UNREHEARSED
Mr. Mainwaring, Lady Adela, and party--the latter comprised Sylvia,
Connie Carmyle, and Dicky--came to a standstill in the middle of the
vast and empty drawing-room and looked enquiringly about them. Lady
Adela, upon whom the labour of climbing the staircase had told heavily,
first deleted from her features the stately smile which she had
mechanically assumed before crossing the threshold, and then began to
sit down upon the piece of furniture which Mr. Stillbottle had recently
valued at twelve-and-six-pence.
"I would n't set in that chair, mum, not if I was you," remarked a husky
voice in her ear. "The off 'hid leg is a trifle dicky."
Lady Adela, suspended in mid-air like Mahomet's coffin, started
violently upwards into a vertical position, and then, having, on the
advice of the officious Mr. Stillbottle, selected the sofa, took in the
drawing-room with one comprehensive sweep of her lorgnette.
Mr. Stillbottle withdrew, doubtless to con his lines.
"H'm," remarked Lady Adela. "This is evidently not one of the rooms
that has just been in the hands of the painters and decorators."
"Dick," enquired Sylvia, who had been superciliously inspecting the
mahogany whatnot with the deal back, "who was that furtive Oriental
person who slipped past us on the staircase? Not another future
relative-in-law, I trust."
"The stout nigger gentleman, you mean?" said Dicky, with unimpaired good
humour. "I fancy he must have been calling on Mr. Welwyn about his
studies. I have a notion that London University is somewhere about
here."
"What a jolly old-fashioned house this is," said Connie from the
window-seat. "How nice and shady this big square must be in summer."
"It is a fairly shady locality all the year round, I fancy," observed
Sylvia sweetly.
Kind-hearted Mr. Mainwaring coughed, and looked unhappily towards his
son. But Dicky did not appear to have heard. He had just discovered
his carnations.
Lady Adela took up the tale.
"There was a small but ferocious-looking creature with red whiskers,"
she announced, "hanging over the banisters on the top floor. Who would
he be, now?"
"Don't ask me, Mum," said Dicky. "I've never been in the house before,
remember, except downstairs. Probably a paper-hanger, or--"
He was interrupted by the entrance of a stately procession headed by
Mrs. Welwyn, the rest following in single file.
Tilly effected the necessary introductions prettily and with perfect
composure; and presently the company assorted itself into what we will
call Tableau Number One. Mr. Welwyn led Lady Adela back to the seat
which she had vacated.
"Most of the furniture in this mansion of ours is Early Victorian," he
announced with a ready laugh; "but I think you will find this sofa
comfortably Edwardian, Lady Adela."
Lady Adela, favourably impressed with her host's appearance and manner,
smiled graciously and once more cautiously lowered herself onto the
sofa. Here, in obedience to an almost imperceptible sign from her
husband, the quaking Mrs. Welwyn joined her, and announced, in a voice
which she entirely failed to recognise as her own, that it was very
sweet of them all to come so far.
Amelia ran impulsively to Dicky and kissed him. Mrs. Carmyle, Sylvia,
and Tilly fell into a chattering group round the tea-table. Mr. Welwyn
and Mr. Mainwaring shook hands warmly and exchanged greetings. The
tea-party was launched.
"How many years is it, Welwyn?" asked Mr. Mainwaring.
"Let us not rake up the past, my dear Mainwaring," said Mr. Welwyn.
"More years than we care to count--eh? We'll leave it at that. But I am
delighted to meet you again. I wonder how the old College prospers.
Foster was your tutor, was n't he?"
"Yes," replied Mr. Mainwaring, pleasantly flattered to find that a man
who had been two years senior to him should remember so much about him.
"Mine, too," mentioned Mr. Welwyn, as if determined to put his guest at
his ease.
"He's a bishop now, I hear," said Mr. Mainwaring.
"_Eheu, fugaces_!" sighed Mr. Welwyn. "Come and sit by the fire."
"I think we had better have tea, Tilly," said Mrs. Welwyn, as per
programme.
The Welwyn family, recognising a cue, began to bestir themselves for
Tableau Number Two.
"I seem to hear it coming up, Mother," replied Tilly.
She was right. Portentous rattlings and puffings were now audible
without. Next moment the doors were bumped open and Mr. Stillbottle
appeared, carrying the tea-pot on a tray.
Apparently something was on his mind. His appearance was that of a
righteous man deeply wronged. His was the demeanour of a British
artisan compelled by forces which he cannot control to perform a task
not included in his contract.
A moment later the situation explained itself. Behind Mr. Stillbottle,
clinging affectionately to his flowing coat-tails, marched The Caution
and The Cure. They were dressed in white, and looked exactly alike
except that The Caution wore abbreviated white knickerbockers and The
Cure a little white skirt. Their socks were white, their sashes and
chubby legs were a radiant pink, and the angelic countenance of each was
wreathed in smiles.
The procession drew up at the tea-table, where its leader proceeded to
deposit the tea-pot. For a moment there was a pause in the
conversation, while the hearts of the Welwyns stood still. The Twins,
uncontrolled, sometimes erred on the side of originality.
"He's the Queen," explained The Cure, indicating the flinching figure of
Mr. Stillbottle.
"Yesh; and we're holdin' up of his train," added The Caution.
Next moment Connie Carmyle had captured them both.
"You darlings!" she cried, and carried them off to the window-seat. The
situation was saved.
"Little pets!" observed Lady Adela, smiling.
Even Sylvia forgot to pose for a moment. Tea was served amid a hum of
cheerful conversation. The children had evoked the maternal instinct,
and all was well.
Only Mr. Stillbottle remained cold.
"You oughter 'ave kep' them locked up somewhere," he announced severely
to Tilly; and left the room.
"I don't see your son here, Mrs. Welwyn," said Lady Adela. "We had the
pleasure of his company for a few minutes on Saturday."
"He will be here any minute, your--Lady Adela," replied Mrs. Welwyn with
a jerk. "He is usually kept in the City till close on five, poor boy."
"That aged retainer of yours seems to be a bit of an autocrat, Tilly,"
said Dicky, taking Mrs. Carmyle's chair at the tea-table.
"Yes," agreed Tilly, feeling rather miserable at having to talk to Dicky
in this strain; "but you know what old servants are. In their eyes we
never grow up."
"Has he been with you for long, then?" enquired Sylvia, with a deep
appearance of interest.
"How long has Russell been with us, Mother?" said Tilly, noting that
Mrs. Welwyn's conversation with Lady Adela was beginning to flag.
"I can't remember, dear. It seems a long time, anyhow," replied Mrs.
Welwyn with sincerity. "Ah, here is Percy. Come in, my boy. Just in
time to hand round the cakes!"
"You can trust little Perce," observed that engaging youth, entirely at
his ease, "to be on the spot at the right moment. How de do, Lady
Adela? I hope this finds you as it leaves me."
He shook the very limp hand of Lady Adela, and having bestowed an
ingratiating smile upon Sylvia, proceeded amid a slowly intensifying
silence to offer a humorous greeting to Mr. Mainwaring. Finally he
turned to Dicky, and slapped him boisterously upon the shoulder.
"Well, my brave Ricardo," he enquired, "how goes it?"
"Percy, dear old thing," responded Dicky promptly, with his most vacant
laugh, "how splendid to see you again! Come and tell me all about your
club run on Sunday."
He drew the flamboyant cyclist to a place of safety, and Tilly breathed
again.
"There is sugar and cream in this cup, Lady Adela," said Amelia, with a
neat bob-curtsey.
"Thank you, little girl," said Lady Adela, taking the cup and smiling
indulgently. ("Like a Duchess out slumming," Amelia told Tilly
afterwards.) "What pretty manners!" she continued, turning to Mrs.
Welwyn. "Where do you send her to school? I used to find it so
difficult--"
"She has left school," replied Mrs. Welwyn. "I suppose we ought to send
her somewhere to get finished later on, but there--we can't do without
her, and that's the truth. Can we, dear?"
Martha Welwyn put an arm round her little daughter. She was talking
with greater freedom and confidence now, with her aspirates under
perfect control.
"I can quite understand _that_," said Lady Adela affably. "I dare say
you find her indispensable."
"I should think so," replied Mrs. Welwyn, lowering her guard. "What
with all the staircases, and a basement kitchen, and separate meals--"
Tilly dropped a teaspoon with a clatter on to the tray.
"I'm so sorry, Sylvia," she said. "Did I make you jump?"
"No," responded Sylvia absently. "I was looking at your butler. He
seems to have something on his mind."
Mr. Stillbottle, who had entered the room two minutes previously, and
had been awaiting an opportunity of gaining the ear of the company, took
advantage of the partial silence which now ensued.
"A person has called, sir," he announced to Mr. Welwyn, "for to iron the
billiard table."
Mr. Welwyn broke off his conversation with Mr. Mainwaring.
"Thank you," he said in an undertone. "Let him do so by all means."
"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Stillbottle, turning to go.
"Tell him," added Percy, highly pleased with the manner in which the
little comedy was unfolding itself, "to see if any of the cues want
tips."
"Very good," said Mr. Stillbottle, in a voice which plainly asked why
Percy should "gag," when he might not.
The door closed once more, and another hurdle was negotiated. The
Welwyns heaved little sighs of relief: Russell's was an unnerving
presence. But Tilly glanced at the honest, laughing face of the man who
loved her, and felt suddenly ashamed.
"Quite a character, that old fellow," said Mr. Welwyn breezily.
"Incorrigibly idle; painfully outspoken; a domestic tyrant of the most
oppressive type; but honest as the day. I must get some one to put him
in a book. Lady Adela, you have nothing to eat."
Mr. Welwyn deftly changed places with his wife, who gratefully engaged
in a conversation with Mr. Mainwaring; and the rest of the company
performed one of those complicated evolutions which children call a
"general post," and which affords persons of mature years but
intellectual poverty the inestimable boon of being able to employ the
same topics of conversation several times over. Tableau Number Three
was now set.
For a moment Dicky and Tilly found themselves together.
"Tea, old man?" asked Tilly, offering a cup.
"Thanks, little thing," replied Dicky, touching her hand under the
saucer.
"Did you send these?" Tilly looked down at her pink carnations.
Dicky nodded, and his gaze became suddenly ecstatic.
"Tilly," he said in tones of exultant pride, "you are looking perfectly
beautiful."
"This is a strictly business meeting," smiled Tilly; but her heart
bumped foolishly. For a moment nothing seemed to matter save the
knowledge that Dicky loved her and she loved Dicky.
The next event of any importance was the discovery that Mrs. Carmyle,
engrossed with the twins, had had no tea. There were cries of
contrition from the Welwyn family, and Connie was hurried to the
tea-table, followed by the desolating howls of her youthful
admirers--howls which increased to yells when Mrs. Welwyn announced that
it was time for them to return whence they came. However, they were
pacified by an offer from their new friend to accompany them part of the
way; and after submitting with a sweetness as adorable as it was
unexpected to an embrace from Lady Adela, they left the room clinging to
Connie's skirts, having contributed to the programme the one
unassailably successful item of the whole afternoon.
Amelia went with them, but returned almost immediately.
"Mrs. Carmyle is telling them a story in the dining-room," she said to
her mother. "They are as good as gold with her."
"Dear Constance! She is a fairy godmother to all children," remarked
Lady Adela, who was feeling quite remarkably beatific.
"Yes--children of all ages," corroborated Dicky, catching Tilly's eye.
"I declare," cried Mrs. Welwyn suddenly, as this pleasant episode
terminated, "I had almost forgotten. Tilly dear, you had better take
your grandmother's tea in to her."
"All right, Mother," assented Tilly blithely. The party was shaping into
a success.
"I am so sorry, Lady Adela," said Mr. Welwyn, picking up the new topic
with the readiness of a practised conversationalist, "that you will not
meet my wife's mother this afternoon. She spends a good deal of her
time with us. A dear old lady--quite of the Early Victorian school."
"She is not unwell, I hope," said Lady Adela politely.
"A slight chill--a mere nothing," Mr. Welwyn assured her; "but at that
age one has to be careful. The doctor is keeping her in bed to-day. I
regret it, because I think you would have enjoyed a conversation with
her. She is a mistress of the rounded phrase and polished diction of
two generations ago. So unlike the staccato stuff that passes for
conversation nowadays."
"Too true, too true!" agreed Lady Adela, eagerly mounting one of her pet
hobby-horses. "She sounds most stimulating. It is unfashionable to-day
to be elderly. My daughter informs me that no one--not even a
grandmother--should have any recollection of anything that happened
previous to the period when people wore bustles. All time before that
she sums up as the chignon age. No, there is no sense of perspective
nowadays. We are all for the present."
"Admirably put, dear Lady Adela," cooed Mr. Welwyn. "I remember--"
What Mr. Welwyn remembered will never be known, for at that moment the
door opened, slowly but inexorably, and Grandma Banks appeared. She
advanced into the room with a few uncertain and tottering steps, peered
round her, and nodded her head with great vigour.
"I thought so," she observed triumphantly. "Company! No wonder I were
sent to bed."
There was a paralysed silence. Mr. Welwyn was the first to recover his
presence of mind. He advanced upon his infirm but irrepressible
relative shaking a playful finger.
"This is very, very naughty," he announced reproachfully. "What will
the doctor say?"
[Illustration: "THIS IS VERY NAUGHTY," HE ANNOUNCED REPROACHFULLY]
"Eh?" enquired Grandma.
"You were told to stay in bed, you know, dear," said Mrs. Welwyn, coming
to her husband's assistance.
"I were n't never told no such thing by nobody," replied the old lady
explicitly.
Tilly, avoiding Sylvia's eye, decided to make the best of the situation.
"Well, now you are here, Granny," she interposed brightly, "you must
come and sit snugly by the fire and have some tea. 'Melia, bring that
little three-legged table and put it by Granny's chair, and bring a
footstool."
The Welwyns, swiftly taking their cue from Tilly, bestirred themselves
in fulsome desperation, and in a few minutes Grandma Banks, a trifle
flustered by her sudden and most unusual popularity, found herself
tucked into her armchair by the assiduous efforts of the entire family.
"This is my grandmother, Mrs. Banks," said Tilly to Mr. Mainwaring, who
happened to be sitting nearest.
"I trust, Mrs. Banks," began Mr. Mainwaring with a deferential bow,
"that you are not allowing your sense of hospitality to overtax your
strength."
"Eh?" enquired Mrs. Banks, as ever.
"She is rather deaf," explained Tilly in an undertone. "Don't strain
your voice by talking to her too long."
"The gentleman," announced Grandma unexpectedly, "shall talk to me as
long as he likes."
"Aha, Tilly, old lady! That's one for you," cried the watchful Percy,
and the Welwyn family laughed, hurriedly and tumultuously. Grandma's
octogenarian heart glowed. Social success had come to her at last. She
began to enjoy herself hugely. Tilly cast an anxious glance round her.
Grandma's entrance had sensibly lowered the temperature of the
tea-party, and worse threatened. Already Lady Adela was exhibiting a
tendency to edge towards the fireplace. It was only too plain that she
contemplated yet another "cosy chat." Tilly decided to fall back upon
the one trustworthy person in the room.
"Granny," she said, taking Dicky by the arm and leading him forward, "I
want to introduce Mr. Dick Mainwaring. You have heard of him, have n't
you?"
Mrs. Banks surveyed Dicky over her spectacles.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Banks with deliberation, "I 'ave 'eard of you. You
and our Tilly are walking out."
Dicky assented with a happy laugh, and dropped into the only chair in
Grandma's vicinity. Tilly breathed again: Lady Adela's further advance
was checked. The party settled down once more, and talk broke out
afresh.
Grandma Banks, whose conversational flights were not as a rule
encouraged by her relatives, availed herself of her present emancipation
to embark upon a brief homily to Dicky.
"I tells you this, young man," she said in a hectoring voice, "you've
got a treasure in our Tilly. Don't you forget it."
"I made that discovery for myself a long time ago," said Dicky. He
smiled up at his treasure, who was sitting upon the arm of his chair.
The treasure's grandmother, having in the mean time been supplied with
refreshment by Amelia, took a piece of bread-and-butter and rolled it up
into a convenient cylinder.
"Yes," she continued, dipping the end of the cylinder into her tea, "she
takes after her mother, does Tilly. She may get some of her looks from
her father's side, but when it comes to character, she's a Banks." Her
aged voice rose higher. "Always been respectable, 'as the Bankses," she
announced shrilly. "Very different from--"
At this point not less than three persons enquired of Lady Adela if she
would not take another cup of tea; and in the hospitable melee which
ensued Grandma's further utterances were obscured.
Percy was holding Lady Adela's cup, and Tilly was re-filling it, when
the door opened and Mr. Stillbottle made his second entrance. As
before, he came to a halt immediately on appearing, and coughed in a
distressing fashion without making any attempt to deliver his lines.
"There is that quaint old retainer of yours again, Tilly," said Sylvia.
Tilly turned quickly.
"Well, Russell?" she asked.
Mr. Stillbottle, ignoring her entirely, addressed himself to the master
of the house.
"A message has came through on the telephone, sir," he chanted, fixing
his eyes upon an imaginary prompt-book on the opposite wall, "askin' for
you to be so kind as to attend a meetin' of the Club C'mittee at three
o'clock on Toosday next."
"I think I am engaged," replied Mr. Welwyn, with an anxious glance in
the direction of his mother-in-law (who was fortunately busily occupied
in masticating a cylinder); "but say I will let them know."
"Right," said Mr. Stillbottle, and departed.
The Welwyns, who during the time occupied by their butler's second
"turn," had been inclining uneasy ears in the direction of the open
doorway, surveyed one another in a frightened fashion. All was not well
on the second floor: evidence to that effect was plainly audible.
"Great bore, these committee meetings," commented Mr. Welwyn. "I expect
you have your fill of them, Mainwaring."
"Alas, yes!" said Mr. Mainwaring. "They are all the same. Everybody
sits and looks portentously solemn--"
"All sorts of non-controversial business is brought forward as a matter
of pressing importance--"
"Everybody disagrees with everybody else--"
"And ultimately everything is left to the Secretary, who arranges
matters quite satisfactorily without any assistance whatsoever!"
The two elderly gentlemen laughed happily at their own spirited little
dialogue, and Mr. Welwyn rose to lay down his cup. It was a tactical
blunder of capital magnitude. Lady Adela, left momentarily unguarded,
immediately slipped her moorings, rose to her feet, and sailed with
great stateliness in the direction of the fireplace.
"I am going to have a chat with your dear mother," she observed
graciously to Mrs. Welwyn in passing. "Dick dear, let me have your
chair."
Dicky, feeling that it was not for him to participate in a battle of
giants, obeyed, and Lady Adela sank down opposite Grandma Banks.
Simultaneously sounds of further disturbances penetrated from the
regions above, and a small lump of plaster fell from the ceiling.
Grandma, still intent upon a hearty and unwholesome tea, made no
acknowledgment of Lady Adela's presence until Mrs. Welwyn effected an
introduction.
"Mother," she explained, "this is Lady Adela, Mr. Dick's mother."
Mrs. Banks nodded curtly.
"It is very kind of you, Mrs. Banks," intimated Lady Adela in the voice
of one who meditates producing soup-tickets later on, "to make this
special effort on our behalf. I hope we are not too much for you."
The relict of the departed Banks poured some tea from her cup into her
saucer, took a hearty and sibilant sip, and replied:--
"Very few folks 'as ever bin too much for me. I 'ear as 'ow you have
come on business."
"We told her," Mrs. Welwyn explained to Lady Adela, who was watching
Grandma's performance with the saucer with hypnotic fascination, "that
you and Mr. Mainwaring were coming to-day to have a talk about Tilly and
Mr. Dick. That is what she meant by business, I expect."
But the explanation fell on inattentive ears.
Lady Adela's gaze had now risen from the saucer to the ceiling, which
was vibrating madly, apparently under the repeated impact of one or more
heavy bodies. The rest of the company had given up all pretence at
conversation some time ago.
It was Dicky who supplied a line of explanation.
"Mrs. Welwyn," he said gravely, "your paper-hangers seem to be
skylarking a little bit--what?"
"That's it," agreed Mrs. Welwyn, transparently grateful. "But what can
one do?" she continued, speaking with pathetic solicitude in Lady
Adela's direction. "You know what paperhangers are!"
"A playful race! A playful race!" cooed Mr. Welwyn helpfully.
There was another heavy bump overhead. The prism-decked chandelier
rattled, and the ceiling shed another regretful flake.
"Sounds as if some one had tried to walk up the wall and failed,"
observed Percy, with that courageous facetiousness which comes
proverbially to Britons at moments of great peril.
"How exasperating it must be for you all, Tilly," said Sylvia
sympathetically. "I wonder you don't go and live somewhere else while
it is going on."
Tilly, whose powers of endurance were fast coming to an end, made no
reply. Kindly Mr. Mainwaring bridged the gulf of silence.
"It is extraordinary," he began chattily to the company at large, "how
completely one is at the mercy of the British workman. Once you get him
into your house he sticks. I suppose the title of arch-limpet must be
awarded to the plumber; but I should think the paperhanger--"
He was interrupted by the querulous but arresting voice of Grandma
Banks.
"What's that?" she enquired with ominous distinctness, "about plumbers?"
"I was awarding the palm for general iniquity, dear Mrs. Banks,"
explained Mr. Mainwaring smilingly, "to the plumbing fraternity.
Plumbers--"
Mrs. Welwyn made a hasty movement, but it was too late. Grandma's bowed
and shrivelled form suddenly swelled and stiffened.
"Ho, was you?" she enquired with rising indignation. "Then let me tell
you that my late 'usband, Mr. Josiah Banks, what was very 'ighly
respected in 'Itchin--"
Tilly dropped two teaspoons despairingly, and there was another and more
timely bump overhead.
"Percy dear," interposed Mrs. Welwyn hastily, "don't you think you had
better run up and see what those wretches are doing?"
"Righto, Mother," said Percy, rising with alacrity.
"My late 'usband--" resumed Mrs. Banks, _crescendo_.
"It certainly is an extraordinary noise," remarked Mr. Welwyn loudly.
"They appear to be on the staircase now."
"Sliding down the banisters, no doubt," said Dicky. "Playful little
fellows! Shall I come with you, Percy?"
Percy Welwyn paused, a little embarrassed.
"Don't trouble," he said. "You see--"
He paused again--fatally.
"My late 'usband," proclaimed Grandma Banks on the top note of her
register, "was a plumber 'imself."
Next moment the double doors burst open, and Mr. Mehta Ram, frantic with
terror, hurled himself into the room.