The Complete Mapp & Lucia (170 page)

Treading on air, Lucia dropped in at Mallards Cottage to tell Georgie the news. The Padre had just gone across to Mallards, for Evie and he had got into a remarkable muddle that morning packing their bags in such a hurry: he had to recover his shaving equipment from hers, and take her a few small articles of female attire.

“I think I had better tell them all about my appointment at once, Georgie,” she said, “for they are sure to hear about it very soon, and if Elizabeth has a bilious attack from chagrin, the sooner it’s over the better. My dear, how tiresome she has been already! She came and sat in the garden-room, which I don’t intend that anybody shall do in the morning, and so I began playing scales and shakes to smoke her out. Then she tried to overhear my conversation on the Office telephone with the Mayor—”

“And did she?” asked Georgie greedily.

“I don’t think so. I banged the door when I saw her in the hall. You and the Padre will have all your meals with me, won’t you, till they go, but if this rain continues, it looks as if they might be here till they get back into their own houses again. Let me sit quietly with you till lunch-time, for we shall have them all on our hands for the rest of the day.”

“I think we’ve been too hospitable,” said Georgie. “One can overdo it. If the Padre sits and talks to me all morning, I shall have to live in my bedroom. Foljambe doesn’t like it, either. He’s called her ‘my lassie’ already.”

“No!” said Lucia. “She’d hate that. Oh, and Benjy looked as black as ink when I told him I must give up his room to Evie. But we must rejoice, Georgie, that we’re able to do something for the poor things.”

“Rejoice isn’t quite the word,” said Georgie firmly.

Lucia returned to Mallards a little after half-past one, and went up to the sitting-room she had assigned to her guests and tapped on the door before entering. That might convey to Elizabeth’s obtuse mind that this was their private room, and she might infer, by implication, that the garden-room was Lucia’s private room. But this little moral lesson was wasted, for the room was empty except for stale cigar-smoke. She went to the dining-room, for they might, as desired, have begun lunch. Empty also. She went to the garden-room, and even as she opened the door, Elizabeth’s voice rang out.

“No, Padre, my card was
not
covered,” she said. “Uncovered.”

“An exposed card whatever then, Mistress Mapp,” said the Padre.

“Come, come, Mapp-Flint, Padre,” said Benjy.

“Oh, there’s dearest Lucia!” cried Elizabeth. “I thought it was Grosvenor come to tell us that lunch was ready. Such a dismal morning; we thought we would have a little game of cards to pass the time. No card-table in our cosy parlour upstairs.”

“Of course you shall have one,” said Lucia.

“And you’ve done your little businesses?” asked Elizabeth.

Lucia was really sorry for her, but the blow must be dealt.

“Yes: I attended a meeting of the Town Council. But there was very little business.”

“The Town Council, did you say?” asked the stricken woman.

“Yes: they did me the honour to co-opt me, for a member has resigned owing to ill-health. I felt it my duty to fill the vacancy. Let us go in to lunch.”

It was not till a fortnight later that Georgie and Lucia were once more dining alone at Mallards House, both feeling as if they were recovering from some debilitating nervous complaint, accompanied by high blood-pressure and great depression. The attack, so to speak, was over, and now they had to pick up their strength again. Only yesterday had the Padre and Evie gone back to their bungalow, and only this morning had the Mapp-Flints returned to Grebe. They might have gone the day before, since the insane widow of the Baronet had left that morning, removing herself and forty-seven canaries in two gipsy-vans. But there was so much rape seed scattered on the tiger-skins, and so many tokens of bird-life on curtains and tables and chairs that it had required a full day to clean up. Benjy on his departure had pressed a half-crown and a penny into Grosvenor’s hand, one from himself and one from Elizabeth. This looked as if he had calculated the value of her services with meticulous accuracy, but the error had arisen because he had mixed up coppers and silver in his pocket, and he had genuinely meant to give her five shillings. Elizabeth gave her a sweet smile and shook hands.

Anyhow the fortnight was now over. Lucia had preserved the seignorial air to the end. Her car was always at the disposal of her guests, fires blazed in their bedrooms, she told them what passed at the meetings of the Town Council, she consulted their tastes at table. One day there was haggis for the Padre who was being particularly Scotch, and one day there were stewed prunes for Elizabeth, and fiery curry for Major Benjy in his more Indian moods, and parsnips for Evie who had a passion for that deplorable vegetable. About one thing only was Lucia adamant. They might take all the morning papers up to the guests’ sitting-room, but until lunch-time they should not read them in the garden-room.
Verboten; défendu; non permesso.
If Elizabeth showed her nose there, or Benjy his cigar, or Evie her parish magazine, Lucia telephoned for Georgie, and they played duets till the intruder could stand it no more…

She pressed the pomander which rang the electric bell. Grosvenor brought in coffee, and now they could talk freely.

“That wonderful fourth round of the Inferno, Georgie,” said Lucia dreamily. “The guests who eat the salt of their host, and
sputare
it on the floor. Some very unpleasant fate awaited them: I think they were pickled in brine.”

“I’m sure they deserved whatever it was,” said Georgie.

“She,” said Lucia, mentioning no name, “She went to see Diva one morning and said that Grosvenor had no idea of valeting, because she had put out a sock for Benjy with a large hole in it. Diva said: ‘Why did you let it get like that?’”

“So that was that,” said Georgie.

“And Benjy told the Padre that Grosvenor was very sparing with the wine. Certainly I did tell her not to fill up his glass the moment it was empty, for I was not going to have another Wyse-evening every day of the week.”

“Quite right, and there was always plenty for anyone who didn’t want to get tipsy,” said Georgie. “And Benjy wasn’t very sparing with my whisky. Every evening practically he came across to chat with me about seven, and had three stiff goes.”

“I thought so,” cried Lucia triumphantly, bringing her hand sharply down on the table. Unfortunately she hit the pomander, and Grosvenor re-entered. Lucia apologized for her mistake.

“Georgie, I inferred there certainly must be something of the sort,” she resumed when the door was shut again. “Every evening round about seven Benjy used to say that he wouldn’t play another rubber because he wanted a brisk walk and a breath of fresh air before dinner. Clever of him, Georgie. Though I’m sorry for your whisky I always applaud neat execution, however alcoholic the motive. After he had left the room, he banged the front door loud enough for her to hear it, so that she knew he had gone out and wasn’t getting at the sherry in the dining-room. I think she suspected something, but she didn’t quite know what.”

“I never knew an occasion on which she didn’t suspect something,” said he.

Lucia crunched a piece of coffee sugar in a meditative manner.

“An interesting study,” she said. “You know how devoted I am to psychological research, and I learned a great deal this last fortnight. Major Benjy was not very clever when he wooed and won her, but I think marriage has sharpened his wits. Little bits of foxiness, little evasions, nothing, of course, of a very high order, but some inkling of ingenuity and contrivance. I can understand a man developing a certain acuteness if he knew Elizabeth was always just round the corner. The instinct of self-protection. There is a character in Theophrastus very like him: I must look it up. Dear me; for the last fortnight I’ve hardly opened a book.”

“I can imagine that,” said he. “Even I, who had only the Padre in the house couldn’t settle down to anything. He was always coming in and out, wanting some ink in his bedroom, or a piece of string, or change for a shilling.”

“Multiply it by three. And she treated me all the time as if I was a hotel-keeper and she wasn’t pleased with her room or her food, but made no formal complaint. Oh, Georgie, I must tell you, Elizabeth went up four pounds in weight the first week she was here. She shared my bathroom and always had her bath just before me in the evening, and there’s a weighing-machine there, you know. Of course, I was terribly interested, but one day I felt I simply must thwart her, and so I hid the weights behind the bath. It was the only inhospitable thing I did the whole time she was here, but I couldn’t bear it. So I don’t know how much more she went up the second week.”

“I should have thought your co-option on to the Town Council would have made her thinner,” observed Georgie. “But thrilling! She must have weighed herself without clothes, if she was having her bath. How much did she weigh?”

“Eleven stone twelve was the last,” said Lucia. “But she has got big bones, Georgie. We must be fair.”

“Yes, but her bones must have finished growing,” said Georgie. “They wouldn’t have gone up four pounds in a week. Just fat.”

“I suppose it must have been. As for my co-option, it was frightful for her. Frightful. Let’s go into the garden-room. My dear, how delicious to know that Benjy won’t be there, smoking one of his rank cigars, or little Evie, running about like a mouse, so it always seemed to me, among the legs of chairs and tables.”

“Hurrah, for one of our quiet evenings again,” said he.

It was with a sense of restored well-being that they sank into their chairs, too content in this relief from strain to play duets. Georgie was sewing a border of lace on to some new doilies for finger-bowls, and Lucia found the “Characters of Theophrastus,” and read to him in the English version the sketch of Benjy’s prototype. As their content worked inside them both, like tranquil yeast, they both became aware that a moment of vital import to them, and hardly less so to Tilling, was ticking its way nearer. A couple of years ago only, each had shuddered at the notion that the other might be thinking of matrimony, but now the prospect of it had lost its horror. For Georgie had stayed with her when he was growing his shingles-beard, and she had stayed with him when she was settling into Mallards, and those days of domestic propinquity had somehow convinced them both that nothing was further from the inclination of either than any species of dalliance. With that nightmare apprehension removed they could recognise that for a considerable portion of the day they enjoyed each other’s society more than their own solitude: they were happier together than apart. Again, Lucia was beginning to feel that, in the career which was opening for her in Tilling, a husband would give her a certain stability: a Prince Consort, though emphatically not for dynastic purposes, would lend her weight and ballast. Georgie with kindred thoughts in his mind could see himself filling that eminent position with grace and effectiveness.

Georgie, not attending much to his sewing, pricked his finger: Lucia read a little more Theophrastus with a wandering mind and moved to her writing-table, where a pile of letters was kept in place by a pretty paper-weight consisting of a small electroplate cricket bat propped against a football, which had been given her jointly by the two clubs of which she was President. The clock struck eleven: it surprised them both that the hours had passed so quickly: eleven was usually the close of their evening. But they sat on, for all was ready for the vital moment, and if it did not come now, when on earth could there be a more apt occasion? Yet who was to begin, and how?

Georgie put down his work, for all his fingers were damp, and one was bloody. He remembered that he was a man. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, and twice he closed it again. He looked up at her, and caught her eye, and that gimlet-like quality in it seemed not only to pierce but to encourage. It bored into him for his good and for his eventual comfort. For the third time, and now successfully, he opened his mouth.

“Lucia, I’ve got something I must say, and I hope you won’t mind. Has it ever occurred to you that—well—that we might marry?”

She fiddled for a moment with the cricket bat and the football, but when she raised her eyes again, there was no doubt about the encouragement.

“Yes, Georgie: unwomanly as it may sound,” she said, “it has. I really believe it might be an excellent thing. But there’s a great deal for us to think over first, and then talk over together. So let us say no more for the present. Now we must have our talk as soon as possible: some time to-morrow.”

She opened her engagement book. She had bought a new one, since she had become a Town Councillor, about as large as an ordinary blotting-pad.

“
Dio,
what a day!” she exclaimed. “Town Council at half-past ten, and at twelve I am due at the slope by the Norman tower to decide about the planting of my almond trees. Not in lines, I think, but scattered about: a little clump here, a single one there… Then Diva comes to lunch. Did you hear? A cinder from a passing engine blew into her cook’s eye as she was leaning out of the kitchen window, poor thing. Then after lunch my football team are playing their opening match and I promised to kick off for them.”

“My dear, how wonderfully adventurous of you!” exclaimed Georgie. “Can you?”

“Quite easily and quite hard. They sent me up a football and I’ve been practising in the
giardino segreto.
Where were we? Come to tea, Georgie—no, that won’t do: my Mayor is bringing me the plans for the new artisan dwellings. It must be dinner then, and we shall have time to think it all over. Are you off?
Buona notte, caro: tranquilli
—dear me, what is the Italian for ‘sleep’? How rusty I am getting!”

Lucia did not go back with him into the house, for there were some agenda for the meeting at half-past ten to be looked through. But just as she heard the front door shut on his exit, she remembered the Italian for sleep, and hurriedly threw up the window that looked on the street.