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“QUEEN LUCIA”
EF BENSON

 
 

BY E. F. BENSON

 

“QurEen Lucia”

Rosin LINNET

AcROSS THE STREAM

Up anp Down

An AvutuMN SOWING

THE ToRTOISE

Davin Bae

Davi BLAIzE AND THE BLUE Door
MICHAEL

THE OAKLEYITES

ARUNDEL

Tue Freaks oF Mavyrarr

Tue Ware Eacte or Poranp
CRESCENT AND [Ron Cross

 

NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

 
 

“QUEEN LUCIA”

 

BY

E. F. BENSON

AUTHOR OF “ACROSS THE STREAM,” “UP AND
Down,” “Dopo,” “DAVID BLAIZE,”
ETC.

NEW Gas YORK

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
rR
L003
cs9a
Q3

iTA0

COPYRIGHT, 1920,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

f nop ™ f e r
hos tee eS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
“QUEEN LUCIA”
“QUEEN LUCIA”

CHAPTER I

THoucH the sun was hot on this July morning
Mrs Lucas preferred to cover the half-mile that
lay between the station and her house on her own
brisk feet, and sent on her maid and her luggage
in the fly that her husband had ordered to meet
her. After those four hours in the train a short
walk would be pleasant, but, though she veiled it
from her conscious mind, another motive, sub-
consciously engineered, prompted her action. It
would, of course, be universally known to all her
friends in Riseholme that she was arriving today
by the 12.26, and at that hour the village street
would be sure to be full of them. They would see
the fly with luggage draw up at the door of The
Hurst, and nobody except her maid would get out.

That would be an interesting thing for them:
it would cause one of those little thrills of pleas-
ant excitement and conjectural exercise which
supplied Riseholme with its emotional daily bread.
They would all wonder what had happened to her,
whether she had been taken ill at the very last
moment before leaving town and with her well-
known fortitude and consideration for the feelings
of others, had sent her maid on to assure her

7
8 “QUEEN LUCIA”

husband that he need not be anxious. That would
clearly be Mrs Quantock’s suggestion,’for Mrs
‘Quantock’s mind, devoted as it was now to the
study of Christian Science, and the determination
to deny the existence of pain, disease and death as
regards herself, was always full of the gloomiest
views as regards her friends, and on the slightest _
excuse, pictured that they, poor blind things, were
suffering from false claims. Indeed, given that |
the fly had already arrived at The Hurst, and that
its arrival had at this moment been seen by or
reported to Daisy Quantock, the chances were |
vastly in favour of that lady’s having already ©
started in to give Mrs Lucas absent treatment.
Very likely Georgie Pillson had also seen the anti-
climax of the fly’s arrival, but he would hazard a
much more probable though erroneous solution of
her absence. He would certainly guess that she
had sent on her maid with her luggage to the sta- |
tion in order to take a seat for her, while she
herself, oblivious of the passage of time, was
spending her last half hour in contemplation of
the Italian masterpieces at the National Gallery, —
or the Greek bronzes at the British Museum. Cer- :
tainly she would not be at the Royal Academy, for |
the culture of Riseholme, led by herself, rejected —
as valueless all artistic efforts later than the _
death of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and a great deal of -
what went before. Her husband with his firm °
grasp of the obvious, on the other hand, would be
disappointingly capable even before her maid con-
firmed his conjecture, of concluding that she had ~
merely walked from the station.

The motive, then, that made her send her cab
“QUEEN LUCIA” 9

on, though subconsciously ‘generated, soon pene-
trated into her consciousness, and these guesses at
what other people would think when they saw it
arrive without her, sprang from the dramatic
element that formed so large a part of her men-
tality, and made her always take, as by right
divine, the leading part in the histrionic entertain-
ments with which the cultured of Riseholme
beguiled or rather strenuously occupied such
moments as could be spared from their studies of
art and literature, and their social engagements.
Indeed she did not usually stop at taking the lead-
ing part, but, if possible, doubled another char-
acter with it, as well as being stage-manager and
adapter, if not designer of scenery. Whatever
she did—and really she did an incredible deal—
she did it with all the might of her dramatic per-
ception, did it in fact with such earnestness that
she had no time to have an eye to the gallery at
all, she simply contemplated herself and her own
vigorous accomplishment. When she played the
piano as she frequently did, (reserving an hour
for practice every day), she cared not in the
smallest degree for what anybody who passed
down the road outside her house might be thinking
of the roulades that poured from her open win-
dow: she was simply Emmeline Lucas, absorbed
in glorious Bach or dainty Scarletti, or noble
Beethoven. The latter perhaps was her favorite
composer, and many were the evenings when with
lights quenched and only the soft effulgence of the
moon pouring in through the uncurtained win-
dows, she sat with her profile, cameo-like (or like
perhaps to the head on a postage stamp) against
10 “QUEEN LUCIA”

the dark oak walls of her music-room, and
entranced herself and her listeners, if there were
people to dinner, with the exquisite pathos of the
first movement of the Moonlight Sonata. De-
votedly as she worshipped the Master, whose pic-
ture hung above her Steinway Grand, she could
never bring herself to believe that the two suc-
ceeding movements were on the same sublime level
as the first, and besides they ‘“‘went’’ very much
faster. But she had seriously thought, as she
came down in the train today and planned her
fresh activities at home, of trying to master them,
so that she could get through their intricacies with
tolerable accuracy. Until then, she would as-
suredly stop at the end of the first movement in
these moonlit séances, and say that the other two
were more like morning and afternoon. Then with
a sigh she would softly shut the piano lid, and
perhaps wiping a little genuine moisture from her.
eyes, would turn on the electric light and taking
up a book from the table, in which a paper-knife.
marked the extent of her penetration, say: '

“‘Georgie, you must really promise me to read
this life of Antonino Caporelli the moment I have
finished it. I never understood the rise of the
Venetian School before. As I read I can smell the
salt tide creeping up over the lagoon, and see the
campanile of dear Torcello.’’

And Georgie would put down the tambour on
which he was working his copy of an Italian cope
and sigh too.

‘*You are too wonderful!’’ he would say. ‘‘How
do you find time for everything?’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 11

She rejoined with the apophthegm that made
the rounds of Riseholme next day.

‘‘My dear, it is just busy people that have time
for everything.’’

It might be thought that even such activities
as have here been indicated would be enough to
occupy anyone so busily that she would positively
not have time for more, but such was far from be-
ing the case with Mrs Lucas. Just as the painter
Rubens amused himself with being the ambassa-
dor to the Court of St. James—a sufficient career
in itself for most busy men—so Mrs Lucas amused
herself, in the intervals of her pursuit of Art for
Art’s sake, with being not only an ambassador
but a monarch. Riseholme might perhaps, ac-
cording to the crude materialism of maps, be
included in the kingdom of Great Britain, but in
amore real and inward sense it formed a complete
kingdom of its own, and its queen was undoubt-
edly Mrs Lucas, who ruled it with a secure
autocracy pleasant to contemplate at a time when
thrones were toppling, and imperial crowns whirl-
ing like dead leaves down the autumn winds. The
ruler of Riseholme, happier than he of Russia, had
no need to fear the finger of Bolshevism writing
on the wall, for there was not in the whole of that
vat which seethed so pleasantly with culture, one
bubble of revolutionary ferment. Here there was
neither poverty nor discontent nor muttered men-
ace of any upheaval: Mrs Lucas, busy and serene,
worked harder than any of her subjects, and
exercised an autocratic control over a nominal
democracy.

Something of the consciousness of her sov-
12 “QUEEN LUCIA”

ereignty was in her mind, as she turned the last
hot corner of the road and came in sight of the
village stréet that constituted her kingdom. In-
deed it belonged to her, as treasure trove belongs”
to the Crown, for it was she who had been the
first to begin the transformation of this remote
Elizabethan village into the palace of culture that
was now reared on the spot where ten years ago
an agricultural population had led bovine and
unilluminated lives in their cottages of grey stone.
or brick and timber. Before that, while her hus-
band was amassing a fortune, comfortable in
amount and respectable in origin, at the Bar, she
had merely held up a small dim lamp of culture in
Onslow Gardens. But both her ambition and his
had been to bask and be busy in artistic realms
of their own when the materialistic needs were
provided for by sound investments, and so when
there were the requisite thousands of pounds in
secure securities she had easily persuaded him to
buy three of these cottages that stood together in
a low two-storied block. Then, by judicious re-
moval of partition-walls, she had, with the aid of
a sympathetic architect, transmuted them into a
most comfortable dwelling, subsequently building
on to them a new wing, that ran at right angles:
at the back, which was, if anything, a shade more
inexorably Elizabethan than the stem onto which
it was grafted, for here was situated the famous.
smoking-parlour, with rushes on the floor, and a
dresser ranged with pewter tankards, and leaded
lattice-windows of glass so antique that it was
practically impossible to see out of them. It had,
a huge open fire-place framed in oak-beams with a
“QUEEN LUCIA” 13

seat on each side of the iron-backed hearth within
the chimney, and a genuine spit hung over the
middle of the fire. Here, though in the rest of the
house she had for the sake of convenience allowed
the installation of electric light, there was no
such concession made, and sconces on the walls
held dim iron lamps, so that only those of the
most acute vision were able to read. Hiven then
reading was difficult, for the book-stand on the
table contained nothing but a few crabbed black-
letter volumes dating from not later than the early
seventeenth century, and you had to be in a fran-
tically Elizabethan frame of mind to be at ease
there. But Mrs Lucas often spent some of her
rare leisure moments in the smoking parlour,
playing on the virginal that stood in the window,
or kippering herself in the fumes of the wood-fire
as with streaming eyes she deciphered an Elzevir
Horace rather late for inclusion under the rule,
but an undoubted bargain.

The house stood at the end of the village that
was nearest the station, and thus, when the pano-
rama of her kingdom opened before her, she had but
a few steps further to go. A yew-hedge, bought
entire from a neighbouring farm, and transplanted
with solid lumps of earth and indignant snails
around its roots, separated the small oblong of
garden from the road, and cast monstrous shad-
ows of the shapes into which it was cut, across the
little lawns inside. Here, as was only right and
proper, there was not a flower to be found save
such as were mentioned in the plays of Shake-
speare; indeed it was called Shakespeare’s garden,
and the bed that ran below the windows of the
14 “QUEEN LUCIA”

dining room was Ophelia’s border, for it consisted
solely of those flowers which that distraught
maiden distributed to her friends when she should
have been in a lunatic asylum. Mrs Lucas often
reflected how. lucky it was that such institutions
were unknown in Elizabeth’s day, or that, if
known, Shakespeare artistically ignored their exis-
tence. Pansies, naturally, formed the chief dec-
oration—though there were some very flourishing
plants of rue. Mrs Lucas always wore a little
bunch of them when in flower, to inspire her
thoughts, and found them wonderfully efficacious.
Round the sundial, which was set in the middle of
one of the squares of grass between which a path
of broken paving-stone led to the front door, was
a circular border, now, in July, sadly vacant, for
it harboured only the spring-flowers enumerated
by Perdita. But the first day every year when
Perdita’s border put forth its earliest blossom
was a delicious anniversary, and the news of it |
spread like wild-fire through Mrs Lueas’s king-
dom, and her subjects were very joyful, and came
to salute the violet or daffodil, or whatever it was.
The three cottages dexterously transformed into
The Hurst, presented a charmingly irregular and
picturesque front. Two were of the grey stone of
the district and the middle one, to the door of
which led the paved path, of brick and timber, lat-
ticed windows with stone mullions gave little light
to the room within, and certain new windows had
been added; these could be detected by the observ-
ant eye for they had a markedly older appearance
than the rest. The front-door, similarly, seemed
as if it must have been made years before the
“QUEEN LUCIA” 15

house, the fact being that the one which Mrs Lucas
had found there was too dilapidated to be of the
slightest service in keeping out wind or wet or
undesired callers. She had therefore caused to
be constructed an even older one made from the
oak-planks of a dismantled barn, and had it stud-
ded with large iron nails of antique pattern made
by the village blacksmith. He had arranged some
of them to look as if they spelled A. D. 1603. Over
the door hung an inn-sign, and into the space
where once the sign had swung was now inserted
a lantern, in which was ensconced, well hidden
from view by its patinated glass sides, an electric
light. This was one of the necessary concessions
to modern convenience, for no lamp nurtured on
oil would pierce those genuinely opaque panes,
and illuminate the path to the gate. Better to
have an electric light than cause your guests to
plunge into Perdita’s border. By the side of this
fortress-door hung a heavy iron bell-pull, ending
in a mermaid. When first Mrs Lucas had that
installed, it was a bell-pull in the sense that an
extremely athletic man could, if he used both
hands and planted his feet firmly, cause it to move,
so'that a huge bronze bell swung in the servants’
passage and eventually gave tongue (if the athlete
continued pulling) with vibrations so sonorous
_that the white-wash from the ceiling fell down in
flakes. She had therefore made another conces-
sion to the frailty of the present generation and
the inconveniences of having whitewash falling
into salads and puddings on their way to the
dihing room, and now at the back of the mermaid’s
tail was a potent little bone button, coloured black
16 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and practically invisible, and thus the bell-pull
had been converted into an electric bell-push. In
this way visitors could make their advent known
without violent exertion, the mermaid lost no
visible whit of her Elizabethan virginity, and the
spirit of Shakespeare wandering in his garden
would not notice any anachronism. He could not
in fact, for there was none to notice.

Though Mrs Lucas’s parents had bestowed the
name of Emmeline on her, it was not to be won-
dered at that she was always known among the
more intimate of her subjects as Lucia, pro-
nounced, of course, in the Italian mode—La Lucia,
the wife of Lucas; and it was as ‘‘ Lucia mia’’ that
her husband hailed her as he met her at the door
of The Hurst.

He had been watching for her arrival from the
panes of the parlour while he meditated upon one
of the little prose poems which formed so delect-
able a contribution to the culture of Riseholme,
for though, as has been hinted, he had in practical
life a firm grasp of the obvious, there were win-.
dows in his soul which looked out onto vague and
ethereal prospects which so far from being obvi-
ous were only dimly intelligible. In form these
odes were cast in the loose rhythms of Walt Whit-
man, but their smooth suavity and their contents
bore no resemblance whatever to the productions
of that barbaric bard, whose works were quite
unknown in Riseholme. Already a couple of vol-
umes of these prose-poems had been published,
not of course in the hard business-like establish-
ment of London, but at ‘‘Ye Sign of ye Daffodil,”’
on the village green, where type was set up by
“QUEEN LUCIA” 17

hand, and very little, but that of the best, was
printed. The press had only been recently started
at Mr Lucas’s expense, but it had put forth a
reprint of Shakespeare’s sonnets already, as well
as his own poems. They were printed in blunt
type on thick yellowish paper, the edges of which
seemed as if they had been cut by the forefinger
of an impatient reader, so ragged and irregular
were they, and they were bound in vellum, the
titles of these two slim flowers of poetry, ‘‘Flot-
sam’’ and ‘‘Jetsam,’’ were printed in black letter
type and the covers were further adorned with a
sort of embossed seal and with antique looking
tapes so that you could tie it all up with two bows
when you had finished with Mr Lucas’s ‘‘Flot-
sam’’ for the time being, and turned to untie the
““Jetsam.”’

Today the prose-poem of ‘‘Loneliness’’ had not
been getting on very well, and Philip Lucas was
glad to hear the click of the garden-gate, which
showed that his loneliness was over for the
present, and looking up he saw his wife’s figure
waveringly presented to his eyes through the
twisted and knotty glass of the parlour window,
which had taken so long to collect, but which now
completely replaced the plain, commonplace unre-
fracting stuff which was there before. He jumped
up with an alacrity remarkable in so solid and
well-furnished a person, and had thrown open the
nail-studded front-door before Lucia had tra-
versed the path of broken paving-stones, for she
had lingered for a sad moment at Perdita’s empty
border.
18 “QUEEN LUCIA”

“Lucia mial’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Ben arriwatal
So you walked from the station?’’

‘“9i, Peppino, mio caro,’’ she said. ‘‘Sta bene?’’

He kissed her and relapsed into Shakespeare’s
tongue, for their Italian, though firm and perfect
as far as it went, could not be considered as going
far, and was useless for conversational purposes,
unless they merely wanted to greet each other, or
to know the time. But it was interesting to talk
Italian, however little way it went.

“‘Molto bene,’’ said he, ‘‘and it’s delightful to
have you home again. And how was London?’’
he asked in the sort of tone in which he might
have enquired after the health of a poor relation,
who was not likely to recover.

She smiled rather sadly.

“Terrifically busy about nothing,’’ she said.
‘All this fortnight I have scarcely had a moment
to myself. Lunches, dinners, parties of all kinds;
I could not go to half the gatherings I was bidden
to. Dear good South Kensington! Chelsea too!’’

““Carissima, when London does manage to catch
you, it is no wonder it makes the most of you,’’ he
said. ‘‘You mustn’t blame London for that.’’

‘*No, dear, I don’t. Everyone was tremendously
kind and hospitable; they all did their best. If I
blame anyone, I blame myself. But I think this
Riseholme life with its finish and its exquisiteness
spoils one for other places. London is like a rail-
way-junction : it has no true life of its own. There
is no delicacy, no appreciation of fine shades. In-
dividualism has no existence there; everyone gab-
bles together, gabbles and gobbles: am not I
naughty? If there is a concert in a private house
“QUEEN LUCIA” 19

—you know my views about music and the impos-
sibility of hearing music at all if you are stuck
in the middle of a row of people—even then, the
moment it is over you are whisked away to supper,
or somebody wants to have a few words. There is
always a crowd, there is always food, you cannot
be alone, and it is only in loneliness, as Goethe
says, that your perceptions put forth their flowers.
No one in London has time to listen: they are all
thinking about who is there and who isn’t there,
and what is the next thing. The exquisite present,
as you put it in one of your poems, has no exis-
tence there: it is always the feverish future.’’

‘Delicious phrase! I should have stolen that
gem for my poor poems, if you had discovered it
before.’’

She was too much used to this incense to do
more than sniff it in unconsciously, and she went
on with her tremendous indictment.

‘Tt isn’t that I find fault with London for being
so busy,’’ she said with strict impartiality, ‘‘for if
being busy was a crime, I am sure there are few |
of us here who would ’scape hanging. But take
my life here, or yours for that matter. Well, mine
if you like. Often and often I am alone from
breakfast till lunch-time, but in those hours I get
through more that is worth doing than London
gets through in a day and a night. I have an hour
at my music not looking about and wondering
who my neighbours are, but learning, studying,
drinking in divine melody. Then I have my letters
to write, and you know what that means, and I
still have time for an hour’s reading so that when
you come to tell me lunch is ready, you will find
20 “QUEEN LUCIA”

that I have been wandering through Venetian.
churches or sitting in that little dark room at
Weimar, or was it Leipsic? How would those
same hours have passed in London?

‘Sitting perhaps for half an hour in the Park,
with dearest Aggie pointing out to me, with thrills
of breathless excitement, a woman who was in
the divorce court, or a coroneted bankrupt. Then
she would drag me off to some terrible private
view full of the same people all staring at and
gabbling to each other, or looking at pictures that.
made poor me gasp and shudder. No, I am thank-
ful to be back at my own sweet Riseholme again.
T can work and think here.’’

She looked round the panelled entrance-hall
with a glow of warm content at being at home
again that quite eclipsed the mere physical heat
produced by her walk from the station. Wherever
her eyes fell, those sharp dark eyes that resembled
buttons covered with shiny American cloth, they
saw nothing that jarred, as so much in London
jarred. There were bright brass jugs on the win-
dow sill, a bowl of pot-pourri on the black table in
the centre, an oak settee by the open fireplace, a
couple of Persian rugs on the polished floor. The
room had its quaintness, too, such as she had
alluded to in her memorable essay read before the
Riseholme Literary Society, called ‘‘Humour in
Furniture,’? and a brass milkecan served as a
receptacle for sticks and umbrellas. Equally
quaint was the dish of highly realistic stone fruit
that stood beside the pot-pourri and the furry
Japanese spider that sprawled in a silk web over
the window.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 21

Such was the fearful verisimilitude of this that
Lucia’s new housemaid had once fled from her
duties in the early morning, to seek the assistance
of the gardener in killing it. The dish. of stone
fruit had scored a similar success, for once she
had said to Georgie Pillson, ‘‘Ah, my gardener
has sent in some early apples and pears, won’t
you take one home with you?’’ It was not till the
weight of the pear (he swiftly selected the largest)
betrayed the joke that be had any notion that they
were not real ones. But then Georgie had had his
revenge, for waiting his opportunity he had in-
serted a real pear among.those stony specimens
and again passing through with Lucia, he picked
it out, and with lips drawn back had snapped at it
with all the force of his jaws. For the moment
she had felt quite faint at the thought of his teeth
crashing into fragments. ... These humorous
touches were altered from time to time, the spider
for instance might be taken down and replaced by
a china canary in a Chippendale cage, and the
selection of the entrance hall for those whimsicali-
ties was intentional, for guests found something
to smile at, as they took off their cloaks and
entered the drawing room with a topic on their,
lips, something light, something amusing about
what they had seen. For the gong similarly was
sometimes substituted a set of bells that had onee
decked the collar of the leading horse in a wag-
goner’s team somewhere in Flanders; in fact when
Lucia was at home there was often a new little
quaintness for quite a sequence of days, and she
had held out hopes to the Literary Society that
perhaps some day, when she was not so rushed,
22 ‘QUEEN LUCIA”

she would jot down material for a sequel to her
essay, or write another covering a rather larger
field on ‘‘The Gambits of Conversation Derived
from Furniture.”’ B82

On the table there was a pile of letters waiting
for Mrs Lucas, for yesterday’s post had not been
forwarded her, for fear of its missing her—Lon-
don postmen were probably very careless and un-
trustworthy—and she gave a little ery of dismay
as she saw the volume of her correspondence.

‘‘But I shall be very naughty,’’ she said ‘‘and
not look at one of them till after lunch. Take
them away, Caro, and promise me to lock them up
till then, and not give them me however much I
beg. Then I will get into the saddle again, such a
dear saddle, too, and tackle them. I shall have a
stroll in the garden till the bell rings. What is it
that Nietschke says about the necessity to mediter-
ramizer yourself every now and then? I must
Riseholme myself.’’

Peppino remembered the quotation, which had
occurred in a review of some work of that cele-
brated author, where Lucia had also seen it, and
went back, with the force of contrast to aid him,
to his prose-poem of ‘‘Loneliness,’’ while his wife
went through the smoking-parlour into the garden,
in order to soak herself once more in the cultured
atmosphere.

In this garden behind the house there was no
attempt to construct a Shakespearian plot, for,
as she so rightly observed, Shakespeare, who
loved flowers so well, would wish her to enjoy
every conceivable horticultural treasure. But
furniture played a prominent -part in the place,
“QUEEN LUCIA” 23

and there were statues and sundials and stone-
seats scattered about with almost too profuse a
hand. Mottoes also were in great evidence, and
while a sundial reminded you that ‘‘ Tempus
fugit,’’ an enticing resting-place somewhat be-
wilderingly bade you to ‘‘Bide a wee.’’ But then
again the rustic seat in the pleached alley of
laburnums had carved on its back, ‘‘Much have I
travelled in the realms of gold,’’ so that, medi-
tating on Keats, you could bide a wee with a clear
conscience. Indeed so copious was the wealth of
familiar and stimulating quotations that one of
her subjects had once said that to stroll in Lucia’s
garden was not only to enjoy her lovely flowers,
but to spend a simultaneous half hour with the
best authors. There was a dovecote of course,
but since the cats always killed the doves, Mrs
Lucas had put up round the desecrated home
several pigeons of Copenhagen china, which were
both imperishable as regards cats, and also carried
out the suggestion of humour in furniture. The
humour had attained the highest point of felicity
when Peppino concealed a mechanical nightingale
in a bush, which sang ‘‘Jug-jug’’ in the most
realistic manner when you pulled a string.
Georgie had not yet seen the Copenhagen pigeons,
or being rather short-sighted thought they were
real. Then, oh then, Peppino pulled the string,
and for quite a long time Georgie listened en-
tranced to their melodious cooings. That served
him out for his ‘‘trap’’ about the real pear intro-
duced among the stone specimens. For in spite
of the rarefied atmosphere of culture at Rise-
holme, Riseholme knew how to ‘‘desipere in loco,”’
24 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and its strenuous culture was often refreshed by
these light refined touches.

Mrs Lucas walked quickly and decisively up and
down the paths as she waited for the summons to
lunch, for the activity of her mind reacted on
her body, making her brisk in movement. On each
side of her forehead were hard neat undulations
of black hair that concealed the tips of her ears.
She had laid aside her London hat, and carried a
red cotton Contadina’s umbrella, which threw a
rosy glow onto the oval of her thin face and its
colourless complexion. She bore the weight of
her forty years extremely lightly, and but for the
droop of skin at the corners of her mouth, she
might have passed as a much younger woman.
Her face was otherwise unlined and bore no trace
of the ravages of emotional living, which both
ages and softens. Certainly there was nothing
soft about her, and very little of the signs of age,
and it would have been reasonable to conjecture
that twenty years later she would look but little
older than she did today. For such emotions as
she was victim of were the sterile and ageless
emotions of art; such desires as beset her were
not connected with her affections, but her ambi-—
tions. Dynasty she had none, for she was child-
less, and thus her ambitions were limited to the
permanence and security of her own throne as
queen of Riseholme. She really asked nothing
more of life than the continuance of such harvests
as she had so plenteously reaped for these last ten
years. As long as she directed the life of Rise-
holme, took the lead in its culture and entertain-
ment, and was the undisputed fountain-head of all
“QUEEN LUCIA” 25

its inspirations, and from time to time refreshed
her memory as to the utter inferiority of London
she wanted nothing more. But to secure that she
dedicated all that she had of ease, leisure and
income. Being practically indefatigable the loss
of ease and leisure troubled her but little and
being in extremely comfortable circumstances, she
had no need to economise in her hospitalities.
She might easily look forward to enjoying an
unchanging middle-aged activity, while genera-
tions of youth withered round her, and no star,
remotely rising, had as yet threatened to dim her
unrivalled ‘effulgence. Though essentially auto-
cratic, her subjects were allowed and even en-
couraged to develop their own minds on their own
lines, provided always that those lines met at the
junction where she was station-master. With
regard to religion finally, it may be briefly said
that she believed in God in much the same way as
she believed in Australia, for she had no doubt
whatever as to the existence of either, and she
went to church on Sunday in much the same spirit
as she would look at a kangaroo in the Zoological —
Gardens, for kangaroos come from Australia.

’ A low wall separated the far end of her garden
from the meadow outside; beyond that lay the
stream which flowed into the Avon, and it often
seemed wonderful to her that the water which
wimpled by would (unless a cow happened to drink
it) soon be stealing along past the church at Strat-
ford where Shakespeare lay. Peppino had written
a very moving little prose-poem about it, for she
had royally presented him with the idea, and had
suggested a beautiful analogy between the earthly
26 “QUEEN LUCIA”

dew that refreshed the grasses, and was drawn up
into the fire of the Sun, and Thought the spiritual
dew that refreshed the mind and thereafter, rather
vaguely, was drawn up into the Full-Orbed Soul
of the World.

At that moment Lucia’s eye was attracted by
an apparition on the road which lay adjacent to
the further side of the happy stream which flowed.
into the Avon. There was no mistaking the
identity of the stout figure of Mrs Quantock with
its short steps and its gesticulations, but why in
the name of wonder should that Christian Scientist
be walking with the draped and turbaned figure of
a man with a tropical complexion and a black
beard? His robe of saffron yellow with a violently
green girdle was hitched up for ease in walking,
and unless he had chocolate coloured stockings on,
Mrs Lucas saw human legs of the same shade.
Next moment that debateable point was set at
rest for she caught sight of short pink socks in
red slippers. Even as she looked Mrs Quantock
saw her (for owing to Christian Science she had
recaptured the quick vision of youth) and waggled«
her hand and kissed it, and evidently called her‘
companion’s attention, for the next moment he
was salaaming to her in some stately Oriental
‘manner. There was nothing to be done for the
moment except return these salutations, as she
could not yell an aside to Mrs Quantock, screaming
out ‘‘Who is that Indian’’? for if Mrs Quantock
heard the Indian would hear too, but as soon as
she could, she turned back towards the house
again, and when once the lilac bushes were be-
tween her and the road she walked with more
“QUEEN LUCIA” 27

than her usual speed, in order to learn with the
shortest possible delay from Peppino who this
fresh subject of hers could be. She knew there
were some Indian princes in London; perhaps it
was one of them, in which case it would be neces-
sary to read up Benares or Delhi in the Encyclo-
pedia without loss of time.
CHAPTER IT

As she traversed the smoking-parlour the cheer-
ful sounds that had once tinkled from the collar
of a Flemish horse chimed through the house, and
simultaneously she became aware that there would
be macaroni aw gratin for lunch, which was very
dear and remembering of Peppino. But before.
setting fork to her piled-up plate, she had to ques-
tion him, for her mental craving for information
was far keener than her appetite for food. :

“‘Caro, who is an Indian,”’ she said, ‘‘whom I
saw just now with Daisy Quantock? They were
the other side of il piccolo Avon.’’

Peppino had already begun his macaroni and -
must pause to shovel the outlying strings of it
into his mouth. But the haste with which he did
so was sufficient guaranty for his eagerness to
reply as soon as it was humanly possible to do so.

‘*Indian, my dear?’’ he asked with the greatest
interest. ‘

“Yes; turban and burnous and calves and slip-
pers,’’ she said rather impatiently, for what was
the good of Peppino having remained in Riseholme
if he could not give her precise and certain infor-
mation on local news when she returned. His
prose-poems were all very well, but as prince-con-
sort he had other duties of state which must not-
be neglected for the calls of Art.

28
“QUEEN LUCIA” 29

This slight asperity on her part seemed to
sharpen his wits.

‘‘Really, I don’t know for certain, Lucia,’’ he
said, ‘‘for I have not set my eyes on him. But
putting two and two together, I fag make a
guess.’

‘“‘Two and two make four,’’ she said with that
irony for which she was feared and famous. ‘‘ Now
for your guess. I hope it is equally accurate.’’

‘‘Well, as I told you in one of my letters,’’ said
he, ‘‘Mrs Quantock showed signs of being a little
off with Christian Science. She had a cold, and
though she recited the True Statement of Being
just as frequently as before, her cold got no better.
But when I saw her on Tuesday last, unless it was
Wednesday, no, it couldn’t have been Wednesday,
so it must have been Tuesday: a

‘¢Whenever it was then,’’ interrupted his wife,
brilliantly summing up his indecision.

‘“‘Yes; whenever it was, aS you say, on that
occasion Mrs Quantock was very full of some
Indian philosophy which made you quite well at.
once. What did she callitnow? Yoga! Yes, that
was it!’’

‘And then?’’ asked Lucia.

‘‘Well, it appears you must have a teacher in.
Yoga or else you may injure yourself. You have
to bréathe deeply and say ‘Om’——”?

“Say what?’’

Om. I understand the ejaculation to be Om.
_ And there are very curious physical exercises;
you have to hold your ear with one hand and
~ your toes with the other, and you may strain your-

 
30 “QUEEN LUCIA”

self unless you do it properly. That was the gen-
eral gist of it.’’

‘And shall we come to the Indian soon?” said
Lucia.

‘‘Carissima, you have come to him already. I
suggest that Mrs Quantock has applied for a
teacher and got him. Ecco!’’

Mrs Lucas wore a heavily corrugated forehead
at this news. Peppino had a wonderful flair in
explaining unusual circumstances in the life of
Riseholme and his conjectures were generally cor-
rect. But if he was right in this instance, it
struck Lucia as being a very irregular thing that
anyone should have imported a mystical Indian
into Riseholme without consulting her. It is true
that she had been away, but still there was the
medium of the post.

‘‘Ecco indeed!’’ she said. ‘‘It puts me in rather
a difficult position, for I must send out my invita-
tions to my garden-party today, and I really don’t
know whether I ought to be officially aware of
this man’s existence or not. I can’t write to Daisy
Quantock and say ‘‘Pray bring your black friend
Om,’’ or whatever his name proves to be, and on
the other hand, if he is the sort of person whom
one would be sorry to miss, I should not like to
have passed over him.’’

‘*After all, my dear, you have only been back
in Riseholme half an hour,’’ said her husband.
“It would have been difficult for Mrs Quemtodk
to have told you yet.’’ ae

Her face cleared.

‘‘Perhaps Daisy has written to me about him,”
“QUEEN LUCIA” 31

she said. ‘‘I may find a full account of it all when
I open my letters.”’

“‘Depend upon it you will. She would hardly
have been so wanting in proper feeling as not to
have told you. I think, too, that her visitor must
only have just arrived, or I should have been sure
to see him about somewhere.’’

She rose.

““Well, we will see,’’ she said. ‘‘Now I shall be
very busy all afternoon, but by tea-time I shall. be
ready to see anyone who calls. Give me my let-
ters, Caro, and I will find out if Daisy has written
to me.’’

She turned them over as she went to her room,
and there among them was a bulky envelope ad-
dressed in Mrs Quantock’s great sprawling hand,
which looked at first sight so large and legible,
but on closer examination turned out to be so
baffling. You had to hold it at some distance off
to make anything out of it, and look at it in an
abstracted general manner much as you would
look at a view. Treated thus, scattered words
began to leap into being, and when you had got a
sufficiency of these, like glimpses of the country
seen by flashes of lightning, you could hope to get _
a collective idea of it all. The procedure led to
the most promising results as Mrs Lucas sat with
the sheets at arm’s length, occasionally altering
the range to try the effect of a different focus.
‘‘Benares’’ blinked at her, also ‘‘Brahmin’’; also
‘“‘highest caste’’; ‘‘extraordinary sanctity,’’ and
‘“‘Gurn.’’ And when the meaning of this latter
was ascertained from the article on ‘‘Yoga’’ in
her Encyclopedia, she progressed very swiftly
32 “QUEEN LUCIA”

towards a complete comprehension of the letter.

When fully pieced together it was certainly
enough to rivet her whole attention, and make
her leave unopened the rest of the correspondence,
for such a prelude to adventure had seldom
sounded in Riseholme. It appeared, even as her
husband had told her at lunch, that Mrs Quantock
found her cold, too obstinate for all the precepts
of Mrs Eddy; the True Statement of Being, how-
ever often repeated, only seemed to inflame it
further, and one day, when confined to the house,
she had taken a book ‘‘quite at random’’ from the
shelves in her library, under, she supposed, the
influence of some interior compulsion. This then
was clearly a ‘‘leading.’’

Mrs Lucas paused a moment as she pieced to-
gether these first sentences. She seemed to re-
member that Mrs Quantock had experienced a
similar leading when first she took up Christian
Science. It was a leading from the sight of a new
church off Sloane Street that day; Mrs Quan-
tock had entered (she scarcely knew why) and
had found herself in a Testimony Meeting, where
witness after witness declared the miraculous heal-
ings they had experienced. One had had a cough,
another cancer, another a fractured bone, but all:
had been cured by the blessed truths conveyed in
the Gospel according to Mrs Eddy. However, her
memories on this subject were not to the point
now; she burned to arrive at the story of the new
leading.

Well, the book that Mrs Quantock had taken
down in obedience to the last leading proved to
be a little hand-book of Oriental Philosophies, and
“QUEEN LUCIA” 38

it opened, ‘‘all of its own accord,’’ at a chapter
called Yoga. Instantly she perceived, as by the
unclosing of an inward eye that Yoga was what
she wanted and she instantly wrote to the address
from which this book was issued asking for any
guidance on the subject. She had read in ‘‘Orien-
tal Philosophies”’ that for the successful practice
of Yoga, it was necessary to have a teacher, and
did they know of any teacher who could give her
instruction? A wonderful answer came to that,
for two days afterwards her maid came to her and
said that an Indian gentleman would like to see
her. He was ushered in, and with a profound
obeisance said: ‘‘ Beloved lady, I am the teacher
you asked for; [am your Guru. Peace be to this
house! Om!’’

Mrs Lucas had by this time got her view of Mrs
Quantock’s letter into perfect focus, and she read
on without missing a word. ‘‘Is it not wonder-
ful, dearest Lucia,’’ it ran, ‘‘that my desire for
light should have been so instantly answered?
And yet my Guru tells me that it always happens.
so. I was sent to him, and he was sent to me, just
like that! He had been expecting some call when
my letter asking for guidance came, and he started
at once because he knew he was sent. Fancy! I
don’t even know his name, and his religion forbids
him to tell it me. He is just my Guru, my guide,
and he is going to be with me as long as he knows
I need him to show me the True Path. He has
the spare bedroom and the little room adjoining
where he meditates and does Postures and Pran-
yama which is breathing. If you persevere in
them under instruction, you have perfect health
34 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and youth, and my cold is gone already. He isa
Brahmin of the very highest caste, indeed caste
means nothing to him any longer, just as a Baronet.
and an Honourable must seem about the same
thing to the King. He comes from Benares where
he used to meditate all day by the Ganges, and I
can see for myself that he is a person of the most
extraordinary sanctity. But he can meditate just
as well in my little room, for he says he was never
in any house that had such a wonderful atmos-
phere. He has no money at all which is so beauti-
ful of him, and looked so pained and disappointed °
when I asked him if I might not give him some.
He doesn’t even know how he got here from Lon-
don; he doesn’t think he came by train, so perhaps
he was wafted here in some astral manner. He
looked so bewildered too when I said the, word
' “money,’’ and evidently he had to think what it
was, because it is so long since it has meant any-
thing to him. So if he wants anything, I have told
him to go into any shop and ask that it shall be
put down tome. He has often been without food
or sleep for days together when he is meditating.
Just think!

“*Shall I bring him to see you, or will you come
here? He wants to meet you, because he feels you
have a beautiful soul and may help him in that
way, as well as his helping you. I am helping him
too he says, which seems more wonderful than I
can believe. Send me a line as soon as you get
back. Tante salute!

“‘Your own,
“‘Datsy.”?

The voluminous sheets had taken long in read-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 35

ing and Mrs Lucas folded them up slowly and
thoughtfully. She felt that she had to make a
swift decision that called into play all her mental
powers. On the one hand it was ‘‘up to her’’ to
return a frigid reply, conveying, without making
any bones about the matter, that she had no in-
terest in nameless Gurus who might or might not
be Brahmins from Benares and presented them-
selves at Daisy’s doors in a penniless condition
without clear knowledge whether they had come
by train or not. In favour of such prudent meas-
ures was the truly Athenian character of Daisy’s
mind, for she was always enquiring into ‘‘some
new thing,’’ which was the secret of life when
first discovered, and got speedily relegated to the
dust-heap. But against such a course was the
undoubted fact that Daisy did occasionally get
hold of somebody who subsequently proved to be
of interest, and Lucia would never forget to her
dying day the advent in Riseholme of a little
Welsh attorney, in whom Daisy had discovered a
wonderful mentality. Lucia had refused to extend
her queenly hospitality to him, or to recognise his
existence in any way during the fortnight when
he stayed with Daisy, and she was naturally very
much annoyed to find him in a prominent position
in the Government not many years later. Indeed
she had snubbed him so markedly on his first
appearance at Riseholme that he had refused on
subsequent visits to come to her house at all,
though he several times visited Mrs Quantock
again, and told her all sorts of political secrets
(so she said) which she would not divulge for any-
36 “QUEEN LUCIA”

thing in the world. There must never be a repeti-
tion of so fatal an error.

Another thing inclined the wavering balance.
She distinctly wanted some fresh element at her
court, that should make Riseholme know that she
was in residence again. August would soon be
here with its languors and absence of stimulus,
when it was really rather difficult in the drowsy
windless weather to keep the flag of culture flying
strongly from her own palace. The Guru had
already said that he felt sure she had a beautiful
soul, and— The outline of the scheme flashed
upon her. She would have Yoga evenings in the
hot August weather, at which, as the heat of the
day abated, graceful groups should assemble
among the mottos in the garden and listen to high
talk on spiritual subjects. They would adjourn to
delicious moonlit suppers in the pergola, or if the
moon was indisposed—she could not be expected
to regulate the affairs of the moon as well as of
Riseholme—there would be dim seances and
sandwiches in the smoking-parlour. The humorous
furniture should be put in cupboards, and as they
drifted towards the front hall again, when the
clocks struck an unexpectedly late hour, little.
whispered colloquies of ‘‘How wonderful he was
tonight’’ would be heard, and there would be far-
, away looks and sighs, and the notings down of
the titles of books that conducted the pilgrim on
the Way. Perhaps as they softly assembled for
departure, a little music would be suggested to
round off the evening, and she saw herself putting
down the soft pedal as people rustled into their
places, for the first movement of the ‘‘Moonlight
“QUEEN LUCIA” 37

Sonata.’’ Then at the end there would be silence,
and she would get up with a sigh, and someone
would say ‘‘Lucia mia’’! and somebody else
‘‘Heavenly Music,’’ and perhaps the Guru would
say ‘‘Beloved lady,’’ as he had apparently said to
poor Daisy Quantock. Flowers, music, addresses
from the Guru, soft partings, sense of refresh-
ment ... With the memory of the Welsh attor-
ney in her mind, it seemed clearly wiser to annex
rather than to repudiate the Guru. She seized a
pen and drew a pile of postcards towards her, on
the top of which was printed her name and
address.

‘‘Too wonderful,’’ she wrote, ‘‘pray bring him
yourself to my little garden-party on Friday.
There will be only afew. Let me knowif he wants
a quiet room ready for him.”’

All this had taken time, and she had but scrib-
bled a dozen posteards to friends bidding them
come to her garden party on Friday, when tea
was announced. These invitations had the mystic
word ‘‘Lightman’’ written at the bottom left hand
corner, which conveyed to the enlightened recip-
ient what sort of party it was to be, and denoted
the standard of dress. For one of Lucia’s quaint
ideas was to divide dresses into three classes,
‘‘Hightum,’’ ‘‘Tightum’’ and ‘‘Scrub.”’ ‘‘Hight-
um’’ was your very best dress, the smartest and
newest of all, and when ‘‘Hightum’’ was written
on a card of invitation, it implied that the party
was a very resplendent one. ‘‘Tightum’’ simi-
larly indicated a moderately smart party, ‘‘Serub’’
carried its own significance on the surface. These
terms applied to men’s dress as well and as re-
38 “QUEEN LUCIA”

gards evening parties: a dinner party ‘‘Hightum”’
would indicate a white tie and a tail coat; a dinner
party ‘‘Tightum”’ a black tie and a short coat, and
a dinner ‘‘Scrub’’? would mean morning clothes.

With tea was announced also the advent of
Georgie Pillson who was her gentleman-in-wait-
ing when she was at home, and her watch-dog
when she was not. In order to save subsequent
disappointment, it may be at once stated that there
never has been, was, or ever would be the smallest
approach to a flirtation between them. Neither
of them, she with her forty respectable years and
he with his blameless forty-five years, had ever
flirted, with anybody at all. But it was one of the
polite and pleasant fictions of Riseholme that
Georgie was passionately attached to her and that
it was for her sake that he had settled in Rise-
holme now some seven years ago, and that for
her sake he remained still unmarried. She never,
to do her justice, had affirmed anything of the
sort, but itis a fact that sometimes when Georgie’s ©
name came up in conversation, her eyes wore that
“‘far-away’’ look that only the masterpieces of art
could otherwise call up, and she would sigh and
murmur ‘‘ Dear Georgie’’! and change the subject,
with the tact that characterized her. In fact their
mutual relations were among the most Beautiful
Things of Riseholme, and hardly less beautiful
was Peppino’s attitude towards it all. That large
hearted man trusted them both, and his trust was
perfectly justified. George was in and out of the
house all day, chiefly in; and not only did scandal’
never rear its hissing head, but it positively had
not a head to hiss with, or a foot to stand on. On
“QUEEN LUCIA” 39

his side again Georgie had never said that he was
in love with her (nor would it have been true if he
had), but by his complete silence on the subject
coupled with his constancy he seemed to admit
the truth of this bloodless idyll. They talked and
walked and read the masterpieces of literature and
played duets on the piano together. Sometimes
(for he was the more brilliant performer, though
as he said | terribly lazy about practising,’’ for
which she scolded him) he would gently slap the
back of her hand, if she played a wrong note, and
say ‘‘Naughty!’’? And she would reply in baby
language ‘‘Me vewy sowwy! Oo naughty too
to hurt Lucia!’’ That was the utmost extent of
their carnal familiarities, and with bright eyes
fixed on the music they would break into peals
of girlish laughter, until the beauty of the music
sobered them again.

Georgie (he was Georgie or Mr Georgie, never
Pillson to the whole of Riseholme) was not an
obtrusively masculine sort of person. Such
masculinity as he was possessed of was boyish
rather than adult, and the most important ingre-
dients in his nature were womanish. He had, in
common with the rest of Riseholme, strong
artistic tastes, and in addition to playing the
piano, made charming little water-colour sketches,
many of which he framed at his own expense and
gave to friends, with slightly sentimental titles,
neatly printed in gilt letters on the mount. ‘‘Golden
Autumn Woodland,’’ ‘‘Bleak December,’’ ‘‘Yel-
low Daffodils,’’ ‘‘Roses of Summer’’ were per-
haps his most notable series, and these he had
given to Lucia, on the occasion of four successive
40 “QUEEN LUCIA”

birthdays. He did portraits as well in pastel;

these were of two types, elderly ladies in lace caps
with a row of pearls, and boys in cricket shirts
with their sleeves rolled up. He was not very
good at eyes, so his sitters always were looking
down, but he was excellent at smiles, and the old
ladies smiled patiently and sweetly, and the boys
gaily. But his finest accomplishment was needle-_
work and his house was full of the creations of
his needle, woolwork curtains, petit-point chair
seats, and silk embroideries framed and glazed.
Next to Lucia he was the hardest worked inhabi-
tant of Riseholme but not being so strong as the
Queen, he had often to go away for little rests
by the sea-side. Travelling by train fussed him |
a good deal, for he might not be able to get a
corner seat, or somebody with a pipe or a baby
might get into his carriage, or the porter might be
rough with his luggage, so he always went in his
car to some neighbouring watering-place where
they knew him. Dicky, his handsome young chauf-
feur, drove him, and by Dicky’s side sat Foljambe,
his very pretty parlour-maid who valetted him.
If Dicky took the wrong turn his master called
‘‘Naughty boy’”’ through the tube, and Foljambe
smiled respectfully. For the month of August,
his two plain strapping sisters (Hermione and
Ursula alas!) always came to stay with him. They
liked pigs and dogs and otter-hunting and mutton-
chops, and were rather a discordant element in
Riseholme. But Georgie had a kind heart, and
never even debated whether he should ask Hermy
and Ursy or not, though he had to do a great deal
of tidying up after they had gone.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 41

There was always a playful touch between the
meetings of these two when either of them had
been away from Riseholme that very prettily con-
cealed the depth of Georgie’s supposed devotion,
and when she came out into the garden where her
Cavalier and her husband were waiting for their
tea under the pergola, Georgie jumped up very
nimbly and took a few chassée-ing steps towards
her with both hands outstretched in welcome. She
caught at his humour, made him a curtsey, and
next moment they were treading a little impro-
vised minuet together with hands held high, and
pointed toes. Georgie had very small feet, and it
was a really elegant toe that he pointed, encased
in cloth-topped boots. He had on a suit of fresh
white flannels and over his shoulders, for fear of
the evening air being chilly after this hot day, he
had a little cape of a military cut, like those in
which young ladies at music-halls enact the part
of colonels. He had a straw-hat on, with a blue
riband, a pink shirt and a red tie, rather loose and
billowy. His face was pink and round, with blue
eyes, a short nose and very red lips. An almost
complete absence of eyebrow was made up for by
a firm little brown moustache clipped very short,
and brushed upwards at its extremities. Contrary
to expectation he was quite tall and fitted very
neatly into his clothes.

The dance came to an end with a low curtsey on
Lucia’s part, an obeisance hat in hand from
Georgie (this exposure shewing a crop of hair
grown on one side of his head and brushed
smoothly over the top until it joimed the hair on
42 “QUEEN LUCIA”

the other side) and a clapping of the hands from
Peppino.

‘‘Bravo, bravo,’’ he cried from the tea-table.
“*Capital!”’

Mrs Lucas blew him a kiss in acknowledgment
of this compliment and smiled on her partner.
“‘Amico!’’ she said. ‘‘It is nice to see you again.
How goes it?”’

“‘Va bene,” said Georgie to show he eenld talk
Italian too. Va very bene now that you’ve come
back.’’

“‘Grazie! Now tell us all the news. We'll have
a good gossip.’’ ,

Georgie’s face beamed with a ‘‘solemn glad-
ness’’ at the work, like a drunkard’s when brandy
is mentioned.

‘““Where shall we begin?’’ he said. ‘‘Such a lot
to tell you. I think we must begin with a great bit
of news. Something really mysterious.’’

Lucia smiled inwardly. She felt that she knew
for dead certain what the mysterious news was,
and also that she knew far more about it than
Georgie. This superiority she completely con-
cealed. Nobody could have guessed it.

“‘Presto, presto!’’ she said. ‘‘You excite me.”’

‘‘Yesterday morning I was in Rush’s,’’ said
Georgie, ‘‘seeing about some Créme de menthe,
which ought to have been sent the day before.
Rush is very negligent sometimes—and I was just
saying a sharp word about it, when suddenly I
saw that Rush was not attending at all, but was
looking at something behind my back, and so I
looked round. Guess!’

“‘Don’t be tantalising, amico,’’ said she. ‘‘How
“QUEEN LUCIA” 43

ean I guess? A pink elephant with blue spots!”

‘‘No, guess again!’’

‘A red Indian in full war paint.’’

‘“‘Certainly not! Guess again,’’ said Georgie,
with a little sigh of relief. (It would have been
awful if she had guessed.) At this moment Pep-
pino suddenly became aware that Lucia had
guessed and was up to some game.

‘Give me your hand, Georgie,’’ she said, ‘‘and
look at me. I’m going to read your thoughts.
Think of what you saw when you turned round.”’

She took his hand and pressed it to her fore-
head, closing her eyes,

‘‘But I do seem to see an Indian,’’ she said.
‘Ah, not red Indian, other Indian. And—and he
has slippers on and brown stockings—no, not
brown stockings; it’s legs. And there’s a beard,
and a turban.’’

She gave a sigh.

“‘That’s all I can see,’’ she said.

‘*My dear, you’re marvellous,’’ said he. ‘‘You’re
quite right.’’

A slight bubbling sound came from Peppino,
and Georgie began to suspect.

“‘T believe you’ve seen him!’’ he said. ‘‘How
tarsome you are... .”’

When they had all laughed a great deal, and
Georgie had been assured that Lucia really, word
of honour, had no idea what happened next, the
narrative was resumed.

“‘So there stood the Indian, bowing and salaam-
ing most politely and when Rush had promised
me he would send my Créme de menthe that very
morning, I just looked through a wine list for a
4A “QUEEN LUCIA”

moment, and the Indian with quantities more bows
came up to the counter and said, ‘If you will have
the great goodness to give me a little brandy
bottle.? So Rush gave it him, and instead of pay-
ing for it, what do you think he said? Guess.’’

Mrs Lucas rose with the air of Lady Macbeth
and pointed her finger at Georgie.

‘“‘He said ‘Put it down to Mrs Quantock’s ae
count,’ ’’ she hissed.

Of course the explanation came now, and Lucia
told the two men ‘the contents of Mrs Quantock’s
letter. With that her cards were on the table, and
though the fact of the Brahmin from Benares was
news to Georgie, he had got many interesting .
things to tell her, for his house adjoined Mrs
Quantock’s, and there were plenty of things which
Mrs Quantock had not mentioned in her letter, so
that Georgie was soon in the position of informant
again. His windows overlooked Mrs Quantock’s
garden, and since he could not keep his eyes shut
all day, it followed that the happenings there were
quite common property. Indeed that was a general
rule in Riseholme: anyone in an adjoining
property could say, ‘‘What an exciting game of
lawn-tennis you had this afternoon!’’ having fol-
lowed it from his bedroom. That was part of the
charm of Riseholme; it was as if it contained just
one happy family with common interests and pur-
suits. What happened in the house was a more
private matter, and Mrs Quantock, for instance,
would never look from the rising ground at the
end of her garden into Georgie’s dining-room or,
if she did she would never tell anyone how many
places were laid at table on that particular day
“QUEEN LUCIA” AS

when she had asked if he could give her lunch, and
he had replied that to his great regret his table
was full. But nobody could help seeing into gar-
dens from back windows: the ‘‘view’’ belonged to
everybody.

Georgie had had wonderful views.

‘That very day,’’ he said, ‘‘soon after lunch, I
was looking for a letter I thought I had left in my
bedroom, and happening to glance out, I saw the
Indian sitting under Mrs Quantock’s pear-tree.
He was swaying a little backwards and forwards.

“‘The brandy!’’ said Lucia excitedly. ‘‘He has
his meals in his own room.’’

\“*No, amica, it was not the brandy. In fact I
don’t suppose the brandy had gone to Mrs Quan-
tock’s then, for he did not take it from Rush’s,
but asked that it should be sent. . . .”’ He paused
a moment— ‘‘Or did he take it away? I declare
I can’t remember. But anyhow when he swayed
backwards and forwards, he wasn’t drunk, for
presently he stood on one leg, and cooked the
other behind it, and remained there with his hands
up, as if he was praying, for quite a long time
without swaying at all. So he couldn’t have been
tipsy. And then he sat down again, and took off
his slippers, and held his toes with one hand, while
his legs were quite straight out, and put his other
hand round behind his head, and grasped his other
ear with it. I tried to do it on my bedroom floor,
but I couldn’t get near it. Then he sat up again
and called ‘Chela! Chela!’ and Mrs Quantock came
running out.’’

‘‘Why did he say ‘Chela’?’’ asked Lucia.

‘‘T wondered too. But I knew I had some clue
46 “QUEEN LUCIA”

to it, so I looked through some books by Rudyard
Kipling, and found that Chela meant ‘Disciple.’
What you have told me just now about ‘Guru’
being ‘teacher,’ seems to piece the whole thing
together.’’

“‘And what did Daisy do?’’ asked Mrs Lucas
breathlessly.

‘‘She sat down too, and put her legs out straight.
in front of her like the Guru, and tried to hold the
toe of her shoe in her fingers, and naturally she
couldn’t get within yards of it. I got nearer than
she did. And he said, ‘Beloved lady, not too far at
first.’ ’’

“‘So you could hear too,’’ said Lucia.

‘‘Naturally, for my window was open, and as
you know Mrs Quantock’s pear-tree is quite close
to the house. And then he told her to stop up
one nostril with her finger and inhale through the
other, and then hold her breath, while he counted
six. Then she breathed it all out again, and
started with the other side. She repeated that
several times and he was very much pleased with,
her. Then she said, ‘It is quite wonderful; I feel
so light and vigorous.’ ”’

“‘Tt would be very wonderful indeed if dear
Daisy felt light,’? remarked Lucia. ‘‘What next?”

‘“‘Then they sat and swayed backwards and
forwards again and muttered something that
sounded like Pom!’’

“That would be ‘Om,’ and then?’’

“‘T couldn’t wait any longer for I had some
letters to write.’’

She smiled at him.

“T shall give you another cup of tea to reward .
“QUEEN LUCIA” 47

you for your report,’’ she said. ‘‘It has all been
most interesting. Tell me again about the breath-
ing in and holding your breath.”’

Georgie did so, and illustrated in his own person
what had happened. Next moment Lucia was imi-
tating him, and Peppino came round in order to
get a better view of what Georgie was doing. Then
they all, sat, inhaling through one nostril, holding
their breath, and then expelling it again.

‘“‘Very interesting,’ said Lucia at the end.
‘‘Upon my word, it does give one a sort of feeling
of vigour and lightness. I wonder if there is
something in it.’’
CHAPTER III

Tsovucu ‘‘The Hurst’’ was, as befitted its Chate.
laine, the most Elizabethanly complete abode in
Riseholme, the rest of the village in its due degree,
fell very little short of perfection. It had but its
one street some half mile in length but that street
was a gem of medieval domestic architecture.
For the most part the houses that lined it were
blocks of contiguous cottages, which had been
converted either singly or by twos and threes into
dwellings containing the comforts demanded by
the twentieth century, but externally they pre-
served the antiquity which, though it might be
restored or supplemented by bathrooms or other
conveniences, presented a truly Elizabethan
appearance. There were, of course, accretions
such as old inn signs above front-doors and old
bell-pulls at their sides, but the doors were uni-
formly of inconveniently low stature, roofs were
of stone slabs or old brick, in which a suspiciously
abundant crop of antirrhinums and stone crops
had anchored themselves, and there was hardly a
garden that did not contain a path of old paving-
stones, a mulberry-tree and some yews cut into
shape.

Nothing in the place was more blatantly medie-
val than the village green, across which Georgie
took his tripping steps after leaving the presence
of his queen. Round it stood a row of great elms,

48
“QUEEN LUCIA” 49

and in its centre was the ducking-pond, according
to Riseholme tradition, though perhaps in less
classical villages it might have passed merely for
a duck-pond. But in Riseholme it would have been
rank heresy to dream, even in the most pessimistic
moments, of its being anything but a ducking-
pond. Close by it stood a pair of stocks, about
which there was no doubt whatever, for Mr Lucas
had purchased them from a neighbouring icono-
elastic village, where they were going to be broken
up, and, after having them repaired, had pre-
sented them to the village-green, and chosen their
site close to the ducking pond. Round the green
were grouped the shops of the village, slightly
apart from the residential street, and at the far
end of it was that undoubtedly Elizabethan hos-
telry, the Ambermere Arms, full to overflowing of
ancient tables and bible-boxes, and fire-dogs and
fire-backs, and bottles and chests and settles.
These were purchased in large quantities by the
American tourists who swarmed there during the
summer months, at a high profit to the nimble
proprietor, who thereupon purchased fresh an-
tiquities to take their places. The Ambermere
Arms in fact was the antique furniture shop of the
place, and did a thriving trade, for it was much
more interesting to buy objects out of a real old
Elizabethan inn, than out of a shop.

Georgie had put his smart military cape over
his arm for his walk, and at intervals applied his
slim forefinger to one nostril, while he breathed in
through the other, continuing the practice which
he had observed going on in Mrs Quantock’s
garden. Though it made him a little dizzy, it
50 “QUEEN LUCIA”

certainly produced a sort of lightness, but soon he
remembered the letter from Mrs Quantock which
Lucia had read out, warning her that these exer-
cises ought to be taken under instruction, and so
desisted. He was going to deliver Lucia’s answer
at Mrs Quantock’s house, and with a view to pos-
sibly meeting the Guru, and being introduced to
him, he said over to himself ‘‘Guru, Guru, Guru”’
instead of doing deep breathing, in order to accus-
tom himself to the unusual syllables.

It would, of course, have been very strange and
un-Riseholmlike to have gone to a friend’s door,
even though the errand was so impersonal a one
as bearing somebody else’s note, without enquiring
whether the friend was in, and being instantly ad-
mitted if she was, and as a matter of fact, Georgie
caught a glimpse, when the knocker was answered,
(Mrs Quantock did not have a bell at all), through
the open door of the hall, of Mrs Quantock stand-
ing in the middle of the lawn on one leg. Naturally,
therefore, he ran out into the garden without any
further formality. She looked like a little round
fat stork, whose legs had not grown, but who pre-
served the habits of her kind.

‘Dear lady, I’ve brought a note for you,’’ he
said, ‘‘it’s from Lucia.’’

The other leg went down, and she turned on
him the wide firm smile that she had learned in
the vanished days of Christian Science.

“‘Om,’’ said Mrs Quantock, expelling the re-
mainder of her breath. ‘‘Thank you, my dear
Georgie. It’s extraordinary what Yoga has done
for me already. Cold quite gone. If ever you
feel out of sorts, or depressed or cross you cad
“QUEEN LUCIA” 51

cure yourself at once. I’ve got a visitor staying
with me.”’

‘“‘Have you indeed?’’ asked Reggie, without
alluding to the thrilling excitements which had
trodden so close on each other’s heels since yester-
day morning when he had seen the Guru in Rush’s
shop.

“Yes; and as you’ve just come from dear
Lucia’s perhaps she may have said something to
you about him, for I wrote to her about him. He’s
a Guru of extraordinary sanctity from Benares,
and he’s teaching me the Way. You shall see
him too, unless he’s meditating. I will call to
him; if he’s meditating he won’t hear me, so we
shan’t be interrupting him. He wouldn’t hear a
railway accident if he was meditating.’’

She turned round towards the house.

‘“‘Guru, dear!’’ she called.

There was a moment’s pause, and the Indian’s
face appeared at a window.

‘Beloved lady!!’’ he said.

“Guru dear, I want to introduce a friend of
mine to you,’’ she said. ‘‘This is Mr. Pillson,
and when you know him a little better you will
call him Georgie.’’

‘Beloved lady, I know him very well indeed.
I see into his clear white soul. Peace be unto you,
my friend.’’

‘‘Isn’t he marvellous? Fancy!’’ said Mrs Quan-
tock, in an aside.

Georgie raised his hat very politely.

‘‘How do you do?’’ he said. (After his quiet
practice he would have said ‘‘How do you do
52 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Guru?’’ but it rhymed in a ridiculous manner
and his red lips could not frame the word.)

“‘T am always well,’’ said the Guru, ‘‘I am al-
ways young and well because I follow the Way.”’

‘Sixty at least he tells me,’’ said Mrs Quantock
in a hissing aside, probably audible across the
channel, ‘‘and he thinks more, but the years make
no difference to him. He is like a boy. Call him
‘Guru.’ ”’ :

“‘Guru,—’’ began Georgie.

‘“Yes, my friend.’’

“‘T am very glad you are well,’’ said Georgie
wildly. He was greatly impressed, but much em-
barrassed. Also it was so hard to talk at a second-
story window with any sense of ease, especially
when you had to address a total stranger of ex-
traordinary sanctity from Benares.

Luckily Mrs Quantock came to the assistance of
his embarrassment.

“‘Guru dear, are you coming down to see us?”
she asked.

‘‘Beloved lady, no!’’ said the level voice. ‘‘It is
laid on me to wait here. It is the time of calm and
prayer when it is good to he alone. I will come
down when the guides bid me. But teach our dear
friend what I have taught you. Surely before
long I will grasp his earthly hand, but not now.
“Peace! Peace! and Light!’’

‘‘Have you got some Guides as well?’’ asked
Georgie when the Guru disappeared from the’
window. ‘‘And are they Indians too?’’

‘*Oh, those are his spiritual guides,’’ said Mrs
Quantock. ‘‘He sees them and talks to them, but
they are not in the body.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 58

She gave a happy sigh.

‘“‘T never have felt anything like it,’’ she said.
‘‘He has brought such an atmosphere into the
house that even Robert feels it, and doesn’t mind
being turned out of his dressing-room. There, he
has shut the window. Isn’t it all marvellous?’’

Georgie had not seen anything particularly
marvellous yet, except the phenomenon of Mrs
Quantock standing on one leg in the middle of the
lawn, but presumably her emotion communicated
itself to him by the subtle infection of the spirit.

‘¢And what does he do?’’ he asked.

‘“My dear, it is not what he does, but what he
is,’? said she. ‘‘Why, even my little bald account
of him to Lucia has made her ask him to her
garden-party. Of course I can’t tell whether he
will go or not. He seems so very much—how shall
I say it?—so very much sent to Me. But I shall
of course ask him whether he will consent. Trances
and meditation all day! And in the intervals such
serenity and sweetness. You know, for instance,
how tiresome Robert is about his food. Well, last
night the mutton, I am bound to say, was a little
underdone, and Robert was beginning to throw it
about his plate in the way he has. Well, my Guru
got up and just said, ‘Show me the way to kitchen’
—he leaves out little words sometimes, because
they don’t matter—and I took him down, and he
said ‘Peace!’ He told me to leave him there, and
in ten minutes he was up again with a little plate
of curry and rice and what had been underdone
mutton, and you never ate anything so good.
Robert had most of it and I had the rest, and my
Guru was so pleased at seeing Robert pleased.

Pr
54 “QUEEN LUCIA”

He said Robert had a pure white soul, just like
you, only I wasn’t to tell him, because for him the
Way ordained that he must find it out for himself.

And today before lunch again, the Guru went
down in the kitchen, and my cook told me he only.
took a pinch of pepper and a tomato and a little
bit of mutton fat and a sardine and a bit of
cheese, and he brought up a dish that you never
saw equalled. Delicious! I shouldn’t a bit won-
der if Robert began breathing-exercises soon.
There is one that makes you lean and young and
exercises the liver.”’

This sounded very entrancing.

‘‘Can’t you teach me that?’’ asked Georgie
eagerly. He had been rather distressed about his
increasing plumpness for a year past, and about
his increasing age for longer than that. As for his
liver he always had to be careful.

She shook her head.

‘“‘You cannot practise it except under tuition
from an expert,’’ she said.

Georgie rapidly considered what Hermy’s and
Ursy’s comments would be if, when they arrived
tomorrow, he was found doing exercises under
the tuition of a Guru. Hermy, when she was not
otter-hunting, could be very sarcastic, and he had
a clear month of Hermy in front of him, without
any otter-hunting, which, so she had informed
him, was not possible in August. This was mys-
terious to Georgie, because it did not seem likely
that all otters died in August, and a fresh brood
came in like caterpillars. If Hermy was here in
October, she would otter-hunt all morning and
snore all afternoon, and be in the best of tempers,
“QUEEN LUCIA” 55

but the August visit required more careful steer-
ing. Yet the prospect of being lean and young
and internally untroubled was wonderfully
tempting.

**But couldn’t he be my Guru as well?’’ he
asked.

Quite suddenly and by some demoniac posses-
sion, a desire that had been only intermittently
present in Mrs Quantock’s consciousness took full
possession of her, a red revolutionary insurgence
hoisted its banner. Why with this stupendous
novelty in the shape of a Guru shouldn’t she lead
and direct Riseholme instead of Lucia? She had
long wondered why darling Lucia should be Queen
of Riseholme, and had, by momentary illumina-
tion, seen herself thus equipped as far more ¢a-
pable of exercising supremacy. After all, every-
body in Riseholme knew Lucia’s old tune by now,
and was in his secret consciousness quite aware
' that she did not play the second and third move-
ments of the Moonlight Sonata, simply because
they ‘‘went faster,’? however much she might
cloak the omission by saying that they resembled
eleven o’clock in the morning and 3 p.m. And
Mrs Quantock had often suspected that she did not
read one quarter of the books she talked about,
and that she got up subjects in the Encyclopedia,
in order to make a brave show that covered essen-
tial ignorance. Certainly she spent a good deal
of money over entertaining, but Robert had lately
made twenty times daily what Lucia spent annu-
ally, over Roumanian oils. As for her acting, had
she not completely forgotten her words as Lady
Macbeth in the middle of the sleep-walking scene?
56 “QUEEN LUCIA”

But here was Lucia, as proved by her note, and
her A. D. C. Georgie, wildly interested in the
Guru. Mrs Quantock conjectured that Lucia’s plan
was to launch the Guru at her August parties, as
her own discovery. He would be a novelty, and it
would be Lucia who gave Om-parties and breath-
ing-parties and standing-on-one-leg-parties, while
she herself, Daisy Quantock, would be bidden to
these as a humble guest, and Lucia would get all
the credit, and, as likely as not, invite the dis-
coverer, the inventress, just now and then. Mrs
Quantock’s Guru would become Lucia’s Guru and
all Riseholme would flock hungrily for light and
leading to The Hurst. She had written to Lucia
in all sincerity, hoping that she would extend the
hospitality of her garden-parties to the Guru, but
now the very warmth of Lucia’s reply caused her
to suspect this ulterior motive. She had been too
precipitate, too rash, too ill-advised, too sudden,
as Lucia would say. She ought to have known
that Lucia, with her August parties coming on,
would have jumped at a Guru, and withheld him
for her own parties, taking the wind out of Lucia’s
August sails. Lucia had already suborned Georgie |
to leave this note, and begin to filch the Guru
away. Mrs Quantock saw it all now, and clearly
this was not to be borne. Before she answered,
she steeled herself with the triumph she had once
scored in the matter of the Welsh attorney.

‘‘Dear Georgie,’’ she said, ‘‘no one would be
more delighted than Lif my Guru consented to take
youasapupil. But you can’t tell what he will do,
as he said to me today, apropos of myself, ‘I
cannot come unless I’m sent.’ Was not that won-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 57

derful? He knew at once he had been sent to me.’’

By this time Georgie was quite determined to
have the Guru. The measure of his determination
may be gauged from the fact that he forgot all
about Lucia’s garden-party.

‘‘But he called me his friend,’’ he said. ‘‘He
told me I had a clean white soul.’’

“‘Yes; but that is his attitude towards every-
body,’’ said Mrs. Quantock. ‘‘His religion makes
it impossible for him to think ill of anybody.’’

“But he didn’t say that to Rush,’’ cried Georgie,
‘‘when he asked for some brandy, to be put down
to you.’’

Mrs Quantock’s expression changed for a
moment, but that moment was too short for
Georgie to notice it. Her face instantly cleared
again.

“Naturally he cannot go about saying that sort
of thing,’’ she observed. ‘‘Common people—he is
of the highest caste—would not understand him.’’

Georgie made the direct appeal.

““Please ask him to teach me,”’ he said.

For a moment Mrs Quantock did not answer,
but cocked her head sideways in the direction
of the pear-tree where a thrush was singing. It
fluted a couple of repeated phrases and then was
silent again.

Mrs Quantock gave a great smile to the pear-
tree.

‘Thank you, little brother,’’ she said.

She turned to Georgie again.

“That comes out of St. Francis,’’ she said,
‘“‘but Yoga embraces all that is true in every re-
ligion. Well, I will ask my Guru whether he will
58 “QUEEN LUCIA”

take you as a pupil, but I can’t answer for what
he will say.’’

‘“‘What does he—what does he charge for his
lesson?’’ asked Georgie.

The Christian Science smile illuminated her
face again.

‘‘The word ‘money’ never passes his lips,’’ she
said. ‘‘I don’t think he really knows what it
means. He proposed to sit on the green with a
beggar’s bowl but of course I would not permit
that, and for the present I just give him all he
wants. No doubt when he goes away, which I
hope will not be for many weeks yet, though no
one can tell when he will have another call, I shall
slip something suitably generous into his hand,
but I don’t think about that. Must you be going?
Good night, dear Georgie. Peace! Om!’’

His last backward glance as he went out of the
front door revealed her standing on one leg again,
just as he had seen her first. He remembered a
print of a fakir at Benares, standing in that atti-
tude; and if the stream that flowed into the Avon
could be combined with the Ganges, and the garden
into the burning ghaut, and the swooping swallows
into the kites, and the neat parlour-maid who
showed him out, into a Brahmin, and the Chinese
gong that was so prominent an object in the hall
into a piece of Benares brassware, he could almost
have fancied himself as standing on the brink of
the sacred‘river. The marigolds in the garden
required no transmutation. .. .

Georgie had quite ‘‘to pull himself together,”
as he stepped round Mrs Quantock’s mulberry
tree, and ten paces later round his own, before he
“QUEEN LUCIA” 59

could recapture his normal evening mood, on those
occasions when he was going to dine alone. Usually
these evenings were very pleasant and much occu-
pied, for they did not occur very often in this
whirl of Riseholme life, and it was not more than
once a week that he spent a solitary evening, and
then, if he got tired of his own company, there
were half a dozen houses, easy of access where he
could betake himself in his military cloak, and
spend a post-prandial hour. But oftener than not
when these occasions occurred, he would be quite
busy at home, dusting a little china, and rearrang-
ing ornaments on his shelves, and, after putting
his rings and handkerchief in the candle-bracket
of the piano, spending a serious hour (with the
soft pedal down, for fear of irritating Robert) in
reading his share of such duets as he would be
likely to be called upon to play with Lucia during
the next day or two. Though he read music much
better than she did, he used to ‘‘go over’’ the part
alone first, and let it be understood that he had
not seen it before. But then he was sure that she
had done precisely the same, so they started fair.
Such things whiled away very pleasantly the hours
till eleven, when he went to bed, and it was seldom
that he had to set out Patience-cards to tide him
over the slow minutes.

But every now and then—and tonight was one
of those occasions—there occurred evenings when
he never went out to dinner even if he was asked,
because he ‘‘was busy indoors.’’ They occurred
about once a month (these evenings that he was
‘busy indoors’’)—and even an invitation from
Lucia would not succeed in disturbing them. Ages
60 “QUEEN LUCIA”

ago Riseholme had decided what made Georgie
‘busy indoors’? once a month, and so none of his
friends chatted about the nature of his engage-
ments to anyone else, simply because everybody
else knew. His business indoors, in fact, was a
perfect secret, from having been public property
for so long.

June had been a very busy time, not ‘‘indoors,’’
but with other engagements, and as Georgie went
up to his bedroom, having been told by Foljambe .
that the hair-dresser was waiting for him, and
had been waiting ‘‘this last ten minutes,’’ he
glanced at his hair in the Cromwellian mirror that
hung on the stairs, and was quite aware that it
was time he submitted himself to Mr Holroyd’s
ministrations. There was certainly an under-
growth of grey hair visible beneath his chestnut
crop, that should have been attended to at least a
fortnight ago. Also there was a growing thinness
in the locks that crossed his head; Mr. Holroyd
had attended to that before, and had suggested a
certain remedy, not in the least inconvenient, un-
less Georgie proposed to be athletic without a
cap, in a high wind, and even then not necessarily
so. But as he had no intention of being athletic |
anywhere, with or without a cap, he determined
as he went up the stairs that he would follow Mr
Holroyd’s advice. Mr Holroyd’s procedure,
without this added formula, entailed sitting ‘‘till.
it dried,’’ and after that he would have dinner,
and then Mr Holroyd would begin again. He was
a very clever person with regard to the face and
the hands and the feet. Georgie had been con-
scious of walking a little lamely lately; he had
“QUEEN LUCIA” 61

been even more conscious of the need of hot towels
on his face and the ‘‘tap-tap’’ of Mr Holroyd’s
fingers, and the stretchings of Mr Holroyd’s
thumb across rather slack surfaces of cheek and
chin. In the interval between the hair and the
face, Mr. Holroyd should have a good supper
downstairs with Foljambe and the cook. And to-
morrow morning, when he met Hermy and Ursy,
Georgie would be just as spick and span and young
as ever, if not more so.

Georgie (happy innocent!) was completely un-
aware that the whole of Riseholme knew that the
smooth chestnut locks which covered the top of
his head, were trained like the tendrils of a grape-
vine from the roots, and flowed like a river over a
bare head, and consequently when Mr Holroyd
explained the proposed innovation, a little central
wig, the edges of which would mingle in the most
natural manner with his own hair, it seemed to
- Georgie that nobody would know the difference.
In addition he would be spared those risky
moments when he had to take off his hat to a
friend in a high wind, for there was always the
danger of his hair blowing away from the top of
his head, and hanging down, like the tresses of a
Rhine-maiden over one shoulder. So Mr Hol-
royd was commissioned to put that little affair in
hand at once, and when the greyness had been
attended to, and Georgie had had his dinner, there
came hot towels and tappings on his face, and
other ministrations. All was done about half past
ten, and when he came downstairs again for a
short practice at the bass part of Beethoven’s fifth
symphony, ingeniously arranged for two per-
62 “QUEEN LUCIA”

formers on the piano, he looked with sincere satis-
faction at his rosy face in the Cromwellian mirror,
and his shoes felt quite comfortable again, and his
nails shone like pink stars, as his hands dashed
wildly about the piano in the quicker passages.
But all the time the thought of the Guru next
door, under whose tuition he might be able to
regain his youth without recourse to those ex-
pensive subterfuges (for the price of the unde-
tectable toupet astonished him) rang in his head
with a melody more haunting than Beethoven’s.
What he would have liked best of all would have
been to have the Guru all to himself, so that he
should remain perpetually young, while all the
rest of Riseholme, including Hermy and Ursy,
grew old. Then, indeed, he would be king of the
place, instead of serving the interests of its queen.

He rose with a little sigh, and after adjusting
the strip of flannel over the keys, shut his piano
and busied himself for a little with a soft duster
over his cabinet of bibelots which not even Fol-
jambe was allowed to touch. It was generally
understood that he had inherited them, though
the inheritance had chiefly passed to him through
the medium of curiosity shops, and there were
several pieces of considerable value among them.
There were a gold Louis XVI snuff box, a minia-
ture by Kar] Huth, a silver toy porringer of the
time of Queen Anne, a piece of Bow china, an
enamelled cigarette case by Fabergé. But tonight
his handling of them was not so dainty and deli-
cate as usual, and he actually dropped the por-
ringer on the floor as he was dusting it, for his
mind still occupied itself with the Guru and the
“QUEEN LUCIA” 63

practices that led to permament youth. How quick
Lucia had been to snap him up for her garden-
party. Yet perhaps she would not get him, for
he might say he was not sent. But surely he
would be sent to Georgie, whom he knew, the
moment he set eyes on him to have a clean white
soul... .

The clock struck eleven, and, as usual on warm
nights Georgie opened the glass door into his
garden and drew in a breath of the night air,
There was a slip of moon in the sky which he most
punctiliously saluted, wondering (though he did
not seriously believe in its superstition) how
Lucia could be so foolhardy as to cut the new
moon. She had seen it yesterday, she told him,
in London, and had taken no notice whatever of
it... . The heavens were quickly peppered with
pretty stars, which Georgie after his busy interest-
ing day enjoyed looking at, though if he had had
the arrangement of them, he would certainly have
put them into more definite patterns. Among
them was a very red planet, and Georgie with
recollections of his classical education, easily re-
membered that Mars, the God of War, was sym-
bolized in the heavens by a red star. Could that
mean anything to peaceful Riseholme? Was in-
ternal warfare, were revolutionary movements
possible in so serene a realm?
CHAPTER IV

Pinx irascible Robert, prone to throw his food
about his plate, if it did not commend itself to
him, felt in an extremely good natured mood that
same night after dinner, for the Guru had again
made a visit to the kitchen with the result that
instead of a slab of pale dead codfish being put
before him after he had eaten some tepid soup,
there appeared a delicious little fish-curry. The
Guru had behaved with great tact ; he had seen the
storm gathering on poor Robert’s face, as he
sipped the cool effete concoction and put down
his spoon again with a splash in his soup plate, and
thereupon had bowed and smiled and scurried
away to the kitchen to intercept the next abomina-
tion. Then returning with the little curry he ex-
plained that it was entirely for Robert, since those
who sought the Way did not indulge in hot sharp
foods, and so he had gobbled it up to the very last
morsel.

In consequence when the Guru salaamed very
humbly, and said that with gracious permission of
beloved lady and kind master he would go and
meditate in his room, and had shambled away in
his red slippers, the discussion which Robert had
felt himself obliged to open with his wife, on the
subject of having an unknown Indian staying with
them for an indefinite period, was opened in a
much more amicable key than it would have been
on a Slice of codfish.

64
“QUEEN LUCIA” 65

“Well, now, about this Golliwog—-haha—I
should say Guru, my dear,’’ he began, ‘‘what’s
going to happen?’’

Daisy Quantock drew in her breath sharply and
winced at this irreverence, but quickly remem-
bered that she must always be sending out mes-
sages of love, north, east, south and west. So she
sent a rather spiky one in the direction of her
husband who was sitting due east, so that it prob-
ably got to him at once, and smiled the particular
hard firm smile which was an heirloom inherited
from her last rule of life.

‘*No one knows,”’ she said brightly. ‘‘Even the
Guides can’t tell where and when a Guru may be
called.’’

‘‘Then do you propose he should stop here till
he’s called somewhere else?’’

She continued smiling.

“‘T don’t propose anything,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s not
in my hands.”’

Under the calming influence of the fish curry,
Robert remained still placid.

‘‘He’s a first-rate cook anyhow,’’ he said.
‘“‘Can’t you engage him as that? Call to the
kitchen, you know.’’

‘‘Darling!’’? said Mrs Quantock, sending out
more love. But she had a quick temper, and in-
deed the two were outpoured together, like hot and
cold taps turned on ina bath. The pellucid stream
of love served to keep her temper moderately
cool.

“Well, ask him,’’ suggested Mr Quantock, ‘‘as
you say, you never can tell where a Guru may be
66 “QUEEN LUCIA”

called. Give him forty pounds a year and beer
money.”’

‘‘Beer!’’ began Mrs Quantock, when she sud-
denly remembered Georgie’s story about Rush
and the Guru and the brandy-bottle, and stopped.

“Yes, dear, I said ‘beer,’ ?? remarked Robert a
little irritably, ‘‘and in any case I insist that you
dismiss your present cook. You only took her
because she was a Christian Scientist, and you’ve
left that little sheep-fold now. You used to talk
about false claims I remember. Well her claim to
be a cook is the falsest I ever heard of. I’d sooner
take my chance with an itinerant organ grinder.
But that fish-curry tonight and that other thing
last night, that’s what I mean by good eating.”’

The thought even of good food always calmed
Robert’s savage breast; it blew upon him as the
wind on an AXolian harp hung in the trees, evok-
ing faint sweet sounds.

‘‘I’m sure, my dear,’’ he said, ‘‘that I shall be
willing to fall j in with any pleasant arrangement
about your Guru, but it really isn’t unreasonable
in me to ask what sort of arrangement you pro-
pose. I haven’t a word to say against him, espe-
cially when he goes to the kitchen; I only want to
know if he is going to stop here a night or two or
a year ortwo. Talk to him about it tomorrow with
my love. I wonder if he can make bisque soup.”

Daisy Quantock carried quite a quantity of ma-
terial for reflection upstairs with her, then she
went to bed, pausing a moment opposite the
Guru’s door, from inside of which came sounds of
breathing so deep that it sounded almost like
snoring. But she seemed to detect a timbre of
“QUEEN LUCIA” 67;

spirituality about it which convinced her that he
was holding high communion with the Guides. It
was round him that her thoughts centred, he was
the tree through the branches of which they scam-
pered chattering.

Her first and main interest in him was sheer
Guruism, for she was one of those intensely happy
people who pass through life in ecstatic pursuit of
some idea which those who do not share it call
a fad. Well might poor Robert remember the
devastation of his home when Daisy, after the
perusal.of a little pamphlet which she picked up
on a book-stall called ‘‘The Uric Acid Monthly,’’
came to the shattering conclusion that her buxom
frame consisted almost entirely of waste-products
which must be eliminated. For a greedy man the
situation was frankly intolerable, for when he
continued his ordinary diet (this was before the
cursed advent of the Christian Science cook) she
kept pointing to his well-furnished plate, and told
him that every atom of that beef or mutton and
‘potatoes, turned from the moment he swallowed
it into chromogens and toxins, and that his appar-
ent appetite was merely the result of fermenta-
tion. For herself her platter was an abominable
mess of cheese and proteid-powder and apples and
salad-oil, while round her, like saucers of specimen
seeds were ranged little piles of nuts and pine-
branches, which supplied body-building material,
and which she weighed out with scrupulous accur-
acy, in accordance with the directions of the ‘‘ Uric
Acid Monthly.’? Tea and coffee were taboo, since
they flooded the blood with purins, and the kitchen
boiler rumbled day and night to supply the rivers
68 “QUEEN LUCIA”

of boiling water with which (taken in sips) she in-
undated her system. Strange gaunt females used
to come down from London, with small parcels
full of tough food that tasted of travelling-bags
and contained so much nutrition that a port-
manteau full of it would furnish the daily rations
of any army. Luckily even her iron constitution
could not stand the strain of such ideal living for
long, and her growing anemia threatened to un-
dermine a constitution seriously impaired by the
precepts of perfect health. A course of beef-
steaks and other substantial viands loaded with
uric acid restored her to her former vigour.
Thus reinforced, she plunged with the same
energy as she had devoted to repelling uric acid
into the embrace of Christian Science. The inhv-
manity of that sect towards both herself and
others took complete possession of her, and when
her husband complained on a bitter January
morning that his smoking-room was like an ice-
house, because the housemaid had forgotten to
light the fire, she had no touch of pity for him,
since she knew that there was no such thing as
cold or heat or pain, and therefore you could not
feel cold. But now, since, according to the new
creed, such things as uric acid, chromogens and
purins had no existence, she could safely indulge
in decent viands again. But her unhappy husband
was not a real gainer in this respect, for while
he ate, she tirelessly discoursed to him on the new
creed, and asked him to recite with her the True
Statement of Being. And on the top of that she
dismissed the admirable cook, and engaged the
miscreant from whom he suffered still, though
“QUEEN LUCIA” 69

Christian Science, which had allowed her cold to
make so long a false claim on her, had followed
the uric-acid fad into the limbo of her discarded
beliefs.

But now once more she had temporarily dis-
covered the secret of life in the teachings of the
Guru, and it was, as has been mentioned, sheer
Guruism that constituted the main attraction of
the new creed. That then being taken for granted,
she turned her mind to certain side-issues, which
to a true Riseholmite were of entrancing interest.
She felt a strong suspicion that Lucia contem-
plated annexing her Guru altogether, for other-
wise she would not have returned so enthusiastic
a response to her note, nor have sent Georgie to
deliver it, nor have professed so violent an inter-
est in the Guru. What then was the correctly
diabolical policy to pursue? Should Daisy Quan-
tock refuse to take him to Mrs Lucas altogether,
with a message of regret that he did not feel him-
self sent? Even if she did this, did she feel herself
strong enough to throw down the gauntlet (in the
shape of the Guru) and, using him as the attrac-
tion, challenge darling Lucia to mutual combat, in
order to decide who should be the leader of all that
was advanced and cultured in Riseholme society?
Still following that ramification of this policy,
should she bribe Georgie over to her own revolu-
tionary camp, by promising him instruction from
the Guru? Or following a less dashing line,
should she take darling Lucia and Georgie into the
charmed circle, and while retaining her own right
of treasure trove, yet share it with them in some
70 “QUEEN LUCIA”

inner ring, dispensing the Guru to them, if they
were good, in small doses?

Mrs Quantock’s mind resembled in its workings
the manceuvres of a moth distracted by the glory
of several bright lights. It dashed at one, got
slightly singed, and forgetting all about that
turned its attention to the second, and the third,
taking headers into each in turn, without deciding
which, on the whole, was the most enchanting of
those luminaries. So, in order to curb the exuber-
ance of these frenzied excursions she got a half
sheet of paper, and noted down the alternatives
that she must choose from.

‘“(I) Shall I keep him entirely to myself?

“‘(II) Shall I run him for all he is worth, and
leave out L?

““(JIT) Shall I get G on my side?

““(IV) Shall I give L and G bits?’’

She paused a moment: then remembering that
he had voluntarily helped her very pretty house-
maid to make the beds that morning, saying that
his business (like the Prince of Wales’s) was to,
serve, she added:

“‘(V) Shall I ask him to be my cook?’’

For a few seconds the brightness of her eager
interest was, dimmed as the unworthy suspicion
occurred to her that perhaps the prettiness of her
housemaid had something to do with his useful-
ness in the bedrooms, but she instantly dismissed
it. There was the bottle of brandy, too, which he
had ordered from Rush’s. When she had begged
him to order anything he wanted and cause it to
‘be put down to her account, she had not actually
contemplated brandy. Then remembering that
“QUEEN LUCIA” 71

one of the most necessary conditions for progress
in Yoga, was that the disciple should have com-
plete confidence in the Guru, she chased that also
out cf her mind. But still, even when the lines of
all possible policies were written down, she could
come to no decision, and putting her paper by her
bed, decided to sleep over it. The rhythmical
sounds of hallowed breathing came steadily from
next door, and she murmured ‘‘Om, Om,”’ in time
with them.

The hours of the morning between breakfast
and lunch were the’time which the inhabitants of
Riseholme chiefly devoted to spying on each other.
They went about from shop to shop on household
businesses, occasionally making purchases which
they carried away with them in little paper par-
cels with convenient loops of string, but the real
object of these excursions was to see what every-
body else was doing, and learn what fresh inter-
ests had sprung up like mushrooms during the
night. Georgie would be matching silks at the
draper’s, and very naturally he would carry them
from the obscurity of the interior to the door in
order to be certain about the shades, and keep
his eye on the comings and goings in the street,
and very naturally Mr Lucas on his way to the
market gardener’s to enquire whether he had yet
received the bulbs from Holland, would tell him
‘that Lucia had received the piano-arrangement of
the Mozart trio. Georgie for his part would men-
tion that Hermy and Ursy were expected that
‘evening, and Peppino enriched by this item would
‘“ttoddle on,’’? as his phrase went, to meet and
exchange confidences with the next spy. He had
72 “QUEEN LUCIA”

noticed incidentally that Georgie carried a small
oblong box with hard corners, which, perfectly
correctly, he conjectured to be cigarettes for
Hermy and Ursy, since Georgie never smoked.

‘‘Well, I must be toddling on,’’ he said, after
identifying Georgie’s box of cigarettes, and being
rather puzzled by a bulge in Georgie’s pocket.
‘*You’ll be looking in some time this morning, per-
haps.’’

Georgie had not been quite sure that he would
(for he was very busy owing to the arrival of
his sisters, and the necessity of going to Mr
Holroyd’s, in order that that artist might accu-
rately match the shade of his hair with a view to
the expensive toupet), but the mention of the
arrival of the Mozart now decided him. He in-
tended anyhow before he went home for lunch to
stroll past The Hurst, and see if he did not hear—
to adopt a mixed metaphor—the sound of the dili-
gent practice of that classical morsel going on
imside. Probably the soft pedal would be down,
but he had marvellously acute hearing, and he
would be very much surprised if he did not hear
the recognisable chords, and even more surprised
if, when they came to practise the piece together,
Lucia did not give him to understand that she was
reading it for the first time. He had already got
a copy, and had practised his part last night, but
then he was in the superior position of not having
a husband who would inadvertently tell on him!
Meantime it was of the first importance to get
that particular shade of purple silk that had none
of that ‘‘tarsome’’ magenta-tint in it. Meantime
“QUEEN LUCIA” 73

also, it was of even greater importance to observe
the movements of Riseholme.

Just opposite was the village green, and as
nobody was quite close to him Georgie put on his
» spectacles, which he could whisk off in a moment.
It was these which formed that bulge in his pocket
which Peppino had noticed, but the fact of his
using spectacles at all was a secret that would
have to be profoundly kept for several years yet.
But as there was no one at all near him, he
stealthily adjusted them on his small straight
nose. The morning train from town had evidently
come in, for there was a bustle of cabs about the
door of the Ambermere Arms, and a thing that
thrilled him to the marrow was the fact that Lady
Ambermere’s motor was undoubtedly among
them. That must surely mean that Lady Amber-
mere herself was here, for when poor thin Miss
Lyall, her companion, came in to Riseholme to
do shopping, or transact such business as the
majestic life at The Hall required, she always
came on foot, or in very inclement weather in a
small two-wheeled cart like a hip-bath. At this
moment, steeped in conjecture, who should ap-
pear, walking stiffly, with her nose in the air, as if
suspecting, and not choosing to verify, some faint
unpleasant odour, but Lady Ambermere herself,
coming from the direction of The Hurst... .
Clearly she must have got there after Peppino
had left, or he would surely have mentioned the
fact that Lady Ambermere had been at The Hurst,
if she had been at The Hurst. It is true that she
was only coming from the direction of The Hurst,
but Georgie put into practice, in his mental
74 “QUEEN LUCIA”

processes Darwin’s principle, that in order to
observe usefully, you must have a _ theory.
Georgie’s theory was that Lady Ambermere had
been at The Hurst just for a minute or two, and
hastily put his spectacles in his pocket. With
the precision of a trained mind he also formed
the theory that some business had brought Lady
Ambermere into Riseholme, and that taking
advantage of her presence there, she had prob-
ably returned a verbal answer to Lucia’s invita-
tion to her garden-party, which she would have
received by the first post this morning. He was
quite ready to put his theory to the test when
Lady Ambermere had arrived at the suitable dis-
tance for his conveniently observing her, and for
taking off his hat. She always treated him like
a boy, which he liked. The usual salutation
passed.

“‘T don’t know where my people are,’’ said Lady
Ambermere majestically. ‘‘Have you seen my
motor?”’

‘“Yes, dear lady, it’s in at your own arms,”’ said
Georgie brightly. ‘‘Happy motor!’

If Lady Ambermere unbent to anybody, she
unbent to Georgie. He was of quite good family,
because his mother had been a Bartlett and a
second cousin of her deceased husband. Some-
times when she talked to Georgie she said ‘‘we,’’
implying thereby his connection with the aristoc-
racy, and this gratified Georgie nearly as much
as did her treatment of him as being quite a boy
still. It was to him, as a boy still, that she
answered.

“Well, the happy motor, you little rascal, must
“QUEEN LUCIA” 75

come to my arms instead of being at them,’’ she
said with the quick wit for which Riseholme pro-
nounced her famous. ‘‘Fancy being able to see
my motor at that distance. Young eyes!”’

It was really young spectacles, but Georgie did
not mind that. In fact, he would not have cor-
rected the mistake for the world.

“Shall I run across and fetch it for you?’’ he
asked.

“In a minute. Or whistle on your fingers like
a vulgar street boy,’’ said Lady Ambermere.
“‘T’m sure you know how to.’’

Georgie had not the slightest idea, but with the
courage of youth, presuming, with the prudence
of middle-age, that he would not really be called
upon to perform so unimaginable a feat, he put
two fingers up to his mouth. :

“‘Here goes then!’’ he said, greatly daring.
(He knew perfectly well that the dignity of Lady
Ambermere would not permit rude vulgar whist-
ling, of which he was hopelessly incapable, to
summon her motor. She made a feint of stopping
her ears with her hands.)

“Don’t do anything of the kind,’’ she said. ‘‘In
a minute you shall walk with me across to the
. Arms, but tell me this first. I have just been to
say to our good Mrs Lucas that very likely I will
look in at her garden-party on Friday, if I have
nothing else to do. But who is this wonderful
creature she is expecting? Is it an Indian con-
jurer? If so, I should like to see him, because
when Ambermere was in Madras I remember one
coming to the Residency who had cobras and that
sort of thing. I told her I didn’t like snakes, and
76 “QUEEN LUCIA”

she said there shouldn’t be any. In fact, it was
all rather mysterious, and she didn’t at present
know if he was coming or not. I only said, ‘No
snakes: I insist on no snakes.’ ”’

Georgie relieved her mind about the chance of
there being snakes, and gave a short précis of the
ascertained habits of the Guru, laying special
stress on his high-caste.

“‘Yes, some of these Brahmins are of very
decent family,’? admitted Lady Ambermere. ‘‘I
was always against lumping all dark-skinned
people together and calling them niggers. When
we were at Madras I was famed for my discrim-
ination.’’

They were walking across the green as Lady
Ambermere gave vent to these liberal sentiments,
and Georgie even without the need of his spec-
tacles could see Peppino, who had spied Lady
Ambermere from the door of the market-garden-
er’s, hurrying down the street, in order to get a
word with her before ‘‘her people’’ drove her
back to The Hall. ’

“TY came into Riseholme today to get rooms at
the Arms for Olga Bracely,’’ she observed.

‘‘The prima-donna?’’ asked Georgie breathless
with excitement.

“Yes: she is coming to stay at the Arms for two
nights with Mr Shuttleworth.’’

‘<Surely: ’? began Georgie.

‘‘No, it is all right, he is her husband, they
were married last week,’’ said Lady Ambermere.
‘‘T should have thought that Shuttleworth was a
good enough name, as the Shuttleworths are
cousins of the late lord, but she prefers to call

 
“QUEEN LUCIA” 77,

herself Miss Bracely. I don’t dispute her right
to call herself what she pleases: far from it,
though who the Bracelys were, I have never been
able to discover. But when George Shuttleworth
wrote to me saying that he and his wife were in-
tending to stay here for a couple of days, and
proposing to come over to The Hall to see me, I
thought I would just look in ac the Arms myself,
and see that they were promised proper accom-
modation. They will dine with me tomorrow. I
have a few people staying, and no doubt Miss
Bracely will sing afterwards. My Broadwood
was always considered a remarkably fine instru-
ment. It was very proper of George Shuttleworth
to say that he would be in the neighbourhood, and
I daresay she is a very decent sort of woman.’’
They had come to the motor by this time—the
rich, the noble motor, as Mr Pepys would have
described it—and there was poor Miss Lyall hung
with parcels, and wearing a faint sycophantic
smile. This miserable spinster, of age so obvious
as to be called not the least uncertain, was Lady
Ambermere’s companion, and shared with her the
glories of The Hall, which had been left to Lady
Ambermere for life. She was provided with food
and lodging and the use of the cart like a lup-bath
when Lady Ambermere had errands for her to do
in Riseholme, so what could a woman want more?
In return for these bounties, her only duty was to
devote herself body and mind to her patroness, to
read the paper aloud, to set Lady Ambermere’s
patterns for needlework, to carry the little Chinese
dog under her arm, and wash him once a week,
to accompany Lady Ambermere to church, and
"8 “QUEEN LUCIA”

never to have a fire in her bedroom. She had a
melancholy wistful little face: her head was in-
clined with a backward slope on her neck, and her
mouth was invariably a little open shewing long
front teeth, so that she looked rather like a roast
hare sent up to table with its head on. Georgie
always had a ioke ready for Miss Lyall, of the
sort that made ner say, ‘‘Oh, Mr Pillson!’’ and
caused her to blush. She thought him remarkably
pleasant.

Georgie had his joke ready on this occasion.

‘“Why, here’s Miss Lyall!’’ he said. ‘‘And
what has Miss Lyall been doing while her ladyship
and I have been talking? Better not ask, per-
haps.”’

‘‘Oh, Mr Pillson!’’ said Miss Lyall, as punetu-
ally as a cuckoo clock when the hands point to the
hour.

Lady Ambermere put half her weight onto the
step of the motor, causing it to creak and sway.

‘Call on the Shuttleworths, Georgie,’’ she said.
“Say I told you to. Home!”’

Miss Lyall effaced herself on the front seat of
the motor, like a mouse hiding in a corner, after
Lady Ambermere had got in, and the footman
mounted onto the box. At that moment Peppino
with his bag of bulbs, a little out of breath,
squeezed his way between two cabs by the side of
the motor. He was just too late, and the motor
moved off. It was very improbable that Lady
Ambermere saw him at all.

Georgie felt very much like a dog with a bone
in his mouth, who only wants to get away from all
the other dogs and discuss it quietly. It is safe
“QUEEN LUCIA” fe

to say that never in twenty-four hours had so
many exciting things happened to him. He had
ordered a toupet, he had been looked on with
favour by a Guru, all Riseholme knew that he had
had quite a long conversation with Lady Amber-
mere and nobody in Riseholme, except himself,
knew that Olga Bracely was going to spend two
nights here. Well he remembered her marvellous
appearance last year at Covent Garden in the part
of Brunnhilde. He had gone to town for a re
juvenating visit to his dentist, and the tarsome-
ness of being betwixt and between had been quite
forgotten by him when he saw her awake to
Siegfried’s line on the mountain-top. ‘‘Das ist
keine mann,’’ Siegfried had said, and, to be sure,
that was very clever of him, for she looked like
some slim beardless boy, and not in the least like
those great fat Fraus at Baireuth, whom nobody
could have mistaken for a man as they bulged
and heaved even before the strings of the breast-
plate were uncut by his sword. And then she sat
up and hailed the sun, and Georgie felt for a
moment that he had quite taken the wrong turn
in life, when he settled to spend his years in this.
boyish, maidenly manner with his embroidery and
his china-dusting at Riseholme. He ought to have
been Siegfried. . . . He had brought a photo-
graph of her in her cuirass and helmet, and often
looked at it when he was not too busy with some-
thing else. He had even championed his goddess
against Lucia, when she pronounced that Wagner
was totally lacking in knowledge of dramatic
effects. To be sure she had never seen any Wag-
ner opera, but she had heard the overture to
80 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Tristram performed at the Queen’s Hall, and if
that was Wagner, well——

Already, though Lady Ambermere’s motor had
not yet completely vanished up the street, Rise-
holme was gently closing in round him, in order
to discover by discreet questions (as in the game
of Clumps) what he and she had been talking
about. There was Colonel Boucher with his two
snorting bull-dogs closing in from one side, and
Mrs Weston in her bath-chair being wheeled
relentlessly towards him from another, and the
two Miss Antrobuses sitting playfully in the
stocks, on the third, and Pepptno at close range
on the fourth. Everyone knew, too, that he did
not lunch till half past one, and there was really
no reason why he should not stop and chat as
usual. But with the eye of the true general, he
saw that he could most easily break the surround-
ing cordon by going off in the direction of Colonel
Boucher, because Colonel Boucher always said
‘‘Haw, hum, by Jove,’’ before he descended into
coherent speech, and thus Georgie could forestall
him with ‘‘Good morning, Colonel,’’ and pass on
before he got to business. He did not like pass-
ing close to those slobbering bull-dogs, but some-
thing had to be done. . . . Next moment he was
clear and saw that the other spies by their
criginal impetus were still converging on each
other and walked briskly down towards Lucia’s
ho ise, to listen for any familiar noises out of the
Mozart trio. The noises were there, and the soft
pedal was down just as he expected, so, that busi-
ness being off his mind, he continued his walk for
a few hundred yards more, meaning to make a
“QUEEN LUCIA” 81

short circuit through fields, cross the bridge, over
the happy stream that flowed into the Avon, and
regain his house by the door at the bottom of the
garden. Then he would sit and think . . . the
Guru, Olga Bracely. . . . Whatif he asked Olga
Bracely and her husband to dine, and persuaded
Mrs Quantock to let the Guru come? That would
be three men and one woman, and Hermy and
Ursy would make all square. Six for dinner was
the utmost that Foljambe permitted.

He had come to the stile that led into the fields,
and sat there for a moment. Lwucia’s tentative
melodies were still faintly audible, but soon they
stopped, and he guessed that she was looking out
of the window. She was too great to take part
in the morning spying that went on round about
the Green, but she often saw a good deal from her
window. He wondered what Mrs Quantock was
meaning to do. Apparently she had not promised
the Guru for the garden-party, or else Lady
Ambermere would not have said that Lucia did
not know whether he was coming or not. Per-
haps Mrs Quantock was going to run him herself,
and grant him neither to Lucia nor Georgie. In
that case he would eertainly ask Olga Bracely and
her husband to dine, and should he or should he
not ask Lucia?

The red star had risen in Riseholme: Bolshev-
ism was treading in its peaceful air, and if Mrs.
Quantock was going to secrete her Guru, and set
up her own standard on the strength of him,
Georgie felt much inclined to ask Olga Bracely to
dinner, without saying anything whatever to
Lucia about it, and just see what would happen
82 “QUEEN LUCIA”

next. Georgie was a Bartlett on his mother’s side,
and he played the piano better than Lucia, and
he had twenty-four hours’ leisure every day, which
he could devote to being king of Riseholme. .. .
His nature flared up, burning with a red revolu-
tionary flame, that was fed by his secret knowl-
edge about Olga Bracely. Why should Lucia rule
everyone with her rod of iron? Why, and again
why?

Suddenly he heard his name called in the
familiar alto, and there was Lucia in her Shake-
speare’s garden.

‘*Georgino! Georgino mio!’’ she cried. ‘‘Gino!”’

Out of mere habit Georgie got down from his
stile, and tripped up the road towards her. The
manly seething of his soul’s insurrection rebuked,
him, but unfortunately his legs and his voice sur-
rendered. Habit was strong. .. .

“‘Amica!’’? he answered. ‘‘Buon Giorno.’
(‘‘And why do I say it in Italian?’’ he vainly
asked himself.)

““Geordie, come and have ickle talk,’’ she said.
“Me want ’oo wise man to advise ickle Lucia.’’

‘““What ’oo want?’’ asked Georgie, now quite
quelled for the moment.

‘*Lots-things. Here’s pwetty flower for button-
holie. Now tell me about black man. Him no
snakes have? Why Mrs Quantock say she thinks
he no come to poo’ Lucia’s party-garden?’’

‘“Oh, did she?’’ asked Georgie relapsing into the
vernacular.

“*Yes, oh, and by the way there’s a parcel come
which I think must be the Mozart trio. Will you
come over tomorrow morning and read it with
“QUEEN LUCIA” 838

me? Yes? About half-past eleven, then. But
never mind that.’’

She fixed him with her ready, birdy eye.

‘‘Daisy asked me to ask him,”’’ she said, ‘‘and
so to oblige poor Daisy I did. And now she says
she doesn’t know if he’ll come. What does that
mean? Is it possible that she wants to keep him
to herself? She has done that sort of thing be-
fore, you know.”’ :

This probably represented Lucia’s statement of
the said case about the Welsh attorney, and
Georgie taking it as such felt rather embarrassed.
Also that bird-like eye seemed to gimlet its way
into his very soul, and divine the secret disloyalty
that he had been contemplating. If she had con-
tinued to look into him, he might not only have
confessed to the gloomiest suspicions about Mrs
Quantock, but have let go of his secret about Olga
Bracely also, and suggested the possibility of her
and her husband being brought to the garden-
party. But the eye at this moment unscrewed
itself from him again and travelled up the road.

‘“‘There’s the Guru,’’ she said. ‘‘Now we will
see!’

Georgie, faint with emotion, peered out between
the form of the peacock and the pine-apple on
the yew hedge, and saw what followed. Lucia
went straight up to the Guru, bowed and smiled
and clearly introduced herself. In another mo-
ment he was showing his white teeth and salaam-
ing, and together they walked back to The Hurst,
where Georgie palpitated behind the yew-hedge.
Together they entered and Lucia’s eye wore its
most benignant aspect.
84 “QUEEN LUCIA”

“‘T want to introduce to you, Guru,’’ she said
without a stumble, ‘‘a great friend of mine. This
is Mr Pillson, Guru; Guru, Mr Pillson. The Guru
is coming to tiffin with me, Georgie. Cannot I
persuade you to stop?”’

‘‘Delighted!’’ said Georgie. ‘‘We met before in
a sort of way, didn’t we?”’

‘Ves, indeed. So pleased,’’ said the Guru.

‘‘Let us go in,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘It is close on
lunch-time.’’

Georgie followed, after a great many bowings
and politenesses from the Guru. He was not sure
if he had the makings of a Bolshevist. Lucia was
so marvellously efficient.
CHAPTER V

Ons of Lucia’s greatnesses lay in the fact that
when she found anybody out in some act of
atrocious meanness, she never indulged in any
idle threats of revenge: it was sufficient that she
knew, and would take suitable steps on the earliest
oceasion. Consequently when it appeared, from
the artless conversation of the Guru at lunch that
the perfidious Mrs Quantock had not even asked
him whether he would like to go to Lucia’s garden
party or not (pending her own decision as to what
she was meaning to do with him) Lucia received
the information with the utmost good-humour,
merely saying, ‘‘ No doubt dear Mrs Quantock for-
got to tell you,’’ and did not announce acts of
reprisal, such as striking Daisy off the list 6f her
habitual guests for a week or two, just to give her
alesson. She even, before they sat down to lunch,
telephoned over to that thwarted woman to say
that she had met the Guru in the street, and they
had both felt that there was some wonderful bond
of sympathy between them, so he had come back
with her, and they were just sitting down to
tiffin. She was pleased with the word ‘‘tiffin,’’
and also liked explaining to Daisy what it meant.

Tiffin was a great success, and there was no need
for the Guru to visit the kitchen in order to make
something that could be eaten without struggle.
He talked quite freely about his mission here,

; se
86 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and Lucia and Georgie and Peppino who had come
in rather late, for he had been obliged to go back
to the market-gardener’s about the bulbs, listened
entranced.

“Yes, it was when I went to my friend who
keeps the book-shop,”’ he said, ‘‘that I knew there
was English lady who wanted Guru, and I knew
I was called to her. No luggage, no anything at
all: as I am. Such a kind lady, too, and she will
get on well, but she will find some of the postures
difficult, for she is what you call globé, round.’’

‘‘Was that postures when I saw her standing on
one leg in the garden?’’ asked Georgie, ‘‘and when
she sat down and tried to hold her toes?’

‘“Yes, indeed, quite so, and difficult for globe.
But she has white soul.’’

He looked round with a smile.

‘‘T see many white souls here,’’ he said. ‘‘It is
happy place, when there are white souls, for to
them I am sent.”’

This was sufficient: in annie minute Lucia,
Georgie and Peppino were all accepted as pupils,
and. presently they went out into the garden,
where the Guru sat on the ground in a most com-
plicated attitude which was obviously quite out of
reach of Mrs Quantock.

“‘One foot on one thigh, other foot on other
thigh,’’ he explained. ‘‘And the head and back
straight: it is good to meditate so.”’

Lucia tried to imagine meditating so, but felt
that any meditation so would certainly be on the
subject of broken bones.

‘«Shall I be able to do that?’’ she asked. ‘‘And
what will be the effect?’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 87

‘You will be light and active, dear lady, and
ah—here is other dear lady come to join us.’’

Mrs Quantock had certainly made one of her
diplomatic errors on this occasion. She had
acquiesced on the telephone in her Guru going to
tiffin with Lucia, but about the middle of her lunch,
she had been unable to resist the desire to know
what was happening at The Hurst. She could
not bear the thought that Lucia and her Guru
were together now, and her own note, saying that
it was uncertain whether the Guru would come to
the garden party or not filled her with the most
uneasy apprehensions. She would sooner have
acquiesced in her Guru going to fifty garden-
parties, where all was public, and she could keep
an eye and a control on him, rather than that
Lucia should have ‘‘enticed him in,’’—that was
her phrase—like this to tiffin. The only consola-
tion was that her own lunch had been practically
inedible, and Robert had languished lamentably
for the Guru to return, and save his stomach. She
had left him glowering over a little mud and water
called coffee. Robert, at any rate, would welcome
the return of the Guru.

She waddled across the lawn to where this har-
monious party was sitting, and at that moment
Lucia began to feel vindictive. The calm of vic-
tory which had permeated her when she brought
the Guru in to lunch, without any bother at all,
was troubled and broken up, and darling Daisy’s
note, containing the outrageous falsity that the
Guru would not certainly accept an invitation
which had never been permitted to reach him at
all, assumed a more sinister aspect. Clearly now
88 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Daisy had intended to keep him to herself, a fact
that she already suspected, and had made a hos-
tile invasion.

“‘Guru, dear, you naughty thing,’’ said Mrs
Quantock playfully, after the usual salutations had
passed, ‘‘why did you not tell your Chela you
would not be home for tiffin?’’

The Guru had unwound his legs, and stood up.

‘“But see, beloved lady,’’ he said, ‘‘how pleas-
ant we all are! Take not too much thought, when
it is only white souls who are together.’’

Mrs Quantock patted his shoulder.

‘Tt is all good and kind Om,’’ she said. ‘I
send out my message of love. There!’’

It was necessary to descend from these high
altitudes, and Lucia proceeded to do so, as in a
parachute that dropped swiftly at first, and then
floated in still air.

‘“‘And we’re making such a lovely plan, dear
Daisy,’’ she said. ‘‘The Guru is going to teach
us all. Classes! Aren’t you?’’

He held his hands up to his head, palms out-
wards, and closed his eyes.

“‘T seem to feel call,’’? he said. ‘‘I am sent.
Surely the Guides tell me there is a sending of me.
What you call classes? Yes? I teach: you learn.
We all learn. . . . I leave all to you. I will
walk a little way off to arbour, and meditate, and
then when you have arranged, you will tell Guru,
who is your servant. Salaam! Om!’’

With the Guru in her own house, and with every
intention to annex him, it was no wonder that
Lucia took the part of chairman in this meeting
that was to settle the details of the esoteric broth-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 89

erhood that was to be formed in Riseholme. Had
not Mrs Quantock been actually present, Lucia in
revenge for her outrageous conduct about the
garden-party invitation would probably have left
her out of the classes altogether, but with her
sitting firm and square in a basket chair, that
creaked querulously as she moved, she could not
be completely ignored. But Lucia took the lead
throughout, and suggested straightaway that the
smoking-parlour would be the most convenient
place to hold the classes in.

“T should not think of invading your house,
dear Daisy,’’ she said, ‘‘and here is the smoking-
parlour which no one ever sits in, so quiet and
peaceful. Yes. Shall we consider that settled,
then?’’

She turned briskly to Mrs Quantock.

‘‘And now where shall the Guru stay?’’ she
said. ‘‘It would be too bad, dear Daisy, if we
are all to profit by his classes, that you should
have all the trouble and expense of entertaining
him, for in your sweet little house he must be a
great inconvenience, and I think you said that
your husband had given up his dressing room to
him.’’

Mrs Quantock made a desperate effort to retain
her property.

“‘No inconvenience at all,’’ she said, ‘‘quite the
contrary in fact, dear. It is delightful having him,
and Robert regards him as a most desirable in-
mate.”’

Lucia pressed her hand feelingly.

‘You and your husband are too unselfish,’’ she
said. ‘‘Often have I said, ‘Daisy and Mr Robert
90 “QUEEN LUCIA”

are the most unselfish people I know.’ Haven’t
I, Georgie? But we can’t permit you to be so
crowded. Your only spare room, you know, and .
your-husband’s dressing room! Georgie, I know
you agree with me; we must not permit dear
Daisy to be so unselfish.”’

The bird-like eye produced its compelling effect
on Georgie. So short a time ago he had indulged
in revolutionary ideas, and had contemplated hav-
ing the Guru and Olga Bracely to dinner, with-
out even asking Lucia: now the faint stirrings of
revolt faded like snow in summer. He knew quite
well what Lucia’s next proposition would be: he
knew, too, that he would agree to it.

‘‘No, that would never do,’’ he said. ‘‘It is
simply trespassing on Mrs Quantock’s good-
nature, if she is to board and lodge him, while he
teaches all of us. I wish I could take him in, but
with Hermy and Ursy coming tonight, I have as
little room as Mrs Quantock.’’

‘‘He shall come here,’’ said Lucia brightly, as
if she had just that moment thought of it. ‘‘There
are Hamlet and Othello vacant’’—all her rooms
were named after Shakespearian plays—‘‘and it
will not be the least inconvenient. Will it, Pep-
pino? I shall really like having him here. Shall
we consider that settled, then?’’

Daisy made a perfectly futile effort to send
forth a message of love to all quarters of the com-
pass. Bitterly she repented of having ever
mentioned her Guru to Lucia: it had never oc-
curred to her that she would annex him like this.
While she was cudgelling her brains as to how
“QUEEN LUCIA” 91

she could arrest this powerful offensive, Lucia
went sublimely on.

‘‘Then there’s the question of what we shall pay
him,’’ she said. ‘‘Dear Daisy tells us that he
scarcely knows what money is, but I for one could
never dream of profiting by his wisdom, if I was
to pay nothing for it. The labourer is worthy of
his hire, and so I suppose the teacher is. What
if we pay him five shillings each a lesson: that
will make a pound a lesson. Dear me! I shall be
busy this August. Now how many classes shall
we ask him to give us? I should say six to begin
with, if everybody agrees. One every day for
the next week except Sunday. That is what you
all wish? Yes? Then shall we consider that
settled?”’

Mrs Quantock, still impotently rebelling, re-
sorted to the most dire weapon in her armoury,
namely, sarcasm.

‘‘Perhaps, darling Lucia,’’ she said, ‘‘it would
be well to ask my Guru if he has anything to say
to your settlings. England is a free country still,
even if you happen to have come from India.’’

Lucia had a deadlier weapon than sarcasm,
which was the apparent unconsciousness of there
having been any. For it is no use plunging a
dagger into your enemy’s heart, if it produces no

-effect whatever on him. She clapped her hands
together, and gave her peal of silvery laughter.

‘““What a good idea!’’ she said. ‘‘Then you
would like me to go and tell him what we pro-
pose? Just as you like. I will trot away, shall I,
and see if he agrees. Don’t think of stirring, dear
Daisy, I know how you feel the heat. Sit quiet
92 “QUEEN LUCIA”

in the shade. As you know, I am a real sala.
mander, the sun is never troppo caldo for me.’’

She tripped off to where the Guru was sitting in
that wonderful position. She had read the article
in the encyclopedia about Yoga right through
again this morning, and had quite made up her
mind, as indeed her proceedings had just shown,
that Yoga was, to put it irreverently, to be her
August stunt. He was still so deep in meditation
that he could only look dreamily in her direction
as she approached, but then with a long sigh he
got up.

‘‘This is beautiful place,’’ he said. ‘‘It is full
of sweet influences and I have had high talk with
Guides.’’

Lucia felt thrilled.

‘‘Ah, do tell me what they said to you,’’ she
exclaimed.

“‘They told me to follow where I was led: they
said they would settle everything for me in wis-
dom and love.’’

This was most encouraging, for decidedly Lucia
had been settling for him, and the opinion of the
Guides was thus a direct personal testimonial.
Any faint twitchings of conscience (they were of
the very faintest) that she had grabbed dear
Daisy’s property were once and for ever quieted,
and she proceeded confidently to unfold the settle-
ments of wisdom and love, which met with the
Guru’s entire approval. He shut his eyes a
moment and breathed deeply.

“‘They give peace and blessing,’’ he said. ‘‘It
is they who ordered that it should be so. Om!”

He seemed to sink into profound depths of
“QUEEN LUCIA” 98

meditation, and Lucia hurried back to the group
she had left.

“Tt is all too wonderful,’’ she said. ‘‘The
Guides have told him that they were settling
everything for him in wisdom and love, so we
may be sure we were right in our plans. How
lovely to think that we have been guided by them!
Dear Daisy, how wonderful he is! I will send
across for his things, shall I, and I will have
Hamlet and Othello made ready for him!’’

Bitter though it was to part with her Guru, it
was impious to rebel against the ordinances of
the Guides, but there was a trace of human resent-
ment in Daisy’s answer.

“‘Things!’’ she exclaimed. ‘‘He hasn’t got a
thing in the world. Every material possession
chains us down to earth. You will soon come to
that, darling Lucia.’’

It oceurred to Georgie that the Guru had cer-
tainly got a bottle of brandy, but there was no
use in introducing a topic that might lead to dis-
cord, and indeed, even as Lucia went indoors to
see about Hamlet and Othello, the Guru himself
having emerged from meditation, joined them and
sat down by Mrs Quantock.

“Beloved lady,’’ he said, ‘‘all is peace and hap-
piness. The Guides have spoken to me so lovingly
of you, and they say it is best your Guru should
come here. Perhaps I shall return later to your
kind house. They smiled when I asked that. But
just now they send me here: there is more need
of me here, for already you have so much light.’’

Certainly the Guides were very tactful people,
for nothing could have soothed Mrs Quantock so
94 “QUEEN LUCIA”

effectually as a message of that kind, which she
would certainly report to Lucia when she returned
from seeing about Hamlet and Othello.

“‘Oh, do they say I have much light already,
Guru, dear?’’ she asked. ‘‘That is nice of them.’’

‘Surely they said it, and now I shall go back
to your house, and leave sweet thoughts there .
for you. And shall I send sweet thoughts to the
home of the kind gentleman next door?”’

Georgie eagerly welcomed this proposition, for
with Hermy and Ursy coming that evening, he
felt that he would have plenty of use for sweet
thoughts. He even forebore to complete in his
own mind the conjecture that was forming itself
there, namely, that though the Guru would be
leaving sweet thoughts for Mrs Quantock, he
would probably be taking away the brandy bottle
for himself. But Georgie knew he was only too
apt to indulge in secret cynicisms and perhaps
there was no brandy to take away by this time

. and lo and behold, he was being cynical
again.

The sun was still hot when, half an hour after-
wards, he got into the open cab which he had
ordered to take him to the station to meet Hermy
and Ursy, and he put up his umbrella with its
white linen cover, to shield him from it. He did
not take the motor, because either Hermy or Ursy
would have insisted on driving it, and he did not
choose to put himself in their charge. In all the
years that he had lived at Riseholme, he never
remembered a time when social events—‘‘work,”’
he called it—had been so exciting and varied.
There were Hermy and Ursy coming this evening,
“QUEEN LUCIA” 95

and Olga Bracely and her husband (Olga Bracely
and Mr. Shuttleworth sounded vaguely improper:
Georgie rather liked that) were coming tomorrow,
and there was Lucia’s garden-party the day after,
and every day there was to be a lesson from the
Guru, so that God alone knew when Georgie would
have a moment to himself for his embroidery or
to practise the Mozart trio. But with his hair
chestnut-coloured to the very roots, and his shin-
ing nails, and his comfortable boots, he felt
extremely young and fit for anything. Soon,
under the influence of the new creed with its pos-
tures and breathings, he would feel younger and
more vigorous yet.

But he wished that it had been he who had found
this pamphlet on Eastern philosophies, which had
led Mrs Quantock to make the inquiries that had
resulted in the epiphany of the Guru. Of course
when once Lucia had heard about it, she was cer-
tain to constitute herself head and leader of the
movement, and it was really remarkable how com-
pletely she had done that. In that meeting in the
garden just now she had just sailed through Mrs
Quantock as calmly as a steamer cuts through
the waters of the sea, throwing her off from her
penetrating bows like a spent wave. But baffled

‘though she was for the moment, Georgie had been
aware that Mrs Quantock seethed with revolution-
ary ideas: she deeply resented this confiscation of
what was certainly her property, though she was
impotent to stop it, and Georgie knew just what
she felt. It was all very well to say that Lucia’s
schemes were entirely in accord with the purposes
of the Guides. That might be so, but Mrs Quan-
96 “QUEEN LUCIA”

tock would not cease to think that she had been
robbed. . . .

Yet nothing mattered if all the class found
themselves getting young and active and loving
and excellent under this tuition. It was that
notion which had taken such entire command of
them all, and for his part Georgie did not really
care who owned the Guru, so to speak, if only he
got the benefit of his teachings. For social pur-
poses Lucia had annexed him, and doubtless with
him in the house she could get little instructions
and hints that would not count as a lesson, but
after all, Georgie had still got Olga Bracely to
himself, for he had not breathed a word of her
advent to Lucia. He felt rather like one who, when
revolutionary ideas are in the air, had concealed
a revolver in his pocket. He did not formulate
to himself precisely what he was going to do with
it, but it gave him a sense of power to know it
was there.

The train came in, but he looked in vain for
his sisters. They had distinctly said they were
arriving by it, but in a couple of minutes it was
perfectly clear that they had done nothing of the
kind, for the only person who got out was Mrs
Weston’s cook, who as all the world knew went
into Brinton every Wednesday to buy fish. At
the rear of the train, however, was an immense
quantity of luggage being taken out, which could
not all be Mrs Weston’s fish, and indeed, even at
that distance there was something familar to
Georgie about a very large green hold-all which
was dumped there. Perhaps Hermy and Ursy
had travelled in the van, because ‘‘it was such a
“QUEEN LUCIA” 97

lark,’’ or for some other tomboy reason, and he
went down the platform to investigate. There
were bags of golf clubs, and a dog, and portman-
teaux, and even as the conviction dawned on him
that he had seen some of these objects before, the
guard, to whom Georgie always gave half-a-crown
when he travelled by this train, presented him
with a note scrawled in pencil. It ran—

“Dearest Georgie,

‘‘It was such a lovely day that when we got to
Paddington Ursy and I decided to bicycle down
instead, so for a lark we sent our things on, and
we may arrive tonight, but probably tomorrow.
Take care of Tiptree: and give him plenty of jam.
He loves it.

‘““Yours,
‘‘HERMY.

‘*P.S.—Tipsipoozie doesn’t really bite: it’s only

his fun.’’

Georgie crumpled up this odious epistle, and
beeame aware that Tipsipoozie, a lean Irish ter-
rier, was regarding him with peculiar disfavour,
and shewing all his teeth, probably in fun. In
pursuance of this humorous idea, he then darted
towards Georgie, and would have been extremely
funny, if he had not been handicapped by the bag
of golf-clubs to which he was tethered. As it was,
he pursued him down the platform, towing the
clubs after him, till he got entangled in them and
fell down.

Georgie hated dogs at any time, though he had
never hated one so much as Tipsipoozie,.and the
98 “QUEEN LUCIA”

problems of life became more complicated than
ever. Certainly he was not going to drive back
with Tipsipoozie in his cab, and it became neces-
sary to hire another for that abominable hound
and the rest of the luggage. And what on earth
was to happen when he arrived home, if Tipsi-
poozie did not drop his fun and become serious?
Foljambe, it is true, liked dogs, so perhaps dogs
liked her. . . . ‘‘But it is most tarsome of
Hermy!’’ thought Georgie bitterly. ‘‘I wonder
what the Guru would do.’’ There ensued a very
trying ten minutes, in which the station-master,
the porters, Georgie and Mrs Weston’s maid all
called Tipsipoozie a good dog as he lay on the
ground snapping promiscuously at those who
praised him. Eventually a valiant porter picked
up the bag of clubs, and by holding them out in
front of him at the extreme length of his arms,
in the manner of a fishing rod, with Tipsipoozie
on a short chain at the other end of the bag, like
a savage fish, cursing and swearing, managed to
propel him into the cab, and there was another
half-crown gone. Georgie thereupon got into his
cab and sped homewards in order to arrive there
first, and consult with Foljambe. Foljambe
usually thought of something.

Foljambe came out at the noise of the arriving
wheels and Georgie explained the absence of his
sisters and the advent of an atrocious dog.

‘‘He’s very fierce,’’ he said, ‘‘but he likes jam.”

Foljambe gave that supreme smile which some-
times Georgie resented. Now he hailed it, as if
it was ‘‘an angel-face’s smile.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 99

‘‘T’ll see to him, sir,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve brought
up your tea.’’

‘*But you’ll take care, Foljambe, won’t you?’’
he asked.

““T expect he’d better take care,’’ returned the
intrepid woman.

Georgie, as he often said, trusted Foljambe com-
pletely, which must explain why he went into his
drawing-room, shut the door, and looked out of
the window when the second cab arrived. She
opened the door, put her arms inside, and next
moment emerged again with Tipsipoozie on the
end of the chain, making extravagant exhibitions
of delight. Then to Georgie’s horror, the draw-
ing-room door opened, and in came Tipsipoozie
without any chain at all. Rapidly sending a mes-
sage of love in all directions like a S. O. S. call,
Georgie put a small chair in front of him, to shield
his legs. Tipsipoozie evidently thought it was a
game, and hid behind the sofa to rush out again
from ambush.

“Just got snappy being tied to those golf-
clubs,’’ remarked Foljambe.

But Georgie, as he put some jam into his saucer,
could not help wondering whether the message
of love had not done it.

He dined alone, for Hermy and Ursy did not
appear, and had a great polishing of his knick-
knacks afterwards, while waiting for them. No
one ever felt anxious at the non-arrival of those
sisters, for they always turned up from their
otter-hunting or their golf sooner or later, chiefly
later, in the highest spirits at the larks they had
had, with amazingly dirty hands and prodigious
100 “QUEEN LUCIA”

appetite. But when twelve o’clock struck, he de.
cided to give up all idea of their appearance thai
night, and having given Tipsipoozie some more
jam and a comfortable bed in the woodshed, he
went upstairs to his room. Though he knew il
was still possible that he might be roused by wild
“‘Cooees!’’? and showers of gravel at his window,
and have to come down and minister to their gross
appetites, the prospect seemed improbable and he
soon went to sleep.

Georgie awoke with a start some hours later,
wondering what had disturbed him. There was
no gravel rattling on his window, no violent ring-
ing of bicycle bells, nor loud genial shouts out-
raging the decorous calm of Riseholme, but cer-
tainly he had heard something. Next moment,
the repeated noise sent his heart leaping into his
throat, for quite distinctly he heard a muffled
sound in the room below, which he instantly diag-
nosed with fatal certainty as burglars. The first
emotion that mingled itself with the sheer terror,
was a passionate regret that Hermy and Ursy had
not come. They would have thought it tremendous
larks, and would have invented some wonderful
offensive with fire-irons and golf-clubs and dumb-
bells. Even Tipsipoozie, the lately-abhorred,
would have been a succour in this crisis, and why,
oh why, had not Georgie had him to sleep in his
bedroom instead of making him cosy in the wood-
shed? He would have let Tipsipoozie sleep on his
lovely blue quilt for the remainder of his days, if
only Tipsipoozie could have been with him now,
ready to have fun with the burglar below. As it
was, the servants were in the attics at the top of
“QUEEN LUCIA” 101

the house, Dickie slept out, and Georgie was all
alone, with the prospect of having to defend his
property at risk of his life. Even at this moment,
as he sat up in bed, blanched with terror, these
miscreants might be putting his treasure into their
pockets. The thought of the Fabergé cigarette
case, and the Louis XVI snuff box, and the Queen
Anne toy-porringer which he had inherited all
these years, made even life seem cheap, for life
would be intolerable without them, and he sprang
out of bed, groped for his slippers, since until he
had made a plan it was wiser not to shew a light,
and shuffled noiselessly towards the door.
CHAPTER VI

Tur door-handle felt icy to fingers already
frozen with fright, but he stood firmly grasping
it, ready to turn it noiselessly when he had quite
made up his mind what todo. The first expedient
that suggested itself with an overpowering sweet-
ness of relief, was that of locking his door, going
back to bed again, and pretending that he had
heard nothing. But apart from the sheer cow-
ardice of that, which he did not mind so much, as
nobody else would ever know his guilt, the thought
of the burglar going off quite unmolested with his
property was intolerable. Even if he could not
summon up enough courage to go downstairs with
his life and a poker in his hand, he must at least
give them a good fright. They had frightened
him, and so he would frighten them. They should
not have it all their own way, and if he decided
not to attack them (or him) single-handed, he
could at least thump on the floor, and call out
‘‘Burglars!’’ at the top of his voice, or shout
“Charles! Henry! Thomas!’’ as if summoning a
bevy of stalwart footmen. The objection to this
course, however, would be that Foljambe or some-
body else might hear him, and in this case, if he
did not then go downstairs to mortal combat, the
knowledge of his cowardice would be the property
of others beside himself. . . . And all the time
he hesitated, they were probably filling their
pockets with his dearest possessions.

102
“QUEEN LUCIA” 103

He tried to send out a message of love, but he
was totally unable to do so.

Then the little clock in his mantelpiece struck
two, which was a miserable hour, sundered so far
from dawn.

Though he had lived through years of agony
since he got out of bed, the actual passage of time,
as he stood frozen to the door-handle, was but the
duration of a few brief seconds, and then making
a tremendous call on his courage he felt his way
to his fireplace, and picked up the poker. The
tongs and shovel rattled treacherously, and he
hoped that had not been heard, for the essence of
his plan (though he had yet no idea what that plan
was) must be silence till some awful surprise
broke upon them. If only he could summon the
police, he could come rushing downstairs with his
poker, as the professional supporters of the law
gained an entrance to his house, but unfortunately
the telephone was downstairs, and he could not
reasonably hope to carry on a conversation with
the police station without being overheard by the
burglars.

He opened his door with so masterly a move-
ment that there was no sound either from the
hinges nor from the handle as he turned it, and
peered out. The hall below was dark, but a long
pencil of light came from the drawing room, which
showed where the reckless brutes must be, and
there, too, alas! was his case of treasures. Then
suddenly he heard the sound of a voice, speaking
very low, and another voice answered it. At that
Georgie’s heart sank, for this proved that there
must be at least two burglars, and the odds
104 “QUEEN LUCIA”

against him were desperate. After that came a
low, cruel laugh, the unmistakable sound of the
rattle of knives and forks, and the explosive un-
corking of a bottle. At that his heart sank even
lower yet, for he had read that cool habitual
burglars always had supper before they got to
work, and therefore he was about to deal with a
gang of professionals. Also that explosive un-
corking clearly indicated champagne, and he knew
that they were feasting on his best. And how
wicked of them to take their unhallowed meal in
his drawing-room, for there was no proper table
there, and they would be making a dreadful mess
over everything.

A current of cool night air swept up the stairs,
and Georgie saw the panel of light from the open
drawing-room door diminish in width, and pres-
ently the door shut with a soft thud, leaving him
in the dark. At that his desperation seemed
pressed and concentrated into a moment of
fictitious courage, for he unerringly reasoned that
they had left the drawing-room window open, and
that perhaps in a few moments now they would
have finished their meal and with bulging pockets
would step forth unchallenged into the night.
Why had he never had bolts put on his shutters,
like Mrs Weston, who lived in nightly terror of
burglars? But it was too late to think of that
now, for it was impossible to ask them to step out
till he had put bolts up, and then when he was
ready begin again.

He could not let them go gorged with his cham-
pagne and laden with his treasures without re-
prisals of some sort, and keeping his thoughts
“QUEEN LUCIA” 105

steadily away from revolvers and clubs and sand-
bags, walked straight downstairs, threw open the
drawing-room door, and with his poker grasped
in his shaking hand, cried out in a faint, thin
voice:

“If you move I shall fire.’’

There was a moment of dead silence, and a little
dazzled with the light he saw what faced him.

At opposite ends of his Chippendale sofa sat
Hermy and Ursy. Hermy had her mouth open and
held a bun in her dirty hands. Ursy had her
mouth shut and her cheeks were bulging. Between
them was a ham and a loaf of bread, and a pot
of marmalade and a Stilton cheese, and on the
floor was the bottle of champagne with two brim-
ming bubbling tea cups full of wine. The cork
and the wire and the tin-foil they had, with some
show of decency, thrown into the fireplace.

Hermy put down her bun, and gave a great
shout of laughter; Ursy’s mouth was disgustingly
full and she exploded. Then they lay back against
the arms of the sofa and howled.

Georgie was very much vexed.

“Upon my word, Hermy!’’ he said, and then
found it was not nearly a strongly enough expres-
sion. Andina moment of ungovernable irritation
he said:

‘‘Damn it all!’’

Hermy showed signs of recovery first, and as
Georgie came back after shutting the window,
could find her voice, while Ursy collected small
fragments of ham and bread which she had par-
tially chewed.
106 “QUEEN LUCIA”

‘‘Lord! What a lark!’’ she said. ‘‘Georgie, it’s
the most ripping lark.”’

Ursy pointed to the poker.

‘‘Hfe’ll fire if we move,”’’ she cried. ‘‘Or poke
the fire, was it?”’

‘‘Ask another!’ screamed Hermy. ‘‘Oh, dear,
he thought we were burglars, and came down with
a poker, brave boy! It’s positively the limit.
Have a drink, Georgie.”’

Suddenly her eyes grew round and awestruck,
and pointing with her finger to Georgie’s shoul-
der, she went off into another yell of laughter.

“‘Ursy! His hair!’’ she said, and buried her
face in a soft cushion.

Naturally Georgie had not put his hair in order
when he came downstairs, for nobody thinks about
things like that when he is going to encounter
burglars single-handed, and there was his bald
pate and his long tresses hanging down ohe side.

It was most annoying, but when an irremediable
annoyance has absolutely occurred, the only pos-
sible thing for a decent person to do is to take
it as lightly as possible. Georgie rose gallantly
to the occasion, gave a little squeal and ran from
the room.

“‘Down again presently,’’ he called out, and
had a heavy fall on the stairs, as he went up to
his bedroom. There he had a short argument,
with himself. It was possible to slam his door,
go to bed, and be very polite in the morning. But
that would never do: Hermy and Ursy would have
a joke against him forever. It was really much
better to share in the joke, identifying himself
with it. So he brushed his hair in the orthodox
“QUEEN LUCIA” 107

fashion, put on a very smart dressing-gown, and
came tripping downstairs again.

“‘My dears, what fun!’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s all
have supper. But let’s move into the dining-room,
where there’s a table,.and I’ll get another bottle
of wine, and some glasses, and we’ll bring Tipsi-
poozie in. You naughty girls, fancy arriving at a
time like this. I suppose your plan was to go
very quietly to bed, and come down to breakfast
in the morning, and give me a fine surprise. Tell
me about it now.’’

So presently Tipsipoozie was having his mar-
malade, which did just as well as jam, and they
were all eating slices off the ham, and stuffing
them into split buns. ;

‘“Yes, we thought we might as well do it all in
one go,’’ said Hermy, ‘‘and it’s a hundred and
twenty miles, if it’s a yard. And then it was so
late when we got here, we thought we wouldn’t
disturb you, specially as the drawing-room win-
dow wasn’t bolted.’’

“Bicycles outside,’’ said Ursy, ‘‘they’ll just
have to be out at grass till morning. Ob, Tipsi-
ipsi-poozie-woozy, how is you? Hope he behaved
like the good little Tiptree that he is, Georgie?’’

‘‘O yes, we made great friends,’’ said Georgie
sketchily. ‘‘He was wee bit upset at the station,
but then he had good tea with his Uncle Georgie
and played hide and seek.’’

Rather rashly, Georgie made a face at Tiptree,
the sort of face which amuses children. But it
didn’t amuse Tiptree, who made another face, in
which teeth played a prominent part.

‘““Fool-dog,’’ said Hermy, carelessly smacking
108 “QUEEN LUCIA”

him across the nose. ‘‘ Always hit him if he shows
his teeth, Georgie. Pass the fizz.’’

‘‘Well, so we got through the drawing-room
window,’’ continued Ursy, ‘‘and, golly, we were
hungry. So we foraged, and there we were!
Jolly plucky of you, Georgie, to come down and
beard us.”’

‘‘Real sport,’’? said Hermy. ‘‘And how’s old
Fol-de-rol-de-ray? Why didn’t she come down
and fight us, too?’”

Georgie guessed that Hermy was making a
humourous allusion to Foljambe, who was the one
person in Riseholme whom his two sisters seemed
to hold in respect. Ursy had once set a booby-
trap for Georgie, but the mixed biscuits and
Brazil nuts had descended on Foljambe instead.
On that occasion Foljambe, girt about in impene-
trable calm, had behaved as if nothing had hap-
pened and trod on biscuits and Brazil nuts without
a smile, unaware to all appearance that there was
anything whatever crunching and exploding
beneath her feet. That had somehow quelled the
two, who, as soon as she left the room again,
swept up the mess, and put the uninjured Brazil
nuts back into the dessert dish. . . . It would
never do if Foljambe lost her prestige and was
alluded to by some outrageously slangy name.

“‘If you mean Foljambe,’’ said Georgie icily,
‘it was because I didn’t think it worth while to
disturb her.’’

In spite of their ride, the indefatigable sisters
were up early next morning, and the first thing
Georgie saw out of his bathroom window was the
pair of them practising lifting shots over the
“QUEEN LUCIA” 109

ducking pond on the green till breakfast was
ready. He had given a short account of last
night’s adventure to Foljambe when she called
him, omitting the episode about his hair, and her
disapproval was strongly indicated by her silence
then, and the studied contempt of her manner to
the sisters when they came in to breakfast.

“Hullo, Foljambe,’’ said Hermy. ‘‘We had a
rare lark last night.”’

“So I understand, miss,’’ said Foljambe.

‘“‘Got in through the drawing-room window,”’’
said Hermy, hoping to make her smile.

‘‘Indeed, miss,’’ said Foljambe. ‘‘Have you
any orders for the ear, sir?’’

‘‘Oh, Georgie, may we run over to the links this
morning?’’ asked Hermy. ‘‘Mayn’t Dickie-bird
take us there?”’

She glanced at Foljambe to see whether this
brilliant wit afforded her any amusement. Appar-
ently it didn’t.

‘Tell Dickie to be round at half-past ten,’’ said
Georgie.

“Yes, sir.’’

‘“‘Hurrah!’’ said Ursy. ‘‘Come, too, Foljambe,
and we’ll have a three-ball match.’

“No, thank you, miss,’’ said Foljambe, and
sailed from the room, looking down her nose.

‘“Golly, what an iceberg!’’ said Hermy when the
door was quite shut.

Georgie was not sorry to have the morning to
himself, for he wanted to have a little quiet prac-
tice at the Mozart trio, before he went over to
Lucia’s at half-past eleven, the hour when she
had arranged to run through it for the first time.
110 “QUEEN LUCIA”

He would also have time to do a few posturing
exercises before the first Yoga-class, which was
to take place in Lucia’s smoking-parlour at half-
past twelve. That would make a pretty busy
morning, and as for the afternoon, there would be
sure to be some callers, since the arrival of his
sisters had been expected, and after that he had to
go to the Ambermere Arms for his visit to Olga
Bracely. . . . And what was he to do about her
with regard to Lucia? Already he had been guilty
of disloyalty, for Lady Ambermere had warned
him of the prima-donna’s arrival yesterday, and
he had not instantly communicated that really
great piece of news to Lucia. Should he make
such amends as were in his power for that omis-
sion, or, greatly daring, should he keep her to
himself, as Mrs Quantock so fervently wished that
she had done with regard to the Guru? After the
adventure of last night, he felt he ought to be able
to look any situation in the face, but he found him-
self utterly unable to conceive himself manly and
erect before the bird-like eyes of the Queen, if she
found out that Olga Bracely had been at Rise-
holme for the day of her garden-party, and that
Georgie, knowing it and having gone to see her,
had not informed the Court of that fact.

‘ The spirit of Bolshevism, the desire to throw
off all authority and act independently, which had
assailed him yesterday returned now with redoub-
led force. If he had been perfectly certain that
he would not be found out, there is no doubt he
would have kept it from her, and yet, after all,
what was the glory of going to see Olga Bracely
(and perhaps even entertaining her here) if all
“QUEEN LUCIA” 111

Riseholme did not turn green with jealousy?
Moreover there was every chance of being found
out, for Lady Ambermere would be at the garden
party tomorrow, and she would be sure to wonder
why Lycia had not asked Olga. Then it would
come out that Lucia didn’t know of that eminent
presence, and Lady Ambermere would be aston-
ished that Georgie had not told her. Thus he
would be in the situation which his imagination
was unable to face, although he had thrown the
drawing room door open in the middle of the
night, and announced that he would fire with his
poker.

No; he would have to tell Lucia, when he went
to read the Mozart trio with her for the first time,
and very likely she would call on Olga Bracely
herself, though nobody had asked her to, and take
all the wind out of Georgie’s sails. Sickening
though that would be, he could not face the alter-
native, and he opened his copy of the Mozart trio
with a sigh. Lucia did push and shove, and have
everything her own way. Anyhow he would not
tell her that Olga and her husband were dining at
The Hall tonight; he would not even tell her that
her husband’s name was Shuttleworth, and Lucia
might make a dreadful mistake, and ask Mr and
Mrs Bracely. That would be jam for Georgie,
and he could easily imagine himself saying to
Lucia, ‘‘My dear, I thought you must have known
that she had married Mr Shuttleworth and kept
her maiden name! How tarsome for you! They
are so touchy about that sort of thing.’’

Georgie heard the tinkle of the treble part of the
Mozart trio (Lucia always took the treble, because
112 “QUEEN LUCIA”

it had more tune in it, though she pretended that
she had not Georgie’s fine touch, which made the
base effective) as he let himself in to Shake-
speare’s garden a few minutes before the
appointed time. Lucia must have seen him from
the window, for the subdued noise of the piano
ceased even before he had got as far as Perdita’s
garden round the sundial, and she opened the door
to him. The far-away: look was in her eyes, and
the black undulations of hair had encroached a
little on her forehead, but, after all, others besides
Lucia had trouble with their hair, and Georgie
only sympathized.

‘‘Georgino mio!’’ she said. ‘‘It is all being so
wonderful. There seems a new atmosphere about
the house since my Guru came. Something holy
and peaceful; do you not notice it?”’

‘‘Delicious!’’ said Georgie, inhaling the pot-
pourri. ‘‘What is he doing now?’’

“‘Meditating, and preparing for our class. I
do hope dear Daisy will not bring in discordant
elements.’’

“*Oh, but that’s not likely, is it?’’ said Georgie.
‘*T thought he said she had so much light.’’

“Yes, he did. But now he is a little troubled
about her, I think. She did not want him to go
away from her house, and she Sent over here for
some silk pyjamas belonging to her husband, which
he thought she had given him. But Robert didn’t
think so at all. The Guru brought them across
yesterday after he had left good thoughts for her
in her house. But it was the Guides who wished
him to come here; they told him so distinctly. It
“QUEEN LUCIA” 113

would have been very wrong of me not to do as
they said.”’

She gave a great sigh.

“‘Let us have an hour with Mozart,’’ she said
‘and repel all thought of discord. My Guru says
that music and flowers are good influences for
those who are walkers on the Way. He says that
my love for both of them which I have had all
my life will help me very much.’’

For one moment the mundane world obtruded
itself into the calm peace.

‘‘Any news in particular?’’ she asked. ‘‘I saw
you drive back from the station yesterday after-
noon, for I happened to be looking out of the win-
dow, in a little moment of leisure—the Guru says
I work too hard, by the way—and your sisters
were not with you. And yet there were two cabs,
and a quantity of luggage. Did they not come?’’

Georgie gave a respectably accurate account of
all that had happened, omitting the fact of his
terror when first he awoke, for that was not really
a happening, and had had no effect on his subse-
quent proceedings. He also omitted the adventure
about his hair, for that was quite extraneous, and
said what fun they had all had over their supper
at half past two this morning.”’

“T think you were marvellously brave, Geor-
gie,’’? said she, ‘‘and most good natured. You
must have been sending out love, and so were full
of it yourself, and that casts out fear.’’

She spread the music open.

‘¢ Anything else?’’ she asked.

Georgie took his seat and put his rings on the
candle-bracket.
114 “QUEEN LUCIA”

_ “Oh yes,’’ he said, ‘‘Olga Bracely, the prima.
donna, you know, and her husband are arriving
at the Ambermere Arms this afternoon for ¢
couple of days.’’

The old fire kindled.

“‘No!’? exclaimed Lucia. ‘‘Then they’ll be here
for my party tomorrow. Fancy if she would come
and sing for us! I shall certainly leave cards
today, and write later in the evening, asking her.’’

‘‘T have been asked to go and see her,”’ said
Georgie, not proudly.

The music rest fell down with a loud slap, but
Lucia paid no attention.

“Let us go together then,’’ she said. ‘*Who
asked you to call on her?’’

‘‘Lady Ambermere,’’ said he.

‘When she was in here yesterday? She never
mentioned it to me. But she would certainly think
it very odd of me not to call on friends of hers,
and be polite to them. What time shall we go?”’

Georgie made up his mind that wild horses
should not drag from him the fact that Olga’s
husband’s name was Shuttleworth, for here was
Lucia grabbing at his discovery, just as she had
grabbed at Daisy’s discovery who was now ‘‘her
Guru.’’ She should call him Mr Bracely then.

“¢Somewhere about six, do you think?” said he,
inwardly raging.

He looked up and distinctly saw that sharp foxy
expression cross Lucia’s face, which from long
knowledge of her he knew to betoken that she had
thought of some new plan. But she did not choose
to reveal it and re-erected the music-rest.

“That will do beautifully,’ she said. ‘And
“QUEEN LUCIA” 115

now for our heavenly Mozart. You must be patient
with me, Georgie, for you know how badly I read.
Caro! How difficult it looks. I am frightened!
Lucia never saw such a dwefful thing to read!’

And it had been those very bars, which Georgie
had heard through the open window just now.

‘‘Georgie’s is much more dwefful!’”’ he said,
remembering the double sharp that came in the
second bar. ‘‘Georgie fwightened too at reading
it. O-o-h,’’ and he gave a little scream. ‘‘Cattivo
Mozart to wite anything so dwefful diffy!’’

It was quite clear at the class this morning that
though the pupils were quite interested in the ab-
stract messages of love which they were to shoot
out in all directions, and in the atmosphere of
peace with which they were to surround them-
selves, the branch of the subject which thrilled
them to the marrow was the breathing exercises
and contortions which, if persevered in, would
give them youth and activity, faultless digestions
and indefatigable energy. They all sat on the
floor, and stopped up alternate nostrils, and held
their breath till Mrs Quantock got purple in the
face, and Georgie and Lucia red, and expelled
their breath again with sudden puffs that set the
rushes on the floor quivering, or with long quiet
exhalations. Then there were certain postures to
be learned, in one of which, entailing the bending
of the body backwards, two of Georgie’s trouser-
buttons came off with a sharp snap and he felt the
corresponding member of his braces, thus vio-
lently released, spring up to his shoulder. Various
other embarrassing noises issued from Lucia and
Daisy that sounded like the bursting of strings
116 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and tapes, but everybody pretended to hear noth-
ing at all, or covered up the report of those explo-
sions with coughings and clearings of the throat.
But apart from these discordances, everything
was fairly harmonious; indeed, so far from Daisy
introducing discords, she wore a fixed smile, which
it would have been purely cynical to call superior,
when Lucia asked some amazingly simple question
with regard to Om. She sighed too, at intervals,
but these sighs were expressive of nothing but
patience and resignation, till Lucia’s ignorance
of the most elementary doctrines was enlightened,
and though she rather pointedly looked in any
direction but hers, and appeared completely un-
aware of her presence, she had not, after all,
come here to look at Lucia, but to listen to her
own (whatever Lucia might say) Guru.

At the end Lucia, with her far-away look
emerged, you might say, in a dazed condition from
heaving about the fastness of Thibet, where the
Guru had been in commune with the Guides, whose
wisdom he interpreted to them.

‘I feel such a difference already,’’ she said
dreamily. ‘‘T feel as if I could never be hasty or
worried any more at all. Don’t you experience
that, dear Daisy?”’

‘“‘Yes, dear,’’ said she. ‘‘I went through all
that at my first lesson. Didn’t I, Guru dear?”

“I felt it too,’’ said Georgie, unwilling not to
share in these benefits, and surreptitiously tighten-
ing his trouser-strap to compensate for the loss
of buttons. ‘‘And am I to do that swaying exer-
cise before every meal?”’

“Yes, Georgie,’’ said Lucia, saving her Guru
“QUEEN LUCIA” 117

from the trouble of answering. ‘‘Five times to
the right and five times to the left and then five
times backwards and forwards. I felt so young
and light just now when we did it that I thought
I was rising into the air. Didn’t you, Daisy?”’

Daisy smiled kindly.

‘No, dear, that is levitation,’’ she said, ‘‘and
comes a very long way on.”’

She turned briskly towards her Guru.

‘Will you tell them about that time when you
levitated at Paddington Station?’’ she said. ‘‘Or
will you keep that for when Mrs Lucas gets rather
further on? You must be patient, dear Lucia; we
all have to go through the early stages, before we
get to that.”’

Mrs Quantock spoke as if she was in the habit
of levitating herself, and it was but reasonable,
in spite of the love that was swirling about them
all, that Lucia should protect against such an atti-
tude. Humility, after all, was the first essential
to progress on the Way.

“Yes, dear,’’ she said. ‘‘We will tread these
early stages together, and encourage each other.’’

Georgie went home, feeling also unusually light
and hungry, for he had paid special attention to
the exercise that enabled him to have his liver and
digestive organs in complete control, but that did
not prevent him from devoting his mind to arriv-
ing at that which had made Lucia look so sharp
and foxy during their conversation about Olga

‘ Bracely. He felt sure that she was meaning to
steal a march on him, and she was planning to
draw first blood with the prima-donna, and, as
likely as not, claim her for her own, with the same
118 “QUEEN LUCIA”

odious greed as she was already exhibiting with
regard to the Guru. All these years Georgie had
been her faithful servant and coadjutor; now for
the first time the spirit of independence had begun
to seethe within him. The scales were falling
from his eyes, and just as he turned into shelter
of his mulberry-tree, he put on his spectacles to
see how Riseholme was getting on without him to
assist at the morning parliament. His absence
and Mrs Quantock’s would be sure to evoke com-
ment, and since the Yoga classes were always to
take place at half-past twelve, the fact that they
would never be there, would soon rise to the level
of a first-class mystery. It would, of course, begin
to leak out that they and Lucia were having a
course of Eastern philosophy that made its pupils
young and light and energetic, and there was a
sensation!

Like all great discoveries, the solution of
Lucia’s foxy look broke on him with the sudden-
ness of a lightning-flash, and since it had been
settled that she should call for him at six, he sta-
tioned himself in the window of his bath room,
which commanded a perfect view of the village
green and the entrance to the Ambermere Arms at
five. He had brought up with him a pair of opera-
glasses, with the intention of taking them to bits,
so he had informed Foljambe, and washing their
lenses, but he did not at once proceed about this,
merely holding them ready to hand for use. Hermy
and Ursy had gone back to their golf again after
lunch, and so callers would be told that they were
all out. Thus he could wash the lenses, when he
chose to do so, uninterrupted.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 119

The minutes passed on pleasantly enough, for
there was plenty going on. The two Miss Antro-
buses frisked about the green, jumping over the
stocks in their playful way, and running round
the duck-pond in the sternal hope of attracting
Colonel Boucher’s attention to their pretty nimble
movements. For many years past, they had tried
to gain Georgie’s serious attention, without any
result, and lately they had turned to Colonel
Boucher. There was Mrs Antrobus there, too,
with her ham-like face and her ear-trumpet, and
Mrs Weston was being pushed round and round
the asphalt path below the elms in her bath-chair.
She hated going slow, and her gardener and his
boy took turns with her during her hour’s carriage
exercise, and propelled her, amid streams of per-
spiration, at a steady four miles an hour. As
she passed Mrs Antrobus she shouted something
at her, and Mrs Antrobus returned her reply,
when next she came round.

Suddenly all these interesting objects vanished
completely from Georgie’s ken, for his dark suspi-
cions were confirmed, and there was Lucia in her
“‘Hightum’’ hat and her ‘‘Hightum’’ gown mak-
ing her gracious way across the green. She had
distinctly been wearing one of the ‘‘Scrub’’ this
morning at the class, so she must have changed
after lunch, which was an unheard of thing to do
for a mere stroll on the green. Georgie knew well
that this was no mere stroll; she was on her way
to pay a call of the most formal and magnificent
kind. She did not deviate a hair-breadth from her
straight course to the door of the Arms, she just
waggled her hand to Mrs Antrobus, blew a kiss to
120 “QUEEN LUCIA”

her sprightly daughters, made a gracious bow to
Colonel Boucher, who stood up and took his hat
off, and went on with the inexorability of the
march of destiny, or of fate knocking at the door
in the immortal fifth symphony. And in her hand
she carried a note. Through his glasses Georgie
could see it quite plainly, and it was not a little
folded-up sheet, such as she commonly used, but a
square thick envelope. She disappeared in the
Arms and Georgie began thinking feverishly. A
great deal depended on how long she stopped
there.

A few little happenings beguiled the period of
waiting. Mrs Weston desisted from her wild
career, and came to anchor on the path just oppo-
site the door into the Arms, while the gardener’s
boy sank exhausted on to the grass. It was quite
easy to guess that she proposed to have a chat with
Lucia when she came out. Similarly the Miss
Antrobuses who had paid no attention to her at
all before, ceased from their pretty gambolings,
and ran up to talk to her, so they wanted a word
too. Colonel Boucher, a little less obviously, be-
gan throwing sticks into the ducking-pond for his
bull-dog (for Iucia would be chliged to pass the
ducking-pond) and Mrs Antrobus examined the
stocks very carefully, as if she had never seen
them before.

And then, before a couple of minutes had
elapsed Lucia came out. She had no longer the
note in her hand, and Georgie began taking his
opera-glasses to bits, in order to wash the lenses.
For the present they had served their purpose.
“She has left a note on Olga Bracely,’’ said
“QUEEN LUCIA” 121

George quite aloud, so powerful was the current
of his thoughts. Then as a corollary came the
further proposition which might be considered as
proved, ‘‘But she had not seen her.’’

The justice of this conclusion was soon proved,
for Lucia had hardly disengaged herself from the
group of her subjects, and traversed the green on
her way back to her house, when a motor passed
Georgie’s bathroom window, closely followed by
a second; both drew up at the entrance to the
Ambermere Arms. With the speed of a practised
optician Georgie put his opera glass together
again, and after looking through the wrong end
of it in his agitation was in time to see a man get
out of the second car, and hold the carriage-door
open for the occupants of the first. A lady got out
first, tall and slight in figure, who stood there un-
winding her motor veil, then she turned round
again, and with a thump of his heart that sur-
prised Georgie with its violence, he beheld the
well-remembered features of his Brunnhilde.

Swiftly he passed into his bedroom next door,
and arrayed himself in his summer Hightums; a
fresh (almost pearly) suit of white duck, a mauve
tie with an amethyst pin in it, socks, tightly braced
up, of precisely the same colour as the tie, so that
an imaginative beholder might have conjectured
that on this warm day the end of his tie had melted
and run down his legs; buckskin shoes with tall
slim heels and a straw hat completed this pretty
Hightum. He had meant to wear it for the first
time at Lucia’s party tomorrow, but now, after
her meanness, she deserved to be punished. All
Riseholme should see it before she did.
122 “QUEEN LUCIA”

The group round Mrs Weston’s chair was still
engaged in conversation when Georgie came up,
and he casually let slip what a bore it was to pay
calls on such a lovely day, but he had promised to
visit Miss Olga Bracely, who had just arrived.
So there was another nasty one for Lucia, since
now all Riseholme would know of her actual
arrival before Lucia did.

‘‘And who, Mr Georgie,’’ asked Mrs Antrobus
presenting her trumpet to him in the manner in
which an elephant presents its trunk to receive a
bun, ‘‘who was that with her?’’

‘Oh, her husband, Mr Shuttleworth,’’ said
Georgie. ‘‘They have just been married, and are
on their honeymoon.’’ And if that was not another
staggerer for Lucia, it is diffy, as Georgie would
say, to know what a staggerer is. For Lucia would
be last of all to know that this was not Mr Bracely.

‘‘And will they be at Mrs Lucas’s party to-
morrow?’’ asked Mrs Weston.

“‘Oh, does she know them?”’ asked Georgie.

‘‘Haw, haw, by Jove!’’ began Colonel Boucher.
“‘Very handsome woman. Envy you, my boy.
Pity it’s their honeymoon. Haw!’’

Mrs Antrobus’s trumpet was turned in his
direction at this moment, and she heard these
daring remarks.

‘‘Naughty!’’ she said, and Georgie, the envied,
passed on into the inn.

He sent in his card, on which he had thought it
prudent to write ‘‘From Lady Ambermere,’’ and
was presently led through into the garden behind
the building. There she was, tall and lovely and
welcoming, and held out a most cordial hand.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 123

‘How kind of you to come and see us,’’ she said.
‘*Georgie, this is Mr Pillson. My husband.’’

‘‘How do you do, Mr Shuttleworth,’’ said Geor-
gie to shew he knew, though his own Christian
name had given him quite a start. For the moment
he had almost thought she was speaking to him.

‘*And so Lady Ambermere asked you to come
and see us?’’ Olga went on. ‘‘I think that was
much kinder of her than to ask us to dinner. I
hate going out to dinner in the country almost as
much as I hate not going out to dinner in town.
Besides with that great hook nose of hers, I’m
always afraid that in an absent moment I might
scratch her on the head and say ‘Pretty Polly.’
Is she a great friend of yours, Mr Pillson? I hope
so, because everyone likes his best friends being
laughed at.”’

Up till that moment Georgie was prepared to
indicate that Lady Ambermere was the hand and
he the glove. But evidently that would not im-
press Olga in the least. He laughed in a most
irreverent manner instead..

‘Don’t let us go,’’ she went on. ‘‘Georgie, can’t
you send a telegram saying that we have just
discovered a subsequent engagement and then
we’ll ask Mr Pillson to show us round this utterly
adorable place, and dine with us afterwards. That
would be so much nicer. Fancy living here! Oh,
and do tell me something, Mr Pillson. I found a
note when J arrived half an hour ago, from Mrs
Lucas asking me and Mr Shuttleworth to go to a
garden-party tomorrow. She said she didn’t even
hope that I should remember her, but would we
come. Who is she? Really I don’t think she can
124 “QUEEN LUCIA”

remember me very well, if she thinks I am M1
Bracely. Georgie says I must have been marrie
before, and that I have caused him to comm
bigamy. That’s pleasant conversation for
honeymoon, isn’t it? Who is she?’’

‘‘Oh, she’s quite an old friend of mine,”’’ sai
Georgie, ‘‘though I never knew she had met yo
before; I’m devoted to her.’’

‘‘Hixtremely proper. But now tell me this, an
look straight in my face, so that I shall know i
you’re speaking the truth. Should I enjoy mysel
more wandering about this heavenly place tha
at her garden party?”’

Georgie felt that poor Lucia was really pun
ished enough by this time.

“‘You will give her a great deal of pleasure i
you go,’’ he began.

“Ah, that’s not fair; it is hitting below the bel
to appeal to unselfish motives. I have come her
simply to enjoy myself. Go on; eyes front.’’

The candour and friendliness of that beautifu
face gave Georgie an impulse of courage. Besides
though no doubt in fun, she had already suggestec
that it would be much nicer to wander about witl
him and dine together than spend the evenins
among the splendours of The Hall.

“I’ve got a suggestion,’’ he said. ‘‘ Will yor
come and lunch with me first, and we’ll strol
about, and then we can go to the garden-party
and if you don’t like it I’ll take you away again?’

‘‘Done!’’ she said. ‘‘Now don’t you try to ge
out of it, because my husband is a witness
Georgie, give me a cigarette.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 125

In a moment Riseholme-Georgie had his ciga-
rette-case open.

‘‘So take one of mine,’’ he said, ‘‘I’m Georgie
too.”’

‘You don’t say so! Let’s send it to the Psychi-
cal Research, or whoever those people are who
collect coincidences and say it’s spooks. And a
match please, one of you Georgies. Oh, how I
should like never to see the inside of an Opera
House again. Why mayn’t I grow on the walls of
a garden like this, or better still, why shouldn’t I
have a house and garden of my own here, and
sing on the village-green, and ask for halfpennies?
Tell me what happens here! I’ve always lived in
town since the time a hook-nosed Hebrew, rather
like Lady Ambermere, took me out of the gutter.”’

“‘My dear!’ said Mr Shuttleworth.

‘‘Well, out of an orphan-school at Brixton and
I would much prefer the gutter. That’s all about
my early life just now, because I am keeping it for
my memoirs which I shall write when my voice
becomes a little more like a steam-whistle. But
don’t tell Lady Ambermere, for she would have a
fit, but say you happen to know that I belong to
the Surrey Braceleys. So I do; Brixton is on the
Surrey side. Oh, my dear, look at the sun. It’s

‘behaving like the best sort of Claude! Heile
Sonne!’’

“‘T heard you do that last May,’’ said Georgie.

“‘Then you heard a most second-rate perform-
ance,’’ said she. ‘‘But really being unlaced by
that Thing, that great fat profligate beery Prus-
sian was almost too much for me. And the duet!
But it was very polite of you to come, and I will
126 “QUEEN LUCIA”

do better next time. Siegfried! Brunnhilde!
Siegfried! Miaou! Miaou! Bring on the next lot
of cats! Darling Georgie, wasn’t it awful? And
you had proposed to me only the day before.’’

‘‘T was absolutely enchanted,’’ said Riseholme-

Georgie.
' “Yes, but then you didn’t have that Thing
breathing beer into your innocent face.’’

Georgie rose; the first call on a stranger in
Riseholme was never supposed to last more than
half an hour, however much you were enjoying
it, and never less, however bored you might be,
and he felt sure he had already exceeded this.

“‘T must be off,’’ he said. ‘‘Too delightful to
think that you and Mr Shuttleworth will come to
lunch with me tomorrow. Half past one, shall we
say?’

“‘Eixcellent; but where do you live?’’

‘‘Just across the green. Shall I call for you?”’
he asked.

‘*Certainly not. Why should you have that
bother?’’ she said. ‘‘Ah, let me come with you to
the inn-door, and perhaps you will shew me from
there.’’

She passed through the hall with him, and they
stood together in the sight of all Riseholme, which
was strolling about the green at this as at most
other hours. Instantly all faces turned round in
their direction, like so many sunflowers following
the sun, while Georgie pointed out his particular
mulberry tree. When everybody had had a good
look, he raised his hat.

“A domani then,’’ she said. ‘‘So many thanks.”
“QUEEN LUCIA” 127,

And quite distinctly she kissed her hand to him
as he turned away... .

‘“‘So she talks Italian too,’’ thought Georgie, as
he dropped little crumbs of information to his
friends on his way to his house. ‘‘Domani, that
means tomorrow. Oh yes; she was meaning
lunch.”’

It is hardly necessary to add that on the table
in his hall there was one of Lucia’s commoner
kinds of note, merely a half sheet folded together
in her own manner. Georgie felt that it was
scarcely more necessary to read it, for he felt
quite sure that it contained some excuse for not
coming to his house at six in order to call on Mr
and Mrs Bracely. But he gave a glance at it be-
fore he rolled it up in a ball for Tipsipoozie to
play with, and found its contents to be precisely
what he expected, the excuse being that she had
not done her practising. But the post-script was
interesting, for it told him that she had asked
Foljambe to give her his copy of Siegfried... .

Georgie strolled down past The Hurst before
dinner. Mozart was silent now, but there came
out of the open windows the most amazing hash
of sound, which he could just recognise as being
the piano arrangement of the duet between Brunn-
hilde and Siegfried at the end. He would have
been dull indeed if he had not instantly guessed
what that signified.
CHAPTER VII

‘A rresH thrill went through an atmosphere
already super-saturated with excitement, when
next morning all Lucia’s friends who had been
bidden to the garden-party (Tightum) were rung
up on the telephone and informed that the party
was Hightum. That caused a good deal of extra
work, because the Tightum robes had to be put
away again, and the Hightums aired and brushed
and valetted. But it was well worth it, for Rise-
holme had not the slightest difficulty in conjectur-
ing that Olga Bracely was to be among the guests.
For a cultured and artistic centre the presence of
a star that blazed so regally in the very zenith of
the firmament of art absolutely demanded the
Hightum which the presence of poor Lady Amber-
mere (though she would not have liked that) had
been powerless to bring out of their cupboards.
And these delightful anticipations concentrated
themselves into one rose-coloured point of joy,
when no less than two independent observers,
without collusion, saw the piano-tuner either en-
tering or leaving The Hurst, while a third an ear-
witness unmistakably heard the tuning of the
piano actually going on. It was thus clear to all
penetrating minds that Olga Bracely was going
to sing. It was further known that something
was going on between her and Georgie, for she
had been heard by one Miss Antrobus to ask for

128
“QUEEN LUCIA” 129

Georgie’s number at the telephone in the Amber-
mere Arms. Etiquette forbade her actually to
listen to what passed, but she could not help hear-
ing Olga laugh at something (presumably) that
Georgie said. He himself took no part in the
green-parliament that morning, but had been seen
to dash into the fruiterer’s and out again, before
he went in a great hurry to The Hurst, shortly
after twelve-thirty. Classes on Eastern philoso-
phy under the tuition of Mrs Quantock’s Indian,
were already beginning to be hinted at, but today
in the breathless excitement about the prima-
donna nobody cared about that; they might all
have been taking lessons in cannibalism, and no-
body would have been interested. Finally about
one o’clock one of the motors in which the party
had arrived yesterday drew up at the door of the
Ambermere Arms, and presently Mr Bracely,—
no, dear, Mr Shuttleworth got in and drove off
alone. That was very odd conduct in a lately-
married bridegroom, and it was hoped that there
had been no quarrel.

Olga had, of course, been given no directions as
to Hightum or Tightum, and when she walked
across to Georgie’s house shortly after half-past
one only Mrs Weston who was going back home
to lunch at top speed was aware that she was
dressed in a very simple dark blue morning frock,
that would almost have passed for Scrub. It is
true that it was exceedingly well eut, and had not
the look of having been rolled up in a ball and
hastily ironed out again that usually distinguished
Scrub, and she also wore a string of particularly
fine pearls round her neck, the sort of ornament
130 “QUEEN LUCIA”

that in Riseholme would only be seen in an evening
Hightum, even if anybody in Riseholme had owned
such things. Lucia, not long ago had expressed
the opinion that jewels were vulgar except at
night, and for her part she wore none at all, pre-
ferring one Greek cameo of uncertain authenticity.

Georgie received Olga alone, for Hermy and
Ursy were not yet back from their golf.

“Tt is good of you to let me come without my
husband,’’ she said. ‘‘ His excuse is toothache and
he has driven into Brinton——’’

“‘T’m very sorry,’’ said Georgie.

““You needn’t be, for now I’ll tell you his real
reason. He thought that if he lunched with you
he would have to come on to the garden party, and
that he was absolutely determined not todo. You
were the thin edge of the wedge, in fact. My dear,
what a delicious house. All panelled, with that
lovely garden behind. And croquet—may we
play croquet after lunch? I always try to cheat,
and if I’m found out I lose my temper. Georgie
won’t play with me, so I play with my maid.”’

“‘This Georgie will,’’ said he.

“‘How nice of him! And do you know what we
did this morning, before the toothache didn’t
begin? We went all over that house three doors
away, which is being done up. It belongs to the
proprietor of the Ambermere Arms. And—oh,
I wonder if you can keep a secret?”’

‘“Yes,’’ said Georgie. He probably had never
kept one yet, but there was no reason why he
shouldn’t begin now.

‘*Well, I’m absolutely determined to buy it,
only I daren’t tell my husband until I’ve done it.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 131

He has an odd nature. When a thing is done,
settled, and there’s no help for it, he finds it ador-
able, but he also finds fatal objections to doing it
at all, if he is consulted about it before it is done.
So not a word! I shall buy it, make the garden,
furnish it, down to the minutest detail, and engage
the servants, and then he’ll give it me for a birth-
day present. I had to tell somebody or I should
burst.’’

Georgie nearly swooned with fervour and ad-
miration.

“‘But what a perfect plan!’’ he said. ‘*You
really like our little Riseholme?’’

‘*Tt’s not a question of liking; it’s a mere detail
of not being able to do without it. I don’t like
breathing, but I should die if I didn’t. I want
some delicious, hole-in-the-corner, lazy backwater
sort of place, where nothing ever happens, and
nobody ever does anything. I’ve been observing
all the morning, and your habits are adorable.
Nothing ever happens here, and that will precisely
suit me, when I get away from my work.”’

Georgie was nearer swooning than ever at this.
He could hardly believe his ears when she talked
of Riseholme being a lazy backwater, and almost
thought she must have been speaking of London,
where, as Lucia had acutely observed, people sat
in the Park all morning and talked of each other’s
affairs, and spent the afternoon at picture-gal-
leries, and danced all night. There was a flippant,
lazy existence.

But she was far too much absorbed in her pro-
ject to notice his stupefaction.

“‘But if you breathe a word,”’’ she said, ‘‘every-
182 “QUEEN LUCIA”

thing will be spoilt. It has to burst on Georgie.
Oh, and there’s another mulberry-tree in your
garden as well as the one in front. It’s too much.”’

Her eyes followed Foljambe out of the door.
‘‘ And I know your parlour-maid is called Paravi-
cini or Grosvenor,’’ she said.

‘‘No, she is Foljambe,’’ said Georgie.

She laughed.

‘‘T knew I was right,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s practi-
cally the same thing. Oh, and last night! I never
had such an awful evening. Why didn’t you warn
me, and my husband should have had toothache
then instead of this morning.’’

‘““What happened ?’’ asked he.

“‘But the woman’s insane, that Ambermere par-
rot, [ mean. Georgie and I were ten minutes late,
and she had a jet tiara on, and why did she ask us
to dine at a quarter to eight, if she meant a
quarter to eight, instead of saying half-past-
seven? They were actually going into dinner
when we came, a mournful procession of three
moth-eaten men and three whiskered women.
Upon which the procession broke up, as if we had
been the rict act, and was arranged again, as a
funeral procession, and Georgie with Lady Amber-
mere was the hearse. We dined in the family
vault and talked about Lady Ambermere’s pug.
She talked about you, too, and said you were of
county family, and that Mrs Lucas was a very
decent sort of woman, and that she herself was
going to look in on her garden-party today. Then
she looked at my pearls, and asked if they were
genuine. So I looked at her teeth, and there was
no need to ask about them.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 138

‘“‘Don’t miss out a moment,’’ said Georgie
greedily.

‘Whenever Lady Ambermere spoke, everybody
else was silent. I didn’t grasp that at first, for
-no one had explained the rules. So she stopped
in the middle of a sentence and waited till I had
finished. Then she went on again, precisely where
she had left off. Then when we came into the
drawing room, the whiskered ladies and I, there
was a little woman like a mouse sitting there, and
nobody introduced her. So naturally I went to talk
to her, before which the great parrot said, ‘‘ Will
you kindly fetch my wool-work, Miss Lyall?’’ and
Miss Lyall took a sack out of the corner, and in-
side was the sacred carpet. And then I waited
for some coffee and cigarettes, and I waited, and
I waited, and I am waiting still. The Parrot said
that coffee always kept her awake, and that was
why. And then Georgie came in with the others,
and I could see by his face that he hadn’t had a
cigarette either. It was then half-past nine. And
then each man sat down between two women, and
Pug sat in the middle and looked for fleas. Then
Lady Ambermere got up, and came across the
charmed circle tome. She said: ‘‘I hope you have
brought your music, Mrs Shuttleworth. Kindly
open the piano Miss Lyall. It was always con-
sidered a remarkably fine instrument.’’

Olga waved the fork on which was impaled a
piece of the pineapple which Georgie had pur-
chased that morning at the fruiterer’s.

“The stupendous cheek!”’ she said. ‘‘I thought
it must be a joke, and laughed with the greatest
politeness. But it wasn’t! You’ll hardly believe
134 “QUEEN LUCIA”

it, but it wasn’t! One of the whiskered ones said,
‘“‘That will be a great treat,’? and another put on
the face that everyone wears at concerts. And
I was so stunned that I sang, and Lady Amber-
mere beat time, and Pug barked.”’

She pointed a finger at Georgie.

‘‘Never till the day of judgment,’’ she said,
‘‘when Lady Ambermere gnashes her beautiful
teeth for ever and ever, will I set foot in that
house again. Nor she in my house. I will set
fire to it sooner. There! My dear, what a good
lunch you have given me. May we play croquet
at once?’’

Lucia’s garden-parties were scheduled from
four to seven and half-an-hour before the earliest
guest might be expected, she was casting an eagle
eye over the preparations which today were on a
very sumptuous scale. The bowls were laid out in
the bowling alley, not because anybody in Hight-
ums dresses was the least likely to risk the stoop-
ing down and the strong movements that the game
entailed, but because bowls were Elizabethan. Be-
tween the alley and the lawn nearer to the house
Was a large marquee, where the commoner crowd—
though no croyd could be really common in Rise-
holme—would refresh itself. But even where
none are common there may still be degrees in
rarity, and by the side of this general refresh-
ment room was a smaller tent carpeted with
Oriental rugs, and having inside it some half-
dozen chairs, and two seats which can only be
described as thrones, for Lady Ambermere or
Olga Bracely, while Lucia’s Guru, though throne-
worthy, would very kindly sit in one of his most
“QUEEN LUCIA” . 185

interesting attitudes on the floor. This tent was
designed only for high converse, and common
guests (if they were good) would be led into it
and introduced to the great presences, while for
the refreshment of the presences, in intervals of
audience, a more elaborate meal, with pedches
and four sorts of sandwiches was laid in the
smoking-parlour. Thus those guests for whom
audiences were not provided, could have the
felicity of seeing the great ones pass across the
lawn on their excursions for food, and possibly
trip over the croquet hoops, which had been left
up to give an air of naturalness to the lawn. In
the smoking-parlour an Elzevir or two were left
negligently open, as if Mr and Mrs Lucas had been
reading the works of Persius and Juvenal when
the first guests arrived. In the music-room,
finally, which was not usually open on these occa-
sions, there were fresh flowers: the piano, too, was
open, and if you had not seen the Elzevirs in the
smoking-parlour, it would have been reasonable
for the early guests, if they penetrated here, to
imagine that Mrs Lucas had been running over
the last act of Siegfried a minute before.

In this visit of final inspection Lucia was ac-
companied by her Guru, for he was part of the
domestic dramatis persone, and she wanted him
to be ‘‘discovered’’ in the special tent. She
pointed out the site of his proposed ‘‘discovery’’
to him.

‘‘Probably the first person I shall bring in
here,’’ she said, ‘‘will be Lady Ambermere, for
she is noted for her punctuality. She is so
anxious to see you, and would it not be exciting if
136 “QUEEN LUCIA”

you found you had met before? Her husband
was Governor of Madras, and she spent many
years in India.’’

‘‘Madras, gracious lady?’’ asked the Guru. “TY,
too, know Madras: there are many dark spirits in
Madras, And she was at English Residency?”’

“Yes. She says Mr Kipling knows nothing
about India. You and she will have much to talk
about. I wish I could sit on the floor, too, and
listen to what you say to each other.’’

“‘Tt will be great treat,’’ said the Guru thought-
fully, ‘‘I love all who love my wonderful country.”

Suddenly he stopped, and put his hands up to
his head, palms outward.

‘“‘There are wonderful vibrations today,’’ he
said. ‘All day I feel that some word is on way
from the Guides, some great message of light.”’

“‘Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if it came to you
in the middle of my garden party?’’ said Lucia
enthusiastically.

‘‘Ah, gracious lady, the great word comes not
so. It comes always in solitude and quiet.
Gracious lady knows that as well as Guru.”’

Pure Guruism and social pre-eminence struggled
together in Lucia. Guruism told her that she
ought to be ecstatic at the idea of a great message
coming and should instantly smile on his desire
for solitude and quiet, while social pre-eminence
whispered to her that she had already dangled
the presence of a high-caste mystic from Benares
before the eyes of Lady Ambermere, who only
came from Madras. On the other hand Olga
Bracely was to be an even more resplendent guest
than either Lady Ambermere or the Guru; surely
“QUEEN LUCIA” 187,

Olga Bracely was enough to set this particular
garden-party on the giddiest of pinnacles. And
an awful consequence lurked as a possibility if
she attempted to force her Guru not to immune
himself in solitude and quiet, which was that con-
ceivably he might choose to go back to the pit
whence he was digged, namely the house of poor
Daisy Quantock. The thought was intolerable,
for with him in her house, she had seen herself
as dispenser of Eastern Mysteries, and Mistress
of Omism to Riseholme. In fact the Guru was
her August stunt; it would never do to lose him
before the end of July, and rage to see all Rise-
holme making pilgrimages to Daisy. There was a
thin-lipped firmness, too, about him at this mo-
ment: she felt that under provocation he might
easily defy or desert her. She felt she had to
yield, and so decided to do so in the most com-
plete manner.

‘*Ah, yes,’’ she said. ‘‘I know how true that is.
Dear Guru, go up to Hamlet: no one will disturb
you there. But if the message comes through be-
fore Lady Ambermere goes away, promise me you
will come back.’’

He went back to the house, where the front door
was already open to admit Lady Ambermere, who
was telling ‘‘her people’? when te come back for
her, and fled with the heels of his slippers tapping
on the oak stairs up to Hamlet. Softly he shut
out the dark spirits from Madras, and made him-
self even more secure by turning the key in his
door. It would never do to appear as a high caste
Brahmin from Benares before anyone who knew
India with such fatal intimacy, for he might not
138 “QUEEN LUCIA”

entirely correspond with her preconceived notion
of such a person.

Lady Ambermere’s arrival was soon followe
by that of other guests, and instead of going int:
the special tent reserved for the lions, she tool
up a commanding position in the middle of th
lawn, where she could examine everybody throug]
her tortoiseshell handled lorgnette. She kep
Peppino by her, who darted forward to shak
hands with his wife’s guests, and then darted bacl
again to her. Poor Miss Lyall stood behind he:
chair, and from time to time, as ordered, gav
her a cape, or put up her parasol, or adjusted he:
footstool for her, or took up Pug or put him dow
as her patroness required. Most of the time Lad;
Ambermere kept up a majestic monologue.

‘“‘You have a pretty little garden here, M
Lucas,’’ she said, ‘‘though perhaps inconvenienth
small. Your croquet lawn does not look to me thi
full size, and then there is no tennis-court. But:
think you have a little strip of grass somewhere
which you use for bowls, have you not? Pres
ently I will walk around with you and see yow
domain. Put Pug down again, please, Miss Lyall
and let him run about. See, he wants to play witl
one of those croquet balls. Put it in motion fo:
him, and he will run with it. Bless me, who is tha
coming up the path at such a tremendous speet
in a bath-chair? Oh, I see, itis Mrs Weston. Shi
should not go as fast as that. If Pug was to stra}
on to the path he would be run over. Better picl
up Pug again, Miss Lyall, till she has gone by
And here is Colonel Boucher. If he had brough
his bull-dogs, I should have asked him to tak
“QUEEN LUCIA” 139

them away again. I should like a cup of tea, Miss
Lyall, with plenty of milk in it, and not too strong.
You know how I like my tea. And a biscuit or
something for Pug, with a little cream in a saucer
or anything that’s handy.’’

‘‘Won’t you come into the smoking-parlour, and
have tea there, Lady Ambermere?’’ asked Pep-
pino.

“The smoking-parlour?’’ asked she. ‘‘How
very strange to lay tea in a smoking-room.”’

Peppino explained that nobody had in all proba-
bility used the smoking-parlour to smoke in for
five or six years.

“Oh, if that is so, I will come,’’ said she.
“Better bring Pug along, too, Miss Lyall. There
is a croquet-hoop. I am glad I saw it or I should
have stumbled over it perhaps. Oh, this is the
smoking-parlour, is it? Why do you have rushes
on the floor? Put Pug in a chair, Miss Lyall, or
he may prick his paws. Books, too, I see. That
one lying open is an old one. It is Latin poetry.
The library at The Hall is very famous for its
classical literature. The first Viscount collected
it, and it numbers many thousands of volumes.’’

‘“Indeed, it is the most wonderful library,’’ said
Peppino. ‘‘I can never tear myself away from it,
when I am at The Hall.”’

“T do not wonder. Iam a great student myself
and often spend a morning there, do I not, Miss
Lyall? You should have some new glass put in
those windows, Mr. Lucas. On a dark day it must
be very difficult to see here. By the way, your
good wife told me that there would probably be a
very remarkable Indian at her party, a Brahmin
140 “QUEEN LUCIA”

from Benares, she said. I should like to have a
talk with him while I am having my tea. Kindly
prepare a peach for me, Miss Lyall.’’

‘Peppino had heard about the retirement of the
Guru, in consequence of a message from the
Guides being expected, and proceeded to explain
this to Lady Ambermere, who did not take the
slightest notice, as she was looking at the peaches
through her lorgnette.

“‘That one nearest me looks eatable,’’ she said.
‘And then I do not see Miss Olga Bracely, though
I distinctly told her I should be here this after-
noon, and she said Mrs Lucas had asked her. She
sang to us yesterday evening at The Hall, and
very creditably indeed. Her husband, Mr Shuttle.
worth, is a cousin of the late lord’s.”

Lucia had come into the smoking-parlour dur-
ing this speech, and heard these fatal words. At
the moment she would gladly have recalled her
invitation to Olga Bracely altogether, sooner than
have alluded therein to Mr Bracely. But that
was one of the irremediable things of life, and
since it was no use wasting regret on that, she
was only the more eager for Olga to come, what-
ever her husband’s name was. She braced her-
self up to the situation.

‘‘Peppino, are you looking after Lady Amber-
mere?’’ she said. ‘‘Dear Lady Ambermere, I
hope they are all taking care of you.”’

‘A very decent peach,’’ said Lady Ambermere.
‘‘The south wall of my garden is covered with
them, and they are always of a peculiarly delicious
flavour. The Hall is famed for its peaches. I
understood that Miss Bracely was going to be
“QUEEN LUCIA” 141,

here, Mrs Lucas. I cannot imagine what makes
her so late. I was always famed for my punctu-
ality myself. I have finished my tea.”’

The lawn outside was now growing thick with
people all in their Hightums, and Lady Amber-
mere as she emerged from the smoking-parlour
again viewed the scene with marked disfavour.
The two Miss Antrobuses had just arrived, and
skipped up to their hostess with pretty cries.

‘*We are dreadfully late,’’ said the eldest, ‘‘but
it was all Piggy’s fault.”’

“No, Goosie, it was yours,’’ said the other.
“How can you be so naughty as to say it was
mine? Dear Mrs Lucas, what a lovely party it’s
being, and may we go and play bowls?’’

Lady Ambermere regarded their retreating
backs, as they raced off with arms intertwined to
the bowling green.

‘‘And who are those young ladies?’’ she asked.
“‘And why Piggy and Goosie? Miss Lyall, do not
let Pug go to the bowls. They are very heavy.’’

Elsewhere Mrs Antrobus was slowly advancing
from group to group, with her trumpet violently
engaged in receiving refreshment. But conversa-
_ tion was not quite so varied as usual, for there
was an attitude of intense expectation about with
regard to the appearance of Miss Bracely, that
made talk rather jerky and unconnective. Then
also it had gone about that the mysterious Indian,
who had been seen now and then during the last
week, was actually staying with Mrs Lucas, and
why was he not here? More unconjecturable yet,
though not so thrillingly interesting, was the
absence of Mr Georgie. What could have hap-
142 “QUEEN LUCIA”

pened to him, that he was not flitting about on his
hostess’s errands, and being the life and soul of
the party? It was in vain that Mrs Antrobus
plodded on her methodical course, seeking answers
to all these riddles, and that Mrs Weston in her
swifter progression dashed about in her bath-
chair from group to group, wherever people
seemed to be talking in an animated manner. She
could learn nothing, and Mrs Antrobus could learn
nothing, in fact the only information to be had
on the subject was what Mrs Weston herself sup-
plied. She had a very high-coloured handsome
face, and an extremely impressive manner, as if
she was imparting information of the very high-
est importance. She naturally spoke in a loud,
clear voice, so that she had not got to raise it much
even when she addressed Mrs Antrobus. Her
wealth of discursive detail was absolutely un-
rivalled, and she was quite the best observer in
Riseholme.

“‘The last I saw of Miss Bracely,’’ she said
exactly as if she had been told to describe some-
thing on oath in the witness-box, ‘‘was a little
after half-past one today. It must have been after
half-past because when I got home it was close
on a quarter to two, and I wasn’t a hundred yards ,
from my house when I saw her. As soon as I saw
her I said to my gardener boy, Henry Luton, who
was pushing me—he’s the son of old Mrs Luton
who kept the fish shop, and when she died last
year, I began to get my fish from Brinton, for I
didn’t fancy the look of the new person who took
on the business, and Henry went to live with his
aunt. That was his father’s sister, not his
“QUEEN LUCIA” 143

mother’s, for Mrs Luton never had a sister, and
no brothers either. Well, I said to Henry, ‘You
can go a bit slower, Henry, as we’re late, we’re
late, and a minute or two more doesn’t make any
difference.’ ‘No, ma’am,’ said Henry touching
his cap, so we went slower. Miss Bracely was just
opposite the ducking-pond then, and presently she
came out between the elms. She had just an
ordinary morning frock on; it was dark-blue,
about the same shade as your cape, Mrs Antrobus,
or perhaps a little darker, for the sunshine bright-
ened it up. Quite simple it was, nothing grand.
And she looked at the watch on her wrist, and
she seemed to me to walk a little quicker after
that, as if she was a bit late, just as I was. But
slower than I was going, I could not go, for I was
crawling along, and before she got off the grass,
I had come to the corner of Church Lane, and
though I turned my head round sharp, like that,
at the very last moment, so as to catch the last of
her, she hadn’t more than stepped off the grass
onto the road before the laurestinus at the corner
of Colonel Boucher’s garden—no, of the Vicar’s
garden—hid her from me. And if you ask me a

Mrs Weston stopped for a moment, nodding her
head up and down, to emphasize the importance
of what she had said, and to raise the expecta-
tions of Mrs Antrobus to the highest pitch, as
to what was coming.

‘And if you ask me where I think she was go-
ing and what she was going to do,”’’ she said, ‘‘I
believe she was going out to lunch and that she
was going to one of those houses there, just across
the road, for she made a bee-line across the green

 
144 “QUEEN LUCIA”

towards them. Well, there are three houses there:
there’s Mrs Quantock’s, and it couldn’t have been
that, or else Mrs Quantock would have had some
news of her, or Colonel Boucher’s, and it wouldn’t
have been that, for the Colonel would have had
news of her, and we all know whose the third
house just there is.’’

Mrs Antrobus had not completely followed this
powerful reasoning.

‘‘But Colonel Boucher and Mrs Quantock are
both here, eh?’’ said she.

Mrs Weston raised her voice a little.

“That’s what I’m saying,’’ she announced,
‘‘but who isn’t here whom we should expect to see,
and where’s his house?’’

It. was generally felt that Mrs Weston had hit
the nail on the head. What that nail precisely
was no one knew, because she had not explained
why both Olga Bracely and Georgie were ab-
sentees. But now came the climax, bang on the
top of the nail, a shrewd straight stroke.

‘‘So there she was having her lunch with Mr
Georgie,’’ said Mrs Weston, now introducing this
name for the first time, with the highest dramatic
art, ‘‘and they would be seeing round his house
afterwards. And then when it was time to come
here, Mr Georgie would have remembered that
the party was Hightum not Tightum, and there
was Miss Bracely not in Hightum at all, nor even
Tightum, in my opinion, but Scrub. No doubt she
said to him, ‘Is it a very grand sort of party, Mr
Pillson?’ and he couldn’t do other than reply, for
we all received notice that it was Hightum—mine
came about twelve—he couldn’t do other than
“QUEEN LUCIA” 145

reply, ‘Yes, Miss Bracely, it is.” ‘Good gracious
me,’ she would say, ‘and I’ve only got this old rag
on. I must go back to the Ambermere Arms, and
tell my maid—for she brought a maid in that sec-
ond motor—and tell my maid to put me out some-
thing tidy.’ ‘But that will be a great bother for
you,’ he would say, or something of that sort, for
I don’t pretend to know what he actually did say,
and she would reply, ‘Oh, Mr Pillson, but I must
put on something tidy, and it would be so kind
of you, if you would wait for me, while I do that,
and let us go together.’ That’s what she said.’’

Mrs Weston made a sign to her gardener to pro-
ceed, wishing to leave the stage at the moment of
climax.

“‘And that’s why they’re both late,’’ she said,
and was whirled away in the direction of the bowl-
ing-green.

The minutes went on, and still nobody appeared
who could possibly have accounted for the three-
lined whip of Hightums, but by degrees Lucia, who
had utterly failed to decoy Lady Ambermere into
the place of thrones, began to notice a certain
thinning on her lawns. Her guests, it would seem,
were not in process of dispersal, for it was a long
way off seven o’clock yet, and also none would
be so ill-mannered as to leave without shaking
hands and saying what a delicious afternoon they
had spent. But certainly the lawns grew emptier,
and she was utterly unable to explain this extraor-
dinary phenomenon, until she happened to go
close to the windows of her music-room. Then,
looking in, she saw that not only was every chair
there occupied, but people were standing about
146 “QUEEN LUCIA”

in expectant groups. For a moment, her hea
beat high. . . . Could Olga have arrived and |
some mistake have gone straight in there? It w.
a dreamlike possibility, but it burst like a ray .
sunshine on the party that was rapidly becomi
a nightmare to her,—for everyone, not Lac
Ambermere alone, was audibly wondering whi
the Guru was coming, and when Miss Bracely w:
going to sing.

At the moment as she paused, a window in t]
music-room was opened, and Piggy’s odious heé
looked out.

“‘Oh, Mrs Lueas,’’ she said. ‘‘Goosie and
have got beautiful seats, and Mamma is quite clo:
to the piano where she will hear excellently. Hi:
she promised to sing Siegfried? Is Mr Georg
going to play for her? It’s the most delicion
surprise; how could you be so sly and clever :
not to tell anybody ?’’

Lucia cloaked her rage under the most playf
manner, as she ran into the music-room throug
the hall.

‘*You naughty things!’’ she said. ‘‘Do all con
into the garden! It’s a garden-party, and
couldn’t guess where you had all gone. What
all this about singing and playing? I know not.
ing of it.’’

She herded the incredulous crowd out into tl
garden again, all in their Hightums, every one '
them, only to meet Lady Ambermere with Pt
and Miss Lyall coming in.

‘‘Better be going, Miss Lyall,’’ she sai
‘Kindly run out and find my people. Oh, here
Mrs Lucas. Been very pleasant indeed, thai
“QUEEN LUCIA” 147

you, good-bye. Your charming garden. Yes.’’

“‘Oh, but it’s very early,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘It’s
hardly six yet.’’

“‘Indeed!’’ said Lady Ambermere. ‘‘Been so
charming,’’ and she marched out after Miss Lyall
out into Shakespeare’s garden.

It was soon terribly evident that other people
were sharing Lady Ambermere’s conclusion about
the delights of the afternoon, and the necessity
of getting home. Colonel Boucher had to take
his bull-dogs for a run and walk off the excitement
of the party; Piggy and Goosie explained to their
mother that nobody was going to sing, and by
silvery laughter tried to drown her just indigna-
tion, and presently Lucia had the agony of seeing
Mrs Quantock seated on one of the thrones, that
had been designed for much worthier ends, and
Peppino sitting in the other, while a few guests
drifted about the lawn with all the purposeless-
ness of autumn leaves. What with the Guru,
presumably meditating upstairs still, and with
Olga Bracely most conspicuously absent, she had
hardly nervous energy left to wonder what could
have become of Georgie. Never in all the years
of his ministry had he failed to be at her elbow
through the entire duration of her garden-
parties, flying about on her errands like a tripping
Hermes, herding her flocks if she wanted them in
one part of the garden rather than another, like
a sagacious sheep-dog, and coming back to heel
again ready for further tasks. But today Georgie
was mysteriously away, for he had neither applied
for leave nor given any explanation, however im-
probable, of his absence. He at least would have
148 “QUEEN LUCIA”

prevented Lady Ambermere, the only cornerston
of the party, from going away in what must b
called a huff, and have continued to tell Lucia ho
marvellous she was, and what a beautiful part
they were having. With the prospect of two othe
much more magnificent cornerstones, Lucia ha
not provided any further entertainment for he
guests: there was not the conjurer from Brintor
nor the three young ladies who played banjo-trios
nor even the mild performing doves which cooe
so prettily, and walked up their mistress’s out
stretched fingers according to order, if they fel
disposed. There was nothing to justify Hightums
there was scarcely even sufficient to warran
Tightums. Scrub was written all over ‘‘th
desert’s dusty face.’’

It: was about half-past six when the miracle
began, and without warning the Guru walked ou
into the garden. Probably he had watched th
departure of the great motor with its chauffeu
and footman, and Miss Lyall and Lady Amber
mere and Pug, and with his intuitive sagacity ha
conjectured that the danger from Madras wa
over. He wore his new red slippers, a wonderfu
turban and an ecstatic smile. Lucia and Dais:
met him with cries of joy, and the remainin;
guests, those drifting autumn leaves, were swep
up, as it were, by some compelling broom an
clustered in a heap in front of him. There ha
been a Great Message, a Word of Might, full o
Love and Peace. Never had there been such :
Words <« « «

And then, even before they had all felt the ful
thrill of that, once more the door from the hous:
“QUEEN LUCIA” 149

opened, and out came Olga Bracely and Georgie.
It is true that she had still her blue morning frock,
which Mrs Weston had designated as Scrub, but
it was a perfectly new Scrub, and if it had been
completely covered with Paris labels, they would
not have made its provenance one whit clearer.
‘‘Dear Mrs Lucas,’’ she said, ‘‘Mr Georgie and I
are terribly late, and it was quite my fault. There
was a game of croquet that wouldn’t come to an
end, and my life has been guided by only one
principle, and that is to finish a game of croquet
whatever happens. I missed six trains once by
finishing a game of croquet. And Mr Georgie was
so unkind: he wouldn’t give me a cup of tea, or
let me change my frock, but dragged me off to see
you. And I won!”’

The autumn leaves turned green and vigorous
again, while Georgie went to get refreshment for
his conqueror, and they were all introduced. She
allowed herself to be taken with the utmost
docility—how unlike Somebody—into the tent
with the thrones: she confessed to having stood on
tiptoe and looked into Mrs Quantock’s garden and
wanted to see it so much from the other side of
the wall. And this garden, too—might she go and
wander all over this garden when she had finished
the most delicious peach that the world held? She
was so glad she had not had tea with Mr Georgie:
he would never have given her such a good
peach, . .

Now the departing guests in their Hightums,
lingering on the village green a little, and being
rather sarcastic about the utter failure of Lucia’s
party, could hardly help seeing Georgie and Olga
150 “QUEEN LUCIA”

emerge from his house, and proceed swiftly in the
direction of The Hurst, and Mrs Antrobus who
retained marvellous eyesight as compensation for
her defective hearing, saw them go in, and simul-
taneously thought that she had left her parasol
at The Hurst. Next moment she was walking
thoughtfully away in that direction. Mrs Weston
had been the next to realize what had happened,
and though she had to go round by the road in
her bath-chair, she passed Mrs Antrobus a hun-
dred yards from the house, her pretext for going
back being that Lucia had promised to lend her
the book by Antonio Caporelli (or was it Cap-
orelto?).

So once more the door into the garden opened,
and out shot Mrs Weston. Olga by this time had
.made her tour of the garden, and might she see
the house? She might. There was a pretty music-
room. At this stage, just as Mrs Weston was
poured out in the garden, as with the floodgates
being unopened, the crowd that followed her came
surging into Shakespeare’s garden, and never had
the mermaid’s tail behind which was secreted the
electric bell, experienced such feverish usage.
Pressure after pressure invoked its aid, and the
pretexts for re-admission were soon not made at
all, or simply disregarded by the parlour-maid.
Colonel Boucher might have left a bull-dog, and
Mrs Antrobus an ear trumpet, or Miss Antrobus
(Piggie) a shoe lace, and the other Miss Antrobus
(Goosie) a shoe-horn: but in brisk succession the
guests who had been so sarcastic about the party
on the village-green, jostled each other in order
to revisit the scenes of their irony. Miss Olga
“QUEEN LUCIA” 151

Bracely had been known to enter the portals, and
as many of them who entered after her, found a
Guru as well.

Olga was in the music-room when the crowd had
congested the hall. People were introduced to
her, and sank down into the nearest chairs. Mrs
Antrobus took up her old place by the keyboard of
the piano. Everybody seemed to be expecting
' something, and by degrees the import of their
longing was borne in upon Olga. They waited,
and waited and waited, much as she had waited
for a cigarette the evening before. She looked at
the piano, and there was a comfortable murmur
from her audience. She looked at Lucia, who gave
a great gasp, and said nothing at all. She was
the only person present who was standing now
except her hostess, and Mrs Weston’s gardener,
who had wheeled his mistress’s chair into an
admirable position for hearing. She was not too
well pleased, but after all...

‘‘Would you like me to sing?’’ she asked Lucia,
“Yes? Ah, there’s a copy of Siegfried. Do you
play?’’

Lucia could not smile any more than she was
smiling already.

‘‘Ts it very diffy?’’ she asked. ‘‘Could I read
it, Georgie? Shall I try?’’

She slid onto the music-stool.

‘‘Me to begin?’’ she asked, finding that Olga
had opened the book at the salutation of Brunn-
hilde, which Lucia had practised so diligently all
the morning.

She got no answer. Olga standing by her, had
assumed a perfectly different aspect. For her
152 “QUEEN LUCIA”

gaiety, her lightness was substituted some air of
intense concentrated seriousness which Lucia did
not understand at all. She was looking straight
in front of her, gathering herself in, and paying
not the smallest attention to Lucia or anybody
else.

“‘One, two,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘Three. Now,’’ and
she plunged wildly into a sea of demi-semi-
quavers. Olga had just opened her mouth, but
shut it again.

““No,’’ she said. ‘‘Once more,’’ and she whis-
tled the motif.

“Oh! it’s so diffy!’’ said Lucia beginning again.
‘Georgie! Turn over!’’ ;

Georgie turned over, and Lucia counting
audibly to herself made an incomparable mess all
over the piano. /

Olga turned to her accompanist.

“Shall I try?”’ she said.

She sat down at the piano, and made some sort
of sketch of the accompaniment, simplifying, and
yet retaining the essence. And then she sang.
CHAPTER VIII

THrovucHout August, Guruism reigned supreme
over the cultured life of Riseholme, and the
oriestess and dispenser of its mysteries was
Lucia. Never before had she ruled from so elate
2 pinnacle, nor wielded so secure’ a supremacy.
None had access to the Guru but through her: all
ais classes were held in the smoking-parlour and
ae meditated only in Hamlet or in the sequestered
irbour at the end of the laburnum walk. Once he
iad meditated on the village green, but Lucia did
aot approve of that, and had led him, still rapt,
10me by the hand.

The classes had swelled prodigiously, for prac-
ically all Riseholmeites now were at some stage
of instruction, with the exception of Hermy and
Jrsy, who pronounced the whole thing ‘‘piffle,’’
ind, as gentle chaff for Georgie, sometimes stood
yn one leg in the middle of the lawn and held their
sreath. Then Hermy would say One, Two, Three,
ind they shouted ‘‘Om”’ at the tops of their dis-
‘ordant voices. Now that the Guru was practi-
‘ally interned in The Hurst, they had actually
lever get eyes on him, for they had not chosen
o come to the Hightum garden-party, preferring
o have a second round of golf, and meeting Lucia
ext day had been distinctly irreverent on the sub-
ect of Eastern philosophy. Since then she had
ot been aware of their existence.

153
154 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Lucia now received special instruction from the
Guru in a class all by herself so prodigious was
her advance in Yoga, for she could hold her breath
much longer than anybody else, and had mastered
six postures, while the next class which she
attended also consisted of the other original mem-
bers, namely Daisy Quantock, Georgie and Pep-
pino. They had got on very well, too, but Lucia
had quite shot away from them, and now if the
Guru had other urgent spiritual claims on him,
she gave instruction to a less advanced class her-
self. For this purpose she habited herself in a
peculiarly becoming dress of white linen, which
reached to her feet and had full flowing sleeves
like a surplice. It was girdled with a silver cord
with long tassels, and had mother-of-pearl but-
tons and a hood at the back lined with white satin
which came over her head. Below its hem as she
sat and taught in a really rather advanced pos-
ture showed the toes of her white morocco slip-
pers, and she called it her ‘‘Teacher’s Robe.”’
The class which she taught consisted of Colonel
Boucher, Piggy Antrobus and Mrs Weston: some-
times the Colonel brought his bull-dogs with him,
who lay and snorted precisely as if they were
doing breathing exercises, too. A general air of
joyful mystery and spiritual endeavour blew
balmily round them all, and without any doubt
the exercises and the deep breathing were ex-
tremely good for them.

One evening, towards the end of the month,
Georgie was sitting in his garden, for the half
hour before dressing-time, thinking how busy he
was, and yet how extraordinarily young and fresh
“QUEEN LUCIA” 155

2 felt. Usually this month when Hermy and
rsy were with him was very fatiguing, and in
rdinary years he would have driven away with
oljambe and Dickie on the day after their de-
arture, and had a quiet week by the seaside. But
ow, though his sisters were going away tomor-
yw morning, he had no intention of taking a
ell-earned rest, in spite of the fact that not only
ad he been their host all this time, but had done
no amazing quantity of other things as well.
here had been the daily classes to begin with,
hich entailed much work in the way of medita-
on and exercises, as well as the actual learning,
nd also he had had another job which might
asily have taxed his energies to the utmost any
ther year. For Olga Bracely had definitely
ought that house without which she had felt that
fe was not worth living, and Georgie all this
ionth had at her request been exercising a semi-
idependent supervision over its decoration and
irnishing. She had ordered the general scheme
erself and had sent down from London the
reater part of the furniture, but Georgie was
ymmissioned to report on any likely pieces of
ld stuff that he could find, and if expedition was
acessary to act on his own responsibility and
ay them. But above all secrecy was still neces-
iry till the house was so complete that her
eorgie might be told, and by the end of the month
iseholme generally was in a state of prostration
lowing on the violent and feverish curiosity as
» who had taken the house. Georgie had gone
) far as to confess that he knew, but the most
athetic appeals as to the owner’s identity had
156 “QUEEN LUCIA”

fallen on obdurate, if not deaf, ears. Not the
smallest hint would he give on the subject, and
though those incessant visits to the house, those
searchings for furniture, the bestowal of it in
suitable places, the superintendence of the mak-
ing of the garden, the interviewings of paper-
hangers, plumbers, upholsterers, painters, carpen-
ters and so forth occupied a great deal of time,
the delicious mystery about it all, and the fact
that he was doing it for so adorable a creature,
rendered his exertions a positive refreshment.
Another thing which, in conjunction with this and
his youth-giving studies, made him feel younger
than ever was the discreet arrival and perfect
success of his toupet. No longer was there any
need to fear the dislocation of his espaliered
locks. He felt so secure and undetectable in that
regard that he had taken to wearing no hat, and
was soon about to say that his hair was growing
more thickly than ever in consequence. But it
was not quite time for that yet: it would be inar-
tistic to suggest that just a couple of weeks of
hatlessness had produced so desirable a result.
' Ag he sat at ease after the labours of the day
he wondered how the coming of Olga Bracely to
Riseholme would affect the economy of the place.
It was impossible to think of her with her beauty,
her charm, her fame, her personality as taking
any second place in its life. Unless she was really
meaning to use Riseholme as a retreat, to take no
part in its life at all, it was hard to see what
part she would take except the first part. One
who by her arrival at Lucia’s ever-memorable
party had converted it in a moment from the
“QUEEN LUCIA” 157

iost dire of Scrubs (in a psychical sense) to the
lightumest gathering ever known could not lay
side her distinction and pre-eminence. Never
ad Lucia ‘‘scored’’ so amazingly as over Olga’s
ite appearance, which had the effect of bringing
ack all her departed guests with the compulsion
f a magnet over iron-filings, and sending up the
‘hole party like a rocket into the zenith of social
access. All Riseholme knew that Olga had come
after playing croquet with Georgie the entire
fternoon) and had given them free gratis and
or nothing, such a treat as only the wealthiest
suld obtain with the most staggering fees. Lady
mbermere alone, driving back to The Hall with
‘ug and poor Miss Lyall, was the only person
‘tho had not shared in that, and she knew all about
‘next day, for Georgie had driven out on pur-
ose to tell her, and met Lucia coming away.
low, then, would the advent of Olga affect Rise-
olme’s social working generally, and how would
affect Lucia in particular? And what would
ucia say when she knew on whose behalf Georgie
as so busy with plumbers and painters, and with
uying so many of the desirable treasures in the
mbermere Arms?

Frankly he could not answer these conundrums:
ley presupposed inconceivable situations, which
et, though inconceivable, were shortly coming to
ass, for Olga’s advent might be expected before
ctober, that season of tea-parties that ushered
| the multifarious gaieties of the winter. Would
lga form part of the moonlit circle to whom
ucia played the first movement of the Moonlight
onata, and give a long sigh at the end like the
158 “QUEEN LUCIA”

rest of them? And would Lucia when they had
all recovered a little from the invariable emotion
go to her and say, ‘‘Olga mia, just a little bit out
of the Valkyrie? It would be so pleasant.’’ Some-
how Georgie, with all his imagination, could not
picture such a scene. And would Olga take the
part of second citizenness or something of the
sort when Lucia played Portia? Would Olga join
the elementary class of Yoga, and be instructed
by Lucia in her Teacher’s Robe? Would she sing
treble in the Christmas Carols, while Lucia beat
time, and said in syllables dictated by the rhythm,
‘“Trebles a little flat! My poor ears!’’? Georgie
could not imagine any of these things, and yet,
unless Olga took no part in the social life of Rise-
holme at all (and that was equally inconceivable)
what was the alternative? True, she had said
that she was coming here because it was so ideally
lazy a backwater, but Georgie did not take that
seriously. She would soon see what Riseholme
was when its life poured down in spate, whirling
her punt along with it.

And finally, what would happen to him, when
Olga was set as a shining star in this firmament?
Already he revolved about her, he was aware, like
some eager delighted little moon, drawn away
from the orbit where it had circled so contentedly
by the more potent planet. And the measure of
his detachment from that old orbit might be
judged precisely by the fact that the process of
detachment which was already taking place was
marked by no sense of the pull of opposing forces
at all. The great new star sailing into the heavens
had just picked him up by force of its superior
“QUEEN LUCIA” 159

power of attraction, even as by its momentary
conjunction with Lucia at the garden-party it had
raised her to a magnitude she had never possessed
before. That magnitude was still Lucia’s, and no
doubt would be until the great star appeared
again. Then without effort its shining must
surely eclipse every other illumination, just as
without effort it must surely attract all the little
moons to itself. Or would Lucia manage somehow
or other, either by sheer force of will, by desperate:
and hostile endeavour, or, on the other hand, by
some supreme tact and cleverness to harness the
great star to her own chariot? He thought the
desperate and hostile endeavour was more in
keeping with Lucia’s methods, and this quiet eve-
ning hour represented itself to him as the lull
before the storm.

The actual quiet of the moment was suddenly
broken into. His front-door banged, and the
house was filled with running footsteps and
screams of laughter. But it was not uncommon
for Hermy and Ursy to make this sort of entrance,
and at the moment Georgie had not the slightest
idea of how much further-reaching was the dis-
turbance of the tranquillity. He but drew a
couple of long breaths, said ‘‘Om”’ once or twice,
and was quite prepared to find his deeper calm
unshattered.

Hermy and Ursy ran down the steps into the
garden where he sat still yelling with laughter,
and still Georgie’s imagination went no further
than to suppose that one of them had laid a stymie
for the other at their golf, or driven a ball out of
bounds or done some other of these things that
160 “QUEEN LUCIA”.

appeared to make the game so diverting to them.

“‘Georgie, you’ll never guess!’’ cried Hermy.

“The Guru: the Om, of high caste and ex-
traordinary sanctity,’’ cried Ursy.

“The Brahmin from Benares,’’ shrieked
Hermy.

“‘The great Teacher! Who do you think he
is?’’ said Ursy. ‘‘We’d never seen him be-
fore ne

‘“But we recognised him at once——’’

‘“He recognised us, too, and didn’t he run?’’——

‘‘Into The Hurst and shut the door, ae

Georgie’s deeper calm suddenly quivered like a
jelly.

“‘My dears, you needn’t howl so, or talk quite
so loud,’’ he said. ‘‘ All Riseholme will hear you.
Tell me without shouting who it was you thought
you recognised.’’

‘<There’s no think about it,’’ said Hermy. ‘‘It
was one of the cooks from the Caleutta Restau-
rant in Bedford Street ni

‘“Where we often have lunch,’’ said Ursy. ‘‘He
makes the most delicious curries.”’

‘‘Eispecially when he’s a little tipsy,’’ said
Hermy.

‘¢And is about as much a Brahmin as I am.’’

‘‘And always said he came from Madras.’’

‘“We always tip him to make the curry himself,
so he isn’t quite ignorant about money.”’

“‘O Lord!’’ said Hermy, wiping her eyes. ‘‘If
it isn’t the limit!”’

‘‘And to think of Mrs Lucas and Colonel
Boucher and you and Mrs Quantock, and Piggy
and all the rest of them sitting round a cook,’’

 

 

 
“QUEEN LUCIA” 161

said Ursy, ‘‘and drinking in his wisdom. Mr.
Quantock was on the right track after all when
he wanted to engage him.’’

Georgie with a fallen heart had first to satisfy
himself that this was not one of his sisters’
jokes, and then tried to raise his fallen heart by
remembering that the Guru had often spoken of
the dignity of simple manual work, but somehow
it was a blow, if Hermy and Ursy were right, to
know that this was a tipsy contriver of curry.
There was nothing in the simple manual office of
curry-making that could possible tarnish sanctity,
but the amazing tissue of falsehoods with which
the Guru had modestly masked his innocent ecall-
ing was not so markedly in the spirit of the
Guides, as retailed by him. It was of the first im-
portance, however, to be assured that his sisters
had not at present communicated their upsetting
discovery to anybody but himself, and after that
to get their promise that they would not do so.

This was not quite so easy, for Hermy and
Ursy had projected a round of visits after dinner
to every member of the classes with the exception
of Lucia, who should wake up next morning to
find herself the only illusioned person in the
place.

‘“‘She wouldn’t like that, you know,’’ said
Hermy with brisk malice. ‘‘We thought it would
serve her out for never asking us to her house
again after her foolish old garden-party.”’

‘“‘My dear, you never wanted to go,’’ said
Georgie.

“‘T know we didn’t, but we rather wanted to tell
her we didn’t want to go. She wasn’t nice. Oh,
162 “QUEEN LUCIA”

I don’t think we can give up telling everybody.
It has made such sillies of you all. I think he’s
a real sport.’’

“So do I,’? said Ursy. ‘‘We shall soon have
him back at his curry-oven again. What a laugh
we shall have with him.”’

They subsided for just as long as it took Fol-
jambe to come out of the house, inform them that
it was a quarter of an hour to dinner-time, and
return again. They all rose obediently.

‘*Well, we’ll talk about it at dinner-time,’’ said
Georgie diplomatically. ‘‘And I’ll just go down
to the cellar first to see if I can find something
you like.’’

‘‘Good old Georgie,’’ said Hermy. ‘‘But if
you’re going to bribe us, you must bribe us well.’’

‘“We’ll see,’’ said he.

Georgie was quite right to be careful over his
Veuve Clicquot, especially since it was a bottle of
that admirable beverage that Hermy and Ursy
had looted from his cellar on the night of their
burglarious entry. He remembered that well,
though he had—chiefly from the desire to keep
things pleasant about his hair—joined in ‘‘the
fun,’’ and had even produced another half-bottle.
But tonight, even more than then, there was need
for the abolition of all petty economies, for the
situation would be absolutely intolerable if Hermy
and Ursy spread about Riseholme the fact that
the introducers and innermost circle of Yoga
philosophers had sat at the feet of no Gamaliel at
all, but at those of a curry-cook from some low
restaurant. Indeed he brought up a second bottle
tonight with a view if Hermy and Ursy were not
“QUEEN LUCIA” 163

softened by the first to administer that also. They
would then hardly be in a condition to be taken
seriously if they still insisted on making a house-
to-house visit in Riseholme, and tearing the veil
from off the features of the Guru. Georgie was
far too upright of purpose to dream of making
his sisters drunk, but he was willing to make great
sacrifices in order to render them kind. What
the inner circle would do about this cook he had
no idea; he must talk to Lucia about it, before the
advanced class tomorrow morning. But anything
was better than letting Hermy\ and Ursy loose in
Riseholme with their rude laughs and discredit-
able exposures. This evening safely over, he
could discuss with Lucia what was to be done, for
Hermy and Ursy would have vanished at cock-
crow as they were going in for some golf-compe-
tition at a safe distance. Lucia might recommend
doing nothing at all, and wish to continue the
enlightening studies as if nothing had happened.
But Georgie felt that the romance would have
evaporated from the classes as regards himself.
Or again they might have to get rid of the Guru
somehow. He only felt quite sure that Lucia
would agree with him that Daisy Quantock must
not be told. She with her thwarted ambitions of
being the prime dispenser of Guruism to Rise-
holme might easily ‘‘turn nasty’’ and let it be
widely known that she and Robert had seen
through that fraud long ago, and had considered
whether they should not offer the Guru the situa-
tion of cook in their household, for which he was
so much better qualified. She might even add that
164 “QUEEN LUCIA”

his leanings towards her pretty housemaid had
alone dissuaded her.

The evening went off with a success more bril-
liant than Georgie had anticipated, and it was
quite unnecessary to open the second bottle of
champagne. Hermy and Ursy, perhaps under the
influence of the first, perhaps from innate good-
nature, perhaps because they were starting so
very early next morning, and wanted to be driven
into Brinton, instead of taking a slower and
earlier train at this station, readily gave up their
project of informing the whole of Riseholme of
their discovery, and went to bed as soon as they
had rooked their brother of eleven shillings at
cut-throat bridge. They continued to say, ‘‘I’ll
play the Guru,’’ whenever they had to play a
knave, but Georgie found it quite easy to laugh at
that, so long as the humour of it did not spread.
He even himself said, ‘‘I’ll Guru you, then,’’ when
he took a trick with the Knave of Trumps.

The agitation and uncertainty caused him not
to sleep very well, and in addition there was a
good deal of disturbance in the house, for his
sisters had still all their packing in front of them
when they went to bed and the doze that preceded
sleep was often broken by the sound of the bang-
ing of luggage, the clash of golf-clubs and steps
on the stairs as they made ready for their depar-
ture. But after a while these disturbances ceased,
and it was out of a deep sleep that he awoke with
the sense that some noise had awakened him.
Apparently they had not finished yet, for there
was surely some faint stir of movement some-
where. Anyhow they respected his legitimate de-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 165

sire for quiet, for the noise, whatever it was, was
extremely stealthy and subdued. He thought of
his absurd lark about burglars on the night of
their arrival, and- smiled at the notion. His
toupet was in a drawer close to his bed, but he
had no substantial impulse to put it on, and make
sure that the noise was not anything other than
his sisters’ preparations for their early start. For
himself, he would have had everything packed
and corded long before dinner, if he was to start
next day, except just a suit case that would hold
the apparatus of immediate necessities, but then
dear Hermy and Ursy were so ramshackle in their
ways. Some time he would have bells put on all
the shutters as he had determined to do a month
ago, and then no sort of noise would disturb him
any more.

The Yoga-class next morning was (unusually)
to assemble at ten, since Peppino, who would not
miss it for anything, was going to have a day’s
fishing in the happy stream that flowed into the
Avon, and he wanted to be off by eleven. Peppino
had made great progress lately and had certain
curious dizzy symptoms when he meditated which
were highly satisfactory.

Georgie breakfasted with his sisters at eight
(they had enticed the motor out of him to convey
them to Brinton) and when they were gone, Fol-
jambe informed him that the housemaid had a
sore throat, and had not ‘‘done’’ the drawing-
room. Foljambe herself would ‘‘do’’ it, when she
had cleaned the ‘‘young ladies’’’ rooms (there
was a hint of scorn in this) upstairs, and so
Georgie sat on the window seat of the dining-
166 “QUEEN .LUCIA”

room, and thought how pleasant peace and quiet-
ness were. But just when it was time to start
for The Hurst in order to talk over the dis-
closures of the night before with Lucia before the
class, and perhaps to frame some secretive policy
which would obviate further exposure, he remem-
bered that he had left his cigarette-case (the
pretty straw one with the turquoise in the corner)
in the drawing-room and went to find it. The win-
dow was open, and apparently Foljambe had just
come in to let fresh air into the atmosphere which
Hermy and Ursy had so uninterruptedly contam-
inated last night with their ‘‘fags’’ as they called
them, but his cigarette-case was not on the table
where he thought he had left it. He looked round,
and then stood rooted to the spot.

His glass-case of treasures was not only open
but empty. Gone was the Louis XVI snuff-box,
gone was the miniature of Karl Huth, gone the
piece of Bow China, and gone the Fabergé cig-
arette case. Only the Queen Anne toy-porringer
was there, and in the absence of the others, it
looked to him, as no doubt it had looked to the
burglar, indescribably insignificant.

Georgie gave a little low wailing cry, but did
not tear his hair for obvious reasons. Then he
rang the bell three times in swift succession, which
was the signal to Foljambe that even if she was
in her bath, she must come at once. In she came
with one of Hermy’s horrid woolen jerseys that
had been left behind, in her hand.

“Yes, sir, what is ite”? she asked, in an agitated
manner, for never could she remember Georgie
having rung the bell three times except once when
“QUEEN LUCIA” 167

a fish-bone had stuck in his throat, and once again
when a note had announced to him that Piggy was
going to call and hoped to find him alone. For
answer Georgie pointed to the rifled treasure-
case. ‘‘Gone! Burgled!’’ he said. ‘‘Oh, my
God!’’

At that supreme moment the telephone bell
sounded.

“See what it is,’’ he said to Foljambe, and put
the Queen Anne toy-porringer in his pocket.

She came hurrying back.

‘‘Mrs Lucas wants you to come around at once,”’
she said.

“‘Tcan’t,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘I must stop here and
send for the police. Nothing must be moved,”’
and he hastily replaced the toy-porringer on the
exact circle of pressed velvet where it had stood
before.

“Yes, sir,’’ said Foljambe, but in another mo-
ment she returned.

“‘She would be very much obliged if you would
come at once,’’ she said. ‘‘There’s been a robbery
in the house.’’

‘Well, tell her there’s been one in mine,’’ said
Georgie irritably. Then good-nature mixed with
furious curiosity came to his aid.

‘‘Wait here, then, Foljambe, on this very spot,’’
he said, ‘‘and see that nobody touches anything.
I shall probably ring up the police from The
Hurst. Admit them.’’

In his agitation he put on his hat, instead of
going bareheaded and was received by Lucia, who
had clearly been looking out of the music-room
168 “QUEEN LUCIA”

window, at the door. She wore her Teacher’s
Robe.

‘-Georgie,’’ she said, quite forgetting to speak
Italian in her greeting, ‘‘someone broke into
Philip’s safe last night, and took a hundred
pounds in bank-notes. He had put them there
only yesterday in order to pay in cash for that
cob. And my Roman pearls.’’

Georgie felt a certain pride of achievement.

“I’ve been burgled, too,’’ he said. ‘‘My Lotis
XVI snuff-box is worth more than that, and
there’s the piece of Bow china, and the eigarette-
ease, and the Karl Huth as well.”’

““My dear! Come imside,’’ said she. ‘‘It’s a
gang. And I was feeling so peaceful and exalted.
It will make a terrible atmosphere in the honse.
My Guru will be profoundly affected. An atmos-
phere where thieves have been will stice him. He
has often told me how he cannot stop in a house
where there have been wicked emotions at play.
I must keep it from him. I cannot lose him.”’

Lucia had sunk down on a spacious Elizabethan
setile in the hall) The humorous spider mocked
them from the window, the humorozs stone fruit
from the plate beside the pot-pourri bowl. Even
as she repeated, ‘‘I cannot lose him,’’ again, a
tremendous rap came on tz= front door, and
Georgie, at a sign from his queen, admitted Mrs
Quantock.

‘‘Robert and I have been burgled,** she said
‘“‘Four silver spoons—thank God, most of our
things are plate—eight silver forks ard a Georg-
ian tankard. I could have spared all but the
last.”’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 169

A faint sigh of relief escaped Lucia. If the foul
atmosphere of thieves permeated Daisy’s house,
too, there was no great danger that her Guru
would go back there. She instantly became sub-
lime.

‘*Peace!’’ she said. ‘‘Let us have our class
first, for it is ten already, and not let any thought
of revenge or evil spoil that for us. If I sent for
the police now I could not concentrate. I will not
tell my Guru what has happened to any of us,
but for poor Peppino’s sake I will ask him to give
us rather a short lesson. I feel completely calm.
Om.”’

Vague nightmare images began to take shape in
Georgie’s mind, unworthy suspicions based on his
sisters’ information the evening before. But with
Foljambe keeping guard over the Queen Anne
porringer, there was nothing more to fear, and
he followed Lucia, her silver cord with tassels
gently swinging as she moved, to the smoking-
parlour, where Peppino was already sitting on the
foor, and breathing in a rather more agitated
manner than was usual with the advanced class.
There were fresh flowers on the table, and the
scented morning breeze blew in from the garden.
According to custom they all sat down and waited,
zetting calmer and more peaceful every moment.
Soon there would be the tapping of slippered heels
om the walk of broken paving-stones outside, and
‘or the time they would forget all these disturb-
inces. But they were all rather glad that Lucia
vas to ask the Guru to give them a shorter lesson
han usual.

They waited. Presently the hands of the Crom-
170 “QUEEN LUCIA”

wellian timepiece which was the nearest approach
to an Elibabethan clock that Lucia had been able
at present to obtain, pointed to a quarter past
ten.

‘‘My Guru is a little late,’’ said she.

Two minutes afterwards, Peppino sneezed.
Two minutes after that Daisy spoke, using irony.

“‘Would it not be well to see what has happened
to your Guru, dear?’’ she asked. ‘‘Have you seen
your Guru this morning?”’

‘“No, dear,’’ said Lucia, not opening her eyes,
for she was ‘‘concentrating,’’ ‘‘he always medi-
tates before a class.”’

““So do I,”’ said Daisy, ‘‘but I have meditated
long enough.”’

‘‘Hush!’? said Lucia. ‘‘He is coming.’’

That proved to be a false alarm, for it was
nothing but Lucia’s Persian cat, who had a quar-
rel with some dead laurel leaves. Lucia rose.

“T don’t like to interrupt him,”’ she said, ‘‘but
time is getting on.’’

She left the smoking-parlour with the slow
supple walk that she adopted when she wore her
Teacher’s Robes. Before many seconds had
passed, she came back more quickly and with no
suppleness. |

“‘Fis door is locked,’’ she said, ‘‘and yet there’s
no key in it.’’

‘‘Did you look through the keyhole, Lucia mia?”’
asked Mrs Quantock, with irrepressible irony.

Naturally Lucia disregarded this.

“‘T knocked,’’ she said, ‘‘and there was no re-
ply. I said, ‘Master, we are waiting,’ and he
didn’t answer.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 171

Suddenly Georgie spoke, as with the report of
a cork flying out of a bottle.

‘‘My sisters told me last night that he was the
surry-cook at the Calcutta restaurant,’’ he said.
‘They recognised him, and they thought he recog-
aised them. He comes from Madras, and is no
nore a Brahmin than Foljambe.’’

Peppino bounded to his feet.

‘“What?’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s get a poker and
oreak in the door! I believe he’s gone and I be-
lieve he’s the burglar. Ring for the police.’’

“‘Curry-cook, is he?’’ said Daisy. ‘‘Robert and
[ were right after all. We knew what your Guru
was best fitted for, dear Lucia, but then of course
you always know best, and you and he have been
‘ooling us finely. But you didn’t fool me. I knew
when you took him away from me, what sort of a
yargain you had made. Guru, indeed! He’s the
same class as Mrs Eddy, and I saw through her
‘ast enough. And now what are we to do? For
ny part, I shall just get home, and ring up for
che police, and say that the Indian who has been
iving with you all these weeks has stolen my
spoons and forks and my Georgian tankard. Guru,
ndeed! Burglaroo, I call him! There!’’

Her passion, like Hyperion’s, had lifted her
ipon her feet, and she stood there defying the
vhole of the advanced class, short and stout and
vholly ridiculous, but with some revolutionary
nenace about her. She was not exactly ‘‘terrible
ig an army with banners,’’ but she was terrible
is an elderly lady with a long-standing grievance
hat had been accentuated by the loss of a
teorgian tankard, and that was terrible enough to
172 “QUEEN LUCIA”

make Lucia adopt a conciliatory attitude. Bitter];
she repented having stolen Daisy’s Guru at all, if
the suspicions now thickening in the air proved tc
be true, but after all they were not proved yet
The Guru might still walk in from the arbour or
the laburnum alley which they had not yet
searched, or he might be levitating with the door.
key in his pocket. It was not probable but it was
possible, and at this crisis possibilities were
things that must be clung to, for otherwise you
would simply have to submerge, like those U-
boats.

They searched all the garden, but found no trace
of the curry-cook: they made guarded enquiries
of the servants as to whether he had been seen,
but nothing whatever could be learned about him.
So when Peppino took a ponderous hammer and
a stout chisel from his tool chest and led the way
upstairs, they all knew that the decisive moment
had come. Perhaps he might be meditating (for
indeed it was likely that he had a good deal to
meditate about), but perhaps—Peppino called to
him in his most sonorous tones, and said that he
would be obliged to break his lock if no answer
came, and presently the house resounded with
knockings as terrible as. those in Macbeth, and
much louded. Then snddsaly' the lock gave, and
the door was open.

The room was empty, and as they had all con-
jectured by now, the bed was unslept in. They
opened the drawers of the wardrobe and they were
as empty as the room. Finally, Peppino unlocked
the door of a large cupboard that stood in the
corner, and with a clinking and crashing of glass
“QUEEN LUCIA” 173

rere poured out a cataract of empty brandy
ottles. Emptiness: that was the key-note of the
hole scene, and blank consternation its effect.

‘“‘My brandy!’’ said Mrs Quantock in a
crangled voice. ‘‘There are fourteen or fifteen
ottles. That accounts for the glazed look in his
yes which you, dear Lucia, thought was concen-
ration. I call it distillation.’’

‘Did he take it from your cellar?’’ asked Lucia,
90 shattered to feel resentment, but still capable
f intense curiosity.

‘*No: he had a standing order from me to order
ny little things he might want from my trades-
1en. I wish I had my bills sent in every week.’’

““Yes, dear,’’ said Lucia.

Georgie’s eye sought hers.

“T saw him buy the first bottle,’’ he said. ‘‘I
amember telling you about it. It was at Rush’s.”’

Peppino gathered up his hammer and chisel.

‘‘Well, it’s no use sitting here and thinking of
Id times,’’ he observed. ‘‘I shall ring up the
olice-station and put the whole matter into their
ands, as far as I am concerned. They’ll soon lay
ands on him, and he can do his postures in prison
or the next few years.’’

“‘But we don’t know that it was he who com-
titted all these burglaries yet,’’ said Lucia.

No one felt it was worth answering this, for the
thers had all tried and convicted him already.

‘“‘T shall do the same,’’ said Georgie.

‘‘My tankard,’’ said Mrs Quantock.

Lucia got up.

“‘Peppino mio,’’ she said, ‘‘and you, Georgie,
od you, Daisy, I want you before you do anything
174 “QUEEN LUCIA”

at all to listen to me for five minutes. Just con-
sider this. What sort of figure shall we all cut
if we put the matter into the hands of the police?
They will probably catch him, and it will all come
out that we have been the dupes of a curry-cook.
Think what we have all been doing for this last
month, think of our classes, our exercises, our—
everything. We have been made fools of, but for
my part, I simply couldn’t bear that everybody
should know I had been made a fool of. Anything
but that. What’s a hundred pounds compared to
that, or a tankard——’’

‘‘My Louis XVI snuff-box was worth at least
that without the other things,’’ said Georgie, still
with a secret satisfaction in being the greatest
sufferer.

‘‘And it was my hundred pounds, not yours,
carissima,’’ said Peppino. But it was clear that
Lucia’s words were working within him like
leaven.

“‘T’ll go halves with you,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ll give
you a cheque for fifty pounds.”’

‘‘And who would like to go halves in my tank-
ard?’’ said Daisy with bitter irony. ‘‘I want my
tankard.’’

Georgie said nothing, but his mind was ex-
tremely busy. There was Olga soon coming to
Riseholme, and it would be awful if she found it
ringing with the tale of the Guru, and glancing
across to Peppino, he saw a thoughtful and sym-
pathetic look in his eyes, that seemed to indicate
that his mind was working on parallel lines. Cer-
tainly Lucia had given them all something to
meditate upon. He tried to imagine the whole
“QUEEN LUCIA” 175

tory being shouted into Mrs Antrobus’s ear-
rumpet on the village-green, and could not endure
he idea. He tried to imagine Mrs Weston ever
easing to talk about it, and could not picture her
ilence. No doubt they had all been taken in,
oo, but here in this empty bedroom were the
‘riginal dupes, who had encouraged the rest.

After Mrs Quantock’s enquiry a dead silence
ell.

‘What do you propose, then?’’ asked Beno:
howing signs of surrender.

Lucia exerted her utmost wiles.

“‘Caro!’”’ she said. ‘‘I want ’oo to propose.
Jaisy and me, we silly women, we want ’oo and
teorgie to tell us what to do. But if Lucia must
peak, I fink——_’’

She paused a moment, and observing strong dis-
ust at her playfulness on Mrs Quantock’s face,
everted to ordinary English again.

‘“T should do something of this sort,’’ she
aid. ‘‘I should say that dear Daisy’s Guru had
aft us quite suddenly, and that he had had a call
omewhere else. His work here was done; he had
stablished our classes, and set all our feet upon
he Way. He always said that something of the
ort might happen to him

*‘T believe he had planned it all along,’’ said
teorgie. ‘‘He knew the thing couldn’t last for
ver, and when my sisters recognised him, he con-
luded it was time to bolt.”’

“‘With all the available property he could lay
ands on,’’ said Mrs Quantock.

Lucia fingered her tassel.

“‘Now about the burglaries,’’ she said. ‘‘It

 
176 “QUEEN LUCIA”

won’t do to let it be known that three burglaries
were committed in one night, and that simul-
taneously Daisy’s Guru was called away——”’

‘‘My Guru, indeed!’’ said Mrs Quantock, fizzing
with indignation at the repetition of this insult.

‘‘That might give rise to suspicion,’’ continued
Lucia calmly, disregarding the interruption, ‘‘and
we must stop the news from spreading. Now with
regard to our burglary . .. let me think a
moment.’’

She had got such complete control of them all
now that no one spoke.

‘*T have it,’’ she said. ‘‘Only Boaler knows, for
Peppino told her not to say a word till the police
had been sent for. You must tell her carissimo,
that you have found the hundred pounds. That
settles that. Now you, Georgie.’’

““fWoljambe knows,’’ said Georgie.

“Then tell her not to say a word about it. Put
some more things out, in your lovely treasure-case;
no one will notice. And you, Daisy.’’

‘‘Robert is away,’’ said she, quite meekly, for
she had been thinking things over. ‘‘My maid
knows.’’

“‘And when he comes back, will he notice the
loss of the tankard? Did you often use it?”’

‘About once in ten years.”’

‘‘Chancee it, then,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘Just tell your
maid to say nothing about it.’’

She became deliciously modest again.

‘‘There!’’ she said. ‘‘That’s just a little rough
idea of mine and now Peppino and Georgie will
put their wise heads together, and tell us what to
do.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 177

That was easily done: they repeated what she
had said, and she corrected them if they went
wrong. Then once again she stood fingering the
tassels of her Teacher’s Robe.

“About our studies,’’ she said. ‘‘I for one
should be very sorry to drop them altogether, be-
cause they made such a wonderful difference to
me, and I think you all felt the same. Look at
Georgie now: he looks ten years younger than he
did a month ago, and as for Daisy, I wish I could
trip about as she does. And it wouldn’t do, would
it, to drop everything just because Daisy’s Guru—
I mean our Guru—had been called away. It would
look as if we weren’t really interested in what he
taught us, as if it was only the novelty of having
a—a Brahmin among us that had attracted us.”’’

Lucia smiled benignly at them all.

“‘Perhaps we shall find, bye and bye, that we
can’t progress much all by ourselves,’ she said,
“and it will all drop quietly. But don’t let us
drop it with a bang. I shall certainly take my
elementary class as usual this afternoon.’’

She paused.

‘In my Robe, just as usual,’’ she said.
CHAPTER Ix

Tue fish for which Mrs Weston sent to Brinton
every week since she did not like the look of the
successor to Tommy Luton’s mother lay disre-
garded on the dish, while with fork and fish-slice
in her hand, as aids to gesticulation, she was
recounting to Colonel Boucher the complete steps
that had led up to her remarkable discovery.

‘Tt was the day of Mrs Lucas’s garden-party,”’
she said, ‘‘when first I began to have my ideas,
and you may be sure I kept them to myself, for
I’m not one to speak before I’m pretty sure, but
now if the King and Queen came to me on their
bended knee and said it wasn’t so, I shouldn’t
believe them. Well—as you may remember, we
all went back to Mrs Lucas’s party again about
half-past six, and it was an umbrella that one had
left behind, and a stick that another had forgotten,
and what not, and for me it was a book all about
Venice, that I wanted to borrow, most interesting
I am sure, but I haven’t had time to glance at it
yet, and there was Miss Bracely just come!’

Mrs Weston had to pause a moment for her
maid, Elizabeth Luton (cousin of Tommy), jogged
her elbow with the dishcover in a manner that
could not fail to remind her that Colonel Boucher
was still waiting for his piece of brill. As she.
earved it for him, he rapidly ran over in his mind
what seemed to be the main points so far, for as

178
“QUEEN LUCIA” 179

yet there was no certain clue as to the purpose of
this preliminary matter, he guessed either Guru
or Miss Bracely. Then he received his piece of
brill, and Mrs Weston laid down her carving imple-
ments again.

“‘You’d better help yourself, ma’am,’’ said
Elizabeth discreetly.

‘So I had, and I’ll give you a piece of advice
too,. Elizabeth, and that is to give the Colonel a
glass of wine. Burgundy! I was only wondering
this afternoon when it began to turn chilly, if there
was a bottle or two of the old Burgundy left, which |
Mr Weston used to be so fond of, and there was.
He bought it on the very spot where it was made,
and he said there wasn’t a headache in it, not if
you drank it all night. He never did, for a couple
of glasses and one more was all he ever took, so I
don’t know how he knew about drinking it all
night, but he was a very fine judge of wine. Sol
said to Elizabeth, ‘A bottle of the old Burgundy,
Elizabeth.’ Well, on that evening I stopped behind
a bit, to have another look at the Guru, and get
my book, and when I canie up the street again,
what should I see but Miss Bracely walking in to
the little front garden at ‘Old Place.’ It was
getting dark, I know, and my eyes aren’t like Mrs
Antrobus’s, which I call gimlets, but I saw her
plain enough. And if it wasn’t the next day, it
was the day after that, that they began mending
the roof, and since then, there have been plumbers
and painters and upholsterers and furniture vans
at the door day and night.”’

“‘Haw, hum,’’ said the Colonel, ‘‘then do you
mean that it’s Miss Bracely who has taken it?’’
180 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Mrs Weston nodded her head up and down.
“‘T shall ask you what you think when I’ve told
you all,’’ she said. ‘‘Well! There came a day,
and if today’s Friday it would be last Tuesday
fortnight, and if today’s Thursday, for I get
mixed about it this morning, and then I never get
it straight till next Sunday, but if today’s Thurs-
day, then it would be last Monday fortnight, when
the Guru went away very suddenly, and I’m sure
I wasn’t very sorry, because those breathings
made me feel very giddy and yet I didn’t like to
be out of it all. Mr Georgie’s sisters went away
the same day, and I’ve often wondered whether
there was any connection between the two events,
for it was odd their happening together like that,
and I’m not sure we’ve heard the last of it yet.”
Colonel Boucher began to wonder whether this
was not going to be about the Guru after all and
helped himself to half a partridge. This had the
effect of diverting Mrs Weston’s attention.
““No,’’ she said. ‘‘I insist on your taking the
whole bird. They are quite small, and I was dis-
appointed when I saw them plucked, and a bit of
cold ham and a savoury is ali the rest of your
dinner. Mary asked me if I wouldn’t have an
apple tart as well, but I said ‘No; the Colonel
never touches sweets, but he’ll have a partridge,
a whole partridge,’ I said, ‘and he won’t complain
of his dinner.’ Well! On the day that they all
went away, whatever the explanation of that was,
I was sitting in my chair opposite the Arms, when
out came the landlord followed by two men earry-
ing the settle that stood on the right of the fire-
place in the hall. So I said, ‘Well, landlord, who
“QUEEN LUCIA” 181

has ordered that handsome piece?’ For handsome
it was with its carved arms. And he said, ‘Good
morning, ma’am—no, good afternoon ma’am, it
would be— It’s for Miss——’ and then he stopped
dead and corrected himself, ‘It’s for Mr
Pillson.’ ’’

Mrs Weston rapidly took a great quantity of
mouthfuls of partridge. As soon as possible she
went on.

‘‘So perhaps you can tell me where it is now,
if it was for Mr Georgie,’’ she said. ‘‘I was there
only two days ago, and it wasn’t in his hall, or in
his dining room, or in his drawing room, for
though there are changes there, that settle isn’t
one of them. It’s his treasure case that’s so
altered. The snuff-box is gone, and the cigarette
case and the piece of Bow china, and instead
there’s a rat-tail spoon which he used to have on
his dinner-table, and made a great fuss with, and
a bit of Worcester china that used to stand on the
mantelpiece, and a different cigarette case, and a
bead-bag. I don’t know where that came from,
but if he inherited it, he didn’t inherit much that
time, I priced it at five shillings. But there’s no
settle in the treasure-case or out of it, and if you
want to know where that settle is, it’s in Old Place,
because I saw it there myself, when the door was
open, as I passed. He bought it—Mr Georgie—
on behalf of Miss Bracely, unless you suppose that
Mr Georgie is going to live in Old Place one day
and his own house the next. No; it’s Miss Bracely
who is going to live at ‘Old Place’ and that ex-
plains the' landlord saying ‘Miss’ and then stop-
ping. For some reason, and I daresay that won’t

 
182 “QUEEN LUCIA”

puzzle me long, now I can give my mind to it,
she’s making a secret about it, and only Mr Geor-
gie and the landlord of the Arms know. Of course
he had to, for ‘Old Place’ is his, and I wish I had
bought it myself now, for he got it for an old
song.’’

‘“‘Well, by Jove, you have pieced it together
finely,’’ said Colonel Boucher.

‘“‘Wait a bit,’’? said Mrs Weston, rising to her
climax. ‘‘This very day, when Mary, that’s my
cook as you know, was coming back from Brinton
with that bit of brill we’ve been eating, for they
hadn’t got an ounce of turbot, which I wanted, a
luggage-train was standing at Riseholme station,
and they had just taken out of it a case that could
have held nothing but a grand piano. And if that’s
not enough for you, Colonel, there were two big
dress-baskets as well, which I think must have
contained linen, for they were corded, and it took
two men to move each of them, so Mary said, and
there’s nothing so heavy as linen properly packed,
unless it’s plate, and there printed on them in
black—no, it would be white, because the dress-
baskets are black, were two initials, O. B. And if
you can point to another O. B. in Riseholme I
shall think I’ve lost my memory.”’

At this moment of supreme climax, the tele-
phone-bell rang in the hall, shrill through the noise
of cracking walnuts, and in came Elizabeth with
the news that Mr Georgie wanted to know if he
might come in for half-an-hour and chat. If it
had been Olga Bracely herself, she could hardly
have been more welcome; virtue (the virtue of
“QUEEN LUCIA” 183

observation and inference) was receiving its im-
mediate reward.

‘‘Delighted; say I’m delighted, Elizabeth,’’ said
Mrs Weston, ‘‘and now, Colonel, why should you
sit all alone here, and I all alone in the drawing
room? Bring your decanter and your glass with
you, and you shall spare me half a glass for my-
self, and if you can’t guess what one of the ques-
tions that I shall ask Mr Georgie is; well——”’

Georgie made haste to avail himself of this
hospitality for he was bursting with the most im-
portant news that had been his since the night of
the burglaries. Today he had received permission
to let it be known that Olga was coming to Old
Place, for Mr Shuttleworth had been informed
of the purchase and furnishing of the house, and
chad, as expected, presented his wife with it, a
really magnificent gift. So now Riseholme might
know, too, and Georgie, as eager as Hermes, if not
quite so swift, tripped across to Mrs Weston’s, on
his delightful errand. It was, too, of the nature
of just such a punitive expedition as Georgie thor-
oughly enjoyed, for Lucia all this week had been
rather haughty and cold with him for his firm
refusal to tell her who the purchaser of Old Place
was. He had admitted that he knew, but had said
that he was under promise not to reveal that,
until permitted, and Lucia had been haughty in
consequence. She had, in fact, been so haughty
that when Georgie rang her up just now, before
ringing Mrs Weston up, to ask if he might spend
an hour after dinner there, fully intending to tell
her the great news, she had replied through her
parlour-maid that she was very busy at the piano.
184 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Very well, if she preferred the second and third
movements of the Moonlight Sonata, which she
had seriously taken in hand, to Georgie’s com-
pany, why, he would offer himself and his great
news elsewhere. But he determined not to bring
it out at once; that sort of thing must be kept till
he said it was time to go away. Then he would
bring it out, and depart in the blaze of success.

He had brought a pretty piece of embroidery
with him to occupy himself with, for his work
had fallen into sad arrears during August, and
he settled himself comfortably down close to the
light, so that at the cost of very little aFe -strain,
he need not put on his spectacles.

‘‘Any news?’’ he asked, according to the in-
variable formula. Mrs Weston caught the Colonel’s
eye. She was not proposing to bring out her tre-
mendous interrogation just yet.

‘‘Poor Mrs Auntrobus. Toothache!’’ she said.
“‘T was in the chemist’s this morning, and who
should come in but Miss Piggy, and she wanted a
drop of laudanum and had to say what it was for,
and even then she had to sign a paper. Very un-
pleasant, I call it, to be obliged to let a chemist
know that your mother has a toothache. But there
it was, tell him she had to, or go away without any
laudanum. [ don’t know whether Mr Doubleday
wasn’t asking more than he should, just out of in-
quisitiveness, for I don’t see what business it is
of his. I know what I should have done if I had
been Miss Piggy. I should have said: ‘Oh, Mr
Doubleday, I want it to make laudanum tartlets,
we are all so fond of laudanum tartlets.’ Some-
thing sharp and sarcastic like that, to show him
“QUEEN LUCIA” 185

his place. But I expect it did Mrs Antrobus good,
for there she was on the green in the afternoon,
and her face wasn’t swollen for I had a good look
at her. Oh, and there was something I wanted to
ask you, Mr Georgie, and I had it on the tip of my
tongue a moment ago. We talked about it at din-
ner, the Colonel and I, while we were eating our
bit of partridge, and I thought ‘Mr Georgie will
be sure to be able to tell us,’ and if you didn’t
ring up on the telephone immediately afterwards!
That seemed just Providential, but what’s the
use of that, if I can’t remember what it was that
I wanted to ask you.”’

This seemed a good opening for his startling
news, but Georgie rejected it, as it was too early
yet. ‘‘I wonder what it could have been,’’ he
said.

‘‘Well, it will come back to me presently, and
here’s our coffee, and I see Elizabeth hasn’t for-
gotten to bring a drop of something good for you
two gentlemen. And I don’t say that I won’t
join you, if Elizabeth will bring another glass.
What with a glass of Burgundy at my dinner, and
a drop of brandy now, I shall be quite tipsy unless
Itake care. The Guru now, Mr Georgie, no, that’s
not what I wanted to ask you about—but has there
been any news of the Guru?”’

For a moment in this juxtaposition of the topics
of brandy and Guru, Georgie was afraid that
something might have leaked out about the con-
tents of the cupboard in Othello. But it was evi-
dently a chance combination, for Mrs Weston
went straight on without waiting for an answer.

‘‘What a day that was,’’ she said, ‘‘when he
186 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and Miss Olga Bracely were both at Mrs Lucas’s
garden party. Ah, now I’ve got it; now I know
what I wanted to ask. When will Miss Olga
Bracely come to live at Old Place? Quite soon
now, I suppose.’’

If Georgie had not put down his embroidery
with great expedition, he would undoubtedly have
pricked his finger.

‘‘But how on earth did you know she was com-
ing at all?”’ he said. ‘‘I was just going to tell
you that she was coming, as a great bit of news.
How tarsome! It’s spoiled all my pleasure.’’

‘“‘Haw, hum, not a very gallant speech, when
you’re talking to Mrs Weston,”’ said the Colonel,
who hated Georgie’s embroidery.

Luckily the pleasure in the punitive part of the
expedition remained and Georgie recovered him-
self. He had some news too; he could answer
Mrs Weston’s question.

‘‘But it was to have been such a secret until the
whole thing was ready,’’ he said. ‘‘I knew all
along; I have known since the day of the garden-
party. No one but me, not even her husband.”’

He was well rewarded for the recovery of his
temper. Mrs Weston put down her glass of some-
thing good untasted.

‘“What?’’ she said. ‘‘Is she going to live here
alone in hiding from him? Have they quarrelled
so soon?’?’

Georgie had to disappoint her about this, and
gave the authentic version.

‘‘And she’s coming next week, Monday prob-
ably,’’ he said.

They were all now extremely happy, for Mrs
“QUEEN LUCIA” 187,

Weston felt convinced that nobody else had put
two and two together with the same brilliant re-
sult as herself, and Georgie was in the even su-
perior position of having known the result without
having to do any addition at all, and Colonel
Boucher enjoyed the first fruits of it all. When
they parted, having thoroughly discussed it, the
chief preoccupation in the minds of all was the
number of Riseholmites that each of them would
be the first to pass on the news to. Mrs Weston
could tell Elizabeth that night, and Colonel]
Boucher his bull-dogs, but the first blood was
really drawn by Georgie, who seeing a light in
Mrs Quantock’s drawing room when he returned,
dropped in for a moment and scored a right and
left by telling Robert who let him in, before going
upstairs, and Mrs Quantock when he got there.
It was impossible to do any more that night.
Lucia was always very busy of a morning in
polishing the sword and shield of Art, in order to
present herself daily to her subjects in shining
armour, and keep a little ahead of them all in
culture, and thus did not as a rule take part in
the parliament on the Green. Moreover Georgie
usually dropped in before lunch, and her casual
interrogation ‘‘Any news?’’ as they sat down to
the piano, elicited from him, as in a neat little
jug, the cream of the morning’s milkings. Today
she was attired in her Teacher’s Robe, for the
elementary class, though not always now in full
conclave, gathered at her house on Tuesdays and
Fridays. There had been signs of late that the
interest of her pupils was on the wane, for Colonel
Boucher had not appeared for two meetings, nor.
188 “QUEEN LUCIA”

had Mrs Weston come to the last, but it was part
of Lucia’s policy to let Guruism die a natural
death without herself facilitating its happy re-
lease, and she meant to be ready for her class at
the appointed times as long as anybody turned
up. Besides the Teacher’s Robe was singularly
becoming and she often wore it when there was
no question of teaching at all.

But today, though she would not have been

surprised at the complete absence of pupils, she
was still in consultation with her cook over the
commissariat of the day, when a succession of
tinklings from the mermaid’s tail, announced that
a full meeting was assembling. Her maid in fact
had announced to her without pause except to go
to the door and back, though it still wanted a few
minutes to eleven, that Colonel Boucher, Mrs
Weston, Mrs Antrobus and Piggy were all assem-
bled in the smoking-parlour. Even as she passed
through the hall on her way there, Georgie came
hurrying across Shakespeare’s garden, his figure
distorted through the wavy glass of the windows,
and she opened the door to him herself.

“‘Georgino mio,’’ she said, ‘‘oo not angry with
Lucia for saying she was busy last night? And
now I’m just going to take my Yoga-class. They
all came rather early and I haven’t seen any of
them yet. Any news?”’

Georgie heaved a sigh; all Riseholme knew by
this time, and he was going to score one more by
telling Lucia.

‘*My dear, haven’t you heard yet?’’ he asked.
“‘T was going to tell you last night.’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 189

“The tenant of Old Place?’’ asked Lucia un-
erringly.

“Yes. Guess!’’ said George tantalizingly. This
was his last revelation and he wanted to spin it
out.

Lucia decided on a great stroke, involving risks
but magnificent if it came off. In a flash she
guessed why all the Yoga-class had come so
super-punctually ; each of them she felt convinced
wanted to have the joy of telling her, after every-
body else knew, who the new tenant was. On the
top of this bitterness was the added acrimony of
Georgie, whose clear duty it was to have informed
her the moment he knew, wanting to make the
same revelation to her, last of all Riseholme. She
had already had her suspicions, for she had not
forgotten the fact that Olga Bracely and Georgie
had played croquet all afternoon when they should
have been at her garden-party, and she deter-
mined to risk all for the sake of spoiling Georgie’s
pleasure in telling her. She gave her silvery
laugh, that started, so she had ascertained, on A
flat above the treble clef.

““Georgino, did all my questions as to who it
was really take you in?’’ she asked. ‘‘Just as if
Thadn’t known all along! Why, Miss Olga Bracely,
of course!’’

Georgie’s fallen face shewed her how com-
pletely she had spoiled his pleasure.

‘“Who told you?’’ he asked.

She rattled her tassels.

“Little bird!’’ she said. ‘‘I must run away to
my class, or they will scold me.”’

Once again before they settled down to high
190 “QUEEN LUCIA”

philosophies, Lucia had the pleasure of disap-
pointing the ambitions of her class to surprise,
inform and astonish her.

‘“‘Good morning to you all,’’ she said, ‘‘and
before we settle down I’ll give you a little bit of
news now that at last I’m allowed to. Dear Miss
Olga Bracely, whom I think you all met here, is
coming to live at Old Place. Will she not bea
great addition to our musical parties? Now,
please.”’

But this splendid bravado was but a scintilla-
tion on a hard and highly polished surface, and
had Georgie been able to penetrate into Lucia’s
heart he would have found complete healing for
his recent severe mortification. He did not really
believe that Lucia had known all along, like him-
self, who the new tenant was, for her enquiries
had seemed to be pointed with the most piercing
curiosity, but, after all, Lucia (when she did not ~
forget her part) was a fine actress, and perhaps all
the time he thought he had been punishing her,
she had been fooling him. And, in any case, he
certainly had not had the joy of telling her;
whether she had guessed or really knew, it was
she who had told him, and there was no getting
over it. He went back straight home and drew a
caricature of her.

But if Georgie was sitting with a clouded brow,
Lucia was troubled by nothing less than a raging
tornado of agitated thought. Though Olga would
undoubtedly be a great addition to the musical
talent of Riseholme, would she fall into line, and,
for instance, ‘‘bring her music’’ and sing after
dinner when Lucia asked her? As regards music,
“QUEEN LUCIA” 191

it was possible that she might be almost too great
an addition, and cause the rest of the gifted ama-
teurs to sink into comparative insignificance. At
present Lucia was high-priestess at every altar
of Art, and she could not think with equanimity
of seeing anybody in charge of the ritual at any.
Again to so eminent an opera-singer there must
be conceded a certain dramatic knowledge, and
indeed Georgie had often spoken to Lucia of that
superb moment when Brunnhilde woke and hailed
the sun. Must Lucia give up the direction of
dramatic art as well as of music?

Point by point pricked themselves out of the
general gloom, and hoisted danger signals; then
suddenly the whole was in blaze together . What
if Olga took the lead, not in this particular or in
that, but attempted to constitute herself supreme
in the affairs of Riseholme? It was all very well
for her to be a brilliant bird of passage just for
a couple of days, and drop so to speak, ‘‘a moulted
feather, an eagle’s feather’? on Lucia’s party,
thereby causing it to shine out from all previous
festivities, making it the Hightumest affair that
had ever happened, but it was a totally different
matter to contemplate her permanent residence
here. It seemed possible that then she might keep
her feathers to line her own eyrie. She thought
of Belshazzar’s feast, and the writing of doom on
the wall which she was Daniel enough to interpret
herself, ‘‘Thy kingdom is divided”’ it said, ‘‘and
given to the Bracelys or the Shuttleworths.’’

She rallied her forces. If Olga meant to show
herself that sort of woman, she should soon know
with whom she had to deal. Not but what Lucia
192 “QUEEN LUCIA”

would give her the chance first of behaving with
suitable loyalty and obedience; she would even
condescend to cooperate with her so long as it
was perfectly clear that she aimed at no suprem-
acy. But there was only one lawgiver in Rise-
holme, one court of appeal, one dispenser of
destiny.

Her own firmness of soul calmed and invigo-
rated her, and changing her Teacher’s Robe for a
walking dress, she went out up the road that led
by Old Place, to see what could be observed of the
interior from outside.
CHAPTER X

OnE morning about the middle of October,
Lucia was seated at breakfast and frowning over
a note she had just received. It began without
any formality and was written in pencil.

“Do look in about half-past nine on Saturday
and be silly for an hour or two. We’ll play games
and dance, shall we? Bring your husband of
course, and don’t bother to reply.

Gy, Be?

‘‘An invitation,’’ she said icily, as she passed it
to her husband. ‘‘Rather short notice.”’

‘‘We’re not doing anything, are we?’’ he asked.

Peppino was a little imperceptive sometimes.

“No, it wasn’t that I meant,’’ she said. ‘‘But
there’s a little more informality about it than one
would expect.’’

‘Probably it’s an informal party,’’ said he.

“It certainly seems most informal. I am not
accustomed to be asked quite like that.’’

Peppino began to be aware of the true nature of
the situation.

‘““T see what you mean, cara,’’ he said. ‘‘So don’t
let us go. Then she will take the hint perhaps.’’

Lucia thought this over for a moment and found
that she rather wanted to go. But a certain re-
sentment that had been slowly accumulating in

1938
194 “QUEEN LUCIA”

her mind for some days past began to leak ou!
first, before she consented to overlook Olga’s in
formality.

“Tt is a fortnight since I called on her,’’ she
said, ‘‘and she has not even returned the call. ]
daresay they behave like that in London in certain
circles, but I don’t know that London is any better
for it.”

‘‘She has been away twice since she came,’’ said
Peppino. ‘‘She has hardly been here for a couple
of days together yet.’’

‘‘T may be wrong,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘No doubt I
am wrong. But I should have thought that she
might have spared half-an-hour out of these days
by returning my call. However, she thought
not.”’

Peppino suddenly recollected a thrilling piece of
news which most unaccountably he had forgotten
to tell Lucia.

‘‘Dear me, something slipped my memory,”’ he
said. ‘‘I met Mrs Weston yesterday afternoon,
who told me that half an hour ago Miss Bracely
had seen her in her bath-chair and had taken the
handles from Tommy Luton, and pushed her twice
round the green, positively running.

‘‘That does not seem to me of very prime im-
portance,’’ said Lucia, though she was thrilled to
the marrow. ‘‘I do not wonder it slipped your
memory, caro.’’

“‘Carissima, wait aminute. That is not all. She
told Mrs Weston that she would have returned her
call, but that she hadn’t got any calling cards.”’

‘‘Tmpossible!’’ cried Lucia. ‘‘They could have
“QUEEN LUCIA” 195

printed them at ‘Ye olde Boone Shop’ in an after-
noon.’’

“That may be so, indeed if you say so, it is,”’
said Peppino. ‘‘ Anyhow she said she hadn’t got
any calling cards, and I don’t see why she should
lie about it.’’

‘‘No, it is not the confession one would be likely
to make,’’ said she, ‘‘unless it was true. Or even
if it was,’’ she added.

‘‘Anyhow it explains why she has not been
here,’’? said Peppino. ‘‘She would naturally like
to do everything in order, when she called on you,
carissima. It would have been embarrassing if
you were out, and she could not hand in her
card.”’ ;

“And about Mr Shuttleworth?’’ asked she in an
absent voice, as if she had no real interest in her
question.

‘‘He has not been seen yet at all, as far as I
can gather.’’

‘‘Then shall we have no host, if we drop in to-
morrow night?’’

‘“‘Let us go and see, cara,’’ said he gaily.

Apart from this matter of her call not being
returned, Lucia had not as yet had any reason to
suspect Olga of revolutionary designs on the
throne. She had done odd things, pushing Mrs
Weston’s chair round the green was one of them,
smoking a cigarette as she came back from church
on Sunday was another, but these she set down
to the Bohemianism and want of polish which
might be expected from her upbringing, if you
could call an orphan school at Brixton an upbring-
ing at all. This terrific fact Georgie had let slip
196 “QUEEN LUCIA”

in his stern determination to know twice as much
about Olga as anybody else, and Lucia had treas-
ured it. She had in the last fortnight labelled
Olga as ‘‘rather common,’’ retaining, however, a
certain respect for her professional career, given
that that professional career was to be thrown
down as a carpet for her own feet. But, after all,
if Olga was a bit Bohemian in her way of life, as
exhibited by the absence of calling cards, Lucia
was perfectly ready to overlook that (confident
in the refining influence of Riseholme), and to go
to the informal party next day, if she felt so dis-
posed, for no direct answer was asked for.

There was a considerable illumination in the
windows of Old Place when she and Peppino set
out after dinner next night to go to the ‘‘silly”’
party, kindly overlooking the informality and the
absence of a return-visit to her call. It had been a
sloppy day of rain, and, as was natural, Lucia car-
ried some very smart indoor shoes in a paper-
parcel and Peppino had his Russian goloshes on.
These were immense snow-boots, in which his eve-
ning shoes were completely encased, but Lucia
preferred not to disfigure her feet to that extent,
and was clad in neat walking boots which she could
exchange for her smart satin footwear in the
cloak-room. The resumption of walking-boots
when the evening was over was rather a feature
among the ladies and was called ‘‘The cobbler’s
at-home.’’ The two started rather late, for it
was fitting that Lucia should be the last to arrive.

They had come to the door of the Old Place, and
Peppino was fumbling in the dark for the bell,

. when Lucia gave a little ery of agony and put
“QUEEN LUCIA” 197

her hands over her ears, just as if she had been -
seized with a double-earache of peculiar intensity,

‘‘Gramaphone,”’ she said faintly.

There could be no doubt about that. From the
window close at hand came out the excruciating
strains of a very lusty instrument, and the record
was that of a vulgar ‘‘catchy’’ waltz-tune, taken
down from a brass-band. All Riseholme knew what
her opinion about gramophones was; to the lover
of Beethoven they were like indecent and profane
language loudly used in a public place. Only one,
so far as was known, had ever come to Riseholme,
and that was introduced by the misguided Robert
Quantock. Once he had turned it on in her pres-
ence, but the look of agony which crossed her
face was such that he had to stop it immediately.
Then the door was opened, and the abominable
noise poured out in increased volume.

Lucia paused for a moment in indecision. Would
it be the great, the magnificent thing to go home
without coming in, trusting to Peppino to let it be
widely known what had turned her back from the
door? There was a good deal to be said for that,
for it would be living up to her own high and
immutable standards. On the other hand she par-
ticularly wanted to see what standard of enter-
taining Olga was initiating. The ‘‘silly evening”’
was quite a new type of party, for since she had
directed and controlled the social side of things
there had been no ‘‘silly evenings’’ of any kind in
Riseholme, and it might be a good thing to ensure
the failure of this (in case she did not like it)
by setting the example of a bored and frosty face.
But if she went in, the gramophone must be
198 “QUEEN LUCIA”

stopped. She would sit and wince, and Peppino
‘must explain her feeling about gramophones. That
‘would be a suitable exhibition of authority. Or
she might tell Olga. ...

Lucia put on her satin shoes, leaving her boots
till the hour of the cobbler’s at-home came, and
composing her face to a suitable wince was led by
a footman on tiptoe to the door of the big music
room which Georgie had spoken of.

“Tf you'll please to step in very quietly,
ma’am,”’ he said.

The room was full of people; all Riseholme was
there, and since there were not nearly enough
chairs (Lucia saw that at once) a large number
were sitting on the floor on cushions. At the far
end of the room was a slightly-raised dais, to the
corner of which the grand piano had been pushed,
on the top of which, with its braying trumpet
pointing straight at Lucia was an immense gramo-
phone. On the dais was Olga dancing. She was
dressed in some white soft fabric shimmering with
silver, which left her beautiful arms bare to the
shoulder. It was cut squarely and simply about
the neck, and hung in straight folds down to just
above her ankles. She held in her hands some
long shimmering scarf of brilliant red, that floated
and undulated as she moved, as if inspired by
some life of its own that it drew out of her slim
superb vitality. From the cloud of shifting crim-
son, with the slow billows of silver moving rhyth-
mically round her body, that beautiful face looked
out deliciously smiling and brimming with
ih

Lucia had hardly entered when with a final bray
“QUEEN LUCIA” 199

the gramophone came to the end of its record, and
Olga swept a great curtsey, threw down her scarf,
and stepped off the dais. Georgie was sitting on
the floor close to it, and jumped up, leading the
applause. For a moment, though several heads
had been turned at Lucia’s entrance, nobody took
the slightest notice of her, indeed, the first
apparently to recognise her presence was her
hostess, who just kissed her hand to her, and then
continued talking to Georgie. Then Olga threaded
her way through the besprinkled floor, and came
up to her.

‘“How wise you were to miss that very poor per-
formance,’’ she said. ‘‘But Mr Georgie insisted
that I should make a fool of myself.’’

“Indeed, I am sorry not to have been here for
it,’? said Lucia in her most stately manner. ‘‘It
seemed to me very far from being a poor per-
formance, very far indeed. Caro mio, you remem-
ber Miss Bracely.’’

“81, si; molto bene,’
hands.

“‘Ah, and you talk Italian,’’ said Olga. ‘‘Che
bella lingua! I wish I knew it.”’

‘‘You have a very good pronunciation,’’ said
Lucia.

“‘Tante grazie. You know everyone here of
course. Now, what shall we do next? Clumps or
charades or what? Ah, there are some cigarettes.
Won’t you have one?”’

Lucia gave a little scream of dismay.

‘‘A cigarette forme? That would be a very odd
thing,’’ she said. Then relenting, as she remem-
bered that Olga must be excused for her ignorance,

?

said Peppino, shaking

°
200 “QUEEN LUCIA”

she added: ‘‘You see I never smoke. Never.’’

“‘Oh, you should learn,’’ said Olga. ‘‘Now let’s
play clumps. Does everyone know clumps? If
they don’t they will find out. Or shall we dance?
There’s the gramophone to dance to.’’

Lucia put up her hands in playful petition.

‘‘Oh please, no gramophone!’’ she said.

“‘Oh, don’t you like it?’’ said Olga. ‘‘It’s so
horrible that I adore it, as I adore dreadful crea-
tures in anaquarium. But I think we won’t dance
till after supper. We’ll have supper extremely
soon, partly because I am dying of famine, and
partly because people are sillier afterwards. But
just one game of clumps first. Let’s see; there
are but enough for four clumps. Please make
four clumps everybody, and—and will you and
two more go out with Mr Georgie, Mrs Lucas?
We will be as quick as we can, and we won’t think
of anything that will make Mr Georgie blush. Oh,
there he is! He heard!’’

Olga’s intense enjoyment of her own party was
rapidly galvanizing everybody into a much keener
gaiety than was at all usual in Riseholme, where
as a rule the hostess was somewhat anxious and
watchful, fearing that her guests were not amus-
ing themselves, and that the sandwiches would
give out. There was a sit-down supper when the
clumps were over (Mrs Quantock had been the
first to guess Beethoven’s little toe on his right
foot, which made Lucia wince) and there were not.
enough men and maids to wait, and so people for-
aged for themselves, and Olga paraded up and
down the room with a bottle of champagne in one
hand, and a dish of lobster-salad in the other. She
“QUEEN LUCIA” 201

sat for a minute or two first at one table and then
at another, and asked silly riddles, and sent to the
kitchen for a ham, and put out all the electric
light by mistake, when she meant to turn on some
more. Then when supper was over they all took
their seats back into the music-room and played
musical chairs, at the end of which Mrg Quan-
tock was left in with Olga, and it was believed that
she said ‘‘Damn,’’ when Mrs Quantock won.
Georgie was in charge of the gramophone which
supplied deadly music, quite forgetting that this
was agony to Lucia, and not even being aware
when she made a sign to Peppino, and went away
having a cobbler’s at-home all to herself. Nobody
noticed when Saturday ended and Sunday began,
for Georgie and Colonel Boucher were cock-fight-
ing on the floor, Georgie screaming out ‘‘How tar-
some’’ when he was upset, and Colonel Boucher
very red in the face saying ‘‘Haw, hum. Never
thought I should romp again like this. By Jove,
most amusing!’’ Georgie was the last to leave
and did not notice till he was half-way home that
he had a ham-frill adorning his shirt front. He
hoped that it had been Olga who put it there,
when he had to walk blind-fold across the floor
and try to keep in a straight line.

Riseholme got up rather late next morning, and
had to hurry over its breakfast in order to be in
time for church. There was a slight feeling of
reaction abroad, and a sense of having been young
and amused, and of waking now to the fact of
church-bells and middle-age. Colonel Boucher
singing the bass of ‘‘A few more years shall roll,’’
felt his mind. instinctively wandering to the cock-
202 “QUEEN LUCIA”

fight the evening before, and depressedly reeol-
lecting that a considerable number of years had
rolled already. Mrs Weston, with her bath-chair
in the aisle and Tommy Luton to hand her hymn-
book and prayer-book as she required, looked
sideways at Mrs Quantock, and thought how
strange it was that Daisy, so few hours ago, had
been racing round a solitary chair with Georgie’s
finger on the gramophone, while Georgie, singing
tenor by Colonel Boucher’s ample side, saw with
keen annoyance that there was a stain of tarnished
silver on his forefinger, accounted for by the fact
that after breakfast he had been cleaning the
frame which held the photograph of Olga Bracely
and had been astonished to hear the church-bells
beginning. Another conducement to depression
on his part was the fact that he was lunching with
Lucia, and he could not imagine what Lucia’s atti-
tude would be towards the party last night. She
had come to church rather late, having no use for
the General Confession, and sang with stony fer-
vour. She wore her usual church-face, from
which nothing whatever could be gathered. A
great many stealthy glances right and left from
everybody failed to reveal the presence of their
hostess of last night. Georgie, in particular, was
sorry for this; he would have liked her to show
that capacity for respectable seriousness which
her presence at church that morning would have
implied; while Lucia, in particular, was glad of
this, for it confirmed her view that Miss Bracely
was not, nor could ever be, a true Riseholmite.

She had thought as much last night,.and had said
“QUEEN LUCIA” 203

so to Peppino. She proposed to say the same to
Georgie today.

Then came a stupefying surprise as Mr Rum-
bold walked from his stall to the pulpit for the
sermon. Generally he gave out the number of the
short anthem which accompanied this manceuvre,
but today he made no such announcement. A
discreet curtain hid the organist from the con-
gregation, and veiled his gymnastics with the
stops and his antic dancing on the pedals, and now
when Mr Rumbold moved from his stall, there
‘came from the organ the short introduction to
Bach’s ‘‘Mein Glaubige Herz,’’ which even Lucia
had allowed to be nearly ‘‘equal’’ to Beethoven.
And then came the voice... .

The reaction after the romp last night went
out like a snuffed candle at this divine singing,
which was charged with the joyfulness of some
heavenly child. It grew low and soft, it rang
out again, it lingered and tarried, it quickened
into the ultimate triumph. No singing could have
' been simpler, but that simplicity could only have
sprung from the highest art. But now the art
was wholly unconscious; it was part of the singer
who but praised God as the thrushes do. She who
had made gaiety last night, made worship this
morning.

As they sat down for the discourse, Colonel
Boucher discreetly whispered to Georgie ‘‘By
Jove.’’ And George rather more audibly answered
‘*Adorable.’? Mrs Weston drew a half-a-crown
from her purse instead of her usual shilling, to
be ready for the offertory, and Mrs Quantock
wondered if she was too old to learn to sing... .
204 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Georgie found Lucia very full of talk that day
at luncheon, and was markedly more Italian than
usual. Indeed she put down an Italian grammar
when he entered the drawing-room, and covered
it up with the essays of Antonio Caporelli. This
possibly had some connection with the fact that
she had encouraged Olga last night with regard
to her pronunciation.

“Ben arrivato, Georgio,’’ she said. .‘‘Ho finito
al libro di Antonio Caporelli quanto momento, E
magnifico!’?

Georgie thought she had finished it long ago,
but perhaps he was mistaken. The sentence flew
off Lucia’s tongue as if it was perched there all
quite ready.

“Sono un poco fatigata dopo ii—dear me how
rusty I am getting in Italian for I can’t remember
the word,’’ she went on. ‘‘Anyhow I am a little
tired after last night. A delightful little party,
was it not? It was clever of Miss Bracely to get
so many people together at so short a notice. Once
in a while that sort of romp is very well.’’

‘*T enjoyed it quite enormously,’’ said Georgie.

““T saw you did, cattivo ragazzo,’’ said she
“*You quite forgot about your poor Lucia and her
horror of that dreadful gramophone. I had to
exert all the calmness that Yoga has given me not
to scream. But you were naughty with the gramo-
phone over those musical chairs—unmusical
chairs, as I said to Peppino, didn’t I caro?—tak-
ing it off and putting it on again so suddenly. Each
time I thought it was the end. E pronta la cola-
ztone. Andiamo.”’

Presently they were seated; the menu, an un-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 205

usual thing in itself at luncheon, was written in
Italian, the scribe being clearly Lucia.

_“T shall want a lot of Georgino’s tempo this
week,’’ she said, ‘‘for Peppino and I have quite
settled we must give a little after dinner party
next Saturday, and I want you to help me to
arrange some impromptu tableaux. Everything
impromptu must just be sketched out first, and I
daresay Miss Bracely worked a great deal at her
dance last night and I wish I had seen more of it.
She was a little awkward in the management of
her draperies I thought, but I daresay she does
not know much about dancing. Still it was very
graceful and effective for an amateur, and she
carried it off very well.’’

“Oh, but she is not quite an amateur,’’ said
Georgie. ‘‘She has played in Salome.”’

Lucin pursed her lips.

‘‘Indeed, I am sorry she played in that,’’ she
said. ‘‘With her undoubtedly great gifts I should
have thought she might have found a worthier
object. Naturally I have not heard it. I should
be very much ashamed to be seen there. But about
our tableaux now. Peppino thought we might
open with the Execution of Mary Queen of Scots.
It is a dreadful thing that I have lost my pearls.
. He would be the executioner and you the priest.
Then I should like to have the awakening of
Brunnhilde.’’

“‘That would be lovely,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘Have
you asked Miss Olga if she will?’

“‘Georgino mio, you don’t quite understand,’’
said Lucia. ‘‘This party is to be for Miss Bracely.
I was her guest last night in spite of the gramo-
206 “QUEEN LUCIA”

phone, and indeed I hope she will find nothing in
my house that jars on her 4s much as her gramo-
phone jarred on me. I had a dreadful nightmare
last night—didn’t I, Peppino?—in consequence.
About the Brunnhilde tableaux, I thought Peppino
would be Siegfried, and perhaps you could learn
just fifteen or twenty bars of the music and play it
while the curtain was up. You can play the same
over again if it is encored. Then how about King
Cophetua and the beggar-maid. I should be with
my back to the audience, and should not turn
round at all; it would be quite your tableaux. We
will just sketch them out, as I said, and have a
grouping of two to make sure we don’t get in each
other’s way, and I will see that there are some
dresses of some kind which we can just throw on.
The tableaux with a little music, serious music,
would be quite sufficient to keep everybody in-
terested.”’

By this time Georgie had got a tolerable inkling
of the import of all this. It was not at present to
be war; it was to be magnificent rivalry, a throw-
ing down perhaps of a gauntlet, which none would
venture to pick up. To confirm this view, Lucia
went on with gathering animation.

“‘T do not propose to have games, romps shall
I call them?’’ she said, ‘‘for as far as I know Rise-
holme, and perhaps I know it a little better than
dear Miss Bracely, Riseholme does not care for
that sort of thing. It is not quite in our line; we
may be right or wrong, I am sure I do not know,
but as a matter of fact, we don’t care for that sort
of thing. Dear Miss Bracely did her very best
last night; I am sure she was prompted only by
“QUEEN LUCIA” 207

_the most hospitable motives, but how should she
know? The supper too. Peppino counted nine-
teen empty champagne bottles.”’’

“‘Highteen, carissima,’’ said Peppino.

“‘T think you told me nineteen, caro, but it makes
very little difference. Highteen ‘empty champagne
bottles standing on the sideboard, and no end to
the caviare sandwiches which were left over. It
was all too much, though there were not nearly
enough chairs, and indeed I never got one at all
except just at supper.”’

Lucia leaned forward over the table, with her
hands clasped.

‘There was display about it, Georgio, and you
know how I hate display,’’ she said. ‘‘Shakespeare
was content with the most modest scenery for his
masterpieces, and it would be a great mistake if
we allowed ourselves to be carried away by mere
wasteful opulence. In all the years I have lived
here, and contributed in my humble way to the
life of the place, I have heard no complaints about
my suppers or teas, nor about the quality of enter-
tainment which I offer my guests when they are
so good as to say ‘Si,’ to le mie invitazione. Art
is not advanced by romping, and we are able to
enjoy ourselves without two hundred caviare
sandwiches being left over. And such wasteful
cutting of the ham; I had to slice the chunk she
gave me over and over again before I could eat it.

Georgie felt he could not quite let this pass.

‘‘Well, I had an excellent supper,’’ he said, ‘‘and
i enjoyed it very much. Besides, I saw Peppino
tucking in like anything. Ask him what he
thought of it.’’
208 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Lucia gave her silvery laugh.

“‘Georgimo, you are a boy,’’ she said artfully,
‘and ‘tuck in’ as you so vulgarly call it without
thinking, I’m saying nothing against the supper,
but I’m sure that Peppino and Colonel Boucher
would have felt better this morning if they had
been wiser last night. But that’s not the real
point. I want to show Miss Bracely, and I’m sure
she will be grateful for it, the sort of entertain-
ment that has contented us at Riseholme for so
long. I will frame it on her lines; I will ask all
and sundry to drop in with just a few hours’
notice, as she did. Everything shall be good, and
there shall be about it all something that I seemed
to miss last night. There was a little bit—how
shall I say it?—a little bit of the footlights about it
all. And the footlights didn’t seem to me to have
been extinguished at church-time this morning.
The singing of that very fine aria was theatrical,
I can’t call it less than theatrical.’’ ,

She fixed Georgie with her black beady eye, and
smoothed her undulated hair.

‘“Theatrical,’’ she said again. ‘‘Now let us
have our coffee in the music-room. Shall Lucia
play a little bit of Beethoven to take out any nasty
taste of gramophone? Me no likey gramophone
at all. Nebber!’’

Georgie now began to feel himself able to sym-
pathise with that surfeited swain who thought
how happy he could be with either, were t’other
dear charmer away. Certainly he had been very
happy with Lucia all these years, before t’other
dear charmer alighted in Riseholme, and now he
felt that should Lucia decide, as she had often so
“QUEEN LUCIA” 209

nearly decided, to spend the winter on the Riviera,
Riseholme would still be a very pleasant place of
residence. He never was quite sure how seriously
she had contemplated a winter on the Riviera, for
the mere mention of it had always been enough to
make him protest that Riseholme could not pos-
sibly exist without her, but today, as he sat and
heard (rather than listened to) a series of slow
movements, with a brief and hazardous attempt
at the scherzo of the ‘‘Moonlight,’’ he felt that if
any talk of the Riviera came up, he would not be
quite so insistent as to the impossibility of Rise-
holme continuing to exist without her. He could,
for instance, have existed perfectly well this Sun-
day afternoon if Lucia had been even at Timbuctoo
or the Antipodes, for as he went away last night,
Olga had thrown a casual intimation to him that
she would be at home, if he had nothing better to
do, and cared to drop in. Certainly he had noth-
ing better to do but he had something worse
todo, ««« ;

Peppino was sitting in the window-seat, with
eyes closed, because he listened to music better so,
and with head that nodded occasionally, presum-
ably for the same reason. But the cessation of
the slow movement naturally made him cease to,
listen, and he stirred and gave the sigh with which
Riseholme always acknowledged the end of a slow
movement. Georgie sighed too, and Lucia sighed;
they all sighed, and then Lucia began again. So
Peppino closed his eyes again, and Georgie con-
tinued his mental analysis of the situation.

At present, so he concluded, Lucia did not mean
war. She meant, as by some great armed demon-
210 “QUEEN LUCIA”

stration, to exhibit the Riseholme spirit in its full
panoply, and then crush into dazzled submission
any potential rivalry. She meant also to exert an
educational influence, for she allowed that Olga
had great gifts, and she meant to train and refine
those gifts so that they might, when exercised
under benign but autocratic supervision, conduce.
to the strength and splendour of Riseholme.
Naturally she must be loyally and ably assisted,
and Georgie realized that the tableau of King
Cophetua (his tableau as she had said) partook of
the nature of a bribe, and, if that word was in-
vidious, of a raising of his pay. It was equally
certain that this prolonged recital of slow move-
ments was intended to produce in his mind a vivid
consciousness of the contrast between the romp
last night and the present tranquil hour, and it
did not fail in this respect.

Lucia shut the piano-lid, and almost before they
had given their sighs, spoke.

‘*T think I will have a little dinner-party first,’’
she said. ‘‘I will ask Lady Ambermere. That
will make us four, with you Georgie, and Miss
Bracely and Mr Shuttleworth will make six. The
rest I shall ask to come in at nine, for I know
Lady Ambermere does not like late hours. And
now shall we talk over our tableaux?’’

So even Lucia’s mind had not been wholly ab-
sorbed in Beethoven, though Georgie, as usual,
told her she had never played so divinely.
CHAPTER XI

Tur manceuvres of the next week became so
bewilderingly complicated that by Wednesday
Georgie was almost thinking of going away to the
sea-side with Foljambe and Dicky in sheer de-
spair, and in after years he could not without great
mental effort succeed in straightening it all out,
and the effort caused quite a buzzing in his head.
... That Sunday evening Lucia sent an invita-
tion to Lady Ambermere for ‘‘dinner and tab-
leaux,’’ to which Lady Ambermere’s ‘‘people’’
replied by telephone on Monday afternoon that
her ladyship was.sorry to be unable. Lucia there-
fore gave up the idea of a dinner-party, and re-
verted to her original scheme of an evening party
like Olga’s got up on the spur of the moment, with
great care and most anxious preparation. The
rehearsals for the impromptu tableaux meantime
went steadily forward behind closed doors, and
Georgie wrestled with twenty bars of the music
of the ‘‘Awakening of Brunnhilde.’’ Lucia in-
tended to ask nobody until Friday evening, and
Olga should see what sort of party Riseholme
could raise at a moment’s notice.

Early on Tuesday morning the devil entered
into Daisy Quantock, probably by means of sub-
conscious telepathy, and she proceeded to go
round the green at the morning parliament, and
ask everybody to come in for a good romp on

211
212 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Saturday evening, and they all accepted. Georgie,
Lucia and Olga were absentees, and so, making a
house-to-house visitation she went first to Georgie.
He with secret knowledge of the tableaux (indeed
he was stitching himself a robe to be worn by
King Cophetua at the time and hastily bundling
it under the table) regretted that he was already
engaged. This was rather mysterious, but he
might have planned, for all Mrs Quantock knew,
an evening when he would be ‘‘busy indoors,”’ and
since those evenings were never to be pried upon,
she asked no questions, but went off to Lucia’s to
give her invitation there. There again she was
met with a similarly mysterious refusal. Lucia
much regretted that she and Peppino were unable
to come, and she hoped Daisy would have a lovely
party. Even as she spoke, she heard her telephone
bell ringing, and hurried off to find that Georgie,
faithful lieutenant, was acquainting her with the
fact that Mrs Quantock was planning a party for
Saturday; he did not know how far she had got.
At that moment she had got just half-way to Old
Place, walking at unusual speed. Lucia grasped
the situation with amazing quickness, and cutting
off Georgie with a snap, she abandoned all idea of
her party being impromptu, and rang up Olga.
She would secure her anyhow... .

The telephone was in the hall, and Olga, with
her hat on, was just preparing to go out, when
the bell sounded. The words of grateful accep-
tance were on her very lips, when her front-door
bell rang too, very long and insistently and had
hardly left off when it began again. Olga opened
the door herself and there was Mrs Quantock on
“QUEEN LUCIA” 213

the doorstep with her invitation for Saturday
night. She was obliged to refuse, but promised
to look in, if she was not very late in getting away
from Mrs Lucas’s (and pop went the cat out of
the bag). Another romp would be lovely.

Already the evils of decentralisation and over-
lapping were becoming manifest. Lucia rang up
house after house, only to find that its inhabitants
were already engaged. She had got Olga and
Georgie, and could begin the good work of educa-
tion and the crushing of rivalry, not by force but
by pure and refined example, but Mrs Quantock
had got everybody else. In the old days this
could never have happened for everything de-
volved round one central body. Now with the
appearance of this other great star, all the known
laws of gravity and attraction were upset.

Georgie, again summoned to the telephone, rec-
ommended an appeal to Mrs Quantock’s better
nature, which Lucia rejected, doubting whether
she had one.

“‘But what about the tableaux?’’ asked Georgie.
‘‘We three can’t very well do tableaux for Miss
Olga to look at.’’

Then Lucia showed herself truly great.

“The merit of the tableaux does not consist in
the number of the audience,’’ she said.

She paused a moment. —-

‘‘Have you got the Cophetua-robe to set
properly?’’ she asked.

‘‘Oh, it’ll do,’’ said Georgie dejectedly.

On Tuesday afternoon Olga rang up Lucia again
to say that her husband was arriving that day, so
might she bring him on Saturday? To this Lucia
214 * “QUEEN LUCIA”

cordially assented, but she felt that a husband and
wife sitting together and looking at another hus-
band and wife doing tableaux would be an unusual
entertainment, and not characteristic of Rise-
holme’s best. She began to waver about the tab-
leaux and to consider dinner instead. She also
wondered whether she had been wronging dear
Daisy, and whether she had a better nature after
all. Perhaps Georgie might ascertain.

Georgie was roused from a little fatigued nap
by the telephone, for he had fallen asleep over
King Cophetua’s robe. Lucia explained the situa-
tion and delicately suggested that it would be so
easy for him to ‘‘pop in’’ to dear Daisy’s, and be
very diplomatic. There was nobody like Georgie
for tact. So with a heavy yawn he popped in.

‘‘You’ve come about this business on Satur-
day,’’ said Daisy unerringly. ‘‘Haven’t you?”’

Georgie remembered his character for tact.

‘‘How wonderful of you to guess that!’ he said.
‘**T thought we might see if we couldn’t arrange
something, if we put our heads together. It’s such
a pity to split up. We—I mean Lucia has got
Miss Olga and her husband coming, and——’’

‘And I’ve got everybody else,’’ said Daisy
brightly. ‘‘And Miss Bracely is coming over here,
if she gets away early. Probably with such a
small party she will.’”

“Oh, I shouldn’t count on that,’’ said he. ‘‘We
are having some tableaux, and they always take
longer than you think. Dear me, I shouldn’t have
said that, as they were to be impromptu, but I
really believe my head is going. You know how
“QUEEN LUCIA” 215

thorough Lucia is; she is taking a great deal of
trouble about them.”’

“T hadn’t heard about that,’’ said Mrs Quan-
tock.

She thought a moment.

“Well; I don’t want to spoil Lucia’s evening,’’
she said, ‘‘for I’m sure nothing could be so ridicu-
lous as three people doing tableaux for two others.
And on the other hand, I don’t want her to spoil
mine, for what’s to prevent her going on with the
tableaux till church-time next morning if she
wishes to keep Miss Bracely away from my house?
I’m sure after the way she behaved about my
Guru— Well, never mind that. How would it be
if we had the tableaux first at Lucia’s, and then
came on here? If Lucia cares to suggest that to
me, and my guests consent, I don’t mind doing
that.’’ :

By six o’clock on Tuesday evening therefore all
the telephone bells of Riseholme were merrily
ringing again. Mrs Quantock stipulated that
Lucia’s party should end at 10.45 precisely, if it
didn’t end before, and that everyone should then
be free to flock across to her house. She proposed
a romp that should even outshine Olga’s, and was
deep in the study of a manual of ‘‘ Round Games,”’
which included ‘‘Hunt the Slipper.’’...

Georgie and Peppino took turns at the tele-
phone, ringing up all Mrs Quentock’s guests, and
informing them of the double pleasure which
awaited them on Saturday. Since Georgie had let
out the secret of the impromptu tableaux to Mrs
Quantock there was no reason why the rest of
Riseholme should not learn of this first-hand from
216 “QUEEN LUCIA”

The Hurst, instead of second-hand (with promises
not to repeat it) from Mrs Quantock. It appeared
that she had a better nature than Lucia credited
her with, but to expect her not to tell everybody
about the tableaux would be putting virtue to an
unfair test.

‘So that’s all settled,’’ said Georgie, as he re-
turned with the last acceptance, ‘‘and how fortu-
nately it has happened after all. But what a day
it has been. Nothing but telephoning from morn-
ing till night. If we go on like this the company
will pay a dividend this year, and return us some
of our own pennies.’’

Lucia had got a quantity of pearl beads and was
stringing them for the tableau of Mary Queen of
Scots.

‘“‘Now that everyone knows,’’ she said, ‘‘we
might allow ourselves a little more elaboration
in our preparations. There is an Elizabethan axe
at the Ambermere Arms which I might borrow
for Peppino. Then about the Brunnhilde tableau.
It is dawn, is it not? We might have the stage
quite dark when the curtain goes up, and turn up
a lamp very slowly behind the scene, so that it
shines on my face. A lamp being turned up very
slowly is wonderfully effective. It produces a
perfect illusion. Could you manage that with one
hand and play the music of the awakening with
the other, Georgino?’’

“‘T’m quite sure I couldn’t,’’ said he.

““Well then Peppino must do it before he comes
on. We will have movement in this tableau; I
think that will be quite a new idea. Peppino shall
come in—just two steps—when he has turned the
“QUEEN LUCIA” 217

lamp up, and he will take off my shield and ar-
mour——’’

“‘But the music will never last out,’’ cried Geor- _
gie. ‘‘I shall have to start earlier.’’ :

“Yes, perhaps that would be better,’’ said Lucia
calmly. ‘‘That real piece of chain-armour too, I
am glad J remembered Peppino had that. Mar-
shall is cleaning it now, and it will give a far finer
effect than the tawdry stuff they use in opera.
Then I sit up very slowly, and wave first my right
arm and then my left, and then both. I should
like to practise that now on the sofa!’’

Lucia had just lain down, when the telephone
sounded again and Georgie got up.

“‘That’s to announce a dividend,’’ he said, and
tripped into the hall.

“Ts that Mrs Lucas’s?’’ said a voice he knew.

“Yes, Miss Olga,’’ he said, ‘‘and this is me.’’

“‘Oh, Mr Georgie, how fortunate,’’ she said.
“You can give my message now to Mrs Lucas,
can’t you? I’m a perfect fool, you know, and hor-
ribly forgetful.’’ .

‘‘What’s the matter?’’ asked Georgie faintly.

“It’s about Saturday. I’ve just remembered
that Georgie and I—not you, you know—are going
away for the week end. Will you tell Mrs Lucas
how sorry I am?’

Georgie went back to the music room, where
Lucia had just got both her arms waving. But
at the sight of his face she dropped them and took
a firm hold of herself.

‘Well, what is it?’’ she said.

Georgie gave the message, and she got off the
218 “QUEEN LUCIA”

sofa, rising to her feet, while her mind rose to the
occasion.

“‘T am sorry that Miss Bracely will not see our
tableaux,’’ she said. ‘‘But as she was not acting
in them I do not know that it makes much dif-
ference.”’

A deadly flatness, although Olga’s absence
made no difference, descended on the three. Lucia
did not resume her arm-work, for after all these
years her acting might be supposed to be good
enough for Riseholme without further practice,
and nothing more was heard of the borrowing of
the axe from the Ambermere Arms. But having
begun to thread her pearl!-beads, she finished them;
Georgie, however, cared no longer whether the
gold border of King Cophetua’s mantle went
quite round the back or not, and having tacked on
the piece he was working at, rolled it up. It was
just going to be an ordinary party, after all. His
cup was empty.

But Lucia’s was not yet quite full, for at this
moment Miss Lyall’s pony hip-bath stopped at
the gate, and a small stableboy presented a note,
which required an answer. In spite of all Lucia’s
self-control, the immediate answer it got was a
flush of heightened colour.

‘‘Mere impertinence,’’ she said. ‘‘I will read
it aloud.”’

“‘Dear Mrs Lucas, ‘

“‘T was in Riseholme this morning, and learn
from Mrs Weston that Miss Bracely will be at
your house on Saturday night. So I shall be en-
chanted to come to dinner after all. You must
“QUEEN LUCIA” 219

know that I make a rule of not going out in the
evening, except for some special reason, but it
would be a great pleasure to hear her sing again.
I wonder if you would have dinner at 7.30 instead
of 8. as I do not like being out very late.’ ’’

There was a short pause.

“‘Caro,’’ said Lucia, trembling violently, ‘‘per-
haps you would kindly tell Miss Lyall that I do
not expect Miss Bracely on Saturday, and that I
do not expect Lady Ambermere either.’’

‘‘My dear ’? he began.

“‘T will do it myself then,”’ she said.

It was as Georgie walked home after the de-
livery of this message that he wanted to fly away
and be at rest with Foljambe and Dickie. He had
been frantically excited ever since Sunday at the
idea of doing tableaux before Olga, and today in
especial had been a mere feverish hash of tele-
phoning and sewing which all ended in nothing at
all, for neither tableaux nor romps seemed to hold
the least attraction for him now that Olga was not
going to be there. And then all at once it dawned
on him that he must be in love with Olga, for why
else should her presence or absence make such an
astounding difference to him? He stopped dead
opposite Mrs Quantock’s mulberry tree.

‘“More misery! More unhappiness!’’ he said
to himself. Really if life at Riseholme was to
become a series of agitated days ending in devas-
tating discoveries, the sooner he went away with
Foljambe and Dickie the better. He did not quite
know what it was like to be in love, for the nearest
he had previously ever got to it was when he saw

 
220 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Olga awake on the mountain-top and felt that he
had missed his vocation in not being Siegfried, but
from that he guessed. This time, too, it was about
Olga, not about her as framed in the romance of
legend and song, but of her as she appeared at
Riseholme, taking as she did now, an ecstatic
interest in the affairs of the place. So short a
time ago, when she contemplated coming here first
she had spoken of it as a lazy backwater. Now she
knew better than that, for she could listen to Mrs
Weston far longer than anybody else, and ask for
more histories when even she had run dry. And
yet Lucia seemed hardly to interest her at all.
Georgie wondered why that was.

He raised his eyes as he muttered these deso-
lated syllables and there was Olga just letting her-
self out of the front garden of the Old Place.
Georgie’s first impulse was to affect not to see her, .
and turn into his bachelor house, but she had cer-
tainly seen him, and made so shrill and piercing
a whistle on her fingers that, pretend as he would
not to have seen her, it was ludicrous to appear
not to have heard her. She beckoned to him.

‘*Georgie, the most awful thing has happened,” .
she said, as they came within speaking distance.
“Oh, I called you Georgie by mistake then. When
one once does that, one must go on doing it on
purpose.”’

“‘Guess!’? she said in the best Riseholme man-
ner.

‘“You can come to Lucia’s party after all,’’ said
he. «

‘“No, I can’t. Well, you’ll never guess because
you move in such high circles, so I’li tell you. Mrs
“QUEEN LUCIA” 221

Weston’s Elizabeth is going to be married to
Colonel Boucher’s Atkinson. I don’t know his
Christian name, nor her surname, but they’re the
ones !’’

‘‘You don’t say so!’’ said Georgie, stung for a
moment out of his own troubles. ‘‘But will they
both leave? What will either of the others do?
Mrs Weston can’t have a manservant, and how
on earth is she to get on without Elizabeth?
Besides——’’

A faint flush mounted to his cheek.

“T know. You mean aid said Olga ruth-
lessly. ‘‘Didn’t you?’’

““Yes,’’ said Georgie.

“Then why not say so? You and I were babies
once, though no one is old enough to remember
that, and we shouldn’t have liked our parents and
friends to have blushed when they mentioned us.
Georgie, you are a prude.”’

“No, I’m not,’’ said Georgie, remembering he
was probably in love with a married woman.

« “Tt doesn’t matter whether you are or not. Now
there’s only one thing that can happen to Mrs
Weston and the Colonel. They must marry each
other too. Then Atkinson can continue to be
Colonel Boucher’s man and Elizabeth the parlour-
maid, unless she is busy with what made you
blush. Then they can get help in; you will lend
them Foljambe, for instance. It’s time you began
to be of some good in your wicked selfish life. So
that’s settled. It only remains for us to make
them marry each other.’’

‘‘Aren’t you getting on rather fast?’’ asked
Georgie.
222 “QUEEN LUCIA”

“‘T’m not getting on at all at present. I’m only
talking. Come into my house instantly, and we’ll
drink vermouth. Vermouth always makes me
brilliant unless it makes me a but we’ll hope
for the best.’’

Presently they were sone in Olga’s music
room, with a bottle of vermouth between them.

“Now drink fair, Georgie,’’ she said, ‘‘and as
you drink tell me all about the young people’s
emotional history.’’

‘Atkinson and Elizabeth?’’ asked Georgie.

‘‘No, my dear; Colonel Boucher and Mrs Wes-
ton. They have an emotional history. I am sure
you all thought they were going to marry each
other once. And they constantly dine together
téte-a-téte. Now that’s a very good start. Are
you quite sure he hasn’t got a wife and family in
Egypt, or she a husband and family somewhere
else? I don’t want to rake up family skeletons.’’

““T’ve never heard of them,’’ said Georgie.

“Then we’ll take them as non-existent. You
certainly would have heard of them if there were
any, and very likely if there weren’t. And they
both like eating, drinking and the latest intelli-
gence. Don’t they?”’

“Yes. But——’’

“But what? What more do you or they want?
Isn’t that a better start for married life than
many people get?’’

“But aren’t they rather old?’’ asked Georgie.

“Not much older than you and me, and if it
wasn’t that I’ve got my own Georgie, I would soon
have somebody else’s. Do you know who I
mean?”’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 223

‘‘No!’’ said Georgie firmly. Though all this
came at the end of a most harrowing day, it or the
vermouth exhilarated him.

“Then Ill tell you just what Mrs Weston told
me. ‘He’s always been devoted to Lucia,’ said
Mrs Weston, ‘and he has never looked at any-
body else. There was Piggy Antrobus——’ Now
do you know who I mean?”’

Georgie suddenly giggled.

‘“Yes,’’ he said.

“Then don’t talk about yourself so much, my
dear, and let us get to the point. Now this after-
noon I dropped in to see Mrs Weston and as she
was telling me about the tragedy, she said by
accident (just as I called you Georgie just now
by accident) ‘And I don’t know what Jacob will
do without Atkinson.’ Now is or is not Colonel
Boucher’s name Jacob? There you are then!
That’s one side of the question. She called him
Jacob by accident and so she’ll call him Jacob on
purpose before very long.’’

Olga nodded her head up and down in precise
reproduction of Mrs Weston.

“T’d hardly got out of the house,’’ she said in
exact imitation of Mrs Weston’s voice, ‘‘before I
met Colonel Boucher. It would have been about
three o’clock—no, it couldn’t have been three, be-
cause I had got back home and was standing in
the hall when it struck three, and my clock’s a
shade fast if anything. Well; Colonel Boucher
said to me, ‘Haw, hum, quite a domestic crisis, by
Jove.’ And so I pretended I didn’t know, and he
told me all about it. So I said ‘Well, it is a domes-
tic crisis, and you’ll lose Atkinson.’ ‘Haw, hum,’
224 “QUEEN LUCIA”

said he, ‘and poor Jane, I should say, Mrs Weston,
will lose Elizabeth.’ There!’’

She got up and lit a cigarette.

‘‘Oh, Georgie, do you grasp the inwardness of
that?’’ she said. ‘‘Their dear old hearts were laid
bare by the trouble that had come upon them, and
each of them spoke of the other, as each felt for
the other. Probably neither of them had said
Jacob or Jane in the whole course of their lives.
But the Angel of the Lord descended and troubled
the waters. If you think that’s profane, have
some more vermouth. It’s making me brilliant,
though you wouldn’t have thought it. Now
listen !”’

She sat down again close to him, her face brim-
ming with a humorous enthusiasm. Humour in
Riseholme was apt to be a little unkind; if you
mentioned the absurdities of your friends, there
was just a speck of malice in your wit. But with
her there was none of that, she gave an imitation
of Mrs Weston with the most ruthless fidelity, and
yet it was kindly to the bettom. She liked her
for talking in that emphatic voice and being so
particular as to what time it was. ‘‘Now first
of all you are coming to dine with me tonight,”’
said Olga.

“Oh, I’m afraid that tonight——’’ began
Georgie, shrinking from any further complica-
tions. He really must have a quiet evening, and
go to bed very early.

‘*What are you afraid of tonight?’’ she asked.
**You’re only going to wash your hair. You can
do that tomorrow. So you and I, that’s two, and
Mrs Weston and Colonel Jacob, that’s four, which
“QUEEN LUCIA” 225

is enough, and I don’t believe there’s anything to
eat in the house. But there’s something to drink,
which is my point. ~Not for you and me, mind;
we’ve got to keep our heads and be clever. Don’t
have any more vermouth. But Jane and Jacob
are going to have quantities of champagne. Not
tipsy, you understand, but at their best, and un-
guardedly appreciative of each other and us. And
when they go away, they will exchange a chaste
kiss at Mrs Weston’s door, and she will ask him
in. No! I think she’ll ask him in first. And when
they wake up tomorrow morning, they will both
wonder how they could possibly, and jointly ask
themselves what everybody else will say. And
then they’ll thank God and Olga and Gcorgie that
they did, and live happily for an extraordinary
number of years. My dear, how infinitely happier
they will be together than they are being now.
Funny old dears! Each at its own fireside, saying
that it’s too old, bless them! And you and I will
sing ‘Voice that breathed o’er Eden’ and in the
middle our angel-voices will crack, and we will sob
into our handkerchief, and Eden will be left
breathing deeply all by itself like the Guru. Why
did you never tell me about the Guru? Mrs Wes-
ton’s a better friend to me than you are, and I
must ring for my cook—no I’ll telephone first to
Jacob and Jane—and see what there is to eat
afterwards. You will sit here quietly, and when I
have finished I will tell you what your part is.”’
During dinner, according to Olga’s plan of cam-
paign, the conversation was to be general, because
she hated to have two conversations going on
when only four people were present, since she
226 “QUEEN LUCIA”

found that she always wanted to join in the other
one. This was the main principle she inculcated
on Georgie, stamping it on his memory by a simile
of peculiar vividness. ‘‘Imagine there is an Eliza-
bethan spittoon in the middle of the table,’’ she
said, ‘‘and keep on firmly spitting into it. I want
you when there’s any pause to spit about two
things, one, how dreadfully unhappy both Jacob
and Jane will be without their paragons, the other,
how pleasant is conversation and companionship.
I shall be chaffing you, mind, all the time and say-
ing you must get married. After dinner I shall
probably stroll in the garden with Jacob. Don’t
come. Keep him after dinner for some little time,
for then’s my opportunity of talking to Jane, and
give him at least three glasses of port. Gracious
it’s time to dress, and the Lord prosper us.’’

* Georgie found himself the last to arrive, when
he got back to Olga’s and all three of them shook
hands rather as people shake hands before a fu-
neral. They went into dinner at once and Olga
instantly began, ‘‘How many years did you say
your admirable Atkinson had been with you?’’ she
asked Colonel Boucher.

“Twenty; getting on for twenty-one,’’ said he.
‘‘Great nuisance; ’pon my word it’s worse than a
nuisance. ”’

Georgie had a bright idea.

‘‘But what’s a nuisance, Colonel?’’ he asked.

‘‘Hh, haven’t you heard? I thought it would
have been all over the place by now. Atkinson’s
going to be married.”’

‘*No!”’ said Georgie. ‘‘Whom to?’’

Mrs Weston could not bear not to announce this
“QUEEN LUCIA” 227

herself. ‘*To my Elizabeth,’’ she said. ‘‘Eliza-
beth came to me this morning. ‘May I speak to
you a minute, ma’am?’ she asked, and I thought
nothing more than that perhaps she had broken
a tea-cup. ‘Yes,’ said I quite cheerfully, ‘and
what have you come to tell me?’ ’”’

It was getting almost too tragic and Olga broke
in.
“‘Let’s try to forget all about it, for an hour or
two,’’ she said. ‘‘It was nice of you all to take
pity on me, and come and have dinner, otherwise
I should have been quite alone. If there’s one
thing I cannot bear it’s being alone in the evening.
And to think that anybody chooses to be alone
when he needn’t! Look at that wretch there,’’ and
she pointed to Georgie, ‘‘who lives all by himself
instead of marrying. Liking to be alone is the
worst habit I know; much worse than drink.”’

‘‘Now do leave me alone,’’ said Georgie.

“I won’t, my dear, and when dinner is over
Mrs Weston and I are going to put our heads to-
gether, and when you come out we shall announce
to you the name of your bride. I should put a
tax of twenty shillings on the pound on all bache-
lors; they should all marry or starve.

Suddenly she turned to Colonel Boucher.

“‘Oh, Colonel,’’? she said. ‘‘What have I been
saying? How dreadfully stupid of me not to re-
member that you were a bachelor too. But I
wouldn’t have you starve for anything. Have
some more fish instantly to shew you forgive me.
Georgie change the subject; you’re always talk-
ing about yourself.’’
228 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Georgie turned with admirable docility to Mrs
Weston.

“‘Tt’s too miserable for you,’’ he said. ‘‘How
will you get on without Elizabeth? How long has
she been with you?’’

Mrs Weston went straight back to where shé
had left off.

“‘So I said, ‘What have you come to tell me?’
quite cheerfully, thinking it was a tea-cup. And
she said, ‘I’m going to be married, ma’am,’ and
she blushed so prettily that you’d have thought
she was a girl of twenty, though she was seven-
teen when she came to me,—no, she was just eigh-
teen, and that’s fifteen years ago, and that makes
her thirty-three. ‘Well, Elizabeth,’ I said, ‘you
haven’t told me yet who it is, but whether it’s the
Archbishop of Canterbury or the Prince of Wales
—for I felt I had to make a little joke like that—
I hope you’ll make him as happy as ven "ve made
me all these years.’ ”’

‘You old darling,’’ said Olga. ‘‘T sala have
gone into hysterics, and forbade the banns.’’

‘‘No, Miss Bracely, you wouldn’t,’’ said Mrs
Weston, ‘‘you’d have been just as thankful as me,
that she’d got a good husband to take care of and
to be taken care of by, because then she said, ‘Lor
ma’am, it’s none of they—no them great folks.
It’s the Colonel’s Atkinson. You ask the Colonel
for Atkinson’s character, Miss Bracely, and then
you’d be just as thankful as I was.’ ”’

‘<The Colonel’s Atkinson is a slow coach, just
like Georgie,’’ said Olga. ‘‘He and Elizabeth have
been living side by side all these years, and why
couldn’t the man make up his mind before? The
“QUEEN LUCIA” 229

only redeeming circumstance is that he has done it
“now. Our poor Georgie now: i

“Now you’re going to be rude to Colonel
Boucher again,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘Colonel, we’ve
been asked here to be insulted.’’

Colonel Boucher had nothing stronger than a
mild tolerance for Georgie and rather enjoyed
snubbing him.

“Well, if you call a glass of wine and a dinner
like this an insult,’’ he said, ‘‘ pon my word I
don’t know what you’d call a compliment.”’

‘*T know what I call a compliment,’’ said Olga,
“and that’s your all coming to dine with me at
such short notice. About Georgie’s approaching
nuptials now. as

“‘You’re too tarsome”’ said he. ‘‘If you go on
like that, I shan’t ask you to the wedding. Let’s
talk about Elizabeth’s. When are they going to
get married, Mrs Weston?’’

“‘That’s what I said to Elizabeth. ‘Get an
almanack, Elizabeth,’ said I, ‘so that you won’t
choose a Sunday. Don’t say the 20th of next
month without looking it out. But if the 20th isn’t
a Sunday or a Friday mind, for though I don’t
believe in such things, still you never know—’
There was Mrs Antrobus now,’’ said Mrs Weston
suddenly, putting in a footnote to her speech to
Elizabeth, ‘‘it was on a Friday she married, and
within a year she gct as deaf as you see her now.
Then Mr Weston’s uncle, his uncle by marriage
T should say, he was another Friday marriage and
they missed their train when going off on their
honeymoon, and had to stay all night where they
were without a sponge or a tooth brush between

 

 
230 “QUEEN LUCIA”

them, for all their luggage was in the train being
whirled away to Torquay. ‘So make it the 20th,
Elizabeth,’ I said, ‘if it isn’t a Friday or a Sun-
day, and I shall have time to look round me, and
so will the Colonel, though I don’t expect that
either of us will find your equals! And don’t cry,
Elizabeth,’ I said, for she was getting quite wat-
ery, ‘for if you cry about a marriage, what’ll be
left for a funeral?’ ”’

‘“‘Ha! Upon my word, I call that splendid of
you,’’ said the Colonel. ‘‘I told Atkinson I wished
I had never set eyes on him, before I wished him
joy.”’

Olga got up.

, ‘Look after Colonel Boucher, Georgie,’’ she
said, ‘‘and ring for anything you want. Look at
the moon! Isn’t it heavenly. How Atkinson and
Elizabeth must be enjoying it.’’

The two men spent a half-hour of only moder-
ately enjoyable conversation, for Georgie kept
the grindstone of the misery of his lot without
Atkinson, and the pleasure of companionship
firmly to the Colonel’s nose. It was-no use for
him to attempt to change the subject to the ap-
proaching tableaux, to a vague rumour that
Piggie had fallen face downwards in the ducking-
pond, that Mrs Quantock and her’ husband had
turned a table this afternoon with remarkable re-
sults, for it had tapped out that his name was
Robert and hers Daisy. Whichever way he turned,
Georgie herded him back on to the stony path
that he had been bidden to take, with the result |
that when Georgie finally permitted him to go
into the music-room, he was athirst for the more
“QUEEN LUCIA” 231

genial companionship of the ladies. Olga got up
as they entered.

‘‘Georgie’s so lazy,’’ she said, ‘‘that it’s no use
asking him. But do let you and me have a turn
up and down my garden, Colonel. There’s a
divine moon and it’s quite warm.”’

They stepped out into the windless night.

‘Fancy it’s being October,’’ she said. ‘‘I don’t
believe there is any winter in Riseholme, nor
autumn either, for that matter. You are all so
young, so deliciously young. Look at Georgie in
there: he’s like a boy still, and as for Mrs Weston,
she’s twenty-five: not a day older.’’

“‘Yes, wonderful woman,’’ said he. ‘‘ Always
agreeable and lively. Handsome, too: I consider
Mrs Weston a very handsome woman. Hasn’t
altered an atom since I knew her.’’

“‘That’s the wonderful thing about you all!’’
said she. ‘‘You are all just as brisk and young
as you were ten years ago. It’s ridiculous. As
for you, I’m not sure that you’re not the most
ridiculous of the lot. I feel as if I had been
having dinner with three delightful cousins a little
younger—not much, but just a little—than my-
self. Gracious! How you all made me romp the
other night here. What a pace you go, Colonel!
What’s your walking like if you call this a
stroll?’’

Colonel Boucher moderated his pace. He
thought Olga had been walking so quickly.

“I’m very sorry,’’ he said. ‘‘Certainly Rise-
holme is a healthy bracing place. Perhaps we do
keep our youth pretty well. God bless me, but, the
days go by without one’s noticing them. To think
232 “QUEEN LUCIA”

that I came here with Atkinson close on ten years
ago.”’

This did very well for Olga: she swiftly
switched off onto it.

“‘Tt’s quite horrid for you losing your ser-
vant,’’ she said. ‘‘Servants do become friends,
don’t they, especially to anyone living alone.
Georgie and Foljambe, now! But I shouldn’t be
a bit surprised if Foljambe had a mistress before
very long.’’

‘“‘No, really? I thought you were just chaffing
him at dinner. Georgie marrying, is he? His
wife’ll take some of his needlework off his hands.
May I—ah—may I enquire the lady’s name?’’

Olga decided to play a great card. She had just
found it, so to speak, in her hand, and it was most
tempting. She stopped.

“But can’t you guess?’’ she said. ‘‘Surely I’m
not absolutely on the wrong track?”’

‘‘Ah, Miss Antrobus,’’ said he. ‘‘The one I
think they call Piggy. No, I should say there was
nothing in that.’’

““Oh, that had never occurred to me,’’ said she.
aa | daresay I’m quite wrong. I only sndged from
what I thought I noticed in poor Georgie. I dare-
say it’s only what he should have done ten years
ago, but I fancy there’s a spark alive still. Let
us talk about something else, though we won’t go
in quite yet, shall we?’’ She felt quite safe in
her apparent reluctance to tell him; the Riseholme
gluttony for news made it imperative for him to
ask more.

“‘Really, I must be very dull,’’ he said. ‘‘T dare-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 233

gay an eye new to the place sees more. Who is it,
Miss Bracely?’’

She laughed.

‘*Ah, how bad a man is at observing a man!”’
she said. ‘‘Didn’t you see Georgie at dinner? He
hardly took his eyes off her.’’

She had a great and glorious reward. Colonel
Boucher’s face grew absolutely blank in the moon-
light with sheer astonishment.

‘Well, you surprise me,’’ he said. ‘‘Surely a
fine woman, though lame, wouldn’t look at a
needle-woman—well, leave it at that.’’

He stamped his feet and put his hands in his
pockets.

“It’s growing a bit chilly,’’ he said. ‘‘You’ll
be catching cold, Miss Bracely, and what will your
husband say if he finds out I’ve been strolling
about with you out of doors after dinner?”’

‘Yes, we’ll go in,”’ she said. ‘‘It is chilly. How
thoughtful you are for me.’’

Georgie little knowing the catspaw that had
been made of him, found himself being detached
from Mrs Weston by the Colonel, and this suited
him very well, for presently Olga said she would
sing, unless anybody minded, and called on him
to accompany her. She stood just behind him,
leaning over him sometimes with a hand on his
shoulder, and sang three ruthless simple English
songs, appropriate to the matter in hand. She
sang, ‘‘I Attempt from Love’s Sickness to Fly,’’
and ‘‘Sally in Our Alley,’’ and ‘‘Come Live with
Me,’’ and sometimes beneath the rustle of leaves
turned over she whispered to him, ‘‘Georgie, I’m
cleverer than anybody ever was, and I shall die in
234 “QUEEN LUCIA”

the night,’’ she said once. Again more enigmati-
cally she said, ‘‘I’ve been a cad, but I’ll tell you
about it when they’ve gone. Stop behind.’’ And
then some whiskey came in, and she insisted on
the ‘‘young people’’ having some of that; finally
she saw them off at the door, and came running
back to Georgie. ‘‘I’ve been a cad,’’ she said,
‘“because I hinted that you were in love with Mrs
Weston. My dear, it was simply perfect! I be-
lieve it to have been the last straw, and if you
don’t forgive me you needn’t. Wasn’t it clever?
He simply couldn’t stand that, for it came on the
top of your all being so young.”’

“Well, really: ”? said Georgie.

“T know. And I must be a cad again. I’m go-
ing up to my bedroom, you may come, too, if you
like, because it commands a view of Church Road.
I shouldn’t sleep a wink unless I knew that he
had gone in with her. It’ll be precisely like Faust
and Marguerite going into the house, and you and
I are Mephistopheles and Martha. Come quick!’’

From the dark of the window they watched Mrs
Weston’s bath-chair being pushed up the lit road.

‘*Tt’s the Colonel pushing it,’’ whispered Olga,
squeezing him into a corner of the window.
‘‘Look! There’s Tommy Luton on the path. Now
they’ve stopped at her gate. . . . I can’t bear
the suspense. . . . Oh, Georgie, they’ve gone
in! And Atkinson will stop, and so will Elizabeth,
and you’ve promised to lend them Foljambe.
Which house will they live at, do you think?
Aren’t you happy?’’

 
CHAPTER XII

Tue miserable Lucia started a run of extreme
bad luck about this time, of which the adventure
or misadventure of the Guru seemed to be the
prelude, or perhaps the news of her want of rec-
ognition of the August moon, which Georgie had
so carefully saluted, may have arrived at that
satellite by October. For she had simply ‘‘cut’’
the August moon. .. .

There was the fiasco about Olga coming to the
tableaux, which was the cause of her sending that
very tart reply, via Miss Lyall, to Lady Amber-
mere’s impertinence, and the very next morning,
Lady Ambermere, coming again into Riseholme,
perhaps for that very purpose, had behaved to-
Lucia as Lucia had behaved to the moon, and cut
her. That was irritating, but the counter-irritant
to it had been that Lady Ambermere had then
gone to Olga’s, and been told that she was not at
home, though she was very audibly practising in
her music-room at the time. Upon which Lady
Ambermere had said ‘‘Home’’ to her people, and
got in with such unconcern of the material world
that she sat down on Pug.

Mrs Quantock had heard both ‘‘Home’’ and
Pug, and told the cut Lucia, who was a hundred
yards away about it. She also told her about the
engagement of Atkinson and Elizabeth, which was
all she knew about events in those houses. On
which Lucia with a kind smile had said, ‘‘Dear

235

L
236 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Daisy, what slaves some people are to their ser-
vants. I am sure Mrs Weston and Colonel
Boucher will be quite miserable, poor things.
Now I must run home. How I wish I could stop
and chat on the green!’’ And she gave her sil-
very laugh, for she felt much better now that
she knew Olga had said she was out to Lady
Ambermere, when she was so audibly in.

Then came a second piece of bad luck. Lucia
had not gone more than a hundred yards past
Georgie’s house, when he came out in a tremen-
dous hurry. He rapidly measured the distance
between himself and Lucia, and himself and Mrs
Quantock, and made a bee-line for Mrs Quantock,
since she was the nearest. Olga had just tele-
phoned to him. .. .

‘“‘Good morning,’’ he said breathlessly, deter-
mined to cap anything she said. ‘‘Any news?’’

“‘Yes, indeed,’’ she said. ‘‘Haven’t you
heard?’’

Georgie had one moment of heart-sink.

““What?’’ he said.

‘‘Atkinson and Hliz——’’ she began.

*‘Oh, that,’’ said he scornfully. ‘‘And talking
of them, of course you’ve heard the rest. Haven’t
you? Why, Mrs Weston and Colonel Boucher are
going to follow their example, unless they set it
themselves, and get married first.’’

‘“‘No!”? said Mrs Quantock in the loudest pos-
sible Riseholme voice of surprise.

“‘Oh, yes. I really knew it last night. I was
dining at Old Place and they were there. Olga
and I both settled there would be something to
“QUEEN LUCIA” 237

talk in the morning. Shall we stroll on the green
a few minutes?’’

Georgie had a lovely time. He hurried from
person to person, leaving Mrs Quantock to pick
up a few further gleanings. Everyone was there
except Lucia, and she, but for the accident of
her being further off than Mrs Quantock, would
have been the first to know.

When this tour was finished Georgie sat to
enjoy the warm comforting glow of envy that sur-
rounded him. Nowadays the meeting place at
the Green had insensibly transferred itself to
just opposite Old Place, and it was extremely in-
teresting to hear Olga practising as she always
did in the morning. Interesting though it was,
Riseholme had at first been a little disappointed
about it, for everyone had thought that she would
sing Brunnhilde’s part or Salome’s part through
every day, or some trifle of that kind. Instead
she would perform an upwards scale in gradual
crescendo, and on the highest most magnificent
note would enunciate at the top of her voice,
“Yawning York!’’ Then starting soft again she
would descend in crescendo to a superb low note
and enunciate ‘‘Love’s Lilies Lonely.’’ Then
after a dozen repetitions of this, she would start
off with full voice, and get softer and softer until
she just whispered that York was yawning, and
do the same with Love’s Lilies. But you never
could tell what she might not sing, and some
mornings there would be long thrills and leapings
onto high notes: long notes and leaping onto
trills, and occasionally: she sang a real song. That
was worth waiting for, and Georgie did not hesi-
238 “QUEEN LUCIA”

tate to let drop that she had sung four last night
to his accompaniment. And hardly had he re-
peated that the third time, when she appeared at
her window, and before all Riseholme called ont
“‘Georgie!’’ with a trill at the end, like a bird
shaking its wings. Before all Riseholme!

So in he went. Had Lucia known that, it would
quite have wiped the gilt off Lady Ambermere’s
being refused admittance. In point of fact it
did wipe the gilt off when, about an hour after-
wards, Georgie went to lunch, because he told her.
And if there had been any gilt left about any-
where, that would have vanished, too, when in
answer to some rather damaging remark she made
about poor Daisy’s interests in the love-affairs of
other people’s servants, she learned that it was of
the love-affairs of their superiors that all Rise-
holme had been talking for at least an hour by
now.

Again there was ill-luck about the tableaux on
Saturday, for in the Brunnhilde scene, Peppino,
in his agitation, turned the lamp that was to be a
sunrise, completely out, and Brunnhilde had to
hail the midnight, or at any rate a very obscure
twilight. Georgie, it is true, with wonderful pres-
ence of mind, turned on an electric light when he
had finished playing, but it was more liké a flash
of lightning than a slow, wonderful dawn. The
tableaux were over well before 10.45, and though
Lucia in answer to the usual pressings, said she
would ‘‘see about’’ doing them again, she felt
that Mrs Weston and Colonel Boucher, who made
their first public appearance as the happy pair,
attracted more than their proper share of atten-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 239

tion. The only consolation was that the romps
that followed at poor Daisy’s were a complete
fiasco. It was in vain, too, at supper, that she
went from table to table, and helped people to
lobster salad and champagne, and had not enough
chairs, and generally imitated all that had appar-
ently made Olga’s party so supreme a success.
But on this occasion the recipe for the dish and
not the dish itself was served up, and the hunt-
ing of the slipper produced no exhilaration in the
ehase. . . «

But far more untoward events followed. Olga
came back on the next Monday, and immediately
after Lucia received a card for an evening ‘‘At
Home,’’ with ‘‘Music’’ in the bottom left-hand
corner. It happened to be wet that afternoon,
and seeing Olga’s shut motor coming from the
station with four men inside, she leaped to the
conclusion that these were four musicians for the
music. A second motor followed with luggage,
and she quite distinctly saw the unmistakable
shape of a ’cello against the window. After that
no more guessing was necessary, for it was clear
that poor Olga had hired the awful string-
quartet from Brinton, that played in the lounge
at the Royal Hotel after dinner. The Brinton
string-quartet! She had heard them once at a
distance and that was quite enough. Lucia shud-
dered as she thought of those doleful fiddlers. It
was indeed strange that Olga with all the oppor-
tunities she had had for hearing good music,
should hire the Brinton string-quartet, but, after
all, that was entirely of a piece with her views
about the gramophone. Perhaps the gramophone
240 “QUEEN LUCIA”

would have its share in this musical evening. But
she had said she would go: it would be very un-
kind to Olga to stop away now, for Olga must
know by this time her passion for music, so she
went. She sincerely hoped that she would not be
conducted to the seat of honour, and be obliged
to say a few encouraging words to the string-
quartet afterwards.

Once again she came rather late, for the music
had bégun. It had only just begun, for she rec-
ognised—who should recognise if not she?—tIle
early bars of a Beethoven quartet. She laid her
hand on Peppino’s arm.

‘‘Brinton: Beethoven,’’ she said limply.

She slipped into a chair next Daisy Quantock,
and sat in her well-known position when listening
to music, with her head forward, her chin resting
on her hand, and the far-away look in her eyes.
Nothing of course could wholly take away the
splendour of that glorious composition, and, she
was pleased that there was no applause between
the movements, for she had rather expected that
Olga would clap, and interrupt the unity of it all.
Occasionally, too, she was agreeably surprised by
the Brinton string-quartet: they seemed to have
some inklings, though not many. Once she winced
very much when a string broke.

Olga (she was rather a restless hostess) came
up to her when it was over.

“‘So glad you could come,’”’ she said. ‘‘Aren’t
they divine?’’

Lucia gave her most indulgent smile.

‘‘Perfect music! Glorious!’’ she said. ‘‘And
they really played it very creditably. But I am
“QUEEN LUCIA” 241

a little spoiled, you know, for the last time I
heard that it was performed by the Spanish
Quartet. I know one ought never to compare, but
have you ever heard the Spanish Quartet, Miss
Bracely?’’

Olga looked at her in surprise.

“But they are the Spanish Quartet!’’ she
said, pointing to the players.

Lucia had raised her voice rather as she spoke,
for when she spoke on music she spoke for every-
body to hear. And a great many people undoubt-
edly did hear, among whom, of course, was Daisy
Quantock. She gave one shrill squeal of laughter,
like a slate-pencil, and from that moment granted
plenary absolution to poor dear Lucia for all her
greed and grabbing with regard to the Guru.

But instantly all Olga’s good-nature awoke:
unwittingly (for her remark that this was the
Spanish Quartet had been a mere surprised
exclamation), she had made a guest of hers un-
comfortable, and must at once do all she could
to remedy that.

“Tt’s a shocking room for echoes, this,’’ she
said. ‘‘Do all of you come up a little nearer, and
you will be able to hear the playing so much
better. You lose all shade, all fineness here. I
came here on purpose to ask you to move up, Mrs
Lucas: there are half a dozen chairs unoccupied
near the platform.’’

It was a kindly intention that prompted the
speech, but for all real Riseholme practical pur-
poses, quite barren, for many people had heard
Lucia’s remarks, and Peppino also had already
been wincing at the Brinton quartet. In that
242 “QUEEN LUCIA”

fell moment the Bolshevists laid bony fingers on
the sceptre of her musical autocracy. . . . But
who would have guessed that Olga would get the
Spanish Quartet from London to come down to
Riseholme?
Staggering from these blows, she had to under-
.go an even shrewder stroke yet. Already in the
intelligence department, she had been sadly
behind-hand in news, her tableaux-party had been
anything but a success, this one little remark of
Olga’s had shaken her musically, but at any rate
up till this moment she had shewn herself mistress
of the Italian tongue, while to strengthen that she
was being very diligent with her dictionary, gram-
mar and Dante’s Paradiso. Then as by a bolt
out of a clear sky that temple, too, was completely
demolished, in the most tragic fashion.

A few days after the disaster of the Spanish-
Brinton Quartet, Olga received a letter from
Signor Cortese, the eminent Italian composer, to
herald the completion of his opera, ‘‘Lucretia.’’
Might he come down to Riseholme for a couple of
nights, and, figuratively, lay it at her feet, in the
hope that she would raise it up, and usher it into
the world? All the time he had been writing it,
as she knew, he had thought of her in the name
part and he would come down today, tomorrow,
at a moment’s notice by day or night to submit
it to her. Olga was delighted and sent an effusive
telegram of many sheets, full of congratulation
and welcome, for she wanted above all things to
‘‘ereate’’ the part. So would Signor Cortese
come down that very day?

She ran upstairs with the news to her husband.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 243

‘‘My dear, ‘Lucretia’ is finished,’’? she said,
‘and that angel practically offers it me. Now what
are we to do about dinner tonight? Jacob and
Jane are coming, and neither you nor they, I sup-
pose, speak one word of Italian, and you know
what mine is, firm and intelligible and operatic but
not conversational. What are wetodo? He hates
talking English. . . . Oh, I know, if I can only
get Mrs Lucas. They always talk Italian, I be-
lieve, at home. I wonder if she can come. She’s
musical, too, and I shall ask her husband, I think:
that’ll be a man over, but it will be another
Italiano——’”’

Olga wrote at once to Lucia, mentioning that
Cortese was staying with them, but, quite natu-
rally, saying nothing about the usefulness of
Peppino and her being able to engage the musician
in his own tongue, for that she took for granted.
An eager affirmative (such a great pleasure) came
back to her, and for the rest of the day, Lucia and
Peppino made up neat little sentences to let off
to the dazzled Cortese, at the moment when they
said ‘‘good-night,’’ to shew that they could have
talked Italian all the time, had there been any
oceasion for doing so.

Mrs Weston and Colonel Boucher had already
arrived when Lucia and her husband entered, and
Lucia had quite a shock to see on what intimate
terms they were with their hostess. They actually
called each other Olga and Jacob and Jane, which
was most surprising and almost painful. Lucia
(perhaps because she had not known about it soon
enough) had been a little satirical about the en-
gagement, rather as if it was a slight on her that
244 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Jacob had not been content with celibacy and
Jane with her friendship, but she was sure she
wished them both ‘‘nothing but well.’’ Indeed the
moment she got over the shock of seeing them so
intimate with Olga, she could not have been sur-
passed in cordiality.

““We see but little of our old friends now,’’ she
said to Olga and Jane jointly, ‘‘but we must ex-
cuse their desire for solitude in their first glow
of their happiness. Peppino and I remember that
sweet time, oh, ever so long ago.’’

This might have been tact, or it might have been
cat. That Peppino and she sympathised as they
remembered their beautiful time was tact, that it
was so long ago was cat. Altogether it might be
described as a cat chewing tact. But there was
a slight air of patronage about it, and if there
was one thing Mrs Weston would not, and could
not and did not even intend to stand, it was that.
Besides it had reached her ears that Mrs Lucas
had said something about there being no difficulty
in finding bridesmaids younger than the bride.

‘‘Hancy! How clever of you to remember so
long ago,’’ she said. ‘‘But, then, you have the
most marvellous memory, dear, and keep it won-
derfully!’’

Olga intervened.

“‘How kind of you and Mr Lucas to come at such
short notice,’’ she said. ‘‘Cortese hates talking
English, so I shall put him between you and me,
and you’ll talk to him all the time, won’t you?
And you won’t laugh at me, will you, when I join
in with my atrocious attempts? And I shall butt-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 245

ress myself on the other side with your husband,
who will firmly talk across me to him.”’

Lucia had to say something. A further ex-
posure was at hand, quite inevitable. It was no
use for her and Peppino to recollect a previous
engagement. . .

“Oh, my Italian is terribly rusty,’’ she said,
knowing that Mrs Weston’s eye was onher. . . .
Why had she not sent Mrs Weston a handsome
wedding-present that morning?

‘“‘Rusty? We will ask Cortese about that when
you’ve had a good talk to him. Ah, here he is!”’

Cortese came into the room, florid and loqua-
cious, pouring out a stream of apology for his
lateness to Olga, none of which was the least in-
telligible to Lucia. She guessed what he was
saying, and next moment Olga, who apparently
understood him perfectly, and told him with an
enviable fluency that he was not late at all, was
introducing him to her, and explaining that ‘‘la
Signora’’ (Lucia understood this) and her hus-
band talked Italian. She did not need to reply
to some torrent of amiable words from him,
addressed to her, for he was taken on and intro-
duced to Mrs Weston, and the Colonel. But he
instantly whirled round to her again, and asked
her something. Not knowing the least what he
meant, she replied:

‘Si: taute grazie.”’

He looked puzzled for a moment and then re-
peated his question in English.

‘In what deestrict of. Italy ’ave you voyaged
most?’’
246 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Lucia understood that: so did Mrs Weston, and
Lucia pulled herself together.

“‘In Rome,’’ she said. ‘‘Che bella citta! Adoro
Roma, e tl mio marito. Non e vere, Peppimo?”’

Peppino cordially assented: the familiar ring
of this fine intelligible Italian restored his confi-
dence, and he asked Cortese whether he was not
very fond of music. . . .

Dinner seemed interminable to Lucia. She kept
a watchful eye on Cortese, and if she saw he was
about to speak to her, she turned hastily to
Colonel Boucher, who sat on her other side, and
asked him something about his cari cant, which
she translated to him. While he answered she
made up another sentence in Italian about the blue
sky or Venice, or very meanly said her husband
had been there, hoping to direct the torrent of
Italian eloquence to him. But she knew that, as
an Italian conversationalist, neither she nor Pep-
pino had a rag of reputation left them, and she
dismally regretted that they had not chosen
French, of which they both knew about as much,
instead of Italian, for the vehicle of their lin-
guistic distinction.

Olga meantime continued to understand all that
Cortese said, and to reply to it with odious fluency,
and at the last, Cortese having said something to
her which made her laugh, he turned to Lucia.

“‘T ’ave said to Meesis Shottlewort’’ . .
and he proceeded to explain his joke in English.

‘“Molto bene,’’ said Lucia with a dying flicker.
“Molto divertente. Non e vero, Peppino.’’

‘“Si, si,’’ said Pepino miserably.

And then the final disgrace came, and it was
“QUEEN LUCIA” 247

something of a relief to have it over. Cortese,
in excellent spirits with his dinner and his wine
and the prospect of Olga taking the part of
Lucretia, turned beamingly to Lucia again.

“‘Now we will all spick English,’’ he said.
‘‘This is one very pleasant evening. I enjoy me
very much. Ecco!”’

Just once more Lucia shot up into flame.

‘‘Parlate Inglese molto bene,’’ she said, and ex-
cept when Cortese spoke to Olga, there was no
more Italian that night.

Even the unique excitement of hearing Olga
“try over’’ the great scene in the last act could
not quite absorb Lucia’s attention after this awful
fiasco, and though she sat leaning forward with
her chin in her hand, and the far-away look in
her eyes, her mind was furiously busy as to how
to make anything whatever out of so bad a job.
Everyone present knew that her Italian, as a
medium for conversation, had suffered a complete
break-down, and it was no longer any real use,
when Olga did not quite catch the rhythm of a
passage, to murmur ‘‘Uno, due, tre’’ uncon-
sciously to herself; she might just as well have
said ‘‘one, two, three’’ for any effect it had on
Mrs Weston. The story would be all over Rise-
holme next day, and she felt sure that Mrs Wes-
ton, that excellent observer and superb reporter,
had not failed to take it all in, and would not fail
to do justice to it. Blow after blow had been
rained upon her palace door, it was little wonder
that the whole building was a-quiver. She had
thought of starting a Dante-class this winter, for
printed Italian, if you had a dictionary and a
248 “QUEEN LUCIA”

translation in order to prepare for the class, could
be easily interpreted: it was the spoken word
which you had to understand without any prep-
aration at all, and not in the least knowing what
was coming, that had presented such insurmount/
able difficulties. And yet who, when the story of
this evening was known, would seek instruction
from a teacher of that sort? Would Mrs Weston
come to her Dante-class? Would she? Would
she? No, she would not.

Lucia lay long awake that night, tossing and
turning in her bed in that delightful apartment in
“‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’’ and reviewing the
fell array of these unlucky affairs. As she eyed
them, black shapes against the glow of her fire-
light, it struck her that the same malevolent influ-
ence inspired them all. For what had caused the
failure and flatness of her tableaux (omitting the
unfortunate incident about the lamp) but the
absence of Olga? Who was it who had occasioned
her unfortunate remark about the Spanish
Quartet but Olga, whose clear duty it had been,
when she sent the invitation for the musical
party, to state (so that there could be no mistake
~ about it) that those eminent performers were to
entrance them? Who could have guessed that
she would have gone to the staggering expense of
having them down from London? The Brinton
quartet was the utmost that any sane imagination
could have pictured, and Lucia’s extremely sane
imagination had pictured just that, with such
extreme vividness that it had never occurred to
her that it could be anybody else. Certainly Olga
should have put ‘‘Spanish Quartet’’ in the bot-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 249

tom left-hand corner instead of ‘‘Music’’ and then
Lucia would have known all about it, and have
been speechless with emotion when they had
finished the Beethoven, and wiped her eyes, and
pulled herself together again. It really looked as
if Olga had laida trap forher. ...

Even more like a trap were the horrid events
of this evening. Trap was not at all too strong
a word for them. To ask her to the house, and
then suddenly spring upon her the fact that she
was expected to talk Italian. . . . Was that an
open, an honourable proceeding? What if Lucia
had actually told Olga (and she seemed to recol-
lect it) that she and Peppino often talked Italian
at home? That was no reason why she should be
expected, off-hand like that, to talk Italian any-
where else. She should have been told what was
expected of her, so as to give her the chance of
having a previous engagement. Lucia hated
underhand ways, and they were particularly
odious in one whom she had been willing to edu-
cate and refine up to the highest standards of
Riseholme. Indeed it looked as if Olga’s nature
was actually incapable of receiving cultivation.
She went on her own rough independent lines,
giving a romp one night, and not coming to the
tableaux on another, and getting the Spanish
Quartet without consultation on a third, and
springing this dreadful Pentecostal party on them
on a fourth. Olga clearly meant mischief: she
wanted to set herself up as leader of Art and
Culture in Riseholme. Her conduct admitted of
no other explanation.

Lucia’s benevolent scheme of educating and re-
250 “QUEEN LUCIA”

fining vanished like morning mists, and through
her drooping eyelids, the firelight seemed strange-
ly red. . . . She had been too kind, too encour-
aging: now she must collect her forces round her
and be stern. As she dozed off to sleep, she
reminded herself to ask Georgie to lunch next
day. He and Peppino and she must have a serious
talk. She had seen Georgie comparatively little
just lately, and she drowsily and uneasily won-
dered how that was.

Georgie by this time had quite got over the
desolation of the moment when standing in the
road opposite Mrs Quantock’s mulberry-tree he
had given vent to that bitter cry of ‘‘More
misery: more unhappiness!’’ His nerves on that
occasion had been worn to fiddlestrings with all
the fuss and fiasco of planning the tableaux, and
thus fancying himself in love had been just the
last straw. But the fact that ke had been Olga’s
chosen confidant in her wonderful scheme of caus-
ing Mrs Weston and the Colonel to get engaged,
and the distinction of being singled out by Olga
to this friendly intimacy, had proved a great
tonic. It was quite clear that the existence of Mr
Shuttleworth constituted a hopeless bar to the
fruition of his passion, and, if he was completely
honest with himself, he was aware that he did not
really hate Mr Shuttleworth for standing in his
path. Georgie was gentle in all his ways, and his
manner of falling in love was very gentle, too.
He admired Olga immensely, he found her stimu-
lating and amusing, and since it was out of the
question really to be her lover, he would have
enjoyed next best to that, being her brother, and
“QUEEN LUCIA” 251

such little pangs of jealousy as he might experi-
ence from time to time, were rather in the nature
of small electric shocks voluntarily received. He
was devoted to her with a warmth that his sup-
posed devotion to Lucia had never kindled in him;
he even went so far as to dream about her in an
agitated though respectful manner. Without be-
ing conscious of any unreality about his senti-
ments, he really wanted to dress up as a lover
rather than to be one, for he could form no notion
at present of what it felt to be absorbed in any-
one else. Life was so full as it was: there really
was no room for anything else, especially if that
something else must be of the quality which ren-
dered everything else colourless.

This state of mind, this quality of emotion was
wholly pleasurable and quite exciting, and in-
stead of crying out ‘‘ More misery! more unhappi-
ness!’’ he could now, as he passed the mulberry,
say to himself ‘‘More pleasures! more happi-
ness !’’

Yet as he ran down the road to lunch with Lucia
he was conscious that she was likely to stand, an
angel perhaps, but certainly one with a flaming
sword, between him and all the interests of the
new life which was undoubtedly beginning to
bubble in Riseholme, and to which Georgie found
it so pleasant to take his little mug, and have it
filled with exhilarating liquid. And if Lucia
proved to be standing in his path, forbidding his
approach, he, too, was armed for combat, with a
revolutionary weapon, consisting of a rolled-up
copy of some of Debussy’s music for the piano—
Olga had lent it him a few days, and he had been
252 “QUEEN LUCIA”

very busy over ‘‘Poissons d’or.’’ He was further
armed by the complete knowledge of the Italian
débacle of last night, which, from his knowledge
of Lucia, he judged must constitute a crisis.
Something would have to happen. . . . Several
times lately Olga had, so to speak, run full-tilt into
Lucia, and had passed on leaving a staggering
form behind her. And in each case, so Georgie
clearly perceived, Olga had not intended to butt
into or stagger anybody. Each time, she had
knocked Lucia down purely by accident, but if
these accidents occurred with such awful fre-
quency, it was to be expected that Lucia would find
another name for them: they would have to be
christened. With all his Riseholme appetite for
complications and events, Georgie guessed that
he was not likely to go empty away from this
lunch. In addition there were other topics of ex-
traordinary interest, for really there had been
very odd experiences at Mrs Quantock’s last
night, when the Italian débacle was going on, a
little way up the road. But he was not going to
bring that out at once.

Lucia hailed him with her most cordial manner,
and with a superb effrontery began to talk
Italian just as usual, though she must have
guessed that Georgie knew all about last night.

‘‘Bon arrivato, amico mio,’’ she said. ‘‘Why,
it must be three days since we met. Che la falto
il signorino? And what have you got there?”’

Georgie, having escaped being caught over
Italian, had made up his mind not to talk any more
ever.

‘‘Oh, they are some little things by Debussy,”

i
“QUEEN LUCIA” 253

he said. ‘‘I want to play one of them to you
afterwards. I’ve just been glancing through it.”’

“‘Bene, molto bene!’’ said she. ‘‘Come into
lunch. But I can’t promise to like it, Georgino.
Isn’t Debussy the man who always makes me
want to howl like a dog at the sound of the gong?
Where did you get these from?’’

‘“‘Olga lent me them,’’ said Georgie negligently.
He really did call her Olga to her face now, by
request.

Lucia’s bugles began to sound.

“Yes, I should think Miss Bracely would admire
that sort of music,’’ she said. ‘‘I suppose I am
too old-fashioned, though I will not condemn your
little pieces of Debussy before I have heard them.
Old-fashioned! Yes! I was certainly too old-
fashioned for the music she gave us last night.
Dio mio!”’

“Oh, didn’t you enjoy it?’’ asked he.

Lutia sat down, without waiting for Peppino.

“‘Poor Miss Bracely!’’ she said. ‘‘It was very
kind of her in intention to ask me, but she would
have been kinder to have asked Mrs Antrobus in-
stead, and have told her not to bring her ear-
trumpet. To hear that lovely voice, for I do her
justice, and there are lovely notes in her voice,
lovely, to hear that voice shrieking and screaming
away, in what she called the great scene, was
simply pitiful. There was no melody, and above
all there was no form. <A musical composition is
like an architectural building; it must be built up
and constructed. How often have I said that!
You must have colour, and you must have line,
254 “QUEEN LUCIA”

otherwise I cannot concede you the right to say
you have music.’’

Lucia finished her egg in a hurry, and put her
elbows on the table.

“‘T hope I am not hide-bound and limited,’’ she
said, ‘‘and I think you will acknowledge, Georgie,
that Iam not. Even in the divinest music of all,
I am not blind to defects, if there are defects. The
Moonlight Sonata, for instance. You have often
heard me say that the two last movements do not
approach the first in perfection of form. And if
I am permitted to criticise Beethoven, I hope I
may be allowed to suggest that Mr Cortese has
not produced an opera which will render Fidelio
ridiculous. But really I am chiefly sorry for Miss
Bracely. I should have thought it worth her while
to render herself not unworthy to interpret Fi-
delio, whatever time and trouble that cost her,
rather than to seek notoriety by helping to foist
on to the world a fresh combination of engine-
whistles and grunts. None vero, Peppino? How
late you are.’’

Lucia had not determined on this declaration of
war without anxious consideration. But it was
quite obvious to her that the enemy was daily gain-
ing strength, and therefore the sooner she came
to open hostilities the better, for it was equally
obvious to her mind that Olga was a pretender to
the throne she had occupied for so long. It was
time to mobilise, and she had first to state her
views and her plan of campaign to the chief of her
staff.

“No, we did not quite like our evening, Peppino
and I, did we, caro?’’ she went on. ‘‘And Mr
“QUEEN LUCIA” 255

Cortese! His appearance! He is like a huge hair-
dresser. His touch on the piano. If you can
imagine a wild bull butting at the keys, you will
have some idea of it. And above all, his Italian!
I gathered that he was a Neapolitan, and we all
know what Neapolitan dialect is like. Tuscans
and Romans, who between them I believe—Lingua
Toscano in Tocca Romana, you remember—know
how to speak their own tongue, find Neapolitans
totally unintelligible. For myself, and I speak
for mio sposo as well, I do not want to under-
stand what Romans do not understand. La bella
lingua is sufficient for me.”’

‘‘T hear that Olga could understand him quite
well,’’ said Georgie betraying his complete knowl-
edge of all that had happened.

“‘That may be so,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘I hope she
understood his English too, and his music. He
had not an ‘h’ when he spoke English, and I have
not the slightest doubt in my own mind that his
Italian was equally illiterate. It does not matter;
I do not see that Mr Cortese’s linguistic accom-
plishments concern us. But his music does, if
poor Miss Bracely, with her lovely notes, is going
to study it, and appear as Lucretia. I am sorry
if that is so. Any news?”’

Really it was rather magnificent, and it was war
as well; of that there could not be the slightest
doubt. All Riseholme, by this time, knew that
Lucia and Peppino had not been able to under-
stand a word of what Cortese had said, and here
was the answer to the back-biting suggestion,
vividly put forward by Mrs Weston on the green
that morning, that the explanation was that Lucia
256 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and Peppino did not know Italian. They could not
reasonably be expected to know Neapolitan dia-
lect; the language of Dante satisfied their humble
needs. They found it difficult to understand Cor-
tese when he spoke English, but that did not imply
that they did not know English. Dante’s tongue
and Shakespeare’s tongue sufficed them... .

“¢ And what were the words of the libretto like?’
asked Georgie.

Lucia fixed him with her beady eyes, ready and
eager to show how delighted she was to bestow
approbation wherever it was deserved.

‘““Wonderful!’’ she said. ‘‘I felt, and so did
Peppino, that the words were as utterly wasted on
that formless music as was poor Miss Bracely’s
voice. How did it go, Peppino? Let me think!’’

Lucia raised her head again with the far-away
look.

‘Amore misterio!’’? she said. ‘‘Amore pro-
fondo! Amore profondo del vasto mar.’’ Ah,
there was our poor bella lingua again. I wonder
who wrote the libretto.’’

“‘Mr Cortese wrote the libretto,’’ said Georgie.

Lucia did not hesitate for a moment, but gave
her silvery laugh.

“Oh, dear me, no,’’ she said. ‘‘If you had heard
him talk you would know he could not have. Well,
have we not had enough of Mr Cortese and his
works? Any news? What did you do last night,
when Peppino and I were in our purgatorio?”’

Georgie was almost equally glad to get off the
subject of Italian. The less said in or of Italian
the better.

“T was dining with Mrs Quantock,’’ he said.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 257

‘‘She had a very interesting Russian woman stay-
ing with her, Princess Popoffski.’’

Lucia laughed again.

‘“‘Dear Daisy!’’ she said. ‘‘Tell me about the
Russian princess. Was she a Guru? Dear me,
how easily some people are taken in! The Guru!
Well, we were all in the same boat there. We
took the Guru on poor Daisy’s valuation, and I
still believe he had very remarkable gifts, curry-
cook or not. But Princess Popoffski now——”’

‘*We had a séance,’’ said Georgie.

“Indeed! And Princess Popoffski was the
medium ?’’

Georgie grew a little dignified.

“Tt is no use adopting that tone, cara,’’ he said,
relapsing into Italian. ‘‘You were not there;
you were having your purgatory at Olga’s. It
was very remarkable. We touched hands all round
the table; there was no possibility of fraud.’’

Lucia’s views on psychic phenomena were
clearly known to Riseholme; those who produced
them were fraudulent, those who were taken in
by them were dupes. Consequently there was
irony in the baby-talk of her reply.

‘‘Me dood!’’ she said. ‘‘Me very dood, and
listen carefully. Tell Lucia!’’

Georgie recounted the experiences. The table
had rocked and tapped out names. The table had
whirled round, though it was a very heavy table.
Georgie had been told that he had two sisters, one
of whom in Latin was a bear.

‘“‘How did the table know that??? he asked.
“Ursa, a bear, you know. And then, while we
were sitting there, the Princess went off into a
258 “QUEEN LUCIA”

trance. She said there was a beautiful spirii
present, who blessed us all. She called Mrs Quan-
tock Margarita, which, as you may know, is the
Italian for Daisy.”’

Lucia smiled.

‘“‘Thank you for explaining, Georgino,’’ she
said.

There was no mistaking the irony of that, and
Georgie thought he would be ironical too.

“‘T didn’t know if you knew,’’ he said. ‘‘I
thought it might be Neapolitan dialect.’’

‘‘Pray, go on!’’ said Lucia, breathing through
her nose. _

‘‘And she said I was Georgie,’’ said Georgie,
“‘but that there was another Georgie not far off.
That was odd, because Olga’s house, with Mr
Shuttleworth, were so close, And then the Prin-
cess went into very deep trance, and the spirit
that was there took possession of her.’’

“And who was that?’’ asked Lucia.

“His name was Amadeo. She spoke in
Amadeo’s voice, indeed it was Amadeo who was
speaking. He was a Florentine and knew Dante
quite well. He materialised; I saw him.”’

A bright glorious vision flashed upon Lucia.
The Dante-class might not, even though it was
clearly understood that Cortese spoke unintelligi-
ble Neapolitan, be a complete success, if the only
attraction was that she herself taught Dante, but
it would be quite a different proposition if Prin-'
cess Popoffski, controlled by Amadeo, Dante’s
friend, was present. They might read a Canto
first, and then hold a séance of which Amadeo—
via Princess Popoffski—would take charge. While
“QUEEN LUCIA” 259

this was simmering in her mind, it was important
to drop all irony and be extremely sympathetic.

‘‘Georgino! How wonderful!’’ she said. ‘‘As
you know, I am sceptical by nature, and want all
evidence carefully sifted. I daresay I am too criti-
eal, and that is a fault. But fancy getting in
touch with a friend of Dante’s! What would one
not give? Tell me: what is this Princess like?
Is she the sort of person one could ask to dinner?’’

Georgie was still sore over the irony to which
he had been treated. He had, moreover, the solid
fact behind him that Daisy Quantock (Margarita)
had declared that in no circumstances would she
permit Lucia to annex her Princess. She had for-
given Lucia for annexing the Guru (and con-
sidering that she had only annexed a curry-cook,
it was not so difficult) but she was quite deter-
mined to run her Princess herself.

“Yes, you might ask her,’’ he said. If irony
was going about, there was no reason why he
should not have a share.

Lucia bounced from her seat, as if it had been
a spring cushion.

‘“‘We will have a little party,’’ she said. ‘‘We
three, and dear Daisy and her husband and the
Princess. I think that will be enough; psychics
hate a crowd, because it disturbs the influences.
Mind! I do not say I believe in her power yet,
but I am quite open-minded; I should like to be
convinced. Let me see! We are doing nothing
tomorrow. Let us have our little dinner tomor-
row. I will send a line to dear Daisy at once, and
say how enormously your account of the séance
has interested me. I should like dear Daisy to
260 “QUEEN LUCIA”

have something to console her for that terrible
fiasco about her Guru. And then, Georgino mio,
I will listen to your Debussy. Do not expect
anything; if it seems to me formless, I shall say
so. But if it seems to me promising, I shall be
equally frank. Perhaps it is great; I cannot tell
‘ you about that till I have heard it. Let me write
my note first.’’

That was soon done, and Lucia, having sent it
by hand, came into the music-room, and drew
down the blinds over the window through which
the autumn sun was streaming. Very little art, as
she had once said, would ‘‘stand’’ daylight; only
Shakespeare or Dante or Beethoven and perhaps
Bach, could compete with the sun.

Georgie, for his part, would have liked rather
more light, but after all Debussy wrote such very
odd chords and sequences that it was not neces-
sary to wear his spectacles.

Lucia sat in a high chair near the piano, with
her chin in her hand, tremendously erect.

Georgie took off his rings and laid them on the
candle-bracket, and run his hands nimbly over the
piano.

‘Poissons d’or’’ he said. ‘‘Goldfish!”’

‘‘Yes; Pesci d’oro,’’ said Lucia, explaining it
to Peppino.

Lucia’s face changed as the elusive music pro-
ceeded. The far-away look died away, and be-
came puzzled; her chin came out of her hand, and
the hand it came out of covered her eyes.

Before Georgie had got to the end the answer
to her note came, and she sat with it in her hand,
which, released from covering her eyes, tried to
. “QUEEN LUCIA” 261

beat time. On the last note she got up with a
regretful sigh.

“Ts it finished?’’ she asked. ‘‘And yet I feel
inclined to say ‘When is it going to begin?’ I
haven’t been fed; I haven’t drank in anything.
Yes, I warned you I should be quite candid. And
there’s my verdict. ITamsorry. Me vewy sowwy!
But you played it, I am sure, beautifully, Geor-
gino; you were a buono avvocato; you said all that
could be said for your client. Shall I open this
note before we discuss it more fully? Give Geor-
gino a cigarette, Peppino! 1 am sure he deserves
one, after all those accidentals.’’

She pulled up the blind again in order to read
her note, and as she read her face clouded.

“‘Ah! Iam sorry for that,’’ she said. ‘‘Peppino,
the Princess does not go out in the evening; they
always have a séance there. I daresay Daisy
means to ask us some evening soon. We will keep
an evening or two open. It is a long time since I
have seen dear Daisy; I will pop round this after-
noon.”’
CHAPTER XIII

Spiriruatism, and all things pertaining to it,
swept over Riseholme like the amazing growth of
some tropical forest, germinating and shooting
out its surprising vegetation, and rearing into
huge fantastic shapes. In the centre of this won-
derful jungle was a temple, so to speak, and that
temple was the house of Mrs Quantock. ...

A strange Providence was the origin of it all.
Mrs Quantock, a week before, had the toothache,
and being no longer in the fold of Christian
Science, found that it was no good at all to tell
herself that it was a false claim. False claim it
might be, but it was so plausible at once that it
quite deceived her, and she went up to London to
have its falsity demonstrated by a dentist. Since
the collapse of Yoga and the flight of the curry-
cook, she had embarked on no mystical adventure,
and she starved for some new fad. Then when
her first visit to the dentist was over (the tooth
required three treatments) and she went to a vege-
tarian restaurant to see if there was anything en-
lightening to be got out of that, she was delighted
to find herself sitting at a very small table with a
very communicative lady who ate cabbages in
perfectly incredible quantities. She had a round
pale face like the moon behind the clouds, enor-
mous eyebrows that almost met over her nose, and
a strange low voice, of husky tone, and a pro-

262
“QUEEN LUCIA” 263

nunciation quite as foreign as Signor Cortese’s.
She wore some very curious rings with large en-
graved amethysts and turquoises in them, and
since in the first moments of their conversation
she had volunteered the information that vege-
tarianism was the only possible diet for any who
were cultivating their psychical powers, Mrs
‘Quantock asked her if these weird finger-orna-
ments had any mystical signification. They had;
one was Gnostic, one was Rosicrucian, and the
other was Cabalistic. ... It is easy to picture
Mrs Quantock’s delight; adventure had met her
with smiling mouth and mysterious eyes. In the
course of an animated conversation of half an
hour, the lady explained that if Mrs Quantock
was, like her, a searcher after psychical truths,
and cared to come to her flat at half-past four that
afternoon, she would try to help her. She added
with some little diffidence that the fee for a séance
was a guinea, and, as she left, took a card out of a
case, encrusted with glowing rubies, and gave it
her. That was the Princess Popoffski.

Now here was a curious thing. For the last
few evenings at Riseholme, Mrs Quantock had
been experimenting with a table, and found that
it creaked and tilted and tapped in the most en-
couraging way when she and Robert laid their
hands on it. Then something—whatever it was
that moved the table—had indicated by raps that
her name was Daisy and his Robert, as well as
giving them other information, which could not
so easily be verified. Robert had grown quite
excited about it, and was vexed that the séances
were interrupted by his wife’s expedition to Lon-
264 - “QUEEN LUCIA”

don. But now how providential that was. She
had walked straight from the dentist into the arms
of Princess Popoffski.

It was barely half-past four when Mrs Quan-
tock arrived at the Princess’s flat, in a pleasant
quiet side street off Charing Cross Road. A small
dapper little gentleman received her, who
explained that he was the Princess’s secretary,
and conducted her through several small rooms
into the presence of the Sybil. These rooms, so
Mrs Quantock thrillingly noticed, were dimly lit
by oil lamps that stood in front of shrines con-
taining images of the great spiritual guides from
Moses down to Madame Blavatski, a smell of in-
cense hung about, there were vases of flowers on
the tables, and strange caskets set with winking
stones. In the last of these rooms the Princess
was seated, and for the moment Mrs Quantock
hardly recognised her, for she wore a blue robe,
which left her massive arms bare, and up them
writhed serpent-shaped bracelets of many coils.
She fixed her eyes on Mrs Quantock, as if she had
never seen her before, and made no sign of recog-
nition.

“The Princess has been meditating,’’ said the
secretary in a whisper. ‘‘She’ll come to herself
presently.”’

For a moment meditation unpleasantly re-
minded Mrs Quantock of the Guru, but nothing
could have been less like that ill-starred curry-
cook than this majestic creature. Eventually she
gave a great sigh and came out of her meditation.

‘“Ah, it is my friend,’’ she said. ‘‘Do you know
that you have a purple halo?’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 265

This was very gratifying, especially when it
was explained that only the most elect had purple
halos, and soon other elect souls assembled for the
séance. In the centre of the table was placed a
musical box and a violin, and hardly had the
circle been made, and the lights turned down,
when the most extraordinary things began to
happen. A perfect storm of rappings issued
from the table, which began to rock violently, and
presently there came peals of laughter in a high ~
voice, and those who had been here before said
that it was Pocky. He was a dear naughty boy,
so Mrs Quantock’s neighbour explained to her, so |
full of fun, and when on earth had been a Hun-
garian violinist. Still invisible, Pocky wished them
all much laughter and joy, and then suddenly said
“*Ullo, ’ullo, ’ere’s a new friend. I like her,’’
and Mrs Quantock’s neighbour, with a touch of
envy in her voice, told her that Pocky clearly
meant her. Then Pocky said that they had been
having heavenly music on the other side that day,
and that if the new friend would say ‘‘Please,”’’
he would play them some of it.

So Mrs Quantock, trembling with emotion, said
“Please, Pocky,’’ and instantly he began to play
on the violin the spirit tune which he had just
been playing on the other side. After that, the
violin clattered back onto the middle of the table
again, and Pocky, blowing showers of kisses to
them all, went away amid peals of happy laugh-
ter.

Silence fell, and then a deep bass voice said, ‘‘T
am coming, Amadeo!’’ and out of the middle of
the table appeared a faint luminousness. It grew
266 “QUEEN LUCIA”

upwards and began to take form. Swathes of
white muslin shaped themselves in the darkness,
and there appeared a white face, in among the
topmost folds of the muslin, with a Roman nose
and a melancholy expression. He was not gay
like Pocky, but he was intensely impressive, and
spoke some lines in Italian, when asked to repeat
a piece of Dante. Mrs Quantock knew they were
Italian, because she recognised ‘‘notte’’ and
‘“‘yno’’? and ‘‘caro,’’ familiar words on Lucia’s
lips.

The séance came to an end, and Mrs Quantock
having placed a guinea with the utmost alacrity
in a sort of offertory plate which the Princess’s
secretary negligently but prominently put down
on a table in one of the other rooms, waited to
arrange for another séance. But most unfortu-
nately the Princess was leaving town next day on
a much needed holiday, for she had been giving
three séances a day for the last two months and
required rest.

“Yes, we’re off tomorrow, the Princess and I,’’
said he, ‘‘for a week at the Royal Hotel at Brin-
ton. Pleasant bracing air, always sets her up.
‘But after that she’ll be back in town. Do you
know that part of the country?’’

Daisy could hardly believe her ears.

“‘Brinton?’’ she said. ‘‘I live close to Brin-
ton.’’

Her whole scheme flashed completely upon her,
even as Athene sprang full-grown from the brain
of Zeus.

“Do you think that she might be induced to
spend a few days with me at Riseholme?’’ she
“QUEEN LUCIA” 267

said. ‘‘My husband and I are so much interested
in psychical things. You would be our guest, too,
I hope. If she rested for a few days at Brinton |
first? If she came on to me afterwards? And then
if she was thoroughly rested, perhaps she would
give us a séance or two. I don’t know-——”’

Mrs Quantock felt a great diffidence in speaking
of guineas in the same sentence with Princesses,
and had to make another start.

‘«Tf she were thoroughly rested,’’ she said, ‘‘and
if a little circle perhaps of four, at the usual price
would be worth her while. Just after dinner, you
know, and nothing else to do all day but rest.
There are pretty drives and beautiful air. All
very quiet, and I think I may say more comfor-
table than the hotel. It would be such a pleasure.”’

Mrs Quantock heard the clinking of bracelets
from the room where the Princess was still re-
posing, and there she stood in the door, looking
unspeakably majestic, but very gracious. So Mrs
Quantock put her proposition before her, the
secretary coming to the rescue on the subject of
the usual fees, and when two days afterwards

‘Mrs Quantock returned to Riseholme, it was to
get ready the spare room and Robert’s room next
it for these thrilling visitors, whose first séance
Georgie and Piggie had attended, on the evening
of the Italian débacle. .. .

The Quantocks had taken a high and magnifi-
cent line about the ‘‘usual fees’’ for the séances,
an expensive line, but then Roumanian oils had
been extremely prosperous lately. No mention
whatever of these fees was made to their guests,
no offertory-plate was put in a prominent position
268 “QUEEN LUCIA”

in the hall, there was no fumbling for change or
the discreet pressure of coins into the secretary’s
hand; the entire cost was borne by Roumanian
oils. The Princess and Mrs Quantock, apparently,
were old friends; they spoke to each other at
dinner as ‘‘dear friend,’’ and the Princess de-
clared in the most gratifying way that they had
been most intimate in a previous incarnation,
without any allusion to the fact that in this in-
carnation they had met for the first time last
week at a vegetarian restaurant. She was kind
enough, it was left to be understood, to give a
little séance after dinner at the house of her x dear
friend,’’ and so, publicly, the question of money
never came up.

Now the Princess was to stay three nights, and
therefore, as soon as Mrs Quantock had made sure
of that, she proceeded to fill up each of the séances
without asking Lucia to any of them. It was not
that she had not fully forgiven her for her odious
grabbing of the Guru, for she had done that on
the night of the Spanish quartette; it was rather
that she meant to make sure that there would by
no possibility be anything to forgive concerning
her conduct with regard to the Princess. Lucia
could not grab her and so call Daisy’s powers of
forgiveness into play again, if she never came
near her, and Daisy meant to take proper precau-
tions that she should not come near here. Accord-
ingly Georgie and Piggy were asked to the first
séance (if it did not go very well, it would not
particularly matter with them), Olga and Mr Shut-
tleworth were bidden to the second, and Lady
Ambermere with Georgie again to the third. This
“QUEEN LUCIA” 269

—quite apart from the immense interest of psychic
phenomena—was deadly work, for it would be
bitter indeed to Lucia to know, as she most un-
doubtedly would, that Lady Ambermere, who had
cut her so firmly, was dining twice and coming to
a séance. Daisy, it must again be repeated, had
quite forgiven Lucia about the Guru, but Lucia
must take the consequences of what she had done.

It was after the first séance that the frenzy for
spiritualism seized Riseholme. The Princess with
great good-nature, gave some further exhibitions
of her psychical power in addition to the séances,
and even as Georgie the next afternoon was re-
ceiving Lucia’s cruel verdict about Debussy, the
Sybil was looking at the hands of Colonel Boucher
and Mrs Weston, and unerringly probing into
their past, and lifting the corner of the veil, giv-
ing them both glimpses into the future. She knew
that thetwo were engaged for that she had
learned from Mrs Quantock in her morning’s
drive, and did not attempt to conceal the fact, but
how could it be accounted for that looking impres-
sively from the one to the other, she said that a
woman no longer young but tall, and with fair hair
had crossed their lives and had been connected
with one of them for years past? It was impossi-
ble to describe Elizabeth more accurately than
that, and Mrs Weston in high excitement con-
fessed that her maid who had been with her for
fifteen years entirely corresponded with what the
Princess had seen in her hand. After that it
took only a moment’s further scrutiny for the
Princess to discover that Elizabeth was going to
be happy too. Then she found that there was a
270 “QUEEN LUCIA”

man connected with Elizabeth, and Colonel
Boucher’s hand, to which she transferred her
gaze, trembled with delightful anticipation. She
seemed to see a man there; she was not quite sure,
but was there a man who perhaps had been known
to him for a long time? There was. And then by
degrees the affairs of Elizabeth and Atkinson
were unerringly unravelled. It was little wonder
that the Colonel pushed Mrs Weston’s bath-chair
with record speed to ‘‘Ye signe of ye daffodil,’’
and by the greatest good luck obtained a copy of
the ‘‘Palmist’s Manual.’’

At another of these informal séances attended
by Goosie and Mrs Antrobus, even stranger things
had happened, for the Princess’s hands, as they
held a little preliminary conversation, began to
tremble and twitch even more strongly than
Colonel Boucher’s, and Mrs Quantock hastily sup-
plied her with a pencil and a quantity of sheets of
foolscap paper, for this trembling and twitching
implied that Reschia, an ancient Egyptian priest-
ess, was longing to use the Princess’s hand for
automatic writing. After a few wild scrawls and
plunges with the pencil, the Princess, though she
still continued to talk to them, covered sheet after
sheet in large flowing handwriting. This, when it
was finished and the Princess sunk back in her
chair, proved to be the most wonderful spiritual
discourse, describing the happiness and harmony ,
which pervaded the whole universe, and was only.
temporarily obscured by the mists of materiality.
These mists were wholly withdrawn from the
vision of those who had passed over. They lived
in the midst of song and flowers and light and
“QUEEN LUCIA” 271

love. . . . Towards the end there was a less intel-
ligible passage about fire from the clouds. It was
rendered completely intelligible the very next day
when there was a thunderstorm, surely an unusual
occurrence in November. If that had not hap-
pened Mrs Quantock’s interpretation of it, as
referring to Zeppelins, would have been found
equally satisfactory. It was no wonder after that,
that Mrs Antrobus, Piggy and Goosie spent long
evenings with pencils and paper, for the Princess
said that everybody had the gift of automatic
writing, if they would only take pains and patience
to develop it. Everybody had his own particular
guide, and it was the very next day that Piggy
obtained a script clearly signed Annabel Nicostra-
tus and Jamifleg followed very soon after for her
mother and sister, and so there was no jealousy.
But the crown and apex of these manifestations
was undoubtedly the three regular séances which
took place to the three select circles after dinner.
Musical boxes resounded, violins gave forth rav-
ishing airs, the sitters were touched by unseen
fingers when everybody’s hands were touching all
around the table, and from the middle of it mate-
rialisations swathed in muslin were built up. Pocky
came, visible to the eye, and played spirit music.
Amadeo, melancholy and impressive, recited
Dante, and Cardinal Newman, not visible to the
eye but audible to the ear, joined in the singing
‘Lead, Kindly Light,’’? which the secretary re-
quested them to encourage him with, and blessed
them profusely at the conclusion. Lady Amber-
mere was so much impressed, and so nervous of
driving home alone, that she insisted on Georgie’s
272 “QUEEN LUCIA”

going back to the Hall with her, and consigning
her person to Pug and Miss Lyall, and for the
three days of the Princess’s visit, there was prac-
tically no subject discussed at the parliaments on
the Green, except the latest manifestations. Olga
went to town for a crystal, and Georgie for a plan-
chette, and Riseholme temporarily became a spir-
itualistic republic, with the Princess as priestess
and Mrs Quantock as President.

Lucia, all this time, was almost insane with
pique and jealousy, for she sat in vain waiting for
an invitation to come to a séance, and would, long
before the three days were over, have welcomed
with enthusiasm a place at one of the inferior
and informal exhibitions. Since she could not
procure the Princess for dinner, she asked Daisy
to bring her to lunch or tea or at any hour day or
night which was convenient. She made Peppino
hang about opposite Daisy’s house, with orders to
drop his stick, or let his hat blow off, if he saw
even the secretary coming out of the gate, so as
possibly to enter into conversation with him,
while she positively forced herself one morning
into Daisy’s hall, and cried ‘‘Margarita’’ in sil-
very tones. On this occasion Margarita came out
of the drawing-room with a most determined ex-
pression on her face, and shut the door carefully
behind her.

‘‘Dearest Lucia,’’ she said, ‘‘how nice to see
you! What is it?”

“‘T just popped in for a chat,’’ said she. ‘‘T
haven’t set eyes on you since the evening of the
Spanish quartette.’’

“*No! So long ago as that is it? Well, you must
j “QUEEN LUCIA” 273

come in again sometime very soon, won’t you?
The day after tomorrow I shall be much less busy.
Promise to look in then.”’

“You have a visitor with you, have you not?”’
asked Lucia desperately.

“‘Yes! Two, indeed, dear friends of mine. But
I am afraid you would not like them. I know
your opinion about anything connected with spir-
itualism, and—isn’t it silly of us?—we’ve been
dabbling in that.’’

‘‘Oh, but how interesting,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘I—I
am always ready to learn, and alter my opinions
if [ am wrong.’’

Mrs Quantock did not move from in front of
the drawing-room door.

‘*Yes?’’ she said. ‘‘Then we will have a great
talk about it, when you come to see me the day
after tomorrow. But I know I shall find you hard
to convince.”’

She kissed the tips of her fingers in a manner
so hopelessly final that there was nothing to do
but go away.

Then with poor generalship, Lucia altered her
tactics, and went up to the Village Green where
Piggy was telling Georgie about the script signed
Annabel. This was repeated again for Lucia’s
benefit.

‘‘Wasn’t it too lovely?’’ said Piggy. ‘‘So Anna-
bel’s my guide, and she writes a hand quite unlike
mine.’’

Lucia gave a little scream, and put her fingers
to her ears.

“‘Gracious me!’’ she said. ‘‘What has come
over Riseholme? Wherever I go I hear nothing
274 “QUEEN LUCIA”

but talk of séances, and spirits, and automatic
writing. Such a pack of nonsense, my dear Piggy.
I wonder at a sensible girl like you.’’

Mrs Weston, propelled by the Colonel, whirled
up in her bath-chair.

‘¢¢The Palmist’s Manual’ is too wonderful,”’
she said, ‘‘and Jacob and I sat up over it till I
don’t know what hour. There’s a break in his
line of life, just at the right place, when he was so
ill in Egypt, which is most remarkable, and when
Tommy Luton brought round my bath-chair this
morning—TI had it at the garden-door, because the
gravel’s just laid at my front-door, and the wheels
sink so far into it—‘Tommy,’ I said, ‘let me look
at your hand a moment,’ and there on his line of
fate, was the little cross that means bereavement.
It came just right, didn’t it, Jacob? when he was
thirteen, for he’s fourteen this year, and Mrs
Luton died just a year ago. Of course I didn’t
tell Tommy that, for I only told him to wash his
hands, but it was most curious. And has your
planchette come yet, Mr Georgie? I shall be most
anxious to know what it writes, so if you’ve got
an evening free any night soon just come round
for a bit of dinner, and we’ll make an evening of
it, with table turning and planchette and palmis-
try. Now tell me all about the séance the first
night. I wish I could have been present at a real
séance, but of course Mrs Quantock can’t find
room for everybody, and I’m sure it was most
kind of her to let the Colonel and me come in
yesterday afternoon. We were thrilled with it,
and who knows but that the Princess didn’t write
the Palmist’s Manual for on the title page it says
“QUEEN LUCIA” 275

it’s by P. and that might be Popoffski as easily as
not, or perhaps Princess.”’

This allusion to there not being room for every-
body was agony to Lucia. She laughed in her most
silvery manner.

_ “Or, perhaps Peppino,’’ she said. ‘‘I must ask
mio caro if he wrote it. Or does it stand for Pill-
son? Georgino, are you the author of the Palm-
ist’s Manual? Ecco! I believe it was you.’’

This was not quite wise, for no one detested
irony more than Mrs Weston, or was sharper to
detect it. Lucia should never have been ironical
just then, nor indeed have dropped into Italian.

“‘No!’’ she said. ‘‘I’m sure it was neither Il
Signor Peppino nor I] Signor Pillson who wrote
it. I believe it was the Principessa. So, ecco!
And did we not have a delicious evening at Miss
Bracely’s the other night? Such lovely singing,
and so interesting to learn that Signor Cortese
made it all up. And those lovely words, for though
I didn’t understand much of them, they sounded
so exquisite. And fancy Miss Bracely talking
Italian so beautifully when we none of us knew she
talked it at all.”’

Mrs Weston’s amiable face was crimson with
suppressed emotion, of which these few words
were only the most insignificant leakage, and a
very awkward pause succeeded, which was luckily
broken by everybody beginning to talk again very
fast and brightly. Then Mrs Weston’s chair
scudded away, Piggy skipped away to the stocks
where Goosie was sitting with a large sheet of
foolscap, in case her hand twitched for automatic
276 “QUEEN LUCIA”

script, and Lucia turned to Georgie, who alone
was left.

“‘Poor Daisy!’’ she said. ‘‘I dropped in just
now, and really I found her very odd and strange.
What with her crazes for Christian Science, and
Uric Acid and Gurus and Mediums, one wonders
if she is quite sane. So sad! I should be dread-
fully sorry if she had some mental collapse; that
sort of thing is always so painful. But I know of
a first-rate place for rest-cures; I think it would
be wise if I just casually dropped the name of it to
Mr Robert, in case. And this last craze seems so
terribly infectious. Fancy Mrs Weston dabbling
in palmistry! It is too comical, but I hope I did
not hurt her feelings by suggesting that Peppino
or you wrote the Manual. It is dangerous to make
little jokes to poor Mrs Weston.’’

Georgie quite agreed with that, but did not
think it necessary to say in what sense he agreed
with it. Every day now Lucia was pouring floods
of light on a quite new side of her character, which
had been undeveloped, like the print from some
photographic plate lying in the dark so long as
she was undisputed mistress of Riseholme. But,
so it struck him now, since the advent of Olga,
she had taken up a critical ironical standpoint,
which previously she had reserved for Londoners.
At every turn she had to criticise and condemn
where once she would only have praised. So few
months ago, there had been that marvellous
Heightum garden party, when Olga had sung long
after Lady Ambermere had gone away. That was
her garden party; the splendour and success of
it had been hers, and no one had been allowed to
“QUEEN LUCIA” 277

forget that until Olga came back again. But the
moment that happened, and Olga began to sing on
her own account (which after all, so Georgie
thought, she had a perfect right to do), the whole
aspect of affairs was changed. She romped, and
Riseholme did not like romps; she sang in church,
and that was theatrical; she gave a party with the
Spanish quartette, and Brinton was publicly
credited with the performance. Then had come
Mrs Quantock and her Princess, and, lo, it would
be kind to remember the name of an establishment
for rest-cures, in the hope of saving poor Daisy’s
sanity. Again Colonel Boucher and Mrs Weston
were intending to get married, and consulted a
Palmist’s Manual, so they too helped to develop
as with acid the print that had lain so long in the
dark.

“Poor thing!’’ said Lucia, ‘‘it is dreadful to
have no sense of humour, and I’m sure I hope that
Colonel Boucher will thoroughly understand that
she has none before he speaks the fatal words.
But then he has none either, and I have often
noticed that two people without any sense of
humour find each other most witty and amusing.
A sense of humour, I expect, is not a very common
gift; Miss Bracely has none at all, for I do not call.
romping humour. As for poor Daisy, what can
rival her solemnity in sitting night after night
round a table with someone who may or may not
be a Russian princess—Russia of course is a very
large place, and one does not know how many
princesses there may be there—and thrilling over
a pot of luminous paint and a false nose and call-
ing it Amadeo the friend of Dante.’’
278 “QUEEN LUCIA”

This was too much for Georgie.

‘‘But you asked Mrs Quantock and the Beibbesd
to dine with you,”’’ he said, ‘‘and hoped there would
be a séance afterwards. You wouldn’t have done
that, if you thought it was only a false nose and
a pot of luminous paint.”’

“‘T may have been impulsive,’’ said Lucia speak-
ing very rapidly. ‘‘I daresay I’m impulsive, and
if my impulses lie in the direction of extending
such poor hospitality as I can offer to my friends,
and their friends, I am not ashamed of them. Far
otherwise. But when I see and observe the awful
effect of this so-called spiritualism on people
whom I should have thought sensible and well-
balanced—I do not include poor dear Daisy
among them—then I am only thankful that my
impulses did not happen to lead me into counte-
nancing such piffle, as your sister so truly ob-
served about poor Daisy’s Guru.”’

They had come opposite Georgie’s house, and
suddenly his drawing-room window was thrown
up. Olga’s head looked out.

“‘Don’t have a fit, Georgie, to find me here’’
she said. ‘‘Good morning, Mrs Lucas; you were
behind the mulberry, and I didn’t see you. But
something’s happened to my kitchen range, and
I can’t have Junch at home. Do give me some.
I’ve brought my crystal, and we’ll gaze and gaze.
I can see nothing at present except my own nose
and the window. Are you psychical, Mrs Lucas?”’

This was the last straw; all Lucia’s grievances
had been flocking together like swallows for their
flight, and to crown all came this open annexation
of Georgie. There was Olga, sitting in his win-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 279

dow, all unasked, and demanding lunch, with her
silly ridiculous crystal in her hand, wondering if
Lucia was psychical.

Her silvery laugh was a little shrill. It started
a full tone above its normal pitch.

“No, dear Miss Bracely,’’ she said. ‘‘I am
afraid I am much too commonplace and matter-of-
fact to care about such things. It is a great loss
I know, and deprives me of the pleasant society
of Russian princesses. But we are all made dif-
ferently; that is very lucky. I must get home,
Georgie.’’

It certainly seemed very lucky that everyone
was not precisely like Lucia at that moment, or
there would have been quarrelling.

She walked quickly off, and Georgie entered his
house. Lucia had really been remarkably rude,
and, if allusion was made to it, he was ready to
confess that she seemed a little worried. Friend-
ship would allow that, and candour demanded it.
But no allusion of any sort was made. There was
a certain flush on Olga’s face, and she explained
that she had been sitting over the fire.

The Princess’s visit came to an end next day,
and all the world knew that she was going back
to London by the 11.00 a. m. express. Lady Amber- -
mere was quite aware of it, and drove in with
Pug and Miss Lyall, meaning to give her a lift to
the station, leaving Mrs Quantock, if she wanted
to see her guest off, to follow with the Princess’s
luggage in the fly which, no doubt, had been or-
dered. But Daisy had no intention of permitting
this sort of thing, and drove calmly away with her
dear friend in Georgie’s motor, leaving the baffled
280 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Lady Ambermere to follow or not as she liked.
She did like, though not much, and found herself
on the platform among a perfect crowd of Rise-
holmites who had strolled down to the station on
this lovely morning to see if parcels had come.
Lady Ambermere took very little notice of them,
but managed that Pug should give his paw to the
Princess as she took her seat, and waved her hand
to Mrs Quantock’s dear friend, as the train slid
out of the station.

“The late lord had some Russian relations,’’
she said majestically. ‘‘How did you get to know
her?’’

‘‘T met her at Potsdam”’ was on the tip of Mrs
Quantock’s tongue, but she was afraid that Lady
Ambermere might not understand, and ask her
when she had been to Potsdam. It was grievous
work making jokes for Lady Ambermere.

The train sped on to London, and the Princess
opened the envelope which her hostess had dis-
creetly put in her hand, and found that that was
all right. Her hostess had also provided her with
an admirable lunch, which her secretary took out
of a Gladstone bag. When that was finished, she
wanted her cigarettes, and as she looked for these,
and even after she had found them, she continued
to search for something else. There was the
musical box there, and some curious pieces of
elastic, and the violin was in its case, and there
was a white mask. But she still continued. to
search... .

About the same time as she gave up the search,
Mrs Quantock wandered upstairs to the Prin-
eess’s room. A less highly vitalised nature than
“QUEEN LUCIA” 281

hers would have been in a stupor of content, but
she was more in a frenzy of content than in a
stupor. How fine that frenzy was may be judged
from the fact that perhaps the smallest ingredient
in it was her utter defeat of Lucia. She cared
comparatively little for that glorious achievement,
and she was not sure that when the Princess came
back again, as she had arranged to do on her
next holiday, she would not ask Lucia to come to
a séance. Indeed she had little but pity for the
vanquished, so great were the spoils. Never had
Riseholme risen to such a pitch of enthusiasm,
and with good cause had it done so now, for
of all the wonderful and exciting things that had
ever happened there, these séances were the most
delirious. And better even than the excitement
of Risholme was the cause of its excitement, for
spiritualism and the truth of inexplicable psychic
phenomena had flashed upon them all. Tableaux,
romps, Yoga, the Moonlight Sonata, Shakespeare,
Christian Science, Olga herself, Uric Acid, Hliza-
bethan furniture, the engagement of Colonel
Boucher and Mrs Weston, all these tremendous
topics had paled like fire in the sunlight before the
revelation that had now dawned. By practice and
patience, by zealous concentration on crystals and
palms, by the waiting for automatic script to de-
velop, you attained to the highest mysteries, and
could evoke Cardinal Newman, or Pocky... .
There was the bed in which the Sybil had slept;
there was the fresh vase of flowers, difficult to
procure in November, but still obtainable, which
she loved to have standing near her. There was
the chest of drawers in which she had put her
282 _ “QUEEN LUCIA”

clothes, and Mrs Quantock pulled them open one
by one, finding fresh emanations and vibrations
everywhere. The lowest one struck a little, and
she had to use force to it. ...

The smile was struck from her face, as it flew
open. Inside it were billows and billows of the
finest possible muslin. Fold after fold of it she
drew out, and with it there came a pair of false
eyebrows. She recognised them at once as being
Amadeo’s. The muslin belonged to Pocky as well.

She needed but a moment’s concentrated
thought, and in swift succession rejected two
courses of action that suggested themselves. The
first was to use the muslin herself; it would make
summer garments for years. The chief reason
against that was that she was a little old for mus-
lin. The second course was to send the whole
paraphernalia back to her dear friend, with or
without a comment. But that ‘would be tanta-
mount to a direct accusation of fraud. Never any
more, if she did that, could she dispense her dear
friend to Riseholme like an expensive drug. She
would not so utterly burn her boats. There re-
mained only one other judicious course of action,
and she got to work.

It had been a cold morning, clear and frosty, and
she had caused a good fire to be lit in the Prin-
cess’s bedroom, for her to dress by. It still pros-
pered in the grate, and Mrs Quantock, having
shut the door and locked it, put on to it the false
eyebrows, which, as they turned to ash, flew up the
chimney. Then she fed it with muslin; yards and
yards of muslin she poured on to it; never had
there been so much muslin nor that so exquisitely
“QUEEN LUCIA” 283

fine. It went to her heart to burn it, but there
was no time for minor considerations; every atom
of that evidence must be purged by fire. The
Princess would certainly not write and say that
she had left some eyebrows and a hundred yards
of muslin behind her, for, knowing what she did,
it would be to her interests as well as Mrs Quan-
tock’s that those properties should vanish, as if
they never had been.

Up the chimney in sheets of flame went this de-
lightful fabric; sometimes it roared there, as if it
had set the chimney on fire, and she had to pause,
shielding her scorched face, until the hollow rum-
bling had died down. But at last the holocaust
was over, and she unlocked the door again. No
one knew but she, and no one should ever know.
The Guru had turned out to be a eurry-cook, but
no intruding Hermy had been here this time. As
long as crystals fascinated and automatic writ-
ing flourished, the secret of the muslin and the
eyebrows should repose in one bosom alone. Rise-
holme had been electrified by spiritualism, and,
even now, the séances had been cheap at the price,
and in spite of this discovery, she felt by no means
sure that she would not ask the Princess to come
again and minister to their spiritual needs.

She had hardly got downstairs when Robert
came in from the Green, where he had been re-
counting the experiences of the last séance.

‘Looked as if there was a chimney on fire,’’ he
said. ‘‘I wish it was the kitchen chimney. Then
perhaps the beef mightn’t be so raw as it was
yesterday.’’

Thus is comedy intertwined with tragedy!
CHAPTER XIV

GzorcIE was very busily engaged during the
first weeks of December on a water-colour sketch
of Olga sitting at her piano and singing. The dif-
ficulty of it was such that at times he almost de-
spaired of accomplishing it, for the problem of how
to draw her face and her mouth wide open and yet
retain the likeness seemed almost insoluble. Often
he sat in front of his own looking-glass with his
mouth open, and diligently drew his own face, in
order to arrive at the principles of the changes of
line which took place. Certainly the shape of a
person’s face, when his mouth was wide open
altered so completely that you would have thought
him quite unrecognisable, however skilfully the
artist reproduced his elongated countenance, and
yet Georgie could easily recognise that face in the
glass as his. Forehead, eyes and cheek-bones
alone retained their wonted aspect; even the nose
.seemed to lengthen if you opened your mouth
very wide. .. . Then how again was he to indi-
cate that she was singing and not yawning, or
preparing for a sneeze? His most successful
sketch at present looked precisely as if she was
yawning, and made Georgie’s jaws long to yawn
too. Perhaps the shape of the mouth in the two
positions was really the same, and it was only the
sound that led you to suppose that an open-
mouthed person was singing. But perhaps the

284
“QUEEN LUCIA” 285

piano would supply the necessary suggestion;
Olga would not sit down at the piano merely to
yawn or sneeze, for she could do that anywhere.
Then a brilliant idea struck him: he would in-
troduce a shaded lamp standing on the piano, and
then her face would be in red shadow. Naturally
this entailed fresh problems with regard to light,
but light seemed to present less difficulty than
likeness. Besides he could make her dress, and
the keys of the piano very like indeed. But when
he came to painting again he despaired. There
must be red shadow on her face and yellow light
on her hands, and on her green dress, and pres-
ently the whole thing looked not so much like Olga
singing by lamp-light, as a lobster-salad spread
out in the sunlight. The more he painted, the
more vividly did the lettuce leaves and the dress-
ing and the lobster emerge from the paper. So he
took away the lamp, and shut Olga’s mouth, and
there she would be at her piano just going to sing.
These artistic agonies had rewards which more
than compensated for them, for regularly now he
took his drawing-board and his paint-box across
to her house, and sat with her while she practised.
There were none of love’s lilies low or yawning
York now, for she was very busy learning her part
in Lucretia, spending a solid two hours at it every
morning, and Georgie began to perceive what sort
of work it implied to produce the spontaneous ease
with which Brunnhilde hailed the sun. More
astounding even was the fact that this mere learn-
ing of notes was but the preliminary to what she
called ‘‘real work.’? And when she had got
through the mere mechanical part of it, she would
286 “QUEEN LUCIA”

have to study. Then when her practice was over,
she would indulgently sit with her head in profile
against a dark background, and Georgie would
suck one end of his brush and bite the other, and
wonder whether he would ever produce anything ,
which he could dare to offer her. By daily poring
on her face, he grew not to admire only but to
adore its youth and beauty, by daily contact with
her he began to see how fresh and how lovely was
the mind that illuminated it.

‘“Georgie, I’m going to scold you,’’ she said one
day, as she took up her place against the black
panel. ‘You're a selfish little brute. You think
of nothing but your own amusement. Did that
ever strike you?”’

Georgie gasped with surprise. Here was he
spending the whole of every morning trying to do
something which would be a worthy Christmas
present for her (to say nothing of the hours he
had spent with his mouth open in front of his
glass, and the cost of the beautiful frame which
he had ordered) and yet he was supposed to be
only thinking about himself. Of course Olga did
not know that the picture was to be hers. . - -

‘‘How tarsome you are!”’ he said. ‘‘You’re al-
ways finding fault with me. Explain.”’

“‘Well, you’re neglecting your old friends for
your new one,”’ she said. ‘My dear, you should
never drop an old friend. For instance, when did
you last play duets with Mrs Lucas?”’

‘‘Oh, not so very long ago,’’ said Georgie.

‘Quite long enough, I am sure. But I don’t
actually mean sitting down and thumping the
piano with her. When did you last think about
“QUEEN LUCIA” 287

her and make plans for her and talk baby-lan-
guage?’’

‘Who told you I ever did?’’ asked Georgie.

*‘Gracious! How can I possibly remember that
sort of thing? I should say at a guess that every-
body told me. Now poor Mrs Lueas is feeling out
of it, and neglected and dethroned. It’s all on
my mind rather, and I’m talking to you about it,
because it’s largely your fault. Now we’re talk-
ing quite frankly, so don’t fence, and say it’s
mine. I know exactly what you mean, but you are
perfectly wrong. Primarily, it’s Mrs Lucas’s
fault, because she’s quite the stupidest woman I
ever saw, but it’s partly your fault too.”’

She turned round.

‘“Come, Georgie, let’s have it out,’’ she said.
‘I’m perfectly powerless to do anything, because
she detests me, and you’ve got to help her and
help me, and drop your selfishness. Before I
came here, she used to run you all, and give you
treats like going to her tableaux and listening to:
her stupid old Moonlight Sonata, and talking
seven words of Italian. And then I came along
with no earthly intention except to enjoy my holi-
days, and she got it into her head that I was try-
ing to run the place instead of her. Isn’t that so?
Just say ‘yes.’ ’’

““Yes,’’ said Georgie.

“Well, that puts me in an odious position and a
helpless position. I did my best to be nice to her;
I went to her house until she ceased to ask me,
and asked her here for everything that I thought
would amuse her, until she ceased to come. I took
no notice of her rudeness which was remarkable,
288 “QUEEN LUCIA”

or of her absurd patronising airs, which didn’t
hurt me in the smallest degree. But Georgie, she
would continue to make such a dreadful ass of her-
self, and think it was my fault. Was it my fault
that she didn’t know the Spanish quartette when
she heard it, or that she didn’t know a word of
Italian, when she pretended she did, or that the
other day (it was the last time I saw her, when
you played your Debussy to us at Aunt Jane’s)
she talked to me about inverted fifths?’’

Olga suddenly burst out laughing, and Georgie
assumed the Riseholme face of intense curiosity.

“You must tell-me all about that,’’ he said, ‘‘and
Ill tell you the rest which you don’t know.’’

Olga succumbed too, and began to talk in Aunt
Jane’s voice, for she had adopted her as an aunt.

‘“Well, it was last Monday week’’ she said ‘‘or
was it Sunday? No it couldn’t have been Sunday
because I don’t have anybody to tea that day, as
Elizabeth goes over to Jacob’s and spends the
afternoon with Atkinson, or the other way about,
which doesn’t signify, as the point is that Eliza-
beth should be free. So it was Monday, and Aunt
Jane—it’s me talking again—had ihe tea-party at
which you played Poisson d’Or. And when it
was finished, Mrs Lucas gave a great sigh, and
said ‘Poor Georgino! Wasting his time over that
rubbish,’ though she knew quite well that I had
given it to you. And so I said, ‘Would you call it
rubbish, do you think?’ and she said ‘Quite. Every
rule of music is violated. Don’t those inverted
fifths make you wince, Miss Bracely?’’

Olga laughed again, and spoke in her own voice.

“‘Oh, Georgie, she is an ass,’’ she said. ‘‘What
“QUEEN LUCIA” 289.

she meant I suppose was consecutive fifths; you
can’t invert a fifth. So I said (I really meant it
as a joke), ‘Of course there is that, but you must
forgive Debussy that for the sake of that wonder-
ful passage of submerged tenths!’ And she took
it quite gravely and shook her head, and said she
was afraid she was a purist. What happened
next? That’s all I know.’’

“Directly afterwards,’’ said Georgie, ‘‘she
brought the music to me, and asked me to show
her where the passage of tenths came. I didn’t
know, but I found some tenths, and she brightened
up and said ‘Yes, it is true; those submerged
tenths are very impressive.’ Then I suggested
that the submerged tenth was not a musical ex-
pression, but referred to a section of the popula-
tion. On which she said no more, but when she
went away she asked me to send her some book on
‘Harmony.’ I daresay she is looking for the sub-
merged tenth still.’’

Olga lit a cigarette and became grave again.

“Well, it can’t go on,’’ she said. ‘‘We can’t
have the poor thing feeling angry and out of it.
Then there was Mrs Quantock absolutely refusing
to let her see the Princess.”’

“‘That was her own fault,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘It
was because she was so greedy about the Guru.”’

“‘That makes it all the bitterer. And I can’t do
anything, because she blames me for it all. I
would ask her and her Peppino here every night,
and listen to her dreary tunes every evening, and
let her have it all her own way, if it would do any
good. But things have gone too far; she wouldn’t
come. It has all happened without my noticing it.
290 “QUEEN LUCIA”

I never added it all up as it went along, and I
hate it.’’

Georgie thought of the spiritualistic truths.

‘Tf you’re an incarnation,’’ he said in a sudden
glow of admiration, ‘‘you’re the incarnation of
an angel. How you can forgive her odious man-
ners to you a

‘‘My dear, shut up,’’ said Olga. ‘‘We’ve got to
do something. Now how would it be if you gave a
nice party on Christmas night, and asked her at
once? Ask her to help you in getting it up; make
it clear she’s going to run it.’’

““All right. You’ll come, won’t you?’’

“‘Certainly I will not. Perhaps I will come in
after dinner with Goosie or some one of that sort.
Don’t you see it would spoil it all if I were at
dinner? You must rather pointedly leave me out.
Give her a nice expensive refined Christmas
present too. You might give her that picture
you’re doing of me— No, I suppose she wouldn’t
like that. But just comfort her and make her
feel you can’t get on without her. You’ve been
her right hand all these years. Make her give her
tableaux again. And then I think you must ask
me in afterwards. I long to see her and Peppino
as Brunnhilde and Siegfried. Just attend to her,
Georgie, and buck her up. Promise me you will.
And do it as if your heart was in it, otherwise
it’s no good.”’

Georgie began packing up his paint-box. This
was not the plan he had hoped for on Christmas
Day, but if Olga wished this, it had got to be done.

‘*Well, I’ll do my best,’’ he said.

‘‘Thanks ever so much. You’re a darling. And

 
“QUEEN LUCIA” 291

how is your planchette getting on? I’ve been lazy
about my erystal, but I get so tired of my, own
nose.’

“‘Planehette would write apthing but a few
names,’’ said Georgie, omitting the fact that.
Olga’s was the most frequent. ‘‘I think I shall
drop it.’’

This was but reasonable, for since Riseholme
had some new and absorbing excitement every
few weeks, to say nothing of the current excite-
ment of daily life, it followed that even the most
thrilling pursuits could not hold the stage for very
long. Still, the interest in spiritualism had died
down with the rapidity of the seed on stony
ground.

‘‘Kiven Mrs. Quantock seems to have cooled,’’
said Olga. ‘‘She and her husband were here last
night, and they looked rather bored when I sug-
gested table-turning. I wonder if anything has
happened to put her off it?’’

““What do you think could have?’’ asked Geor-
gie with Riseholme alacrity.

“‘Georgie, do you really believe in the Princess
and Pocky?’’ she asked.

Georgie looked round to see that there was no
one within hearing.

“‘T did at the time,”’ he said, ‘‘at least I think I
did. But it seems less likely now. Who was the
Princess anyway? Why didn’t we ever hear of
her before? I believe Mrs Quantock met her in
the train or something.’’

“So do J,”’ said Olga. ‘‘But not a word. It
makes Aunt Jane and Uncle Jacob completely
kerpy to believe in it all. Their lines of life are
292 “QUEEN LUCIA”

enormous, and they won’t die till they’re over a
hundred. Now go and see Mrs Lucas, and if she
doesn’t ask you to lunch you can come back here.’’

Georgie put down his picture and painting-ap-
paratus at his house, and went on to Lucia’s, defi-
nitely conscious that though he did not want to
have her to dinner on Christmas Day, or go back
to his duets and his A. D. C. duties, there was a
spice and savour in so doing that came entirely
from the fact that Olga wished him to, that by this
service he was pleasing her. In itself it was dis-
tasteful, in itself it tended to cut him off from her,
if he had to devote his time to Lucia, but he still

delighted in doing it.
“‘T believe I am falling in love with her this
time,’’ said Georgie to himself. .. . ‘‘She’s won-

derful; she’s big; she’s—_’’

At that moment his thoughts were violently di-
verted, for Robert Quantock came out of his house
in a tremendous hurry, merely scowling at Geor-
gie, and positively trotted across the Green in the
direction of the newsagent’s. Instantly Georgie
recollected that he had seen him there already
this morning before his visit to Olga, buying a new
twopenny paper in a yellow cover called ‘‘Todd’s
News.’’ They had had a few words of genial
conversation, and what could have happened in
the last two hours that made Robert merely gnash
his teeth at Georgie now, and make a second visit
to the paper-shop?

It was impossible not to linger a moment and
see what Robert did when he got to the paper-
shop, and with the aid of his spectacles Georgie
perceived that he presently loaded himself with
“QUEEN LUCIA” 2938

a whole packet of papers in yellow covers, pre-
sumably ‘‘Todd’s News.’’ Flesh and blood could
not resist the cravings of curiosity, and making a
detour, so as to avoid being gnashed at again by
Robert, who was coming rapidly back in his direc-
tion, he strolled round to the paper-shop and asked
for a copy of ‘‘Todd’s News.’’ Instantly the bright
December morning grew dark with mystery, for
the proprietor told him that Mr Quantock had
bought every copy he possessed of it. No further
information could be obtained, except that he had
bought a copy of every other daily paper as well.

Georgie could make nothing of it whatever, and
having observed Robert hurry into his house
again, went on his errand to Lucia. Had he seen
what Robert did when he got home, it is doubtful
if he could have avoided breaking into the house
and snatching a copy of ‘‘Todd’s News’’ from
HMMs » 4.

Robert went to his study, and locked the door.
He drew out from under his blotting-pad the first
copy of ‘‘Todd’s News’”’ that he had bought earlier
in the morning, and put it with the rest. Then
with a furrowed brow he turned to the police-
reports in the ‘‘Times”’ and after looking at them
laid the paper down. He did the same to the
‘Daily Telegraph,’’? the ‘‘Daily Mail,’ the
‘‘Morning Post,’’ the ‘‘Daily Chronicle.’’ Fin-
ally (this was the last of the daily papers) he
perused ‘‘The Daily Mirror,’’ tore it in shreds,
and said ‘‘Damn.’’

He sat for a while in thought, trying to recollect
if anybody in Riseholme except Colonel Boucher
took in the ‘‘Daily Mirror.’’? But he felt morally
294 “QUEEN LUCIA”

certain that no one did, and letting himself out
of his study, and again locking the door after
him, he went into the street, and saw at a glance
that the Colonel was employed in whirling Mrs
Weston round the Green. Instead of joining
them he hurried to the Colonel’s house and, for
there was no time for half-measures, fixed Atkin-
son with his eye, and said he would like to write a
note to Colonel Boucher. He was shown into his
sitting-room, and saw the ‘‘Daily Mirror’’ lying
open on the table. As soon as he was left alone,
he stuffed it into his pocket, told Atkinson he
would speak to the Colonel instead, and inter-
cepted the path of the bath-chair. He was nearly
run over, but stood his ground, and in a perfectly
firm voice asked the Colonel if there was any news
in the morning papers. With the Colonel’s de-
cided negative ringing joyfully in his ears, he went
home again, and locked himself for the second
time into his study.

There is a luxury, when some fell danger has
been averted by promptness and presence of mind,
in living through the moments of that danger:
again, and Robert opened ‘‘Todd’s News,’’ for
that gave the fuller account, and read over the
paragraph in the police news headed ‘‘Bogus
Russian Princess.’’ But now he gloated over the
lines which had made him shudder before when
he read how Marie Lowenstein, of 15, Gerald
Street, Charing Cross Road, calling herself Prin-
cess Popoffski, had been brought up at the Bow
Street Police Court for fraudulently professing
to tell fortunes and produce materialised spirits
at a séance in her flat. Sordid details followed:
“QUEEN LUCIA” 295

a detective who had been there seized an appari-
tion by the throat, and turned on the electric light..
It was the woman Popoffski’s throat that he held,
and her secretary, Hezekiah Schwarz, was dis-
covered under the table detaching an electric ham-
mer. A fine was inflicted. ...

A moment’s mental debate was sufficient to de-
termine Robert not to tell his wife. It was true
that she had produced Popoffski, but then he had
praised and applauded her for that; he, no less
than she, had been convinced of Popoffski’s integ-
rity, high rank and marvellous psychic powers,
and together they had soared to a pinnacle of un-
exampled greatness in the Riseholme world. Be-
sides poor Daisy would be simply flattened out if
she knew that Popoffski was no better than the
Guru. He glanced at the pile of papers, and at
the fire place. ...

It had been a cold morning, clear and frosty,
and a good blaze prospered in the grate. Out of
each copy of ‘‘Todd’s News’’ he tore the page on
which were printed the police reports, and fed the
fire with them. Page after page he put upon it;
never had so much paper been devoted to one
grate. Up the chimney they flew in sheets of flame;
sometimes he was afraid he had set it on fire, and
he had to pause, shielding his scorched face, until
the hollow rumbling had died down. With the
page from two copies of the ‘‘Daily Mirror’’ the
holocaust was over, and he unlocked the door
again. No one in Riseholme knew but he, and no
one should ever know. Riseholme had been elec-
trified by spiritualism, and even now the séances
had been cheap at the price.
296 “QUEEN LUCIA”

The débris of all these papers he caused to be
removed by the housemaid, and this was hardly
done when his wife came in from the Green.

“‘T thought there was a chimney on fire, Rob-
ert,’’ she said. ‘‘You would have liked it to be the
kitchen-chimney as you said the other day.”’

. ‘Stuff and nonsense, my dear,’’ said he.
‘“Lunuch-time, isn’t it?’’

‘““Yes. Ah, there’s the post. None for me, and
two for you.’’

She looked at him narrowly as he took his let-
ters. Perhaps their subconscious minds (accord-
ing to her dear friend’s theory) held communica-
tion, but only the faintest unintelligible ripple of
that appeared on the surface.

‘‘T haven’t heard from my Princess since she
went away,’’ she remarked.

Robert gave a slight start; he was a little off his
guard from the reaction after his anxiety.

“‘Indeed!’’ he said. ‘‘Have you written to
her?’’

She appeared to try to remember.

‘*Well, I really don’t believe I have,’’ she said.
““That is remiss of me. I must send her a long
budget one of these days.”’

This time he looked narrowly at her. Had she a
secret, he wondered, as well as he? What could it
be? ...

Georgie found his mission none too easy, and
it was only the thought that it was a labour of
love, or something very like it, that enabled him to
persevere. Even then for the first few minutes he
thought it might prove love’s labour’s lost, so
bright and unreal was Lucia.
“QUEEN LUCIA” 297

He had half crossed Shakespeare’s garden, and
had clearly seen her standing at the window of the
music-room, when she stole away, and next
moment the strains of some slow movement,
played very loud, drowned the bell on the mer-
maid’s tail so completely that he wondered
whether it had rung at all. As a matter of fact,
Lucia and Peppino were in the midst of a most
serious conversation when Georgie came through
the gate, which was concerned with deciding what
was to be done. A party at The Hurst sometime
during Christmas week was as regular as the festi-
val itself, but this year everything was so unusual.
Who were to be asked in the first place? Certainly
not Mrs Weston, for she had talked Italian to
Lucia in a manner impossible to misinterpret, and
probably, so said Lucia with great acidity, she
would be playing children’s games with her pro-
messo. It was equally impossible to ask Miss
Bracely and her husband, for relations were al-
ready severed on account of the Spanish quartette
and Signor Cortese, and as for the Quantocks, did
Peppino expect Lucia to ask Mrs Quantock again
ever? Then there was Georgie, who had become
so different and strange, and . . . Well here was
Georgie. Hastily she sat down at the piano, and
‘Peppino closed his eyes for the slow movement.

The opening of the door was lost on Lucia, and
Peppino’s eyes were closed. Consequently Georgie
sat down on the nearest chair, and waited. At the
end Peppino sighed, and he sighed too.

‘‘Who is that?’’ said Lucia sharply. ‘‘Why is
it you, Georgie? What a stranger. Aren’t you?
Any news?”’
298 “QUEEN LUCIA”

This was all delivered in the coldest of tones,
and Lucia snatched a morsel of wax off Eb.

‘‘F’ve heard none,’’ said Georgie in great dis-
comfort. ‘‘I just dropped in.’’

Lucia fixed Peppino with a glance. If she had
shouted at the top of her voice she could not have
conveyed more unmistakably that she was going
to manage this situation.

‘¢ Ah, that is very pleasant,’’ she said. ‘‘ Peppino
and I have been so busy lately that we have seen
nobody. We are quite country-cousins, and so
the town-mouse must spare us a little cheese. How
is dear Miss Bracely now?’’.

“‘Very well,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘I saw her this
morning.’’

Lucia gave a sigh of relief.

‘“‘That is good,’’ she said. ‘‘Peppino, do you
hear? Miss Bracely is quite well. Not overtired
with practising that new opera? Lucy Grecian,
was it? Oh, how silly Iam! Lucretia; that was
it, by that extraordinary Neapolitan. Yes. And
what next? Our good Mrs Weston, now! Still
thinking about her nice young man? Making
orange-flower wreaths, and choosing bridesmaids?
How naughty Iam! Yes. And then dear Daisy?
How is she? Still entertaining princesses? I look
in the Court Circular every morning to see if
Princess Pop—Pop—Popoff isn’t it? if Princess
Popoff has popped off to see her cousin the Czar
again. Dear me!”’

The amount of malice, envy and all uncharitable-,
ness which Lucia managed to put into this quite
unrehearsed speech was positively amazing. She
had not thought it over beforehand for a moment;
“QUEEN LUCIA” 299

it came out with the august spontaneity of light-
ning leaping from a cloud. Not till that moment
had Georgie guessed at a tithe of all that Olga
had felt so certain about, and a double emotion
took hold of him. He was immensely sorry for
Lucia, never having conjectured how she must
have suffered before she attained to so superb a
sourness, and he adored the intuition that had
guessed it and wanted to sweeten it.

The outburst was not quite over yet, though
Lucia felt distinctly better.

‘‘And you, Georgie,’’ she said, ‘‘though I’m
sure we are such strangers that I ought to call you
Mr Pillson, what have you been doing? Playing
Miss Bracely’s accompaniments, and sewing
wedding-dresses all day, and raising spooks all
night? Yes.’’

Lucia had caught this ‘‘Yes’’ from Lady Am-
bermere, having found it peculiarly obnoxious.
You laid down a proposition, or asked a question,
and then confirmed it yourself.

‘‘And Mr Cortese,’’ she said, ‘‘is he still roar-
ing out his marvellous English and Italian? Yes.
What a full life you lead, Georgie. JI suppose you
have no time for your painting now.”’

This was not a bow drawn at a venture, for she
had seen Georgie come out of Old Place with his
paint-box and drawing-board, but this direct
attack on him did not lessen the power of the
‘““sweet charity’? which had sent him here. He
blew the bugle to rally all the good-nature for
which he was capable.

‘‘No, I have been painting lately,”’ he said, ‘‘at
least I have been trying to. I’m doing a little
300 “QUEEN LUCIA”

sketch of Miss Bracely at her piano, which I want
to give her on Christmas Day. But it’s so diffi-
cult. I wish I had brought it round to ask your
advice, but you would only have screamed with
laughter at it. It’s a dreadful failure: much worse
than those I gave you for your birthdays. Fancy
your keeping them still in your lovely music-room.
Send them to the pantry, and I’ll do something
better for you next.’’

Lucia, try as she might, could not help being
rather touched by that. There they all were
“Golden Autumn Woodland,’’ ‘‘Bleak Decem-
ber,’’ ‘Yellow Daffodils,’’? and ‘‘Roses of Sum-
mer?” » « «

‘‘Or have them blacked over by the boot-boy,”’
she said. ‘‘Take them down, Georgie, and let me
send them to be blacked.”’

This was much better: there was playfulness
behind the sarcasm now, which peeped out from
it. He made the most of that.

‘*We’ll do that presently,’’ he said. ‘‘Just now
I want to engage you and Peppino to dine with
me on Christmas Day. Now don’t be tarsome and
say you’re engaged. But one can never tell with
you.’’

‘‘ A party?’’ asked Lucia suspiciously.

‘‘Well, I thought we would have just one of our
old evenings together again,’’ said Georgie, feel-
‘ing himself remarkably clever. ‘‘We’ll have the
Quantocks, shan’t we, and Colonel and Mrs
Colonel, and you and Peppino, and me, and Mrs
Runbold? That’ll make eight, which is more than
Foljambe likes, but she must lump it. Mr Run-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 301

bold is always singing carols all Christmas eve-
ning with the choir, and she will be alone.”’

‘¢Ah, those carols!’’ said Lucia, wincing.

“‘T know: I will provide you with little wads
of cotton-wool. Do come and we’ll have just a
party of eight. I’ve asked no one yet and perhaps
nobody will come. I want you and Peppino, and
the rest may come or stop away. Do say you
approve.”’

Lucia could not yield at once. She had to press
her fingers to her forehead.

‘So kind of you, Georgie,’’ she said, ‘‘but I
must think. Are we doing anything on Christ-
mas night, carissimo? Where’s your engagement-
book? Go and consult it.’’

This was a grand manceuvre, for hardly had
Peppino left the room when she started up with a
little scream and ran after him.

‘‘Me'so stupid,’’? she cried. ‘‘Me put it in
smoking-room, and poor caro will look for it ever
so long. Back in minute, Georgino.”’

Naturally this was perfectly clear to Georgie.
She wanted to have a short private consultation
with Peppino, and he waited rather hopefully for
their return, for Peppino, he felt sure, was bored
with this Achilles-altitude of sitting sulking in
the tent. They came back wreathed in smiles, and
instantly embarked on the question of what to do
after dinner. No romps: certainly not, but why
not the tableaux again? The question was still
under debate when they went in to lunch. It was
settled affirmatively during the macaroni, and
Lucia said that they all wanted to work her to
death, and so get rid of her. They had thought

é
302 “QUEEN LUCIA”

—she and Peppino—of having a little holiday on
the Riviera, but anyhow they would put it off till
after Christmas. Georgie’s mouth was full of
crashing toast at the moment, and he could only
shake his head. But as soon as the toast could
be swallowed, he made the usual reply with great
fervour.

Georgie was hardly at all complacent when he
walked home afterwards, and thought how ex-
tremely good-natured he had. been, for he could
not but feel that this marvellous forbearance was
a sort of mistletoe growth on him, quite foreign
really to his nature. Never before had Lucia
showed so shrewish and venomous a temper; he
had not thought her capable of it. For the gra-
cious queen, there was substituted a snarling-fish-
wife, but then as Georgie calmly pursued the
pacific mission of comfort to which Olga had. or-
dained him, how the fish-wife’s wrinkles had been
smoothed out, and the asps withered from her
tongue. Had his imagination ever pictured Lucia
saying such things to him, it would have supplied
him with no sequel but a complete severance of
_ relations between them. Instead of that he had
consulted her and truckled to her: truckled: yes,
he had truckled, and he was astonished at him-
self. Why had he truckled? And the beautiful
mouth and kindly eyes of Olga supplied the
answer. Certainly he must drop in at once, and
tell her the result of the mission. Perhaps she
would reward him by calling him a darling again.
Really he deserved that she should say something
nice to him. :

It was a day of surprises for Georgie. He found
“QUEEN LUCIA” 308

Olga at home, and recounted, without loving
any of the substance, the sarcasms of Lucia, and
his own amazing tact and forbearance. He did
not comment, he just narrated the facts in the
vivid Riseholme manner, and waited for his re-
ward.

Olga looked at him a moment in silence: then
she deliberately wiped her eyes.

“‘Oh, poor Mrs Lucas!’’ she said. ‘‘She must
have been miserable to have behaved like that!
I am so sorry. Now what else can you do,
Georgie, to make her feel better?’’

“I think I’ve done everything that could have
been required of me,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘It was all
I could do to keep my temper at all. I will give
my party at Christmas, because I promised you I
would.’’

“Oh, but it’s ten days to Christmas yet,’’ said
Olga. ‘‘Can’t you paint her portrait, and give it
her for a present. Oh, I think you could, playing
the Moonlight Sonata.’’

Georgie felt terribly inclined to be offended and
tell Olga that she was tired of him: or to be dig-
nified and say he was unusually busy. Never had
he shown such forbearance towards downright
rudeness as he had shown to Lucia, and though
he had shown that for Olga’s sake, she seemed to
be without a single spark of gratitude, but con-
tinued to urge her request.

“Do paint a little picture of her,’’ she repeated.
‘‘She would love it, and make it young and inter-
esting. Think over it, anyhow: perhaps you'll
think of something better than that. And now
304 “QUEEN LUCIA”

won’t you go and secure all your guests for Christ-
mas at once?’’

_ Georgie turned to leave the room, but just as
he got to the door she spoke again:

“‘T think you’re a brick,’’ she said.

Somehow this undemonstrative expression of
approval began to glow in Georgie’s heart as he
walked home. Apparently she took it for granted
that he was going to behave with all the perfect
tact and good-temper that he had shown. It did
not surprise her in the least, she had almost for-
gotten to indicate that she had noticed it at all.
And that, as he thought about it, seemed a far
deeper compliment than if she had told him how
wonderful he was. She took it for granted, no
more nor less, that he would be kind and pleasant,
whatever Lucia said. He had not fallen short of
her standard. .. .
CHAPTER XV

Grorcim’s Christmas party had just taken its
seats at his round rosewood table without a cloth,
and he hoped that Foljambe would be quick with
the champagne, because there had been rather a
long wait before dinner, owing to Lucia and Pep-
pino being late, and conversation had been a little
jerky. Lucia, as usual, had sailed into the room,
without a word of apology, for she was accus-
tomed to come last when she went out to dinner,
and on her arrival dinner was always announced
immediately. The few seconds that intervened
were employed by her in saying just one kind
word to everybody. Tonight, however, these
gratifying utterances had not been received with
the gratified responses to which she was accus-
tomed: there was a different atmosphere abroad,
and it was as if she were no more than one-eighth
of the entire party. . . . But it would never do
to hurry Foljambe, who was a little upset already
by the fact of there being eight to dinner, which
was two more than she approved of.

Lucia was on Georgie’s right, Mrs Colonel as
she had decided to call herself, on his left. Next
her was Peppino, then Mrs Quantock, then the
Colonel, then Mrs Rumbold (who resembled a
grey hungry mouse), and Mr Quantock completed
the circle round to Lucia again. Everyone had a
small bunch of violets in the napkin, but Lucia had
the largest. She had also a footstool.

305
306 “QUEEN LUCIA”

‘‘Capital good soup,’’ remarked Mr Quantock.
*‘Can’t get soup like this at home.’’

There was dead silence. Why was there never
a silence when Olga was there, wondered Georgie.
It wasn’t because she talked, she somehow caused
other people to talk.

‘‘Tommy Luton hasn’t got measles,’’ said Mrs
Weston. ‘‘I always said he hadn’t, though there
are measles about. He came to walk as usual this
morning, and is going to sing in the carols to-
night.’’

She suddenly stopped.

Georgie gave an imploring glance at Foljambe,
and looked at the champagne glasses. She took
no notice. Lucia turned to Georgie, with an elbow
on the table between her and Mr Quantock.

‘‘And what news, Georgie?’’ she said. ‘‘Pep-
pino and I have been so busy that we haven’t
seen a soul all day. What have you been doing?
Any planchette?’’

She looked brightly at Mrs Quantock.

‘Yes, dear Daisy, I needn’t ask you what
you’ve been doing. Table-turning, I expect. I
know how interested you are in psychical matters.
I should be, too, if only I could be certain that I
was not dealing with fraudulent people.’’

Georgie felt inclined to give a hollow groan and
sink under the table when this awful polemical
rhetoric began. To his unbounded surprise Mrs
Quantock answered most cordially.

‘‘You are quite right, dear Lucia,’’ she said.
‘Would it not be terrible to find that a medium, °
some dear friend perhaps, whom one implicitly
trusted, was exposed as fraudulent? One sees
“QUEEN LUCIA” 307

such exposures in the paper sometimes. I should
be miserable if I thought I had ever sat with a
medium who was not honest. They fine the
wretches well, though, if they are caught, and they
deserve it.’’

Georgie observed, and couldn’t the least under-
stand, a sudden blank expression cross Robert’s
face. For the moment he looked as if he were dead
but had been beautifully stuffed. But Georgie
gave but a cursory thought to that, for the amaz-
ing supposition dawned on him that Lucia had
not been polemical at all, but was burying instead
of chopping with the hatchet. It was instantly
confirmed, for Lucia took her elbow off the table,
and turned to Robert,

“‘You and dear Daisy have been very lucky in
your spiritualistic experiences,’’ she said. ‘‘I
hear on all sides what a charming medium you
had. Georgie quite lost his heart to her.’’

“*?Pon my word; she was delightful,’’ said
Robert. ‘‘Of course she was a dear friend of
Daisy’s, but one has to be very careful when one
hears of the dreadful exposures, as my wife said,
that occur sometimes. Fancy finding that a me-
dium whom you believed to be perfectly honest
had yards and yards of muslin and a false nose
or two concealed about her. It would sicken me of
the whole business.’’

A loud pop announced that Foljambe had
allowed them all some champagne at last, but
Georgie hardly heard it, for glancing up at Daisy
Quantock, he observed that the same dead and
stuffed look had come over her face which he had
just now noticed on her husband’s countenance.
308 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Then they both looked up at each other with a
glance that to him bristled with significance. An
agonised questioning, an imploring petition for
silence seemed to inspire it; it was as if each had
made unwittingly some hopeless faux pas. Then
they instantly looked away from each other again;
their necks seemed to crack with the rapidity with
which they turned them right and left, and they
burst into torrents of speech to the grey hungry
mouse and the Colonel, respectively.

Georgie was utterly mystified: his Riseholme
instinct told him that there was something below
all this, but his Riseholme instinct could not sup-
ply the faintest clue as to what it was. Both of
the Quantocks, it seemed clear, knew something
perilous about the Princess, but surely if Daisy
had read in the paper that the Princess had been
exposed and fined, she would not have touched on
so dangerous a subject. Then the curious inci-
dent about ‘‘Todd’s News”’ inevitably occurred to
him, but that would not fit the case, since it was
Robert and not Daisy who had bought that inex-
plicable number of the yellow print. And then
Robert had hinted at the discovery of yards and
yards of muslin and a false nose.- Why had he
done that unless he had discovered them, or un-
less . . . Georgie’s eyes grew round with the
excitement of the chase . . . unless Robert had
some other reason to suspect the integrity of the
dear friend, and had said this at pure hap-hazard. —
In that case what was Robert’s reason for sus-
picion? Had he, not Daisy, read in the paper of
some damaging disclosures, and had Daisy (also
having reason to suspect the Princess) alluded to
“QUEEN LUCIA” 309

the damaging exposures in the paper by pure hap-
hazard? Anyhow they had both looked dead and
stuffed when the other alluded to mediumistic
frauds, and both had said how lucky their own
experiences had been. ‘‘Oh!’’—Georgie almost
said it aloud—What if Robert had seen a damag-
ing exposure in ‘‘Todd’s News,’’ and therefore
bought up every copy that was to be had? Then,
indeed, he would look dead and stuffed, when
Daisy alluded to damaging exposures in the paper.
Had a stray copy escaped him, and did Daisy
know? What did Robert know? Had they ex-
quisite secrets from each other?

Lucia was being talked to across him by Mrs
Weston, who had also pinned down the attention
of Peppino on the other side of her. At that pre-
cise moment the flood of Mrs Quantock’s spate of
conversation to the Colonel dried up, and Robert
could find nothing more to say to the hungry
mouse. Georgie in this backwater of his own
thoughts was whirled into the current again. But
before he sank he caught Mrs Quantock’s eye and
put a question that arose from his exciting back-
water.

‘‘Have you heard from the Princess lately?’’ he
asked.

Robert’s head went round with the same alac-
rity as he had turned it away.

“‘Oh, yes,’’ said she. ‘‘Two days ago was it,
Robert ?’’

‘‘T heard yesterday,’’ said Robert firmly.

Mrs Quantock looked at her husband with an
eager encouraging earnestness.
310 “QUEEN LUCIA”

‘‘So you did!”’ she said. ‘‘I’m getting jealous.
Interesting, dear?’ es

“Yes, dear, haw, haw,’’ said Robert, and again
their eyes met.

This time Georgie had no doubts at all. They
were playing the same game now: they smiled and
smirked at each other. They had not been play-
ing the same game before. Now they recognised
that there was a conspiracy between them. .. .
But he was host, his business for the moment was
to make his guests comfortable, and not pry into
their inmost bosoms. So before Mrs Weston
realised that she had the whole table attending to
her, he said:

“‘T shall get it out of Robert after dinner. And
I'll tell you, Mrs Quantock.”’

‘‘Before Atkinson came to the Colonel,’’ said
Mrs Weston, going on precisely where she had left
off, ‘‘and that was five years before Elizabeth
came to me—let me see—was it five or was it four
and a half?—four and a half we’ll say, he had
another servant whose name was Ahab Crowe.”’

“‘No!”’ said Georgie.

““Yes!’’ said Mrs Weston, hastily finishing her
champagne, for she saw Foljambe coming near
—‘‘Yes, Ahab Crowe. He married, too, just like
Atkinson is going to, and that’s an odd coinci-
dence in itself. I tell the Colonel that if Ahab
Crowe hadn’t married, he would be with him still,
and who can say that he’d have fancied Elizabeth?
And if he hadn’t, I don’t believe that the Colonel
and I would ever have—well, I’ll leave that alone,
and spare wy blushes. But that’s not what I was
saying. Whom do you think Ahab Crowe mar-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 811
ried? You can have ten guesses each, and you
would never come right, for it can’t be a common
name. It was Miss Jackdaw. Crowe: Jackdaw.
I never heard anything like that, and if you ask
the Colonel about it, he’ll confirm. every word I’ve
said. Boucher, Weston, why that’s quite common-'
place in comparison, and I’m sure that’s an event
enough for me.’’

Lucia gave her silvery laugh.

‘‘Dear Mrs Weston,’’ she said, ‘‘you must
really tell me at once when the happy day will be.
Peppino and I are thinking of going to the
Riviera se

Georgie broke in.

**You shan’t do anything of the kind,’’ he said.
‘‘What’s to happen to us? ’Oo very selfish,
Lucia.”’

The conversation broke up again into duets and
trios, and Lucia could have a private conversation
with her host. But half-an-hour ago, so Georgie
reflected, they had all been walking round each
other like dogs going on tiptoe with their tails
very tightly curled, and growling gently to them-
selves, aware that a hasty snap, or the breach of
the smallest observance of etiquette, might lead
to a general quarrel. But now they all had the
reward of their icy politenesses: there was no
more ice, except on their plates, and the polite-
ness was not a matter of etiquette. At present,
they might be considered a republic, but no one
knew what was going to happen after dinner. Not
a word had been said about the tableaux.

Lucia dropped her voice as she spoke to him,

 
312 “QUEEN LUCIA”

and put in ‘a good deal of Italian for fear she
might be overheard.

“‘Non cognosce anybody?’’ she asked. ‘‘I tab-
liert, I mean. And are we all to sit in the aula,
while the salone is being got ready?’’

“*9i,”’ said Georgie. ‘‘There’s a fire. When
you go out, keep them there. I doméstichi are .
making salone ready.”’

‘Molto bene. Then Peppino and you and I just
steal away. La lampa is acting beautifully. We
tried it over several times.’’

‘‘Everybody’s tummin’,’’ said Georgie, varying
the cipher.

‘*Me so nervosa!’’ said Lucia. ‘‘Fancy me do-
ing Brunnhilde before singing Brunnhilde. Me
can’t bear it.’’

Georgie knew that Lucia had been thrilled and
delighted to know that Olga so much wanted to
come in after dinner and see the tableaux, so he
found it quite easy to induce Lucia to nerve her-
self up to an ordeal so passionately desired. In-
deed he himself was hardly less excited at the
thought of being King Cophetua.

At that moment; even as the crackers were be-
ing handed round, the sound of the carol-singers
was heard from outside, and Lucia had to wince,
as ‘‘Good King Wenceslas’’ looked out. When
the Page and the King sang their speeches, the
other voices grew piano, so that the effect was
of a solo voice accompanied. When the Page
sang, Lucia shuddered.

‘‘That’s the small red-haired boy who nearly —
deafens me in church,”’ she whispered to Georgie.
‘“‘Don’t you hope his voice will crack soon?”’
“QUEEN LUCIA” 313

She said this very discreetly, so as not to hurt
Mrs Rumbold’s feelings, for she trained the choir.
Everyone knew that the king was Mr Rumbold,
and said ‘‘Charming”’ to each other, after he had
sung.

“J liked that boy’s voice, too,’’ said Mrs Wes-
ton. ‘‘Tommy Luton used to have a lovely voice,
but this one’s struck me as better-trained even
than Tommy Luton’s. Great credit to you, Mrs
Rumbold.”’

The grey hungry mouse suddenly gave a shrill
eackle of a laugh, quite inexplicable. Then
Georgie guessed.

He got up.

‘‘Now nobody must move,’’ he said, ‘‘because
we haven’t drunk ‘absent friends’ yet. I’m just
going out to see that they have a bit of supper
in the kitchen before they go on.’”:

His trembling legs would scarcely carry him to
the door, and he ran’ out. There were half a
dozen little choir boys, four men and one tall
cloaked woman. . .

“‘Divine!’’ he said to Olga. ‘‘Aunt Jane
thought your voice very well trained. Come in
soon, won’t you?’’

“Yes: all flourishing?”’

“‘Swimming,’’ said Georgie. ‘‘Lucia hoped
your voice would crack soon. But it’s all being
lovely.’’

He explained about food i: in the kitchen and hur-
ried back to his guests. There was the riddle of
the Quantocks to solve: there were the tableaux
vivants imminent: there was the little red-haired
boy coming in soon. What a Christmas night!
314 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Soon after Georgie’s hall began to fill up with
guests, and yet not a word was said about tab-.
leaux. It grew so full that nobody could have said
for certain whether Lucia and Peppino were
there or not. Olga certainly was: there was no
mistaking that fact. And then Foljambe opened
the drawing-room door and sounded a gong.

The lamp behaved perfectly and an hour later
one Brunnhilde was being extremely kind to the
other, as they sat together. ‘‘If you really want
to know my view, dear Miss Bracely,’’ said Lucia,
‘it’s just that. You must be Brunnhilde for the
time being. Singing, of course, as you say, helps
it out: you can express so much by singing. You
are so lucky there. I am bound to say I had
qualms when Peppino—or was it Georgie—sug-
gested we should do Brunnhilde-Siegfried. I said
it would be so terribly difficult. Slow: it has to.
be slow, and to keep gestures slow when you can-
not make them mere illustrations of what you are
singing—well, I am sure, it is very kind of you to
be so flattering about it—but it is difficult to do
that.’’

‘And you thought them all out for yourself?”
said Olga. ‘‘Marvellous!’’

‘«Ah, if I had ever seen you do it,’’ said Lueia,
‘‘T am sure I should have picked up some hints!
And King Cophetua! Won’t you give me a little
word for our dear King Corphetua? I was so
glad after the strain of Brunnhilde to have my
back to the audience. Even then there is the diffi-
culty of keeping quite still, but I am sure you
know that quite as well: as I do, from having
played Brunnhilde yourself. Georgie was very
“QUEEN LUCIA” 315

much impressed by your performance of it. And
Mary Queen of Scots now! The shrinking of the
flesh, and the résignation of the spirit! That is
what I tried to express. You must come and help
me next time I attempt this sort of thing again.
That will not be quite soon, I am afraid, for Pep-
pino and I am thinking of going to the Riviera
for a little holiday.”’

‘“‘Oh, but how selfish!’’ said Olga. ‘‘You
. taustn’t do that.’’

Lucia gave the silvery laugh.

‘‘You are all very tiresome about my going to
the Riviera,’’ she said. ‘‘But I don’t promise
that I shall give it up yet. We shall see! Gra-
cious! How late it is. We must have sat very
late over dinner. Why were you not asked to
dinner, I wonder! I shall scold Georgie for not
asking you. Ah, there is dear Mrs Weston going
away. I must say good-night to her. She would
think it very strange if I did not. Colonel
Boucher, too! Oh, they are coming this way to
save us the trouble of moving.’’

A general move was certainly taking place, not
in the direction of the door, but to where Olga
and Lucia were sitting.

“Tt’s snowing,’’ said Piggy excitedly to Olga.
‘“‘Will you mark my footsteps well, my page?”’

‘““Pigay, you—you Goosie,’’? said Olga hur-
tiedly. ‘‘Goosie, weren’t the tableaux lovely?”’

‘And the carols,’’ said Goosie. ‘‘I adored the
carols. I guessed. Did you guess, Mrs Lucas?”

Olga resorted to the mean trick of treading on
Goosie’s foot and apologising. That was cow-
-ardly because it was sure to come out sometime.
316 “QUEEN LUCIA”

And Goosie again trod on dangerous ground by
saying that if the Page had trod like that, there
was no need for any footsteps to be marked for
him.

It was snowing fast, and Mrs Weston’s wheels
left a deep track, but in spite of that, Daisy and
Robert had not gone fifty yards from the door
when they came to a full stop.

“‘Now, what is it?’’ said Daisy. ‘‘Out with it.
Why did you talk about the discovery of muslin?’’

‘*T only said that we were fortunate in a medium
whom after all you picked up at a vegetarian res-
taurant,’’ said he. ‘‘I suppose I may indulge in
general conversation. If it comes to that, why
did you talk about exposure in the papers?”’

“‘Generalconversation,’’ said Mrs Quantock all
in one word. ‘‘So that’s all, is it?”’

““Yes,’’ said Robert, ‘‘you may know some-
thing, and c

‘‘Now don’t put it all on me,’’ said Daisy. ‘‘If
you want to know what I think, it is that you’ve
got some secret.’’

‘‘And if you want to know what I think,’’ he
retorted, ‘‘it is that I know you have.’’

Daisy hesitated a moment, the snow was white
on her shoulder and she shook her cloak.

‘‘T hate concealment,’’ she said. ‘‘I found
yards and yards of muslin and a pair of Amadeo’s
eyebrows in that woman’s bedroom the very day
she went away.”’

‘‘And she was fined last Thursday for holding
a séance at which a detective was present,’’ said
Robert. ‘‘15 Gerard Street. He seized Amadeo

 
“QUEEN LUCIA” 317

or Cardinal Newman by the throat, and it was that
woman.’’

She looked hastily round.

‘“When you thought that the chimney was on
fire, I was burning muslin,”’ she said.

‘*When you thought the chimney was on fire, I
was burning every copy of ‘Todd’s News,’ ”’ said
he. ‘‘Also a copy of the ‘Daily Mirror,’ which
contained the case. It belonged to the Colonel.
I stole it.’’

She put her hand through his arm.

‘*Let’s get home,’’ she said. ‘‘We must talk
it over. No one knows one word except you and
me?’’

‘‘Not one, my dear,’’ said Robert cordially.
‘But there are suspicions. Georgie suspects, for
instance. He saw me buy all the copies of ‘Todd’s
News,’ at least he was hanging about. Tonight
he was clearly on the track of something, though
he gave us a very tolerable dinner.’’

They went into Robert’s study: it was cold, but
neither felt it, for they glowed with excitement
and enterprise.

“That was a wonderful stroke of yours, Rob-
ert,’’ said she. ‘‘It was masterly: it saved the
situation. The ‘Daily Mirror,’ too: how right you
were to stealit. A horrid paper I always thought.
Yes, Georgie suspects something, but Inckily he
doesn’t know what he suspects.’’

“‘That’s why we both said we had just heard
from that woman,’’ said Robert.

‘“‘Of course. You haven’t got a copy of ‘Todd’s
318 “QUEEN LUCIA”

“‘No: at least I burned every page of the police-
reports,’’ said he. ‘‘It was safer.”’

‘‘Quite so. I cannot show you Amadeo’s eye-
brows for the same reason. Nor the muslin.
Lovely muslin, my dear: yards of it. Now what.
we must do is this: we must continue to be inter-
ested in psychical things; we mustn’t drop them,
or seem to be put off them. I wish now I had
taken you into my confidence at the beginning and
told you about Amadeo’s eyebrows.’’

“‘My dear, you acted for the best,’’ said he.
“So did I when I didn’t tell you shout ‘Todd’s
News.’ Secrecy even from each other was more
prudent, until it became impossible. And I think
we should be wise to let it be understood that we
hear from the Princess now and then. Perhaps in
a few months she might even visit us again. It
—it would be humorous to be behind the scenes,
so to speak, and observe the credulity of the
others.”’

Daisy broke into a broad grin.

*‘T will certainly ask dear Lucia to a séance, if
we do,’’ she said. ‘‘Dear me! How late it is:
there was such a long wait between the tableaux.
But we must keep our eyes on Georgie, and be
careful how we answer his impertinent questions.
He is sure to ask some. About getting that
woman down again, Robert. It might be fool-
hardy, for we’ve had an escape, and shouldn’t put
our heads into the same noose again. On the
other hand, it would disarm suspicion for ever,
if, after a few months, I asked her to spend a few
days of holiday here. You said it was a fine only,
not imprisonment?’’
“QUEEN LUCIA” | 319

The week was a busy one: Georgie in particu-
lar never had a moment to himself. The Hurst,
so lately a desert, suddenly began to rejoice with
joy and singing and broke out into all manner of
edifying gaieties. Lucia, capricious queen, quite
forgot all the vitriolic eens she had said to him,
and gave him to understand that he was just as
high in favour as ever before, and he was as busy
with his duties as ever he had been. Whether he
would have fallen into his old place so readily if
he had been a free agent, was a question that did
not arise, for though it was Lucia who employed
him, it was Olga who drove him there. But he
had his consolation, for Lucia’s noble forgiveness
of all the disloyalties against her, included Olga’s
as well, and out of all the dinners and music par-
ties, and recitations from Peppino’s new book
of prose poems which was already in proof, and
was read to select audiences from end to end,
there was none to which Olga was not bidden, and
none at which she failed to appear. Lucia even
overlooked the fact that she had sung in the carols
on Christmas night, though she had herself de-
clared that it was the voice of the red-haired boy

-which was so peculiarly painful to her. Georgie’s
picture of -her (she never knew that Olga had
really commissioned it) hung at the side of the
piano in the music room, where the print of Beet-
hoven had hung before, and it gave her the
acutest gratification. It represented her sitting,
with eyes cast down at her piano, and was indeed
much on the same scheme as the yet unfinished
one of Olga, which had been postponed ,in its
favour, but there was no time for Georgie to think

ft
320 “QUEEN LUCIA”

out another position, and his hand was in with
regard to the perspective of pianos. So there it
hung with its title, ‘‘The Moonlight Sonata,”’’
painted in gilt letters on its frame, and Lucia,
though she continued to say that he had made
her far, far too young, could not but consider that
he had caught her expression exactly. . .

So Riseholme flocked back to The Hurst like
sheep that have been astray, for it was certain to
find Olga there, even as it had turned there, deeply
breathing, to the classes of the Guru. It had to
sit through the prose-poems of Peppino, it had
to listen to the old, old tunes and sigh at the end,
but Olga mingled her sighs with theirs, and often
after a suitable pause Lucia would say winningly
to Olga:

‘One little song, Miss Bracely. Just a stanza?
Or am I trespassing too much on your good-
nature? Where is your accompanist? I declare
I am jealous of him: I shali pop into his place
some day! Georgino, Miss Bracely is going to
sing us something. Is not that a treat? Sh-sh,
please, ladies and gentlemen.”’

And she rustled to her place, and sat with the
farthest-away expression éver seen on mortal
face, while she trespassed on Miss Bracely’s good- .
nature. i

Then Georgie had the other picture to finish,
which he hoped to get ready in time to be a New
Year’s present, since Olga had insisted on I acia’s —
being done first. He had certainly secured an
admirable likeness of her, and there was in it just
all that his stippled, fussy representation of Lucia
lacked. ‘‘Bleak December’’ and ‘‘Yellow Daffo-
“QUEEN LUCIA” 321

dils’’ and the rest of the series lacked it, too: for
once he had done something in the doing of which
he had forgotten himself. It was by no means a
work of genius, for Georgie was not possessed of
one grain of that, and the talent it displayed was
by no means of a high order, but it had something
of the naturalness of a flower that grew from the
earth which nourished it.

On the last day of the year he was putting a
few final touches to it, little high reflected lights
on the black keys, little blacknesses of shadow in
the moulding of the panel behind his hand. He
had finished with her altogether, and now she sat
in the window-seat, looking out, and playing with
the blind-tassel. He had been so much absorbed
in his work that he had scarcely noticed that she
had been rather unusually silent.

“‘T’ve got a piece of news for you,’’ she said
at length.

Georgie held his breath, as he drew a very thin
line of body-colour along the edge of Ab.

‘‘No! What is it?’’ he said. ‘‘Is it about the
Princess?”’

Olga seemed to hail this as a diversion.

“Ah, let’s talk about that for a minute,’’ she
said. ‘‘What you ought to have done was to order

another copy of ‘Todd’s News’ at once.’

'  T know I ought, but I couldn’t get one when I
thought of it afterwards. That was tarsome. But
I feel sure there was something about her in it.’’

‘And you can’t get anything out of the Quan-
‘tocks?”” .

“*‘No, though I’ve laid plenty of traps for them.
‘There’s an understanding between them now.
322 “QUEEN LUCIA”

They both know something. When I lay a trap, ,
it isn’t any use: they look at the trap, and then
they look at each other afterwards.’’

~ ‘What sort of traps?” :

‘‘Oh, anything. I say suddenly, ‘What a bore
it is that there are so many frauds among me-
diums, especially paid ones.’ You see, I don’t
believe for a moment that these séances were held
for nothing, though we didn’t pay for going to
them. And then Robert says that he would never
trust a paid medium, and she looks at him approv-
ingly, and says ‘Dear P rincess’! The other day
—it was a very good trap—I said, ‘Is it true that
the Princess is coming to stay with Lady Amber-
mere?’ It wasn’t a lie: I only asked.’’

‘‘And then?’’ said Olga.

‘Robert gave an awful twitch, not a jump
exactly, but a twitch. But she was on the spot
and said, ‘Ah, that would be nice. I wonder if .
it’s true. The Princess didn’t mention it in her
last letter.’ And then he looked at her approv-
ingly. There is something there, no one shall
convince me otherwise.’’

Olga suddenly burst out laughing.

‘*What’s the matter?’’ asked Georgie.

‘*QOh, it’s all so delicious!’’ she said. ‘‘I never
knew before how terribly interesting little things
were. It’s all wildly exciting, and there are fifty
things going on just as exciting. Is it all of you.
who take such a tremendous interest in them that
makes them so absorbing, or is it that they are
absorbing in themselves, and ordinary dull people,-
not Riseholmites, don’t see how exciting they are?
Tommy Luton’s measles: the Quantocks’ secret:
“QUEEN LUCIA” 323

Hlizabeth’s lover! And to think that I believed I
was coming to a backwater.”’

Georgie held up his picture and half closed his
eyes.

‘*T believe it’s finished,’’ he said. ‘‘I shall have
it framed, and put it in my drawing-room.’

This was a trap, and Olga fell into it.

““Yes, it will look nice there,’’ she said.
‘*Really, Georgie, it is very clever of you.’’

He began washing his brushes.

‘‘And what was your news?”’ he said.

She got up from her seat. -

“T forgot all about it, with talking of the
- Quantocks’ secret,’’ she said. “That just shows
you: I completely forgot, Georgie. I’ve just ac-
cepted an offer to sing in America, a four months’
engagement, at fifty thousand’ million pounds a
night. A penny less, and I wouldn’t have gone.
But I really can’t refuse. It’s all been very sud-
den, but they want to produce Lucretia there
before it appears in England. Then I come back,
and sing in London all the summer. Oh, me!’’

There was dead silence, while Georgie dried his
brushes.

‘When do you go?”’ he asked.

“Tn about a fortnight.’’

“*Oh,’’ said he.

She moved down the room to the piano and shut
it without speaking, while he folded the paper
round his finished picture.

‘‘Why don’t you come, too?’’ she said at length.
“Tt would do you no end of good, for you would
get out of this darling two-penny place which will
all go inside a nut-shell. There are big things in
324 . “QUEEN LUCIA”

the world, Georgie: seas, . continents, people,’
movements, emotions. I told my Georgie I was
going to ask you, and he thoroughly approves.
We both like you, you know. It would be lovely
if you would come. Come for a couple of months,
anyhow: of course you’ll be our guest, please.’’
The world, at that moment, had grown abso-
lutely black to him, and it was by that that he
knew who, for him, was the light of it. He shook
his head.
‘*Why can’t you come?’’ she said.
He looked at her straight in the face.
‘‘Because I adore you,’’ he said,

4
CHAPTER XVI

Tue glad word went round Riseholme one
March morning that the earliest flower in Per-
dita’s garden was in bloom. The day was one
of those glories of the English spring-time, with
large white clouds blown across wide spaces of
‘blue sky by the southwest wind, and with swift
shadows that bowled across the green below them.
Parliament was in full conclave that day, and in
the elms the rooks were busy.

An awful flatness had succeeded Olga’s depar-
ture. Riseholme naturally took a good deal of
credit for the tremendous success which had
attended the production of Lucretia, since it so
rightly considered that the real cradle of the
opera was here, where she had tried it over for
the first time. Lucia seemed to remember it bet-
‘ter than anybody, for she remembered all sorts
of things which no one else had the faintest recol-
lection of: how she had discussed music with
Signor Cortese, and he had asked her where she
had her musical training. Such a treat to talk
Italian with a Roman—lingua Toscana in bocca
Romana—and what a wonderful evening it was.
Poor Mrs Colonel recollected very little of this,
but Lucia had long been aware that her memory
was going sadly. After producing Lucretia in
New York, Olga had appeared in some of her old
réles, notably in the part of Brunnhilde, and

325
326 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Lucia was very reminiscent of that charming
party on Christmas Day at dear Geargino’s, when
they had the tableaux. Dear Olga was so simple

and unspoiled: she had come to Lucia afterwards,

and asked her to tell her how she had worked out

her scheme of gestures in the awakening, and

Lucia had been very glad, very glad indeed to

give her a few hints. In fact, Lucia was quite her-

self: it was only her subjects whom it had been a

little hard to stir up. Georgie in particular had

‘been very listless and dull,’and Lucia, for all her

ingenuity, was at a complete loss to find a reason

for it.

But today the warm inflowing tide of spring
seemed to renovate the muddy flats, setting the
weeds, that had lain dank and dispirited, a-floating
again on the return of the water. No one could
quite resist the magic of the season, and Georgie,
who had intended out of mere politeness to go to.
see the earliest of Perdita’s stupid flowers (hav-.
ing béen warned of its epiphany by telephone
from The Hurst) found, when he set foot outside
his house on that warm windy morning, that it
would be interesting to stroll across the green
first, and see if there was any news. All the news
he had really cared about for the last two months
was news from America, of which he had a small
packet done up in a pink riband.

After getting rid of Piggy, he went to the news-
paper shop, to get his ‘‘Times,’’ which most un-
accountably had not arrived, and the sight of
‘“‘Todd’s News’’ in its yellow cover stirred his
drowsy interest. Not one atom of light had ever
been thrown on that extraordinary occurrence
“QUEEN LUCIA” 327

when Robert bought the whole issue, and though
Olga never failed to enquire, he had not been able
to give her the slightest additional information.
Occasionally he set a languid trap for one of the
“Quantocks, but they never by any chance fell into
it. The whole affair must be classed, with prob-
lems like the origin of evil, among the insoluble
mysteries of life.

It was possible to get letters by the second post
an hour earlier than the house-to-house delivery
by calling at the office, and as Georgie was waiting
for. his ‘‘Times,’’ Mrs Quantock came hurrying
out of the post-office with a small packet in her
hands, which she was opening as she walked. She
was so much absorbed by this that she did not
see Georgie at all, though shé passed quite close
to him, and soon after shed a registered envelope.
At that the ‘‘old familiar glamour’’ began to
steal over him again, and he found himself won-
dering with intensity what it contained.

She was now some hundred yards in front of
him, walking in the direction of The Hurst, and
there could be no doubt that she, too, was on her
way to see Perdita’s first flower. He followed her
. going more briskly than she and began to catch
her up. Soon (this time by accident, not in the
manner in which, through eagerness, she had un-
tidily cast the registered envelope away) she
dropped a small paper, and’ Georgie picked it up,
meaning to give it her. It had printed matter on
the front of it, and was clearly a small pamphlet.
He could not possibly help seeing what that
printed matter was, for it was in capital letters:

INCREASE YOUR HEIGHT
828 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Georgie quickened his step, and the old familiar
glamour-brightened round him. As soon as he:
got within speaking distance, he called to her, and
turning round, ‘‘like a guilty thing surprised,’’ a
little box flew out of her hand. As it fell the lid -
came off, and there was scattered on the green.
grass a multitude of red lozenges. She gave a
ery of dismay.

“‘Oh! Mr Georgie, how you startled me!’’ she
said. ‘‘Do help me to pick them up. Do you
think the damp will have hurt them? Any news?
I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that
I’ve spoken to nobody.”

Georgie assisted in the recovery of the red
lozenges.

“You dropped this as you walked,’”’ he said.
“*T picked it up in order to give it you. >

“« Ah, that is kind, and did you see what it was?”

“E couldn’t help seeing the outside,’’ said
Georgie.

She looked at him a moment, wondering what
was the most prudent course. If she said nothing
more, he would probably tell everybody. .. .

‘*Well, then I shall let you into the whole
secret,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s the most wonderful in-
vention, and increases your height, whatever your
age is, from two to six inches. Fancy! There
are some exercises you have to do, rather like
those Yoga ones, every morning, and you eat three
lozenges a day. Quite harmless they are, and’
then you soon begin to shoot up. It sounds in--
credible, doesn’t it? but there are so many testi-
monials that-I can’t doubt it is genuine. Here’s —
one of a man who grew six inches. I saw it adver-
“QUEEN LUCIA” _ 329

tised in some ‘paper, and sent for it. Only a
guinea! What fun when Robert begins to see that
I am taller than he is! But now not a word!
Don’t tell dear Lucia, whatever you do. She is
half a head taller than I, and it would be no fun
if everybody grew from two to six inches. You
may write for them, and I’ll give you the antes
but you must tell nobody.’’

‘‘Too wonderful!’’ said Georgie. ‘‘I shall maken:
you. Here we are. Look, there’s Perdita’s
flower. What abeauty!’’

It was not necessary to press the mermaid’s
tail, for Lucia had seen them from the music-room,
and they heard her high heels clacking over the

. polished floor of the hall.

“Listen! No more need of high heels!’’ said
Mrs Quantock. ‘‘And I’ve got something else to
tell you. Lucia may hear that. Ah, dear Lucia,
what a wonderful Perdita-blossom!’’

“Ts it not?’’? said Lucia, blowing kisses to
Georgie, and giving them to Daisy. ‘‘That shows

spring .is here. Primavera! And Peppino’s
_piccolo libro comes out today. I should not be a
bit surprised if you each of you found a copy of it
arrive before evening. Glorious! It’s glorious!’’

' Surely it was no wonder that Georgie’ s blood

began to canter along his arteries again. There
“had been very pleasant exciting years before now,
requiring for their fuel no more than was ready
at this moment to keep up the fire. Mrs Quan-
tock was on tip-toe, so to speak, to increase her
height, Peppino was just delivered of a second of
these vellum volumes with seals and tapes out-
330 “QUEEN LUCIA”

Colonel-at the end of the week, and at the same
hour and church Elizabeth was going to become
Mrs Atkinson. Had: these things no savour, be-
cause——

‘‘How is ’o0?’’ said Georgie, with a sudden
flush of the spring-time through him. ‘‘Me vewy
well, sank ’oo, and me so want to read Peppino’s
pookie-bookie. -

*¢ 900 come in,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘Kvewybody come
in. Now, who’s got ickle bit news?’’

Mrs Quantock had been walking on her toes all
across the hall, in anticipation of the happy time
when she would be from two to six inches taller.
As the animated pamphlet said, the world assumed
a totally different aspect when you were even two
‘ inches taller. She was quite sorry to sit down.

“‘Ts next week very full with you, dear Lucia?’’
she asked. ‘

Lucia pressed her finger to her forehead.

“‘Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,’’ she began.
“‘No, not Tuesday, I am doing nothing on Tues-

‘day. You want to be the death of me between
you. Why?”

“I hope that my dear friend, Bennaes Popoff-
ski, will be staying with me,”? said Mrs Quantock.
‘*‘Do get over your prejudice against spiritualism,
and give it a chance. Come to a séance on Tues-
day. You, too, of course, Georgie: I know better.
than to invite Lucia without you.’’

Lucia put on the far-away look which she re-
served for the masterpieces of music, and for
Georgie’s hopeless devotion.

“Lovely! That will be lovely!’’ she said.

/
“QUEEN LUCIA” 331

‘‘Most interesting! I shall come with a perfectly
open mind.’’

Georgie scarcely lamented the annihilation of a
mystery. He must surely have imagined the mys-
tery, for it all collapsed like a card-house, if the
Princess was coming back. The séances had been
most remarkable, too; and he would have to get
out his planchette again.

‘¢ And what’s going to happen on Wednesday?’’
he asked Lucia. ‘‘AII I know is that I’ve not been

-asked. Me’s offended.’’

‘‘Tekle surprise,’’ said Lucia. ‘‘You’re not en-
gaged that evening, are you? Nor you, dear
Daisy? That’s lovely. Hight o’clock? No, I
think a quarter to. That will give us more time.
I shan’t tell you what it is.’’

Mrs Quantock, grasping her lozenges, wondered
how much taller she would be by then. As Lucia

played to them, she drew a lozenge out of the box
and put it into her mouth, in order to begin grow-
ing at once. It tasted rather bitter, but not
-unpleasantly so.

THE END
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