THE same day that Flower and his friends visited the theatre, Captain Barber
gave a small and select tea-party. The astonished Mrs. Banks had returned home
with her daughter the day before to find the air full of rumours about Captain
Barber and his new housekeeper. They had been watched for hours at a time from
upper back windows of houses in the same row, and the professional opinion of
the entire female element was that Mrs. Church could land her fish at any time
she thought fit.
“Old fools are the worst of fools,” said Mrs. Banks, tersely, as she tied her
bonnet strings; “the idea of Captain Barber thinking of marrying at his time of
life.”
“Why shouldn’t he?” enquired her daughter.
“Why because he’s promised to leave his property to Fred and you, of course,”
snapped the old lady; “if he marries that hussy it’s precious little you and
Fred will get.”
“I expect it’s mostly talk,” said her daughter calmly, as she closed the street
door behind her indignant parent. “People used to talk about you and old Mr.
Wilders, and there was nothing in it. He only used to come for a glass of your
ale.”
This reference to an admirer who had consumed several barrels of the liquor in
question without losing his head, put the finishing touch to the elder lady’s
wrath, and she walked the rest of the way in ominous silence.
Captain Barber received them in the elaborate velvet smoking-cap with the gold
tassel which had evoked such strong encomiums from Mrs. Church, and in a few
well-chosen words—carefully rehearsed that afternoon—presented his housekeeper.
“Will you come up to my room and take your things off?” enquired Mrs. Church,
returning the old lady’s hostile stare with interest.
“I’ll take mine off down here, if Captain Barber doesn’t mind,” said the
latter, subsiding into a chair with a gasp. “Him and me’s very old friends.”
She unfastened the strings of her bonnet, and, taking off that article of
attire, placed it in her lap while she unfastened her shawl. She then held both
out to Mrs. Church, briefly exhorting her to be careful.
“Oh, what a lovely bonnet,” said that lady, in false ecstasy. “What a perfect
beauty! I’ve never seen anything like it before. Never!”
Captain Barber, smiling at the politeness of his housekeeper, was alarmed and
perplexed at the generous colour which suddenly filled the old lady’s cheeks.
“Mrs. Banks made it herself,” he said, “she’s very clever at that sort of
thing.”
“There, do you know I guessed as much,” said Mrs. Church, beaming; “directly I
saw it, I said to myself: ‘That was never made by a milliner. There’s too much
taste in the way the flowers are arranged.’”
Mrs. Banks looked at her daughter, in a mute appeal for help.
“I’ll take yours up, too, shall I?” said the amiable housekeeper, as Mrs.
Banks, with an air of defying criticism, drew a cap from a paper-bag and put it
on.
“I’ll take mine myself, please,” said Miss Banks, with coldness.
“Oh, well, you may as well take them all then,” said Mrs. Church, putting the
mother’s bonnet and shawl in her arms. “I’ll go and see that the kettle boils,”
she said, briskly.
She returned a minute or two later with the teapot, and setting chairs, took
the head of the table.
“And how’s the leg?” enquired Captain Barber, misinterpreting Mrs. Banks’
screwed-up face.
“Which one?” asked Mrs. Banks, shortly.
“The bad ’un,” said the captain.
“They’re both bad,” said Mrs. Banks more shortly than before, as she noticed
that Mrs. Church had got real lace in her cuffs and was pouring out the tea in
full consciousness of the fact.
“Dear, dear,” said the Captain sympathetically.
“Swollen?” enquired Mrs. Church, anxiously.
“Swelled right out of shape,” exclaimed Captain Barber, impressively; “like
pillars almost they are.”
“Poor thing,” said Mrs. Church, in a voice which made Mrs. Banks itch to slap
her. “I knew a lady once just the same, but _she_ was a drinking woman.”
Again Mrs. Banks, at a loss for words, looked at her daughter for assistance.
“Dear me, how dreadful it must be to know such people,” said Mrs. Banks,
shivering.
“Yes,” sighed the other. “It used to make me feel sorry for her—they were
utterly shapeless, you know. Horrid!”
“That’s how Mrs. Banks’ are,” said the Captain, nodding sagely. “You look ’ot,
Mrs. Banks. Shall I open the winder a bit?”
“I’ll thank you not to talk about me like that, Captain Barber,” said Mrs.
Banks, the flowers on her hat trembling.
“As you please, ma’am,” said Captain Barber, with a stateliness which deserved
a better subject. “I was only repeating what Dr. Hodder told me in your
presence.”
Mrs. Banks made no reply, but created a diversion by passing her cup up for
more tea; her feelings, when Mrs. Church took off the lid of the teapot and
poured in about a pint of water before helping her, belonging to that kind
known as in-describable.
“Water bewitched, and tea begrudged,” she said, trying to speak jocularly.
“Well, the fourth cup never is very good, is it,” said Mrs. Church,
apologetically. “I’ll put some more tea in, so that your _next_ cup’ll be
better.”
As a matter of fact it was Mrs. Banks’ third cup, and she said so, Mrs. Church
receiving the correction with a polite smile, more than tinged with incredulity.
“It’s wonderful what a lot of tea is drunk,” said Captain Barber, impressively,
looking round the table.
“I’ve heard say it’s like spirit drinking,” said Mrs. Church; “they say it gets
such a hold of people that they can’t give it up. They’re just slaves to it,
and they like it brown and strong like brandy.”
Mrs. Banks, who had been making noble efforts, could contain herself no longer.
She put down the harmless beverage which had just been handed to her, and
pushed her chair back from the table.
“Are you speaking of me, young woman?” she asked, tremulous with indignation.
“Oh, no, certainly not,” said Mrs. Church, in great distress. “I never thought
of such a thing. I was alluding to the people Captain Barber was talking
of—regular tea-drinkers, you know.”
“I know what you mean, ma’am,” said Mrs. Banks fiercely.
“There, there,” said Captain Barber, ill-advisedly.
“Don’t you say ‘there, there,’ to me, Captain Barber, because I won’t have it,”
said the old lady, speaking with great rapidity; “if you think that I’m going
to sit here and be insulted by—by that woman, you’re mistaken.”
“You’re quite mistook, Mrs. Banks,” said the Captain, slowly. “I’ve heard
everything she said, and, where the insult comes in, I’m sure I don’t know. I
don’t think I’m wanting in common sense, ma’am.”
He patted the housekeeper’s hand kindly, and, in full view of the indignant
Mrs. Banks, she squeezed his in return and gazed at him affectionately. There
is nothing humourous to the ordinary person in a teacup, but Mrs. Banks,
looking straight into hers, broke into a short, derisive laugh.
“Anything the matter, ma’am?” enquired Captain Barber, regarding her somewhat
severely.
Mrs. Banks shook her head. “Only thoughts,” she said, mysteriously.
It is difficult for a man to object to his visitors finding amusement in their
thoughts, or even to enquire too closely into the nature of them. Mrs. Banks,
apparently realising this, laughed again with increased acridity, and finally
became so very amused that she shook in her chair.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, ma’am,” said Captain Barber, loftily.
With a view, perhaps, of giving his guest further amusement he patted the
housekeeper’s hand again, whereupon Mrs. Banks’ laughter ceased, and she sat
regarding Mrs. Church with a petrified stare, met by that lady with a glance of
haughty disdain.
“S’pose we go into the garden a bit?” suggested Barber, uneasily. The two
ladies had eyed each other for three minutes without blinking, and his own eyes
were watering in sympathy.
Mrs. Banks, secretly glad of the interruption, made one or two vague remarks
about going home, but after much persuasion, allowed him to lead her into the
garden, the solemn Elizabeth bringing up the rear with a hassock and a couple
of cushions.
“It’s a new thing for you having a housekeeper,” observed Mrs. Banks, after her
daughter had returned to the house to assist in washing up.
“Yes, I wonder I never thought of it before,” said the artful Barber; “you
wouldn’t believe how comfortable it is.”
“I daresay,” said Mrs. Banks, grimly.
“It’s nice to have a woman about the house,” continued Captain Barber, slowly,
“it makes it more homelike. A slip of a servant-gal ain’t no good at all.”
“How does Fred like it?” enquired Mrs. Banks.
“My ideas are Fred’s ideas,” said Uncle Barber, somewhat sharply. “What I like
he has to like, naturally.”
“I was thinking of my darter,” said Mrs. Banks, smoothing down her apron
majestically. “The arrangement was, I think, that when they were married they
was to live with you?”
Captain Barber nodded acquiescence.
“Elizabeth would never live in a house with that woman, or any other woman, as
housekeeper in it,” said the mother.
“Well, she won’t have to,” said the old man; “when they marry and Elizabeth
comes here, I sha’n’t want a housekeeper—I shall get rid of her.”
Mrs. Banks shifted in her chair, and gazed thoughtfully down the garden. “Of
course my idea was for them to wait till I was gone,” she said at length.
“Just so,” replied the other, “and more’s the pity.”
“But Elizabeth’s getting on and I don’t seem to go,” continued the old lady, as
though mildly surprised at Providence for its unaccountable delay; “and there’s
Fred, he ain’t getting younger.”
Captain Barber puffed at his pipe. “None of us are,” he said profoundly.
“And Fred might get tired of waiting,” said Mrs. Banks, ruminating.
“He’d better let me hear him,” said the uncle, fiercely; “leastways, o’ course,
he’s tired o’ waiting in a sense. He’d like to be married.”
“There’s young Gibson,” said Mrs. Banks in a thrilling whisper.
“What about him?” enquired Barber, surprised at her manner.
“Comes round after Elizabeth,” said Mrs. Banks.
“No!” said Captain Barber, blankly.
Mrs. Banks pursed up her lips and nodded darkly.
“Pretends to come and see me,” said Mrs. Banks; “always coming in bringing
something new for my legs. The worst of it is he ain’t always careful what
he brings. He brought some new-fangled stuff in a bottle last week, and the
agonies I suffered after rubbing it in wouldn’t be believed.”
“It’s like his impudence,” said the Captain.
“I’ve been thinking,” said Mrs. Banks, nodding her head with some animation,
“of giving Fred a little surprise. What do you think he’d do if I said they
might marry this autumn?”
“Jump out of his skin with joy,” said Captain Barber, with conviction. “Mrs.
Banks, the pleasure you’ve given me this day is more than I can say.”
“And they’ll live with you just the same?” said Mrs. Banks.
“Certainly,” said the Captain.
“They’ll only be a few doors off then,” said Mrs. Banks, “and it’ll be nice for
you to have a woman in the house to look after you.”
Captain Barber nodded softly. “It’s what I’ve been wanting for years,” he said,
heartily.
“And that huss—husskeeper,” said Mrs. Banks, correcting herself—“will go?”
“O’ course,” said Captain Barber. “I sha’n’t want no housekeeper with my nevy’s
wife in the house. You’ve told Elizabeth, I s’pose?”
“Not yet,” said Mrs. Banks, who as a matter of fact had been influenced by the
proceedings of that afternoon to bring to a head a step she had hitherto only
vaguely contemplated.
Elizabeth, who came down the garden again, a little later, accompanied by Mrs.
Church, received the news stolidly. A feeling of regret, that the attention of
the devoted Gibson must now cease, certainly occurred to her, but she never
thought of contesting the arrangements made for her, and accepted the situation
with a placidity which the more ardent Barber was utterly unable to understand.
“Fred’ll stand on his ’ed with joy,” the unsophisticated mariner declared, with
enthusiasm.
“He’ll go singing about the house,” declared Mrs. Church.
Mrs. Banks regarded her unfavourably.
“He’s never _said_ much,” continued Uncle Barber, in an exalted strain; “that
ain’t Fred’s way. He takes arter me; he’s one o’ the quiet ones, one o’ the
still deep waters what always feels the most. When I tell ’im his face’ll just
light up with joy.”
“It’ll be nice for you, too,” said Mrs. Banks, with a side glance at the
housekeeper; “you’ll have somebody to look after you and take an interest in
you, and strangers can’t be expected to do that even if they’re _nice_.”
“We shall have him standing on his head, too,” said Mrs. Church, with a bright
smile; “you’re turning everything upside down, Mrs. Banks.”
“There’s things as wants altering,” said the old lady, with emphasis. “There’s
few things as I don’t see, ma’am.”
“I hope you’ll live to see a lot more,” said Mrs. Church, piously.
“She’ll live to be ninety,” said Captain Barber, heartily.
“Oh, _easily_,” said Mrs. Church.
Captain Barber regarding his old friend saw her face suffused with a wrath for
which he was utterly unable to account. With a hazy idea that something had
passed which he had not heard, he caused a diversion by sending Mrs. Church
indoors for a pack of cards, and solemnly celebrated the occasion with a game
of whist, at which Mrs. Church, in partnership with Mrs. Banks, either through
sheer wilfulness or absence of mind, contrived to lose every game.