Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes

[They disappear into the refreshment room.

The Countess of Cantire enters with her daughter, Lady Maisie Mull.

Lady Cantire (to Footman). Get a compartment for us, and two foot-warmers, and a second-class as near ours as you can for Phillipson; then come back here. Stay, I'd better give you Phillipson's ticket. (The Footman disappears in the crowd.) Now we must get something to read on the journey. (To Clerk.) I want a book of some sort – no rubbish, mind; something serious and improving, and not a work of fiction.

Clerk. Exactly so, ma'am. Let me see. Ah, here's Alone with the 'Airy Ainoo. How would you like that?

Lady Cantire (with decision). I should not like it at all.

Clerk. I quite understand. Well, I can give you Three 'Undred Ways of Dressing the Cold Mutton– useful little book for a family, redooced to one and ninepence.

Lady Cantire. Thank you. I think I will wait till I am reduced to one and ninepence.

Clerk. Precisely. What do you say to Seven 'Undred Side-splitters for Sixpence? 'Ighly yumerous, I assure you.

Lady Cantire. Are these times to split our sides, with so many serious social problems pressing for solution? You are presumably not without intelligence; do you never reflect upon the responsibility you incur in assisting to circulate trivial and frivolous trash of this sort?

Clerk (dubiously). Well, I can't say as I do, particular, ma'am. I'm paid to sell the books – I don't select 'em.

Lady Cantire. That is no excuse for you – you ought to exercise some discrimination on your own account, instead of pressing people to buy what can do them no possible good. You can give me a Society Snippets.

Lady Maisie. Mamma! A penny paper that says such rude things about the Royal Family!

Lady Cantire. It's always instructive to know what these creatures are saying about one, my dear, and it's astonishing how they manage to find out the things they do. Ah, here's Gravener coming back. He's got us a carriage, and we'd better get in.

[She and her daughter enter a first-class compartment; Undershell and Drysdale return.

Drysdale (to Undershell). Well, I don't see now where the insolence comes in. These people have invited you to stay with them —

Undershell. But why? Not because they appreciate my work – which they probably only half understand – but out of mere idle curiosity to see what manner of strange beast a Poet may be! And I don't know this Lady Culverin – never met her in my life! What the deuce does she mean by sending me an invitation? Why should these smart women suppose that they are entitled to send for a Man of Genius, as if he was their lackey? Answer me that!

Drysdale. Perhaps the delusion is encouraged by the fact that Genius occasionally condescends to answer the bell.

Undershell (reddening). Do you imagine I am going down to this place simply to please them?

Drysdale. I should think it a doubtful kindness, in your present frame of mind; and, as you are hardly going to please yourself, wouldn't it be more dignified, on the whole, not to go at all?

Undershell. You never did understand me! Sometimes I think I was born to be misunderstood! But you might do me the justice to believe that I am not going from merely snobbish motives. May I not feel that such a recognition as this is a tribute less to my poor self than to Literature, and that, as such, I have scarcely the right to decline it?

Drysdale. Ah, if you put it in that way, I am silenced, of course.

Undershell. Or what if I am going to show these Patricians that – Poet of the People as I am – they can neither patronise nor cajole me?

Drysdale. Exactly, old chap – what if you are?

Undershell. I don't say that I may not have another reason – a – a rather romantic one – but you would only sneer if I told you! I know you think me a poor creature whose head has been turned by an undeserved success.

Drysdale. You're not going to try to pick a quarrel with an old chum, are you? Come, you know well enough I don't think anything of the sort. I've always said you had the right stuff in you, and would show it some day; there are even signs of it in Andromeda here and there; but you'll do better things than that, if you'll only let some of the wind out of your head. I take an interest in you, old fellow, and that's just why it riles me to see you taking yourself so devilish seriously on the strength of a little volume of verse which – between you and me – has been "boomed" for all it's worth, and considerably more. You've only got your immortality on a short repairing lease at present, old boy!

Undershell (with bitterness). I am fortunate in possessing such a candid friend. But I mustn't keep you here any longer.

Drysdale. Very well. I suppose you're going first? Consider the feelings of the Culverin footman at the other end!

Undershell (as he fingers a first-class ticket in his pocket). You have a very low view of human nature! (Here he becomes aware of a remarkably pretty face at a second-class window close by). As it happens, I am travelling second.

[He gets in.

Drysdale (at the window). Well, good-bye, old chap. Good luck to you at Wyvern, and remember – wear your livery with as good a grace as possible.

Undershell. I do not intend to wear any livery whatever.

[The owner of the pretty face regards Undershell with interest.

Spurrell (coming out of the refreshment room). What, second – with all my exes. paid? Not likely! I'm going to travel in style this journey. No – not a smoker; don't want to create a bad impression, you know. This will do for me.

[He gets into a compartment occupied by Lady Cantire and her daughter.

Tanrake (at the window). There – you're off now. Pleasant journey to you, old man. Hope you'll enjoy yourself at this Wyvern Court you're going to – and, I say, don't forget to send me that notice of Andromeda when you get back!

[The Countess and Lady Maisie start slightly; the train moves out of the station.

PART IV

RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS

In a First-class Compartment.

Spurrell (to himself). Formidable old party opposite me in the furs! Nice-looking girl over in the corner; not a patch on my Emma, though! Wonder why I catch 'em sampling me over their papers whenever I look up! Can't be anything wrong with my turn out. Why, of course, they heard Tom talk about my going down to Wyvern Court; think I'm a visitor there and no end of a duke! Well, what snobs some people are, to be sure!

Lady Cantire (to herself). So this is the young poet I made Albinia ask to meet me. I can't be mistaken, I distinctly heard his friend mention Andromeda. H'm, well, it's a comfort to find he's clean! Have I read his poetry or not? I know I had the book, because I distinctly remember telling Maisie she wasn't to read it – but – well, that's of no consequence. He looks clever and quite respectable – not in the least picturesque – which is fortunate. I was beginning to doubt whether it was quite prudent to bring Maisie; but I needn't have worried myself.

Lady Maisie (to herself). Here, actually in the same carriage! Does he guess who I am? Somehow – Well, he certainly is different from what I expected. I thought he would show more signs of having thought and suffered; for he must have suffered to write as he does. If mamma knew I had read his poems; that I had actually written to beg him not to refuse Aunt Albinia's invitation! He never wrote back. Of course I didn't put any address; but still, he could have found out from the Red Book if he'd cared. I'm rather glad now he didn't care.

Spurrell (to himself). Old girl seems as if she meant to be sociable; better give her an opening. (Aloud.) Hem! would you like the window down an inch or two?

Lady Cantire. Not on my account, thank you.

Spurrell (to himself). Broke the ice, anyway. (Aloud.) Oh, I don't want it down, but some people have such a mania for fresh air.

Lady Cantire (with a dignified little shiver). Have they? With a temperature as glacial as it is in here! They must be maniacs indeed!

Spurrell. Well, it is chilly; been raw all day. (To himself.) She don't answer. I haven't broken the ice.

[He produces a memorandum book.

Lady Maisie (to herself). He hasn't said anything very original yet. So nice of him not to pose! Oh, he's got a note-book; he's going to compose a poem. How interesting!

Spurrell (to himself). Yes, I'm all right if Heliograph wins the Lincolnshire Handicap; lucky to get on at the price I did. Wonder what's the latest about the City and Suburban? Let's see whether the Pink Un has anything about it.

[He refers to the Sporting Times.

Lady Maisie (to herself). The inspiration's stopped —what a pity! How odd of him to read the Globe! I thought he was a Democrat!

Lady Cantire. Maisie, there's quite a clever little notice in Society Snippets about the dance at Skympings last week. I'm sure I wonder how they pick up these things; it quite bears out what I was told; says the supper arrangements were "simply disgraceful; not nearly enough champagne; and what there was, undrinkable!" So like poor dear Lady Chesepare; never does do things like anybody else. I'm sure I've given her hints enough!

Spurrell (to himself, with a suppressed grin). Wants to let me see she knows some swells. Now ain't that paltry?

Lady Cantire (tendering the paper). Would you like to see it, Maisie? Just this bit here; where my finger is.

Lady Maisie (to herself, flushing). I saw him smile. What must he think of us, with his splendid scorn for rank? (Aloud.) No, thank you, mamma: such a wretched light to read by!

Spurrell (to himself). Chance for me to cut in! (Aloud.) Beastly light, isn't it? 'Pon my word, the company ought to provide us with a dog and string apiece when we get out!

Lady Cantire (bringing a pair of long-handled glasses to bear upon him). I happen to hold shares in this line. May I ask why you consider a provision of dogs and string at all the stations a necessary or desirable expenditure?

Spurrell. Oh – er – well, you know, I only meant, bring on blindness and that. Harmless attempt at a joke, that's all.

Lady Cantire. I see. I scarcely expected that you would condescend to such weakness. I – ah – think you are going down to stay at Wyvern for a few days, are you not?

Spurrell (to himself). I was right. What Tom said did fetch the old girl; no harm in humouring her a bit. (Aloud.) Yes – oh yes, they – aw – wanted me to run down when I could.

Lady Cantire. I heard they were expecting you. You will find Wyvern a pleasant house – for a short visit.

Spurrell (to himself). She heard! Oh, she wants to kid me she knows the Culverins. Rats! (Aloud.) Shall I, though? I dare say.

Lady Cantire. Lady Culverin is a very sweet woman; a little limited, perhaps, not intellectual, or quite what one would call the grande dame; but perhaps that could scarcely be expected.

Spurrell (vaguely). Oh, of course not – no. (To himself.) If she bluffs, so can I! (Aloud.) It's funny your turning out to be an acquaintance of Lady C.'s, though.

Lady Cantire. You think so? But I should hardly call myself an acquaintance.

Spurrell (to himself). Old cat's trying to back out of it now; she shan't, though! (Aloud.) Oh, then I suppose you know Sir Rupert best?

Lady Cantire. Yes, I certainly know Sir Rupert better.

Spurrell (to himself). Oh, you do, do you? We'll see. (Aloud.) Nice cheery old chap, Sir Rupert, isn't he? I must tell him I travelled down in the same carriage with a particular friend of his. (To himself.) That'll make her sit up!

Lady Cantire. Oh, then you and my brother Rupert have met already?

Spurrell (aghast). Your brother! Sir Rupert Culverin your – ! Excuse me – if I'd only known, I – I do assure you I never should have dreamt of saying – !

Lady Cantire (graciously). You've said nothing whatever to distress yourself about. You couldn't possibly be expected to know who I was. Perhaps I had better tell you at once that I am Lady Cantire, and this is my daughter, Lady Maisie Mull. (Spurrell returns Lady Maisie's little bow in the deepest confusion.) We are going down to Wyvern too, so I hope we shall very soon become better acquainted.

Spurrell (to himself, overwhelmed). The deuce we shall! I have got myself into a hole this time; I wish I could see my way well out of it! Why on earth couldn't I hold my confounded tongue? I shall look an ass when I tell 'em.

[He sits staring at them in silent embarrassment.

In a Second-class Compartment.

Undershell (to himself). Singularly attractive face this girl has; so piquant and so refined! I can't help fancying she is studying me under her eyelashes. She has remarkably bright eyes. Can she be interested in me? Does she expect me to talk to her? There are only she and I – but no, just now I would rather be alone with my thoughts. This Maisie Mull whom I shall meet so soon; what is she like, I wonder? I presume she is unmarried. If I may judge from her artless little letter, she is young and enthusiastic, and she is a passionate admirer of my verse; she is longing to meet me. I suppose some men's vanity would be flattered by a tribute like that. I think I must have none; for it leaves me strangely cold. I did not even reply; it struck me that it would be difficult to do so with any dignity, and she didn't tell me where to write to… After all, how do I know that this will not end – like everything else – in disillusion? Will not such crude girlish adoration pall upon me in time? If she were exceptionally lovely; or say, even as charming as this fair fellow-passenger of mine – why then, to be sure – but no, something warns me that that is not to be. I shall find her plain, sandy, freckled; she will render me ridiculous by her undiscriminating gush… Yes, I feel my heart sink more and more at the prospect of this visit. Ah me!

[He sighs heavily.

His Fellow Passenger (to herself). It's too silly to be sitting here like a pair of images, considering that – (Aloud.) I hope you aren't feeling unwell?

Undershell. Thank you, no, not unwell. I was merely thinking.

His Fellow Passenger. You don't seem very cheerful over it, I must say. I've no wish to be inquisitive, but perhaps you're feeling a little low-spirited about the place you're going to?

Undershell. I – I must confess I am rather dreading the prospect. How wonderful that you should have guessed it!

His Fellow Passenger. Oh, I've been through it myself. I'm just the same when I go down to a new place; feel a sort of sinking, you know, as if the people were sure to be disagreeable, and I should never get on with them.

Undershell. Exactly my own sensations! If I could only be sure of finding one kindred spirit, one soul who would help and understand me. But I daren't let myself hope even for that!

His Fellow Passenger. Well, I wouldn't judge beforehand. The chances are there'll be somebody you can take to.

Undershell (to himself). What sympathy! What bright, cheerful common sense! (Aloud.) Do you know, you encourage me more than you can possibly imagine!

His Fellow Passenger (retreating). Oh, if you are going to take my remarks like that, I shall be afraid to go on talking to you!

Undershell (with pathos). Don't —don't be afraid to talk to me! If you only knew the comfort you give! I have found life very sad, very solitary. And true sympathy is so rare, so refreshing. I – I fear such an appeal from a stranger may seem a little startling; it is true that hitherto we have only exchanged a very few sentences; and yet already I feel that we have something – much – in common. You can't be so cruel as to let all intimacy cease here – it is quite tantalising enough that it must end so soon. A very few more minutes, and this brief episode will be only a memory; I shall have left the little green oasis far behind me, and be facing the dreary desert once more – alone!

His Fellow Passenger (laughing). Well, of all the uncomplimentary things! As it happens, though, "the little green oasis" – as you're kind enough to call me —won't be left behind; not if it's aware of it! I think I heard your friend mention Wyvern Court! Well, that's where I'm going.

Undershell (excitedly). You —you are going to Wyvern Court! Why, then, you must be —

[He checks himself.

His Fellow Passenger. What were you going to say; what must I be?

Undershell (to himself). There is no doubt about it; bright, independent girl; gloves a trifle worn; travels second-class for economy; it must be Miss Mull herself; her letter mentioned Lady Culverin as her aunt. A poor relation, probably. She doesn't suspect that I am – I won't reveal myself just yet; better let it dawn upon her gradually. (Aloud.) Why, I was only about to say, why then you must be going to the same house as I am. How extremely fortunate a coincidence!

His Fellow Passenger. That remains to be seen. (To herself.) What a funny little man; such a flowery way of talking for a footman. Oh, but I forgot; he said he wasn't going to wear livery. Well, he would look a sight in it!

PART V

CROSS PURPOSES

In a First-class Compartment.

Lady Maisie (to herself). Poets don't seem to have much self-possession. He seems perfectly overcome by hearing my name like that. If only he doesn't lose his head completely and say something about my wretched letter!

Spurrell (to himself). I'd better tell 'em before they find out for themselves. (Aloud; desperately.) My lady, I – I feel I ought to explain at once how I come to be going down to Wyvern like this.

[Lady Maisie only just suppresses a terrified protest.

Lady Cantire (benignly amused). My good sir, there's not the slightest necessity; I am perfectly aware of who you are, and everything about you!

Spurrell (incredulously). But really I don't see how your ladyship – Why, I haven't said a word that —

Lady Cantire (with a solemn waggishness.) Celebrities who mean to preserve their incognito shouldn't allow their friends to see them off. I happened to hear a certain Andromeda mentioned, and that was quite enough for Me!

Spurrell (to himself, relieved). She knows; seen the sketch of me in the Dog Fancier, I expect; goes in for breeding bulls herself, very likely. Well, that's a load off my mind! (Aloud.) You don't say so, my lady. I'd no idea your ladyship would have any taste that way; most agreeable surprise to me, I can assure you!

Lady Cantire. I see no reason for surprise in the matter. I have always endeavoured to cultivate my taste in all directions; to keep in touch with every modern development. I make it a rule to read and see everything. Of course, I have no time to give more than a rapid glance at most things; but I hope some day to be able to have another look at your Andromeda. I hear the most glowing accounts from all the judges.

Spurrell (to himself). She knows all the judges! She must be in the fancy! (Aloud.) Any time your ladyship likes to name I shall be proud and happy to bring her round for your inspection.

Lady Cantire (with condescension). If you are kind enough to offer me a copy of Andromeda, I shall be most pleased to possess one.

Spurrell (to himself). Sharp old customer, this; trying to rush me for a pup. I never offered her one! (Aloud.) Well, as to that, my lady, I've promised so many already, that really I don't – but there – I'll see what I can do for you. I'll make a note of it; you mustn't mind having to wait a bit.

Lady Cantire (raising her eyebrows). I will make an effort to support existence in the meantime.

Lady Maisie (to herself). I couldn't have believed that the man who could write such lovely verses should be so – well, not exactly a gentleman! How petty of me to have such thoughts. Perhaps geniuses never are. And as if it mattered! And I'm sure he's very natural and simple, and I shall like him when I know him better.

[The train slackens.

Lady Cantire. What station is this? Oh, it is Shuntingbridge. (To Spurrell, as they get out.) Now, if you'll kindly take charge of these bags, and go and see whether there's anything from Wyvern to meet us – you will find us here when you come back.

On the Platform at Shuntingbridge.

Lady Cantire. Ah, there you are, Phillipson! Yes, you can take the jewel-case; and now you had better go and see after the trunks. (Phillipson hurries back to the luggage-van; Spurrell returns.) Well, Mr. – I always forget names, so I shall call you "Andromeda" – have you found out – The omnibus, is it? Very well, take us to it, and we'll get in.

[They go outside.

Undershell (at another part of the platform – to himself). Where has Miss Mull disappeared to? Oh, there she is, pointing out her luggage. What a quantity she travels with! Can't be such a very poor relation. How graceful and collected she is, and how she orders the porters about! I really believe I shall enjoy this visit. (To a porter.) That's mine – the brown one with a white star. I want it to go to Wyvern Court – Sir Rupert Culverin's.

Porter (shouldering it). Right, sir. Follow me, if you please.

[He disappears with it.

Undershell (to himself). I mustn't leave Miss Mull alone. (Advancing to her.) Can I be of any assistance?

Phillipson. It's all done now. But you might try and find out how we're to get to the Court.

[Undershell departs; is requested to produce his ticket, and spends several minutes in searching every pocket but the right one.

In the Station Yard at Shuntingbridge.

Lady Cantire (from the interior of the Wyvern omnibus, testily, to Footman). What are we waiting for now? Is my maid coming with us – or how?

Footman. There's a fly ordered to take her, my lady.

Lady Cantire (to Spurrell, who is standing below). Then it's you who are keeping us!

Spurrell. If your ladyship will excuse me. I'll just go and see if they've put out my bag.

Lady Cantire (impatiently). Never mind about your bag. (To Footman.) What have you done with this gentleman's luggage?