The Complete Mapp & Lucia (151 page)

Lucia laid down her knife and fork, and let her pheasant get cold to Georgie’s great annoyance.

“You won’t be if you listen to me, my dear,” she said. “Rates and taxes are high, it’s true, but they ought to be ever so much higher for the sake of the unemployed. They must be given work, Georgie: I know myself how demoralizing it is not to have work to do. Before I embarked on my financial career, I was sinking into lethargy. It is the same with our poorer brethren. That new road, for instance. It employs a fair number of men, who would otherwise be idle and on the dole, but that’s not nearly enough. Work helps everybody to maintain his—or her—self-respect: without work we should all go to the dogs. I should like to see that road doubled in width and—well in width, and however useless it might appear to be, the moral salvation of hundreds would have been secured by it. Again, those slums by the railway: it’s true that new houses are being built to take the place of hovels which are a disgrace to any Christian town. But I demand a bigger programme. Those slums ought to be swept away, at once. All of them. The expense? Who cares? We fortunate ones will bear it between us. Here are we living in the lap of luxury, and just round the corner, so to speak, or, at any rate, at the bottom of the hill are those pigsties, where human beings are compelled to live. No bathroom, I believe; think of it, Georgie! I feel as if I ought to give free baths to anybody who cares to come and have one, only I suppose Grosvenor would instantly leave. The municipal building plans for the year ought to be far more comprehensive. That shall be my ticket: spend, spend, spend. I’m too selfish: I must work for others, and I shall send in my name as standing for the Town Council, and set about canvassing at once. How does one canvass?”

“You go from house to house asking for support I suppose,” said Georgie.

“And you’ll help me, of course. I know I can rely on you.”

“But I don’t want rates to be any higher,” said Georgie. “Aren’t you going to eat any pheasant?”

Lucia took up her knife and fork.

“But just think, Georgie. Here are you and I eating pheasant—
molto bene e bellissime
cooked—in your lovely little house, and then we shall play on your piano, and there are people in this dear little Tilling who never eat a pheasant or play on a piano from Christmas day to New Year’s Day, I mean the other way round. I hope to live here for the rest of my days, and I have a duty towards my neighbours.”

Lucia had a duty towards the pheasant, too, and wolfed it down. Her voice had now assumed the resonant tang of compulsion, and Georgie, like the unfortunate victim of the Ancient Mariner “could not choose but hear.”

“Georgie, you and I—particularly I—are getting on in years, and we shall not pass this way again. (Is it Kingsley, dear?) Anyhow we must help poor little lame dogs over stiles. Ickle you and me have been spoiled. We’ve always had all we wanted and we must do ickle more for others. I’ve got an insight into finance lately, and I can see what a power money is, what one can do with it unselfishly, like the wonderful Winterglass. I want to live, just for the few years that may still be left me, with a clear conscience, quietly and peacefully—”

“But with Benjy standing in the opposite interest, won’t there be a bit of friction instead?” asked Georgie.

“Emphatically not, as far as I am concerned,” said Lucia, firmly. “I shall be just as cordial to them as ever—I say ‘them’, because of course Elizabeth’s at the bottom of his standing—and I give them the credit of their policy of economy being just as sincere as mine.”

“Quite,” said Georgie, “for if taxes were much higher, and if they couldn’t get a thumping good let for Mallards every year, I don’t suppose they would be able to live there. Have to sell.”

An involuntary gleam lit up Lucia’s bird-like eyes, just as if a thrush had seen a fat worm. She instantly switched it off.

“Naturally I should be very sorry for them,” she said, “if they had to do that, but personal regrets can’t affect my principles. And then, Georgie, more schemes seem to outline themselves. Don’t be frightened: they will bring only me to the workhouse. But they want thinking out yet. I seem to see—well, never mind. Now let us have our music. Not a moment have I had for practice lately, so you mustn’t scold me. Let us begin with deevy Beethoven’s fifth symphony. Fate knocking at the door. That’s how I feel, as if there was one clear call for me.”

The window of Georgie’s sitting-room, which looked out on to the street, was close to the front door. Lucia, as usual, had bagged the treble part, for she said she could never manage that difficult bass, omitting to add that the treble was far the more amusing to play, and they were approaching the end of the first movement, when Georgie, turning a page, saw a woman’s figure standing on the doorstep.

“It’s Elizabeth,” he whispered to Lucia. “Under an umbrella. And the bell’s out of order.”

“
Uno, due.
So much the better, she’ll go away,” said Lucia with a word to each beat.

She didn’t. Georgie occasionally glancing up saw her still standing there and presently the first movement came to an end.

“I’ll tell Foljambe I’m engaged,” said Georgie, stealing from his seat. “What can she want? It’s too late for lunch and too early for tea.”

It was too late for anything. The knocker sounded briskly, and before Georgie had time to give Foljambe this instruction, she opened the door, exactly at the moment that he opened his sitting-room door to tell her not to.

“Dear Mr. Georgie,” said Elizabeth. “So ashamed, but I’ve been eavesdropping. How I enjoyed listening to that lovely music. Wouldn’t have interrupted it for anything!”

Elizabeth adopted the motion she called “scriggling.” Almost imperceptibly she squeezed and wriggled till she had got past Foljambe, and had a clear view into George’s sitting-room.

“Why! There’s dear Lucia,” she said. “Such a lovely party last night,
chérie:
all Tilling talking about it. But I know I’m interrupting. Duet wasn’t it? May I sit in a corner, mum as a mouse, while you go on? It would be such a treat. That lovely piece: I seem to know it so well. I should never forgive myself if I broke into it, besides losing such a pleasure.
Je vous prie!”

It was of course quite clear to the performers that Elizabeth had come for some purpose beyond that of this treat, but she sank into a chair by the fire, and assumed the Tilling musical face (Lucia’s patent) smiling wistfully, gazing at the ceiling, and supporting her chin on her hand, as was the correct attitude for slow movements.

So Georgie sat down again, and the slow movement went on its long deliberate way, and Elizabeth was surfeited with her treat pages before it was done. Again and again she hoped it was finished, but the same tune (rather like a hymn, she thought) was presented in yet another aspect, till she knew it inside out and upside down: it was like a stage army passing by, individually the same, but with different helmets, or kilts instead of trousers. At long last came several loud thumps, and Lucia sighed and Georgie sighed, and before she had time to sigh too, they were off again on the next instalment. This was much livelier and Elizabeth abandoned her wistfulness for a mien of sprightly pleasure, and, in turn, for a mien of scarcely concealed impatience. It seemed odd that two people should be so selfishly absorbed in that frightful noise as to think that she had come in to hear them practise. True, she had urged them to give her a treat, but who could have supposed that such a gargantuan feast was prepared for her? Bang! Bang! Bang! It was over and she got up.

“Lovely!” she said. “Bach was always a favourite composer of mine.
Merci!
And such luck to have found you here, dear Lucia. What do you think I came to see Mr. Georgie about? Guess! I won’t tease you. These coming elections to the Town Council. Benjy-boy and I both feel very strongly—I believe he mentioned it to you last night—that something must be done to check the monstrous extravagance that’s going on.
Tout le monde
is crippled by it: we shall all be bankrupt if it continues. We feel it our duty to fight it.”

Georgie was stroking his beard: this had already become a habit with him in anxious moments. There must be a disclosure now, and Lucia must make it. It was no use being chivalrous and doing so himself: it was her business. So he occupied himself with putting on the rings he had taken off for fate knocking at the door and stroked his beard again.

“Yes, Major Benjy told me something of his plans last night,” said Lucia, “and I take quite the opposite line. Those slums, for instance, ought to be swept away altogether, and new houses built
tutto presto.”

“But such a vandalism, dear,” said Elizabeth. “So picturesque and, I expect, so cosy. As to our plans, there’s been a little change in them. Benjy urged me so strongly that I yielded, and I’m standing instead of him. So I’m getting to work
toute suite,
and I looked in to get promise of your support,
monsieur,
and then you and I must convert dear Lucia.”

The time had come.

“Dear Elizabeth,” said Lucia very decisively, “you must give up all idea of that. I am standing for election myself on precisely the opposite policy. Cost what it may we must have no more slums and no more unemployment in our beloved Tilling. A Christian duty. Georgie agrees.”

“Well, in a sort of way—” began Georgie.

“Georgie,
tuo buon’ cuore
agrees,” said Lucia, fixing him with the compulsion of her gimlet eye. “You’re enthusiastic about it really.”

Elizabeth ignored Lucia, and turned to him.

“Monsieur Georgie, it will be the ruin of us all,” she said, “the Town Council is behaving as I said
à mon mari
just now, as if Tilling was Eldorado and the Rand.”

“Georgie, you and I go to-morrow to see those cosy picturesque hovels of which dear Elizabeth spoke,” said Lucia, “and you will feel more keenly than you do even now that they must be condemned. You won’t be able to sleep a wink at night if you feel you’re condoning their continuance. Whole families sleeping in one room. Filth, squalor, immorality, insanitation—”

In their growing enthusiasm both ladies dropped foreign tongues.

“Look in any time, Mr. Georgie,” interrupted Elizabeth, “and let me show you the figures of how the authorities are spending your money and mine. And that new road which nobody wants has already cost—”

“The unemployment here, Georgie,” said Lucia, “would make angels weep. Strong young men willing and eager to get work, and despairing of finding it, while you and dear Elizabeth and I are living in ease and luxury in our beautiful houses.”

Georgie was standing between these two impassioned ladies, with his head turning rapidly this way and that, as if he was watching lawn tennis. At the same time he felt as if he was the ball that was being slogged to and fro between these powerful players, and he was mentally bruised and battered by their alternate intensity. Luckily, this last violent drive of Lucia’s diverted Elizabeth’s attack to her.

“Dear Lucia,” she said. “You, of course, as a comparatively new resident in Tilling can’t know very much about municipal expenditure, but I should be only too glad to show you how rates and taxes have been mounting up in the last ten years, owing to the criminal extravagance of the authorities. It would indeed be a pleasure.”

“I’m delighted to hear they’ve been mounting,” said Lucia. “I want them to soar. It’s a matter of conscience to me that they should.”

“Naughty and reckless of you,” said Elizabeth, trembling a little. “You’ve no idea how hardly it presses on some of us.”

“We must shoulder the burden,” said Lucia. “We must make up our minds to economise.”

Elizabeth with that genial air which betokened undiluted acidity, turned to Georgie, and abandoned principles for personalities, which had become irresistible.

“Quite a coincidence, isn’t it, Mr. Georgie,” she said, “that the moment Lucia heard that my Benjy-boy was to stand for the Town Council, she determined to stand herself.”

Lucia emitted the silvery laugh which betokened the most exasperating and child-like amusement.

“Dear Elizabeth!” she said. “How can you be so silly?”

“Did you say ‘silly’ dear?” asked Elizabeth, white to the lips.

Georgie intervened.

“O, dear me!” he said. “Let’s all have tea. So much more comfortable than talking about rates. I know there are muffins.”

They had both ceased to regard him now: instead of being driven from one to the other, he lay like a ball out of court, while the two advanced to the net with brandished rackets.

“Yes, dear, I said ‘silly,’ because you are silly,” said Lucia, as if she was patiently explaining something to a stupid child. “You certainly implied that my object in standing was to oppose Major Benjy
qua
Major Benjy. What made me determined to stand myself, was that he advocated municipal economy. It horrified me. He woke up my conscience, and I am most grateful to him. Most. And I shall tell him so on the first opportunity. Let me add that I regard you both with the utmost cordiality and friendliness. Should you be elected, which I hope and trust you won’t, I shall be the first to congratulate you.”

Elizabeth put a finger to her forehead.

“Too difficult for me, I’m afraid,” she said. “Such niceties are quite beyond my simple comprehension… No tea for me, thanks, Mr. Georgie, even with muffins. I must be getting on with my canvassing. And thank you for your lovely music. So refreshing. Don’t bother to see me out, but do look in some time and let me show you my tables of figures.”

She gave a hyena-smile to Lucia, and they saw her hurry past the window, having quite forgotten to put up her umbrella, as if she welcomed the cooling rain. Lucia instantly and without direct comment sat down at the piano again.

“Georgino, a little piece of celestial Mozartino, don’t you think, before tea?” she said. “That will put us in tune again after those discords. Poor woman!”