Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (440 page)

In that way she was really up against it, and, as has been remarked, she was not by any means certain that she wanted to stop the new theatre altogether. For, remarkable as it appeared to her, the prospect of being married, which for many years had seemed to her to be singularly remote, had operated in an extraordinary manner in changing her point of view. She found, when she questioned herself each night over her diary, that, extraordinary as the confession seemed, she was not any longer half so interested in the suppression of sin. She had actually to write down in the pages of that locked book that now that she was going to have — and indeed she was actually having — a good time herself, she was not so anxious to suppress the enjoyment of 640,000 reformed young men. Life, indeed, appeared to have an entirely new aspect for Miss Peabody.

She was beginning in England to discover that there were such things as social amenities, social scales, and social advancements. In Boston she had been a member of a rather disagreeable upper six hundred, but she was beginning to discover that it might be almost more agreeable in England to have the right to go through a door before some other woman. And she was beginning to think that it must be extraordinarily sweet to be called “Your Ladyship.” Once or twice when Miss Jenkins had given her this title by a slip of the tongue, Miss Peabody had positively quivered with delight. And Miss Peabody had been observing the manners and customs of the English people for long enough to know that the stage in some singular way led to titles. As far as she had been able to discover, every wife of an actor-manager was always “Her Ladyship.” So that she was not by any means certain that she desired the scheme for the new, pure theatre to be suppressed.

And even her scheme for the amalgamation of the L.S.S.V. and the B.A.A.S. tended a little in this direction. She was beginning to get tired of these things, and she was beginning to think that she wanted Mr. Foster to drop them too. She could not help seeing that that sort of thing was not really fashionable in England, and she imagined that, by amalgamating the two societies, putting them under the managership of a professional philanthropist like Colonel Hangbird, and nominating herself president and Mr. Foster vice-president — though they would have nothing whatever of the work of the associations, they would get just as much as ever of the glory, and, at the same time, they would not have attaching to them the sort of snuffy Nonconformist feeling that she perceived to attach to most British philanthropists, who generally wore low collars, soft felt hats and untidy beards. Since she had known and become engaged to the major, these adornments of the male being no longer appeared to her as desirable as they had done in the days when they had seemed to her to be the symbols of purity, benevolence and teetotalism. Alas! she no longer cared much for any of these three things, for she could not find any particular trace of them in her “intended.”

So that, as she saw her future life, she was going to be a patroness — a haughty and aloof patroness — of a quite meritorious philanthropic enterprise, and she was also going to be, as Mrs. Edward Brent Foster, quite a distinguished figure in British social life because she would have so much influence with the new theatre. It was an entirely different world. And, indeed, the only use that she had left for the labours of her old life was, that by keeping Mr. Foster hard at work on the amalgamating of the two societies that she intended to throw over, she kept him also entirely under her thumb, and occupied his study, which commanded a view of the entire parkland territory where a few deer wandered about between the characters of the drama that she was engaged in managing.

It was just before lunch on the third day that Miss Peabody observed her Ladyship’s Own Maid, who was all black and white like a magpie in her cap and apron, marching straight over the greensward in a bee-line for where the major was sitting under his oak tree. She was coming from the front door, which was at the end, not the middle, of the house. And Miss Peabody was out upon the greensward before she had breathed twice. And then all sorts of people turned up. Mr. Foster looked out of the window of his study; Mrs. Foster and Miss Delamare came out of the French windows of the drawing-room; Mrs. Kerr Howe, with her long proofs streaming from her hands, was walking swiftly towards the major, and, round the corner of the house, from the direction of the front door, there appeared no less than two policemen with bicycles, and a terrific old gentleman in a fur coat, who sat very high upon an immense horse. And they all of them bore down upon the major.

And the first sound that struck all their ears was the terrific voice of the old gentleman, who had reined up his brown horse within a yard or so of the major, and was extending his arm in a splendid gesture.

“Officers,” he shouted, “do your duty! That is the man. Arrest him at once for drunkenness, assault, the use of obscene language, and theft!”

They all of them stood absolutely still in the sunlight, except the two policemen, sturdy and pink-faced fellows, who pushed their bicycles bashfully towards the major. They each of them touched the glazed black shades of their caps to him, and, pulling their wallets from behind their backs, produced the one a blue, the other a white slip of paper; and each of them remarked, “Very sorry, sir, a summons, sir.”

The major carefully placed his book-mark between the pages of
The Sacred Fount
, set the book down on the brown rug upon which he was sitting, extended his hand, and exclaimed as he took the papers:

“That’s all right, that’s all right, my good men. Go round to the kitchen and get them to give you some beer.”

The two policemen, with automatic actions, swung their bicycles round and, pushing them at their sides, went away towards the house-end.

CHAPTER II
.

IT was Mr. Arthur Foster who broke next the spell of appalled silence. He came out of his French window, and when he was near them he called in agitating and panting tones:

“What’s all this dreadful thing?”

The major was contentedly, and with attentive expression, reading the two summonses whilst he leant his back against the trunk of the oak tree. But the old gentleman, who was surveying them all triumphantly from the top of his immense horse, shouted out:

“This abandoned wretch has been visited by his country’s laws for the offence of drunkenness, assault, the use of obscene language, and theft!” Mr. Foster threw his hands up to the sky; Mrs. Foster remarked beneath her breath that Edward really seemed to have been enjoying life in spite of everything; Miss Delamare laughed so loudly that she really had to hold her sides; Mrs. Kerr Howe shook her proofs at the old gentleman and remarked: “You infamous old scoundrel!” Miss Jenkins stood perfectly still, looking at Miss Peabody with a watchful, attentive and questioning expression; Miss Peabody stood gazing at the major with enormous eyes, and her eyes did not believe and did not understand what they saw. She had observed for one thing, in a sort of a dream, that one of the policemen had, with a sudden, extraordinarily stiff and sharp movement, saluted Miss Jenkins as he went by, and Miss Jenkins had shaken her head and put one finger to her lips. And, in a sort of dream, Miss Peabody had noticed these things with satisfaction, for she considered that they pointed with absolute certainty to the fact that Miss Jenkins had a vulgar intrigue with this policeman, and she considered that this would give her a handle against Miss Jenkins, who was certainly not the sort of person to be the confidential attendant upon a lady of title. She remarked to herself: “I’ve got you, my lady.” And then she shook off her stiffness of consternation and addressed the major in the following terms. She stretched her arms out indeed, and was preparing to fall upon his neck, when it occurred to her that as the major was, sitting against a tree-trunk, that operation would be not only difficult but probably dangerous.

“Edward,” she said, “I don’t for a moment believe these odious and scandalous charges; but even if they were proved to the hilt, believe that your battered and tried heart should find upon this bosom a resting-place.”

Miss Jenkins looked at the major with a cool and dispassionate glance, and they all heard her remark to Mrs. Foster:

“Well then, even that’s no go, ma’am.” She walked away also in the direction of the house-end, and Miss Peabody remarked to herself with satisfaction that the odious creature had certainly gone to rejoin her policeman.

They all of them made the ejaculation that might have been expected of them, but the major sat against the tree-trunk and just laughed, whilst Mrs. Kerr Howe voluminously explained the situation.

“My dear thing,” the major remarked to Miss Peabody in the dog-cart — for the first summons had been returnable for that very afternoon—”it’s remotely possible that I may be in some sort of a fix, but I can assure you...”

“Oh, my dear Edward,” she exclaimed, and she was really perfectly in earnest, “you don’t need to assure me of anything. I regard you simply as a hero — and a hero for my sake. I quite understand that you imagined that I should dislike your travelling for many hours alone with Mrs. Kerr Howe. And although that was exceedingly foolish of you — for it must be obvious that I haven’t a spark of jealousy in my composition, and I hope I am above any foolishness of that sort — all the same, you have lived entirely in a conventional world, and I quite understand that it was just part of your invariable kindness and consideration for me when you pulled that dreadful old gentleman into the carriage to act as a chaperon. And I have no doubt that you may have taken a little more champagne than was exactly good for you at lunch because you may have been taking farewell of some of your male friends..”

“I assure you, Olympia,” the major said, “I was as sober as the twenty judges. I had a boiled mutton chop and some barley water at the Rag.”

“It’s impossible, my dear Edward,” Miss Peabody continued kindly but firmly, “for me to follow out my train of thought, or even to construct a grammatical sentence, if you will persist in interrupting me with statements that are quite unnecessary. I say I simply do not enquire whether you had had too much champagne or not. I have begun to realize, as without doubt you notice, that there are certain things — certain customs in this old country which, although they would ill become a gentleman of America, are nevertheless appropriate and necessary for a person of your position in this country. One of these customs I understand is, that when a young man is upon the point of marrying, he gives a farewell entertainment — or even a series of farewell entertainments — to the bachelor friends of his youth. And I understand that upon these occasions a great deal of wine is drunk because, as I have been told, it is the custom for every person present at the table to toast the bride; whereupon the young man must reply by drinking a full glass of wine with each person present, the phrase, as far as I can remember it, running, ‘And no heel-taps.’”

“Oh, hang it all, Olympia,” the major said, “you’ve been reading about the eighteenth century. Modern people never touch anything stronger than barley water at lunch.”

“So that,” Miss Olympia continued, with equanimity, “if you were slightly — let me say, elevated — I can only consider that you were in that sad condition entirely for my sake. And, of course, when it comes to the use of obscene language, I must confess that some of the phrases you use, though in themselves perfectly innocent and having no blasphemous or improper significance, are nevertheless singular and incomprehensible. You are fond, for instance, of saying that someone handed you a lemon...”

“Oh, but hang it all,” the major interrupted, “that’s an Americanism; I only use Americanisms now and then to make you feel comfortable and homelike. Personally I detest them. To hand anyone a lemon means...”

“I am perfectly well aware what the phrase means,” Miss Peabody said. “It signifies what in English we should term a rebuff or a slap in the face. But you must consider, that to a person not in the least knowing what the phrase may signify, and casting about in his or her mind for an allegoric meaning — to such a person — supposing you should use the phrase, ‘She handed him a lemon and he quit,’ as you are fond of doing when you desire to be amusing — to such a person the words might seem to connote a reference to the fall of man when Eve handed Adam an apple — which, however, was a fruit more exactly resembling a lemon and not an apple at all — and our first parents were forced to leave the Garden of Eden; and, as you are aware, to many old-fashioned people, any reference to Holy Writ is apt to be considered not only blasphemous, but even in this particular case possibly obscene.”

“But I never said anything about handing anybody a lemon,” the major said. “I shouldn’t among English people. They don’t like your American slang. And look here, you say I was drunk...” The major was about to enter upon an eloquent disclaimer, when the horse that he was driving shied a little because his uncle’s motor, which contained Mr. and Mrs. Foster, Mrs. Kerr Howe, Miss Delamare and, beside the chauffeur, Miss Jenkins, passed them rapidly, being bound also for the county town. And when he had coaxed the horse to be quiet, it suddenly occurred to the major that to convince his fiancée that he had not been drunk, and that he had not used any obscene language at all, would be to inflict a certain cruelty upon her. For the lady was obviously revelling in the romance of an eighteenth-century situation. She had, she imagined, got hold of a terrific lover who swore, drank with no heel-taps, and swaggered ferociously about the world at the mention of his mistress’s name. And, indeed, Miss Peabody continued tranquilly:

“I don’t in this case blame you for having taken too much champagne, and, supposing that you did become rather heated with the old gentleman and used fierce language when he objected to your having dragged him into the railway-carriage, all the same, since the whole thing was for my sake..”

“Well, Olympia,” the major said, “you really have averaged it out pretty well. It’s astonishing how perspicacious you’ve been. I was, of course, a little bit on, but I’m glad you see that the circumstances demanded it in your honour. And, of course, I was absolutely determined to have some sort of chaperon for the sake of your peace of mind, and the old gentleman did become rather violent, and I did answer him back with some ferocity...”

“I don’t say,” Miss Peabody said softly, “that it’s at all discreditable to you..”

“All the same,” the major put in, “I can’t exactly acknowledge these things in court.”

“Oh, why not?” Miss Peabody said, and she appeared decidedly disappointed.

“Oh, well,” the major answered, “I don’t want to get a month.”

“I should be just the same to you when you came out,” Olympia remarked.

“Of course, that would be very precious,” the major conceded; “but what should I feel like when I was in? Besides, there’s Mrs. Kerr Howe to be considered. She insists on giving evidence. She wouldn’t like it to appear that she travelled with a drunken and disreputable companion. She hasn’t got the advantage of knowing as you do that it was entirely for
her
sake.”

“But still.. Miss Peabody was beginning.

“Oh, no, Olympia,” the major interrupted, “I can’t let it go as far as that. Of course, you’re at liberty to tell all your friends in private how creditable the whole thing really was, and how pleasing it must naturally be to you. But I am afraid I’ve got to defend it. I’ve wired, in fact, to the guard of the train to come and give evidence, and, of course, that good fellow, not being particularly quick in his perceptions, will give evidence that I was as sober as the twenty judges I have just mentioned.”

“I must say that is rather disappointing.” Miss Olympia gave up the contest. “But I will say this, Edward, that, whatever happens, I am thoroughly and entirely convinced of your chivalrous attachment to myself, and that I have nothing in the world to complain of with regard to your own proceedings, whatever I may have to say of other people. I never till now met a man with whom I was so entirely satisfied, and I don’t suppose I ever shall again.”

“Well, of course, it would be rather awkward if you did,” the major said. He gazed hard at the polished metal that decorated the horse’s breeching-strap, and he remained lost in reflection. A speck of dust flew into his tender eye, and he realized that he ought not to have been driving at all. But he had wanted to have a talk with Olympia. He had had it.

He set down Miss Peabody on the front step of the County’s Meet Hotel, where the rest of the party were awaiting them, and then he drove round into the inn yard to give up the horse to an ostler. His eye was really hurting him so much that it was all he could do to find his way into the private bar, for very decidedly he needed a drink. The bar was rather dark, and an amiable barmaid gave him a whisky and soda, and then inspected his eyelid which he pulled down, to see if she could discover the speck of dust. At the other end of the counter a man, whom he made out only dimly, was talking to a lady whom he could not make out at all.

“I can’t say, ma’am,” the man said. “I didn’t intend to go on the bench at all to-day. I just meant to sit in the well of the court and take notes.”

The major could not hear what the lady said beneath her breath. He only caught the name “Mr. Broadrib,” and he recognized that the other man was the Labour Member of Parliament for one of the three constituencies that met in that part of the world.

“It’s no use talking any nonsense, ma’am,” Mr. Broadrib said in his metallic voice. “The bench is set on giving your friend three months. And they’ll make it six if they get any kind of a chance. I tell you plainly they won’t if I can stop it, but I don’t know whether I can.”

Again the lady said something.

“It’s no good my going on the bench,” Mr. Broadrib said, “if I’m to be out-voted when they retire to consider their decision. You don’t know the extraordinary old crowd of oddities they’ve got together. You know perfectly well that the Lord Chancellor’s hand has been forced so that he daren’t appoint any Conservative J.P.’s in this part of the world. And in this part of the world there’s not a Liberal that’s got threepence-halfpenny a week to his name. I quite agree with your Ladyship that it’s a shame there shouldn’t be; but you know what these country districts are, and except in my constituency, you are the only person who dare call herself a Liberal for fear of losing the bread and butter out of her mouth. So the Lord Chancellor has to fall back upon cranks. It’s a most extraordinary sight, our bench. They’ve all got beards like morning mists and hair like sheep’s wool that’s never been combed. But there it is. There’s Mr. Justice Hills. He’s a judge of King’s Bench, and he goes mad at the sight of an Irishman. And I understand your friend is an Irishman. And there’s Sir Arthur Johnson. Of course, as he’s the prosecutor, he ought not to sit on the bench, but he’ll probably make a jolly good shot at doing so, and you never know what these country justices won’t do. Then there’s Christopher Sharp, the Privy Councillor. You know him. He’s a millionaire squire, and he goes mad at the sight of any man with a decent coat on his back. Socialism of the cracked variety! And there’s the Honourable Charles Widgeon. He’s the second son of the Field-Marshal. He’s the gentleman who accused Thomas Atkins of spitting 20,000 Boer babies with bayonets during the South African war. He goes mad at the sight of a soldier. So I’m afraid, whatever happens, your friend is pretty sure of three months, and just as likely as not it will be six.”