The Complete Mapp & Lucia (172 page)

She sat down and took a sheet of writing paper.

“And we must settle about my dress,” she said. “If we are to have this great show, so as not to disappoint Tilling, it ought to be up to the mark. Purple brocade, or something of the sort. I shall have it made here, of course: that good little milliner in the High Street. Useful for her… ‘Dear Lord Bishop’ is correct, is it not?”

The Bishop chose the earliest of the proffered dates, and the Mayor and Corporation thereupon signified their intention of being present at the ceremony, and accepted Lucia’s invitation to the reception afterwards at Mallards. A further excitement for Tilling two days before the wedding was the sight of eight of the men whom now Lucia had come to call “her unemployed” moving in opposite directions between Mallards and the Cottage like laden ants, observing the rules of the road. They carried the most varied burdens: a bed in sections came out of Mallards passing on its way sections of another bed from the Cottage: bookcases were interchanged and wardrobes: an ant festooned with gay water-colour sketches made his brilliant progress towards Mallards, meeting another who carried prints of Mozart at the age of four improvising on the spinet and of Beethoven playing his own compositions to an apparently remorseful audience. A piano lurched along from the Cottage, first sticking in the doorway, and thus obstructing the progress of other ants laden with crockery vessels, water-jugs and basins and other meaner objects, who had to stand with their intimate burdens in the street, looking a shade self-conscious, till their way was clear. Curtains and rugs and fire-irons and tables and chairs were interchanged, and Tilling puzzled itself into knots to know what these things meant.

As if this conundrum was not sufficiently agonizing, nobody could ascertain where the happy pair were going for their honeymoon. They would be back in a week, for Lucia could not forsake her municipal duties for longer than that, but she had made concession enough to publicity, and this was kept a profound secret, for the mystery added to the
cachet
of the event. Elizabeth made desperate efforts to find out: she sprang all sorts of Jack-in-the-box questions on Lucia in the hope that she would startle her into revealing the unknown destination. Were there not very amusing plays going on in Paris? Was not the climate of Cornwall very agreeable in November? Had she ever seen a bull-fight? All no use: and completely foiled she expressed her settled conviction that they were not going away at all, but would immure themselves at Mallards, as if they had measles.

All was finished on the day before the wedding, and Georgie slept for the last time in the Cottage surrounded by the furniture from his future bedroom at Mallards, and clad in his frock-coat and fawn-coloured trousers had an early lunch, with a very poor appetite, in his unfamiliar sitting-room. He brushed his top-hat nervously from time to time, and broke into a slight perspiration when the church bells began to ring, yearning for the comfortable obscurity of a registry office, and wishing that he had never been born, or, at any rate, was not going to be married quite so soon. He tottered to the church.

The ceremony was magnificent, with cope and corporation and plenty of that astonishing tuba on the organ. Then followed the reception in the garden-room and the buffet in the dining-room, during which bride and bridegroom vanished, and appeared again in their go-away clothes, a brown Lucia with winter-dessert in her hat, and a bright mustard-coloured Georgie. The subterfuge, however, of starting from Porpoise Street
via
the back door was not necessary, since the street in front of Mallards was quite devoid of sightseers and confetti. So Georgie’s decoy motorcar retreated, and Grosvenor ordered up Lucia’s car from Porpoise Street. There was some difficulty in getting round that awkward corner, for there was a van in the way, and it had to saw backwards and forwards. The company crowded into the hall and on to the doorstep to see them off, and Elizabeth was quite certain that Lucia did not say a word to Cadman as she stepped in. Clearly then Cadman knew where they were going, and if she had only thought of that she might have wormed it out of him. Now it was too late: also her conviction that they were not going anywhere at all had broken down. She tried to persuade Diva that they were only going for a drive and would be back for tea, but Diva was pitilessly scornful.

“Rubbish!” she said. Or was all that luggage merely a blind? “You’re wrong as usual, Elizabeth.”

Lucia put the window half down: it was a warm afternoon.

“Darling, it all went off beautifully,” she said. “And what fun it will be to see dear Riseholme again. It was nice of Olga Bracely to lend us her house. We must have some little dinners for them all.”

“They’ll be thrilled,” said Georgie. “Do you like my new suit?”

Lucia decided to take a rare half-holiday and spend this brilliant afternoon in mid May, in strolling about Tilling with Georgie, for there was a good deal she wanted to inspect. They went across the churchyard pausing to listen to the great blare of melodious uproar that poured out through the open south door, for the organist was practising on Lucia’s organ, and, after enjoying that, proceeded to the Norman Tower. The flight of steps down to the road below had been relaid from top to bottom, and a most elegant hand-rail put up. A very modest stone tablet at the side of the top step recorded in quite small letters the name of the person to whom Tilling owed this important restoration.

“They were only finished yesterday, Georgie,” said Lucia hardly glancing at the tablet, since she had herself chosen the lettering very carefully and composed the inscription, “and I promised the foreman to look at them. Nice, I think, and in keeping. And very evenly laid. One can walk down them without looking to one’s feet.”

Half-way down she stopped and pointed.

“Georgie,” she cried. “Look at the lovely blossom on my almond trees! They are in flower at last, after this cold spring. I was wise to get well-grown trees: smaller ones would never have flowered their first year. Oh, there’s Elizabeth coming up my steps. That old green skirt again. It seems quite imperishable.”

They met.

“Lovely new steps,” said Elizabeth very agreeably. “Quite a pleasure to walk up them. Thank you, dear, for them. But those poor almond trees. So sad and pinched, and hardly a blossom on them. Perhaps they weren’t the flowering sort. Or do you think they’ll get acclimatised after some years?”

“They’re coming out beautifully,” said Lucia in a very firm voice. “I’ve never seen such healthy trees in all my life. By next week they will be a blaze of blossom. Blaze.”

“I’m sure I hope you’ll be right, dear,” said Elizabeth, “but I don’t see any buds coming myself.” Lucia took no further notice of her, and continued to admire her almond trees in a loud voice to Georgie.

“And how gay the pink blossom looks against the blue sky, darling,” she said. “You must bring your paint-box here some morning and make a sketch of them. Such a feast for the eye.”

She tripped down the rest of the steps, and Elizabeth paused at the top to read the tablet.

“You know Mapp is really the best name for her,” said Lucia, still slightly bubbling with resentment. “Irene is quite right never to call her anything else. Poor Mapp is beginning to imitate herself: she says exactly the things which somebody taking her on would say.”

“And I’m sure she wanted to be pleasant just now,” said Georgie, “but the moment she began to praise your steps she couldn’t bear it, and found herself obliged to crab something else of yours.”

“Very likely. I never knew a woman so terribly in the grip of her temperament. Look, Georgie: they’re playing cricket on my field. Let us go and sit in the pavilion for a little. It would be appreciated.”

“Darling, it’s so dull watching cricket,” said Georgie. “One man hits the ball away and another throws it back and all the rest eat daisies.”

“We’ll just go and show ourselves,” said Lucia. “We needn’t stop long. As President I feel I must take an interest in their games. I wish I had time to study cricket. Doesn’t the field look beautifully level now? You could play billiards on it.”

“Oh, by the way,” said Georgie, “I saw Mr. Woolgar in the town this morning. He told me he had a client, very desirable he thought, but he wasn’t at liberty to mention the name yet, enquiring if I would let the Cottage for three months from the end of June. Only six guineas a week offered, and I asked eight. But even at that a three months’ let would be pleasant.”

“The client’s name is Mapp,” said Lucia with decision. “Diva told me yesterday that the woman with the canaries had taken Grebe for three months from the end of June at twenty guineas a week.”

“That may be only a coincidence,” said Georgie.

“But it isn’t,” retorted Lucia. “I can trace the windings of her mind like the course of a river across the plain. She thinks she wouldn’t get it for six guineas if you knew she was the client, for she had let out that she was getting twenty for Grebe. Stick to eight, Georgie, or raise it to ten.”

“I’m going to have tea with Diva,” said Georgie, “and the Mapps will be there. I might ask her suddenly if she was going to take a bungalow again for the summer, and see how she looks.”

“Anyhow they can’t get flooded out of Mallards Cottage,” observed Lucia.

They had skirted the cricket ground and come to the pavilion, but since Tilling was fielding Lucia’s appearance did not evoke the gratification she had anticipated, since none of the visiting side had the slightest idea who she was. The Tilling bowling was being slogged all over the field, and the fieldsmen had really no time to eat daisies with this hurricane hitting going on. One ball crashed on to the wall of the pavilion just above Georgie’s head, and Lucia willingly consented to leave her cricket field, for she had not known the game was so perilous. They went up into the High Street and through the churchyard again, and were just in sight of Mallards Cottage on which was a board: “To be let Furnished or Sold,” when the door opened, and Elizabeth came out, locking the door after her: clearly she had been to inspect it, or how could she have got the keys? Lucia knew that Georgie had seen her, and so did not even say “I told you so.”

“You must promise to do a sketch of my almond trees against the sky, Georgie,” she said. “They will be in their full beauty by next week. And we must really give one of our omnibus dinner-parties soon. Saturday would do: I have nothing on Saturday evening, I think. I will telephone all round now.”

Georgie went upstairs to his own sitting-room to get a reposeful half-hour, before going to his tea-party. More and more he marvelled at Lucia’s superb vitality: she was busier now than she had ever pretended to be, and her labours were but as fuel to feed her fires. This walk to-day, for instance, had for him necessitated a short period of quiescence before he set off again for fresh expenditure of force, but he could hear her voice crisp and vigorous as she rang up number after number, and the reason why she was not coming to Diva’s party was that she had a class of girl-guides in the garden-room at half-past four, and a meeting of the Governors of the Hospital at six. At 7.15 (for 7.30) she was to preside at the annual dinner of the cricket club. Not a very full day.

Lucia had been returned at the top of the poll in the last elections for the Town Council. Never did she miss a meeting, never did she fail to bring forward some fresh scheme for the employment of the unemployed, for the lighting of streets or the paving of roads or for the precedence of perambulators over pedestrians on the narrow pavements of the High Street. Bitter had been the conflict which called for a decision on that knotty question. Mapp, for instance, meeting two perambulators side by side had refused to step into the road and so had the nursery-maids. Instead they had advanced, chatting gaily together, solid as a phalanx and Mapp had been forced to retreat before them and turn up a side street. “What with Susan’s great bus,” she passionately exclaimed, “filling up the whole of the roadway, and perambulators sweeping all before them on the pavements, we shall have to do our shopping in aeroplanes.”

Diva, to whom she made this protest, had been sadly forgetful of recent events, which, so to speak, had not happened and replied: “Rubbish, dear Elizabeth! If you had ever had occasion to push a perambulator, you wouldn’t have wheeled it on to the road to make way for the Queen.”… Then, seeing her error, Diva had made things worse by saying she hadn’t meant
that,
and the Bridge party to which Georgie was going this afternoon was to mark the reconciliation after the resultant coolness. The legislation suggested by Lucia to meet this traffic problem was a model of wisdom: perambulators had precedence on pavements, but they must proceed in single file. Heaps of room for everybody.

Georgie, resting and running over her activities in his mind, felt quite hot at the thought of them, and applied a little eau-de-cologne to his forehead. To-morrow she was taking all her girl-guides for a day by the sea at Margate: they were starting in a chartered bus at eight in the morning, but she expected to be back for dinner. The occupations of her day fitted into each other like a well-cut jigsaw puzzle, and not a piece was missing from the picture. Was all this activity merely the outpouring of her inexhaustible energy that spouted like the water from the rock when Moses smote it? Sometimes he wondered whether there was not an ulterior purpose behind it. If so, she never spoke of it, but drove relentlessly on in silence.

He grew a little drowsy; he dozed, but he was awakened by a step on the stairs and a tap at his door. Lucia always tapped, for it was his private room, and she entered with a note in her hand. Her face seemed to glow with some secret radiance which she repressed with difficulty: to mask it she wore a frown, and her mouth was working with thought.

“I must consult you, Georgie,” she said, sinking into a chair. “There is a terribly momentous decision thrust upon me.”