There is not in all England a town so blatantly picturesque as Tilling,
nor one, for the lover of level marsh land, of tall reedy dykes, of
enormous sunsets and rims of blue sea on the horizon, with so fortunate
an environment. The hill on which it is built rises steeply from the
level land, and, crowned by the great grave church so conveniently close
to Miss Mapp's residence, positively consists of quaint corners,
rough-cast and timber cottages, and mellow Georgian fronts. Corners and
quaintnesses, gems, glimpses and bits are an obsession to the artist,
and in consequence, during the summer months, not only did the majority
of its inhabitants turn out into the cobbled ways with sketching-blocks,
canvases and paintboxes, but every morning brought into the town
charabancs from neighbouring places loaded with passengers, many of whom
joined the artistic residents, and you would have thought (until an
inspection of their productions convinced you of the contrary) that some
tremendous outburst of Art was rivalling the Italian Renaissance. For
those who were capable of tackling straight lines and the intricacies of
perspective there were the steep cobbled streets of charming and
irregular architecture, while for those who rightly felt themselves
colourists rather than architectural draughtsmen, there was the view
from the top of the hill over the marshes. There, but for one straight
line to mark the horizon (and that could easily be misty) there were no
petty conventionalities in the way of perspective, and the eager
practitioner could almost instantly plunge into vivid greens and
celestial blues, or, at sunset, into pinks and chromes and rose-madder.
Tourists who had no pictorial gifts would pick their way among the
sketchers, and search the shops for cracked china and bits of brass. Few
if any of them left without purchasing one of the famous Tilling
money-boxes, made in the shape of a pottery pig, who bore on his back
that remarkable legend of his authenticity which ran:
"I won't be druv,
Though I am willing.
Good morning, my love,
Said the Pig of Tilling."
Miss Mapp had a long shelf full of these in every colour to adorn her
dining-room. The one which completed her collection, of a pleasant
magenta colour, had only just been acquired. She called them "My sweet
rainbow of piggies," and often when she came down to breakfast,
especially if Withers was in the room, she said: "Good morning, quaint
little piggies." When Withers had left the room she counted them.
The corner where the street took a turn towards the church, just below
the window of her garden-room, was easily the most popular stance for
sketchers. You were bewildered and bowled over by "bits." For the most
accomplished of all there was that rarely attempted feat, the view of
the steep downward street, which, in spite of all the efforts of the
artist, insisted, in the sketch, on going up hill instead. Then, next in
difficulty, was the street after it had turned, running by the
gardener's cottage up to the churchyard and the church. This, in spite
of its difficulty, was a very favourite subject, for it included, on the
right of the street, just beyond Miss Mapp's garden wall, the famous
crooked chimney, which was continually copied from every point of view.
The expert artist would draw it rather more crooked than it really was,
in order that there might be no question that he had not drawn it
crooked by accident. This sketch was usually negotiated from the three
steps in front of Miss Mapp's front door. Opposite the
church-and-chimney-artists would sit others, drawing the front door
itself (difficult), and moistening their pencils at their cherry lips,
while a little further down the street was another battalion hard at
work at the gabled front of the garden-room and its picturesque bow. It
was a favourite occupation of Miss Mapp's, when there was a decent
gathering of artists outside, to pull a table right into the window of
the garden-room, in full view of them, and, quite unconscious of their
presence, to arrange flowers there with a smiling and pensive
countenance. She had other little playful public pastimes: she would get
her kitten from the house, and induce it to sit on the table while she
diverted it with the tassel of the blind, and she would kiss it on its
sweet little sooty head, or she would write letters in the window, or
play Patience there, and then suddenly become aware that there was no
end of ladies and gentlemen looking at her. Sometimes she would come out
of the house, if the steps were very full, with her own sketching
paraphernalia in her hands and say, ever so coyly: "May I scriggle
through?" or ask the squatters on her own steps if they could find a
little corner for her. That was so interesting for them: they would
remember afterwards that just while they were engaged on their sketches,
the lady of that beautiful house at the corner, who had been playing
with her kitten in the window, came out to sketch too. She addressed
gracious and yet humble remarks to them: "I see you are painting my
sweet little home. May I look? Oh, what a lovely little sketch!" Once,
on a never-to-be-forgotten day, she observed one of them take a camera
from his pocket and rapidly focus her as she stood on the top step. She
turned full-faced and smiling to the camera just in time to catch the
click of the shutter, but then it was too late to hide her face, and
perhaps the picture might appear in the _Graphic_ or the _Sketch_, or
among the posturing nymphs of a neighbouring watering-place....
This afternoon she was content to "scriggle" through the sketchers, and
humming a little tune, she passed up to the churchyard. ("Scriggle" was
one of her own words, highly popular; it connoted squeezing and
wriggling.) There she carefully concealed herself under the boughs of
the weeping ash tree directly opposite the famous south porch of the
church. She had already drawn in the lines of this south porch on her
sketching-block, transferring them there by means of a tracing from a
photograph, so that formed a very promising beginning to her sketch. But
she was nicely placed not only with regard to her sketch, for, by
peeping through the pretty foliage of the tree, she could command the
front door of Mrs. Poppit's (M.B.E.) house.
Miss Mapp's plans for the bridge-party had, of course, been completely
upset by the encounter with Irene in the High Street. Up till that
moment she had imagined that, with the two ladies of the house and the
Bartletts and the Major and the Captain and Godiva and herself, two
complete tables of bridge would be formed, and she had, therefore,
determined that she would not be able to squeeze the party into her
numerous engagements, thereby spoiling the second table. But now
everything was changed: there were eight without her, and unless, at a
quarter to four, she saw reason to suppose, by noting the arrivals at
the house, that three bridge tables were in contemplation, she had made
up her mind to "squeeze it in," so that there would be nine gamblers,
and Isabel or her mother, if they had any sense of hospitality to their
guests, would be compelled to sit out for ever and ever. Miss Mapp had
been urgently invited: sweet Isabel had made a great point of her
squeezing it in, and if sweet Isabel, in order to be certain of a
company of eight, had asked quaint Irene as well, it would serve her
right. An additional reason, besides this piece of good-nature in
managing to squeeze it in, for the sake of sweet Isabel, lay in the fact
that she would be able to take some red-currant fool, and after one
spoonful exclaim "Delicious," and leave the rest uneaten.
The white butterflies and the swallows were still enjoying themselves in
the sunshine, and so, too, were the gnats, about whose pleasure,
especially when they settled on her face, Miss Mapp did not care so
much. But soon she quite ceased to regard them, for, before the quaint
little gilded boys on each side of the clock above the north porch had
hammered out the three-quarters after three on their bells, visitors
began to arrive at the Poppits' door, and Miss Mapp was very active
looking through the boughs of the weeping ash and sitting down again to
smile and ponder over her sketch with her head a little on one side, if
anybody approached. One by one the expected guests presented themselves
and were admitted: Major Flint and Captain Puffin, the Padre and his
wife, darling Diva with her head muffled in a "cloud," and finally
Irene, still dressed as she had been in the morning, and probably
reeking with scarlet-fever. With the two Poppits these made eight
players, so as soon as Irene had gone in, Miss Mapp hastily put her
sketching things away, and holding her admirably-accurate drawing with
its wash of sky not quite dry, in her hand, hurried to the door, for it
would never do to arrive after the two tables had started, since in that
case it would be she who would have to sit out.
Boon opened the door to her three staccato little knocks, and sulkily
consulted his list. She duly appeared on it and was admitted. Having
banged the door behind her he crushed the list up in his hand and threw
it into the fireplace: all those whose presence was desired had arrived,
and Boon would turn his bovine eye on any subsequent caller, and say
that his mistress was out.
"And may I put my sketching things down here, please, Boon," said Miss
Mapp ingratiatingly. "And will no one touch my drawing? It's a little
wet still. The church porch."
Boon made a grunting noise like the Tilling pig, and slouched away in
front of her down the passage leading to the garden, sniffing. There
they were, with the two bridge-tables set out in a shady corner of the
lawn, and a buffet vulgarly heaped with all sorts of dainty confections
which made Miss Mapp's mouth water, obliging her to swallow rapidly once
or twice before she could manage a wide, dry smile: Isabel advanced.
"De-do, dear," said Miss Mapp. "Such a rush! But managed to squeeze it
in, as you wouldn't let me off."
"Oh, that was nice of you, Miss Mapp," said Isabel.
A wild and awful surmise seized Miss Mapp.
"And your dear mother?" she said. "Where is Mrs. Poppit?"
"Mamma had to go to town this morning. She won't be back till close on
dinner-time."
Miss Mapp's smile closed up like a furled umbrella. The trap had snapped
behind her: it was impossible now to scriggle away. She had completed,
instead of spoiling, the second table.
"So we're just eight," said Isabel, poking at her, so to speak, through
the wires. "Shall we have a rubber first and then some tea? Or tea
first. What says everybody?"
Restless and hungry murmurs, like those heard at the sea-lions'
enclosure in the Zoological Gardens when feeding-time approaches, seemed
to indicate tea first, and with gallant greetings from the Major, and
archaistic welcomes from the Padre, Miss Mapp headed the general
drifting movement towards the buffet. There may have been tea there, but
there was certainly iced coffee and Lager beer and large jugs with dew
on the outside and vegetables floating in a bubbling liquid in the
inside, and it was all so vulgar and opulent that with one accord
everyone set to work in earnest, in order that the garden should present
a less gross and greedy appearance. But there was no sign at present of
the red-currant fool, which was baffling....
"And have you had a good game of golf, Major?" asked Miss Mapp, making
the best of these miserable circumstances. "Such a lovely day! The white
butterflies were enjoying----"
She became aware that Diva and the Padre, who had already heard about
the white butterflies, were in her immediate neighbourhood, and broke
off.
"Which of you beat? Or should I say 'won!'" she asked.
Major Flint's long moustache was dripping with Lager beer, and he made a
dexterous, sucking movement.
"Well, the Army and the Navy had it out," he said. "And for once
Britain's Navy was not invincible, eh, Puffin?"
Captain Puffin limped away pretending not to hear, and took his heaped
plate and brimming glass in the direction of Irene.
"But I'm sure Captain Puffin played quite beautifully too," said Miss
Mapp in the vain attempt to detain him. She liked to collect all the men
round her, and then scold them for not talking to the other ladies.
"Well, a game's a game," said the Major. "It gets through the hours,
Miss Mapp. Yes: we finished at the fourteenth hole, and hurried back to
more congenial society. And what have you done to-day? Fairy-errands,
I'll be bound. Titania! Ha!"
Suet errands and errands about a missing article of underclothing were
really the most important things that Miss Mapp had done to-day, now
that her bridge-party scheme had so miscarried, but naturally she would
not allude to these.
"A little gardening," she said. "A little sketching. A little singing.
Not time to change my frock and put on something less shabby. But I
wouldn't have kept sweet Isabel's bridge-party waiting for anything, and
so I came straight from my painting here. Padre, I've been trying to
draw the lovely south porch. But so difficult! I shall give up trying to
draw, and just enjoy myself with looking. And there's your dear Evie!
How de do, Evie love?"
Godiva Plaistow had taken off her cloud for purposes of mastication, but
wound it tightly round her head again as soon as she had eaten as much
as she could manage. This had to be done on one side of her mouth, or
with the front teeth in the nibbling manner of a rabbit. Everybody, of
course, by now knew that she had had a wisdom tooth out at one p.m. with
gas, and she could allude to it without explanation.
"Dreamed I was playing bridge," she said, "and had a hand of aces. As I
played the first it went off in my hand. All over. Blood. Hope it'll
come true. Bar the blood."
Miss Mapp found herself soon afterwards partnered with Major Flint and
opposed by Irene and the Padre. They had hardly begun to consider their
first hands when Boon staggered out into the garden under the weight of
a large wooden bucket, packed with ice, that surrounded an interior
cylinder.
"Red currant fool at last," thought Miss Mapp, adding aloud: "O poor
little me, is it, to declare? Shall I say 'no trumps?'"
"Mustn't consult your partner, Mapp," said Irene, puffing the end of her
cigarette out of its holder. Irene was painfully literal.
"I don't, darling," said Miss Mapp, beginning to fizz a little. "No
trumps. Not a trump. Not any sort of trump. There! What are we playing
for, by the way?"
"Bob a hundred," said the Padre, forgetting to be either Scotch or
archaic.
"Oh, gambler! You want the poor-box to be the rich box, Padre," said
Miss Mapp, surveying her magnificent hand with the greatest
satisfaction. If it had not contained so many court-cards, she would
have proposed playing for sixpence, not a shilling a hundred.
All semblance of manners was invariably thrown to the winds by the
ladies of Tilling when once bridge began; primeval hatred took their
place. The winners of any hand were exasperatingly condescending to the
losers, and the losers correspondingly bitter and tremulous. Miss Mapp
failed to get her contract, as her partner's contribution to success
consisted of more twos and threes than were ever seen together before,
and when quaint Irene at the end said, "Bad luck, Mapp," Miss Mapp's
hands trembled so much with passion that she with difficulty marked the
score. But she could command her voice sufficiently to say, "Lovely of
you to be sympathetic, dear." Irene in answer gave a short, hoarse laugh
and dealed.
By this time Boon had deposited at the left hand of each player a cup
containing a red creamy fluid, on the surface of which bubbles
intermittently appeared. Isabel, at this moment being dummy, had
strolled across from the other table to see that everybody was
comfortable and provided with sustenance in times of stress, and here
was clearly the proper opportunity for Miss Mapp to take a spoonful of
this attempt at red-currant fool, and with a wry face, hastily (but not
too hastily) smothered in smiles, to push the revolting compound away
from her. But the one spoonful that she took was so delicious and
exhilarating, that she was positively unable to be good for Isabel.
Instead, she drank her cup to the dregs in an absent manner, while
considering how many trumps were out. The red-currant fool made a
similarly agreeable impression on Major Flint.
"'Pon my word," he said. "That's amazingly good. Cooling on a hot day
like this. Full of champagne."
Miss Mapp, seeing that it was so popular, had, of course, to claim it
again as a family invention.
"No, dear Major," she said. "There's no champagne in it. It's my
Grandmamma Mapp's famous red-currant fool, with little additions perhaps
by me. No champagne: yolk of egg and a little cream. Dear Isabel has got
it very nearly right."
The Padre had promised to take more tricks in diamonds than he had the
slightest chance of doing. His mental worry communicated itself to his
voice.
"And why should there be nary a wee drappie o' champagne in it?" he
said, "though your Grandmamma Mapp did invent it. Weel, let's see your
hand, partner. Eh, that's a sair sight."
"And there'll be a sair wee score agin us when ye're through with the
playin' o' it," said Irene, in tones that could not be acquitted of a
mocking intent. "Why the hell--hallelujah did you go on when I didn't
support you?"
Even that one glass of red-currant fool, though there was no champagne
in it, had produced, together with the certainty that her opponent had
overbidden his hand, a pleasant exhilaration in Miss Mapp; but yolk of
egg, as everybody knew, was a strong stimulant. Suddenly the name
red-currant fool seemed very amusing to her.
"Red-currant fool!" she said. "What a quaint, old-fashioned name! I
shall invent some others. I shall tell my cook to make some
gooseberry-idiot, or strawberry-donkey.... My play, I think. A ducky
little ace of spades."
"Haw! haw! gooseberry idiot!" said her partner. "Capital! You won't beat
that in a hurry! And a two of spades on the top of it."
"You wouldn't expect to find a two of spades at the bottom of it," said
the Padre with singular acidity.
The Major was quick to resent this kind of comment from a man, cloth or
no cloth.
"Well, by your leave, Bartlett, by your leave, I repeat," he said, "I
shall expect to find twos of spades precisely where I please, and when I
want your criticism----"
Miss Mapp hastily intervened.
"And after my wee ace, a little king-piece," she said. "And if my
partner doesn't play the queen to it! Delicious! And I play just one
more.... Yes ... lovely, partner puts wee trumpy on it! I'm not
surprised; it takes more than that to surprise me; and then Padre's got
another spade, I ken fine!"
"Hoots!" said the Padre with temperate disgust.
The hand proceeded for a round or two in silence, during which, by winks
and gestures to Boon, the Major got hold of another cupful of
red-currant fool. There was already a heavy penalty of tricks against
Miss Mapp's opponents, and after a moment's refreshment, the Major led a
club, of which, at this period, Miss Mapp seemed to have none. She felt
happier than she had been ever since, trying to spoil Isabel's second
table, she had only succeeded in completing it.
"Little trumpy again," she said, putting it on with the lightness of one
of the white butterflies and turning the trick. "Useful little
trumpy----"
She broke off suddenly from the chant of victory which ladies of Tilling
were accustomed to indulge in during cross-roughs, for she discovered in
her hand another more than useless little clubby.... The silence that
succeeded became tense in quality. Miss Mapp knew she had revoked and
squeezed her brains to think how she could possibly dispose of the card,
while there was a certain calmness about the Padre, which but too
clearly indicated that he was quite content to wait for the inevitable
disclosure. This came at the last trick, and though Miss Mapp made one
forlorn attempt to thrust the horrible little clubby underneath the
other cards and gather them up, the Padre pounced on it.
"What ho, fair lady!" he said, now completely restored. "Methinks thou
art forsworn! Let me have a keek at the last trick but three! Verily I
wis that thou didst trump ye club aforetime. I said so; there it is. Eh,
that's bonny for us, partner!"
Miss Mapp, of course, denied it all, and a ruthless reconstruction of
the tricks took place. The Major, still busy with red-currant fool, was
the last to grasp the disaster, and then instantly deplored the
unsportsmanlike greed of his adversaries.
"Well, I should have thought in a friendly game like this----" he said.
"Of course, you're within your right, Bartlett: might is right, hey? but
upon my word, a pound of flesh, you know.... Can't think what made you
do it, partner."
"You never asked me if I had any more clubs," said Miss Mapp shrilly,
giving up for the moment the contention that she had not revoked. "I
always ask if my partner has no more of a suit, and I always maintain
that a revoke is more the partner's fault than the player's. Of course,
if our adversaries claim it----"
"Naturally we do, Mapp," said Irene. "You were down on me sharp enough
the other day."
Miss Mapp wrinkled her face up into the sweetest and extremest smile of
which her mobile features were capable.
"Darling, you won't mind my telling you that just at this moment you are
being dummy," she said, "and so you mustn't speak a single word.
Otherwise there is no revoke, even if there was at all, which I
consider far from proved yet."
There was no further proof possible beyond the clear and final evidence
of the cards, and since everybody, including Miss Mapp herself, was
perfectly well aware that she had revoked, their opponents merely marked
up the penalty and the game proceeded. Miss Mapp, of course, following
the rule of correct behaviour after revoking, stiffened into a state of
offended dignity, and was extremely polite and distant with partner and
adversaries alike. This demeanour became even more majestic when in the
next hand the Major led out of turn. The moment he had done it, Miss
Mapp hurriedly threw a random card out of her hand on to the table, in
the hope that Irene, by some strange aberration, would think she had led
first.
"Wait a second," said she. "I call a lead. Give me a trump, please."
Suddenly the awful expression as of some outraged empress faded from
Miss Mapp's face, and she gave a little shriek of laughter which sounded
like a squeaking slate pencil.
"Haven't got one, dear," she said. "Now may I have your permission to
lead what I think best? Thank you."
There now existed between the four players that state of violent
animosity which was the usual atmosphere towards the end of a rubber.
But it would have been a capital mistake to suppose that they were not
all enjoying themselves immensely. Emotion is the salt of life, and here
was no end of salt. Everyone was overbidding his hand, and the penalty
tricks were a glorious cause of vituperation, scarcely veiled, between
the partners who had failed to make good, and caused epidemics of
condescending sympathy from the adversaries which produced a passion in
the losers far keener than their fury at having lost. What made the
concluding stages of this contest the more exciting was that an evening
breeze suddenly arising just as a deal was ended, made the cards rise in
the air like a covey of partridges. They were recaptured, and all the
hands were found to be complete with the exception of Miss Mapp's, which
had a card missing. This, an ace of hearts, was discovered by the Padre,
face upwards, in a bed of mignonette, and he was vehement in claiming a
fresh deal, on the grounds that the card was exposed. Miss Mapp could
not speak at all in answer to this preposterous claim: she could only
smile at him, and proceed to declare trumps as if nothing had
happened.... The Major alone failed to come up to the full measure of
these enjoyments, for though all the rest of them were as angry with him
as they were with each other, he remained in a most indecorous state of
good-humour, drinking thirstily of the red-currant fool, and when he was
dummy, quite failing to mind whether Miss Mapp got her contract or not.
Captain Puffin, at the other table, seemed to be behaving with the same
impropriety, for the sound of his shrill, falsetto laugh was as regular
as his visits to the bucket of red-currant fool. What if there was
champagne in it after all, so Miss Mapp luridly conjectured! What if
this unseemly good-humour was due to incipient intoxication? She took a
little more of that delicious decoction herself.
It was unanimously determined, when the two rubbers came to an end
almost simultaneously, that, as everything was so pleasant and
agreeable, there should be no fresh sorting of the players. Besides, the
second table was only playing stakes of sixpence a hundred, and it would
be very awkward and unsettling that anyone should play these moderate
points in one rubber and those high ones the next. But at this point
Miss Mapp's table was obliged to endure a pause, for the Padre had to
hurry away just before six to administer the rite of baptism in the
church which was so conveniently close. The Major afforded a good deal
of amusement, as soon as he was out of hearing, by hoping that he would
not baptize the child the Knave of Hearts if it was a boy, or, if a
girl, the Queen of Spades; but in order to spare the susceptibilities of
Mrs. Bartlett, this admirable joke was not communicated to the next
table, but enjoyed privately. The author of it, however, made a note in
his mind to tell it to Captain Puffin, in the hopes that it would cause
him to forget his ruinous half-crown defeat at golf this morning. Quite
as agreeable was the arrival of a fresh supply of red-currant fool, and
as this had been heralded a few minutes before by a loud pop from the
butler's pantry, which looked on to the lawn, Miss Mapp began to waver
in her belief that there was no champagne in it, particularly as it
would not have suited the theory by which she accounted for the Major's
unwonted good-humour, and her suggestion that the pop they had all heard
so clearly was the opening of a bottle of stone ginger-beer was not
delivered with conviction. To make sure, however, she took one more sip
of the new supply, and, irradiated with smiles, made a great concession.
"I believe I was wrong," she said. "There is something in it beyond yolk
of egg and cream. Oh, there's Boon; he will tell us."
She made a seductive face at Boon, and beckoned to him.
"Boon, will you think it very inquisitive of me," she asked archly, "if
I ask you whether you have put a teeny drop of champagne into this
delicious red-currant fool?"
"A bottle and a half, Miss," said Boon morosely, "and half a pint of old
brandy. Will you have some more, Miss?"
Miss Mapp curbed her indignation at this vulgar squandering of precious
liquids, so characteristic of Poppits. She gave a shrill little laugh.
"Oh, no, thank you, Boon!" she said. "I mustn't have any more.
Delicious, though."
Major Flint let Boon fill up his cup while he was not looking.
"And we owe this to your grandmother, Miss Mapp?" he asked gallantly.
"That's a second debt."
Miss Mapp acknowledged this polite subtlety with a reservation.
"But not the champagne in it, Major," she said. "Grandmamma Nap----"
The Major beat his thigh in ecstasy.
"Ha! That's a good Spoonerism for Miss Isabel's book," he said. "Miss
Isabel, we've got a new----"
Miss Mapp was very much puzzled at this slight confusion in her speech,
for her utterance was usually remarkably distinct. There might be some
little joke made at her expense on the effect of Grandmamma Mapp's
invention if this lovely Spoonerism was published. But if she who had
only just tasted the red-currant fool tripped in her speech, how amply
were Major Flint's good nature and Captain Puffin's incessant laugh
accounted for. She herself felt very good-natured, too. How pleasant it
all was!
"Oh, naughty!" she said to the Major. "Pray, hush! you're disturbing
them at their rubber. And here's the Padre back again!"
The new rubber had only just begun (indeed, it was lucky that they cut
their cards without any delay) when Mrs. Poppit appeared on her return
from her expedition to London. Miss Mapp begged her to take her hand,
and instantly began playing.
"It would really be a kindness to me, Mrs. Poppit," she said; "(No
diamonds at all, partner?) but of course, if you won't---- You've been
missing such a lovely party. So much enjoyment!"
Suddenly she saw that Mrs. Poppit was wearing on her ample breast a
small piece of riband with a little cross attached to it. Her entire
stock of good-humour vanished, and she smiled her widest.
"We needn't ask what took you to London," she said. "Congratulations!
How was the dear King?"
This rubber was soon over, and even as they were adding up the score,
there arose a shrill outcry from the next table, where Mrs. Plaistow, as
usual, had made the tale of her winnings sixpence in excess of what
anybody else considered was due to her. The sound of that was so
familiar that nobody looked up or asked what was going on.
"Darling Diva and her bawbees, Padre," said Miss Mapp in an aside. "So
modest in her demands. Oh, she's stopped! Somebody has given her
sixpence. Not another rubber? Well, perhaps it is rather late, and I
must say good-night to my flowers before they close up for the night.
All those shillings mine? Fancy!"
Miss Mapp was seething with excitement, curiosity and rage, as with
Major Flint on one side of her and Captain Puffin on the other, she was
escorted home. The excitement was due to her winnings, the rage to Mrs.
Poppit's Order, the curiosity to the clue she believed she had found to
those inexplicable lights that burned so late in the houses of her
companions. Certainly it seemed that Major Flint was trying not to step
on the joints of the paving-stones, and succeeding very imperfectly,
while Captain Puffin, on her left, was walking very unevenly on the
cobbles. Even making due allowance for the difficulty of walking evenly
there at any time, Miss Mapp could not help thinking that a teetotaller
would have made a better job of it than that. Both gentlemen talked at
once, very agreeably but rather carefully, Major Flint promising himself
a studious evening over some very interesting entries in his Indian
Diary, while Captain Puffin anticipated the speedy solution of that
problem about the Roman road which had puzzled him so long. As they said
their "Au reservoirs" to her on her doorstep, they took off their hats
more often than politeness really demanded.
Once in her house Miss Mapp postponed her good-nights to her sweet
flowers, and hurried with the utmost speed of which she was capable to
her garden-room, in order to see what her companions were doing. They
were standing in the middle of the street, and Major Flint, with
gesticulating forefinger, was being very impressive over something....
* * * * *
Interesting as was Miss Mapp's walk home, and painful as was the light
which it had conceivably thrown on the problem that had baffled her for
so long, she might have been even more acutely disgusted had she
lingered on with the rest of the bridge-party in Mrs. Poppit's garden,
so revolting was the sycophantic loyalty of the newly-decorated Member
of the British Empire.... She described minutely her arrival at the
Palace, her momentary nervousness as she entered the Throne-room, the
instantaneousness with which that all vanished when she came face to
face with her Sovereign.
"I assure you, he gave the most gracious smile," she said, "just as if
we had known each other all our lives, and I felt at home at once. And
he said a few words to me--such a beautiful voice he has. Dear Isabel, I
wish you had been there to hear it, and then----"
"Oh, Mamma, what did he say?" asked Isabel, to the great relief of Mrs.
Plaistow and the Bartletts, for while they were bursting with eagerness
to know with the utmost detail all that had taken place, the correct
attitude in Tilling was profound indifference to anybody of whatever
degree who did not live at Tilling, and to anything that did not happen
there. In particular, any manifestation of interest in kings or other
distinguished people was held to be a very miserable failing.... So they
all pretended to look about them, and take no notice of what Mrs. Poppit
was saying, and you might have heard a pin drop. Diva silently and
hastily unwound her cloud from over her ears, risking catching cold in
the hole where her tooth had been, so terrified was she of missing a
single syllable.
"Well, it was very gratifying," said Mrs. Poppit; "he whispered to some
gentleman standing near him, who I think was the Lord Chamberlain, and
then told me how interested he had been in the good work of the Tilling
hospital, and how especially glad he was to be able--and just then he
began to pin my Order on--to be able to recognize it. Now I call that
wonderful to know all about the Tilling hospital! And such neat, quick
fingers he has: I am sure it would take me double the time to make a
safety-pin hold, and then he gave me another smile, and passed me on, so
to speak, to the Queen, who stood next him, and who had been listening
to all he had said."
"And did she speak to you too?" asked Diva, quite unable to maintain the
right indifference.
"Indeed she did: she said, 'So pleased,' and what she put into those two
words I'm sure I can never convey to you. I could hear how sincere they
were: it was no set form of words, as if she meant nothing by it. She
_was_ pleased: she was just as interested in what I had done for the
Tilling hospital as the King was. And the crowds outside: they lined the
Mall for at least fifty yards. I was bowing and smiling on this side and
that till I felt quite dizzy."
"And was the Prince of Wales there?" asked Diva, beginning to wind her
head up again. She did not care about the crowds.
"No, he wasn't there," said Mrs. Poppit, determined to have no
embroidery in her story, however much other people, especially Miss
Mapp, decorated remarkable incidents till you hardly recognized them.
"He wasn't there. I daresay something had unexpectedly detained him,
though I shouldn't wonder if before long we all saw him. For I noticed
in the evening paper which I was reading on the way down here, after I
had seen the King, that he was going to stay with Lord Ardingly for this
very next week-end. And what's the station for Ardingly Park if it isn't
Tilling? Though it's quite a private visit, I feel convinced that the
right and proper thing for me to do is to be at the station, or, at any
rate, just outside, with my Order on. I shall not claim acquaintance
with him, or anything of that kind," said Mrs. Poppit, fingering her
Order; "but after my reception to-day at the Palace, nothing can be more
likely than that His Majesty might mention--quite casually, of
course--to the Prince that he had just given a decoration to Mrs. Poppit
of Tilling. And it would make me feel very awkward to think that that
had happened, and I was not somewhere about to make my curtsy."
"Oh, Mamma, may I stand by you, or behind you?" asked Isabel, completely
dazzled by the splendour of this prospect and prancing about the
lawn....
This was quite awful: it was as bad as, if not worse than, the
historically disastrous remark about super-tax, and a general rigidity,
as of some partial cataleptic seizure, froze Mrs. Poppit's guests,
rendering them, like incomplete Marconi installations, capable of
receiving, but not of transmitting. They received these impressions,
they also continued (mechanically) to receive more chocolates and
sandwiches, and such refreshments as remained on the buffet; but no one
could intervene and stop Mrs. Poppit from exposing herself further. One
reason for this, of course, as already indicated, was that they all
longed for her to expose herself as much as she possibly could, for if
there was a quality--and, indeed, there were many--on which Tilling
prided itself, it was on its immunity from snobbishness: there were, no
doubt, in the great world with which Tilling concerned itself so little
kings and queens and dukes and Members of the Order of the British
Empire; but every Tillingite knew that he or she (particularly she) was
just as good as any of them, and indeed better, being more fortunate
than they in living in Tilling.... And if there was a process in the
world which Tilling detested, it was being patronized, and there was
this woman telling them all what she felt it right and proper for her,
as Mrs. Poppit of Tilling (M.B.E.), to do, when the Heir Apparent should
pass through the town on Saturday. The rest of them, Mrs. Poppit
implied, might do what they liked, for they did not matter; but
she--she must put on her Order and make her curtsy. And Isabel, by her
expressed desire to stand beside, or even behind, her mother for this
degrading moment had showed of what stock she came.
Mrs. Poppit had nothing more to say on this subject; indeed, as Diva
reflected, there was really nothing more that could be said, unless she
suggested that they should all bow and curtsy to her for the future, and
their hostess proceeded, as they all took their leave, to hope that they
had enjoyed the bridge-party which she had been unavoidably prevented
from attending.
"But my absence made it possible to include Miss Mapp," she said. "I
should not have liked poor Miss Mapp to feel left out; I am always glad
to give Miss Mapp pleasure. I hope she won her rubber; she does not like
losing. Will no one have a little more red-currant fool? Boon has made
it very tolerably to-day. A Scotch recipe of my great-grandmother's."
Diva gave a little cackle of laughter as she enfolded herself in her
cloud again. She had heard Miss Mapp's ironical inquiry as to how the
dear King was, and had thought at the time that it was probably a pity
that Miss Mapp had said that.
* * * * *
Though abhorrence of snobbery and immunity from any taint of it was so
fine a characteristic of public social life at Tilling, the expected
passage of this distinguished visitor through the town on Saturday next
became very speedily known, and before the wicker-baskets of the ladies
in their morning marketings next day were half full, there was no
quarter which the news had failed to reach. Major Flint had it from Mrs.
Plaistow, as he went down to the eleven-twenty tram out to the
golf-links, and though he had not much time to spare (for his work last
night on his old diaries had caused him to breakfast unusually late that
morning to the accompaniment of a dismal headache from
over-application), he had stopped to converse with Miss Mapp immediately
afterwards, with one eye on the time, for naturally he could not fire
off that sort of news point-blank at her, as if it was a matter of any
interest or importance.
"Good morning, dear lady," he said. "By Jove! what a picture of health
and freshness you are!"
Miss Mapp cast one glance at her basket to see that the paper quite
concealed that article of clothing which the perfidious laundry had
found. (Probably the laundry knew where it was all the time, and--in a
figurative sense, of course--was "trying it on.")
"Early to bed and early to rise, Major," she said. "I saw my sweet
flowers open their eyes this morning! Such a beautiful dew!"
"Well, my diaries kept me up late last night," he said. "When all you
fascinating ladies have withdrawn is the only time at which I can bring
myself to sit down to them."
"Let me recommend six to eight in the morning, Major," said Miss Mapp
earnestly. "Such a freshness of brain then."
That seemed to be a cul-de-sac in the way of leading up to the important
subject, and the Major tried another turning.
"Good, well-fought game of bridge we had yesterday," he said. "Just met
Mrs. Plaistow; she stopped on for a chat after we had gone."
"Dear Diva; she loves a good gossip," said Miss Mapp effusively. "Such
an interest she has in other people's affairs. So human and
sympathetic. I'm sure our dear hostess told her all about her adventures
at the Palace."
There was only seven minutes left before the tram started, and though
this was not a perfect opening, it would have to do. Besides, the Major
saw Mrs. Plaistow coming energetically along the High Street with
whirling feet.
"Yes, and we haven't finished with--ha--royalty yet," he said, getting
the odious word out with difficulty. "The Prince of Wales will be
passing through the town on Saturday, on his way to Ardingly Park, where
he is spending the Sunday."
Miss Mapp was not betrayed into the smallest expression of interest.
"That will be nice for him," she said. "He will catch a glimpse of our
beautiful Tilling."
"So he will! Well, I'm off for my game of golf. Perhaps the Navy will be
a bit more efficient to-day."
"I'm sure you will both play perfectly!" said Miss Mapp.
Diva had "popped" into the grocer's. She always popped everywhere just
now; she popped across to see a friend, and she popped home again; she
popped into church on Sunday, and occasionally popped up to town, and
Miss Mapp was beginning to feel that somebody ought to let her know,
directly or by insinuation, that she popped too much. So, thinking that
an opportunity might present itself now, Miss Mapp read the news-board
outside the stationer's till Diva popped out of the grocer's again. The
headlines of news, even the largest of them, hardly reached her brain,
because it entirely absorbed in another subject. Of course, the first
thing was to find out by what train....
Diva trundled swiftly across the street.
"Good morning, Elizabeth," she said. "You left the party too early
yesterday. Missed a lot. How the King smiled! How the Queen said 'So
pleased.'"
"Our dear hostess would like that," said Miss Mapp pensively. "She would
be so pleased, too. She and the Queen would both be pleased. Quite a
pair of them."
"By the way, on Saturday next----" began Diva.
"I know, dear," said Miss Mapp. "Major Flint told me. It seemed quite to
interest him. Now I must pop into the stationer's----"
Diva was really very obtuse.
"I'm popping in there, too," she said. "Want a time-table of the
trains."
Wild horses would not have dragged from Miss Mapp that this was
precisely what she wanted.
"I only wanted a little ruled paper," she said. "Why, here's dear Evie
popping out just as we pop in! Good morning, sweet Evie. Lovely day
again."
Mrs. Bartlett thrust something into her basket which very much resembled
a railway time-table. She spoke in a low, quick voice, as if afraid of
being overheard, and was otherwise rather like a mouse. When she was
excited she squeaked.
"So good for the harvest," she said. "Such an important thing to have a
good harvest. I hope next Saturday will be fine; it would be a pity if
he had a wet day. We were wondering, Kenneth and I, what would be the
proper thing to do, if he came over for service--oh, here is Kenneth!"
She stopped abruptly, as if afraid that she had betrayed too much
interest in next Saturday and Sunday. Kenneth would manage it much
better.
"Ha! lady fair," he exclaimed. "Having a bit crack with wee wifey? Any
news this bright morning?"
"No, dear Padre," said Miss Mapp, showing her gums. "At least, I've
heard nothing of any interest. I can only give you the news of my
garden. Such lovely new roses in bloom to-day, bless them!"
Mrs. Plaistow had popped into the stationer's, so this perjury was
undetected.
The Padre was noted for his diplomacy. Just now he wanted to convey the
impression that nothing which could happen next Saturday or Sunday could
be of the smallest interest to him; whereas he had spent an almost
sleepless night in wondering whether it would, in certain circumstances,
be proper to make a bow at the beginning of his sermon and another at
the end; whether he ought to meet the visitor at the west door; whether
the mayor ought to be told, and whether there ought to be special
psalms....
"Well, lady fair," he said. "Gossip will have it that ye Prince of Wales
is staying at Ardingly for the Sunday; indeed, he will, I suppose, pass
through Tilling on Saturday afternoon----"
Miss Mapp put her forefinger to her forehead, as if trying to recollect
something.
"Yes, now somebody did tell me that," she said. "Major Flint, I believe.
But when you asked for news I thought you meant something that really
interested me. Yes, Padre?"
"Aweel, if he comes to service on Sunday----?"
"Dear Padre, I'm sure he'll hear a very good sermon. Oh, I see what you
mean! Whether you ought to have any special hymn? Don't ask poor little
me! Mrs. Poppit, I'm sure, would tell you. She knows all about courts
and etiquette."
Diva popped out of the stationer's at this moment.
"Sold out," she announced. "Everybody wanted time-tables this morning.
Evie got the last. Have to go to the station."
"I'll walk with you, Diva, dear," said Miss Mapp. "There's a parcel
that---- Good-bye, dear Evie, au reservoir."
She kissed her hand to Mrs. Bartlett, leaving a smile behind it, as it
fluttered away from her face, for the Padre.
Miss Mapp was so impenetrably wrapped in thought as she worked among her
sweet flowers that afternoon, that she merely stared at a
"love-in-a-mist," which she had absently rooted up instead of a piece of
groundsel, without any bleeding of the heart for one of her sweet
flowers. There were two trains by which He might arrive--one at 4.15,
which would get him to Ardingly for tea, the other at 6.45. She was
quite determined to see him, but more inflexible than that resolve was
the Euclidean postulate that no one in Tilling should think that she had
taken any deliberate step to do so. For the present she had disarmed
suspicion by the blankness of her indifference as to what might happen
on Saturday or Sunday; but she herself strongly suspected that everybody
else, in spite of the public attitude of Tilling to such subjects, was
determined to see him too. How to see and not be seen was the question
which engrossed her, and though she might possibly happen to be at that
sharp corner outside the station where every motor had to go slow, on
the arrival of the 4.15, it would never do to risk being seen there
again precisely at 6.45. Mrs. Poppit, shameless in her snobbery, would
no doubt be at the station with her Order on at both these hours, if the
arrival did not take place by the first train, and Isabel would be
prancing by or behind her, and, in fact, dreadful though it was to
contemplate, all Tilling, she reluctantly believed, would be hanging
about.... Then an idea struck her, so glorious, that she put the
uprooted love-in-a-mist in the weed-basket, instead of planting it
again, and went quickly indoors, up to the attics, and from there
popped--really popped, so tight was the fit--through a trap-door on to
the roof. Yes: the station was plainly visible, and if the 4.15 was the
favoured train, there would certainly be a motor from Ardingly Park
waiting there in good time for its arrival. From the house-roof she
could ascertain that, and she would then have time to trip down the hill
and get to her coal merchant's at that sharp corner outside the station,
and ask, rather peremptorily, when the coke for her central heating
might be expected. It was due now, and though it would be unfortunate if
it arrived before Saturday, it was quite easy to smile away her
peremptory manner, and say that Withers had not told her. Miss Mapp
hated prevarication, but a major force sometimes came along.... But if
no motors from Ardingly Park were in waiting for the 4.15 (as spied from
her house-roof), she need not risk being seen in the neighbourhood of
the station, but would again make observations some few minutes before
the 6.45 was due. There was positively no other train by which He could
come....
The next day or two saw no traceable developments in the situation, but
Miss Mapp's trained sense told her that there was underground work of
some kind going on: she seemed to hear faint hollow taps and muffled
knockings, and, so to speak, the silence of some unusual pregnancy. Up
and down the High Street she observed short whispered conversations
going on between her friends, which broke off on her approach. This only
confirmed her view that these secret colloquies were connected with
Saturday afternoon, for it was not to be expected that, after her
freezing reception of the news, any projected snobbishness should be
confided to her, and though she would have liked to know what Diva and
Irene and darling Evie were meaning to do, the fact that they none of
them told her, showed that they were aware that she, at any rate, was
utterly indifferent to and above that sort of thing. She suspected, too,
that Major Flint had fallen victim to this unTilling-like mania, for on
Friday afternoon, when passing his door, which happened to be standing
open, she quite distinctly saw him in front of his glass in the hall
(standing on the head of one of the tigers to secure a better view of
himself), trying on a silk top-hat. Her own errand at this moment was to
the draper's, where she bought a quantity of pretty pale blue braid, for
a little domestic dress-making which was in arrears, and some riband of
the same tint. At this clever and unusual hour for shopping, the High
Street was naturally empty, and after a little hesitation and many
anxious glances to right and left, she plunged into the toy-shop and
bought a pleasant little Union Jack with a short stick attached to it.
She told Mr. Dabnet very distinctly that it was a present for her
nephew, and concealed it inside her parasol, where it lay quite flat and
made no perceptible bulge....
At four o'clock on Saturday afternoon, she remembered that the damp had
come in through her bedroom ceiling in a storm last winter, and told
Withers she was going to have a look to see if any tiles were loose. In
order to ascertain this for certain, she took up through the trap door a
pair of binocular glasses, through which it was also easy to identify
anybody who might be in the open yard outside the station. Even as she
looked, Mrs. Poppit and Isabel crossed the yard into the waiting-room
and ticket-office. It was a little surprising that there were not more
friends in the station-yard, but at the moment she heard a loud Qui-hi
in the street below, and cautiously peering over the parapet, she got an
admirable view of the Major in a frock-coat and tall hat. A "Coo-ee"
answered him, and Captain Puffin, in a new suit (Miss Mapp was certain
of it) and a Panama hat, joined him. They went down the street and
turned the corner.... Across the opening to the High Street there shot
the figure of darling Diva.
While waiting for them to appear again in the station-yard, Miss Mapp
looked to see what vehicles were standing there. It was already ten
minutes past four, and the Ardingly motors must have been there by this
time, if there was anything "doing" by the 4.15. But positively the only
vehicle there was an open trolly laden with a piano in a sack. Apart
from knowing all about that piano, for Mrs. Poppit had talked about
little else than her new upright Bluthner before her visit to Buckingham
Palace, a moment's reflection convinced Miss Mapp that this was a very
unlikely mode of conveyance for any guest.... She watched for a few
moments more, but as no other friends appeared in the station-yard, she
concluded that they were hanging about the street somewhere, poor
things, and decided not to make inquiries about her coke just yet.
She had tea while she arranged flowers, in the very front of the window
in her garden-room, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing many of
the baffled loyalists trudging home. There was no need to do more than
smile and tap the window and kiss her hand: they all knew that she had
been busy with her flowers, and that she knew what they had been busy
about.... Out again they all came towards half-past six, and when she
had watched the last of them down the hill, she hurried back to the
roof again, to make a final inspection of the loose tiles through her
binoculars. Brief but exciting was that inspection, for opposite the
entrance to the station was drawn up a motor. So clear was the air and
so serviceable her binoculars that she could distinguish the vulgar
coronet on the panels, and as she looked Mrs. Poppit and Isabel hurried
across the station-yard. It was then but the work of a moment to slip on
the dust-cloak trimmed with blue braid, adjust the hat with the blue
riband, and take up the parasol with its furled Union Jack inside it.
The stick of the flag was uppermost; she could whip it out in a moment.
* * * * *
Miss Mapp had calculated her appearance to a nicety. Just as she got to
the sharp corner opposite the station, where all cars slowed down and
her coal-merchant's office was situated, the train drew up. By the gates
into the yard were standing the Major in his top-hat, the Captain in his
Panama, Irene in a civilized skirt; Diva in a brand-new walking dress,
and the Padre and wee wifey. They were all looking in the direction of
the station, and Miss Mapp stepped into the coal-merchant's unobserved.
Oddly enough the coke had been sent three days before, and there was no
need for peremptoriness.
"So good of you, Mr. Wootten!" she said; "and why is everyone standing
about this afternoon?"
Mr. Wootten explained the reason of this, and Miss Mapp, grasping her
parasol, went out again as the car left the station. There were too many
dear friends about, she decided, to use the Union Jack, and having seen
what she wanted to she determined to slip quietly away again. Already
the Major's hat was in his hand, and he was bowing low, so too were
Captain Puffin and the Padre, while Irene, Diva and Evie were making
little ducking movements.... Miss Mapp was determined, when it came to
her turn, to show them, as she happened to be on the spot, what a proper
curtsy was.
The car came opposite her, and she curtsied so low that recovery was
impossible, and she sat down in the road. Her parasol flew out of her
hand and out of her parasol flew the Union Jack. She saw a young man
looking out of the window, dressed in khaki, grinning broadly, but not,
so she thought, graciously, and it suddenly struck her that there was
something, beside her own part in the affair, which was not as it should
be. As he put his head in again there was loud laughter from the inside
of the car.
Mr. Wootten helped her up and the entire assembly of her friends crowded
round her, hoping she was not hurt.
"No, dear Major, dear Padre, not at all, thanks," she said. "So stupid:
my ancle turned. Oh, yes, the Union Jack I bought for my nephew, it's
his birthday to-morrow. Thank you. I just came to see about my coke: of
course I thought the Prince had arrived when you all went down to meet
the 4.15. Fancy my running straight into it all! How well he looked."
This was all rather lame, and Miss Mapp hailed Mrs. Poppit's appearance
from the station as a welcome diversion.... Mrs. Poppit was looking
vexed.
"I hope you saw him well, Mrs. Poppit," said Miss Mapp, "after meeting
two trains, and taking all that trouble."
"Saw who?" said Mrs. Poppit with a deplorable lack both of manner and
grammar. "Why"--light seemed to break on her odious countenance. "Why,
you don't think that was the Prince, do you, Miss Mapp? He arrived here
at one, so the station-master has just told me, and has been playing
golf all afternoon."
The Major looked at the Captain, and the Captain at the Major. It was
months and months since they had missed their Saturday afternoon's golf.
"It was the Prince of Wales who looked out of that car-window," said
Miss Mapp firmly. "Such a pleasant smile. I should know it anywhere."
"The young man who got into the car at the station was no more the
Prince of Wales than you are," said Mrs. Poppit shrilly. "I was close to
him as he came out: I curtsied to him before I saw."
Miss Mapp instantly changed her attack: she could hardly hold her smile
on to her face for rage.
"How very awkward for you," she said. "What a laugh they will all have
over it this evening! Delicious!"
Mrs. Poppit's face suddenly took on an expression of the tenderest
solicitude.
"I hope, Miss Mapp, you didn't jar yourself when you sat down in the
road just now," she said.
"Not at all, thank you so much," said Miss Mapp, hearing her heart beat
in her throat.... If she had had a naval fifteen-inch gun handy, and had
known how to fire it, she would, with a sense of duty accomplished, have
discharged it point-blank at the Order of the Member of the British
Empire, and at anybody else who might be within range....
* * * * *
Sunday, of course, with all the opportunities of that day, still
remained, and the seats of the auxiliary choir, which were
advantageously situated, had never been so full, but as it was all no
use, the Major and Captain Puffin left during the sermon to catch the
12.20 tram out to the links. On this delightful day it was but natural
that the pleasant walk there across the marsh was very popular, and
golfers that afternoon had a very trying and nervous time, for the
ladies of Tilling kept bobbing up from behind sand-dunes and bunkers,
as, regardless of the players, they executed swift flank marches in all
directions. Miss Mapp returned exhausted about tea-time to hear from
Withers that the Prince had spent an hour or more rambling about the
town, and had stopped quite five minutes at the corner by the
garden-room. He had actually sat down on Miss Mapp's steps and smoked a
cigarette. She wondered if the end of the cigarette was there still: it
was hateful to have cigarette-ends defiling the steps to her front-door,
and often before now, when sketchers were numerous, she had sent her
housemaid out to remove these untidy relics. She searched for it, but
was obliged to come to the reluctant conclusion that there was nothing
to remove....