TROUBLE FOR LUCIA
PART 2
CHAPTER II
Lucia found on her return to Mallards that Mrs. Simpson had got through the laborious task of typing three identical dinner invitations for next day to Mrs. Wyse, Mrs. Bartlett and Mrs. Mapp-Flint with husbands. She filled up in autograph "Dearest Susan, Evie and Elizabeth" and was affectionately theirs. Rack her brains as she would she could think of no further task for her secretary, so Mrs. Simpson took these letters to deliver them by hand, thus saving time and postage. "And could you be here at nine-thirty to-morrow morning," said Lucia, "instead of ten in case there is a stress of work? Things turn up so suddenly, and it would never do to fall into arrears."
Lucia looked at her engagement book. Its fair white pages satisfied her that there were none at present.
"I shall be glad of a few days' quiet, dear," she said to Georgie. "I shall have a holiday of painting and music and reading. When once the rush begins there will be little time for such pursuits. Yet I know there was something very urgent that required my attention. Ah, yes! I must find out for certain whether I must have a Mayoress. And I must get a telephone extension into the garden-room, to save running in and out of the house for calls."
Lucia went in and rang up the clerk at the Town Hall. Yes: he was quite sure that every Mayor had a Mayoress, whom the Mayor invited to fill the post. She turned to Georgie with a corrugated brow.
"Yes, it is so," she said. "I shall have to find some capable obliging woman with whom I can work harmoniously. But who?"
The metallic clang of the flap of the letter-box on the front door caused her to look out of the window. There was Diva going quickly away with her scudding, birdlike walk. Lucia opened the note she had left, and read it. Though Diva was telegraphic in conversation, her epistolary style was flowing.
DEAREST LUCIA,
I felt quite shy of speaking to you about it to-day, for writing is always the best, don't you think, when it's difficult to find the right words or to get them out when you have, so this is to tell you that I am quite at your disposal, and shall [Note: Line missing in scanned copy] much longer in Tilling than you, dear, that perhaps I can be of some use in all your entertainments and other functions. Not that I would ask you to choose me as your Mayoress, for I shouldn't think of such a thing. So pushing! So I just want to say that I am quite at your service, as you may feel rather diffident about asking me, for it would be awkward for me to refuse, being such an old friend, if I didn't feel like it. But I should positively enjoy helping you, quite apart from my duty as a friend.
Ever yours,
DIVA.
"Poor dear, ridiculous little Diva!" said Lucia, handing Georgie this artless epistle. "So ambitious and so pathetic! And now I shall hurry off to begin my sketch of the dahlias. I will not be interrupted by any further public business this morning. I must have a little time to myself--What's that?"
Again the metallic clang from the letter box, and Lucia, consumed with curiosity, again peeped out from a corner of the window and saw Mr. Wyse with his malacca cane and his Panama hat and his black velveteen coat, walking briskly away.
"Just an answer to my invitation for to-morrow, I expect," she said. "Susan probably doesn't feel up to writing after the loss of her budgerigar. She had a sodden and battered look this morning, didn't you think, like a cardboard box that has been out in the rain. Flaccid. No resilience."
Lucia had taken Mr. Wyse's letter from the post-box, as she made these tonic remarks. She glanced through it, her mouth falling wider and wider open.
"Listen, Georgie!" she said:
DEAR AND WORSHIPFUL MAYOR-ELECT,
It has reached my ears (Dame Rumour) that during the coming year, when you have so self-sacrificingly consented to fill the highest office which our dear little Tilling can bestow, thereby honouring itself so far more than you, you will need some partner to assist you in your arduous duties. From little unconscious signs, little involuntary self-betrayals that I have observed in my dear Susan, I think I may encourage you to hope that she might be persuaded to honour herself and you by accepting the onerous post which I hear is yet unfilled. I have not had any word with her on the subject. Nor is she aware that I am writing to you. As you know, she has sustained a severe bereavement in the sudden death of her little winged companion. But I have ventured to say to her, "Carissima sposa, you must buck up. You must not let a dead bird, however dear, stand between you and the duties and opportunities of life which may present themselves to you." And she answered (whether she guessed the purport of my exhortation, I cannot say), "I will make an effort, Algernon." I augur favourably from that.
Of the distinction which renders her so suitable for the post of Mayoress I need not speak, for you know her character so well. I might remind you, however, that our late beloved Sovereign himself bestowed on her the insignia of the Order of Member of the British Empire, and that she would therefore bring to her new office a cachet unshared by any of the otherwise estimable ladies of Tilling. And in this distressing estrangement which now exists between the kingdoms of England and Italy, the fact that my dear Susan is sister-in-law to my dear sister Amelia, Contessa di Faraglione, might help to heal the differences between the countries. In conclusion, dear lady, I do not think you could do better than to offer my Susan the post for which her distinction and abilities so eminently fit her, and you may be sure that I shall use my influence with her to get her to accept it.
A rivederci, illustrissima Signora, ed anche presto!
ALGERNON WYSE.
P.S.: I will come round at any moment to confer with you.
P.P.S.: I reopen this to add that Susan has just received your amiable invitation for to-morrow, which we shall both be honoured to accept.
Lucia and Georgie looked at each other in silence at the end of the reading of this elegant epistle.
"Beautifully expressed, I must allow," she said. "Oh, Georgie, it is a frightful responsibility to have patronage of this crucial kind in one's gift! It is mine to confer not only an honour but an influence for good of a most far-reaching sort. A line from me and Susan is my Mayoress. But good Susan has not the energy, the decision which I should look for. I could not rely on her judgment."
"She put Algernon up to writing that lovely letter," said Georgie. "How they're all struggling to be Mayoress!"
"I am not surprised, dear, at that," said Lucia, with dignity. "No doubt also Evie got the Padre to recommend her--"
"And Diva recommended herself," remarked Georgie, "as she hadn't got anyone to do it for her."
"And Major Benjy was certainly going to say a word for Elizabeth, if I hadn't cut him short," said Lucia. "I find it all rather ugly, though, poor things, I sympathise with their ambitions which in themselves are noble. I shall have to draft two very tactful letters to Diva and Mr. Wyse, before Mrs. Simpson comes to-morrow. What a good thing I told her to come at half-past nine. But just for the present I shall dismiss it all from my mind, and seek an hour's peace with my paint-box and my belli fiori. What are you going to do till lunch?"
"It's my day for cleaning my bibelots," said Georgie. "What a rush it all is!"
Georgie went to his sitting-room and got busy. Soon he thought he heard another metallic clang from the post-box, and hurrying to the window, he saw Major Benjy walking briskly away from the door.
"That'll be another formal application, I expect," he said to himself, and went downstairs to see, with his wash-leather in his hand. There was a letter in the post-box, but to his surprise it was addressed not to Lucia, but himself. It ran:
MY DEAR PILLSON,
My wife has just received Her Worship's most amiable invitation that we should dine chez vous to-morrow. I was on the point of writing to you in any case, so she begs me to say we shall be charmed.
Now, my dear old man (if you'll permit me to call you so) I've a word to say to you. Best always, isn't it, to be frank and open. At least that's my experience in my twenty-five years of service in the King's (God bless him) army. So listen. Re Mayoress. It will be a tremendous asset to your wife's success in her most distinguished post, if she can get a wise and level-headed woman to assist her. A woman of commanding character, big-minded enough to disregard the little flurries and disturbances of her office, and above all one who has tact, and would never make mischief. Some of our mutual friends--I mention no names--are only too apt to scheme and intrigue and indulge in gossip and tittle-tattle. I can only put my finger on one who is entirely free from such failings, and that is my dear Elizabeth. I can't answer for her accepting the post. It's a lot to ask of any woman, but in my private opinion, if your wife approached Elizabeth in a proper spirit, making it clear how inestimable a help she (Elizabeth) would be to her, (the Mayor), I think we might hope for a favourable reply. Perhaps to-morrow evening I might have a quiet word with you. Sincerely yours,
BENJAMIN MAPP-FLINT (Major).
Georgie with his wash-leather hurried out to the giardino segreto where Lucia was drawing dahlias. He held the letter out to her, but she scarcely turned her head.
"No need to tell me, dear, that your letter is on behalf of another applicant. Elizabeth Mapp-Flint, I believe. Read it me while I go on drawing. Such exquisite shapes: we do not look at flowers closely enough."
As Georgie read it she plied a steady pencil, but when he came to the sentence about approaching Elizabeth in a proper spirit, her hand gave a violent jerk.
"Georgie, it isn't true!" she cried. "Show me. . . . Yes. My india-rubber? Ah, there it is."
Georgie finished the letter, and Lucia, having rubbed out the random line her pencil had made, continued to draw dahlias with concentrated attention.
"Lucia, it's too ridiculous of you to pretend to be absorbed in your sketch," he said impatiently. "What are you going to do?"
Lucia appeared to recall herself from the realms of peace and beauty.
"Elizabeth will be my Mayoress," she said calmly. "Don't you see, dear, she would be infinitely more tiresome if she wasn't? As Mayoress, she will be muzzled, so to speak. Officially, she will have to perform the tasks I allot to her. She will come to heel, and that will be very good for her. Besides, who else is there? Diva with her tea-shop? Poor Susan? Little mouse-like Evie Bartlett?"
"But can you see yourself approaching Elizabeth in a proper spirit?" he asked.
Lucia gave a gay trill of laughter.
"Certainly I cannot. I shall wait for her to approach me. She will have to come and implore me. I shall do nothing till then."
Georgie pondered on this extraordinary decision.
"I think you're being very rash," he said. "And you and Elizabeth hate each other like poison--"
"Emphatically no," said Lucia. "I have had occasion sometimes to take her down a peg or two. I have sometimes felt it necessary to thwart her. But hate? Never. Dismiss that from your mind. And don't be afraid that I shall approach her in any spirit at all."
"But what am I to say to Benjy when he asks me for a few private words to-morrow night?"
Lucia laughed again.
"My dear, they'll all ask you for a few private words to-morrow night. There's the Padre running poor little Evie. There's Mr. Wyse running Susan. They'll all want to know whom I'm likely to choose, and to secure your influence with me. Be like Mr. Baldwin and say your lips are sealed, or like some other Prime Minister, wasn't it? who said 'Wait and see.' Counting Diva, there are four applicants now--remind me to tell Mrs. Simpson to enter them all--and I think the list may be considered closed. Leave it to me; be discreet . . . And the more I think of it, the more clearly I perceive that Elizabeth Mapp-Flint must be my Mayoress. It is far better to have her on a lead, bound to me by ties of gratitude than skulking about like a pariah dog, snapping at me. True, she may not be capable of gratitude, but I always prefer to look for the best in people, like Mr. Somerset Maugham in his delightful stories."
Mrs. Simpson arriving at half-past nine next morning had to wait a considerable time for Lucia's tactful letters to Diva and Mr. Wyse; she and Georgie sat long after breakfast scribbling and erasing on half-sheets and envelopes turned inside out till they got thoroughly tactful drafts. Lucia did not want to tell Diva point-blank that she could not dream of asking her to be Mayoress, but she did not want to raise false hopes. All she could do was to thank her warmly for her offers of help ("So like you, dear Diva!") and to assure her that she would not hesitate to take advantage of them should occasion arise. To Mr. Wyse she said that no one had a keener appreciation of Susan's great gifts (so rightly recognised by the King) than she; no one more deplored the unhappy international relations between England and Italy . . . Georgie briefly acknowledged Major Benjy's letter and said he had communicated its contents to his wife, who was greatly touched. Lucia thought that these letters had better not reach their recipients till after her party, and Mrs. Simpson posted them later in the day.
Lucia was quite right about the husbands of expectant Mayoresses wanting a private word with Georgie that evening. Major Benjy and Elizabeth arrived first, a full ten minutes before dinner-time and explained to Foljambe that their clocks were fast, while Georgie in his new red velvet suit was putting the menu-cards which Mrs. Simpson had typed on the dinner-table. He incautiously put his head out of the dining-room door, while this explanation was going on, and Benjy spied him.
"Ha, a word with you, my dear old man," he exclaimed, and joined Georgie, while Elizabeth was taken to the garden-room to wait for Lucia.
"'Pon my soul, amazingly stupid of us to have come so early," he said, closing the dining-room door behind him. "I told Liz we should be too early--ah, our clocks were fast. Don't let me interrupt you; charming flowers, and, dear me, what a handsome suit. Just the colour of my wife's dress. However, that's neither here nor there. What I should like to urge on you is to persuade your wife to take advantage of Elizabeth's willingness to become Mayoress, for the good of the town. She's willing, I gather, to sacrifice her time and her leisure for that. Mrs. Pillson and Mrs. Mapp-Flint would be an alliance indeed. But Elizabeth feels that her offer can't remain open indefinitely, and she rather expected to have heard from your wife to-day."
"But didn't you tell me, Major," asked Georgie, "that your wife knew nothing about your letter to me? I understood that it was only your opinion that if properly approached--"
There was a tap at the door, and Mr. Wyse entered. He was dressed in a brand new suit, never before seen in Tilling, of sapphire blue velvet, with a soft pleated shirt, a sapphire solitaire and bright blue socks. The two looked like two middle-aged male mannequins.
Mr. Wyse began bowing.
"Mr. Georgie!" he said. "Major Benjy! The noise of voices. It occurred to me that perhaps we men were assembling here according to that pretty Italian custom, for a glass of vermouth, so my wife went straight out to the garden-room. I am afraid we are some minutes early. The Royce makes nothing of the steep hill from Starling Cottage."
Georgie was disappointed at the ruby velvet not being the only sartorial sensation of the evening, but he took it very well.
"Good evening," he said. "Well, I do call that a lovely suit. I was just finishing the flowers, when Major Benjy popped in. Let us go out to the garden-room, where we shall find some sherry."
Once again the door opened.
"Eh, here be all the laddies," said the Padre. "Mr. Wyse; a handsome costume, sir. Just the colour of the dress wee wifie's donned for this evening. She's ganged awa' to the garden-room. I wanted a bit word wi' ye, Mr. Pillson, and your parlour-maid told me you were here."
"I'm afraid we must go out now to the garden-room, Padre," said Georgie, rather fussed. "They'll all be waiting for us."
It was difficult to get them to move, for each of the men stood aside to let the others pass, and thus secure a word with Georgie. Eventually the Church unwillingly headed the procession, followed by the Army, lured by the thought of sherry, and Mr. Wyse deftly closed the dining-room door again and stood in front of it.
"A word, Mr. Georgie," he said. "I had the honour yesterday to write a note to your wife about a private matter--not private from you, of course--and I wondered whether she had spoken to you about it. I have since ascertained from my dear Susan--"
The door opened again, and bumped against his heels and the back of his head with a dull thud. Foljambe's face looked in.
"Beg your pardon, sir," she said. "Thought I heard you go."
"We must follow the others," said Georgie. "Lucia will wonder what's happened to us."
The wives looked enquiringly into the faces of their husbands as they filed into the garden-room to see if there was any news. Georgie shook hands with the women and Lucia with the men. He saw how well his suit matched Elizabeth's gown, and Mr. Wyse's might have been cut from the same piece as that of the Padre's wife. Another brilliant point of colour was furnished by Susan Wyse's budgerigar. The wing that had been flipped off yesterday had been re-stitched, and the head, as Diva had predicted, had been stuffed and completed the bird. She wore this notable decoration as a centrepiece on her ample bosom. Would it be tactful, wondered Georgie, to admire it, or would it be tearing open old wounds again? But surely when Susan displayed her wound so conspicuously, she would be disappointed if he appeared not to see it. He gave her a glass of sherry and moved aside with her.
"Perfectly charming, Mrs. Wyse," he said, looking pointedly at it. "Lovely! Most successful!"
He had done right; Susan's great watery smile spread across her face.
"So glad you like it," she said, "and since I've worn it, Mr. Georgie, I've felt comforted for Blue Birdie. He seems to be with me still. A very strong impression. Quite psychical."
"Very interesting and touching," said Georgie sympathetically.
"Is it not? I am hoping to get into rapport with him again. His pretty sweet ways! And may I congratulate you, too? Such a lovely suit!"
"Lucia's present to me," said Georgie, "though I chose it."
"What a coincidence!" said Susan. "Algernon's new suit is my present to him and he chose it. There are brain-waves everywhere, Mr. Georgie, beyond the farthest stars."
Foljambe announced dinner. Never before had conversation, even at Lucia's table, maintained so serious and solid a tone. The ladies in particular, though the word Mayoress was never mentioned, vied with each other in weighty observations bearing on municipal matters, in order to show the deep interest they took in them. It was as if they even engaged on a self-imposed vive-voce examination to exhibit their qualifications for the unmentioned post. They addressed their answers to Lucia and of each other they were highly critical.
"No, dear Evie," said Elizabeth, "I cannot share your views about girl-guides. Boy scouts I wholeheartedly support. All that drill teaches them discipline, but the best discipline for girls is to help mother at home. Cooking, housework, lighting the fire, father's slippers. Don't you agree, dear hostess?"
"Eh, Mistress Mapp-Flint," said the Padre, strongly upholding his wife. "Ye havena' the tithe of my Evie's experience among the bairns of the parish. Half the ailments o' the lassies come from being kept at home without enough exercise and air and chance to fend for themselves. Easy to have too much of mother's apron strings, and as fur father's slippers I disapprove of corporal punishment for the young of whatever sex."
"Oh, Padre, how could you think I meant that!" exclaimed Elizabeth.
"And as for letting a child light a fire," put in Susan, "that's most dangerous. No match-box should ever be allowed within a child's reach. I must say too, that I wish the fire-brigade in Tilling was better organized and more efficient. If once a fire broke out here the whole town would be burned to the ground."
"Dear Susan, is it possible you haven't heard that there was a fire in Ford Place last week? Fancy! And you're strangely in error about the brigade's efficiency, for they were there in three minutes from the time the alarm was given, and the fire was extinguished in five minutes more."
"Lucia, what is really wanted in Tilling," said Susan, "is better lighting of the streets. Coming home sometimes in the evening my Royce has to crawl down Porpoise Street."
"More powerful lamps to your car would make that all right, dear," said Elizabeth. "Not a very great expense. The paving of the streets, to my mind, wants the most immediate attention. I nearly fell down the other day, stepping in a great hole. The roads, too: the road opposite my house is little better than a snipe bog. Again and again I have written to the Hampshire Argus about it."
Mr. Wyse bowed across the table to her.
"I regret to say I have missed seeing your letters," he said. "Very careless of me. Was there one last week?"
Evie emitted the mouse-like squeak which denoted intense private amusement.
"I've missed them, too," she said. "I expect we all have. In any case, Elizabeth, Grebe is outside the parish boundaries. Nothing to do with Tilling. It's a County Council road you will find if you look at a map. Now the overcrowding in the town itself, Lucia, is another matter which does concern us. I have it very much at heart, as anybody must have who knows anything about it. And then there are the postal deliveries. Shocking. I wrote a letter the other day--"
This was one of the subjects which Susan Wyse had specially mugged up. By leaning forward and putting an enormous elbow on the table she interposed a mountain of healthy animal tissue between Evie and Lucia, and the mouse was obliterated behind the mountain.
"And only two posts a day, Lucia," she said. "You will find it terribly inconvenient to get only two and the second is never anything but circulars. There's not a borough in England so ill-served. I'm told that if a petition is sent to the Postmaster-General signed by fifty per cent. of the population he is bound by law to give us a third delivery. Algernon and I would be only too happy to get up this petition--"
Algernon from the other side of the table suddenly interrupted her.
"Susan, take care!" he cried. "Your budgerigar: your raspberry soufflé!"
He was too late. The budgerigar dropped into the middle of Susan's bountifully supplied plate. She took it out, dripping with hot raspberry juice and wrapped it in her napkin, moaning softly to herself. The raspberry juice stained it red, as if Blue Birdie had been sat on again, and Foljambe very tactfully handed a plate to Susan on which she deposited it. After so sad and irrelevant an incident, it was hard to get back to high topics, and the Padre started on a lower level.
"A cosy little establishment will Mistress Diva Plaistow be running presently," he said. "She tells me that the opening of it will be the first function of our new Mayor. A fine send-off indeed."
A simultaneous suspicion shot through the minds of the candidates present that Diva (incredible as it seemed) might be in the running. Like vultures they swooped on the absent prey.
"A little too cosy for my tastes," said Elizabeth. "If all the tables she means to put into her tea-room were full, sardines in a tin wouldn't be the word. Not to mention that the occupants of two of the tables would be being kippered up the chimney, and two others in a gale every time the door was opened. And are you going to open it officially, dear Lucia?"
"Certainly not," said Lucia. "I told her I would drink the first cup of tea with pleasure, but as Mrs. Pillson, not as Mayor."
"Poor Diva can't make tea," squeaked Evie. "She never could. It's either hot water or pure tannin."
"And she intends to make all the fancy pastry herself," said Susan sorrowfully. "Much better to stick to bread and butter and a plain cake. Very ambitious, I call it, but nowadays Diva's like that. More plans for all we know."
"And quite a reformer," said Elizabeth. "She talks about a quicker train service to London. She knows a brother-in-law of one of the directors. Of course the thing is as good as done with a word from Diva. It looks terribly like paranoia coming on."
The ladies left. Major Benjy drunk off his port in a great hurry, so as to get a full glass when it came round again.
"A very good glass of port," he said. "Well, I don't mind if I fill up. The longer I live with my Liz., Pillson, the more I am astonished at her masculine grasp of new ideas."
"My Susan's remarks about an additional postal delivery and lighting of the streets showed a very keen perception of the reforms of which our town most stands in need," said Algernon. "Her judgment is never at fault. I have often been struck--"
The Padre, speaking to Major Benjy, raised his voice for Georgie to hear and thumped the table.
"Wee wifie's energy is unbounded," he said. "Often I say to her: 'Spare yourself a bitty' I've said, and always she's replied 'Heaven fits the back to the burden' quo' she, 'and if there's more work and responsibility to be undertaken, Evie's ready for it'."
"You mustn't let her overtax herself, Padre," said Benjy with great earnestness. "She's got her hands over full already. Not so young as she was."
"Eh, that's what ails all the ladies of Tilling," retorted the Padre, "an' she'll be younger than many I could mention. An abounding vitality. If they made me Lord Archbishop to-morrow, she'd be a mother in Israel to the province, and no mistake."
This was too much for Benjy. It would have been a gross dereliction of duty not to let loose his withering powers of satire.
"No no, Padre," he said. "Tilling can't spare you. Canterbury must find someone else."
"Eh, well, and if the War Office tries to entice you away, Major, you must say no. That'll be a bargain. But the point of my observation was that my Evie is aye ready and willing for any call that may come to her. That's what I'm getting at."
"Ha, ha, Padre; let me know when you've got it, and then I'll talk to you. Well, if the port is standing idle in front of you--"
Georgie rose. He had had enough of these unsolicited testimonials, and when Benjy became satirical it was a symptom that he should have no more port.
"I think it's time we got to our Bridge," he said. "Lucia will scold me if I keep you here too long."
They marched in a compact body to the garden-room, where Lucia had been keeping hopeful Mayoresses at bay with music, and two tables were instantly formed. Georgie and Elizabeth, rubies, played against the sapphires, Mr. Wyse and Evie, and the other table was drab in comparison. The evening ended unusually late, and it was on the stroke of midnight when the three pairs of guests, unable to get a private word with either of their hosts, moved sadly away like a vanquished army. The Royce conveyed the Wyses to Porpoise Street, just round the corner, with Susan, faintly suggesting Salome, holding the plate with the bloodstained handkerchief containing the budgerigar; a taxi that had long been ticking conveyed the Mapp-Flints to the snipe-bog, and two pairs of goloshes took the Padre and his wife to the Vicarage.
Lucia's tactful letters were received next morning. Mr. Wyse thought that all was not yet lost, though it surprised him that Lucia had not taken Susan aside last night and implored her to be Mayoress. Diva, on the other hand, with a more correct estimate of the purport of Lucia's tact, was instantly sure that all was lost, and exclaiming, "Drat it, so that's that," gave Lucia's note to Paddy to worry, and started out for her morning's shopping. There were plenty of absorbing interests to distract her. Susan, with the budgerigar cockade in her hat, looked out of the window of the Royce, but to Diva's amazement the colour of the bird's plumage had changed; it was flushed with red like a stormy sunset with patches of blue sky behind. Could Susan, for some psychical reason, have dyed it? . . . Georgie and Lucia were approaching from Mallards, but Diva, after that tactful note, did not want to see her friend till she had thought of something pretty sharp to say. Turning towards the High Street she bumped baskets sharply with Elizabeth.
"Morning, dear!" said Elizabeth. "Do you feel up to a chat?"
"Yes," said Diva. "Come in. I'll do my shopping afterwards. Any news?"
"Benjy and I dined with Worshipful last night. Wyses, Bartletts, Bridge. We all missed you."
"Wasn't asked," said Diva. "A good dinner? Did you win?"
"Partridges a little tough," said Elizabeth musingly. "Old birds are cheaper, of course. I won a trifle, but nothing like enough to pay for our taxi. An interesting, curious evening. Rather revolting at times, but one mustn't be captious. Evie and Susan--oh, a terrible thing happened. Susan wore the bird as a breastplate, and it fell into the raspberry soufflé. Plop!"
Diva gave a sigh of relief.
"That explains it," she said. "Saw it just now and it puzzled me. Go on, Elizabeth."
"Revolting, I was saying. Those two women. One talked about boy-scouts, and the other about posts, and then one about overcrowding and the other about the fire brigade. I just sat and listened and blushed for them both. So cheap and obvious."
"But what's so cheap and obvious and blush-making?" asked Diva. "It only sounds dull to me."
"All that fictitious interest in municipal matters. What has Susan cared hitherto for postal deliveries, or Evie for overcrowding? In a nutshell, they were trying to impress Lucia, and get her to ask them, at least one of them, to be Mayoress. And from what Benjy told me, their husbands were just as barefaced when we went into the garden-room. An evening of intrigue and self-advertisement. Pah!"
"Pah indeed!" said Diva. "How did Lucia take it?"
"I really hardly noticed. I was too disgusted at all these underground schemings. So transparent! Poor Lucia! I trust she will get someone who will be of use to her. She'll be sadly at sea without a woman of sense and experience to consult."
"And was Mr. Georgie's dinner costume very lovely?" asked Diva.
Elizabeth half closed her eyes as if to visualise it.
"A very pretty colour," she said. "Just like the gown I had dyed red not long ago, if you happen to remember it. Of course he copied it."
The front-door bell rang. It was quicker to answer it oneself, thought Diva, than to wait for Janet to come up from the kitchen, and she trundled off.
"Come in, Evie," she said, "Elizabeth's here."
But Elizabeth would not wait, and Evie, in turn, gave her own impressions of the previous evening. They were on the same lines as Elizabeth's, only it had been Elizabeth and Susan who (instead of revolting her) had been so vastly comical with their sudden interest in municipal affairs:
"And, oh, dear me," she said, "Mr. Wyse and Major Benjy were just as bad. It was like that musical thing where you have a tune in the treble, and the same tune next in the bass. Fugue; that's it. Those four were just like a Bach concert. Kenneth and I simply sat listening. And I'm much mistaken if Lucia and Mr. Georgie didn't see through them all."
Diva had now got a complete idea of what had taken place; clearly there had been a six-part fugue.
"But she's got to choose somebody," she said. "Wonder who it'll be."
"Perhaps you, he, he!" squeaked Evie for a joke.
"That it won't," cried Diva emphatically, looking at the fragments of Lucia's tactful note scattered about the room. "Sooner sing songs in the gutter. Fancy being at Lucia's beck and call, whenever she wants something done which she doesn't want to do herself. Not worth living at that price. No, thank you!"
"Just my fun," said Evie. "I didn't mean it seriously. And then there were other surprises. Mr. Georgie in a red--"
"I know; the colour of Elizabeth's dyed one," put in Diva.
"--and Mr. Wyse in sapphire velvet," continued Evie. "Just like my second-best, which I was wearing."
"No! I hadn't heard that," said Diva. "Aren't the Tilling boys getting dressy?"
The tension increased during the next week to a point almost unbearable, for Lucia, like the Pythian Oracle in unfavourable circumstances, remained dumb, waiting for Elizabeth to implore her. The strain was telling and whenever the telephone bell rang in the houses of any of the candidates she or her husband ran to it to see if it carried news of the nomination. But, as at an inconclusive sitting of the Conclave of Cardinals for the election of the Pontiff, no announcement came from the precinct; and every evening, since the weather was growing chilly, a column of smoke curled out of the chimney of the garden-room. Was it that Lucia, like the Cardinals, could not make up her mind, or had she possibly chosen her Mayoress and had enjoined silence till she gave the word? Neither supposition seemed likely, the first, because she was so very decisive a person; the second, because it was felt that the chosen candidate could not have kept it to herself.
Then a series of curious things happened, and to the overwrought imagination of Tilling they appeared to be of the nature of omens. The church clock struck thirteen one noon, and then stopped with a jarring sound. That surely augured ill for the chances of the Padre's wife. A spring broke out in the cliff above the Mapp-Flint's house, and, flowing through the garden, washed the asparagus bed away. That looked like Elizabeth's hopes being washed away too. Susan Wyse's Royce collided with a van in the High Street and sustained damage to a mud-guard; that looked bad for Susan. Then Elizabeth, distraught with anxiety, suddenly felt convinced that Diva had been chosen. What made this the more probable was that Diva had so emphatically denied to Evie that she would ever be induced to accept the post. It was like poor Diva to think that anybody would believe such a monstrous statement; it only convinced Elizabeth that she was telling a thumping lie, in order to conceal something. Probably she thought she was being Bismarckian, but that was an error. Bismarck had said that to tell the truth was a useful trick for a diplomatist, because others would conclude that he was not. But he had never said that telling lies would induce others to think that he was telling the truth.
The days went on, and Georgie began to have qualms as to whether Elizabeth would ever humble herself and implore the boon.
"Time's passing," he said, as he and Lucia sat one morning in the garden-room. "What on earth will you do, if she doesn't?"
"She will," said Lucia, "though I allow she has held out longer than I expected. I did not know how strong that false pride of hers was. But she's weakening. I've been sitting in the window most of the morning--such a multiplicity of problems to think over--and she has passed the house four times since breakfast. Once she began to cross the road to the front-door, but then she saw me, and walked away again. The sight of me, poor thing, must have made more vivid to her what she had to do. But she'll come to it. Let us discuss something more important. That idea of mine about reviving the fishing industry. The Royal Fish Express. I made a few notes--"
Lucia glanced once more out of the window.
"Georgie," she cried. "There's Elizabeth approaching again. That's the fifth time. Round and round like a squirrel in its cage."
She glided to her ambush behind the curtain, and, peeping stealthily out, became like the reporter of the University boat-race on the wireless.
"She's just opposite, level with the front-door," she announced. "She's crossing the road. She's quickening up. She's crossed the road. She's slowing down on the front-door steps. She's raised her hand to the bell. She's dropped it again. She turned half-round--no, I don't think she saw me. Poor woman, what a tussle! Just pride. Georgie, she's rung the bell. Foljambe's opened the door; she must have been dusting the hall. Foljambe's let her in, and has shut the door. She'll be out here in a minute."
Foljambe entered.
"Mrs. Mapp-Flint, ma'am," she said. "I told her you were probably engaged, but she much wants to see you for a few moments on a private matter of great importance."
Lucia sat down in a great hurry, and spread some papers on the table in front of her.
"Go into the garden, will you, Georgie," she said, "for she'll never be able to get it out unless we're alone. Yes, Foljambe; tell her I can spare her five minutes."
To be continued
