MOTHER AND PETER ARRIVE ON A VISIT
I said that mother and I were going to have a peaceful and happy time
together--that we should chat in the mornings, doze in the afternoons,
and discuss Amelia in the evenings. We are doing none of these things.
We are expending our entire energies, and mine are very feeble, in
soothing Peter and trying to keep him in a good temper, for Peter
arrived with mother a couple of days ago on a visit to One Tree Cottage.
I _will_ say that it wasn't dear mother's fault. She even stooped to
equivocation, or, to put it plainly, lying to keep him away. She told
him that she didn't know by which train she was coming, when she knew
perfectly well. She told him our spare-room bed would only hold one.
Oh, mother! And she told him that there had been burglaries in the
neighbourhood of Dorking, and it would be unsafe to leave the house to
servants. To all of which he said, "Pooh!"
From what I can gather he lay in waiting at the station like a
detective in plain clothes, and pounced upon mother just as she was
saying to Mary, the parlourmaid, "Good-bye; you will take great care of
the master, and give him kidneys with his bacon twice a week."
"No, she won't," he said sardonically as he limped into the carriage,
"for she won't get the chance. I am coming with you, Emma. I refuse
to be left to the mercy of servants when my gout is so troublesome. It
is most selfish and unreasonable of you to suggest such a thing. I am
as much to be considered as Marguerite," at which he planked himself
firmly on to the seat opposite to mother and glowered at her.
At the moment he is seated in the sun with his feet on Amelia's fair
white step, which is now covered with a sort Of Egyptian
hieroglyphic--_à la_ the Tompkinses'. When she wheeled me in the other
evening after a long day in the garden, and I caught sight of the step,
I was filled with a great amazement, for I was unaware that Amelia
understood the ancient Egyptian language. A series of curves and dots,
and flourishes and symbolic signs met my gaze. I leaned forward and
translated with fluency [Symbol: water-line]--a water-line, [Symbol:
sun]--the sun, [Symbol: reed]--a reed, [Symbol: night]--night, [Symbol:
hilly country]--hilly country, [Symbol: egg]--egg. Father was a bit of
an Egyptologist, and I had picked up the meaning of a few of the
symbols from him: [Symbol: star]--star, [Symbol: tooth]--tooth,
[Symbol: serpent]--serpent.
Amelia opened her mouth and stared at me, and then shot me into the
house. It is on such occasions that she regards me as "dotty," and
quickly puts me to bed.
Peter is now scraping his boots on the step after carefully dirtying
them in the gooseberry-bed. Amelia is hissing at him through the front
door; she objects to her hieroglyphics being defaced. Peter is not
accustomed to being hissed at, and he will presently come and tell me
what he thinks of Amelia.
I persuaded mother a little time back to wheel me under the apple tree
and sit with me. The grass is still dew-laden, and Peter will not
dare, on account of his gout, to join us till the lawn is dry, hence
his position on the doorstep. Peter's gout has been the one bit of
luck in mother's life since she was married. Being the more active of
the two, she can, when the pressure becomes very great, walk away from
him--in fact, run.
I cannot help rejoicing at Dimbie's being away while Peter is here, for
I am convinced that long ere this Dimbie would have thrown my father
out of the house; and for mother's sake I should not care for such an
ignominious thing to happen to her husband. Besides, he would make
such a mess on the step while he danced about, his customary habit
being, when extra annoyed, to dance a kind of war dance.
When he and mother arrived Amelia rushed into the drawing-room and in
great excitement whispered, "A red-nosed gent has come with your
mother!"
In an instant my mind flew to Peter, but I remained sufficiently
controlled to correct Amelia for saying '"Your mother."
"Is she your step, mum?" she murmured cautiously.
"Certainly not,"' I said. "But it is not polite. You must speak of
her as Mrs. Macintosh. Where have you left them? Why don't they come
in?"
"The gentleman is having a row with the cabby. Don't you hear him?"
She grinned with enjoyment. "He has just called the cabby a grasping,
white-livered Jew. It seems as though he knowed how to take care of
himself."
I did not speak.
"Who is he, mum?"
I pretended not to hear.
"Is he your uncle?"
"He's--my father." I closed my eyes, signifying that the conversation
was finished.
"Never knew you had a father, mum," came in a succession of gasps and
squeaks.
"Of course I have a father," I said excessively crossly. "How do you
suppose I came into the world. Kindly show them in here and go and
unstrap the luggage."
When they appeared, and I had embraced them both, giving mother an
extra squeeze, I said--
"Dear father, whatever has been the matter?"
"That impudent shark has been trying to rob me," he replied, picking up
a vase from the mantelshelf and returning it with a bang.
"What did he charge you?"
"Two shillings."
"Well, that is the right fare, and Dimbie gives an extra sixpence if he
has a portmanteau. What did you give him for the luggage?"
"A piece of my mind, and threatened him with the police for his
impudence."
"Oh, father," I cried, "I am sorry you have made a disturbance. Up to
now we--Dimbie and I--have been respected in the village."
"Have you been to church?" He smiled sardonically.
"N--o."
"Who respects you--the vicar?"
"The villagers have a great respect for us. I--I am sure they have."
"That's all right. They'll respect your father now. They'll know I'm
a man not to be trifled with. How are you?" He shot this last at me
as though he were at Bisley competing for the King's Prize.
"I'm pretty well, thank you."
"Well, you don't look it. You're as thin as a rat. But it's rather
improved you than otherwise, made you look less defiant and assertive."
"Oh, Peter," mother broke in, "Marguerite never looked assertive. I
remember Dimbie saying to me that he had never seen a sweeter face."
"Of course, that is exactly the sort of thing Dumbarton _would_ say,"
he jeered; "but then Dumbarton's an ass."
"Look here, father," I said steadily, "once and for all I wish you to
remember that I will not allow you to call my husband an ass. Yes,
_allow_, I repeat the word." I shivered all over as I spoke. Never,
never had I dared to speak to Peter in such a manner, but my blood was
up. "Dimbie was a brave man to have married into such a family. His
courage was immense there." I clutched the tortoise as I
spoke--clutched it for support, but I kept my head well up, looking at
him defiantly and waiting for the storm.
But it never burst. To my everlasting astonishment Peter remained mute
and just stared at me, stared at me for a full minute, then putting his
hands in his pockets, he said, "Well, well!" and stumped out of the
room.
"There!" I said, "that is the way you should have treated
Peter--_always_."
But mother sat with her hands locked and remained speechless for some
seconds.
"How dared you do it?" she breathed at length.
"Oh, it was quite easy," I replied airily.
"Was it?"
"Well, perhaps not _quite_ easy," I corrected myself, "but fairly easy
when you once get started."
"I never dare start," she said plaintively. "As soon as I open my
mouth I----"
"Shut it again," I said. "But don't in future, keep it well open.
Begin to-night, and I'll help you. Make a firm stand like Horatius."
"What did he do?" she asked with interest.
"He stood alone and--and looked after a gate."
"Oh, I could do that. If your father were a gate----" she began
eagerly.
"What would you do?" inquired Peter, walking into the room and
surveying her from head to foot.
"I--I----" she stammered.
"Don't forget Horatius," I signalled.
"I--I should sit on you!" With which terrific exhibition of courage
she took to her heels and fled.
"I mustn't laugh," I told myself, "or everything will be spoiled."
Peter stood in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door.
"I believe your mother is trying to be funny," he remarked when he had
got his breath.
"Mother is often funny," I murmured.
"I have noticed she has been a bit strange lately."
"Oh?"
"Very secretive."
"Indeed?"
"In fact, deceitful."
"Mother deceitful?"
"Yes, said she didn't know what train she was coming by." He was
beginning to raise his voice.
"Trains don't always start at the time mentioned in Bradshaw. Look at
the South Eastern."
"This was the South Western," he snapped. "I must give her a dose of
medicine."
"A dose of medicine!" I repeated in surprise.
"Yes, calomel. It's her liver, I expect. She has been like this
before. How soon will dinner be ready?"
"When Amelia feels inclined to give it to us."
"Is Amelia the forward young person with the pearl necklace who came to
the door?"
"That is an excellent description of Amelia, but I thought you had seen
her before."
"And does she arrange the hour you are to dine?"
"She arranges the hour in which the potatoes are dried, the meat
dished, the gravy made, and the cabbage chopped. You see, as she does
it all, she naturally knows when it will be ready."
"God bless my soul!" he ejaculated.
"What is the matter?"
"I had no idea you ran your servants in such a shocking manner."
"Servant," I corrected; "and I don't run her, she runs me."
"I wouldn't have believed it."
"You would if you had an Amelia."
"I'd sack her."
"She wouldn't go if I did."
"I'd lock her out."
"She'd break a window and climb through it."
He began to march about the room.
"I'd manage that girl in ten minutes."
"She would hold you in the hollow of her hand in less than five," I
said.
He spluttered.
"What do you take me for?"
"I never know. I've often thought about it," I said gently.
He stopped marching and stared at me.
"I wonder what mother is doing," I said, averting my eyes.
"Your mother," he shouted, rushing towards the door, "is the slowest
woman on God's earth. She'll be doing her hair. _I'll_ bring her
down." And he went to take out of her what, by right, he should have
taken out of me.
"Poor mother!" I sighed.
I much fear we are going to have ructions--Peter and I. A strange and
tremendous courage has come to me. Is it that I know I shall have a
staunch ally in Amelia? One Amelia is surely worth two Peters. And
yet I don't know. Peter has been accustomed to fighting and bloodshed,
and managing his men and out-manoeuvring the enemy most of his life;
and Amelia is only used to managing her mistresses and charwomen. As a
tactician Amelia may be weak. One cannot tell. I am hoping for the
best.