Wigs on the Green (18 page)

‘The episodes are all arranged for, now,’ Jasper told Mrs Lace. ‘Each branch of Social Unionism in the county is responsible for one. There will be nearly three hundred Comrades acting, as far as I can make out, for whom we have to provide clothes. We shall have to call a committee meeting to discuss it.

‘Then Miss Trant, the organist, has had a wonderful idea. She thinks we should have an Olde Englyshe Fayre going on at the same time, and she is arranging Maypole dances and art needlework stalls and so on.’

‘Oh! surely,’ said Mrs Lace, ‘Olde Englyshe things are rather a bore, aren’t they? I should have thought that we want to keep an eighteenth-century spirit? Why not a Regency Rout for example?’

‘We like Olde Englyshe best,’ said Jasper, ‘because it is so wonderfully funny. Besides, a pageant must be kept thoroughly lowbrow or it loses all character.’

‘Miss Trant is being very kind and helpful. She is so sweet,’ said Poppy. ‘Do you know her?’

Mrs Lace had spent the eight years of her married life patronizing Miss Trant, whom she regarded as a stupid, common little woman, second only in dreariness to Mr Wilkins. There seemed no end to the pin-pricks which poor Mrs Lace was doomed to endure.

Eugenia, who had sat in silence, munching a twopenny bar, since the departure of Mr Leader, now said she must be off. She hailed Vivian Jackson, who appeared from nowhere, took Mrs Lace’s list of the neighbours, kicked up the Reichshund, who
was snoring in the sun; and, still munching, she trotted away. That evening Mr Leader was dragged from his bed by masked men wearing Union Jack shirts and flung into an adjacent duck pond. As the weather was extremely hot he took no chill and suffered nothing worse than a little mortification and the loss of his
eau-de-nil
pyjama trousers. Nobody else witnessed the affair and Mr Leader did not take any legal or other steps. Nevertheless, the seed was sown of an active resentment against Social Unionism and his treacherous enchantress, Mrs Lace.

Lady Chalford sent her motor car to the Jolly Roger with a message that she wished to see Mrs St Julien and Mr Aspect on a matter of extreme importance, and would be greatly obliged if they would come to Chalford House immediately. The car would wait to take them. They entered it with some trepidation, feeling very much like naughty children and wondering which particular enormity had been found out.

When they arrived however, their minds were set at rest on this score; T.P.O.F. was in an almost hysterical mood, but not on account of anything they had done.

‘Dear child, dear Mr Aspect,’ she said, waving the list of neighbours at them, ‘I need your advice, a really dreadful thing has happened – I don’t know when I have felt so much upset. On reading this list I am horrified and disgusted to see that there is nobody on it (not a single soul) whom I could possibly ask inside my house. Do you know that when I had been through it twice I could scarcely believe that there was not some mistake, so I sent for my husband’s agent and he assured me that it is perfectly accurate, every family for miles round is mentioned on it. I had no idea that we lived in such a shocking neighbourhood.’

‘Really,’ said Poppy, with interest, ‘why, whatever is the matter with them all?’

‘The matter?’ said Lady Chalford, in a voice of bewilderment, ‘the matter is that none of them are respectable. I really cannot understand it. Since I stopped going out of course some of the houses have changed hands, but for all that a great many are still occupied by the same families as the ones I used to know quite well, and who were ordinary decent people like you or me. Since those days the most shocking, distressing things seem to have taken place.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘My dear, you may well ask. I tell you this list has upset me more than I can say. Take any name from it at random – they are all alike, they all have some sort of cloud hanging over them. Take for instance the first name, the Alexanders. The late Lord Alexander, my dear husband’s closest friend for many years, has been succeeded at Bruton Park by his eldest son, Lord Bruton whom, as a child, I often held in my arms. Now, what do I learn? This unfortunate young man has been trapped into marriage with a woman years older than himself, a woman from the variety stage; what is called, I believe, a
cabaret
artiste.’

Poppy gave half a look in Jasper’s direction and they both checked a giggle. Trapped into marriage was hardly the expression to use of Lord Alexander, who was well known to have pursued his lovely wife over three continents before she would make up her mind to marry him.

‘But you know,’ said Poppy, ‘Wilma Alexander is awfully respectable and the sweetest person in the world. You’d love her. They are as happy as kings and she is quite wrapped up in Bertie and the children.’

‘My dear, I am prepared to believe anything you tell me about this Lady Alexander, but I have no intention of inviting her to my house. She may, for all I know, be a most excellent wife and mother, such women sometimes are. But the fact remains that she could never be a suitable friend for a young girl like Eugenia. I don’t want you to think that I am being unduly particular however, so I am now going to read out a few more examples from this unsavoury document.’ Lady Chalford adjusted her spectacles and continued, ‘Here we have the Hon. Adrian and Mrs Duke; Mrs Duke, it appears, is the divorced wife of a colonel, so these two people are in fact living together adulterously.’

‘Dodo wasn’t divorced,’ said Poppy, ‘she divorced her husband, who was a perfect brute to her.’

‘I am surprised that you should think it makes any difference. “Till death us do part,” is the vow. If her husband was cruel to her
she could apply for a separation and live in decent retirement for the rest of her life. Pray, my dear, do not interrupt me. Here we have Mr John Shipton, grandson of a man who was publicly accused, in his clubs, of cheating at billiards. I well remember the incident, which caused a great deal of unpleasantness at the time; he was, of course, obliged to leave the country. Now, although it is not the fault of this Mr Shipton that he was born into such a family, and although he may be most respectable himself, I cannot risk inviting him here. Bad blood usually comes out sooner or later, and it is impossible to be over careful where a young girl like dearest Eugenia is concerned. Sir Archibold and Lady Faircombe, poor things, have a divorced daughter who runs a dress-shop in London – not very nice, is it? Major Montgomerie’s son was expelled from Eton – in my day when such a disgrace fell upon a family it was usual for them to go and settle in some colony. Mr Newman’s mother was half German and my husband very rightly refuses to have anyone of German extraction inside the house. Lord George Fairbrother is a well-known drunkard and people say that General Parsley had to leave his regiment on account of gambling debts. I won’t bore you with any further accounts of such dreadful people, there are dozens of them on this paper and I can assure you that it is one long sordid tale of vice, drunkenness and gaming too terrible to think about. I’m sure I don’t know what it is that has come over this unfortunate neighbourhood; anybody might suppose it had been cursed.’

It was now quite evident to Poppy and Jasper that Lady Chalford could not be right in the head; her long seclusion, they supposed, had affected her sanity. She must be humoured.

Poppy said, gently, ‘What a dreadful state of affairs, Cousin Maud. Now, you must tell us what you would like us to do about the pageant and garden party on the sixteenth.’

‘That is exactly what I have been so worried about,’ said Lady Chalford, pathetically. ‘After all the trouble you have taken I don’t wish you to be disappointed, and Eugenia, poor child, has set her heart on this pageant. I think her Scouts or Guides or Comrades
or whatever she calls them have all been working very hard too, and I am particularly glad to see that she is doing something for the village at last. I never used to be able to make her feel the smallest interest until she joined this Movement, whatever it is. So, taking all that into consideration, I have decided that, although it would be out of the question now to entertain my neighbours at a garden party, there is no reason why the pageant should not take place. We will throw open the park on that day, charging a small sum for charity, and like this your time will not have been wasted, and my little Eugenia will not be disappointed.’

‘That is much the best plan,’ said Poppy, soothingly.

‘But, alas! now I am as far as ever from solving the future of my poor little grandchild.’

‘She is very young,’ said Jasper, ‘and I expect you will find that her future will arrange itself quite satisfactorily.’

Lady Chalford gave him a searching look. She seemed about to say something, but refrained.

As he walked home with Poppy through Chalford Park, Jasper said: ‘The poor old female is evidently as stupid as an owl and as blind as a bat. She thinks I’m going to marry Eugenia and what’s more she likes the idea. Somehow I shouldn’t have imagined, from what I know of her moral standards, that I was at all her dish, quite the contrary.’

‘Perhaps her estate agent doesn’t know much about you yet.’

‘Maybe. I’m bound to say I think she has some exceedingly odd views on the subject of social relationships. She ostracizes all the chaps that have had tough luck, like being caught out cheating at billiards or having lousy husbands, whereas one knows she wouldn’t mind a scrap if they did really wicked things like grinding down the poor. I believe that our generation has far better ethical values than hers had; we see the chaps we like, even if they are hell, and avoid the ones we don’t. It’s the only sensible criterion, don’t you agree, Miss Smith?’

‘You can’t talk about ethical values and moral standards,’ said
Poppy, bitterly, ‘because you don’t know the meaning of such things.’

‘I’m a nicer guy than you seem to think,’ said Jasper, carelessly. ‘I never do anybody much harm, and I’m loyal to my friends when it comes to the point.’

‘I don’t notice you being specially loyal to the wretched Noel.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Nobody understands about me and Noel; ours is a very complicated relationship which began nearly twenty years ago when we were new boys together at our private. It is chiefly based on the fact that Noel expects a certain type of treatment from me, he would be very much put out if he got any other. The truth is that he gets a great deal of vicarious pleasure out of my evil doings. For instance, he likes having me down here, enjoys my company and so on; but what he positively adores is the feeling that he is forced to keep me here by the most unprincipled blackmail on my part. It wouldn’t be a quarter the satisfaction to him if I were to pay for myself like any ordinary person, because then I shouldn’t be living up to his conception of my character.’

‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ said Poppy, doubtfully.

‘Besides, think what a wonderfully good turn I did him with that old Local Beauty. Why, the girl was gunning for me, you know, as hard as she could, but after half an hour’s conversation with me she turned right about and started gunning for Noel instead, and from that day to this she has never looked back once. No, you can’t pretend that I’m disloyal.’

‘I shouldn’t call it a sign of loyalty to throw anyone into the arms of that awful, affected, pretentious Mrs Lace.’

‘Bella, Horrida Bella? I think she’s quite a cup of tea. But the point is, you don’t know the old boy like I do. The only love that counts for a row of pins from his point of view is the hopeless sort. As soon as a girl begins to be able to sit in the same room with him he sheers off. If the old L.B., or Local Beauty, had still been after me, he would still have been mad about her, as it is, he is cooling down wonderfully. Darling Miss Smith, now you might as well admit that I am a loyal guy.’

‘All right, my poppet, don’t make such a to-do. I expect even you have got a few good qualities, everybody has. I was only suggesting that, judged by the usual standards, you are a bit of a burglar.’

‘Oh! well,’ said Jasper gloomily, ‘if that’s all – a chap has got to live somehow you know, it’s one long struggle to survive in one’s environment. But look here, why don’t you marry me? I’ll promise to give up being a burglar and work for my living some other way – how about that?’

‘We’ll see,’ said Poppy. ‘I don’t really approve of marriage, you know. I think settlements are the thing to go for, these days.’

‘Why did you marry Anthony St Julien?’

‘How stupid you are. A girl must marry once, you can’t go on being called Miss – Miss all your life, it sounds too idiotic. All the same, marriage is a great bore – chap’s waistcoats lying about in one’s bedroom, and so on. It gets one down in time. Hullo! Look! here come Eugenia and Vivian Jackson. Hail!’ she cried.

‘Hail, Union Jackshirts!’ Eugenia trotted up to them and dismounted, sending Vivian Jackson about his business with a tremendous whack on the hind-quarters, ‘have you been to see T.P.O.F.? She was in an awful stew when I left.’

‘We have,’ said Poppy, ‘and she’s calmed down again nicely.’

‘Yes,’ said Eugenia anxiously, ‘but what did you arrange?’

‘It’s all right. There’s to be no tee-d up garden party, but the pageant is to take place just the same, with a small charge for admission.’

‘Oh! good,’ said Eugenia, greatly relieved. ‘That makes it all the easier for us to have our Grand S.U. rally. I must begin to see about the posters and leaflets – I thought we might distribute some Social Unionist hymns and propaganda while we are about it.’

‘T.P.O.F. seems quite enthusiastic about Union Jackshirtism.’

‘Yes, she thinks it’s the Women’s Institute and she’s all for it. Keeps on saying how pleased she is that I do something for the village at last. Nanny’s the one who hates it so much. I’m always afraid she’s going to tell on me, the old Pacifist.’

‘I shouldn’t think she’d do that.’

‘She’d better not, unless she wants to be beaten up by the Comrades.’

There was a pause in the conversation. Eugenia began to hum, as she often did, the tune of
‘Deutschland Deutschland Uber Ailes!’
to which she sang the substituted words, ‘Union Jackshirts Up and At ’Em, Push their faces in the mud!’