RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, as she sat in the drawing-room, where the
curtains had been drawn and the lamps lighted, was occupied with a
project which she was anxious to impart to her husband as soon as he
returned. Some time before a dull rumble from the valley had informed
her that his usual train was approaching Gablehurst station, and now she
heard the click of the front gate, the crunch of his well-known step on
the gravel, and the opening of the hall door.
"I want to speak to you for a moment, Sidney," she said, opening the
drawing-room door. "Come in here before you go up to dress." (Mrs.
Stimpson insisted on his dressing for dinner. It was customary in all
really good society, and also it would prevent him from feeling awkward
in evening clothes--which it never did.)
"Very well, my dear," he said, entering. "Any news with you?" which was
his invariable question.
Mr. Stimpson was short and inclined to be stout. What remained of his
hair was auburn and separated in the middle by a wide parting; he had
close-cut whiskers of a lighter red, which met in his moustache, and if
his eyes had been narrow, instead of round and filmy like a seal's, and
his mouth had been firm, and not loose and slightly open, he would not
have been at all a bad caricature of his Majesty King Henry the Eighth.
"Nothing--except, but I'll tell you about that afterwards. Sit down, do,
and don't fidget.... Well, I've been thinking, Sidney, that we really
ought to ask the Chevril Thistletons to a quiet little dinner. Not to
meet any of our _usual_ set, of course! We could have the dear Rector,
who, if he _is_ Low Church, is very well connected--and Lady Harriet
Elmslie."
Mr. Stimpson showed no enthusiasm at the suggestion. "Lady Elmslie,
Selina!" he cried. "But we don't _know_ her ladyship!"
"I do wish you would learn to use titles correctly, Sidney! Lady
_Harriet_ Elmslie--not Lady _Elmslie_! And you shouldn't speak of her,
except to servants, as 'her ladyship'; that's only done by inferiors."
"Well, my love, whatever may be the correct way of speaking of her, the
fact remains that we haven't the honour of her acquaintance."
"That's just where you're mistaken! We _have_, or at least _I_ have;"
and she described how she had come to enjoy that privilege.
"Well," he admitted at the conclusion, "she certainly seems to have made
herself exceedingly affable, but it doesn't follow that she'd come and
dine, even if we asked her."
"She would if it was to meet the Thistletons."
"Perhaps so, my love, but--er--we don't know that _they_ would come."
"Of course they would, if they knew we were expecting Lady Harriet. For
goodness' sake, Sidney, don't swing your foot like that--you know I
can't bear it. All _you_ have to do is to find out from Mr. Thistleton
what evenings the week after next would be most convenient, and _I'll_
undertake the rest!"
"I--I really couldn't do that, Selina. I'm a proud man, in my way, and I
don't care about exposing myself unnecessarily to a rebuff."
"Why should you be rebuffed? After all, he's only a junior partner!"
"True, my love, but that doesn't make him less stand-offish. He may be
_in_ the business, but he's not _of_ it. I doubt myself whether even old
Cramphorn would venture to invite him to dinner, and if he did, I'd bet
a tidy sum that the Honourable Mr. Chevril Thistleton----"
"Mr.--_not_ the Honourable _Mr._ Thistleton, Sidney," corrected his
wife, who had studied all such _minutiæ_ in a handbook written by a lady
of unimpeachable authority. "The term is _never_ employed in ordinary
conversation, or on visiting cards. But, if you won't show a proper
spirit, I shall write myself to Mrs. Thistleton and propose one or two
dates."
"It would be no good, my love," said Mr. Stimpson, brought to bay,
"because, if you _must_ know, I--er--_did_ approach the subject with
Thistleton--and--well, his manner was not sufficiently encouraging to
induce me to try it again. Not so fond of being made to feel as if I was
no better than one of our own clerks. I get quite enough of _that_ from
old Cramphorn!"
"You should _assert_ yourself more, Sidney, if you want people to
respect you."
"I'm always asserting myself--but old Cramphorn never listens! Just goes
on his own way. Won't hear of any changes--what was good enough when the
firm started a hundred years ago is good enough for _him_--now I'm all
for _new_ ideas myself--Progress and so forth!"
"That's what has kept us back," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson; "we should
have been in a far better set here than we're ever likely to be now if
you hadn't given yourself out as a violent Radical, when it's well known
that all best Gablehurst people are Conservatives, and several who are
not really entitled to be anything of the kind. As it is, I suppose I
must be content to pass my life in this suburban hole and mix with none
but second-rate people. But I certainly cannot expect Lady Harriet to
come here and meet them, so there's an end of it. If she imagines I've
no desire to pursue her acquaintance, it can't be helped, that's all!
And now you had better go up and dress."
The whole family were assembled by the time Mr. Stimpson
re-appeared--his wife was in her armchair by the standard lamp. Edna was
at the writing-table revising her notes of the afternoon's lecture, and
Clarence was seated close by, while Ruby was whispering earnestly to
Daphne on one of the chintz couches.
"All of you down before me, eh?" said the head of the family after the
usual salutations had been exchanged. "But I went up long after
everybody else. And not late after all--I've taught myself to dress in
well under ten minutes, you see!"
"Wish he'd taught himself not to wear a white tie with a dinner jacket!"
grumbled Clarence to Edna in an undertone.
"Couldn't you _tell_ him about it?" she replied.
"I could--but what'd be the good? He'd only turn up next time in a
tail-coat and a black bow!" said Clarence gloomily. "The poor old
governor's one of the people who never learn----!"
Clarence's own type was that for which the latest term is "knut." He was
accepted both by his family, his intimates, and himself as an infallible
guide on things in general. When consulted as to matters on which he
happened to be entirely ignorant, and these were not a few--he had
formed the habit of preserving a pregnant silence, as of one who could
say a good deal on the subject if he were at liberty to speak. And this
in itself denoted a certain degree of intelligence.
In appearance he was well built, though only of average height. He had
small green eyes like his mother's; his light sandy hair had a natural
ripple, and his pale face expressed nothing beyond an assured
consciousness of his own superiority. And yet he was not without a
certain sense of humour in matters which did not immediately concern
himself, though, owing to particular circumstances, it was just then
distinctly in abeyance.
"What time do you get back from the City to-morrow afternoon, my boy?"
his father asked.
"Not going up at all, Pater," said Clarence. "Told them I shouldn't." He
was thinking that after dinner would be quite time enough to break the
news that, on receiving a severe wigging for general slackness, he had
lost his temper, and offered to resign his post--an offer that had been
accepted with disconcerting alacrity.
"Ah, Sidney," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "_Clarence_ knows how to
assert himself, you see!"
"I merely asked," Mr. Stimpson explained, "because I'm taking a Saturday
off myself, and I thought we could have a round or two of golf
together, eh, my boy?"
"I don't mind going round with you before lunch," said Clarence.
"Engaged for the afternoon; but, if you'll take _my_ advice, Governor,
you'd better practise a bit longer with the Pro before you attempt to
_play_. No good trying to run till you can walk, don't you know, what?"
(He had learnt to terminate his sentences with "what" as a kind of smart
shibboleth.) "Hullo, Mater!" he broke off suddenly, as he noticed the
pendant on her ample bosom, "where did you get that thing? Out of a
cracker?"
"Certainly not, Clarence; I am not in the habit of wearing cheap
jewellery. And this cost a considerable sum, though I daresay it is
worth what I paid for it."
"Did you go much of a mucker for it, Mater?"
"If I did, Clarence, I was well able to do so, thanks to dear old Uncle
Wibberley's legacy."
"I must say, Mother," said Edna, "it's far the most artistic thing I've
ever known you buy."
"It isn't _everybody's_ taste," remarked Mr. Stimpson, "but I should say
myself that it wasn't a bad investment. Where did you come across it, my
love?"
"My dear Sidney," replied Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson with much majesty, "as
I purchased it with my own money, where I came across it, and what I
paid for it are surely matters that only concern myself."
Daphne, who could hardly avoid hearing this conversation, was impressed
by the tact and delicacy it displayed. It never occurred to her that
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson's reticence might be inspired by other motives
than a generous desire to spare her feelings. "She really is quite a
decent sort!" she told herself.
Clarence had not been unobservant of her--indeed it would not be too
much to say that he had been acutely conscious all the time of Miss
Heritage's presence.
Ever since she had become a member of the household he had alternated
between the desire to impress her and the dread of becoming entangled in
the toils of an artful little enchantress. It was true that since her
arrival in the family she had made no effort whatever to enchant him;
indeed, she had treated him with easy indifference--but this, his
experience of her sex and the world told him, was probably assumed. She
could hardly help knowing that he was something of a "catch" from her
point of view, and scheming to ensnare him.
Perhaps Clarence, with his now dubious prospects, felt himself rather
less of a catch than usual; perhaps it occurred to him that being
moderately ensnared would be pleasantly exciting, since he would always
know when to stop. At all events, he lounged gracefully toward the sofa,
on which she and Ruby were sitting: "I say, Miss Heritage," he began,
"you mustn't let my Kiddie sister bore you like this. She's been
whispering away in your ear for the last ten minutes."
Daphne denied that she was being bored.
"Of _course_ she isn't!" said Ruby; "I was finishing the story I began
telling her when we were walking home. We'd got to where Daphne first
meets the Fairy Prince."
"Then it's all about Miss Heritage, is it?"
"I call the heroine 'Daphne' in my story, after her--but, of course, she
isn't Miss Heritage _really_."
"You don't seem to think it very likely that Miss Heritage will ever
come across a Fairy Prince, eh!" commented Clarence, and wondered the
next moment whether he mightn't have said something to commit himself.
"I hope not," said Ruby, slipping her hand affectionately through
Daphne's arm, "because then she'd leave me, and I should never see her
again!"
"I shouldn't worry about it just yet, darling," said Daphne, smiling.
"Fairy Princes are only to be found in their own country--and it's a
long way from here to Fairyland."
Clarence was noticing, not for the first time, that her full face was
shaped like a shield, also that two fascinating little creases came in
it when she smiled, and her pretty grey eyes had a soft sparkle in them.
"I must be jolly careful," he told himself.
"I should prefer, Miss Heritage," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, who had
overheard the last sentence, "that Ruby was not encouraged to fill her
head with Fairy tales. I don't think them good for her."
"Oh, come, Mater!" protested Clarence, unable to resist the _rôle_ of
Champion. "Where on earth is the harm of them."
"Surely, Clarence," Edna put in instructively, "there is _this_
harm--they give such an utterly false impression of what life really
_is_! That's why I've never been able to take any interest in them."
"More likely," said Clarence, "because you've got no imagination."
"If I hadn't," retorted Edna, "I should hardly have got through the
Poetry I have. Most of Browning and Alfred Austin, and all Ella Wheeler
Wilcox! It's only the lowest degree of imagination that invents things
that couldn't possibly have happened!"
"They may have left off, Edna, but they happened _once_," declared Ruby.
"I know there _used_ to be Fairyland somewhere, with Kings and Queens
and Fairy Godmothers and enchanted castles and magicians and Ogres and
Dragons and things in it. And Miss Heritage believes it, too--_don't_
you, Miss Heritage, dear?"
"I'm much mistaken in Miss Heritage, my dear," said Mr. Stimpson
gallantly, "if her head isn't too well screwed on (if she'll allow me to
say so) to believe in any such stuff. All very well for the Nursery, you
know, but not to be taken seriously, or ... why, what's that? Most
extraordinary noise! Seems to come from outside, overhead."
They could all hear a strange kind of flapping whirr in the air, it grew
nearer and louder and then suddenly ceased.
"Aeroplane," pronounced Clarence, drawing the window curtains and
looking out. "Miles away by now, though. Terrific pace they travel at.
Too dark to see anything."
He returned to the hearthrug, and the moment afterwards, the silence
outside was broken by a shrill, clear call which seemed to come from
silver trumpets.
"Very odd," said Mr. Stimpson, "some one seems to be playing trumpets on
the gravel-sweep!"
"If it's one of those travelling German bands," said his wife, "you'd
better send them away at once, Sidney."
But, whoever they were, they had already entered the hall, for almost
immediately the drawing-room door was thrown open and two persons
wearing tabards and gaily plumed hats entered and sounded another
blast.
"'Pon my word, you know," gasped Mr. Stimpson, "this is really----"
The heralds stepped back as a third person entered. He was wearing a
rich suit of some long-departed period, and, with his furrowed face and
deep-set eyes, he rather resembled an elderly mastiff, though he did not
convey the same impression of profound wisdom. He gazed round the room
as though he himself were as bewildered as its other occupants, who were
speechless with amazement. Then his eye fell on Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson,
and he hesitated no longer, but, advancing towards her chair, sank with
some difficulty on one knee, seized her hand, and kissed it with every
sign of deep respect.
"Heaven be praised!" he cried in a voice that faltered with emotion, "I
have at last found the Queen we have so long sought in vain!" He spoke
with some sort of foreign accent, but they all understood him perfectly.
As he knelt they heard a loud crack which seemed to come from between
his shoulders.
"Braces given way," whispered Clarence to Edna; "silly old ass to go
kneeling in 'em!"
"Really, sir," said Mr. Stimpson, "this is most extraordinary
behaviour."
"You don't understand, Sidney," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, who had
recovered from her first alarm and was now in a gratified flutter;
"remember what I told you about Lady Harriet and the Pageant! Pray, get
up, sir," she added to the stranger, "I haven't the advantage of knowing
your name."
"I am the Court Chamberlain," he said, "and my name is Treuherz von
Eisenbänden."
It was unknown to Mrs. Stimpson, but she concluded that he was some
Anglo-German commercial magnate, who would naturally be invited to join
the Committee for any such patriotic purpose as a Pageant.
As to the excessive ceremony of his manner, that was either the proper
form for the occasion, or, what was more likely, Mr. Troitz, or whatever
his name was, having come fresh from a dress rehearsal, could not divest
himself as yet of his assumed character. The important point was that
her interview with Lady Harriet had borne fruit already, and in the
shape of a pressing invitation to play the distinguished part of
"Queen!" The advantages thus offered for obtaining a social footing
amongst county people made it easy to overlook any trifling
eccentricities where the intention was so obviously serious. "Well, Mr.
Troitz," she said graciously, "since the Committee have been kind enough
to ask me, I shall be very pleased to be your Queen."
"And if I may say so, Sir," said her husband, "there are few ladies in
the vicinity who would prove more competent. In fact----"
"That will do, Sidney," said his wife; "if Lady Harriet and the
Committee did not consider me competent to be the Queen they would not
have asked me." And Mr. Stimpson said no more.
"Pardon," Mr. Treuherz said, looking at him with solemn surprise,
"but--who is _this_?"
"This is my husband, Mr. Troitz--let me introduce him."
"Your husband. Then, he will be the King!"
"The King?" cried Mr. Stimpson, "why, really, I'm not sure that would be
altogether in my line."
"Nonsense, Sidney. Of _course_ you will be the King if they want you!
And this is my son, Clarence, Mr. Troitz. My daughters, Edna and Ruby."
"A Crown Prince!" cried Treuherz, and bent low to each in turn. "And
two--no, I mistake--_three_ Princesses! Ah, it is too much for me
altogether!"
It was almost too much for Ruby, who giggled helplessly, while even
Daphne had to bite her lip rather hard for a moment.
"The other young lady," corrected Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "is merely my
daughter Ruby's governess--Miss Heritage. But if you like to find a
place for her as one of my ladies of honour or something, I have no
objection to her accepting a part," she added, reflecting that Miss
Heritage's manners and appearance would add to the family importance,
while it would be a comfort to have an attendant who could not give
herself such airs as might a girl belonging to a county family.
"Naturally," said Treuherz, inclining himself again. "Any member of your
Majesty's household you desire to bring."
"Very well; I suppose, Miss Heritage, you have no objection? Then you
will accompany us, please. And now, Mr. Troitz, about when shall we be
wanted?"
"When?" he replied. "But now! At once. Already I have the car waiting!"
"Now?" exclaimed Clarence; "rum time to rehearse--what?"
"Who said anything about rehearsing, Clarence?" said his mother
impatiently. "It's necessary for them to see us and talk over the
arrangements. It's not likely to take long."
"But it'll do later, my love," put in Mr. Stimpson, who did not like the
idea of turning out without his dinner. "Fact is, Mr. Troitz, we were
just about to sit down to dinner. Why not keep the car waiting a bit and
join us? No ceremony, you know--just as you _are_!"
"Sire, I regret that it is impossible," he said. "I have undertaken to
convey you with all possible speed. If we delay I cannot answer for what
may happen."
"You hear what Mr. Troitz says, Sidney," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson,
alarmed at the idea of another being chosen in her absence. "What _does_
it matter if we do dine a little late? Children, we must go and put on
our things at once--your warmest cloaks, mind--we're sure to find it
cold motoring. Sidney and Clarence, you had better get your coats on--we
shall be down directly."
Mr. Treuherz and the heralds stood at attention in the hall. While
Clarence and his father struggled into their great-coats, neither of
them in a very good temper, Mr. Stimpson being annoyed at postponing his
dinner for what he called "tomfoolery," and Clarence secretly sulky
because his parent could not be induced to see the propriety of going up
to change his tie.
"I haven't _yet_ made out, Mother," said Edna, as they came downstairs,
"exactly where we're going to--or what we're expected to do when we get
there."
"It will either be The Hermitage--Lady Harriet's, you know--or Mr.
Troitz's country house, wherever _that_ is. And, of course, the
Committee require to know what times will suit us for rehearsing."
"I wish you'd settle it all without _me_," complained Edna. "I'd much
rather stay at home, and run over my lecture notes.... Well, if I must
come, I shall bring my note-book with me in case I'm bored." And she ran
into the drawing-room, and came back with the note-book, rather as an
emblem of her own intellectual superiority than with any intention of
referring to it. However, as will be found later, the manuscript proved
to be of some service in the future.
Daphne and Ruby were the last to join the party in the hall, Ruby wildly
excited at the unexpected jaunt and the prospects of not going to bed
till ever so late, and Daphne, though a little doubtful whether Mrs.
Stimpson was quite justified in bringing her, inclined to welcome almost
any change from the evening _routine_ of "Inglegarth." And then, after
Mrs. Stimpson had given some hurried instructions to the hopelessly
mystified Mitchell, the whole family issued out of the Queen Anne porch,
and were conducted by Treuherz, who, to their intense confusion,
insisted on walking backwards to the car, while the heralds performed
another flourish on their silver trumpets. It was pitch-dark when they
had got to the asphalt pavement outside their gates, but they could just
make out the contours of the car in the light that streamed across the
hedge to the stained glass front-door.
"Jolly queer-looking car," said Clarence. It was certainly unusually
large, and seemed to have somewhat fantastic lines and decorations.
"Oh, never mind about the car!" cried Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, who was
inside it already, a vague, bundled-up shape in the gloom. "It's part of
the Pageant, of course! Get in, Clarence, get in! We're late as it is!
and if there's a thing I detest, it's keeping people waiting!"
"All right, Mater!" said Clarence, clambering in. "I can't make out what
the dickens they've done with the bonnet--but we seem to be moving,
what?"
Slowly the car had begun to glide along the road. Mr. Treuherz was
seated in front, probably at the steering-wheel, though none was
visible. The heralds sat in the rear, and the car was of such a size
that there was abundant room for the family in the centre. Some yards
ahead they heard a curious dry rustle and clatter, and could distinguish
a confused grey mass of forms that seemed to be clearing the way for
them, though whether they were human beings it was not possible to tell
till they passed a lighted street-lamp.
"Why, goodness gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "they look
like--like _ostriches_!"
She was mistaken here, because they were merely storks, but, before she
could identify them more correctly, they all suddenly rose in the air
with a whirr like that of a hundred spinning looms--and the car rose
with them.
"Stop!" screamed Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "Sidney, tell Mr. Troitz to
stop! I _insist_ on knowing where we are being taken to!"
Treuherz glanced over his shoulder. "Where should I conduct your
Majesties," he said, "but to your own Kingdom of Märchenland?"
Mrs. Stimpson and her husband would no doubt have protested, demanded
explanations, insisted upon being put down at once, had they been able;
but, whether it was that the car had some peculiarly soporific tendency,
or whether it was merely the sudden swift rush through the upper air, a
torpor had already fallen on the whole Stimpson family. It was even
questionable if they remained long enough awake to hear their
destination.
Daphne, for some reason, did not fall asleep till later. She lay back in
her luxuriously cushioned seat, watching the birds as they flew, spread
out in a wide fan against the dusky blue evening sky. Gablehurst, with
its scattered lights, artistic villa-residences, and prosaic railway
station--its valley and common and wooded hills, were far below and soon
left behind at an ever increasing distance. But she did not feel in the
least afraid. It was odd, but, after the first surprise, she had lost
all sense of strangeness in a situation so foreign to all her previous
experience.
"So we're being taken to Märchenland," she was thinking. "That's the
same as Fairyland, practically. At least it's where all the things they
call Fairy stories really happened, and--_why_ I can't imagine--but Mr.
and Mrs. Stimpson have been chosen King and Queen! And the poor dear
things have no idea of it yet! Oh, I wonder" (and here, no doubt, the
little creases came into her cheeks again, for she laughed softly to
herself), "I _wonder_ what they'll say or do when they find out!" And
while Daphne was still wondering, her eyelids closed gently, and she,
too, was sleeping soundly.