CHAPTER XVI
PATRICIA'S INCONSTANCY
Patricia's engagement and approaching marriage were the sole topics ofconversation at Galvin House, at meal-times in particular. Bowen wasdiscussed and admired from every angle and aspect. Questions rainedupon Patricia. When was she likely to get married? Where was thewedding to take place? Would she go abroad for her honeymoon? Who wasto provide the wedding-cake? Where did she propose to get hertrousseau? Would the King and Queen be present at the wedding?
At first Patricia had endeavoured to answer coherently; but findingthis useless, she soon drifted into the habit of replying at random,with the result that Galvin House received much curious information.
Miss Wangle's olive-branch was an announcement of how pleased the dearbishop would have been to marry Miss Brent and Lord Peter had he beenalive.
Mr. Bolton joked as feebly as ever. Mr. Cordal masticated with hiswonted vigour. Mr. Sefton became absorbed in the prospect of theraising of the military age limit, and strove to hearten himself byconstant references to the time when he would be in khaki. Miss Sikkumcontinued to surround herself with an atmosphere of romance, andinvariably returned in the evening breathless from her chasteendeavours to escape from some "awful man" who had pursued her. Thereek of cooking seemed to become more obvious, and the dreariness ofSundays more pronounced. Some times Patricia thought of leaving GalvinHouse for a place where she would be less notorious; but somethingseemed to bind her to the old associations.
As she returned each evening, her eyes instinctively wandered towardsthe table and the letter-rack. If there were a parcel, her heart wouldbound suddenly, only to resume its normal pace when she discovered thatit was for someone else.
Of Lady Tanagra she saw little, news of Bowen she received none. Hermost dexterous endeavours to cross-examine Mr. Triggs ended in failure.He seemed to have lost all interest in Bowen. Lady Tanagra never evenmentioned his name.
Whatever the shortcomings of Lady Tanagra and Mr. Triggs in thisdirection, however, they were more than compensated for by Mrs. Bonsor.Her effusive friendliness Patricia found overwhelming, and herinsistent hospitality, which took the form of a flood of invitations toPatricia and Bowen to lunch, dine or to do anything they chose in herhouse or elsewhere, was bewildering.
At last in self-defence Patricia had to tell Mrs. Bonsor that Bowen wastoo much occupied with his duties even to see her; but this seemed toincrease rather than diminish Mrs. Bonsor's hospitable instincts, whichincluded Lady Tanagra as well as her brother. Would not Miss Brentbring Lady Tanagra to tea or to luncheon one day? Perhaps they wouldtake tea with Mrs. Bonsor at the Ritz one afternoon? Could they lunchat the Carlton? To all of these invitations Patricia replied with coldcivility.
In her heart Mrs. Bonsor was raging against the "airs" of her husband'ssecretary; but she saw that Lady Tanagra and Lord Peter might beextremely useful to her and to her husband in his career. Consequentlyshe did not by any overt sign show her pique.
One day when Patricia was taking down letters for Mr. Bonsor, Mr.Triggs burst into the library in a state of obvious excitement.
"Where's 'Ettie?" he demanded, after having saluted Patricia and Mr.Bonsor.
Mr. Bonsor looked at him reproachfully.
"'Ere, ring for 'Ettie, A. B., I've got something to show you all."
Mr. Bonsor pressed the bell. As he did so Mrs. Bonsor entered theroom, having heard her father's voice.
With great empressement Mr. Triggs produced from the tail pocket of hiscoat a folded copy of the "Illustrated Universe". Flattening it outupon the table he moistened his thumb and finger and, with greatdeliberation, turned over several leaves, then indicating a page hedemanded:
"What do you think of that?"
"That," was a full-page picture of Lady Tanagra walking in the Parkwith Mr. Triggs. The portrait of Lady Tanagra was a little indistinct;but that of Mr. Triggs was as clear as daylight, and a remarkablelikeness. Underneath was printed "Lady Tanagra Bowen and a friendwalking in the Park."
Mrs. Bonsor devoured the picture and then looked up at her father, anew respect in her eyes.
"What do you think of it, 'Ettie?" enquired Mr. Triggs again.
"It's a very good likeness, father," said Mrs. Bonsor weakly.
It was Patricia, however, who expressed what Mr. Triggs had anticipated.
"You're becoming a great personage, Mr. Triggs," she cried. "If youare not careful you will compromise Lady Tanagra."
Mr. Triggs chuckled with glee as he mopped his forehead with hishandkerchief.
"I rang 'er up this morning," he said.
"Rang who up, father?" enquired Mrs. Bonsor.
"Lady Tan," said Mr. Triggs, watching his daughter to see the effect ofthe diminutive upon her.
"Was she annoyed?" enquired Mrs. Bonsor.
"Annoyed!" echoed Mr. Triggs. "Annoyed! She was that pleased she'sasked me to lunch to-morrow. Why, she introduced me to a duchess lastweek, an' I'm goin' to 'er place to tea."
"I wish you would bring Lady Tanagra here one day, father," said Mrs.Bonsor. "Why not ask her to lunch here to-morrow?"
"Not me, 'Ettie," said Mr. Triggs wisely. "If you want the big fish,you've got to go out and catch 'em yourself."
There was a pause. Patricia hid a smile in her handkerchief. Mr.Bonsor was deep in a speech upon the question of rationing fish.
"Well, A. B., what 'ave you got to say?"
"Dear fish may mean revolution," murmured Mr. Bonsor.
Mr. Triggs looked at his son-in-law in amazement.
"What's that you say?" he demanded.
"I--I beg your pardon. I--I was thinking," apologised Mr. Bonsor.
"Now, father," said Mrs. Bonsor, "will you come into the morning-room?I want to talk to you, and I'm sure Arthur wants to get on with hiswork."
Mr. Triggs was reluctantly led away, leaving Patricia to continue theday's work.
Patricia now saw little of Mr. Triggs, in fact since Lady Tanagra hadannounced that Bowen would no longer trouble her, she found life hadbecome singularly grey. Things that before had amused and interestedher now seemed dull and tedious. Mr. Bolton's jokes were more obviousthan ever, and Mr. Cordal's manners more detestable.
The constant interrogations levelled at her as to where Bowen was, andwhy he had not called to see her, she found difficult to answer.Several times she had gone alone to the theatre, or to a cinema, inorder that it might be thought she was with Bowen. At last the strainbecame so intolerable that she spoke to Mrs. Craske-Morton, hintingthat unless Galvin House took a little less interest in her affairs,she would have to leave.
The effect of her words was instantly manifest. Wherever she moved sheseemed to interrupt whispering groups. When she entered thedining-room there would be a sudden cessation of conversation, andeveryone would look up with an innocence that was too obvious todeceive even themselves. If she went into the lounge on her returnfrom Eaton Square, the same effect was noticeable. When she waspresent the conversation was forced and artificial. Sentences would bebegun and left unfinished, as if the speaker had suddenly rememberedthat the subject was taboo.
Patricia found herself wishing that they would speak out what was intheir minds. Anything would be preferable to the air of mystery thatseemed to pervade the whole place. She could not be unaware of thesignificant glances that were exchanged when it was thought she was notlooking. Several times she had been asked if she were not feelingwell, and her looking-glass reflected a face that was pale and drawn,with dark lines under the eyes.
One evening, when she had gone to her room directly after dinner, therewas a gentle knock at her door. She opened it to find Mrs. Hamilton,looking as if it would take only a word to send her creeping away again.
"Come in, you dear little Grey Lady," cried Patricia, putting her armaffectionately round Mrs. Hamilton's small shoulders, and leading herover to a basket-chair by the window.
For some time they talked of nothing in particular.
At last Mrs.Hamilton said:
"I--I hope you won't think me impertinent, my dear; but--but----"
"I should never think anything you said or did impertinent," saidPatricia, smiling.
"You know----" began Mrs. Hamilton, and then broke off.
"Anyone would think you were thoroughly afraid of me," said Patriciawith a smile.
"I don't like interfering," said Mrs. Hamilton, "but I am very worried."
She looked so pathetic in her anxiety that Patricia bent down andkissed her on the cheek.
"You dear little thing," she cried, "tell me what is on your mind, andI will do the best I can to help you."
"I am very--er--worried about you, my dear," began Mrs. Hamiltonhesitatingly. "You are looking so pale and tired and worn. I--I fearyou have something on your mind and--and----" she broke off, wordsfailing her.
"It's the summer," replied Patricia, smiling. "I always find the hotweather trying, more trying even than Mr. Bolton's jokes," she smiled.
"Are you--are you sure it's nothing else?" said Mrs. Hamilton.
"Quite sure," said Patricia. "What else should it be?" She wasconscious of her reddening cheeks.
"You ought to go out more," said Mrs. Hamilton gently. "After sittingindoors all day you want fresh air and exercise."
And with that Mrs. Hamilton had to rest content.
Patricia could not explain the absurd feeling she experienced that shemight miss something if she left the house. It was all so vague, sointangible. All she was conscious of was some hidden force that seemedto bind her to the house, or, when by an effort of will she broke fromits influence, seemed to draw her back again. She could not analysethe feeling, she was only conscious of its existence.
From Miss Brent she had received a characteristic reply to her letter.
"DEAR PATRICIA," she wrote,
"I have read with pain and surprise your letter. What your poor dearfather would have thought I cannot conceive.
"What I did was done from the best motives, as I felt you werecompromising yourself by a secret engagement.
"I am sorry to find that you have become exceedingly self-willed oflate, and I fear London has done you no good.
"As your sole surviving relative, it is my duty to look after yourwelfare. This I promised your dear father on his death-bed.
"Gratitude I do not ask, nor do I expect it; but I am determined to domy duty by my brother's child. I cannot but deplore the tone in whichyou last wrote to me, and also the rather foolish threat that yourletter contained.
"Your affectionate aunt, "ADELAIDE BRENT.
"P.S.--I shall make a point of coming up to London soon. Even yourrudeness will not prevent me from doing my duty by my brother'schild.--A. B."
As she tore up the letter, Patricia remembered her father once saying,"Your aunt's sense of duty is the most offensive sense I have everencountered."
One day as Patricia was endeavouring to sort out into some sort ofcoherence a sheaf of notes that Mr. Bonsor had made upon Botulism, Mr.Triggs entered the library. After his cheery "How goes it, me dear?"he stood for some moments gazing down at her solicitously.
"You ain't lookin' well, me dear," he said with conviction.
"That's a sure way to a woman's heart," replied Patricia gaily.
"'Ow's that, me dear?" he questioned.
"Why, telling her that she's looking plain," retorted Patricia.
Mr. Triggs protested.
"All I want is a holiday," went on Patricia. "There are only threeweeks to wait and then----"
There was, however, no joy of anticipation in her voice.
"You're frettin'!"
Patricia turned angrily upon Mr. Triggs.
"Fretting! What on earth do you mean, Mr. Triggs?" she demanded.
Mr. Triggs sat down suddenly, overwhelmed by Patricia's indignation.
"Don't be cross with me, me dear." Mr. Triggs looked so like a childfearing rebuke that she was forced to smile.
"You must not say absurd things then," she retorted. "What have I gotto fret about?"
Mr. Triggs quailed beneath her challenging glance. "I--I'm sorry, medear," he said contritely.
"Don't be sorry, Mr. Triggs," said Patricia severely; "be accurate."
"I'm sorry, me dear," repeated Mr. Triggs.
"But that doesn't answer my question," Patricia persisted. "What haveI to fret about?"
Mr. Triggs mopped his brow vigorously. He invariably expressed hisemotions with his handkerchief. He used it strategically, tactically,defensively, continuously. It was to him what the lines of TorresVedras were to Wellington. He retired behind its sheltering folds, toemerge a moment later, his forces reorganised and re-arrayed. When ata loss what to say or do, it was his handkerchief upon which he fellback; if he required time in which to think, he did it behind its ampleand protecting folds.
"You see, me dear," said Mr. Triggs at length, avoiding Patricia'srelentless gaze, as he proceeded to stuff away the handkerchief in histail pocket. "You see, me dear----" Again he paused. "You see, medear," he began for a third time, "I thought you was frettin' over yourwork or something, when you ought to be enjoyin' yourself," he lied.
Patricia looked at him, her conscience smiting her. She smiledinvoluntarily.
"I never fret about anything except when you don't come to see me," shesaid gaily.
Mr. Triggs beamed with good-humour, his fears now quite dispelled.
"You're run down, me dear," he said with decision. "You want an'oliday. I must speak to A. B. about it."
"If you do I shall be very angry," said Patricia; "Mr. Bonsor is alwaysvery kind and considerate."
"It--it isn't----" began Mr. Triggs, then paused.
"It isn't what?" Patricia smiled at his look of concern.
"If--if it is," began Mr. Triggs. Again he paused, then added with agulp, "Couldn't I lend you some?"
For a moment Patricia failed to follow the drift of his remark, thenwhen she appreciated that he was offering to lend her money sheflushed. For a moment she did not reply, then seeing the anxietystamped upon his kindly face, she said with great deliberation:
"I think you must be quite the nicest man in all the world. If ever Idecide to borrow money I'll come to you first."
Mr. Triggs blushed like a schoolboy. He had fully anticipated beingsnubbed. He had found from experience that Patricia had of late becomevery uncertain in her moods.
They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Bonsor.
"'Ere, A. B.!" cried Mr. Triggs. "What do you mean by it?"
"Mean by what?" enquired Mr. Bonsor, busy with an imaginary speech uponstreet noises, suggested by a barrel-piano in the distance.
"You're working 'er too 'ard, A. B.," said Mr. Triggs with conviction.
"Working who too hard?" Mr. Bonsor looked helplessly at Patricia. Hewas always at a disadvantage with his father-in-law, whose bluntness ofspeech seemed to demoralise him.
"Mr. Triggs thinks that you are slowly killing me," laughed Patricia.
Mr. Bonsor looked uncertainly at Patricia, and Mr. Triggs gazed at Mr.Bonsor. He had no very high opinion of his daughter's husband.
"Well, mind you don't overwork 'er," said Mr. Triggs as he rose to go.A few minutes later Patricia was deep in the absorbing subject of thelife history of the potato-beetle.
"Ugh!" she cried as the clock in the hall chimed five. "I hatebeetles, and," she paused a moment to tuck away a stray strand of hair,"I never want to see a potato as long as I live."
That evening when she reached Galvin House she went to her room, andthere subjected herself to a searching examination in thelooking-glass, she was forced to confess to the paleness of her faceand dark marks beneath her eyes. She explained them by summer inLondon, coupled with the dreariness of Arthur Bonsor, M.P., and hismania for statistics.
"You're human yeast, Patricia!" she murmured to her reflection; "atleast you're paid two-and-a-half guineas a week to try to leaven theunleavenable, and you mus
tn't complain if sometimes you get a littletired. Fretting!" There was indignation in her voice. "What have yougot to fret about?"
With the passage of each day, however, she grew more listless andweary. She came to dread meal-times, with their irritating chatter anduninspiring array of faces that she had come almost to dislike. Shewas conscious of whisperings and significant looks among herfellow-boarders. She resented even Gustave's cow-like gaze ofsympathetic anxiety as she declined the food he offered her.
Lady Tanagra and Mr. Triggs never asked her out. Everybody seemedsuddenly to have deserted her. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse ofthem in the Park on Sunday morning Once she saw Bowen; but he did notsee her. "The daily round and common task" took on a new and sinistermeaning for her. Sometimes her thoughts would travel on a few yearsinto the future. What did it hold for her? Instinctively sheshuddered at the loneliness of it all.
One afternoon on her return to Galvin House, Gustave opened the door.He had evidently been on the watch. His kindly face was beaming withgoodwill.
"Oh, mees!" he cried. "Mees Brent is here."
"Aunt Adelaide!" cried Patricia, her heart sinking. Then seeing thecomical lock of indecision upon Gustave's face caused by her despairingexclamation she laughed.
When she entered the lounge, it was to find Miss Brent sitting uprightupon the stiffest chair in the middle of the room. Miss Wangle andMrs. Mosscrop-Smythe were seated together in the extreme corner, Mrs.Barnes and two or three others were grouped by the window. Theatmosphere was tense. Something had apparently happened. Patricialearned that from the grim set of Miss Brent's mouth.
"I want to talk to you, Patricia," Miss Brent announced after thecustomary greeting.
"Yes, Aunt Adelaide," said Patricia, sinking into a chair with a sighof resignation.
"Somewhere private," said Miss Brent.
"There is no privacy at Galvin House," murmured Patricia, "except inthe bathroom."
"Patricia, don't be indelicate," snapped Miss Brent.
"I'm not indelicate, Aunt Adelaide, I'm merely being accurate," saidPatricia wearily.
"Cannot we go to your room?" enquired Miss Brent.
"Impossible!" announced Patricia. "It's like an oven by now. The sunis on it all the afternoon. Besides," continued Patricia, "my affairsare public property here. We are quite a commune. We have everythingin common--except our toothbrushes," she added as an afterthought.
"Well! Let us get over there."
Miss Brent rose and made for the corner farthest from Miss Wangle andMrs. Mosscrop-Smythe. Patricia followed her wearily.
"I've just snubbed those two women," announced Miss Brent, as sheseated herself in a basket-chair that squeaked protestingly.
"There were indications of electricity in the air," remarked Patriciacalmly.
"I want to have a serious talk with you, Patricia," said Miss Brent inher best it's-my-duty-cost-it-what-it-may manner.
"How can anyone be serious in this heat?" protested Patricia.
"I owe it to your poor dear father to----"
"This debtor and creditor business is killing romance," murmuredPatricia.
"I have your welfare to consider," proceeded Miss Brent. "I----"
"Don't you think you've done enough mischief already, Aunt Adelaide?"enquired Patricia coolly.
"Mischief! I?" exclaimed Miss Brent in astonishment.
Patricia nodded.
"As your sole surviving relative it is my duty----"
"Don't you think," interrupted Patricia, "that just for once you couldneglect your duty? Sin is wonderfully exhilarating."
"Patricia!" almost shrieked Miss Brent, horror in her eyes. "Are youmad?"
"No," replied Patricia, "only a little weary."
"You must have a tonic," announced Miss Brent.
Patricia shuddered. She still remembered her childish sufferingsresulting from Miss Brent's interpretation and application of TheDoctor at Home. She was convinced that she had swallowed every remedythe book contained, and been rubbed with every liniment its pagesrevealed.
"No, Aunt Adelaide," she said evenly. "All I require is that youshould cease interfering in my affairs."
"How dare you! How----" Miss Brent paused wordless.
"I am prepared to accept you as an aunt," continued Patricia, outwardlycalm; but almost stifled by the pounding of her heart. "It is God'swill; but if you persist in assuming the mantle of Mrs. Grundy,combined with the Infallibility of the Pope, then I must protest."
"Protest!" repeated Miss Brent, repeating the word as if not fullycomprehending its meaning.
"If I am able to earn my own living, then I am able to conduct my ownlove affairs."
"But----" began Miss Brent.
"I am sorry to appear rude, Aunt Adelaide, but it is much better to befrank. I am sure you mean well; but the fact of your being my solesurviving relative places me at a disadvantage. If there were two ofyou or three, you could quarrel about me, and thus preserve thebalance. Now let us talk about something else."
For once in her life Miss Brent was nonplussed. She regarded her nieceas if she had been a two-tailed giraffe, or a double-headed mastodon.Had she been American she would have known it to be brain-storm; as itwas she decided that Patricia was sickening for some serious illnessthat had produced a temperature.
In all her experience of "the Family" never once had Miss Brent beenopenly defied in this way, and she had no reserves upon which to fallback. She held personal opinion and inclination must always takesecondary place to "the Family." The individual must be sacrificed tothe group, provided the individual were not herself. Births, deaths,marriages, christenings, funerals, weddings, were solemn functions thatmust be regarded as involving not the principals themselves so much astheir relatives. Her doctrine was, although she would not haveexpressed it so philosophically, that the individual is mortal; but thefamily is immortal.
That anyone lived for himself or herself never seemed to occur to MissBrent. If their actions were acceptable to the family and at the sametime pleased the principals, then so much the better for theprincipals; if, on the other hand, the family disapproved, then theduty of the principals was clear.
This open flouting of her prides and her prejudices was to Miss Brent agreat blow. It seemed to stun her. She was at a loss how to proceed;all she realised was that she must save "the Family" at any cost.
"Now tell me what happened when you came in," said Patricia sweetly.
"I must be going," said Miss Brent solemnly.
"Must you?" enquired Patricia politely; but rising lest her aunt shouldchange her mind.
"Now remember," said Patricia as they walked along the hall, "you'velost me one matrimonial fish. If I get another nibble you must keepout of----"
But Miss Brent had fled.
"Well, that's that!" sighed Patricia as she walked slowly upstairs.