"Well, but, Doctor Sternroyd--" protested Basil.
"Hold your silly tongue, sir!" cried the Doctor to Basil's infinite
amazement.
Jack disappeared into the Antiquary's house and the Antiquary himself
stood at the door waving his umbrella like a sword. Caroline turned to
Marjolaine. "You're a good little girl," she said, kindly. "Here's a
six-penny bit." Marjolaine, quite equal to the occasion, received it
with a fourth curtsey, and a modest "Thank you, my Lady."
I think Caroline had some idea of following into Doctor Sternroyd's
house to see that her ancient _protege_ was well bestowed, but just as
she got to the gate the Doctor slammed the door violently in her face;
and the whole Walk took its cue from him, so that as Caroline passed
along the Walk haughtily tossing her head, every window was closed with
a bang, and every door was slammed with a bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
And Marjolaine and the Admiral sat under the tree and shouted with
laughter!
*CHAPTER XI*
*POMANDER WALK TAKES A DISH OF TEA*
[Illustration: Chapter XI headpiece]
The Walk had got through Sunday as best it could. It had gone to
church; it had read good books; the Admiral had carefully laid "Hervey's
Meditations among the Tombs" open on his knees, and his bandana over his
head, and had tried to sleep his Sunday sleep. But it was only a fitful
slumber. Too many things had happened and were happening in the Walk.
There was Jack, concealed in Doctor Sternroyd's house, for one. What
did that mean? Sir Peter had called on Doctor Sternroyd, but the latter
stood in his doorway with the door only ajar, and would not allow him to
cross the threshold. He had kept a wary eye on the Walk and he was sure
Jack and Marjolaine had not met. He himself had sat under the elm to an
unconscionable hour, and had made it impossible for the lovers to meet.
He would not betray them, but on the other hand there should be no
underhand goings on. He had tried to intercept Marjolaine and talk to
her like the Dutch uncle he had alluded to, but she laughed in his face,
and ran away. But that was not all that troubled him. He had
undoubtedly been embraced, in the presence of the whole Walk, by Mrs.
Poskett. There was no blinking that fact; and he felt that his
neighbours, with gross unfairness, put the blame on him. After the
morning service, Miss Ruth Pennymint, who had gone to church alone,
refused to walk home with him for the first time in his experience, and
only gave a very lame excuse. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked at him with a
disapproving eye. Mrs. Poskett had not shown herself since the awful
scene with the cat. He had instructed Jim to reconnoitre; I don't know
how Jim carried out that delicate task, but he came back to his master
with the report that Mrs. Poskett was mortal bad, to be sure. Even Basil
Pringle had been very distant with him when they met after church.
The Admiral turned and twisted in his chair. Surely the flies were more
troublesome than usual so early in the summer.
He was so put about that, contrary to his usual custom, he went to
church again in the evening. Madame Lachesnais was there, and to his
confusion asked him to escort her home. Marjolaine walked on in front
with Mr. Pringle and Ruth.
Madame had noticed the curious discomfort that pervaded the Walk. She
had seen and heard nothing of yesterday's occurrences, as she had been
shut in her own little room at the back of the house, busy with her own
troubles. She took the Admiral into her confidence. Did he know what
was the matter with the Walk? It seemed as if some imp of mischief had
set everybody by the ears. She had ventured to address Doctor Sternroyd
that morning, and he had turned even paler than usual--positively
green--and had run away from her. What was the matter with Mrs.
Poskett? Why had not Barbara been to church all day? And he, himself,
why was he so silent? Why did he seem to wish to avoid her?
The Admiral was greatly troubled. He could only stammer that he
supposed it was the change in the weather. "Well," said Madame, "I
cannot let our good friends go on like this. Why, we should be unable
to live together in the Walk, if we were not all on excellent terms with
each other." And so the next morning all the inhabitants of the Walk
received a pretty little three-cornered note, asking them to an _al
fresco_ tea-party that evening, under the elm.
Jack had never spent such a Sunday, and privately registered a vow he
would never spend such another. Doctor Sternroyd did all his own
housekeeping; he said he would rather spend his money on a book than on
a cook. He invariably rose at six. He routed Jack out at that hour.
At half-past six he was at work in his study, even on Sundays. At nine
he made his breakfast, a thin cup of tea and a very thin rasher of
bacon. What Jack did between six and nine, I do not know. After
breakfast the Doctor went back to his study and he gave Jack his great
manuscript work on "Prehistoric Remains found in the Alluvial Deposit of
the Estuary of the Thames, together with Observations on the
Cave-dwellers of Ethiopia," to while away the time. When the Doctor
went to church he locked Jack in his room. After church he went for a
long walk and forgot all about Jack. And he had forgotten all about him
when he came back, so that Jack was forced to raise a perfect riot
before he could get released. By midday on Monday Jack had worked his
way through every edible thing in the house, and on Monday afternoon the
Doctor not only had to go and see the Archbishop of Canterbury on the
subject of the licence, but had been strictly enjoined by Jack to bring
home food.
Fortunately for Madame's tea-party, that Monday evening was an ideal
one. June had come and the roses in the little gardens had taken the
opportunity to burst into bloom. The elm was in its fresh summer garb.
The setting sun shone level through its leaves and turned them all to
burnished gold. It gilded the entire Walk, and set the panes in the
windows flashing and flaming; even the dirty little oil lamps were
glorified as they reflected the golden blaze. The river shimmered with
opal and amethyst; and a great barge, drifting down with the tide, might
have borne Cleopatra and all her retinue, so gorgeously was it
transfigured.
Not all the Walk was present. The Doctor, as we have just seen, was
engaged with the Archbishop, and with his own marketing. Miss Barbara
had sent a polite excuse. Her actual words were "Miss Barbara Pennymint
presents her Compliments to Madame Lachesnais and is much obliged for
her kind invitation to tea. Miss Barbara Pennymint much regrets she
cannot avail herself of Madame Lachesnais' proffered hospitality as I am
engaged in an educational experiment."
Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn, of course, was absent, as usual, for purely personal
and private reasons.
But all the others were there. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was resplendent in a
plum-coloured suit, of which the breeches fitted so tightly, and of
which the waist was so narrow, that he scarcely dared breathe.
Mrs. Poskett and Ruth had put on their best gowns; the Admiral wore his
gala uniform with all his medals, and his three-cornered hat. Madame
herself was a vision of loveliness. She had discarded her half-mourning
for the occasion; but what she wore I cannot tell you, except that it
was a soft blue, and that there was graceful lace about her neck and
wrists. If you wish to see what she looked like, you have only to
examine a Book of the Modes of 1805, and you will find her there. Even
Mr. Basil Pringle was brushed.
Nanette and Jim--Jim in his best clothes--waited on Madame's guests.
The latter were all on their best behaviour. You never saw anything
more elegant than the way Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn stuck out his little finger
as he raised his cup to his lips; you never heard prettier protests than
when Marjolaine offered Mrs. Poskett a third helping of cake. "I
couldn't! I reely and truly couldn't!--Well, since you insist!"
But do what Madame would she could not put her guests quite at their
ease. A sort of blight brooded over their spirits. This was
particularly noticeable in their attitude towards Sir Peter. They
treated him with unaccustomed aloofness; they kept him at arm's length;
they did not respond to his sallies; with the result that his sallies
became more forced as the evening wore on. As a contrast to this gentle
gloom, Marjolaine's high spirits amazed her mother. This child, who
only last Saturday was broken-hearted, to-day was laughing and blithe,
rallying her guests, prettily playing the hostess, the only life in the
party. Madame watched her with puzzled anxiety.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with the calf of his leg well displayed, and his
little finger well at right angles to his cup, bowed elegantly. "Ah,
Ladies, there is nothing so comforting as a dish of tea after dinner.
It is prodigiously soothing!"
There seemed no appropriate rejoinder, but Mrs. Poskett exploded with
"Nothing can soothe the broken heart." She spoke into her cup, but her
eyes wandered towards the Admiral.
Sir Peter tried to change the conversation. Also he felt it was time to
assert himself. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had been monopolising the notice of
the ladies far too long.
"Hah!" he cried, "I 've always said Pomander Walk was a Haven of
Content. Look at it!" You remember that the last time he made a
similar remark everybody obediently turned at his command. Imagine his
feelings, then, when on this occasion nobody paid the slightest
attention. On the contrary, they ostentatiously turned to each other
and began spirited conversations about nothing in particular. He
repeated, "I say, look at it!" but only drew a glare from Brooke-Hoskyn.
Marjolaine came to the rescue. She tripped up to him and put her arm
through his. "There 's something the matter with the Walk this evening,
Sir Peter. I 'm the only merry one among you!"