[Illustration]
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--When I last wrote to you I was anticipatorily
revelling in the sea-bathing, tennis tournaments, pier band, and
evening promenades of Flatsands. Alas! that I must confess it,
but, after a fortnight's visit to that "salubrious spot" (_vide_
highly-coloured advertisements), I give it as my opinion that
Flatsands is a failure; and I think that, when you have listened to,
or rather perused, my tale of woe, you will agree with me that it is a
place to be avoided at all costs.
On the difficulties and length of my journey thither (I changed five
times, and spent nine hours in doing so), I will not dwell, neither
will I lay stress on the fact that, when I did at last reach my
destination, a prospect void of either Aunt, or conveyance of any
kind, met my view, or that a heavy sea-mist had gathered, and was
falling in the guise of penetrating, if fine, rain. After parleying
with the station-master for some time, I ascertained that the station
'bus never put in an appearance in wet weather, and that I could
not get a closed fly, because the Flatsands' conveyances were all
pony-traps, and therefore hoodless. He, however, directed me towards
Balmoral, which was my Aunt's address, and told me that ten minutes'
walk would take me, and that my luggage should be sent after me, on a
truck.
After some difficulty, for the sea-fog was very thick, I discovered
Balmoral, but not my Aunt. The truculent-looking proprietor of the
house, who answered the door, condescended to inform me that my
relative "was the difficultest lady he'd ever had to do for. And that
she'd left two days a-gone." But where she had betaken herself to,
he either would not or could not tell me. "You'd best try along this
row," he said, and then slammed the door in my face. Having nothing
better to do, I followed his advice, and "tried along the row." I rang
at Osborne, Sandringham, and Windsor. I knocked at Claremont (the bell
was broken there), and walked boldly into Marlborough House, for that
royal residence in particular was devoid of all ordinary means of
heralding one's approach. I was just giving up my quest in despair,
when through the rain, which was now falling heavily, I spied a small
stucco villa standing shrinkingly back behind a row of palings, which,
in spite of their green paint, looked more like domestic fire-sticks
than anything else. The somewhat suggestive name of Frogmore was
inscribed on the small gate, and I remembered that I quite shivered as
I walked up the sloppy path, with my usual inquiry ready to hand.
This time, though, I was right, and when, a few minutes later, I was
sitting before a roaring fire, imbibing hot tea, and listening to
my Aunt's account of her latest complaint (did I tell you she was
hypochondriacal?) I felt that really and at last I was in for a
pleasant visit.
The evening proved a short one, for Aunt retired at nine, for which I
was not sorry, as by that time the atmosphere of the sitting-room was
distinctly stuffy, and neither dinner, nor the fumes of the invalid's
hot-and-strong "night-cap" improved it. Next morning I sympathised
with her on the fact that, soon after she had gone to bed, the
young lady on the drawing-room floor (for two other families shared
Frogmore's roof with us) had begun to sing, and had continued her
performances till midnight; but I found my commiseration wasted, for
she said that it had soothed her, which was considerably more than
it had done me. After breakfast--which was late, on account of Aunt's
health--I proposed a stroll on the Promenade, or an inspection of the
tennis courts. "Bless my soul!" cried Auntie, "a person in my state
of health does not go to places all over promenades and tennis courts.
You won't find any such things at a nice quiet resort like Flatsands."
I felt a little dashed, but replied "that perhaps she was right,
and that it was a nice change to be without tennis; and that, as to
promenades, they were quite superfluous where there was a pier, and
a good band." "A pier, child!" she screamed. "You won't find any such
abominations as piers here, or German bands either. Do you think that
_I_ should come anywhere where there was a pier?" I felt the smile
on my face becoming fixed, but I mastered my feelings sufficiently to
murmur something about bathing before lunch.
"You can't bathe here," snapped Aunt--"they don't allow it. The shore
is too dangerous. But you can come out with me, if you like, to the
tradespeople--I see my bath-chair coming along the road."
And that, _Mr. Punch_, is how I spent my fortnight at Flatsands.
Walking by the side of my Aunt's chair, and giving orders to the
tradespeople in the morning; walking beside the same chair and blowing
up the tradespeople for not having carried out the orders, in the
afternoon; sitting in a hot room from five to nine o'clock, then lying
awake till midnight, listening to the drawing-room young lady singing
Italian and German songs out of tune, and with an English accent.
Three things only occurred to in any way vary the monotony of my
existence. The first was the arrival of the singing young lady's
brother. He was seventeen, and his lungs were as thick as his boots.
He tobogganed down-stairs on a tea-tray the first day he arrived; the
second day he passed me in the hall and asked, with a grin, "if I
was one of the mummies in this old mausoleum?" the third day he left,
saying that the place was "too jolly beastly slow" for him. The second
event was the sudden extraordinary mania that Aunt (did I tell you
she was rich?) took for the singing lady. I discovered, much to my
chagrin, I must say, that often, instead of going to bed at nine, as
I believed she did, she used to ensconce herself in the drawing-room,
and there sit and listen to indifferent music till all hours. It was
this second event which brought about the third excitement. For having
been a little imprudent one night, in the matter of "night-caps," or
careless as to draughts, my Aunt was taken seriously ill. At least she
chose to think herself so, though I now have vague suspicions that the
singing lady knew more about it all than she cared to tell. All I know
is that the doctor was sent for, and that, after a long confab in the
sick room, he came to me and ordered my immediate return home. "Your
poor Aunt requires perfect quiet," he said.
Having no choice in the matter, I packed my boxes; not exactly with
reluctance, but still with an uncomfortable feeling of being
wanted out of the way. Aunt's last words to me rather confirmed my
suspicions. "Ah! you are off, are you? Well, I may pull through this
time--I think I feel better already." Then, with a pecking kiss, and
an inaudible remark anent the ingratitude of relations, she dismissed
me. As I left the house I distinctly heard that singing creature run
up-stairs and into Aunt's room.
On the way back to town I decided that she (Aunt I mean) was
right--relations are _disgustingly_ ungrateful.
Yours, much hurt,