Feral Park (4 page)

Anna shook her head.

“Whirlygigs?”

“No.”

“Nutmegs, thingumbobs, marble pouch? You have heard none of these?”

Again Anna shook her head and blanched.

“Neither had my daughter, but she got my intent and all but fainted away from mortification. Upon our return to the upper rooms, I apologised for the careless remark, but took this opening to enquire if Guinevere was not on intimate terms with her own husband’s private anatomy after seven years of marriage. To my great interest and subsequent disappointment I discovered that she was not. She and Mr. Mallard ‘made their babies’ in the proper and respectable darkness, and she went on to say that she felt it monstrous wrong for me even to be discussing such a thing, and if I wanted the truth of it, I should be put into a house for overly inquisitive lunatics, and this, my dear girl, was the beginning of the end for me as boarder-non-grata in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Luther Mallard! It was become as clear as Irish crystal that I should and
could
no longer remain under the roof of a daughter and son-in-law who had still to reveal any of their warm and moist parts to the other except in blind congress, and yet were each violently quick to asperse anyone who deemed such Puritanism to be in the least bit
peculiar.
I must say that I do not know where it was that I went wrong in the bringing up of my daughter, nor know I how she should chuse for her husband one who was equally disapprobative of me, but I certainly know that I did not fail to entreat her to respect and accept into her society all manner of persons—even those who do not necessarily exercise propriety in all things, a lesson she has all but ignored to my great maternal displeasure. It should have come as no surprize to her that I would not change in my own ways. The shock to
me
most assuredly was the fact that Guinevere did not recognise and seek to amend her own failing—a hardened and illiberal heart. Where, I must ask you, is the more grievous harm?”

Anna did not respond, finding the question rhetorical. Her attention was additionally diverted by her situation in the small hampering chair; its arms pinched her sides and limited her movement most inconveniently.

“But returning to our own intercourse, have we license to open ourselves to a full and frank exchange?”

“I must admit in perfect honesty, Mrs. Taptoe, that there remains, to my disappointment, the need for some adjustment to my own sensibilities such as to allow me to accept
all
that you say without a start or a gasp, but I warrant that I am most willing to essay to that end. For you see, my father has tête-àtêtes, I suspect, of very much this same complexion, and I know that he must not by now flinch from hearing any of it.”

“Can you swim, child?”

“Yes.”

“And how was it you came to learn?”

“I was taught by my father in one of the park fish ponds.”

“He did not, then, simply throw you into the water and trust in instinct to keep you afloat?”

“No, madam, to be sure he did not.”

“Nonetheless, you will still understand the analogy, this being the speedier of the two methods to my purpose. I should toss you without instruction into the pond of our frank discourse and observe how quickly you learn to paddle your way about like a happy pup. Otherwise, I should extend to you more deliberate lessons and exercise far more patience. Of course, there is yet a third path we may wish to take, and that is to avoid the pond altogether! My daughter credits herself with evading even the smallest puddle!”

Mrs. Taptoe laughed at her wit without modesty. Anna smiled to shew an affinity and to separate herself wholly from Mrs. Taptoe’s low estimation of her daughter. “So. What shall be your preference?”

“Perhaps a combination of the first two methods would produce within me the desired result, Mrs. Taptoe. Jolt me a little but not so much as to mortify me to the point of full and frightened retreat. Be patient with me and I should like to hear all that you have to tell about that which goes on, as my father says, behind the masks, beneath the tables, and within the dark corners of our rusticated, provincial lives. I should also wish to seek your assistance in learning the identity of the one who unburdens himself or herself of every detail of the immoral stumbles of our parish neighbours to my father. It is not
you
, is it, Mrs. Taptoe? Was that why Papa sent me to you?”

Mrs. Taptoe restrained a giggle by placing palm to mouth. “Oh, dear me, no! I am aware of stumbles, to be sure, but they are generally of the venial variety—trifling offences if one is to deem them offences at all. For, child, I do not see sin in all things as some are wont to do. Moreover, I do not cast stones. And I do not believe that every misstep requires correction or absolution through Christian forgiveness. Forgiveness presumes a wrongful act. For an act to be wrongful, my dear, there must be a deliberate attempt to harm another. I speak not of the offence to sensibilities, for it should not be the responsibility of the potential offender to gauge the level of umbrage that could be taken by recipient or witness. If we were all about the business of tiptoeing through the garden of morality and virtue, I should think that we would accomplish very little gardening, for where one person sees a beautiful flower, another perceives an ugly weed. Or, shall I say, where one may see a tasty radish—well, my dear, you get my point, I am sure.”

“But Mrs. Taptoe, should we not still cultivate some common ground for agreement lest we find ourselves in conflict and aspersion at every turn?”

“But my dear! That is exactly where we are to-day! I have been shunned by daughter and son-in-law—
village trades people
no less—for possessing low principles, such as to constitute a threat to the moral education of their own impressionable children, when in some other circle, a quip about a man-radish or an observation that the human buttocks when attentively sculpted has no match in the world of beautiful and sensuous things, especially when situated upon a man and most especially upon a man who is given to work in the field and spend only minimal time upon a cushion—the muscular slope and turn of such a man’s buttocks a wondrous delight to behold—or to hold!—that statement right there would, as an example, constitute for some people hardly any offence at all! And now would you look at yourself in the glass, my dear? You are colouring again and even more so in this round.”

“I am quite all right, Mrs. Taptoe. It is the chair. It squeezes me as would a vise.”

“Then move to the sofa, for goodness sake! It is large enough to hold a person of average size quite comfortably and I have been told that five adult dwarves may dangle their legs from it without any crowding whatsoever.”

As Anna rescued herself from the incommodious chair and transferred upon this helpful suggestion to the more accommodating sofa, she repeated her previous enquiry with regard to the identity of the individual who confided so willingly in her father.

Mrs. Taptoe shook her head. “I may guess amongst a few but let us not guess. In fact, why should we even trouble ourselves with the exercise? Whoever this person is, he or she is apparently most unhappy, and as a vessel containing such a wretched brew is not one from which I chuse to drink. Speaking of brews…”

At this moment Umbrous Elizabeth entered with the tea things.

“What has kept you, dear girl! The water was no doubt come to full boil several minutes ago.”

“Beg your pardon, ma’am. Mr. Tripp, you see, was standing at the window and making funny eyes. After I have served, may I go to visit him in the stable?”

“You may. Shew me first the funny eyes that he was making.”

Umbrous Elizabeth obeyed her employer and made her eyes large and round by pulling back the folds of skin below and above the depressions.

“Oh, dear me!” said Mrs. Taptoe, snickering. “That is a most wretched look, Elizabeth. Funny, but most wretched. Do you not agree, Anna?”

“
Positively
wretched,” said Anna, quailing.

“And then he made the nose go up into a pig snout.”

“Oh, shew me! Shew me!” Mrs. Taptoe clapped her hands together in jocular anticipation. Umbrous Elizabeth raised her nose to transform her beautiful dark countenance into a ghastly pig face.

“Oh, sweet heaven!” cried Mrs. Taptoe. “That is funny beyond words!”

Even Anna could not deny the humour in the presentation.

“Now run along, dear girl,” said Mrs. Taptoe to her servant. “And ask Tripp how the mare’s hoof is mending. He has not yet given me a report this morning.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Umbrous Elizabeth, proceeding to the stable.

When she had quitted the room, Mrs. Taptoe said to her guest, “My girl very much enjoys the company of my man Tripp. I wager that she skips all the way to the stable, she is such a gamboling and rompish sort of girl. Now if the two of them decide to marry, I shall be very unhappy, as it will take them away from me and I am so fond of the company of the both of them. So—” (in a confidential whisper,) “I have encouraged them to explore their romantic inclinations without benefit of marital contract. Is that not a most wicked suggestion? Fire and brimstone! Fire and brimstone!”

“Am I to assume, Mrs. Taptoe, that you spoke in similarly dismissive terms about the institution of marriage when in the company of your daughter and son-in-law?”

“Oh, far worse, my dear! Far, far worse. For I am a terrible woman in this regard—no Christian at all! At least not a Christian as the word is more narrowly defined. For I believe that Christ was the embodiment of love, and this fact takes every trick at the table. It is His directive to each of us to love and to respect and to improve the lot of our brothers and sisters through every sort of tender act and compassionate ministration that ought to govern all that we do; and if this means promoting different forms of love and affection outside the more traditional species, then so be it.

“And now, of course, I feel terrible for saying previously what I said about my very own daughter and son-in-law. They think me wicked and perhaps I am in
their
eyes, but who am I to judge their low opinion of me if they are truly incapable of thinking any thing else? Perhaps they have become wholly captive to their defective assessments and could not be changed under any form of persuasion or duress. Oh, bother! This tea set is so small that I feel I could be the giantess at a baby’s sipping party.”

“But, if I may play advocate for the devil, Mrs. Taptoe—”

“Please. Enough ‘Mrs. Taptoe.’ From now on, you are to call me Auntie and nothing else. I do so miss the sound of it from when you were a little sprout.”

“Yes, hum, Auntie…” (with a warm smile,) “can one not make the case that it is not love and compassion on your part which permits your two amorous servants to cavort as would a wedded couple beneath your own roof, but a selfserving desire to have them happy in your employ in spite of the very small wages you are able to pay, such that all of you—including yourself—may find something agreeable beyond Christian generosity in the arrangement?”

“I merit the devil for prodding you to such an intelligent question, but you see, child, it is neither one nor the other, but both! By remaining here, Umbrous Elizabeth and Tripp may enjoy a situation under a most liberal and accommodating mistress, my kind offices constituting a generous offset to whatever diminishment of income they must bear. To be sure, there is not perfect reciprocity to the arrangement, but certainly one abides easily, I should think. For I wish, as natural inclination, both their happiness as well as my own, and if our communal benefit may be effected in such an amiable way, then that is the way I am most sanguine to promote.”

During the last of Mrs. Taptoe’s explanation Anna had become aware of animal-like noises issuing from the vicinity of the stable. She now glanced out of the window to see James pacing to and fro beside the front picket fence, which was nearly hidden by a reticulation of trailing rose bushes, the hundreds of buds within days of full blow under the warmth of the early June sun. James’ ears were slightly pricked to the interposing sound in spite of his apparent efforts to pretend ignorance of its evidence. Attending the same, Mrs. Taptoe rose from her chair and crossed to the door in the front passage where she stood to address the Feral Park coachman and man-servant upon the threshold. All the while, the noises from the stable grew more impudent in volume. They incorporated a moaning of some sort and porcine-like grunts—decidedly animalistic, yet conceivably human as well.

“James! My good man! Have you been put out from the stable? What goes on in there?”

“I an’t been put out, ma’am. I was sent to find a fourth for a rubber of whist. I don’t know where I am to find such a person, so I’m taking me a moment of leisure to myself.”

Mrs. Taptoe put her head round the wall that separated the passage from the parlour, and addressed Anna: “It is, without doubt, some ploy devised by my wily servants to rid themselves of your man for a bit.” Then back to James: “It is all but impossible to hear what you are saying over the din. Will you not gain the house, so that we may speak to one another without shouting?”

It was a howl, like that of a wolf, which came next.

James opened the gate and entered upon the small grassy court before the dwarf-house.

“James,” said Mrs. Taptoe as he drew near, “I gather your ill ease in pursuing the topic, but allow me to trespass upon your cooperative nature for a moment longer: what by your estimation is the genesis of all that noise coming now from the stable?”