MISS ELSMARIA BUTTERMISH
The twins were not in the least alike, either in disposition or
appearance, but they were inseparable. They were known to their large
circle of friends and still more numerous censors as "Uz" and "Buz,"
but their real names were Lionel and Hilary, a fact they rigidly
suppressed at all times.
Buz was tall for his age, slender and fair, with regular, Grantly
features, and eyes like his mother's. Uz was short and chubby,
tirelessly mischievous, and of an optimistic cheerfulness that neither
misfortune nor misunderstanding could diminish. Buz was the reading
Ffolliot, imaginative, and easily swayed by what he read; and his was
the fertile brain that created and suggested all manner of wrong-doing
to his twin. Just then the mania of both was for impersonation. "To
dress up," and if possible to mislead their fellow-creatures as to
their identity, was their chief aim in life. Here, the "prettiness"
that in his proper person Buz deplored and abhorred came in useful. He
made a charming girl, his histrionic power was considerable, and on
both accounts he was much in demand at school theatricals; moreover,
his voice had not yet broken, and when he desired to do so he could
speak with lady-like softness and precision.
"Who's the chap that read the second lesson?" he asked Ger, who proudly
walked between the twins on their way from church. Ger adored the
twins.
"He's the muddy young man who came last Sunday," Ger answered promptly.
Proud to be able to afford information, he continued, "His aunt's our
nice Miss Gallup, and he's going to get in at the Election, nurse says."
"Oh, is he?" cried Uz, whose political views were the result of strong
conviction unbiassed by reflection. "We'll see about that."
"I feel," Buz murmured dreamily, "that it is my duty to find out that
young man's views on Female Suffrage. The women in this district
appear to me sadly indifferent as to this important question. It's
doubtful if any of them will tackle him. Now I'm well up in it just
now, owing to that rotten debate last term."
"When that long-winded woman jawed for nearly an hour, d'you mean?"
asked Uz "Exactly. I never dreamt she would come in useful, but you
never know."
"Shall you call?" Uz gurgled delightedly. "Where'll you get the
clothes? Mary's would be too big, besides everyone about here knows
'em, they're so old, and she'd never lend you anything decent.'
"I shouldn't ask her if I really wanted them; but in this instance I
scorn the mouldy garments of Sister Mary."
"Whose'll you get?" Uz asked curiously.
"My son," Buz rejoined, "I shall be like the king's daughter in the
Psalms. Never you fear for my appearance. As our dear French prose
book would remark: 'The grandmother of the young man so attractive has
a maid French, of the heart excellent, and of the habits most chic.'"
"You mean Adèle will lend them?"
"You bet. She says I speak her tongue to the marvel, is it not?"
On Boxing-Day Eloquent called upon as many of the vote-possessing
inhabitants of Redmarley as could be got in before his aunt's early
dinner. He found but few at home, for on that morning there is always
a meet in the market-place at Marlehouse, and the male portion of the
inhabitants is sporting both by inclination and tradition. He found
the wives, however, and on the whole they were gracious to him. His
visit pleased, for the then member, Mr Brooke, had not been near
Redmarley for years, and left the whole constituency to his agent, who
was nearly as slack as the member for Marlehouse himself.
Eloquent, who had by no means made up his mind as to Female Suffrage,
was much relieved that not a single woman in Redmarley had so much as
breathed its name. His inclinations led him to follow where Mr Asquith
led, but his long training in the doctrines of expediency gave him
pause. He decided that he could not yet range himself alongside of the
anti-suffrage party. As his old father was wont to remark cautiously,
"You must see where you are first," and as yet Eloquent had not clearly
discovered his whereabouts.
He ate his cold turkey with an excellent appetite, feeling that he had
spent a useful if arduous morning. The give-and-take of ordinary
conversation was always a difficult matter for Eloquent, but on this
occasion he related his experiences to his aunt, and was quite
talkative; so that, to a certain extent, she revised her unfavourable
impression as to his conversational powers, and became more hopeful for
his success in the Election. His gloom and taciturnity on Christmas
Day had filled her with forebodings.
In the afternoon he devoted himself to his correspondence. His aunt
gave up the parlour to him and went out to see her friends, while he
sat in stately solitude at a table covered with papers plainly
parliamentary in kind.
For about an hour he worked on undisturbed. Presently he heard the
front gate creak, and looking up beheld a bicycle, a lady's bicycle,
propped against the garden wall. Someone rapped loudly at the front
door, and whoever it was had hard knuckles, for there was no knocker.
Presently Em'ly-Alice, Miss Gallup's little maid, appeared holding a
card between her finger and thumb, and announced--"A young lady come to
see you, please, sir."
For one mad moment Eloquent thought it might perhaps be Mary with some
message for his aunt, but the card disillusioned him. It was a very
shiny card, and on it was written in ink in round, very distinct
writing--
"Miss Elsmaria Buttermish."
He had barely time to take this in before Miss Buttermish herself
appeared.
"I'm glad to have found you at home, Mr Gallup," she announced easily;
"I come on behalf of our beloved leaders to obtain a clear statement of
your views as to 'Votes for Women,' for on those views a great deal
depends. Kindly state them as clearly and concisely as you can."
Miss Buttermish drew up a chair to the table, sat down and produced a
note-book and pencil; while Eloquent, speechless with astonishment and
dismay, stood on the other side of it holding the shiny visiting-card
in his hand.
Miss Buttermish tapped with her pencil on the table and regarded him
enquiringly.
Apparently quite young, she was also distinctly pleasing to the eye.
She wore an exceedingly well cut, heavily braided black coat and skirt,
the latter of the tightest and skimpiest type of a skimpy period. Her
hat was of the extinguisher order, entirely concealing her hair, except
that just in the front a few soft curls were vaguely visible upon her
forehead. A very handsome elderly-looking black fox stole threw up the
whiteness of her rounded chin in strong relief, and her eyes looked
large and mysterious through the meshes of her most becoming veil.
Eloquent was conscious of a certain familiarity in her appearance. He
was certain that he had seen her before somewhere, and couldn't recall
either time or place.
"I'm waiting, Mr Gallup," she remarked pleasantly. "You must have made
up your mind one way or other upon this important question, and it will
save both my time and your own if you state your views--may I say, as
briefly as possible."
Eloquent gasped . . . "I fear," he said, "that I have by no means made
up my mind with any sort of finality--it is such a large
question. . . . I have not yet had time to go into it as thoroughly as
I could wish. . . . There is so much to be said on both sides."
"There," Miss Buttermish interrupted, "you are mistaken; there is
_nothing_ to be said for the '_antis_.' Their arguments are
positively . . . footling."
"I cannot," Eloquent said stiffly, "agree with you."
"Sit down, Mr Gallup," Miss Buttermish said kindly, at the same time
getting up and seating herself afresh on a corner of the sofa. "We've
got to thresh this matter out, and you've got to make up your mind
whether you are for or against us. You are young, and I think that you
hardly realise the forces that will be arrayed against _you_ if you
join hands with Mr Asquith on this question."
Miss Buttermish sat up very stiff and straight on the end of the sofa,
and Eloquent, still standing with the table between them, felt rather
like a naughty boy in the presence of an accusing governess. The
allusion to his youth rankled. He did not sit down, but stood where he
was, staring darkly at his guest. After a very perceptible pause he
said:
"It is impossible for me to give you a definite opinion . . ."
"It's not an _opinion_ I want," Miss Buttermish interrupted scornfully,
"it's a definite guarantee. Otherwise, young man, you may make up your
mind to incessant interruption and . . . to various other annoyances
which I need not enumerate. We don't care a bent pin whether you are a
Liberal or a Tory or a red-hot Socialist, so long as you are sound on
the Suffrage question. If you are in favour of 'Votes for Women,' then
we'll help you; if not . . . I advise you to put up your shutters."
Eloquent flushed angrily and, strangely enough, so did Miss Buttermish
at the same moment. In fact, no sooner had she spoken the last
sentence than she looked extremely hot and uncomfortable.
"I see no use," he said coldly, "in prolonging this interview. I
cannot give you the guarantee you wish for. It is not my custom to
make up my mind upon any question of political importance without
considerable research and much thought. Intimidation would never turn
me from my course if, after such investigation, I should decide against
your cause. Nor would any annoyance your party may inflict upon me
now, affect my support of your cause should I, ultimately, come to
believe in its justice."
Miss Buttermish rose. "Mr Gallup," she said solemnly, "there is at
present a very wide-spread discontent among us. Till we get the vote
we shall manifest that discontent, and I warn you that the lives of
members of Parliament and candidates who are not avowedly on our side
will be made"--here Miss Buttermish swallowed hastily . . . "most
unpleasant. Those that are not for us are against us, and . . . we are
very much up against them. I am sorry we should part in anger . . ."
"Pardon me," Eloquent interrupted, "there is no anger on my side. I
respect your opinions even though as yet I may not wholly share them."
Miss Buttermish shook her head. "I'm really sorry for you," she
murmured; "you are young, and you little know what you are letting
yourself in for."
Eloquent opened the parlour door for her with stiff politeness, and she
passed out with bent head and shoulders that trembled under the heavy
fur. Surely this militant young person was not going to cry!
He followed her in some anxiety down to the garden gate, held it open
for her to pass through, which she did in absolute silence, and he
waited to watch her mount her bicycle.
This she did in a very curious fashion. She started to run with it,
leapt lightly on one pedal, and then, to Eloquent's amazement, essayed
to throw her other leg over like a boy.
The lady's skirt was tight, the Redmarley roads were extremely muddy,
the unexpected jerk caused the bicycle to skid, and lady and bicycle
came down sideways with considerable violence.
"Damn!" exclaimed Miss Buttermish.
"Oh, those modern girls!" thought the shocked Eloquent as he ran
forward to assist. He pulled the bicycle off Miss Buttermish, and
stood it against the wall. She sat up, her hat very much on one side.
"Do you know," she said rather huskily, "I do believe I've broken my
confounded arm."
She held out her left hand to Eloquent, who pulled her to her feet.
Her right arm hung helpless, and even through her bespattered veil he
could see that she was very white.
"Pray come in and rest for a little," he said concernedly, "and we can
see what has happened."
"I'm sure it's broken, I heard the beastly thing snap----" the girl
stumbled blindly, Eloquent caught her in his arms, and saw that she had
fainted from pain.
He carried her into the house and laid her on the horsehair sofa, put a
cushion under her arm, and seizing the large scissors that his orderly
aunt kept hanging on a hook at the side of the fire, cut her jacket
carefully along the seam from wrist to shoulder. She wore a very
mannish, coloured flannel shirt. This sleeve, too, he cut, and
disclosed a thin arm, extremely brown nearly to the elbow, and very
fair and white above, but the elbow was distorted and discoloured; a
bad break, Eloquent decided, with mischief at the joint as well
probably. He had studied first-aid at classes, and he shook his head.
It did not occur to him to call the little servant to assist him. With
his head turned shyly away he removed the young lady's hat and loosened
her heavy furs. Then he flew for water and a sponge, thinking the
while of her curious Christian name "Elsmaria." She looked
pathetically young and helpless lying there. Eloquent forgot her
militancy and her shocking language in his sorrow over her pain. As he
knelt down by the sofa to sponge her face he started so violently that
he upset a great deal of the water he had brought.
It was already growing dark, but even in the dim light as he looked
closely at Miss Buttermish without her hat, her likeness to Mary
Ffolliot was striking. She wore her hair cropped close. "Could she
have been in prison?" thought Eloquent, remembering how light she was
when he carried her in.
With hands that trembled somewhat he pushed the wet curly hair back
from the forehead so like Mary's. There were the same wide brow, the
same white eyelids with the sweeping arch and thick dark lashes, the
delicate high-bridged nose and well-cut, kindly mouth; the same pure
oval in the line of cheek and chin.
Certainly an extraordinary resemblance. She must at least be a cousin;
and, in spite of his sincere commiseration of the young lady's
suffering, he felt a jubilant thrill in the reflection that this
accident must bring him into further contact with the Ffolliots.
There was no brandy in the house, for both he and his aunt were total
abstainers, so he fetched a glass of water and held it to the young
lady's lips as she opened her eyes. She drank eagerly, looked
searchingly at him, then she glanced down at her bare arm and the cut
sleeve. The colour flooded her face, and with real horror in her voice
she exclaimed, "You've never gone and _cut_ that jacket!"
"I had to. Your arm ought to be set at once, and goodness knows where
the doctor may be to-day. You'd best be taken to Marlehouse Infirmary,
I think; it's a bad break."
"But it's her best coat, quite new," Miss Buttermish persisted
fretfully, "quite new; you'd no business to go and cut it. I promised
to take such care of it."
"I'm very sorry," Eloquent replied meekly; "but it really was necessary
that your arm should be seen to at once, and I dared not jerk it about."
"Can it be mended, do you think, so that it won't show?" There was
real concern in her voice.
"I'm sure of it," he answered, much astonished at this fuss about a
coat at such a moment; "I cut it carefully along the seam."
"I say," exclaimed Miss Buttermish, "I must get out of this"--and she
prepared to swing her feet off the sofa--rather big feet, he noted, in
stout golfing shoes. Forcibly he held her legs down.
"Please don't," he implored. "You must not jar that arm any more than
can be helped. Shall I go up to the Manor House and get them to send a
conveyance for you?--you really mustn't think of walking, and I don't
know where else we could get one to-day."
Miss Buttermish closed her eyes and frowned heavily. Then in a faint
voice--
"How do you know I'm from the Manor House?"
"Well, for one thing, you're very like . . . the family."
"_All_ of them?" she asked anxiously.
"You are very like certain members of the family I have seen," he said
cautiously. "May I go? I'll send the servant to sit with you----"
Miss Buttermish clutched at him violently with her left hand,
exclaiming, "No, no--don't send anybody yet; I must get out of this
beastly skirt before anyone comes. . . . Look here, you're a very
decent chap and I'm sorry I rotted you--will you play the game when you
go home and hide these beastly clothes before anyone comes? The
blessed thing hooks at the side, see; it's coming undone now; if you'll
just give a pull I can wriggle out without getting up. . . . Oh,
confound . . . I'm Buz, you know, I dressed up on purpose to rot
you . . . but if you _could_ not mention it . . ."
Her head fell back and she nearly fainted again from pain. Eloquent
divested her of her skirt, and with it the last remnant of Miss
Buttermish disappeared--a slim slip of a boy in running shorts, with
bare knees, and a gym-belt lay prone on the sofa, very pale and
shivering.
In absolute silence Eloquent folded the skirt and the coat, and laying
hat and furs on the top, placed them in a neat heap on a chair in the
corner.
He went to his bedroom, fetched the eiderdown off his own bed and
covered the boy with it. As he was tucking in the eiderdown at the
side Buz put out a cold left hand and held him by the coat sleeve,
saying curiously--"Are you in an awful bait? are you going to be really
stuffy about it?"
Eloquent looked straight into the quizzical grey eyes that held his.
The boy's voice belied the eyes, for it was anxious.
"Of course not," he said quite seriously, "I'm only too sorry your
trick should have had such a disastrous conclusion. Who shall I ask
for up at the house, and what shall I do with the things?"
"Oh take them with you--could you? Give 'em to Fusby, and tell him to
put them in their rooms--the furs are granny's. He'll do it and never
say a word; decent old chap, Fusby. I say, I'm awfully sorry to be
such a nuisance. I'm certain I could walk home if you'll let me."
"That you certainly must not do, I'll go at once. Here's the
hand-bell. I'll tell the maid that she is to come if you ring. I
expect my aunt will be in directly--I'll be as quick as I can--cheer
up."
Eloquent bustled about putting the remains of Miss Buttermish tidily
into his suit-case while the grey eyes followed his movements with
amused interest.
"I'm most awfully obliged," said Buz in a very low voice; "I do feel
such an ass lying here."
There was a murmur of voices in the passage. The front door was closed
with quiet decorum and the little sitting-room grew darker. Two big
tears rolled over and Buz sniffed helplessly, for his handkerchief was
in the pocket of the jacket lately worn with such gay impudence by Miss
Elsmaria Buttermish.