Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes

Mrs. Chatteris (alarmed). But, dear Lady Cantire, I had no idea you would disapprove. Indeed you seemed – And really, though she certainly seems to find him rather well —sympathetic– I'm sure —almost sure – there can be nothing serious – at present.

Lady Cantire. Thank you, my dear, I merely wished for an answer to my question. And you see, Albinia, that Gerald Thicknesse can hardly have gone yet, since he is walking about the grounds with Maisie.

Mrs. Chatteris. Captain Thicknesse? But he has gone, Lady Cantire! I saw him start. I didn't mean him.

Lady Cantire. Indeed? then I shall be obliged if you will say who it is you did mean.

Mrs. Chatteris. Why, only her old friend and admirer – that little poet man, Mr. Blair.

Lady Cantire (to herself). And I actually sent him to her! (Rising in majestic wrath.) Albinia, whatever comes of this, remember I shall hold you entirely responsible!

[She sweeps out of the room; the other two ladies look after her, and then at one another, in silent consternation.

PART XXII

A DESCENT FROM THE CLOUDS

In the Elizabethan Garden. Lady Maisie and Undershell are on a seat in the Yew Walk. Time —About 11 A.M.

Lady Maisie (softly). And you really meant to go away, and never let one of us know what had happened to you!

Undershell (to himself). How easy it is after all to be a hero! (Aloud.) That certainly was my intention, only I was – er – not permitted to carry it out. I trust you don't consider I should have been to blame?

Lady Maisie (with shining eyes). To blame? Mr. Blair! As if I could possibly do that! (To herself.) He doesn't even see how splendid it was of him!

Undershell (to himself). I begin to believe that I can do no wrong in her eyes! (Aloud.) It was not altogether easy, believe me, to leave without even having seen your face; but I felt so strongly that it was better so.

Lady Maisie (looking down). And – do you still feel that?

Undershell. I must confess that I am well content to have failed. It was such unspeakable torture to think that you, Lady Maisie, you of all people, would derive your sole idea of my personality from such an irredeemable vulgarian as that veterinary surgeon – the man Spurrell!

Lady Maisie (to herself, with an almost imperceptible start). I suppose it's only natural he should feel like that – but I wish – I do wish he had put it just a little differently! (Aloud.) Poor Mr. Spurrell! perhaps he was not exactly —

Undershell. Not exactly! I assure you it is simply inconceivable to me that, in a circle of any pretensions to culture and refinement, an ill-bred boor like that could have been accepted for a single moment as – I won't say a Man of Genius, but —

Lady Maisie (the light dying out of her eyes). No, don't– don't go on, Mr. Blair. We were all excessively stupid, no doubt, but you must make allowances for us – for me, especially. I have had so few opportunities of meeting people who are really distinguished – in literature, at least. Most of the people I know best are – well, not exactly clever, you know. I so often wish I was in a set that cared rather more about intellectual things!

Undershell (with infinite pity). How you must have pined for freer air! How you must have starved on such mental provender as, for example, the vapid and inane commonplaces of that swaggering carpet-soldier, Captain – Thickset, isn't it?

Lady Maisie (drawing back into her corner). You evidently don't know that Captain Thicknesse distinguished himself greatly in the Soudan, where he was very severely wounded.

Undershell. Possibly; but that is scarcely to the point. I do not question his efficiency as a fighting animal. As to his intelligence, perhaps, the less said the better.

Lady Maisie (contracting her brows). Decidedly. I ought to have mentioned at once that Captain Thicknesse is a very old friend of mine.

Undershell. Really? He, at least, may be congratulated. But pray don't think that I spoke with any personal animus; I merely happen to entertain a peculiar aversion for a class whose profession is systematic slaughter. In these Democratic times, when Humanity is advancing by leaps and bounds towards International Solidarity, soldiers are such grotesque and unnecessary anachronisms.

Lady Maisie (to herself, with a little shiver). Oh, why does he – why does he? (Aloud.) I should have thought that, until war itself is an anachronism, men who are willing to fight and die for their country could never be quite unnecessary. But we won't discuss Captain Thicknesse, particularly now that he has left Wyvern. Suppose we go back to Mr. Spurrell. I know, of course, that, in leaving him in ignorance as you did, you acted from the best and highest motives; but still —

Undershell. It is refreshing to be so thoroughly understood! I think I know what your "but still" implies – why did I not foresee that he would infallibly betray himself before long? I did. But I gave him credit for being able to sustain his part for another hour or two – until I had gone, in fact.

Lady Maisie. Then you didn't wish to spare his feelings as well as ours?

Undershell. To be quite frank, I didn't trouble myself about him: my sole object was to retreat with dignity; he had got himself somehow or other into a false position he must get out of as best he could. After all, he would be none the worse for having filled my place for a few hours.

Lady Maisie (slowly). I see. It didn't matter to you whether he was suspected of being an impostor, or made to feel uncomfortable, or – or anything. Wasn't that a little unfeeling of you?

Undershell. Unfeeling! I allowed him to keep my evening clothes, which is more than a good many —

Lady Maisie. At all events, he may have had to pay more heavily than you imagine. I wonder whether – But I suppose anything so unromantic as the love affairs of a veterinary surgeon would have no interest for you?

Undershell. Why not, Lady Maisie? To the Student of Humanity, and still more to the Poet, the humblest love-story may have its interesting – even its suggestive – aspect.

Lady Maisie. Well, I may tell you that it seems Mr. Spurrell has long been attached, if not actually engaged, to a maid of mine.

Undershell (startled out of his self-possession). You – you don't mean to Miss Phillipson?

Lady Maisie. That is her name. How very odd that you – But perhaps Mr. Spurrell mentioned it to you last night?

Undershell (recovering his sangfroid). I am hardly likely to have heard of it from any other quarter.

Lady Maisie. Of course not. And did he tell you that she was here, in this very house?

Undershell. No, he never mentioned that. What a remarkable coincidence!

Lady Maisie. Yes, rather. The worst of it is that the foolish girl seems to have heard that he was a guest here, and have jumped to the conclusion that he had ceased to care for her; so she revenged herself by a desperate flirtation with some worthless wretch she met in the housekeeper's room, whose flattery and admiration, I'm very much afraid, have completely turned her head!

Undershell (uncomfortably). Ah, well, she must learn to forget him, and no doubt, in time – How wonderful the pale sunlight is on that yew hedge!

Lady Maisie. You are not very sympathetic! I should not have told you at all, only I wanted to show you that if poor Mr. Spurrell did innocently usurp your place, he may have lost – But I see all this only bores you.

Undershell. Candidly, Lady Maisie, I can't affect a very keen interest in the – er – gossip of the housekeeper's room. Indeed, I am rather surprised that you should condescend to listen to —

Lady Maisie (to herself). This is really too much! (Aloud.) It never occurred to me that I was "condescending" in taking an interest in a pretty and wayward girl who happens to be my maid. But then, I'm not a Democrat, Mr. Blair.

Undershell. I – I'm afraid you construed my remark as a rebuke; which it was not at all intended to be.

Lady Maisie. It would have been rather superfluous if it had been, wouldn't it? (Observing his growing uneasiness.) I'm afraid you don't find this bench quite comfortable?

Undershell. I – er – moderately so. (To himself.) There's a female figure coming down the terrace steps. It's horribly like – But that must be my morbid fancy; still, if I can get Lady Maisie away, just in case – (Aloud.) D – don't you think sitting still becomes a little – er – monotonous after a time? Couldn't we —

[He rises, spasmodically.

Lady Maisie (rising too). Certainly; we have sat here quite long enough. It is time we went back.

Undershell (to himself). We shall meet her! and I'm almost sure it's – I must prevent any – (Aloud.) Not back, Lady Maisie! You – you promised to show me the orchid-house – you did, indeed!

Lady Maisie. Very well; we can go in, if you care about orchids. It's on our way back.

Undershell (to himself). This is too awful! It is that girl Phillipson. She is looking for somebody! Me! (Aloud.) On second thoughts, I don't think I do care to see the orchids. I detest them; they are such weird, unnatural, extravagant things. Let us turn back and see if there are any snowdrops on the lawn behind that hedge. I love the snowdrop, it is so trustful and innocent, with its pure green-veined – Do come and search for snowdrops!

Lady Maisie. Not just now. I think – (as she shields her eyes with one hand) – I'm not quite sure yet – but I rather fancy that must be my maid at the other end of the walk.

Undershell (eagerly). I assure you, Lady Maisie, you are quite mistaken. Not the least like her!

Lady Maisie (astonished). Why, how can you possibly tell that, without having seen her, Mr. Blair?

Undershell. I – I meant – You described her as "pretty," you know. This girl is plain – distinctly plain!

Lady Maisie. I don't agree at all. However, it certainly is Phillipson, and she seems to have come out in search of me; so I had better see if she has any message.

Undershell. She hasn't. I'm positive she hasn't. She – she wouldn't walk like that if she had. (In feverish anxiety.) Lady Maisie, shall we turn back? She – she hasn't seen us yet!

Lady Maisie. Really, Mr. Blair! I don't quite see why I should run away from my own maid!.. What is it, Phillipson?

[She advances to meet Phillipson, leaving Undershell behind, motionless.

Undershell (to himself). It's all over! That confounded girl recognises me. I saw her face change! She'll be jealous, I know she'll be jealous – and then she'll tell Lady Maisie everything!.. I wish to Heaven I could hear what she is saying. Lady Maisie seems agitated… I – I might stroll gently on and leave them; but it would look too like running away, perhaps. No, I'll stay here and face it out like a man! I won't give up just yet. (He sinks limply upon the bench.) After all, I've been in worse holes than this since I came into this infernal place, and I've always managed to scramble out – triumphantly too! If she will only give me five minutes alone, I know I can clear myself; it isn't as if I had done anything to be ashamed of… She's sent away that girl. She seems to be expecting me to come to her… I – I suppose I'd better.

[He rises with effort, and goes towards Lady Maisie with a jaunty unconsciousness that somehow has the air of stopping short just above the knees.

PART XXIII

SHRINKAGE

In the Yew Walk.

Lady Maisie (to herself, as she watches Undershell approaching). How badly he walks, and what does he mean by smiling at me like that? (Aloud, coldly.) I am sorry, Mr. Blair, but I must leave you to finish your stroll alone; my maid has just told me —

Undershell (vehemently). Lady Maisie, I ask you, in common fairness, not to judge me until you have heard my version. You will not allow the fact that I travelled down here in the same compartment with your maid, Phillipson —

Lady Maisie (wide-eyed). The same! But we came by that train. I thought you missed it?

Undershell. I – I was not so fortunate. It is rather a long and complicated story, but —

Lady Maisie. I'm afraid I really can't listen to you now, Mr. Blair, after what I have heard from Phillipson —

Undershell. I implore you not to go without hearing both sides. Sit down again – if only for a minute. I feel confident that I can explain everything satisfactorily.

Lady Maisie (sitting down). I can't imagine what there is to explain – and really I ought, if Phillipson —

Undershell. You know what maids are, Lady Maisie. They embroider. Unintentionally, I dare say, but still, they do embroider.

Lady Maisie (puzzled). She is very clever at mending lace, I know, though what that has to do with it —

Undershell. Listen to me, Lady Maisie. I came to this house at your bidding. Yes, but for your written appeal, I should have treated the invitation I received from your aunt with silent contempt. Had I obeyed my first impulse and ignored it, I should have been spared humiliations and indignities which ought rather to excite your pity than – than any other sensation. Think – try to realise what my feelings must have been when I found myself expected by the butler here to sit down to supper with him and the upper servants in the housekeeper's room!

Lady Maisie (shocked). Oh, Mr. Blair! Indeed, I had no – You weren't really! How could they? What did you say?

Undershell (haughtily). I believe I let him know my opinion of the snobbery of his employers in treating a guest of theirs so cavalierly.

Lady Maisie (distressed). But surely —surely you couldn't suppose that my uncle and aunt were capable of —

Undershell. What else could I suppose, under the circumstances? It is true I have since learnt that I was mistaken in this particular instance; but I am not ignorant of the ingrained contempt you aristocrats have for all who live by exercising their intellect – the bitter scorn of birth for brains!

Lady Maisie. I am afraid the – the contempt is all on the other side; but if that is how you feel about it, I don't wonder that you were indignant.

Undershell. Indignant! I was furious. In fact, nothing would have induced me to sit down to supper at all, if it hadn't been for —

Lady Maisie (in a small voice). Then – you did sit down? With the servants! Oh, Mr. Blair!

Undershell. I thought you were already aware of it. Yes, Lady Maisie, I endured even that. But (with magnanimity) you must not distress yourself about it now. If I can forget it, surely you can do so!

Lady Maisie. Can I? That you should have consented, for any consideration whatever; how could you – how could you?

Undershell (to himself). She admires me all the more for it. But I knew she would take the right view! (Aloud, with pathos.) I was only compelled by absolute starvation. I had had an unusually light lunch, and I was so hungry!

Lady Maisie (after a pause). That explains it, of course… I hope they gave you a good supper!

Undershell. Excellent, thank you. Indeed, I was astonished at the variety and even luxury of the table. There was a pyramid of quails —

Lady Maisie. I am pleased to hear it. But I thought there was something you were going to explain.

Undershell. I have been endeavouring to explain to the best of my ability that if I have undesignedly been the cause of – er – a temporary diversion in the state of Miss Phillipson's affections, no one could regret more deeply than I that the – er – ordinary amenities of the supper-table should have been mistaken for —

Lady Maisie (horrified). Oh, stop, Mr. Blair, please stop! I don't want to hear any more. I see now. It was you who —

Undershell. Of course it was I. Surely the girl herself has been telling you so just now!

Lady Maisie. You really thought that possible, too? She simply came with a message from my mother.

Undershell (slightly disconcerted). Oh! If I had known it was merely that. However, I am sure I need not ask you to treat my – my communication in the strictest confidence, Lady Maisie.

Lady Maisie. Indeed, that is perfectly unnecessary, Mr. Blair.

Undershell. Yes, I felt from the first that I could trust you – even with my life. And I cannot regret having told you, if it has enabled you to understand me more thoroughly. It is such a relief that you know all, and that there are no more secrets between us. You do feel that I only acted as was natural and inevitable under the circumstances?

Lady Maisie. Oh yes, yes. I – I dare say you could not help it. I mean you did quite, quite right!

Undershell. Ah, how you comfort me with your fresh girlish – You are not going, Lady Maisie?

Lady Maisie (rising). I must. I ought to have gone before. My mother wants me. No, you are not to come too; you can go on and gather those snowdrops, you know.

[She walks slowly back to the house.

Undershell (looking after her). She took it wonderfully well. I've made it all right, or she wouldn't have said that about the snowdrops. Yes, she shall not be disappointed; she shall have her posy!

In the Morning-room. Half an hour later.

Lady Maisie (alone – to herself). Thank goodness, that's over! It was awful. I don't think I ever saw mamma a deeper shade of plum colour! How I have been mistaken in Mr. Blair! That he could write those lines —

"Aspiring unto that far-off Ideal,I may not stoop to any meaner love,"

and yet philander with my poor foolish Phillipson the moment he met her! And then to tell mamma about my letter like that! Why, even Mr. Spurrell had more discretion – to be sure, he knew nothing about it – but that makes no difference! Rhoda was right; I ought to have allowed a margin – only I should never have allowed margin enough! The worst of it is that, if mamma was unjust in some things she said, she was right about one. I have disgusted Gerald. He mayn't be brilliant, but at least he's straightforward and loyal and a gentleman, and – and he did like me once. He doesn't any more – or he wouldn't have gone away. And it may be ages before I ever get a chance to let him see how dreadfully sorry – (She turns, and sees Captain Thicknesse.) Oh, haven't you gone yet?

Captain Thicknesse. Yes, I went, but I've come back again. I – I couldn't help it; 'pon my word I couldn't.

Lady Maisie (with a sudden flush). You – you weren't sent for – by – by any one?

Captain Thicknesse. So likely any one would send for me, isn't it?

Lady Maisie. I don't know why I said that; it was silly, of course. But how —

Captain Thicknesse. Ran it a bit too fine; got to Shuntin'bridge just in time to see the tail end of the train disappearin'; wasn't another for hours – not much to do there, don't you know.

Lady Maisie. You might have taken a walk – or gone to church.

Captain Thicknesse. So I might, didn't occur to me; and besides, I – I remembered I never said good-bye to you.

Lady Maisie. Didn't you? And whose fault was that?

Captain Thicknesse. Not mine, anyhow. You were somewhere about the grounds with Mr. Blair.

Lady Maisie. Now you mention it, I believe I was. We had – rather an interesting conversation. Still, you might have come to look for me!

Captain Thicknesse. Perhaps you wouldn't have been over and above glad to see me.

Lady Maisie. Oh yes, I should! – When it was to say good-bye, you know!

Captain Thicknesse. Ah! Well, I suppose I shall only be in the way if I stop here any longer now.

Lady Maisie. Do you? What makes you suppose that?

Captain Thicknesse. Nothin'! Saw your friend the bard hurryin' along the terrace with a bunch of snowdrops; he'll be here in another —

Lady Maisie (in unmistakable horror). Gerald, why didn't you tell me before? There's only just time!

[She flies to a door and opens it.

Captain Thicknesse. But I say, you know! Maisie, may I come too?

Lady Maisie. Don't be a goose, Gerald. Of course you can, if you like.

[She disappears in the conservatory.

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). Can't quite make this out, but I'm no end glad I came back!

[He follows quickly.

Undershell (entering). I hoped I should find her here. (He looks round.) Her mother's gone – that's something! I dare say Lady Maisie will come in presently. (He sits down and re-arranges his snowdrops.) It will be sweet to see her face light up when I offer her these as a symbol of the new and closer link between us! (He hears the sound of drapery behind him.) Ah, already! (Rising, and presenting his flowers with downcast eyes.) I – I have ventured to gather these – for you. (He raises his eyes.) Miss Spelwane!

Miss Spelwane (taking them graciously). How very sweet of you, Mr. Blair. Are they really for me?

Undershell (concealing his disappointment). Oh – er – yes. If you will give me the pleasure of accepting them.

Miss Spelwane. I feel immensely proud. I was so afraid you must have thought I was rather cross to you last night. I didn't mean to be. I was feeling a little overdone, that was all. But you have chosen a charming way of letting me see that I am forgiven. (To herself.) It's really too touching. He certainly is a great improvement on the other wretch!

Undershell (dolefully). I – I had no such intention, I assure you. (To himself.) I hope to goodness Lady Maisie won't come in before I can get rid of this girl. I seem fated to be misunderstood here!

PART XXIV

THE HAPPY DISPATCH

"Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, but – "

In the Morning-room. Time —About 1 P.M.

Undershell (to himself alone). I'm rather sorry that that Miss Spelwane couldn't stay. She's a trifle angular – but clever. It was distinctly sharp of her to see through that fellow Spurrell from the first, and lay such an ingenious little trap for him. And she has a great feeling for Literature – knows my verses by heart, I discovered, quite accidentally. All the same, I wish she hadn't intercepted those snowdrops. Now I shall have to go out and pick some more. (Sounds outside in the entrance hall.) Too late – they've got back from church!