. I was sure of it, and said so plainly, qualifying my prophecy with a big “unless.” “Unless you can make up your mind to be honest now, and tell your husband the whole truth. There is nothing to be ashamed of in being young and needing variety in life. Tell him frankly that too much parish gets on your nerves, and that you could do your work better if you went away for a few weeks every three or four months. There must be friends whom you could visit, and who would be glad to have you. After a change of scene and occupation you would come home braced and refreshed, and ready to make a fresh start. And you might speak about the room at the same time. You need not suggest selling any furniture, but just storing some of it away in an attic or cellar, so that you could have a little boudoir of your own. Do be sensible, and tell him to-night. He loves you. He wants you to be happy. He would understand.” She shook her head. “No. He would be kind and patient. He would agree at once, and never say a word of reproach, but—he wouldn’t understand. That’s just it. His whole idea of me would be shocked out of existence. He would be disappointed to the bottom of his soul. I—I can’t do it, Miss Wastneys; but it’s been a relief to grumble to you. Thank you for letting me do it. Things have been just a little better since you and Mrs Fane came to ‘Pastimes’. I haven’t seen much of you, of course, but I have enjoyed watching you. You wear such lovely clothes, and you are young and interesting. Most of the people are so dull and settled down. I wish you would call me ‘Delphine,’ and come to see me as often as you can. Just run in any time you are passing, and let me come to you in the same way. I’ve been so bored. Well, never mind,” she brightened suddenly; “the fête will be a little excitement. I am looking forward to that.” An idea flashed into my head. I was sorry for the girl, and intensely, forebodingly sorry for her husband. If one could help to avert the threatened tragedy. “I am just wondering,” I began tentatively. “Of course I can make no definite offer without consulting Mrs Fane, but—would you like it if we lent our grounds for the fête? The extra space might be an advantage, and we could save you trouble by arranging for the tents and refreshments, and perhaps organise some little stall on our own account.” I really thought that might save a good deal of expense, and so add to the profit of the afternoon, and also that with our wider experience we might run the fête on more advanced lines, and so give her, as well as the rest of the parish, a more amusing time; but to my disappointment she flushed, and looked far from pleased. “Oh, thanks, but—really, this is my affair! If I have all the duty and responsibility of being the Vicar’s wife, I don’t see why I should give up the fun of being hostess and arranging my own fête in my own way. It’s very sweet of you, of course, and I’m very grateful. I hope you won’t be offended.” I began to laugh. “Offended! Why—Delphine, I was thinking entirely of you. I’m immensely relieved, if you want the real truth. That’s settled then, and we’ll give you some treasures for the Hunt. What would you like? Make up an appropriate list and send it along. Anything you like, up to—say five pounds!” “Oh, you angel! Will you really?” she cried ecstatically. I had risen this time, and she slid her hand through my arm, and accompanied me to the door. Seen close at hand, her face looked almost child-like in its clear soft tints. I noticed also that her blouse was very fine and delicate, a very different thing from the cheap lace fineries which she had worn when I first saw her. She followed the direction of my eye, stroked down an upstarting frill, and coloured furiously. “Ah, my blouse! Do you admire it? I wrote to town for it, to your dressmaker, and I’ve ordered a lovely frock. You’ll see. For once in my life I shall be really well dressed! Seeing you and Mrs Fane has made me discontented with my dowdy old rags!” <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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