The next day was a busy one for Mrs. Eames.
It began with a demand from Gladys for a whole holiday. Her plea was
that it was absolutely necessary for her to consult with her "auntie"
on matters of grave family importance. She had spent a whole day the
week before and two half-days in the course of a fortnight in the same
way; and the "auntie" had been in the vicarage kitchen for several
hours on all the other days. As an excuse for asking for another
holiday the family consultation would not have impressed the simplest
and most inexperienced mistress, and Mrs. Eames was no fool. She
understood exactly what Gladys wanted her holiday for.
The whole village was seething with mild excitement over the meeting
of the night before. Gossip of the most fascinating kind was flying
from lip to ear at every cottage door. The most wild and improbable
tales were being listened to with perfect belief. No girl would like
to be shut up by herself in a kitchen while such joys were to be found
outside. And Gladys, with her intimate knowledge of all that happened
in the vicarage, would be welcome anywhere. She would be in a position
to command the attention of thrilled audiences whatever she chose to
say.
Mrs. Eames thoroughly understood this. Being a kind-hearted woman,
full of sympathy with anyone who enjoyed excitement, she gave Gladys a
holiday without a murmur.
This was not so difficult for her as it would have been for many
mistresses. The vicar went off soon after breakfast with a package of
sandwiches in his pocket. There was therefore no cooking to be done
for him. Mrs. Eames never cooked for herself when left alone. She did
not even lay a table for herself or go to the trouble of getting out
plates, knives or forks. Her plan, a very sensible one, was to eat
whatever she could find whenever she felt hungry, generally without
even sitting down. When Gladys walked off in a white skirt and a pink
silk jumper, Mrs. Eames had to make the beds and wash up the breakfast
things. Otherwise the want of a servant left her with little or no
extra work.
She was washing up cups and plates when she caught sight through the
pantry window of James Hinton. Many vicars' wives, obliged to keep
up the difficult pretence that they live as ladies, would have been
embarrassed at being discovered in an apron, with sleeves rolled
up, over a pantry sink, by a visitor like Hinton. But Mrs. Eames was
entirely free from any taint of snobbishness. She would have gone on
ironing clothes in front of her drawing-room fire if a duchess had
called on her while so occupied. She greeted Hinton through the window
and invited him to walk straight into the pantry.
Hinton's manners were as good as hers. Instead of expressing surprise
or contempt, instead of offering any kind of excuse or apology for
Mrs. Eames's occupation, he took his place beside the sink, picked up
a glass-cloth and dried the vessels which Mrs. Eames handed to him. He
did not even allow it to appear by a glance or a sniff that he found
the cloth he used disgustingly dirty, though it was, being one of those
of which Gladys had charge. It was not in vain that Hinton had lived
as footman and valet in some of the best houses in England. He had
acquired the manners of a great gentleman.
While they worked together, Hinton explained the objects of his visit.
It was, in his opinion, desirable to secure as many influential patrons
as possible for the pageant.
"Of course," said Mrs. Eames, "we've got to advertise, and there are
only two ways of doing that. Either we've got to spend a lot of money,
which we haven't got--though your guarantee was extremely generous. It
quite took my breath away."
"A trifle, madam," said Hinton, drying a plate carefully, "a mere
trifle."
"It wasn't a trifle at all," said Mrs. Eames, "but it won't run to a
whole page advertisement in a daily paper. Luckily there's another way
of advertising. My niece, Miss Appleby, told me about it. You know her,
don't you?"
Hinton had never met Beth Appleby, but was quite prepared to listen to
her views about advertising.
"The thing to do," said Mrs. Eames, brandishing a dripping cloth, "is
to get names that advertise themselves."
Hinton took the fork from her gently and wiped it with Gladys's dirty
cloth.
"Quite so, madam."
"If you get the proper names," said Mrs. Eames, "the newspapers will
put in paragraphs about them without being paid. That's what my niece
says."
"Having lived in many of the best houses in England," said Hinton, "I
may say that I am aware of the advertisement value of our aristocracy."
"It's not only the aristocracy. Politicians are just as good. Actresses
are probably better. Even authors--there are one or two authors----"
"I thought, madam," said Hinton, "that we might begin by securing the
name of the bishop of the diocese."
Mrs. Eames sniffed. The bishop was a man of unblemished integrity,
of kindly disposition, of respectable scholarship, but he did not
strike her as having what Hinton described as "advertisement value."
He had never denied the truth of any article in the Apostles'
Creed. He did not preach in Methodist Chapels, or if he did made no
public boast about it. He had never prosecuted any of his clergy for
excessive devotion to catholicism. These are the only ways in which an
ecclesiastic can attract public attention to himself, that is to say
the only ways of acquiring "advertisement value."
"I don't see," said Mrs. Eames, "that the bishop would be much good to
us."
Hinton bowed a submissive acquiescence in her opinion.
"I'm sure you know best, madam."
"My idea," said Mrs. Eames, "would be to start with Sir Evelyn Dent.
He has promised to support us and I'm sure he'll have no objection to
the use of his name as a patron. An ex-Cabinet Minister with a title!
Don't forget the title, Hinton. And he has an honourable all of his own
besides the knighthood."
"Sir Evelyn," said Hinton, "might perhaps secure the support of the
present earl."
"Present earl? Oh, of course, his nephew, Lord Colavon. Yes. He would
be quite good. An earl is an earl of course, but except for being
an earl he's nothing particular, is he? I mean to say he's not well
known."
"Not in political or literary circles, madam. The tastes of the present
earl are understood to be sporting and dramatic."
"Dramatic!" Mrs. Eames became suddenly interested.
Hinton was drying the last saucer. Mrs. Eames, the task of washing up
finished, was rubbing her dripping hands on her apron.
"Scarcely dramatic in the higher sense of the word," said Hinton. "The
tastes of the present earl are rather in the direction of comic opera."
"He won't do us any harm, I suppose," said Mrs. Eames, "and I dare say
Sir Evelyn will get him for us. Now who else would you suggest?"
"Did I mention the bishop, madam?"
"You did. And I said I didn't see what use the bishop would be. In
fact he'd be worse than no use. If the public sees the name of a bishop
at the head of a list of patrons it naturally thinks that the show is
going to be a Diocesan Conference or something of the sort and simply
stays away."
Again Hinton gave way, or appeared to give way.
"It might be advantageous, madam," he said, "if we secured the name of
some gentleman prominently connected with the customs and excise."
Hinton's ideas of suitable patrons were certainly odd. A custom house
officer, though a useful and generally an active civil servant, is not
the sort of man whose name often appears in the newspapers.
"The name of a custom house officer on our list of patrons," Hinton
explained, "would convince the public that our pageant is entirely
_bona fide_."
"But what else could it be? You don't mean to suggest that we should
really smuggle things?"
"Of course not, madam, but the public is sometimes very unintelligent,
and----"
"No public could possibly be as stupid as that."
The cups and plates were by this time restored to their shelves in the
pantry. Hinton, having discovered a leather, was giving an unaccustomed
polish to the spoons and forks.
"I only suggested a customs officer," he said, "because I thought that
if he became interested he might arrange for some of his subordinates
to take part in the pageant, as preventive officers, capturing
the smugglers and the lugger. That's simply an idea. Of course the
management of the dramatic side of the pageant is entirely in your
hands."
"It's a jolly good idea. Real coastguards--but of course there aren't
any now. Real preventive officers riding down the hill just in time
to---- Or coming in a revenue cutter and firing on the lugger. I wonder
if we could get them. Oh, do stop polishing those spoons, Hinton. It
fidgets me to see you. Come into the vicar's study and talk over this
idea of yours."
"Perhaps," said Hinton as they left the room, "there are some other
household duties of which I could relieve you. I think you may safely
trust me. I have had considerable experience in some of the best houses
in England."
"If you like to help me to make the vicar's bed," said Mrs. Eames, "I
don't mind."
"I shall be most happy," said Hinton, "but I beg of you, madam, to
leave it entirely to me. If you will await me in the study----"
He held the door open for her and when he had shown her into the room
went upstairs. But Mrs. Eames was not a lady who could sit still for
very long, especially with an exciting idea in her mind. The thought
of securing real customs officers thrilled her. After wandering about
the room for some minutes she followed Hinton upstairs. She found him
brushing an old and dilapidated pair of the vicar's trousers.
"Do you happen to know any customs officers?" she asked.
Hinton folded the trousers with careful exactness and put them in a
drawer.
"Not personally, madam. But no doubt I can find out who the local head
of that service is."
"Then do," said Mrs. Eames. "I'll leave that in your hands."
"And the bishop?" said Hinton. "Perhaps it would be better if you or
the vicar were to approach the bishop."
Hinton was stropping the vicar's razor with vigour and skill.
"How you do nag on about the bishop!" said Mrs. Eames. "Please leave
that razor alone. The vicar cuts himself often enough as it is and if
you go making it too sharp he may give himself a dangerous gash. Why
on earth are you so keen on the bishop? I've no objection to bishops of
course, and if there's any real reason---- It's no use expecting him to
read the funeral service over a smuggler shot by a coastguard. I quite
see that would be most effective but no bishop would do it."
"The idea in my mind----" said Hinton, who was arranging the vicar's
toothbrush and sponge neatly on the washing stand.
He went on to give his reasons for wishing to secure the bishop as a
patron.
Bishops, so he explained, inspire great confidence in the public, which
is always a little afraid of being let in for something improper or a
little dubious.
"If we were concerned only with the aristocracy, madam, it would
be a different matter. If I may say so, speaking after many years'
experience of the upper classes, there would be no objection whatever
to a hint, a suggestion of the risqué."
"But, good gracious, Hinton, we're not going to do anything in the
least risqué as you call it."
"Certainly not, madam. Most assuredly not. But the public--the general
public apart from the aristocracy and outside of literary and artistic
circles--the public which we wish to attract, is very suspicious."
Mrs. Eames did not believe that any public could possibly suspect her
pageant of being improper. But Hinton insisted that he was right and
that their only security lay in having at least one bishop among their
patrons.
"Very well," she said at last, "I'll leave the list of patrons entirely
to you, Hinton. Get that sporting earl of yours if you can. Get a
few of his musical comedy actresses too. Get a bishop and a couple of
custom house officers. Get the local police if you like."
"Thank you, madam. Will you approach the bishop or shall I see the
vicar about it?"
"You'd better do it yourself. As a churchwarden you've a perfect right
to tackle a bishop. And anyway I'm sure the vicar won't, though he
ought to after the way you've folded his trousers for him and stropped
his razor. All I ask is that if you have a committee meeting of your
patrons----"
"There will not, I imagine, madam, be any necessity for that."
"Well, if there is," said Mrs. Eames, "you may take the chair at it
yourself, for I won't."