THE HAPPY DISPATCH
"Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, but----"
_In the Morning-room._ TIME--_About_ 1 P.M.
_Undershell_ (_to himself alone_). I'm rather sorry that that Miss
Spelwane couldn't stay. She's a trifle angular--but clever. It was
distinctly sharp of her to see through that fellow Spurrell from the
first, and lay such an ingenious little trap for him. And she has a
great feeling for Literature--knows my verses by heart, I discovered,
quite accidentally. All the same, I wish she hadn't intercepted those
snowdrops. Now I shall have to go out and pick some more. (_Sounds
outside in the entrance hall._) Too late--they've got back from
church!
_Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris_ (_entering with_ Lady RHODA, Sir RUPERT _and_
BEARPARK). Such a nice, plain, simple service--I'm positively
_ravenous_!
_Lady Rhoda._ Struck me some of those chubby choir-boys wanted
smackin'. What a business it seems to get the servants properly into
their pew--as bad as boxin' a string of hunters! As for _you_,
Archie, the way you fidgeted durin' the sermon was downright
disgraceful!... So _there_ you are, Mr. Blair; not been to church; but
I forgot--p'raps you're a Dissenter, or somethin'?
_Undershell_ (_annoyed_). Only, Lady Rhoda, in the sense that I have
hitherto failed to discover any form of creed that commands my
intellectual assent.
_Lady Rhoda_ (_unimpressed_). I expect you haven't tried. Are you
a--what d'ye call it?--a Lacedemoniac?
_Undershell_ (_with lofty tolerance_). I _presume_ you mean a
"Laodicean." No, I should rather describe myself as a Deist.
_Archie_ (_in a surly undertone_). What's a _Deast_ when he's at home?
If he'd said a _Beast_, now! (_Aloud, as_ PILLINER _enters with_
Captain THICKNESSE.) Hullo, why, here's Thicknesse! So you _haven't_
gone, after all, then?
_Captain Thicknesse._ What an observant young beggar you are,
Bearpark! Nothin' escapes you. No, I haven't. (_To_ Sir RUPERT,
_rather sheepishly_.) Fact, is, sir, I--I somehow just missed the
train, and--and--thought I might as well come back, instead of waitin'
about, don't you know.
_Sir Rupert_ (_heartily_). Why, of course, my dear boy, of course!
Never have forgiven you if you _hadn't_. Great nuisance for _you_,
though. Hope you blew the fool of a man up; he _ought_ to have been
round in plenty of time.
_Captain Thicknesse._ Not the groom's fault, sir. I kept him waitin' a
bit, and--and we had to stop to shift the seat and that, and so----
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). Great blundering booby! Can't he see
nobody wants him _here_? As if he hadn't bored poor Lady Maisie enough
at breakfast! Ah, well, I must come to her rescue once more, I
suppose!
_Sir Rupert._ Half an hour to lunch! Anybody like to come round to the
stables? I'm going to see how my wife's horse Deerfoot is getting on.
Fond of horses, eh, Mr.--a--Undershell? Care to come with us?
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). I've seen quite enough of _that_ beast
already! (_Aloud, with some asperity._) You must really excuse me, Sir
Rupert. I am at one with Mr. Ruskin--I _detest_ horses.
_Sir Rupert._ Ah? Pity. We're rather fond of 'em here. But we can't
expect a poet to be a sportsman, eh?
_Undershell._ For my own poor part, I confess I look forward to a day,
not far distant, when the spread of civilisation will have abolished
every form of so-called Sport.
_Sir Rupert._ _Do_ you, though? (_After conquering a choke with
difficulty._) Allow me to hope that you will continue to enjoy the
pleasures of anticipation as long as possible. (_To the rest._) Well,
are you coming?
[_All except_ UNDERSHELL _follow their host out_.
_Undershell_ (_alone, to himself_). If they think I'm going to be
_patronised_, or suppress my honest convictions----! Now I'll go and
pick those---- (Lady MAISIE _enters from the conservatory_.) Ah, Lady
Maisie, I have been trying to find you. I had plucked a few snowdrops,
which I promised myself the pleasure of presenting to you.
Unfortunately they--er--failed to reach their destination.
_Lady Maisie_ (_distantly_). Thanks, Mr. Blair; I am only sorry you
should have given yourself such unnecessary trouble.
_Undershell_ (_detaining her, as she seemed about to pass on_).
I have another piece of intelligence which you may hear
less--er--philosophically, Lady Maisie. Your _bête noire_ has
returned.
_Lady Maisie_ (_with lifted eyebrows_). My _bête noire_, Mr. Blair?
_Undershell._ Why affect not to understand? I have an infallible
instinct in all matters concerning _you_, and, sweetly tolerant as you
are, I instantly divined what an insufferable nuisance you found our
military friend, Captain Thicknesse.
_Lady Maisie._ There are limits even to _my_ tolerance, Mr. Blair. I
admit I find some people insufferable--but Captain Thicknesse is not
one of them.
_Undershell._ Then appearances are deceptive indeed. Come, Lady
Maisie, surely you can trust _me_!
[Lady CANTIRE _enters_.
_Lady Cantire_ (_in her most awful tones_). Maisie, my dear, I appear
to have interrupted an interview of a somewhat confidential character.
If so, pray let me know it, and I will go elsewhere.
_Lady Maisie_ (_calmly_). Not in the very least, mamma. Mr. Blair was
merely trying to prepare me for the fact that Captain Thicknesse has
come back; which was quite needless, as I happen to have heard it
already from his own lips.
_Lady Cantire._ Captain Thicknesse come back! (_To_ UNDERSHELL.) I
wish to speak to my daughter. May I ask you to leave us?
_Undershell._ With pleasure, Lady Cantire. (_To himself, as he
retires._) What a consummate actress that girl is! And what a
coquette!
_Lady Cantire_ (_after a silence_). Maisie, what does all this mean?
No _nonsense_, now! What brought Gerald Thicknesse back?
_Lady Maisie._ I _suppose_ the dog-cart, mamma. He missed his train,
you know. I don't think he minds--much.
_Lady Cantire._ Let me tell you _this_, my dear. It is a great deal
more than you _deserve_ after---- How long has he come back for?
_Lady Maisie._ Only a few hours; but--but from things he said, I fancy
he would stay on longer--if Aunt Albinia asked him.
_Lady Cantire._ Then we may consider that settled; he stays. (Lady
CULVERIN _appears_.) Here _is_ your aunt. You had better leave us, my
dear.
_Somewhat later; the Party have assembled for Lunch._
_Sir Rupert_ (_to his wife_). Well, my dear, I've seen that young
Spurrell (smart fellow he is, too, thoroughly up in his business), and
you'll be glad to hear he can't find anything seriously wrong with
Deerfoot.
_Undershell_ (_in the background, to himself_). No more could I, for
that matter!
_Sir Rupert._ He's clear it isn't navicular, which Adams was afraid
of, and he thinks, with care and rest, you know, the horse will be as
fit as a fiddle in a very few days.
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). Just exactly what I _told_ them; but the
fools wouldn't believe _me_!
_Lady Culverin._ Oh, Rupert, I _am_ so glad. How clever of that nice
Mr. Spurrell! I was afraid my poor Deerfoot would have to be shot.
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). She may thank me that he _wasn't_. And
this other fellow gets all the credit for it. How like Life!
_Lady Maisie._ And, Uncle Rupert, how about--about Phillipson, you
know? Is it all right?
_Sir Rupert._ Phillipson? Oh, why, 'pon my word, my dear, didn't think
of asking.
_Lady Rhoda._ But _I_ did, Maisie. And they met this mornin', and it's
all settled, and they're as happy as they can be. Except that he's on
the look out for a mysterious stranger, who disappeared last night,
after tryin' to make desperate love to her. He is determined, if he
can find him, to give him a piece of his mind.
[UNDERSHELL _endeavours to conceal his extreme uneasiness_.
_Pilliner._ And the whole of a horsewhip. He invited my opinion of it
as an implement of castigation. Kind of thing, you know, that would
impart "proficiency in the _trois temps_, as danced in the most select
circles," in a single lesson to a lame bear. (_To himself._) I drew my
little bow at a venture, and I'm hanged if it hasn't touched him up!
There's _something_ fishy about this chap--I felt it all along. Still,
I don't see what more I can do--or I'd do it, for poor old Gerry
Thicknesse's sake.
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). I don't stir a step out of this house
while I'm here, that's all!
_Sir Rupert._ Ha-ha! Athletic young chap that. Glad to see him in the
field next Tuesday. By the way, Albinia, you've heard how Thicknesse
here contrived to miss his train this morning? Our gain, of course;
but still we must manage to get you back to Aldershot to-night, my
boy, or you'll get called over the coals by your colonel when you _do_
put in an appearance, hey? Now, let's see; what train ought you to
catch?
[_He takes up_ "Bradshaw" _from a writing-table_.
_Lady Cantire_ (_possessing herself of the volume_). Allow me, Rupert,
my eyes are better than yours. _I_ will look out his trains for him.
(_After consulting various pages._) Just as I _thought_! Quite
impossible for him to reach North Camp to-night now. There isn't a
train till six, and _that_ gets to town just too late for him to drive
across to Waterloo and catch the last Aldershot train. So there's no
more to be said.
[_She puts_ "Bradshaw" _away_.
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_with undisguised relief_). Oh, well, dessay
they won't kick up much of a row if I don't get back till
to-morrow,--or the day _after_, if it comes to that.
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). It _shan't_ come to that--if _I_ can
prevent it! Lady Maisie is quite in despair, I can see. (_Aloud._)
Indeed? I was--a--not aware that discipline was quite so lax as that
in the British Army. And surely officers should set an example of----
[_He finds that his intervention has produced a distinct
sensation, and, taking up the discarded_ "Bradshaw"
_becomes engrossed in its study_.
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_ignoring him completely_). It's like this, Lady
Culverin. Somehow I--I muddled up the dates, don't you know. Mean to
say, got it into my head to-day was the 20th, instead of only the
18th. (_Lamely._) That's how it _was_.
_Lady Culverin._ Delightful, my dear Gerald. Then we shall keep you
here till Tuesday, of _course_!
_Undershell_ (_looking up from_ "Bradshaw," _impulsively_). Lady
Culverin, I see there's a very good train which leaves Shuntingbridge
at 3.15 this afternoon, and gets----
[_The rest regard him with unaffected surprise and
disapproval._
_Lady Cantire_ (_raising her glasses_). Upon my word, Mr. Blair! If
you will kindly leave Captain Thicknesse to make his own
arrangements----!
_Lady Maisie_ (_interposing hastily_). But, mamma, you must have
misunderstood Mr. Blair! As if he would _dream_ of---- He was merely
mentioning the train he wishes to go by himself. _Weren't_ you, Mr.
Blair?
_Undershell_ (_blinking and gasping_). I--eh? Just so, that--that
_was_ my intention, certainly. (_To himself._) Does she at all realise
what this will cost her?
_Lady Culverin._ My dear Mr. Blair, I--I'd no notion we were to lose
you so soon; but if you're really quite _sure_ you must go----
_Lady Cantire_ (_sharply_). Really, Albinia, we must give him credit
for knowing his own mind. He tells you he is _obliged to go_!
_Lady Culverin._ Then of course we must let you do _exactly_ as you
please.
_Pilliner_ (_to himself_). Lady Maisie's a little brick! No notion she
had it _in_ her. No occasion to bother myself about the beggar now.
"Let him alone and he'll go home, and carry his tail beneath him!"
[_All except_ Miss SPELWANE _breathe more freely_; TREDWELL
_appears_.
_Lady Culverin._ Oh, lunch, is it, Tredwell? Very well. By the bye,
see that some one packs Mr. Undershell's things for him, and tell them
to send the dog-cart round after lunch in time to catch the 3.15 from
Shuntingbridge.
_Archie_ (_sotto voce, to_ PILLINER). We don't want any _more_ missin'
of trains, eh? I'll go round and see the cart properly balanced myself
_this_ time.
_Pilliner_ (_in the same tone_). No, dear boy, you're not to be
trusted! _I'll_ see that done, then the bard and his train will be
alike in one respect--_neither_ of 'em 'll be missed!
_Miss Spelwane_ (_to herself, piqued._) Going already! I wish I had
never touched his ridiculous snowdrops!
_Lady Culverin._ Well, shall we go in to lunch, everybody?
[_They move in irregular order towards the dining-hall._
_Undershell_ (_in an undertone to_ Lady MAISIE, _as they follow
last_). Lady Maisie, I--er--this is just a _little_ unexpected. I
confess I don't quite understand your precise motive in suggesting
so--so hasty a departure.
_Lady Maisie_ (_without looking at him_). Don't you, Mr. Blair?
Perhaps--when you come to think over it all quietly--you _will_.
[_She passes on, leaving him perplexed._
[Illustration: "PERHAPS--WHEN YOU COME TO THINK OVER IT ALL
QUIETLY--YOU WILL."]
_Undershell_ (_to himself_). Shall I? I certainly can't say I do
just---- Why, yes, I _do_! That bully Spurrell with his horsewhip! She
dreads an encounter between us--and I should much prefer to avoid it
myself. Yes; that's it, of course. She is willing to sacrifice
anything rather than endanger _my_ personal safety! What unselfish
angels some women are! Even that sneering fellow Drysdale will be
impressed when I tell him this.... Yes, it's best that I should go--I
see that now. I don't so much mind leaving. Without any false
humility, I can hardly avoid seeing that, even in the short time I
have been amongst these people, I have produced a decided impression.
And there is at least one--perhaps _two_--who will miss me when I am
gone.
[_He goes into the Dining-hall, with restored complacency._
THE END.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious typographical errors repaired.
Hyphenation inconsistencies retained (booby trap and booby-trap).
Illustrations have been re-positioned to the corresponding action in
the scene.
Italic font is indicated by _underscores_ (text version only).