THE MIDDLE COURSE
Although so many conflicting rumours were abroad as to the unparalleled
affront that had been offered to the Strawberry Leaf--some accounts had
it that "dear Evelyn" had been called "a cat" within the hearing of the
Mayor and other civic dignitaries of Middleham, while others were
pleased to affirm that she had had her ears boxed before the eyes of
the horrified reporter for the _Advertiser_--there was the implicit
word of Brasset that he had been subjected not only to unchaste
expressions in a foreign tongue, but had actually been in receipt of
physical violence in his honourable endeavour to uphold the dignity and
the discipline of the Crackanthorpe Hunt.
I hope and believe I am a lenient judge of the offences of
others--fellow-occupants of our local bench delight to tell me so--but
even I was so imbued with the spirit of the meeting as to allow that
some kind of official notice ought to be taken of the outrageous
conduct of Mrs. Nevil Fitzwaren. From the first hour of her appearance
among us, a short fifteen months ago, she had gathered the storm-clouds
of controversy about her. Almost as soon as she appeared out cubbing
she became the most discussed person in the shire. Her ways were
unmistakably foreign and "unconventional"; and certainly, in the saddle
and out of it, her personality can only be described as a little
overpowering.
In the beginning it may have been Fitz himself who contributed as much
as anything to the notoriety of his continental wife. Five years
before, the only surviving son of a disreputable father had let the
house of his ancestors in a state of gross disrepair, together with the
paternal acres, to a City magnate, and betook himself, Heaven alone
knew where. Wise people, however, were more than willing that the
President of the Destinies should retain the sole and exclusive
possession of this information. Nobody had the least desire to know
where Fitz the Younger, unmistakable scion of a somewhat deplorable
dynasty, was to be found, except, perhaps, a few London tradesmen, who,
if wise men, would be sparing of their tears. They might have been hit
so much harder than proved to be the case. Wherever Fitz had gone,
those who knew most of him, and the stock from which he sprang,
devoutly hoped that there he would stay.
For five years we knew him not. And then one fine September afternoon
he turned up at the Grange with a motor car and a French chauffeur and
a foreign wife. It may not seem kind to say so, but in the interests
of this strange but ower-true tale, it is well to state clearly that
his return was highly disconcerting to all sections of the community.
His name was still an offence in the ears of an obsequious and by no
means over-censorious countryside. Rural England is astonishingly
lenient "to Squoire and his relations," but Master Nevil had proved too
stiff a proposition even for its forbearance.
Howbeit, Fitz had hardly been a week at his ancestral home with his
foreign wife and his motor car when there began to be signs of a rise
in Fitzwaren stock. It was bruited abroad that he was paying his
debts, fulfilling long-neglected obligations, that he had given up the
bowl, and that, in a word, he was doing his best to clear a pretty
black record. Indeed, the upward tendency of the Fitzwaren stock was
so well maintained, that it was decided by the Committee for the
Maintenance of the Public Decency that the august Mrs. Catesby should
call on his wife and so pave the way for the _entente_. After all, the
Fitzwarens were the Fitzwarens, and our revered Vicar--the hardest
riding parson in five counties--clinched the matter with the most
apposite quotation from Holy Writ in which he has ever indulged.
The august Mrs. Catesby bore the olive branch in the form of a couple
of pieces of pasteboard to the Grange in due course; Mrs. Arbuthnot,
the Vicar's wife, Laura Glendinning, and the rank and file of the
custodians of the public decency followed suit; and such an atmosphere
of the best type of Christian magnanimity prevailed, that it was quite
on the _tapis_ that "dear Evelyn" herself, the Perpetual President and
Past Grand Mistress of this strenuous society, would shoot a card at
the Grange. To show that this is not the idle gossip of an empty tale,
there is Mrs. Catesby's own declaration, made in Mrs. Arbuthnot's own
drawing-room in the presence of Laura Glendinning and the Vicar's wife,
"that had Mrs. Fitz only been presented she was in a position to know
that dear Evelyn would have called upon her."
That was the hour in which the Fitzwaren stock touched its zenith.
Thenceforward there was a fall in price. Nevertheless, it was agreed
that Fitz was a reformed character. A glass of beer for luncheon, a
glass of wine for dinner, and a maximum of three whiskies and sodas
_per diem_; handsome indemnity paid to the daughter of the landlord of
the Fitzwaren Arms; propitiation galore to persons of all degrees and
shades of opinion; appearance with the ducal party at the Cockfoster
shoot; regular attendance at church every Sunday forenoon. Fitz made
the pace so hot that the wise declared it could not possibly last.
They were wrong, however, as the wise are occasionally. Fitz had more
staying power than friends and neighbours were prepared to concede to
the son of his father. But in spite of all this, once the slump set in
it continued steadily.
Those who had known Fitz before the reformation were not slow to
believe that it was no strength of the inner nature that had rendered
him a vessel of grace. It was excessively creditable, of course, to
the black sheep of the fold, but the whole merit of the reclamation
belonged not to the prodigal, but to the nondescript lady from the
continent who had not been presented at Court. The depth of Fitz's
infatuation for that unconventional creature was really grotesque.
To the merely masculine intelligence it would have seemed that an
influence so beneficent over one so besmirched as poor Fitz must have
counted to that lady for righteousness on the high court scale. But
the Committee for the Maintenance of the Public Decency came to quite
another conclusion. The mere male cannot do better than give _in
extenso_ the Committee's report upon the matter, and for the text of
this judicial pearl our thanks are due to the august Mrs. Catesby. "If
she had been Anybody," that great and good woman announced, "one would
have felt it only right to encourage Nevil Fitzwaren in his
praise-worthy effort, but as dear Evelyn has been informed, on
unimpeachable authority, that she used to ride bareback in a circus in
Vienna, it is quite clear that the wretched fellow is in the toils of
an infatuation."
After this finding by the Committee, holders of Fitzwaren stock
unloaded quickly. Yet there were some of these speculators who were
loth to take that course. Fitz, the harum-scarum, with his nails
trimmed, was a less picturesque figure than the provincial Don Juan;
but there were those who were not slow to aver that the fair
_equestrienne_ he had had the audacity to import from Vienna was quite
the most romantic figure that had ever hunted with the Crackanthorpe
Hounds.
Doubtless she had been born in a stable and reared upon mares' milk,
but to behold her mounted upon the strain of the Godolphin Arabian, in
a tall hat, military gauntlets and a scarlet coat was a spectacle that
few beholders were able to forget. In the opinion of the Committee,
there can be no doubt whatever that it hastened the end of the Dowager.
The old lady drove to the meet at the Cross Roads, behind her fat old
ponies and her fat old coachman John Timmins, in the full enjoyment of
all her faculties, with a shrewd wit, an easy conscience and a good
appetite, took one glance at Mrs. Nevil Fitzwaren, told John Timmins in
a hoarse whisper to go home immediately, had a stroke before she
arrived, and passed away without regaining consciousness, in the
presence of her spiritual, her medical, and her legal advisers.
In the inflamed state of the public mind, it was necessary that persons
of moderate views should be wary. I had seen Mrs. Fitz out hunting,
and in this place I am open to confess that I was sealed of the tribe
of her admirers. Not from the athletic standpoint merely, but from the
æsthetic one. Quite a young woman, with superb black eyes and a forest
of raven hair, a skin of lustrous olive, a nose and chin of
extraordinary decision and character; a more imperiously challenging
personality I cannot remember to have seen. Professional Viennese
_equestriennes_ are doubtless a race apart. They may be accustomed to
exact a homage from their world which in ours is reserved more or less
for the "dear Evelyns" and their compeers. But the gaze of this
haughty queen of the sawdust, when she condescended to exert it, was
the most direct and arresting thing that ever exacted tribute from the
English male or fluttered the devecotes of the scandalised English
female. Her "what-pray-are-you-doing-on-the-earth?" air was so vital
that it sent a thrill through the veins. Small wonder was it that the
hapless Fitz had struggled so gamely to pull himself together. She was
a woman to make a man or mar him. As Fitz was marred already, the
sphere of her activities were limited accordingly.
Like most men of moderate views, at heart I own to being a bit of a
coward. At any rate it would have taken wild horses to drag the
admission from me that I was an out-and-out admirer of the "Stormy
Petrel," as with rare felicity the Vicar of the parish had christened
her. For by this time our little republic was cloven in twain. There
were the Mrs. Fitzites, her humble admirers and willing slaves, whose
sex you will easily guess; and there were the Anti-Mrs.-Fitzites,
ruthless adversaries who had sworn to have her blood, or failing that,
since Atalanta was an amazon indeed, to make the place so hot for her
that, in the words of my friend Mrs. Josiah P. Perkins, "she would have
to quit."
How to dislodge her, that was the problem for the ladies of the
Crackanthorpe Hunt. It was in the quest of a solution that the
illustrious Mrs. Catesby had honoured us with a morning call.
"Odo Arbuthnot," said that notable woman, "it is my intention to speak
plainly. Mrs. Fitz must leave the neighbourhood. We look to you, as a
married man, a father of a family and a county member, to devise a
means for her removal."
"Issue a writ," said I. "That seems the most straightforward course.
If our assaulted and battered friend, Brasset, will swear an
information, I shall be glad to sign the warrant."
"Do you think she could be taken to prison?" said Mrs. Arbuthnot,
hopefully.
"Don't attempt to beg the question." The Great Lady was not to be
diverted from the scent. "Be more manly. We expect public spirit from
you. Certainly this business is extremely disagreeable, but it does
not excuse your pusillanimity. To my mind, your attitude all along has
suggested that you are trying to run with the hare and to hunt with the
hounds."
This was a terrible home-thrust for a confirmed lover of the middle
course. I hope I am not wholly lacking in spirit, but such a charge
was not easy to rebut. While I assumed a statesmanlike port, if only
to gain a little time in which to cover my exposed position, my
relation by marriage, with a daring which was certainly remarkable in
one who is not by nature a thruster, took up the cudgels yet again.
"If I were you, Odo," said he, "I should let 'em do their own dirty
work."
I felt Mary Catesby's glance flash past me like the lightning of heaven.
"Dirty work, Joseph? I demand an explanation."
"I call it dirty," said that gladiator. "I like things straightforrard
myself. If you think a cove is askin' for trouble hand it out to him
personally. Don't set on others."
Before the woman of impregnable virtue to whom this gem of morality was
addressed, could visit the Bayard at the breakfast table according to
his merit, we found ourselves suddenly precipitated into the realms of
drama.
For this was the moment in which I became aware that Parkins was
hovering about my chair and that a sensational announcement was on his
lips.
"Mr. Fitzwaren desires to see you, sir, on most urgent business."
The effect was electrical. Mary Catesby suspended her indictment with
a gesture like Boadicea's, queenly but ferocious. Brasset's pink
perplexity approximated to a shade of green; the eyes of the Madam were
like moons--in the circumstances a little poetic license is surely to
be pardoned--while as for the demeanour of the narrator of this
ower-true tale, I can answer for it that it was one of total
discomfiture.
"Mr. Fitzwaren here?" were my first incredulous words.
"I have shown him into the library, sir," said Parkins, solemnly.
"You cannot see him, Odo," said the despot of our household. "He must
not come here."
"Important business, Parkins?" said I.
"Most _urgent_ business, sir."
"Highly mysterious!" Mrs. Catesby was pleased to affirm.
Highly mysterious the coming of Nevil Fitzwaren certainly was. A
moment's reflection convinced me of the need of appeasing the general
curiosity. I took my way to the library with many speculations rising
in my mind. Nothing was further from my expectation than to be
consulted by Nevil Fitzwaren on urgent business.