Mrs. Ames (37 page)
Authors: E. F. Benson,E. F. Benson
âYou shall have it your own way, Henry,' said she. âI am quite willing that you should think it was a twelvemonth ago, if you choose. But I suppose you will not dispute that they went away in October, which is a very odd time to take for a holiday. Of course, Mrs Evans stopped here all August, or so she says, and she might answer that she wanted a little change of air. But for my part, I think there must have been something more, though, as I say, I cannot guess what it is. Luckily, it is no concern of mine, and I need not worry my head about it. But I have always thought Mrs Evans looked far from strong,
and it seems odd that a doctor's wife should not be more robust, when she has all his laboratory to choose from.'
Henry lit his cigarette, and strolled to the window. The lawn was still white with the unmelted hoar frost, and the gardener was busy in the beds, putting things tidy for the winter. This consisted in plucking up anything of vegetable origin and carrying it off in a wheelbarrow. Thus the beds were ready to receive the first bedded-out plants next May.
âI remember, my dear,' said Henry, âthat you once thought that there had been some - some understanding between Mrs Evans and Major Ames, and some misunderstanding between Major Ames and Dr Evans.'
Mrs Altham brought her eyebrows together and put her finger on her forehead.
âI seem to remember some ridiculous story of yours, Henry, about a bunch of chrysanthemums in the road outside Dr Evans' house, how you had seen Major Ames take them in, and there they were afterwards in the road. I seem to remember your being so much excited about it that I made a point of going round to Mrs Ames' next day with -with a book. I think that at the time - correct me if I am wrong - I convinced you that there was nothing whatever in it ⦠Or have you seen or heard anything since that makes you think differently?' she added rather more briskly.
âNo, my dear, nothing whatever,' said he.
Mrs Altham got up.
âI am glad, very glad,' she said. âAt any rate, we know in Riseborough that we are safe from that sort of thing. I declare when I went to London last week, I hardly slept with thinking of the dreadful things that might be going on round me. Dear me, it is nearly ten o'clock. I do not know whether the hours or the days go quickest! It is always half an hour later than I expect it to be, and here we are
in November already. I shall rest for an hour, Henry, and I will write to Mrs Ames before lunch saying we shall be delighted to come on Saturday. November the twelfth, too! Nearly half November will be gone by then, and that leaves us but six weeks to Christmas, and it will be as much as we shall be able to manage to get through all that has to be done before that. But with these Swedish exercises, I declare I feel younger every day, and more able to cope with everything. You should take to them, Henry; by eleven o'clock they are finished and you have had your rest. With a little management you would find time for everything.'
Henry sat over the dining-room fire, considering this. As has been mentioned, he did not want to make any change in his excellent health, but, on the other hand, a little rest after breakfast would be pleasant, and when that was over it would be almost time to go to the club.
But it was impossible to settle a question like that offhand. After he had read the paper he would think about it.
Mrs Altham came hurrying back into the room.
âHenry, you would never guess what I have seen!' she said. âI glanced out of the window in the hall on the way to my room, and there was Mrs Ames wobbling about the road on a bicycle. Major Ames was holding it upright with both hands, and it looked to be as much as he could manage. Yet she has no time for Suffragettes! I should be sorry if I thought I should ever make such a hollow excuse as that. And at her age, too! I had no time to call you, but I dare say she will be back soon if you care to watch. The window seat in the hall is quite comfortable.'
Henry took his paper there.
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The Bloomsbury Group: a new library of books from the early twentieth-century chosen by readers, for readers
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