CHAPTER XXIV
A GARDEN PLOT IN RUSSELL SQUARE
Outside, leaning contentedly against the railings of the garden oppositeto the Maison Welwyn, and enjoying the spring sunshine, Dickyencountered the Carmyles.
"Hallo, you two!" he said. "What are you doing here? Liable to get runin for loitering, hanging about like this."
"We have followed you, Dicky," began Connie rapidly, "to tell you thatyour mother is coming up to town, and--"
"Mother--already?"
Connie nodded.
"Fourth speed in," confirmed Mr. Carmyle. "Live axle--direct drive--openexhaust."
"Trailing your father behind her," added Connie. "I understand you hadan interview with them this morning."
The Freak gave a wry smile.
"I did," he said. "It was rather a heated interview, I'm afraid. Wordspassed. But we can't stand here dodging taxis. Come into the garden,Maud!"
"Don't we require a key?" enquired the re-christened Connie, surveyingthe iron railings which enclosed the Bloomsbury Eden.
"I have one," said Dicky. "It belongs to the Welwyns. Tilly and I usedto use it a good deal," he explained, in a subdued voice.
He led the way into the dingy but romantic pleasance which had shelteredhimself and his beloved, and the trio sat down upon a damp seat. Mrs.Carmyle, looking rather like one of the sparrows which hoppedinquisitively about her daintily shod feet, established herself betweenher two large companions. Her husband, who was a creature of homelyinstincts, hung his silk hat upon an adjacent bough with a sigh ofcontent, and began to fill a large briar pipe. Dicky, a prey tomelancholy, kicked the grass with his heels.
"Where is Tilly this morning?" asked Connie.
"Gone out--to look for a job!" replied Dicky through his clenched teeth."Just as if a snug home and the life of a lady were things she had neverdreamed of!" His eyes blazed. "Great Heavens, Connie--the pluck of thechild! What a brute it makes me feel!"
Connie patted his hand maternally, but said nothing. There was nothingto say. Presently Dicky continued, in a more even voice:--
"So my mother is coming up this morning--to strike while the iron ishot--eh?"
"'To make a direct appeal to Miss Welwyn's better nature,' was what she_said_," replied Mrs. Carmyle cautiously.
"I am afraid there will be a bit of a scrap," said Dicky thoughtfully."My dear mother's normal attitude towards her fellow-creatures is thatof a righteous person compelled to travel third-class with a first-classticket; but when she goes on the warpath into the bargain--well, that iswhere I take cover."
"She'll roll the Welwyns out flat," observed Mr. Carmyle, with thatconviction which only painful experience can instill.
"She won't roll Tilly out flat," said Dicky.
"Nor Mrs. Welwyn either," added Connie; "so kindly refrain from puttingin your oar, Bill! We are n't all terrified of Lady Adela. _Cowardy,cowardy, cus--_"
Mr. Carmyle, flushing with shame, abruptly invited his small oppressorto switch off; and Dicky proceeded to review the situation.
"I don't think my dear parent will get much change out of any of theWelwyns," he said. "They are a fairly competent lot. Moreover, theyhave burned their boats and have nothing to lose; so I expect there willbe some very pretty work. My lady mother is an undoubted champion inher class, I admit, but she has got a bit out of condition lately.Managing Dad and harrying the County are n't really sufficient to keep awoman of her fighting-weight up to the mark. Still, I don't particularlywant her big guns let loose on Tilly."
"Tilly has gone out for the day, I suppose?" said Connie.
"So I was told. But how did you guess?"
Connie Carmyle flapped her small hands despairingly.
"Oh, what creatures!" she cried, apparently apostrophising the male sexin general. "Can't you understand anything or anybody--not even thegirl you love? Of course, she is out for the day; and if you go thereto-morrow she will be out for the day, too!"
"Why?" asked Dicky blankly.
"Yes--why?" echoed that sympathetic but obtuse Philistine, Bill Carmyle.
His wife turned upon him like lightning.
"Bill," she said, "keep perfectly quiet, or I shall send you off to meetLady Adela's train at Waterloo! I want to talk to Dicky. Now, Dicky,listen to me. That little girl"--Connie's eyes grew suddenly tender,for she loved her sex--"cares for you, old man--quite a lot. Quiteenough, in fact, to draw back if she thinks she is going to stand inyour way during life. That pathetic little fraud of a tea-partyyesterday has set her thinking. She has suddenly realised that althoughshe might _get_ you by false pretences, she could not _keep_ you byfalse pretences--nor want to. She has also realised that her Family areimpossible. That means that she will have to give up either you or theFamily. And you are the one she will give up, Dicky. She loves you toomuch to pull you down to their level. She won't give that as herreason--women are built like that--but she will give you up, all thesame."
The usually placid Dicky had grown excessively agitated during thishomily.
"Connie," he burst out, "for goodness' sake don't try to frighten melike that! Tilly's Family are not impossible. They 're only a bitimprobable. And besides, talking of impossible families, look at mine!Do you know who my grandfather was? He was a Lancashire cottonoperative--a hand in a mill. He invented something--a shuttle, or abobbin, or something of that kind--and made a fortune out of it. Heultimately died worth a hundred thousand pounds; but to the end of hisdays he dined without his coat, and, if he could possibly escapedetection, without his collar either. I never saw him, but my Dad sayshe was a dear old chap, and I can quite believe it. As a father-in-lawhe was a sore trial to my poor mother, whose ancestors had worn theircollars at meals for quite a considerable period; but the hundredthousand overcame her susceptibilities in the end, and she and Dad havelived happily ever since."
Dicky rose restlessly to his feet, and continued his address standing.
"Now I think," he said, "that we can set my grandfather, cottonoperative, against the late lamented Banks, plumber and gas-fitter.Banks, of course, was the bigger man socially--you know how plumbers getasked simply _everywhere_--but Mainwaring's son married the daughter ofan Earl; so we will call them quits. Anyway, Tilly is quite as good asI am--miles better, in fact."
"Dear Dicky!" murmured Connie approvingly. Here was a lover of the rightmetal.
"What about friend Perce?" enquired a gruff voice.
It was a telling question. If Dicky could clothe such an uncompromisingfact as Percy Welwyn in a garment of romance, he was capable of making asuccess of any marriage. Mr. Carmyle waited grimly for his answer.
"Ah--Percy!" replied Dicky thoughtfully. "Yes, Tiny, old soul, that's asound question. Well, Percy is n't exactly polished--in fact, one mightalmost be forgiven for describing him as a holy terror--"
"He wants losing," said Carmyle with conviction.
"But listen," pursued Dicky. "Percy may be all we say, but hecheerfully hands over half his weekly screw, which is n't a fabulousone, to the common fund of the Family. It is not every young man whowould do that, especially such a social success as Percy. Oh, yes,Connie, he is a social success; so don't look incredulous. I tell youhe is a regular Apollo at shilling hops. He took me to one a few weeksago."
"Where?" asked Connie.
"Somewhere near Kennington Oval. The girls simply swarmed over him.But he is not in the least stuck up about it; and--well, he is kind toTilly. I am, therefore," concluded Dicky stoutly, "an upholder ofPercy."
Mr. Carmyle, encouraged by the silence of his wife, felt emboldened tocontinue his cross-examination.
"What about mother-in-law?" he queried.
It was a foolish question.
"She is a woman in a thousand," said Dicky promptly, and Mrs. Carmyle,with a withering side-glance at her unfortunate lord, nodded her headvigorously in affirmation.
"Mrs. Welwyn is not what we call
a lady," proceeded Dicky, "but she isthe right stuff all through. I admit that she has not been quitesuccessful in her efforts to polish Percy, but look at the others! Thelittle sister, 'Melia, is a dear. The twins are rippers. OldWelwyn--well, he's a rotter, but he's a gentlemanly rotter; which prettywell describes the majority of my friends, now I come to think of it.And he is no hypocrite: he is quite frank about his weaknesses. Now, tosum up. On her father's side Tilly is a lady; on her mother's side sheis a brick. That's a pretty good combination. Anyhow, it's good enoughfor me; and if she'll have me I'm going to marry her."
Dicky concluded the unburdening of his soul with a shout and a wave ofhis hat, and all the sparrows flew away.
"Now," said Connie, patting the seat in a soothing fashion, "sit downand tell me how you are going to do it."
Dicky resumed his place beside her and said meekly:--
"I'm looking to you to tell me that, Connie."
Apparently he had made the remark that was expected of him, for Connieimmediately assumed a little air of profound wisdom, and herunregenerate husband emitted an unseemly gurgle.
"Your first difficulty, of course," she said to Dicky, ignoring herwretched and ill-controlled spouse, "will be to see Tilly. After thehumiliation of yesterday her only instinct will be to hide herself. Shewill be not-at-home to you every time you call; and of course, it is n'tfair that you should hang about in the hopes of catching her outside."
"No," agreed Dicky. "Not the game."
"You have written to her, I suppose?" said Connie.
"Yes. Left a note this morning," replied Dicky, brightening up.
"Well, of course, that is no use. It will make her happier, poor littlesoul, but it won't change her decision. Letters never do. You'vesimply got to see her, Dicky! Bill, run away for a minute, there's adear. Go and think about a cantilever, or something, over there."
Mr. Carmyle, puffing smoke, obediently withdrew to the other side of aclump of sooty rhododendrons. Connie turned eagerly to Dicky. Her facewas flushed and eager, like a child's.
"Dicky," she whispered earnestly, "_see_ her! _See_ her! See her alone!Take her in your arms and tell her that you will never, never, never lether go! She will struggle and try to break away; but hold on. Hold ontight! Go on telling her that you love her and will never leave her.When she sees that you mean it, she will give in. I know. I'm a woman,and I know!" Connie squeezed Dicky's arm violently. "I _know_!" sherepeated.... "You can come back now, Bill dear."
"Nice goings-on, I don't think," observed Mr. Carmyle severely,reappearing round the rhododendron. "Shouting all over thegarden--what?"
But the two conspirators, still in the clouds together, took no noticeof him. Instead, Connie rose to her feet and began to walk towards thenearest gate. The two men followed.
"Connie, how am I going to do it?" asked Dicky deferentially.
"I have a plan," replied Connie, with portentous solemnity. She waslaunched on an enterprise after her own heart. "Listen! Have you aportmanteau?"
"Yes, at my rooms."
"Well, go there and pack it."
"Why?" asked Dicky in a dazed voice.
Mrs. Carmyle replied by quoting a famous and oracular phrase which hadlately fallen from the lips of a prominent statesman, and the partyreached the railings.
"Hallo, there's a taxi at the Welwyns' door," said Carmyle. "Iwonder--oh, Lord!"
He fell hastily to the rear, his knees knocking together. Two figureswere ascending the steps of the house. One was majestic and purposeful;the other small and reluctant. The front door opened and closed uponthem.
"My mother--already!" exclaimed Dicky in dismay.
That burned child, William Carmyle, broke into a gentle perspiration.
"Never mind," said Connie reassuringly. "She was bound to come. Shecan't do any harm."
"Supposing she gets Tilly to agree never to see me again?" said Dickyfeverishly. "Supposing she insults her with money?" He ground histeeth, and Carmyle groaned sympathetically.
Connie patted his arm soothingly.
"The last word is the only thing that matters in this case," she saidwith great confidence; "and you are going to have that, Dicky, myfriend. Now, run away and pack your portmanteau. Then come and lunchwith us at Prince's. I must fly. I have an appointment with a gentlemanat Russell Square Tube Station at twelve-thirty. It is after that now."
Dicky glanced at Bill Carmyle for an explanation of this mysteriousassignation, but that gentleman merely shook his head in a bewilderedfashion.
"Don't ask me, old man," he said.
"Who is the gentleman, Connie?" Dicky enquired.
"An admirer of mine," replied Mrs. Carmyle, with a gratified smile. "Imet him in the train this morning."
"For the first time?"
"No--second. When I saw him I had an idea, so we arranged to meet againat twelve-thirty. He has another engagement, but he said it did n'tmatter when I asked him. After he has done what I want, he is coming tolunch, too. Now run and pack. Au revoir!"
Revelling in every turn of the highly complicated plot which she wasweaving, little Mrs. Carmyle, followed by her inarticulate but inflatedhusband, pattered swiftly away round the corner--and incidentally out ofthis narrative--turning to wave a reassuring hand to her client beforedisappearing.
The Freak, puzzled but confident, went home to pack his portmanteau.