CHAPTER II
THE BONSOR-TRIGGS' MENAGE
The next morning Patricia awakened with a feeling that something hadoccurred in her life. For a time she lay pondering as to what it couldbe. Suddenly memory came with a flash, and she smiled. That night shewas dining out! As suddenly as it had come the smile faded from herlips and eyes, and she mentally apostrophised herself as a little idiotfor what she had done. Then, remembering Miss Wangle's remark and theexpression on Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe's face, the lines of her mouthhardened, and there was a determined air about the tilt of her chin.She smiled again.
"Patricia Brent! No, that won't do," she broke off. Then springingout of bed she went over to the mirror, adjusted the dainty boudoir capupon her head and, bowing elaborately to her reflection, said,"Patricia Brent, I invite you to dine with me this evening at theQuadrant Grill-room. I hope you'll be able to come. How delightful.We shall have a most charming time." Then she sat on the edge of thebed and pondered.
Of course she would have to come back radiantly happy, girls who havebeen out with their fiance's always return radiantly happy. "That willmean two _cremes de menthes_ instead of one, that's another shilling,perhaps two," she murmured. Then she must have a good dinner or elsethe _creme de menthe_ would get into her head, that would mean aboutseven shillings more. "Oh! Patricia, Patricia," she wailed, "you havelet yourself in for an expense of at least ten shillings, the pointbeing is a major in the British Army worth an expenditure of tenshillings? We shall----"
She was interrupted by the maid knocking at the door to inform her thatit was her turn for the bath-room.
As Patricia walked across the Park that morning on her way to EatonSquare, where the politician lived who employed her as privatesecretary whilst he was in the process of rising, she pondered over herlast night's announcement. She was convinced that she had actedfoolishly, and in a way that would probably involve her in not onlyexpense, but some trouble and inconvenience.
At the breakfast-table the conversation had been entirely devoted toherself, her fiance, and the coming dinner together. Miss Wangle, Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe, and Miss Sikkum, supported by Mrs. Craske-Morton, hadreturned to the charge time after time. Patricia had taken refuge inher habitual breakfast silence and, finding that they could drawnothing from her her fellow-guests had proceeded to discuss the matteramong themselves. It was with a feeling of relief that Patricia rosefrom the table.
There was an east wind blowing, and Patricia had always felt that aneast wind made her a materialist. This morning she was depressed;there was in her heart a feeling that fate had not been altogether kindto her. Her childhood had been spent in a small town on the East Coastunder the care of her father's sister who, when Mrs. Brent died, hadcome to keep house for Mr. John Brent and take care of hisfive-year-old daughter. In her aunt Patricia found a woman soured bylife. What it was that had soured her Patricia could never gather; butAunt Adelaide was for ever emphasizing the fact that men were beasts.
Later Patricia saw in her aunt a disappointed woman. She couldremember as a child examining with great care her aunt's hard featuresand angular body, and wondering if she had ever been pretty, and ifanyone had kissed her because they wanted to and not because it wasexpected of them.
The lack of sympathy between aunt and niece had driven Patricia moreand more to seek her father's companionship. He was a silent man,little given to emotion or demonstration of affection. He lovedPatricia, but lacked the faculty of conveying to her the knowledge ofhis love.
As she walked across the Park Patricia came to the conclusion that, forsome reason or other, love, or the outward visible signs of love, hadbeen denied her. Warm-hearted, impetuous, spontaneous, she had beenchilled by the self-repression of her father, and the lack of affectionof her aunt. She had been schooled to regard God as the God ofpunishment rather than the God of love. One of her most terrifyingrecollections was that of the Sundays spent under the paternal roof.To her father, religion counted for nothing; but to her aunt it countedfor everything in the world; the hereafter was to be the compensationfor renunciation in this world. Miss Brent's attitude towards prayerwas that of one who regards it as a means by which she is able toconvey to the Almighty what she expects of Him in the next world as areward for what she has done, or rather not done, in this.
Patricia had once asked, in a childish moment of speculation, "But,Aunt Adelaide, suppose God doesn't make us happy in the next world,what shall we do then?"
"Oh! yes He will," was her aunt's reply, uttered with such grimnessthat Patricia, though only six years of age, had been satisfied thatnot even God would dare to disappoint Aunt Adelaide.
Patricia had been a lonely child. She had come to distrust spontaneityand, in consequence, became shy and self-conscious, with the inevitableresult that other children, the few who were in Aunt Adelaide's opinionfit for her to associate with, made it obvious that she was one byherself. Patricia had fallen back on her father's library, where shehad read many books that would have caused her aunt agonies of stormyanguish, had she known.
Patricia early learnt the necessity for dissimulation. She alwayscarefully selected two books, one that she could ostensibly be readingif her aunt happened to come into the library, and the other that sheherself wanted to read, and of which she knew her aunt would stronglydisapprove.
Miss Brent regarded boarding-schools as "hotbeds of vice," and inconsequence Patricia was educated at home, educated in a way that shewould never have been at any school; for Miss Brent was thorough ineverything she undertook. The one thing for which Patricia had to begrateful to her aunt was her general knowledge, and the sane methodsadopted with her education. But for this she would not have been inthe position to accept a secretaryship to a politician.
When Patricia was twenty-one her father had died, and she inheritedfrom her mother an annuity of a hundred pounds a year. Her aunt hadsuggested that they should live together; but Patricia had announcedher intention of working, and with the money that she realised from thesale of her father's effects, particularly his library, she came toLondon and underwent a course of training in shorthand, typewriting,and general secretarial work. This was in March, 1914. Before she wasready to undertake a post, the war broke out upon Europe like acataclysm, and a few months later Patricia had obtained a post asprivate secretary to Mr. Arthur Bonsor, M.P.
Mr. Bonsor was the victim of marriage. Destiny had ordained that heshould spend his life in golf and gardening, or in breeding earlessrabbits and stingless bees. He was bucolic and passive. Mrs. Bonsor,however, after a slight altercation with Destiny, had decided that Mr.Bonsor was to become a rising politician. Thus it came about that,pushed on from behind by Mrs. Bonsor and led by Patricia, whose generalknowledge was of the greatest possible assistance to him, Mr. Bonsorwas in the elaborate process of rising at the time when Patriciadetermined to have a fiance.
Mr. Bonsor was a small, fair-haired man, prematurely bald, anindifferent speaker; but excellent in committee. Instinctively he wasgentle and kind. Mrs. Bonsor disliked Patricia and Patricia wasindifferent to Mrs. Bonsor. Mrs. Bonsor, however, recognised that inPatricia her husband had a remarkably good secretary, one whom it wouldbe difficult to replace.
Mrs. Bonsor's attitude to everyone who was not in a superior positionto herself was one of patronage. Patricia she looked upon as an upperservant, although she never dare show it. Patricia, on the other hand,showed very clearly that she had no intention of being treated otherthan as an equal by Mrs. Bonsor, and the result was a sort of armedneutrality. They seldom met; when by chance they encountered eachother in the house Mrs. Bonsor would say, "Good morning, Miss Brent; Ihope you walked across the Park." Patricia would reply, "Yes, mostenjoyable; I invariably walk across the Park when I have time"; andwith a forced smile Mrs. Bonsor would say, "That is very wise of you."
Never did Mrs. Bonsor speak to Patricia without enquiring if she hadwalked across the Park. One day Patricia anticipated Mrs. Bonsor'sine
vitable question by announcing, "I walked across the Park thismorning, Mrs. Bonsor, it was most delightful," and Mrs. Bonsor hadglared at her, but, remembering Patricia's value to her husband, hadmade a non-committal reply and passed on. Henceforth, Mrs. Bonsordropped all reference to the Park.
On the first day of Patricia's entry into the Bonsor household, Mrs.Bonsor had remarked, "Of course you will stay to lunch," and Patriciahad thanked her and said she would. But when she found that herluncheon was served on a tray in the library, where Mr. Bonsor did hiswork, she had decided that henceforth exercise in the middle of the daywas necessary for her, and she lunched out.
Mr. Bonsor had married beneath him. His father, a land-poor squire inthe north of England, had impressed upon all his sons that money wasessential as a matrimonial asset, and Mr. Bonsor, not having sufficientindividuality to starve for love, had determined to follow the parentaldecree. How he met Miss Triggs, the daughter of the prosperousStreatham builder and contractor, Samuel Triggs, nobody knew, but hisfather had congratulated him very cordially about having contrived tomarry her. Miss Triggs's friends to a woman were of the firmconviction that it was Miss Triggs who had married Mr. Bonsor."'Ettie's so ambitious." remarked her father soon after the wedding,"that it's almost a relief to get 'er married."
Mr. Bonsor was scarcely back from his honeymoon before he was in fullpossession of the fact that Mrs. Bonsor had determined that he shouldbecome famous. She had read how helpful many great men's wives hadbeen in their career, and she determined to be the power behind theindeterminate Arthur Bonsor. Poor Mr. Bonsor, who desired nothingbetter than a peaceable life and had looked forward to a future of easeand prosperity when he married Miss Triggs, discovered when too latethat he had married not so much Miss Triggs, as an abstract sense ofambition. Domestic peace was to be purchased only by an attitude ofentire submission to Mrs. Bonsor's schemes. He was not without brains,but he lacked that impetus necessary to "getting on." Mrs. Bonsor, whowas not lacking in shrewdness, observed this and determined that sheherself would be the impetus.
Mr. Bonsor came to dread meal-times, that is meal-times _tete-a-tete_.During these symposiums he was subjected to an elaboratecross-examination as to what he was doing to achieve greatness. Mrs.Bonsor insisted upon his being present at every important function towhich he could gain admittance, particularly the funerals of theillustrious great. Egged on by her he became an inveterate writer ofletters to the newspapers, particularly _The Times_. Sometimes hisletters appeared, which caused Mrs. Bonsor intense gratification: buteditors soon became shy of a man who bombarded them with letters uponevery conceivable subject, from the submarine menace to the question of"should women wear last year's frocks?"
Mr. Triggs had once described his daughter very happily: "'Ettie's oneof them that ain't content with pressing a bell, but she must keep 'erthumb on the bell-push." That was Mrs. Bonsor all over; she lackedrestraint, both physical and artistic, and she conceived that if youonly make noise enough people will, sooner or later, begin to takenotice.
Within three years of his marriage, Mr. Bonsor entered the House ofCommons. He had first of all fought in a Radical constituency and beenbadly beaten; but the second time he had, by some curious juggling ofchance, been successful in an almost equally strong Radical division,much to the delight of Mrs. Bonsor. The success had been largely dueto her idea of flooding the constituency with pretty girl-canvassers;but she had been very careful to keep a watchful eye on Mr. Bonsor.
One of her reasons for engaging Patricia, for really Mrs. Bonsor wasresponsible for the engagement, had been that she had decided thatPatricia was indifferent to men, and she decided that Mr. Bonsor mightsafely be trusted with Patricia Brent for long periods of secretarialcommunion.
Mr. Bonsor, although not lacking in susceptibility, was entirely devoidof that courage which subjugates the feminine heart. Once he hadpermitted his hand to rest upon Patricia's; but he never forgot thelook she gave him and, for weeks after, he felt a most awful dog, andwondered if Patricia would tell Mrs. Bonsor.
When she married, Mrs. Bonsor saw that it would be necessary to dropher family, that is as far as practicable. It could not be doneentirely, because her father was responsible for the allowance whichmade it possible for the Bonsors to live in Eaton Square. The old manwas not lacking in shrewdness, and he had no intention of being thrownoverboard by his ambitious daughter. It occasionally happened that Mr.Triggs would descend upon the Bonsor household and, although Mrs.Bonsor did her best to suppress him, that is without in any way showingshe was ashamed of her parent, he managed to make Patricia'sacquaintance and, from that time, made a practice of enquiring for andhaving a chat with her.
Mrs. Bonsor was grateful to providence for having removed her motherprevious to her marriage. Mrs. Triggs had been a homely soul, with amarked inclination to be "friendly." She overflowed with good-humour,and was a woman who would always talk in an omnibus, or join a weddingcrowd and compare notes with those about her. She addressed Mr. Triggsas "Pa," which caused her daughter a mental anguish of which Mrs.Triggs was entirely unaware. It was not until Miss Triggs was almostout of her teens that her mother was persuaded to cease calling her"Girlie."
In Mrs. Bonsor the reforming spirit was deeply ingrained; but she hadlong since despaired of being able to influence her father's taste indress. She groaned in spirit each time she saw him, for his sartorialideas were not those of Mayfair. He leaned towards checks, rather loudchecks, trousers that were tight about the calf, and a coat that was asporting conception of the morning coat, with a large flapped pocket oneither side. He invariably wore a red tie and an enormous watch-chainacross his prosperous-looking figure. His hat was a high felt, anaffair that seemed to have set out in life with the ambition of being atop hat, but losing heart had compromised.
If Mrs. Bonsor dreaded her father's visits, Patricia welcomed them.She was genuinely fond of the old man. Mr. Triggs radiated happinessfrom the top of his shiny bald head, with its fringe of sandy-greyhair, to his square-toed boots that invariably emitted little squeaksof joy. He wore a fringe of whiskers round his chubby face, otherwisehe was clean-shaven, holding that beards were "messy" things. He hadwhat Patricia called "crinkly" eyes, that is to say each time he smiledthere seemed to radiate from them hundreds of little lines.
He always addressed Patricia as "me dear," and not infrequently broughther a box of chocolates, to the scandal of Mrs. Bonsor, who had onceexpostulated with him that that was not the way to treat her husband'ssecretary.
"Tut, tut, 'Ettie," had been Mr. Triggs's response. "She's a fine gal.If I was a bit younger I shouldn't be surprised if there was a secondMrs. Triggs."
"Father!" Mrs. Bonsor had expostulated in horror. "Remember that sheis Arthur's secretary."
Mr. Triggs had almost choked with laughter; mirth invariably seemed tointerfere with his respiration and ended in violent and wheezycoughings and gaspings. Had Mrs. Bonsor known that he repeated theconversation to Patricia, she would have been mortified almost to thepoint of discharging her husband's secretary.
"You see, me dear," Mr. Triggs had once said to Patricia, "'Ettie's sobusy bothering about aitches that she's got time for nothing else. Sheain't exactly proud of her old father," he had added shrewdly, "but shefinds 'is brass a bit useful." Mr. Triggs was under no delusion as tohis daughter's attitude towards him.
One day he had asked Patricia rather suddenly, "Why don't you getmarried, me dear?"
Patricia had started and looked up at him quickly. "Married, me, Mr.Triggs? Oh! I suppose for one thing nobody wants me, and for anotherI'm not in love."
Mr. Triggs had pondered a little over this.
"That's right, me dear!" he said at length. "Never you marry exceptyou feel you can't 'elp it, then you'll know it's the right one. Don'tyou marry a chap because he's got a lot of brass. You marry for thesame reason that me and my missis married, because we felt we couldn'tdo without each other," and the old man's voice grew husky. "Youw
ouldn't believe it, me dear, 'ow I miss 'er, though she's been deadeight years next May."
Patricia had been deeply touched and, not knowing what to say, hadstretched out her hand to the old man, who took and held it for amoment in his. As she drew her hand away she felt a tear splash uponit, and it was not her own.
"Ever hear that song 'My Old Dutch'?" he asked after a lengthy silence.
Patricia nodded.
"I used to sing it to 'er--God bless my soul! what an old fool I'mgettin', talkin' to you in this way. Now I must be gettin' off. Lor!what would 'Ettie say if she knew?"
But Mrs. Bonsor did not know.