B007TB5SP0 EBOK (37 page)

‘A warrant?’

‘Sometimes I think of the prison we saw in Patras, with the prisoners all thrusting their heads out between the bars.’

‘Don’t, Mabel!’

‘Oh, Gerald! It’s a climax and a perfect semax, dear.’

‘We’re not helping Miss Dawkins at all!’

‘You go one way, Gerald. And I’ll go another …’

Miss O’Brookomore glanced behind her.

Already the sun-topped hills were lost in lilac towards the ground. It would soon be night.

‘Very well,’ she murmured, letting fall a glove; ‘we will meet again at dinner.’

‘Mabel! Mabel! Mabel! Mabel!

Mabel! Mabel! Mabel! Mabel!’

H
OTEL
C
ENTRAL,

C
ONSTITUTIONAL
P
LACE
,

A
THENS
.

Saturday
.

D
EAR
G
ERALD
, – I was married this morning and we leave tomorrow early for Corfu don’t worry about me dear I’m alright O darling I’m the happiest girl in Greece I wore my little amber tricorne satin cap dear and Oio gave me the violets I shall get my trousseau bit by bit I suppose as we go along I had wanted rather badly to be married in the Kapnikaraea but it was a Registry after all good-bye now Gerald and take care of yourself dear do in haste yrs always affectionately.

M
ABINA
P
ASTORELLI
.

P.S.
– I laughed the whole time the priest who married us would keep whisking his skirt.

Mrs Cowsend is here still Old ox.

Oio says if I write another word he’ll pour all my ink away.

‘
Do you remember that picture of Jesus that poor Miss Turner used to show us?
’

The Honey-suckle – D’A
NNUNZIO

The sunlight passing through the glass candlestick by the bedside shot out its rays towards her threefold and woke her with a start.

– Bovon! Home!

– The Countess gaped.

There was the fine old carpet stained with tulips, and the familiar text upon the lightly figured walls, and the dress bust in the corner behind the
causeuse
that cast its consoling outline so effectively at night, and the medicine chest above the rocking-chair, with the sage-chinoiseries on top, that would swing their heads in the affirmative almost for a glance – which responsiveness had been known to work like a spell upon certain sensitive natures in more instances than one.

The Countess sat up.

‘Bianca!’ she called.

By the wide ‘Elysium’ bed stood a bassinet tricked in bows.

‘Bianca, Borghese, Nancy, Sabina!’

From the doorway came a whirl of skirts – a croon – and Mrs Collins entered.

‘While the mother was asleep the granny came and stole the darling, and whipped down the corridor, out into the garden, and round and round the house.’

The Countess held out her arms.

‘Oh, my honey bear!’

‘Don’t, Mabel. You’ll kill it.’

‘Oh, the interesting little pickle! Oh, the Roman rascal! … Poveretta!
Ah, Dio!
’

Mrs Collins considered her daughter.

‘… There’s something I want to say to you,’ she said.

‘Yes, what is it?’

‘Everyone’s inquiring for the Count – all the Bovon busybodies.’

‘Kra, kra, Mrs Rook.’

‘They’re concerned he hasn’t come!’

‘It’s the Vintage. Directly that’s over he will.’

Mrs Collins beamed affectionately.

‘In any case,’ she murmured, ‘I mean to give a small dinner for you, and that, my dear, directly.’

‘Oh, good gracious!’

‘I shall take you the rounds.’

‘Visits!’

‘Rectory, Patchpole, Rising-Proudly.’

The Countess lay back.

‘I wish to offend the Warristons,’ she said, ‘and Napier – and the gorgeous Mrs Lampsacus. Oh, and a whole pack besides!’

‘Napier has asked for you repeatedly – almost every day.’

The Countess averted her face.

‘I dare say,’ she said, ‘when he first heard of my marriage he was frightfully, frightfully upset?’

‘Not so very. For five minutes he seemed inconsolably unhappy – and then he smiled!’

‘Providentially!’

‘Oh, my dear, you can’t think how I’ve prayed for you all this while.’

‘Of course it’s Catholicism now with both of us.’

‘It must be so strange.’

‘The child was baptized in Santa Maria in Cosmedin – she’s been baptized twice, poor dear.’

‘For sake of ceremony?’

‘At Santa Maria it was on account of
them
. It’s their parish. But afterwards I took her round quickly and had it done in St Peter’s.’

‘You obtained your audience?’

‘At the very last minute.’

‘Well!’

‘Oh, well! I was prepared to do anything. Naturally! I’m sure! Oh, good gracious!’

‘Was the child with you?’

‘Oh, she waved her fat little wrinkled wrists – and smacked his Holiness – mother’s Bianca did! My blessing!’

‘As a family I gather you’re inclined to be devout.’

‘Of course the dowager’s goody. She never goes out without a string of nuns.’

‘Is there any reason for it!’

‘I couldn’t say. Often she’ll kneel in the garden. Or on the stairs. Or in a shop. Or on a tram. Whenever she wants to she’ll kneel!’

‘She appears to be insatiable.’

‘It doesn’t affect me … On Sunday, as a rule, I’ve a box at the Argentina or a sofa stall at the Alcaza.’

‘Oio too?’

‘Occasionally he comes.’

‘And when he doesn’t!’

‘There’s always someone.’

Mrs Collins looked round.

‘Wow! Here comes a big black doggie!’

‘Daisy – my
dear
! …’

‘Papa’s waiting breakfast. He wants you to boil him an egg.’

‘Tell him I’ll come.’

‘He’s grumbling so. According to him, nobody cares at all whether he lives or dies …’

Mrs Collins raised a hand to her curls!

‘Oh, poor granny!’ she murmured as she withdrew.

Daisy subdued her ways.

‘How did your little child sleep?’ she asked.

‘Well.’

‘Do you regret Rome?’

‘It’s a joy to have no mosquitoes!’

‘That’s not so bad as snakes. Suppose you had married an Indian.’

‘Thank goodness.’

‘Tell me about the Marriage State. Is it what you expected it to be?’

The Countess threw up her eyes.

‘I didn’t expect anything,’ she said.

‘Let me look at your wedding-ring, Mabel, may I? Only for a minute.’

‘What do you want it for?’

‘I won’t eat it.’

‘There’s nothing very novel in a wedding-ring. Wait till you see my pearls?’

‘Where are they?’

‘With my other jewels …’

‘I should like to borrow some.’

‘I dare say.’

‘Do you know of anyone likely to suit me?’

‘A lover?’

‘Nobody, Mab! …’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘… Mabsey?’

‘Oh, have
patience
.’

‘It’s a pity the Bovon boys are so rabbity – they’re for ever with their noses down a hole.’

The Countess fluttered her eyelids.

‘How are the dear ferrets?’ she asked.

‘All right.’

‘And the farm?’

‘All right.’

‘Any changes?’

‘Only in the house. Olga and Minnie have gone. Olga said she was glad to go. She said nothing would induce her to stop.’

‘Is Queen as queer as ever?’

‘Queerer.’

‘Impossible.’

‘He and Mrs Prixon don’t get on. What Spicer endures at meals – talk about silence! And next week there’ll be a fresh footman. It’s funny the effect it always has upon me – it’s something no one could explain!’

‘In days gone by,’ the Countess said, ‘the pantry with a stranger in it was as dull as any drawing-room …’

Daisy wriggled.

‘Shall you ever forget the time Frank flew at you and clapped his hands? You were reaching for the pickled walnuts.’

‘Mercy!’

‘And I was steadying the table for you as you got on it. Suddenly he … sprang.’

The Countess looked vexed.

‘Now you’ve scared the child.’

‘Oh, the poor wee sweetie!’

‘Zito! Zito! Ah, Madonna!’

‘I’ll take her a turn in her little pram if she likes. Just the Aunt and the Niece together.’

‘Stay within call.’

‘We’ll peep in the larder, shall we, Babs? There may be a bare birdie dangling there, and perhaps a little white corpse.’

The Countess rang.

‘Better wheel her under the yew-trees,’ she said, ‘out of the wind. And don’t upset the pram!’

‘When the crow’s-feet come

And twirl about my eyes,

And my lips turn pale …

And my cheeks sink in,

Oh, say, wilt thou love me then?’

Divorcing itself from the piano, the voice trailed magnificently away, ignoring altogether the tragical scepticism of the accompaniment.

The listeners looked shrewd.

Above the little party rose the Chase, dark and eerie in the autumn sun.

‘Wilt thou love me truly when my hair has flown,

When my teeth have fallen

And my hands are wan?

Oh, say, wilt thou love me then?

I will love you (said he) for ever and ever,

For ever and ever and ever and ever,

Amen.’

‘Bis. Bis.’

‘It’s the air from
Cunigonde,
’ Mrs Collins explained, coming to the window.

‘We were wondering what it was.’

‘In the death scene she introduces parts of it again in her delirium.’

Mr Collins frowned ferociously.

‘Hag!’ he muttered.

‘By-and-by I will rattle you some of the ballet-music from
The Judgment of Paris,
’ the Countess said.

‘Oh, the valse Paris sings—! He and the Three Graces.— Da-da-da-di-da!’

‘If only the Chase were rid of!’ Mrs Collins complained.

‘Has anyone been to view it?’

‘Madame La Chose had the impudence to come … Queen came to me one morning with the news that a lady with
an order
desired to see over the house. I guessed by his tone there was something extraordinary, and on going into the drawing-room there was Madame La Chose.’

‘Did you show her round?’

‘Oh, my dear … yes. We even went so far as to fix some of the rooms.’

‘Mercy!’

‘I must say I thought her rather charming.’

‘Would she care to take it?’

‘Without the meadow she might …’

‘It shows her sense. Land nowadays is much too impoverishing.’

‘Her idea is to revive
Basset
…’

‘York being mainly a military town it would probably be a boon.’

‘In any case the decision, it seems, does not rest with herself alone, and she has asked to come back again.’

‘My dear, if she does …!’ Mr Collins said.

The Countess caressed her child.

‘Mother, oh! … Poor mother, oh! Give a kiss to mother, oh! She says she
won’t
! Oh, good gracious! …’

‘I’m unhappy about her nurse,’ Mrs Collins said. ‘A trustworthy person is everything.’

The Countess crossed herself dejectedly.

‘Oh, when I think of her nurses! …’ she said. ‘At first I had a Roman one for the child. She was a regular contadina – La Marietta! La Mariuccia! But she was so dirty! … A regular slut she was … she wasn’t even clean. And too
sans gêne,
by far.
Bianca’s most impressionable. Nothing escapes her little eyes … So I sent her away and took a stranded Irishwoman instead. Oh she was a terror. “I always try to please everybody,” she said, “and I’m sorry I can’t you!” But it was the tone of voice, dear, in which she said it more than the actual words …
Sapristi!
However, one or two of them I liked. There was a Swiss … If she hadn’t been so vague. One night, my dear, she overturned the pram right in the middle of the Corso! It might have killed the child …’

‘Are there no nice gardens that she could play in?’

‘There are. But it’s a climb to get to them!’

‘I’d an idea that Rome was flat …’

Mr Collins handled meditatively his cigar.

‘What of the seven hills?’

‘Ah, Charles!’

‘Seven little hilly-willies!’

‘I suppose the surrounding scenery is.’

‘You’d love Frascati. The land falls and rises, falls and rises. Oh, it’s ever so dear.’

‘I’ve a letter of yours from there.’

‘Did you keep the Greek ones?’

‘I kept them all.’

‘I should like you to show me Gerald’s.’

Mrs Collins looked away.

‘Had I known the sort of woman she was! But living as we do one never hears a thing.’

‘You had read her books.’

‘Ah, don’t, Mabel.’

‘You liked her style.’

‘I’m told she’s a noted Vampire.’

‘Who ever said so?’

‘Some friend of hers – in Chelsea.’

‘What do Vampires do?’

‘What don’t they!’

‘Of course she was always bizarre.’

‘Who could have foreseen her secret schemes?’

The Countess grew wan.

‘Some of her literary secrets,’ she said, ‘were simply disgusting.’

‘Dissolute!’

‘She’d force them from printers’-devils.’

‘Mabel.’

‘Was her last remarkable?’

‘… The Londonisms! The Cockney! The slang!’

‘She was a little too fond of her freedoms …’

‘Boys with their tutors. Girls with their mothers.’

‘According to you, Charles,’ Mrs Collins said with umbrage, ‘I might be unwilling to chaperon the girls instead of fretting my life out in a hole like Bovon!’

Mr Collins quelled the rising storm.

‘There, Isabel,’ he said, with a glance towards the house, ‘if I thought we’d be here another summer I’d get new sun-blinds, dear … but what’s the good? Just leaving them as fixtures.’

‘Queen,’ Daisy said to him one day. ‘If a fair young gentleman with large blue eyes should call and ask for Mrs Collins you’re to say she has gone out … But he’ll find the Sisters in. The Aunt and the Niece will be in the Yew-tree walk. With the Mother.’