The sea-mist and the rain continued without intermission next morning,
but shopping with umbrellas and mackintoshes was unusually brisk, for
there was naturally a universally felt desire to catch sight of a
Contessa with as little delay as possible. The foggy conditions perhaps
added to the excitement, for it was not possible to see more than a few
yards, and thus at any moment anybody might almost run into her. Diva's
impressions, meagre though they were, had been thoroughly circulated,
but the morning passed, and the ladies of Tilling went home to change
their wet things and take a little ammoniated quinine as a precaution
after so long and chilly an exposure, without a single one of them
having caught sight of the single eyeglass. It was disappointing, but
the disappointment was bearable since Mr. Wyse, so far from wanting his
party to be very small, had been encouraged by Mrs. Poppit to hope that
it would include all his world of Tilling with one exception. He had
hopes with regard to the Major and the Captain, and the Padre and wee
wifie, and Irene and Miss Mapp, and of course Isabel. But apparently he
despaired of Diva.
She alone therefore was absent from this long, wet shopping, for she
waited indoors, almost pen in hand, to answer in the affirmative the
invitation which had at present not arrived. Owing to the thickness of
the fog, her absence from the street passed unnoticed, for everybody
supposed that everybody else had seen her, while she, biting her nails
at home, waited and waited and waited. Then she waited. About a quarter
past one she gave it up, and duly telephoned, according to promise, via
Janet and Withers, to Miss Mapp to say that Mr. Wyse had not yet hoped.
It was very unpleasant to let them know, but if she had herself rung up
and been answered by Elizabeth, who usually rushed to the telephone, she
felt that she would sooner have choked than have delivered this message.
So Janet telephoned and Withers said she would tell her mistress. And
did.
Miss Mapp was steeped in pleasant conjectures. The most likely of all
was that the Contessa had seen that roundabout little busybody in the
station, and taken an instant dislike to her through her single
eyeglass. Or she might have seen poor Diva inquisitively inspecting the
luggage with the coronets and the Fs on it, and have learned with pain
that this was one of the ladies of Tilling. "Algernon," she would have
said (so said Miss Mapp to herself), "who is that queer little woman? Is
she going to steal some of my luggage?" And then Algernon would have
told her that this was poor Diva, quite a decent sort of little body.
But when it came to Algernon asking his guests for the dinner-party in
honour of his betrothal and her arrival at Tilling, no doubt the
Contessa would have said, "Algernon, I beg...." Or if Diva--poor
Diva--was right in her conjectures that the notes had been written
before the arrival of the train, it was evident that Algernon had torn
up the one addressed to Diva, when the Contessa heard whom she was to
meet the next evening.... Or Susan might easily have insinuated that
they would have two very pleasant tables of bridge after dinner without
including Diva, who was so wrong and quarrelsome over the score. Any of
these explanations were quite satisfactory, and since Diva would not be
present, Miss Mapp would naturally don the crimson-lake. They would all
see what crimson-lake looked like when it decked a suitable wearer and
was not parodied on the other side of a card-table. How true, as dear
Major Benjy had said, that one woman could wear what another could
not.... And if there was a woman who could not wear crimson-lake it was
Diva.... Or was Mr. Wyse really ashamed to let his sister see Diva in
the crimson-lake? It would be just like him to be considerate of Diva,
and not permit her to make a guy of herself before the Italian
aristocracy. No doubt he would ask her to lunch some day, quite quietly.
Or had ... Miss Mapp bloomed with pretty conjectures, like some Alpine
meadow when smitten into flower by the spring, and enjoyed her lunch
very much indeed.
The anxiety and suspense of the morning, which, instead of being
relieved, had ended in utter gloom, gave Diva a headache, and she
adopted her usual strenuous methods of getting rid of it. So, instead of
lying down and taking aspirin and dozing, she set out after lunch to
walk it off. She sprinted and splashed along the miry roads, indifferent
as to whether she stepped in puddles or not, and careless how wet she
got. She bit on the bullet of her omission from the dinner-party this
evening, determining not to mind one atom about it, but to look forward
to a pleasant evening at home instead of going out (like this) in the
wet. And never--never under any circumstances would she ask any of the
guests what sort of an evening had been spent, how Mr. Wyse announced
the news, and how the Faradiddleony played bridge. (She said that
satirical word aloud, mouthing it to the puddles and the dripping
hedge-rows.) She would not evince the slightest interest in it all; she
would cover it with spadefuls of oblivion, and when next she met Mr.
Wyse she would, whatever she might feel, behave exactly as usual. She
plumed herself on this dignified resolution, and walked so fast that the
hedge-rows became quite transparent. That was the proper thing to do;
she had been grossly slighted, and, like a true lady, would be unaware
of that slight; whereas poor Elizabeth, under such circumstances, would
have devised a hundred petty schemes for rendering Mr. Wyse's life a
burden to him. But if--if (she only said "if") she found any reason to
believe that Susan was at the bottom of this, then probably she would
think of something worthy not so much of a true lady but of a true
woman. Without asking any questions, she might easily arrive at
information which would enable her to identify Susan as the culprit, and
she would then act in some way which would astonish Susan. What that way
was she need not think yet, and so she devoted her entire mind to the
question all the way home.
Feeling better and with her headache quite gone, she arrived in Tilling
again drenched to the skin. It was already after tea-time, and she
abandoned tea altogether, and prepared to console herself for her
exclusion from gaiety with a "good blow-out" in the shape of regular
dinner, instead of the usual muffin now and a tray later. To add dignity
to her feast, she put on the crimson-lake tea-gown for the last time
that it would be crimson-lake (though the same tea-gown still), since
to-morrow it would be sent to the dyer's to go into perpetual mourning
for its vanished glories. She had meant to send it to-day, but all this
misery and anxiety had put it out of her head.
Having dressed thus, to the great astonishment of Janet, she sat down to
divert her mind from trouble by Patience. As if to reward her for her
stubborn fortitude, the malignity of the cards relented, and she
brought out an intricate matter three times running. The clock on her
mantelpiece chiming a quarter to eight, surprised her with the lateness
of the hour, and recalled to her with a stab of pain that it was
dinner-time at Mr. Wyse's, and at this moment some seven pairs of eager
feet were approaching the door. Well, she was dining at a quarter to
eight, too; Janet would enter presently to tell her that her own banquet
was ready, and gathering up her cards, she spent a pleasant though
regretful minute in looking at herself and the crimson-lake for the last
time in her long glass. The tremendous walk in the rain had given her an
almost equally high colour. Janet's foot was heard on the stairs, and
she turned away from the glass. Janet entered.
"Dinner?" said Diva.
"No, ma'am, the telephone," said Janet. "Mr. Wyse is on the telephone,
and wants to speak to you very particularly."
"Mr. Wyse himself?" asked Diva, hardly believing her ears, for she knew
Mr. Wyse's opinion of the telephone.
"Yes, ma'am."
Diva walked slowly, but reflected rapidly. What must have happened was
that somebody had been taken ill at the last moment--was it
Elizabeth?--and that he now wanted her to fill the gap.... She was torn
in two. Passionately as she longed to dine at Mr. Wyse's, she did not
see how such a course was compatible with dignity. He had only asked her
to suit his own convenience; it was not out of encouragement to hope
that he invited her now. No; Mr. Wyse should want. She would say that
she had friends dining with her; that was what the true lady would do.
She took up the ear-piece and said, "Hullo!"
It was certainly Mr. Wyse's voice that spoke to her, and it seemed to
tremble with anxiety.
"Dear lady," he began, "a most terrible thing has happened----"
(Wonder if Elizabeth's very ill, thought Diva.)
"Quite terrible," said Mr. Wyse. "Can you hear?"
"Yes," said Diva, hardening her heart.
"By the most calamitous mistake the note which I wrote you yesterday was
never delivered. Figgis has just found it in the pocket of his overcoat.
I shall certainly dismiss him unless you plead for him. Can you hear?"
"Yes," said Diva excitedly.
"In it I told you that I had been encouraged to hope that you would dine
with me to-night. There was such a gratifying response to my other
invitations that I most culpably and carelessly, dear lady, thought that
everybody had accepted. Can you hear?"
"Of course I can!" shouted Diva.
"Well, I come on my knees to you. Can you possibly forgive the joint
stupidity of Figgis and me, and honour me after all? We will put dinner
off, of course. At what time, in case you are ever so kind and indulgent
as to come, shall we have it? Do not break my heart by refusing.
Su--Mrs. Poppit will send her car for you."
"I have already dressed for dinner," said Diva proudly. "Very pleased to
come at once."
"You are too kind; you are angelic," said Mr. Wyse. "The car shall start
at once; it is at my door now."
"Right," said Diva.
"Too good--too kind," murmured Mr. Wyse. "Figgis, what do I do next?"
Diva clapped the instrument into place.
"Powder," she said to herself, remembering what she had seen in the
glass, and whizzed upstairs. Her fish would have to be degraded into
kedgeree, though plaice would have done just as well as sole for that;
the cutlets could be heated up again, and perhaps the whisking for the
apple-meringue had not begun yet, and could still be stopped.
"Janet!" she shouted. "Going out to dinner! Stop the meringue."
She dashed an interesting pallor on to her face as she heard the hooting
of the Royce, and coming downstairs, stepped into its warm
luxuriousness, for the electric lamp was burning. There were Susan's
sables there--it was thoughtful of Susan to put them in, but
ostentatious--and there was a carriage rug, which she was convinced was
new, and was very likely a present from Mr. Wyse. And soon there was the
light streaming out from Mr. Wyse's open door, and Mr. Wyse himself in
the hall to meet and greet and thank and bless her. She pleaded for the
contrite Figgis, and was conducted in a blaze of triumph into the
drawing-room, where all Tilling was awaiting her. She was led up to the
Contessa, with whom Miss Mapp, wreathed in sycophantic smiles, was
eagerly conversing.
The crimson-lakes....
* * * * *
There were embarrassing moments during dinner; the Contessa confused by
having so many people introduced to her in a lump, got all their names
wrong, and addressed her neighbours as Captain Flint and Major Puffin,
and thought that Diva was Mrs. Mapp. She seemed vivacious and
good-humoured, dropped her eye-glass into her soup, talked with her
mouth full, and drank a good deal of wine, which was a very bad example
for Major Puffin. Then there were many sudden and complete pauses in the
talk, for Diva's news of the kissing of Mrs. Poppit by the Contessa had
spread like wildfire through the fog this morning, owing to Miss Mapp's
dissemination of it, and now, whenever Mr. Wyse raised his voice ever so
little, everybody else stopped talking, in the expectation that the news
was about to be announced. Occasionally, also, the Contessa addressed
some remark to her brother in shrill and voluble Italian, which rather
confirmed the gloomy estimate of her table-manners in the matter of
talking with her mouth full, for to speak in Italian was equivalent to
whispering, since the purport of what she said could not be understood
by anybody except him.... Then also, the sensation of dining with a
countess produced a slight feeling of strain, which, in addition to the
correct behaviour which Mr. Wyse's presence always induced, almost
congealed correctness into stiffness. But as dinner went on her evident
enjoyment of herself made itself felt, and her eccentricities, though
carefully observed and noted by Miss Mapp, were not succeeded by
silences and hurried bursts of conversation.
"And is your ladyship making a long stay in Tilling?" asked the (real)
Major, to cover the pause which had been caused by Mr. Wyse saying
something across the table to Isabel.
She dropped her eye-glass with quite a splash into her gravy, pulled it
out again by the string as if landing a fish and sucked it.
"That depends on you gentlemen," she said with greater audacity than was
usual in Tilling. "If you and Major Puffin and that sweet little Scotch
clergyman all fall in love with me, and fight duels about me, I will
stop for ever...."
The Major recovered himself before anybody else.
"Your ladyship may take that for granted," he said gallantly, and a
perfect hubbub of conversation rose to cover this awful topic.
She laid her hand on his arm.
"You must not call me ladyship, Captain Flint," she said. "Only servants
say that. Contessa, if you like. And you must blow away this fog for me.
I have seen nothing but bales of cotton-wool out of the window. Tell me
this, too: why are those ladies dressed alike? Are they sisters? Mrs.
Mapp, the little round one, and her sister, the big round one?"
The Major cast an apprehensive eye on Miss Mapp seated just opposite,
whose acuteness of hearing was one of the terrors of Tilling.... His
apprehensions were perfectly well founded, and Miss Mapp hated and
despised the Contessa from that hour.
"No, not sisters," said he, "and your la--you've made a little error
about the names. The one opposite is Miss Mapp, the other Mrs.
Plaistow."
The Contessa moderated her voice.
"I see; she looks vexed, your Miss Mapp. I think she must have heard,
and I will be very nice to her afterwards. Why does not one of you
gentlemen marry her? I see I shall have to arrange that. The sweet
little Scotch clergyman now; little men like big wives. Ah! Married
already is he to the mouse? Then it must be you, Captain Flint. We must
have more marriages in Tilling."
Miss Mapp could not help glancing at the Contessa, as she made this
remarkable observation. It must be the cue, she thought, for the
announcement of that which she had known so long.... In the space of a
wink the clever Contessa saw that she had her attention, and spoke
rather loudly to the Major.
"I have lost my heart to your Miss Mapp," she said. "I am jealous of
you, Captain Flint. She will be my great friend in Tilling, and if you
marry her, I shall hate you, for that will mean that she likes you
best."
Miss Mapp hated nobody at that moment, not even Diva, off whose face the
hastily-applied powder was crumbling, leaving little red marks peeping
out like the stars on a fine evening. Dinner came to an end with roasted
chestnuts brought by the Contessa from Capri.
"I always scold Amelia for the luggage she takes with her," said Mr.
Wyse to Diva. "Amelia dear, you are my hostess to-night"--everybody saw
him look at Mrs. Poppit--"you must catch somebody's eye."
"I will catch Miss Mapp's," said Amelia, and all the ladies rose as if
connected with some hidden mechanism which moved them simultaneously....
There was a great deal of pretty diffidence at the door, but the
Contessa put an end to that.
"Eldest first," she said, and marched out, making Miss Mapp, Diva and
the mouse feel remarkably young. She might drop her eye-glass and talk
with her mouth full, but really such tact.... They all determined to
adopt this pleasing device in the future. The disappointment about the
announcement of the engagement was sensibly assuaged, and Miss Mapp and
Susan, in their eagerness to be younger than the Contessa, and yet take
precedence of all the rest, almost stuck in the doorway. They rebounded
from each other, and Diva whizzed out between them. Quaint Irene went
in her right place--last. However quaint Irene was, there was no use in
pretending that she was not the youngest.
However hopelessly Amelia had lost her heart to Miss Mapp, she did not
devote her undivided attention to her in the drawing-room, but swiftly
established herself at the card-table, where she proceeded, with a most
complicated sort of Patience and a series of cigarettes, to while away
the time till the gentlemen joined them. Though the ladies of Tilling
had plenty to say to each other, it was all about her, and such comments
could not conveniently be made in her presence. Unless, like her, they
talked some language unknown to the subject of their conversation, they
could not talk at all, and so they gathered round her table, and watched
the lightning rapidity with which she piled black knaves on red queens
in some packs and red knaves on black queens in others. She had taken
off all her rings in order to procure a greater freedom of finger, and
her eye-glass continued to crash on to a glittering mass of magnificent
gems. The rapidity of her motions was only equalled by the swift and
surprising monologue that poured from her mouth.
"There, that odious king gets in my way," she said. "So like a man to
poke himself in where he isn't wanted. _Bacco!_ No, not that: I have a
cigarette. I hear all you ladies are terrific bridge-players: we will
have a game presently, and I shall sink into the earth with terror at
your Camorra! _Dio!_ there's another king, and that's his own queen whom
he doesn't want at all. He is _amoroso_ for that black queen, who is
quite covered up, and he would like to be covered up with her. Susan, my
dear" (that was interesting, but they all knew it already), "kindly
ring the bell for coffee. I expire if I do not get my coffee at once,
and a toothpick. Tell me all the scandal of Tilling, Miss Mapp, while I
play--all the dreadful histories of that Major and that Captain. Such a
grand air has the Captain--no, it is the Major, the one who does not
limp. Which of all you ladies do they love most? It is Miss Mapp, I
believe: that is why she does not answer me. Ah! here is the coffee, and
the other king: three lumps of sugar, dear Susan, and then stir it up
well, and hold it to my mouth, so that I can drink without interruption.
Ah, the ace! He is the intervener, or is it the King's Proctor? It would
be nice to have a proctor who told you all the love-affairs that were
going on. Susan, you must get me a proctor: you shall be my proctor. And
here are the men--the wretches, they have been preferring wine to women,
and we will have our bridge, and if anybody scolds me, I shall cry, Miss
Mapp, and Captain Flint will hold my hand and comfort me."
She gathered up a heap of cards and rings, dropped them on the floor,
and cut with the remainder.
Miss Mapp was very lenient with the Contessa, who was her partner, and
pointed out the mistakes of her and their adversaries with the most
winning smile and eagerness to explain things clearly. Then she revoked
heavily herself, and the Contessa, so far from being angry with her,
burst into peals of unquenchable merriment. This way of taking a revoke
was new to Tilling, for the right thing was for the revoker's partner to
sulk and be sarcastic for at least twenty minutes after. The Contessa's
laughter continued to spurt out at intervals during the rest of the
rubber, and it was all very pleasant; but at the end she said she was
not up to Tilling standards at all, and refused to play any more. Miss
Mapp, in the highest good-humour, urged her not to despair.
"Indeed, dear Contessa," she said, "you play very well. A little
overbidding of your hand, perhaps, do you think? but that is a tendency
we are all subject to: I often overbid my hand myself. Not a little wee
rubber more? I'm sure I should like to be your partner again. You must
come and play at my house some afternoon. We will have tea early, and
get a good two hours. Nothing like practice."
The evening came to an end without the great announcement being made,
but Miss Mapp, as she reviewed the events of the party, sitting next
morning in her observation-window, found the whole evidence so
overwhelming that it was no longer worth while to form conjectures,
however fruitful, on the subject, and she diverted her mind to pleasing
reminiscences and projects for the future. She had certainly been
distinguished by the Contessa's marked regard, and her opinion of her
charm and ability was of the very highest.... No doubt her strange
remark about duelling at dinner had been humorous in intention, but many
a true word is spoken in jest, and the Contessa--perspicacious
woman--had seen at once that Major Benjy and Captain Puffin were just
the sort of men who might get to duelling (or, at any rate, challenging)
about a woman. And her asking which of the ladies the men were most in
love with, and her saying that she believed it was Miss Mapp! Miss Mapp
had turned nearly as red as poor Diva when that came out, so lightly and
yet so acutely....
Diva! It had, of course, been a horrid blow to find that Diva had been
asked to Mr. Wyse's party in the first instance, and an even shrewder
one when Diva entered (with such unnecessary fussing and apology on the
part of Mr. Wyse) in the crimson-lake. Luckily, it would be seen no
more, for Diva had promised--if you could trust Diva--to send it to the
dyer's; but it was a great puzzle to know why Diva had it on at all, if
she was preparing to spend a solitary evening at home. By eight o'clock
she ought by rights to have already had her tray, dressed in some old
thing; but within three minutes of her being telephoned for she had
appeared in the crimson-lake, and eaten so heartily that it was
impossible to imagine, greedy though she was, that she had already
consumed her tray.... But in spite of Diva's adventitious triumph, the
main feeling in Miss Mapp's mind was pity for her. She looked so
ridiculous in that dress with the powder peeling off her red face. No
wonder the dear Contessa stared when she came in.
There was her bridge-party for the Contessa to consider. The Contessa
would be less nervous, perhaps, if there was only one table: that would
be more homey and cosy, and it would at the same time give rise to great
heart-burnings and indignation in the breasts of those who were left
out. Diva would certainly be one of the spurned, and the Contessa would
not play with Mr. Wyse.... Then there was Major Benjy, he must certainly
be asked, for it was evident that the Contessa delighted in him....
Suddenly Miss Mapp began to feel less sure that Major Benjy must be of
the party. The Contessa, charming though she was, had said several very
tropical, Italian things to him. She had told him that she would stop
here for ever if the men fought duels about her. She had said "you dear
darling" to him at bridge when, as adversary, he failed to trump her
losing card, and she had asked him to ask her to tea ("with no one else,
for I have a great deal to say to you"), when the general macedoine of
sables, au reservoirs, and thanks for such a nice evening took place in
the hall. Miss Mapp was not, in fact, sure, when she thought it over,
that the Contessa was a nice friend for Major Benjy. She did not do him
the injustice of imagining that he would ask her to tea alone; the very
suggestion proved that it must be a piece of the Contessa's Southern
extravagance of expression. But, after all, thought Miss Mapp to
herself, as she writhed at the idea, her other extravagant expressions
were proved to cover a good deal of truth. In fact, the Major's chance
of being asked to the select bridge-party diminished swiftly towards
vanishing point.
It was time (and indeed late) to set forth on morning marketings, and
Miss Mapp had already determined not to carry her capacious basket with
her to-day, in case of meeting the Contessa in the High Street. It would
be grander and Wysier and more magnificent to go basket-less, and direct
that the goods should be sent up, rather than run the risk of
encountering the Contessa with a basket containing a couple of mutton
cutlets, a ball of wool and some tooth-powder. So she put on her Prince
of Wales's cloak, and, postponing further reflection over the
bridge-party till a less busy occasion, set forth in unencumbered
gentility for the morning gossip. At the corner of the High Street, she
ran into Diva.
"News," said Diva. "Met Mr. Wyse just now. Engaged to Susan. All over
the town by now. Everybody knows. Oh, there's the Padre for the first
time."
She shot across the street, and Miss Mapp, shaking the dust of Diva off
her feet, proceeded on her chagrined way. Annoyed as she was with Diva,
she was almost more annoyed with Susan. After all she had done for
Susan, Susan ought to have told her long ago, pledging her to secrecy.
But to be told like this by that common Diva, without any secrecy at
all, was an affront that she would find it hard to forgive Susan for.
She mentally reduced by a half the sum that she had determined to
squander on Susan's wedding-present. It should be plated, not silver,
and if Susan was not careful, it shouldn't be plated at all.
She had just come out of the chemist's, after an indignant interview
about precipitated chalk. He had deposited the small packet on the
counter, when she asked to have it sent up to her house. He could not
undertake to deliver small packages. She left the precipitated chalk
lying there. Emerging, she heard a loud, foreign sort of scream from
close at hand. There was the Contessa, all by herself, carrying a
marketing basket of unusual size and newness. It contained a bloody
steak and a crab.
"But where is your basket, Miss Mapp?" she exclaimed. "Algernon told me
that all the great ladies of Tilling went marketing in the morning with
big baskets, and that if I aspired to be _du monde_, I must have my
basket, too. It is the greatest fun, and I have already written to Cecco
to say I am just going marketing with my basket. Look, the steak is for
Figgis, and the crab is for Algernon and me, if Figgis does not get it.
But why are you not _du monde_? Are you _du demi-monde_, Miss Mapp?"
She gave a croak of laughter and tickled the crab....
"Will he eat the steak, do you think?" she went on. "Is he not lively? I
went to the shop of Mr. Hopkins, who was not there, because he was
engaged with Miss Coles. And was that not Miss Coles last night at my
brother's? The one who spat in the fire when nobody but I was looking?
You are enchanting at Tilling. What is Mr. Hopkins doing with Miss
Coles? Do they kiss? But your market basket: that disappoints me, for
Algernon said you had the biggest market-basket of all. I bought the
biggest I could find: is it as big as yours?"
Miss Mapp's head was in a whirl. The Contessa said in the loudest
possible voice all that everybody else only whispered; she displayed (in
her basket) all that everybody else covered up with thick layers of
paper. If Miss Mapp had only guessed that the Contessa would have a
market-basket, she would have paraded the High Street with a leg of
mutton protruding from one end and a pair of Wellington boots from the
other.... But who could have suspected that a Contessa....
Black thoughts succeeded. Was it possible that Mr. Wyse had been
satirical about the affairs of Tilling? If so, she wished him nothing
worse than to be married to Susan. But a playful face must be put, for
the moment, on the situation.
"Too lovely of you, dear Contessa," she said. "May we go marketing
together to-morrow, and we will measure the size of our baskets? Such
fun I have, too, laughing at the dear people in Tilling. But what
thrilling news this morning about our sweet Susan and your dear brother,
though of course I knew it long ago."
"Indeed! how was that?" said the Contessa quite sharply.
Miss Mapp was "nettled" at her tone.
"Oh, you must allow me two eyes," she said, since it was merely tedious
to explain how she had seen them from behind a curtain kissing in the
garden. "Just two eyes."
"And a nose for scent," remarked the Contessa very genially.
This was certainly coarse, though probably Italian. Miss Mapp's opinion
of the Contessa fluctuated violently like a barometer before a storm and
indicated "Changeable."
"Dear Susan is such an intimate friend," she said.
The Contessa looked at her very fixedly for a moment, and then appeared
to dismiss the matter.
"My crab, my steak," she said. "And where does your nice Captain, no,
Major Flint live? I have a note to leave on him, for he has asked me to
tea all alone, to see his tiger skins. He is going to be my flirt while
I am in Tilling, and when I go he will break his heart, but I will have
told him who can mend it again."
"Dear Major Benjy!" said Miss Mapp, at her wits' end to know how to deal
with so feather-tongued a lady. "What a treat it will be to him to have
you to tea. To-day, is it?"
The Contessa quite distinctly winked behind her eyeglass, which she had
put up to look at Diva, who whirled by on the other side of the street.
"And if I said 'To-day,'" she remarked, "you would--what is it that that
one says"--and she indicated Diva--"yes, you would pop in, and the good
Major would pay no attention to me. So if I tell you I shall go to-day,
you will know that is a lie, you clever Miss Mapp, and so you will go to
tea with him to-morrow and find me there. _Bene!_ Now where is his
house?"
This was a sort of scheming that had never entered into Miss Mapp's
life, and she saw with pain how shallow she had been all these years.
Often and often she had, when inquisitive questions were put her,
answered them without any strict subservience to truth, but never had
she thought of confusing the issues like this. If she told Diva a lie,
Diva probably guessed it was a lie, and acted accordingly, but she had
never thought of making it practically impossible to tell whether it was
a lie or not. She had no more idea when she walked back along the High
Street with the Contessa swinging her basket by her side, whether that
lady was going to tea with Major Benjy to-day or to-morrow or when, than
she knew whether the crab was going to eat the beefsteak.
"There's his house," she said, as they paused at the dentist's corner,
"and there's mine next it, with the little bow-window of my garden-room
looking out on to the street. I hope to welcome you there, dear
Contessa, for a tiny game of bridge and some tea one of these days very
soon. What day do you think? To-morrow?"
(Then she would know if the Contessa was going to tea with Major Benjy
to-morrow ... unfortunately the Contessa appeared to know that she would
know it, too.)
"My flirt!" she said. "Perhaps I may be having tea with my flirt
to-morrow."
Better anything than that.
"I will ask him, too, to meet you," said Miss Mapp, feeling in some
awful and helpless way that she was playing her adversary's game.
"Adversary?" did she say to herself? She did. The inscrutable Contessa
was "up to" that too.
"I will not amalgamate my treats," she said. "So that is his house! What
a charming house! How my heart flutters as I ring the bell!"
Miss Mapp was now quite distraught. There was the possibility that the
Contessa might tell Major Benjy that it was time he married, but on the
other hand she was making arrangements to go to tea with him on an
unknown date, and the hero of amorous adventures in India and elsewhere
might lose his heart again to somebody quite different from one whom he
could hope to marry. By daylight the dear Contessa was undeniably plain:
that was something, but in these short days, tea would be conducted by
artificial light, and by artificial light she was not so like a rabbit.
What was worse was that by any light she had a liveliness which might be
mistaken for wit, and a flattering manner which might be taken for
sincerity. She hoped men were not so easily duped as that, and was sadly
afraid that they were. Blind fools!
* * * * *
The number of visits that Miss Mapp made about tea-time in this week
before Christmas to the post-box at the corner of the High Street, with
an envelope in her hand containing Mr. Hopkins's bill for fish (and a
postal order enclosed), baffles computation. Naturally, she did not
intend, either by day or night, to risk being found again with a blank
unstamped envelope in her hand, and the one enclosing Mr. Hopkins's bill
and the postal order would have passed scrutiny for correctness,
anywhere. But fair and calm as was the exterior of that envelope, none
could tell how agitated was the hand that carried it backwards and
forwards until the edges got crumpled and the inscription clouded with
much fingering. Indeed, of all the tricks that Miss Mapp had compassed
for others, none was so sumptuously contrived as that in which she had
now entangled herself.
For these December days were dark, and in consequence not only would the
Contessa be looking her best (such as it was) at tea-time, but from Miss
Mapp's window it was impossible to tell whether she had gone to tea with
him on any particular afternoon, for there had been a strike at the
gas-works, and the lamp at the corner, which, in happier days, would
have told all, told nothing whatever. Miss Mapp must therefore trudge to
the letter-box with Mr. Hopkins's bill in her hand as she went out, and
(after a feint of posting it) with it in her pocket as she came back, in
order to gather from the light in the windows, from the sound of
conversation that would be audible as she passed close beneath them,
whether the Major was having tea there or not, and with whom. Should she
hear that ringing laugh which had sounded so pleasant when she revoked,
but now was so sinister, she had quite determined to go in and borrow a
book or a tiger-skin--anything. The Major could scarcely fail to ask her
to tea, and, once there, wild horses should not drag her away until she
had outstayed the other visitor. Then, as her malady of jealousy grew
more feverish, she began to perceive, as by the ray of some dreadful
dawn, that lights in the Major's room and sounds of elfin laughter were
not completely trustworthy as proofs that the Contessa was there. It was
possible, awfully possible, that the two might be sitting in the
firelight, that voices might be hushed to amorous whisperings, that
pregnant smiles might be taking the place of laughter. On one such
afternoon, as she came back from the letter-box with patient Mr.
Hopkins's overdue bill in her pocket, a wild certainty seized her, when
she saw how closely the curtains were drawn, and how still it seemed
inside his room, that firelight dalliance was going on.
She rang the bell, and imagined she heard whisperings inside while it
was being answered. Presently the light went up in the hall, and the
Major's Mrs. Dominic opened the door.
"The Major is in, I think, isn't he, Mrs. Dominic?" said Miss Mapp, in
her most insinuating tones.
"No, miss; out," said Dominic uncompromisingly. (Miss Mapp wondered if
Dominic drank.)
"Dear me! How tiresome, when he told me----" said she, with playful
annoyance. "Would you be very kind, Mrs. Dominic, and just see for
certain that he is not in his room? He may have come in."
"No, miss, he's out," said Dominic, with the parrot-like utterance of
the determined liar. "Any message?"
Miss Mapp turned away, more certain than ever that he was in and
immersed in dalliance. She would have continued to be quite certain
about it, had she not, glancing distractedly down the street, caught
sight of him coming up with Captain Puffin.
Meantime she had twice attempted to get up a cosy little party of four
(so as not to frighten the Contessa) to play bridge from tea till
dinner, and on both occasions the Faradiddleony (for so she had become)
was most unfortunately engaged. But the second of these disappointing
replies contained the hope that they would meet at their marketings
to-morrow morning, and though poor Miss Mapp was really getting very
tired with these innumerable visits to the post-box, whether wet or
fine, she set forth next morning with the hopes anyhow of finding out
whether the Contessa had been to tea with Major Flint, or on what day
she was going.... There she was, just opposite the post office, and
there--oh, shame!--was Major Benjy on his way to the tram, in
light-hearted conversation with her. It was a slight consolation that
Captain Puffin was there too.
Miss Mapp quickened her steps to a little tripping run.
"Dear Contessa, so sorry I am late," she said. "Such a lot of little
things to do this morning. (Major Benjy! Captain Puffin!) Oh, how
naughty of you to have begun your shopping without me!"
"Only been to the grocer's," said the Contessa. "Major Benjy has been so
amusing that I haven't got on with my shopping at all. I have written to
Cecco to say that there is no one so witty."
(Major Benjy! thought Miss Mapp bitterly, remembering how long it had
taken her to arrive at that. "And witty." She had not arrived at that
yet.)
"No, indeed!" said the Major. "It was the Contessa, Miss Mapp, who has
been so entertaining."
"I'm sure she would be," said Miss Mapp, with an enormous smile. "And,
oh, Major Benjy, you'll miss your tram unless you hurry, and get no golf
at all, and then be vexed with us for keeping you. You men always blame
us poor women."
"Well, upon my word, what's a game of golf compared with the pleasure of
being with the ladies?" asked the Major, with a great fat bow.
"I want to catch that tram," said Puffin quite distinctly, and Miss Mapp
found herself more nearly forgetting his inebriated insults than ever
before.
"You poor Captain Puffin," said the Contessa, "you shall catch it. Be
off, both of you, at once. I will not say another word to either of you.
I will never forgive you if you miss it. But to-morrow afternoon, Major
Benjy."
He turned round to bow again, and a bicycle luckily (for the rider)
going very slowly, butted softly into him behind.
"Not hurt?" called the Contessa. "Good! Ah, Miss Mapp, let us get to our
shopping! How well you manage those men! How right you are about them!
They want their golf more than they want us, whatever they may say. They
would hate us, if we kept them from their golf. So sorry not to have
been able to play bridge with you yesterday, but an engagement. What a
busy place Tilling is. Let me see! Where is the list of things that
Figgis told me to buy? That Figgis! A roller-towel for his pantry, and
some blacking for his boots, and some flannel I suppose for his fat
stomach. It is all for Figgis. And there is that swift Mrs. Plaistow.
She comes like a train with a red light in her face and wheels and
whistlings. She talks like a telegram--Good-morning, Mrs. Plaistow."
"Enjoyed my game of bridge, Contessa," panted Diva. "Delightful game of
bridge yesterday."
The Contessa seemed in rather a hurry to reply. But long before she
could get a word out Miss Mapp felt she knew what had happened....
"So pleased," said the Contessa quickly. "And now for Figgis's towels,
Miss Mapp. Ten and sixpence apiece, he says. What a price to give for a
towel! But I learn housekeeping like this, and Cecco will delight in all
the economies I shall make. Quick, to the draper's, lest there should be
no towels left."
In spite of Figgis's list, the Contessa's shopping was soon over, and
Miss Mapp having seen her as far as the corner, walked on, as if to her
own house, in order to give her time to get to Mr. Wyse's, and then fled
back to the High Street. The suspense was unbearable: she had to know
without delay when and where Diva and the Contessa had played bridge
yesterday. Never had her eye so rapidly scanned the movement of
passengers in that entrancing thoroughfare in order to pick Diva out,
and learn from her precisely what had happened.... There she was, coming
out of the dyer's with her basket completely filled by a bulky package,
which it needed no ingenuity to identify as the late crimson-lake. She
would have to be pleasant with Diva, for much as that perfidious woman
might enjoy telling her where this furtive bridge-party had taken place,
she might enjoy even more torturing her with uncertainty. Diva could, if
put to it, give no answer whatever to a direct question, but, skilfully
changing the subject, talk about something utterly different.
"The crimson-lake," said Miss Mapp, pointing to the basket. "Hope it
will turn out well, dear."
There was rather a wicked light in Diva's eyes.
"Not crimson-lake," she said. "Jet-black."
"Sweet of you to have it dyed again, dear Diva," said Miss Mapp. "Not
very expensive, I trust?"
"Send the bill in to you, if you like," said Diva.
Miss Mapp laughed very pleasantly.
"That would be a good joke," she said. "How nice it is that the dear
Contessa takes so warmly to our Tilling ways. So amusing she was about
the commissions Figgis had given her. But a wee bit satirical, do you
think?"
This ought to put Diva in a good temper, for there was nothing she liked
so much as a few little dabs at somebody else. (Diva was not very
good-natured.)
"She is rather satirical," said Diva.
"Oh, tell me some of her amusing little speeches!" said Miss Mapp
enthusiastically. "I can't always follow her, but you are so quick! A
little coarse too, at times, isn't she? What she said the other night
when she was playing Patience, about the queens and kings, wasn't
quite--was it? And the toothpick."
"Yes. Toothpick," said Diva.
"Perhaps she has bad teeth," said Miss Mapp; "it runs in families, and
Mr. Wyse's, you know--We're lucky, you and I."
Diva maintained a complete silence, and they had now come nearly as far
as her door. If she would not give the information that she knew Miss
Mapp longed for, she must be asked for it, with the uncertain hope that
she would give it then.
"Been playing bridge lately, dear?" asked Miss Mapp.
"Quite lately," said Diva.
"I thought I heard you say something about it to the Contessa.
Yesterday, was it? Whom did you play with?"
Diva paused, and, when they had come quite to her door, made up her
mind.
"Contessa, Susan, Mr. Wyse, me," she said.
"But I thought she never played with Mr. Wyse," said Miss Mapp.
"Had to get a four," said Diva. "Contessa wanted her bridge. Nobody
else."
She popped into her house.
There is no use in describing Miss Mapp's state of mind, except by
saying that for the moment she quite forgot that the Contessa was almost
certainly going to tea with Major Benjy to-morrow.