THE MORAL CLAIMS OF AN UMBRELLA
The ghost was, so to speak, dead, as far as any mention of him was made
at the Lodgings. But in the servants' quarters he was very much alive.
The housemaid, who had promised not to tell "any one" that Miss Scott
had seen a ghost, kept her word with literal strictness, by telling
every one.
Robinson was of opinion that the general question of ghosts was still an
open one. Also that he had never heard in his time, or his father's, of
the Barber's ghost actually appearing in the Warden's library. When the
maids expressed alarm, he reproved them with a grumbling scorn. If
ghosts did ever appear, he felt that the Lodgings had a first-class
claim to one; ghosts were "classy," he argued. Had any one ever heard
tell of a ghost haunting a red brick villa or a dissenting chapel?
Louise had gathered up the story without difficulty, but she had secret
doubts whether Miss Scott might not have invented the whole thing. She
did not put much faith in Miss Scott. Now, if Lady Dashwood had seen the
ghost, that would have been another matter!
What really excited Louise was the story that the Barber came to warn
Wardens of an approaching disaster. Now Louise was in any case prepared
to believe that "disasters" might easily be born and bred in places
like the Lodgings and in a city like Oxford; but in addition to all this
there had been and was something going on in the Lodgings lately that
was distressing Lady Dashwood, something in the behaviour of the Warden!
A disaster! Hein?
When she returned from St. Aldates, Gwendolen Scott had had only time to
sit down in a chair and survey her boots for a few moments when Louise
came into her bedroom and suggested that Mademoiselle would like to have
her hair well brushed. Mademoiselle's hair had suffered from the passing
events of the day.
"Doesn't Lady Dashwood want you?" asked Gwendolen.
No, Lady Dashwood was already dressed and was reposing herself on the
couch, being fatigued. She was lying with her face towards the window,
which was indeed wide open--wide open, and it was after sunset and at
the end of October--par example!
Gwendolen still stared at her boots and said she wanted to think; but
Louise had an object in view and was firm, and in a few minutes she had
deposited the young lady in front of the toilet-table and was brushing
her black curly hair with much vigour.
"Mademoiselle saw the ghost last night," began Louise.
"Who said that?" exclaimed Gwendolen.
"On dit," said Louise.
"Then they shouldn't on dit," said Gwendolen. "I never said I saw the
ghost, I may have said I thought I saw one, which is quite different.
The Warden says there are no ghosts, and the whole thing is rubbish."
"There comes no ghost here," said Louise, firmly, "except there is a
disaster preparing for the Warden."
"The Warden's quite all right," said Gwen, with some scorn.
"Quite all right," repeated Louise. "But it may be some disaster
domestic. Who can tell? There is not only death--there is--par exemple,
marriage!" and Louise glanced over Gwendolen's head and looked at the
girl's face reflected in the mirror.
"Well, that is cool," thought Gwendolen; "I suppose that's French!"
"The whole thing is rubbish," she said.
"One cannot tell, it is not for us to know, perhaps, but it may be that
the disaster is, that Mrs. Dashwood, so charming--so douce--will not
permit herself to marry again--though she is still young. Such things
happen. But how the Barber should have obtained the information--the
good God only knows."
Gwendolen blew the breath from her mouth with protruding lips.
"What has that to do with the Warden? I do wish you wouldn't talk so
much, Louise."
"It may be a disaster that there can be no marriage between Mrs.
Dashwood and Monsieur the Warden," continued Louise.
"The Warden doesn't want to marry Mrs. Dashwood," replied Gwendolen,
with some energy.
"Mademoiselle knows!" said Louise, softly.
"Yes, I know," said Gwendolen. "No one has thought of such a
thing--except you."
"But perhaps he is about to marry--some one whom Lady Dashwood esteems
not; that would be indeed a disaster," said Louise, regretfully. "Ah,
indeed a disaster," and she ran the brush lengthily down Gwendolen's
hair.
"I do wish you wouldn't talk," said Gwen. "It isn't your business,
Louise."
"Ah," murmured Louise, brushing away, "I will not speak of disasters;
but I pray--I pray continually, and particularly I pray to St. Joseph
to protect M. the Warden from any disaster whatever." Then she added: "I
believe so much in St. Joseph."
"St. Joseph!" said Gwendolen, sharply. "Why on earth?"
"I believe much in him," said Louise.
"I don't like him," said Gwendolen. "He always spoils those pictures of
the Holy Family, he and his beard; he is like Abraham."
"He spoils! That is not so; he is no doubt much, much older than the
Blessed Virgin, but that was necessary, and he is un peu homme du
monde--to protect the Lady Mother and Child. I pray to St. Joseph,
because the good God, who was the Blessed Child, was always so gentle,
so obedient, so tender. He will still listen to his kind protector, St.
Joseph."
"Oh, Louise, you are funny," said Gwendolen, laughing.
"Funny!" exclaimed Louise. "Holy Jesus!"
"Well, it all happened such ages ago, and you talk as if it were going
on now."
"It is now--always now--to God," exclaimed Louise, fervently; "there is
no past--all is now."
This was far too metaphysical for Gwendolen. "You are funny," she
repeated.
"Funny--again funny. Ah, but I forget, Mademoiselle is Protestant."
"No, I'm not," said Gwen; "I belong to the English branch of the
Catholic Church."
"We have no branch, we are a trunk," said Louise, sadly.
"Well, I'm exactly what the Warden is and what Lady Dashwood is," said
Gwendolen.
"Ah, my Lady Dashwood," said Louise, breaking into a tone of tragic
melancholy. "I pray always for her. Ah! but she is good, and the good
God knows it. But she is not well." And Louise changed her tone to one
of mild speculation. "Madame perhaps is souffrante because of so much
fresh air and the absence of shops."
"It is foolish to suppose that the Warden does just what Lady Dashwood
tells him. That doesn't happen in this part of the world," said
Gwendolen, her mind still rankling on Louise's remark about Lady
Dashwood not esteeming--as if, indeed, Lady Dashwood was the important
person, as if, indeed, it was to please Lady Dashwood that the Warden
was to marry!
"Ah, no," said Louise. "The monsieurs here come and go just like guests
in their homes. They do as they choose. The husband in England says
never--as he does in France: 'I come back, my dearest, at the first
moment possible, to assist you entertain our dear grandmamma and our
dear aunt.' No, he says that not; and the English wife she never says:
'Where have you been? It is an hour that our little Suzette demands that
the father should show her again her new picture book!' Ah, no. I find
that the English messieurs have much liberty."
"It must be deadly for men in France," said Gwendolen.
"It is always funny or deadly with Mademoiselle," replied Louise.
But she felt that she had obtained enough information of an indirect
nature to strengthen her in her suspicions that Lady Dashwood had
arranged a marriage between the Warden and Mrs. Dashwood, but that the
Warden had not played his part, and, notwithstanding his dignified
appearance, was amusing himself with both his guests in a manner
altogether reprehensible.
Ah! but it was a pity!
When Louise left the room Gwendolen went to the wardrobe, and took out
the coat that Louise had put away. She felt in the wrong pocket first,
which was empty, and then in the right one and found the ten-shilling
note. Now that she had it in her hand it seemed to her amazing that Mrs.
Potten, with her big income, should have fussed over such a small
matter. It was shabby of her.
Gwendolen took her purse out of a drawer which she always locked up.
Even if her purse only contained sixpence, she locked it up because she
took for granted that it would be "stolen."
As she put away her purse and locked the drawer a sudden and
disagreeable thought came into her mind. She would not like the Warden
to know that she was going to buy an umbrella with money that Mrs.
Potten had "thrown away." She would feel "queer" if she met him in the
hall, when she came in from buying the umbrella. Why? Well, she would!
Anyhow, she need not make up her mind yet what she would do--about the
umbrella.
Meanwhile the Warden surely would speak to her this evening, or would
write or something? Was she never, never going to be engaged?
She dressed and came down into the drawing-room. Dinner had already been
announced, and Lady Dashwood was standing and Mrs. Dashwood was
standing. Where was the Warden?
"I ought not to have to tell you to be punctual, Gwen," said Lady
Dashwood. "I expect you to be in the drawing-room before dinner is
announced, not after."
"So sorry," murmured Gwen; then added lightly, "but I am more punctual
than Dr. Middleton!"
"The Warden is dining in Hall," said Lady Dashwood.
So the Warden had made himself invisible again! When was he going to
speak to her? When was she going to be really engaged?
Gwendolen held open the door for the two ladies and, as she did so,
glanced round the room. Now that she knew that the Warden was out
somehow the drawing-room looked rather dreary.
Her eyes rested on the portrait over the fireplace. There was that
odious man looking so knowing! She was not sure whether she shouldn't
have that portrait removed when she was Mrs. Middleton. It would serve
him right. She turned out the lights with some satisfaction, it left him
in the dark!
As she walked downstairs behind the two ladies, she thought that they
too looked rather dreary. The hall looked dreary. Even the dining-room
that she always admired looked dreary, and especially dreary looked old
Robinson, and very shabby he looked, as he stood at the carving table.
And young Robinson's nose looked more turned-up, and more stumpy than
she had noticed before. It was so dull without the Warden at the head of
the table.
There was very little conversation at dinner. When the Warden was away,
nobody seemed to want to talk. Lady Dashwood said she had a headache.
But Gwendolen gathered some information of importance. Mrs. Potten had
turned up again, and had been told that the right money had gone to Mrs.
Harding.
Gwendolen stared a good deal at her plate, and felt considerable relief
when Lady Dashwood added: "She knows now that she did not lose her note
in Christ Church. She is always dropping things--poor Marian! But she
very likely hadn't the note at all, and only thought she had the note,"
and so the matter _ended_.
Just as dinner was over Gwen gathered more information. The Warden was
going away early to-morrow! That was dreary, only--she would go and buy
the umbrella while he was away, and get used to having it before he saw
it.
That the future Mrs. Middleton should not even have an umbrella to call
her own was monstrous! She must keep up the dignity of her future
position!