Chapter XII headpiece
Little Miss Barbara Pennymint came flying out of her house: a little more and she would have flown over the railings. Her cheeks were glowing with joy, her eyes glittering with excitement. She saw nothing of the tea-party, but dashed headlong into the midst of it as a sea-mew dashes at a lighthouse. "Marjory! Marjory!" she cried. Then she saw all the people staring at her, and stopped, abashed. "Oh! I had forgotten!" she exclaimed, and spread her wings to fly back again, but Madame stopped her.
"A dish of tea, Miss Barbara?"
"No!" cried Barbara, violently, but remembering her manners she corrected herself. "Oh, no, thank you!" She hopped and skipped to Marjolaine, who had come half-way to meet her. "Marjory," she said, overflowing with excitement, "can I speak to you?"
Before Marjolaine could answer, Sir Peter had borne down on them. Here, at last, was somebody who had not snubbed him yet. "Ah, Miss Barbara," he bellowed, with clumsy playfulness, "I didn't see you in church yesterday!"
As if Barbara wanted to be reminded of that!
"Wasn't I there?" she stammered, utterly taken aback. "I don't remember." She tried to get away, but the Admiral was inexorable. "Come, now! Come, now! What was the text?"
Unhappy little Barbara saw all the eyes of the Walk fixed on her. She had to say something. "Oh! I know!" she cried at last, and proceeded volubly, "'If any of you know of any cause or just impediment—'"
"Barbara!" screamed Miss Ruth, indignantly, while the others laughed at her confusion. Basil heaved a great sigh. Still thinking of the lost one! Marjolaine came to the rescue and drew Barbara away from her tormentor. "Come away, Babs!" She turned severely on poor Sir Peter, "Don't worry her, Sir Peter!"
"Try to put some sense in her, Miss Marjory," said Ruth, as the two girls ran away, with their arms, as usual, round each others' waists.
The Admiral was crushed. "Even Missie!" he groaned. But he saw Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn preparing to tell another anecdote. This gave him new courage. Putting on his courtliest manner, he exclaimed, "Well, Ladies! To-morrow is the Fourth of June!"
"As this is the Third," interrupted Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with fine sarcasm, "you might safely have left us to infer that, sir!"
He was standing close to Mrs. Poskett, who had not moved from her seat under the elm. Sir Peter came and faced him, so that the poor lady found herself, as she afterwards described it, between the upper and the nether millstone.
If Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn could wield sarcasm, so could Sir Peter when he was put to it. He spoke with dangerous politeness. "But it seems necessary to remind the bosom friend of H.R.H. the P. of W. that it is the birthday of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third!—" The shot told. For a moment Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was silenced. Sir Peter went on, conscious of victory, "Ladies, I warn you not to be alarmed when you hear me fire the salute as usual!"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn leaped—positively leaped at his opportunity. "As usual!—Ha! That brass popgun of yours—"
"Popgun!—" roared the Admiral, leaning across Mrs. Poskett.
"I said popgun, sir!—has never gone off, yet!"
Mrs. Poskett was in a dreadful flutter. She held up her cup and saucer deprecatingly to each of the infuriated gentlemen in turn, and each automatically seized them and rattled them in the other's face. Jim—moved by his guilty conscience—was signalling frantically to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn not to betray him.
The Admiral was purple in the face. "Because some infernal scoundrel has always tampered with the charge!" The accumulated grievances of the evening welled up within him. "But to-night," he went on, thrusting the cup and saucer roughly on Mrs. Poskett and spilling the tea over her beautiful silk gown, "to-night, I'll load it myself! and, damme! I'll take it to bed with me!" And with that he stumped off in a rage into his house, thrusting the innocent Basil and the terrified Jim out of his way with horrible objurgations.
"Now, Ladies!" said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, triumphantly, "you see the man's real nature!"
Poor Mrs. Poskett's nerves were completely shattered, and she was trying to drink tea out of her empty cup.
Ruth came and sat beside her. "We shall break the Admiral down, yet, my dear. His temper is all due to conscience."
"Alderman Poskett was just like that whenever he had sanded the sugar," said Mrs. Poskett, tearfully.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was devoting himself to Madame. Jim and Nanette were removing the tea-things into Madame's house, and that rascally Jim, who was old enough to know better—but is anybody ever old enough to know better?—was making the most of his chances.
Marjolaine and Barbara had retired into the Gazebo. "Yes!" twittered Barbara, continuing their conversation, "he's learnt it! He does surround it with flowers of speech, but he says it quite clearly."
"Dear Doctor Johnson!" cried Marjolaine, laughing, and clapping her hands.
Barbara shuddered reminiscently. "But I cannot bear his eye on me! It's like Charles's. And he is moulting—which more than ever increases the resemblance. Oh, Marjory, he looked at me so coldly all the time I was teaching him!"
"Never mind how he looked, if he'll only talk!"
Barbara embraced her frantically. "How can I ever thank you?"
Basil was standing by the chains that separated the Walk from the river. The melancholy of the evening had entered his soul. Ruth came up to him. He was an idiot, to be sure, yet her heart went out to him in sympathy. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn and Mrs. Poskett were thanking Madame for her hospitality. Jack could be seen peeping impatiently out of Doctor Sternroyd's window, or striding to and fro in the room like a caged tiger at feeding time.
Marjolaine whispered to Barbara. "If you are really and truly grateful, you may be able to help me! I'll tell you a great secret." She drew Barbara close to her. "I am to be married to-morrow!"
Barbara screamed aloud, and all the people in the Walk turned in alarm.
"Is anything the matter?" enquired Miss Ruth, anxiously.
"No, no!" said Marjolaine, laughing. "Yes," she went on, when the others had resumed their conversation, "married secretly to-morrow. Swear you won't tell anybody if you live to be ninety!"
"Yes! oh, yes!" cried Barbara, hopping from twig to twig. (I cannot help it: she really was exactly like a bird!) "I mean, No! oh, no!"
"And you must be bridesmaid!"
Barbara's face expressed rapture. "Marjory!" And then with eager curiosity, "Who is it?"
"Sh!" whispered Marjolaine. She pointed to Doctor Sternroyd's house. "There!"
Barbara was genuinely amazed. She had heard of May and December, but this was May of this year and December of the year-before-last. "Not Doctor Sternroyd?" she asked aghast.
Marjolaine burst out laughing. "No, no!" She pointed again where Jack was standing behind the curtain, the picture of misery. "There! At the window!"
Barbara gazed and understood. "Oh, how lovely!" she cried, alluding to the romance and secrecy.
But, of course Marjolaine accepted the epithet for Jack. "Yes, is n't he?" She drew Barbara to the elm. "We are to be married by special licence."
"What's that?" asked Barbara.
"I don't know. Doctor Sternroyd's getting it. It lets you go and be married anywhere, whenever you like."
"Heavenly!" cried Barbara. "If Doctor Johnson teaches Basil what I 've taught Doctor Johnson, Doctor Sternroyd shall get me a licence, too."
"Yes," said Marjolaine, "we'll keep him busy." Then she turned to where Basil was gloomily watching them, and called, "Mr. Basil!"
Basil hurried forward eagerly, "Yes, Miss Marjory?"
"Barbara is not feeling very well," said Marjolaine, sympathetically; and immediately Barbara looked languishing and pathetic.
"Heavens!" cried Basil in genuine alarm, "Shall I play to her?"
"Oh, no!" cried Marjolaine, innocently, "it's not so bad as that. But it's her evening hour with Doctor Johnson, and she does n't feel quite equal to it."
Ruth had overheard this last statement. "Why, bless her heart!" she interrupted tartly, "she 's been sitting with that bird all day!"
Barbara lifted great reproachful eyes at her. "Unkind Ruth! The lonely bird!"
Marjolaine went on rapidly, addressing Basil, "So she wondered whether you would take her place for once."
"Why, of course!" cried Basil. "With the greatest pleasure in life!"
Barbara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and said very demurely, "Oh, but you don't know what you may hear."
"Yes," exclaimed Ruth, sharply, "he swears horribly."
"I'll soothe his savage breast!" cried Basil, enthusiastically. "I 'll be Orpheus with his Lute! I 'll play the Kreutzer Sonata to him!"
Barbara turned anxiously to Marjolaine: this wouldn't do at all!
"No! no!" cried the latter, "just let him talk! Just let him talk!"
But Basil was already inside the house. Marjolaine and Barbara retired, giggling, into the Gazebo, where they sat and twittered mutual confidences. Ruth joined the other ladies, who were listening to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. The Admiral was leaning out of his upstair window to take in his thrush.
"Indeed, yes," continued Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, "I have collected the witty sayings of my distinguished friends. I shall make a book of them. A small quarto. I shall call it, 'Pearls'"—he caught sight of the Admiral—"'Pearls before Swine.'" The Admiral disappeared. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn proceeded, "Did I tell you my friend Sherry's bonn mott about the weather?"
"Yes! Oh, yes!" cried all three ladies, with alacrity, and fled from him, leaving him abashed and rather offended. He saw Barbara in the Gazebo, and brightened up. "Ah! but Miss Barbara was not there!" He crossed on tip-toe, and, much to her alarm, seized her by the arm and dragged her to the elm. "Imagine, then," he boomed, condescendingly, while Barbara signalled in vain to Marjolaine for help, "Imagine, then, that you are standing—ah—just where you are standing; and I am Sheridan." Barbara had no idea of what he was talking about. Had he suddenly gone mad? If so, was he harmless? "You remember how we perspired on Saturday evening?" "Oh!" cried Barbara, with disgust. "I come up to you—so." He suited the action to the word. "I place my hand familiarly on your shoulder—so—"
"Really!" cried Barbara, indignantly.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn explained. "You understand: you are Sheridan—no; I am Sheridan and you are me. And I—that is Sheridan—say to you—I mean, me—'Brooke, my boy—'"
Jane, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's pretty maid, came rushing out of the house. She was in a flutter of excitement; also she was in a dreadful hurry—and here was her master, talking to a lady!
"'Brooke, my boy'"—repeated Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, leading up to his point.
"Master—! Master—!" whispered Jane, hoarsely.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn waved her away impatiently.
"'Brooke, my boy—'" he repeated for the third time. But Jane was tugging at his coat-tails.
"What is it?" cried Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, peevishly. "What the devil is it? Go away!"
Jane clung to him like a limpet. "Master!" she cried again; and then, putting her lips close to his ear and covering them with one hand, while with the other she pointed frantically to the upstairs window, she whispered a piece of news which petrified him and made his eyes start out of his head. Then she ran back into the house as quickly as she had come.
"Eh? What?" he cried, in great perturbation. "There, now!—So like Selina! Spoilt the point of my story!" He turned to the utterly bewildered Barbara, with half a mind to continue his anecdote, but thought better of it, and with a brusque, "Excuse me!" dashed headlong into the house.
Madame, who had been quietly conversing with Mrs. Poskett and Ruth, came to Marjolaine. "I think I shall go in. Will you come, Marjolaine?"
"Oh, Maman," pleaded Marjolaine, "I have so much to say to Barbara!" She accompanied her mother to their gate.
"You are so feverish—so unlike yourself—! You are not going to be indisposed?"
Marjolaine caught sight of Jack in the Doctor's study. "Oh, Maman!" she cried, throwing her arms round her mother's neck and kissing her with quite unusual ardour, "I am so well, so well!—I never was so well!"
Madame looked at her searchingly. Could her daughter be heartless? To be sure, she herself had besought her to forget her girlish love, but Marjolaine had forgotten it too quickly. Madame went into her house with an uneasy mind and a troubled countenance.
Miss Ruth had been arguing with Mrs. Poskett. "Well," she said, evidently alluding to the Admiral, "That's what I should do! Bring him to his knees."
There was a dangerous glitter in Mrs. Poskett's eyes as she replied, "I brought Poskett to his: why should n't I bring Peter?"
"Strike while the iron's hot. He knows we're all disappointed with him, and he's ashamed of himself. Now's the time, when he ain't sure of himself. Come along in. Put on your prettiest cap. I'll help you."
Just as they were at Mrs. Poskett's gate they saw Doctor Sternroyd come shuffling round the corner. His manner was furtive, and he was burdened with a variety of small parcels.
"Dear me, Doctor! How you are loaded!" cried Miss Ruth.
The antiquary had evidently hoped to get home unnoticed. "Good evening, Ladies!" he stammered, in confusion. "Pray excuse me if I cannot remove my hat."
"And not books, this time?" said Mrs. Poskett.
"No, no, no!" cried the antiquary, looking as guilty as if he had been caught carrying stolen goods. "Not books. Not what you might call books. Just parcels. Simple necessaries, I assure you." He made a wide curve in order not to come into closer contact with Ruth and Mrs. Poskett, and they went laughing into the latter's house. But the wide curve brought him up against Marjolaine and Barbara, who had come out of the Gazebo. "More women!" groaned the Doctor; and before either of them had spoken he had added hastily, "Simple necessaries, I do assure you!"
Barbara hopped up to him eagerly. She touched all the parcels, which he vainly tried to keep out of her reach. "Doctor," she said, eagerly, "which is the licence?"
The Doctor was utterly taken aback. "Eh? Oh, dear! dear! Miss Marjory, you told her!"
"Of course," said Marjory. "She's my dearest friend!"
"Tut, tut!—Dear, dear!—What says the Swan of Avon? 'Who was't betrayed the Capitol?—A woman!'"
Jack had opened the window and now leant out and said in a ghastly whisper, "Doctor!—For Heaven's sake look sharp with the victuals!"
"There, there!" cried the flustered Doctor, as he shuffled on into the house, "the cuckoo in the nest!"
At the same instant Mr. Basil Pringle came bounding out of the Misses Pennymint's house, shouting, "Miss Barbara!"
Barbara leant half-swooning against Marjolaine. "Oh!—he's coming!"
"Oh, Miss Barbara!" repeated Basil, breathlessly.
"Has Doctor Johnson bitten you?" asked Marjolaine, mischievously.
"Oh, that gifted bird!" exclaimed Basil, rapturously.
"Did he speak?" asked Marjolaine, while Barbara panted expectant.
"Speak!—Ah!—" Basil had no words.
Doctor Sternroyd's window was violently thrown open by Jack. It was nearly dark in the Walk, and Jack was reckless. "Marjory!" he called. Marjory was very much startled. Anybody might come out at any moment.
"Oh! take care!" she cried, as she ran up to within whispering distance of him.
Barbara, with bent head and blushing cheeks was trying to keep Basil to the point. "What did he say, Mr. Basil?"
"Come closer!" whispered Jack to Marjolaine, and after assuring herself that no one was looking, she crept inside the little garden.
Basil came impulsively towards Barbara. "Shall I tell you? Dare I tell you?" he asked passionately, yet shyly.
"You know best," said Barbara, making an invisible pattern on the grass with her dainty foot.
Basil took his courage in both hands. "He said—it was all in one breath—He said, 'O-burn-your-lungs-and-liver-you-lubberly-son-of-a- lop-eared-weevil-tell-Barbara-you-love-her!'"
"Oh, Mr. Basil!" sighed Barbara, and threw herself headlong into his arms.
"But it's true!—It's true!" he cried enthusiastically. "Come! let me tell you my own way!" And without more ado, he picked her up and carried her bodily into the Gazebo.
"It's perfectly monstrous!" Jack was explaining angrily to Marjolaine, who was now under his window. "The old fossil's brought two eggs, a red herring, and a pot of currant jelly!"
"Poor Jack!" exclaimed Marjolaine sympathetically, yet with a note of laughter in her voice.
"Is that rations for a grown man?" asked Jack pathetically. "Says he'll make an omelette! Two eggs! An omelette! Ho!"
Here the Eyesore crept cautiously back to his post. He had not dared come in broad daylight, but now that it was nearly dark he hoped he would be unobserved.
From the Gazebo came the voices of the other lovers in long-drawn notes.
"My own!" said Basil, in a stupendous bass.
"My Basil!" echoed Barbara.
Rapture. Oblivion. An endless embrace.
"Can't you send that object for food?" said Jack, pointing to the Eyesore.
"I daren't speak to him," answered Marjolaine, with a little shiver of dislike. "He always turns out to be somebody else. Jack! if you 'll be good, I 'll get it myself!"
"Angel! But make haste! I'm starving!"
"If you hear me singing, look out of the window," whispered Marjolaine, kissing her hand to him. And with that she ran lightly into her own house, and Jack retired to wait with what patience he could muster.
"And now, what is the next thing to do?" asked Basil, rising and leading Barbara towards the house.
"We must tell Ruth," said Barbara, with a sound practical idea of clinching the matter. There should be no mistake this time.
"Yes! at once!" cried Basil, nobly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, with a burst of grateful sentiment, "I 'll buy Doctor Johnson a golden chain!"
Barbara's pretty head was reposing affectionately on his shoulder. "And I 'll wear it for him. The dear bird."
"The dear, dear bird!" they repeated in melodious unison.
Not otherwise did Romeo and Juliet breathe soft nothings in the gardens of Verona. Not otherwise did Paolo and Francesca talk exquisite nonsense when they had very injudiciously left off reading. Not otherwise—but why pursue the subject? You and I have been just as happy, and just as foolish.
Ruth brought Mrs. Poskett, resplendent in a new cap and various other seductive devices, out of the house. Barbara fluttered to her sister. "Dear Ruth! Come in quickly! Basil and I have such news for you!"
Ruth saw it at a glance. At last they had shed one form of idiocy to take on another. Now, perhaps, she would enjoy a little peace. "Very well," she said. Then she made a low curtsey to Mrs. Poskett, and said, meaningly, "Courage—Lady Antrobus!"
Alas, poor Admiral! The knell of thy freedom has sounded. Shut thyself in thy house as thou wilt: close thy shutters; make fast thy doors; yea, train the little brass cannon on the Walk: nothing will help. Thy fair enemy is cruising at the harbour's mouth, with pennons flaunting to the breeze, and all her deadly armoury of sighs, tears, threats, reproaches and languishing glances made ready for action; and nothing thou canst do will serve. Through long years thou hast sailed light-heartedly from many ports, leaving broken, or, at any rate, damaged hearts behind thee. Now the Hour of Retribution has struck, and the Avenger is here. Thy day of conquests is past, and it is thou who wilt be led captive in chains of roses. There is none to sympathise with thee. On the contrary, it is my firm conviction that the whole Walk will hang out banners to celebrate thy defeat.