Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes

[He enters the Chinese Drawing-room.

In the Chinese Drawing-room.

Miss Spelwane. At last, Mr. Spurrell! We began to think you meant to keep away altogether. Has anybody told you why you've been waited for so impatiently?

Spurrell (looking round the circle of chairs apprehensively). No. Is it family prayers, or what? Er – are they over?

Miss Spelwane. No, no; nothing of that sort. Can't you guess? Mr. Spurrell, I'm going to be very bold, and ask a great, great favour of you. I don't know why they chose me to represent them; I told Lady Lullington I was afraid my entreaties would have no weight; but if you only would —

Spurrell (to himself). They're at it again! How many more of 'em want a pup! (Aloud.) Sorry to be disobliging, but —

Miss Spelwane (joining her hands in supplication). Not if I implore you? Oh, Mr. Spurrell, I've quite set my heart on hearing you read aloud to us. Are you really cruel enough to refuse?

Spurrell. Read aloud! Is that what you want me to do? But I'm no particular hand at it. I don't know that I've ever read aloud – except a bit out of the paper now and then – since I was a boy at school!

Lady Cantire. What's that I hear? Mr. Spurrell professing incapacity to read aloud? Sheer affectation! Come, Mr. Spurrell, I am much mistaken if you are wanting in the power to thrill all hearts here. Think of us as instruments ready to respond to your touch. Play upon us as you will; but don't be so ungracious as to raise any further obstacles.

Spurrell (resignedly). Oh, very well, if I'm required to read, I'm agreeable.

[Murmurs of satisfaction.

Lady Cantire. Hush, please, everybody! Mr. Spurrell is going to read. My dear Bishop, if you wouldn't mind just – Lord Lullington, can you hear where you are? Where are you going to sit, Mr. Spurrell? In the centre will be best. Will somebody move that lamp a little, so as to give him more light?

Spurrell (to himself, as he sits down). I wonder what we're supposed to be playing at! (Aloud.) Well, what am I to read, eh?

Miss Spelwane (placing an open copy of "Andromeda" in his hands with a charming air of deferential dictation). You might begin with this– such a dear little piece! I'm dying to hear you read it!

Spurrell (as he takes the book). I'll do the best I can! (He looks at the page in dismay.) Why, look here, it's poetry! I didn't bargain for that. Poetry's altogether out of my line!

[Miss Spelwane opens her eyes to their fullest extent, and retires a few paces from him; he begins to read in a perfunctory monotone, with deepening bewilderment and disgust—"THE SICK KNIGHTReach me the helmet from yonder rack,Mistress o' mine! with its plume of white:Now help me upon my destrier's back,Mistress o' mine! though he swerve in fright.And guide my foot to the stirrup-ledge,Mistress o' mine! it eludes me still.Then fill me a cup as a farewell pledge,Mistress o' mine! for the night air's chill!Haste! with the buckler and pennon'd lance,Mistress o' mine! or ever I feelMy war-horse plunge in impatient prance,Mistress o' mine! at the prick of heel.Pay scant heed to my pallid hue,Mistress o' mine! for the wan moon's sheenDoth blazon the gules o' my cheek with blue,Mistress o' mine! or glamour it green.One last long kiss, ere I seek the fray …Mistress o' mine! though I quit my sell,I would meet the foe i' the mad mêlée.Mistress o' mine! an' I were but well!"

(After the murmur of conventional appreciation has died away.) Well, of course, I don't set up for a judge of such things myself, but I must say, if I was asked my opinion – of all the downright tommy-rot I ever– (The company look at one another with raised eyebrows and dropped underlips; he turns over the leaves backwards until he arrives at the title-page.) I say, though, I do call this rather rum! Who the dickens is Clarion Blair? Because I never heard of him – and yet it seems he's been writing poetry on my bull-dog!

Miss Spelwane (faintly). Writing poetry – about your bull-dog!

Spurrell. Yes, the one you've all been praising up so. If it isn't meant for her, it's what you might call a most surprising coincidence, for here's the old dog's name as plain as it can be —Andromeda!

[Tableau.

PART XVIII

THE LAST STRAW

After Spurrell's ingenuous comments upon the volume in his hand, a painful silence ensues, which no one has sufficient presence of mind to break for several seconds.

Miss Spelwane (to herself). Not Clarion Blair! Not even a poet! I – I could slap him!

Pilliner (to himself). Poor dear Vivien! But if people will insist on patting a strange poet, they mustn't be surprised if they get a nasty bite!

Lady Maisie (to herself). He didn't write Andromeda! Then he hasn't got my letter after all! And I've been such a brute to the poor dear man! How lucky I said nothing about it to Gerald!

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). So he ain't the bard!.. Now I see why Maisie's been behavin' so oddly all the evenin'; she spotted him, and didn't like to speak out. Tried to give me a hint, though. Well, I shall stay out my leave now!

Lady Rhoda (to herself). I thought all along he seemed too good a sort for a poet!

Archie (to himself). It's all very well; but how about that skit he went up to write on us? He must be a poet of sorts.

Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris (to herself). This is fearfully puzzling. What made him say that about "Lady Grisoline"?

The Bishop (to himself). A crushing blow for the Countess; but not unsalutary. I am distinctly conscious of feeling more kindly disposed to that young man. Now why?

[He ponders.

Lady Lullington (to herself). I thought this young man was going to read us some more of his poetry; it's too tiresome of him to stop to tell us about his bull-dog. As if anybody cared what he called it!

Lord Lullington (to himself). Uncommonly awkward, this! If I could catch Laura's eye – but I suppose it would hardly be decent to go just yet.

Lady Culverin (to herself). Can Rohesia have known this? What possible object could she have had in – And oh, dear, how disgusted Rupert will be!

Sir Rupert (to himself). Seems a decent young chap enough! Too bad of Rohesia to let him in for this. I don't care a straw what he is – he's none the worse for not being a poet.

Lady Cantire (to herself). What is he maundering about? It's utterly inconceivable that I should have made any mistake. It's only too clear what the cause is —Claret!

Spurrell (aloud, good-humouredly). Too bad of you to try and spoof me like this before everybody, Miss Spelwane! I don't know whose idea it was to play me such a trick, but —

Miss Spelwane (indistinctly). Please understand that nobody here had the least intention of playing a trick upon you!

Spurrell. Well, if you say so, of course – But it looked rather like it, asking me to read when I've about as much poetry in me as – as a pot hat! Still, if I'm wanted to read aloud, I shall be happy to —

Lady Culverin (hastily). Indeed, indeed, Mr. Spurrell, we couldn't think of troubling you any more under the circumstances! (In desperation.) Vivien, my dear, won't you sing something?

[The company echo the request with unusual eagerness.

Spurrell (to himself, during Miss Spelwane's song). Wonder what's put them off being read to all of a sudden? My elocution mayn't be first-class, exactly, but still – (As his eye happens to rest on the binding of the volume on his knee.) Hullo! This cover's pink, with silver things, not unlike cutlets, on it! Didn't Emma ask me – ? By George, if it's that! I may get down to the housekeeper's room, after all! As soon as ever this squalling stops I'll find out; I can't go on like this! (Miss Spelwane leaves the piano; everybody plunges feverishly into conversation on the first subject – other than poetry or dogs – that presents itself, until Lord and Lady Lullington set a welcome example of departure.) Better wait till these county nobs have cleared, I suppose – there goes the last of 'em – now for it!.. (He pulls himself together, and approaches his host and hostess.) Hem, Sir Rupert, and your ladyship, it's occurred to me that it's just barely possible you may have got it in your heads that I was something in the poetical way.

Sir Rupert (to himself). Not this poor young chap's fault; must let him down as easily as possible! (Aloud.) Not at all – not at all! Ha – assure you we quite understand; no necessity to say another word about it.

Spurrell (to himself). Just my luck! They quite understand! No housekeeper's room for me this journey! (Aloud.) Of course I knew the Countess, there, and Lady Maisie, were fully aware all along – (To Lady Maisie, as stifled exclamations reach his ear.) You were, weren't you?

Lady Maisie (hastily). Yes, yes, Mr. Spurrell. Of course! It's all perfectly right!

Spurrell (to the others). You see, I should never have thought of coming in as a visitor if it hadn't been for the Countess; she would have it that it was all right, and that I needn't be afraid I shouldn't be welcome.

Lady Culverin. To be sure – any friend of my sister-in-law's —

Lady Cantire. Albinia, I have refrained from speech as long as possible; but this is really too much! You don't suppose I should have introduced Mr. Spurrell here unless I had had the strongest reasons for knowing, however he may be pleased to mystify us now, that he, and nobody else, is the author of Andromeda! And I, for one, absolutely decline to believe in this preposterous story of his about a bull-dog.

Spurrell. But your ladyship must have known! Why, you as good as asked me on the way here to put you down for a bull-pup!

Lady Cantire. Never, never! A bull-pup is the last creature I should ever dream of coveting. You were obliging enough to ask me to accept a presentation copy of your verses.

Spurrell. Was I? I don't exactly see how I could have been, considering I never made a rhyme in my life!

Sir Rupert. There, there, Rohesia, it was your mistake; but as we are indebted to it for the pleasure of making Mr. Spurrell's acquaintance —

Lady Cantire. I am not in the habit of making mistakes, Rupert. I don't know what you and Albinia and Maisie may know that I am in ignorance of, but, since you seem to have been aware from the first that Mr. Spurrell was not the poet you had invited here to meet me, will you kindly explain what has become of the real author?

Sir Rupert. My dear Rohesia, I don't know and I don't care!

Lady Cantire. There you are wrong, Rupert, because it's obvious that if he is not Mr. Spurrell, the real poet's absence has to be accounted for in some way.

Spurrell. By Jove, I believe I can put you on the track. I shouldn't wonder if he's the party these dress clothes of mine belong to! I dare say you may have noticed they don't look as if they were made for me?

Lady Cantire (closing her eyes). Pray let us avoid any sartorial questions! We are waiting to hear about this person.

Spurrell. Well, I found I'd got on his things by mistake, and I went up as soon as I could after dessert to my room to take 'em off, and there he was, with a waste-paper basket on his head —

Lady Cantire. A waste-paper basket on his head! And pray what should he have that for?

Spurrell. I'm no wiser than your ladyship there. All I know is he said he wouldn't take it off till he saw me. And I never saw any one in such a mess with ink and flour as he was!

Lady Cantire. Ink and flour, indeed! This rigmarole gets more ridiculous every moment! You can't seriously expect any one here to believe it!

[Archie discreetly retires to the smoking-room.

Spurrell. Well, I rather think somebody must have fixed up a booby-trap for me, you know, and he happened to go in first and get the benefit of it. And he was riled, very naturally, thinking I'd done it, but after we'd had a little talk together, he calmed down and said I might keep his clothes, which I thought uncommonly good-natured of him, you know. By the way, he gave me his card. Here it is, if your ladyship would like to see it.

[He hands it to Lady Culverin.

Lady Culverin. "Mr. Undershell!"… Rohesia, that is Clarion Blair! I knew it was something ending in "ell." (To Spurrell.) And you say Mr. Undershell is here – in this house?

Spurrell. Not now. He's gone by this time.

The Others (in dismay). Gone!

Spurrell. He said he was leaving at once. If he'd only told me how it was, I'd have —

Lady Cantire. I don't believe a single word of all this! If Mr. Spurrell is not Clarion Blair, let him explain how he came to be coming down to Wyvern this afternoon!

Spurrell. If your ladyship doesn't really know, you had better ask Sir Rupert; he'll tell you it's all right.

Lady Cantire. Then perhaps you will be good enough to enlighten us, Rupert?

Sir Rupert (driven into a corner). Why, 'pon my word, I'm bound to say that I'm just as much in the dark as anybody else, if it comes to that!

Spurrell (eagerly). But you wired me to come, sir! About a horse of yours! I've been wondering all the evening when you'd tell me I could go round and have a look at him. I'm here instead of Mr. Spavin —now do you understand, Sir Rupert? I'm the vet.

[Suppressed sensation.

Sir Rupert (to himself). This is devilish awkward! Don't quite know what to do. (Aloud.) To – to be sure you are! Of course! That's it, Rohesia! Mr. Spurrell came down to see a horse, and we shall be very glad to have the benefit of his opinion by and bye.

[He claps him amicably on the shoulder.

Lady Cantire (in a sepulchral tone). Albinia, I think I will go to bed.

[She withdraws.

Sir Rupert (to himself). There'll be no harm in letting him stay, now he is here. If Rohesia objects, she's got nobody but herself to blame for it!

Spurrell (to himself). They won't want to keep me upstairs much longer after this! (Tredwell enters, and seems to have something of importance to communicate to Sir Rupert in private.) I wonder what the dooce is up now!

[Partial reaction in company.

PART XIX

UNEARNED INCREMENT

Sir Rupert (to Tredwell). Well, what is it?

Tredwell (in an undertone). With reference to the party, Sir Rupert, as represents himself to have come down to see the 'orse, I —

Sir Rupert (aloud). You mean Mr. Spurrell? It's all right. Mr. Spurrell will see the horse to-morrow. (Tredwell disguises his utter bewilderment.) By the way, we expected a Mr. – What did you say the name was, my dear?.. Undershell? To be sure, a Mr. Undershell, to have been here in time for dinner. Do you know why he has been unable to come before this?

Tredwell (to himself). Do I know? Oh, Lor! (Aloud.) I – I believe he have arrived, Sir Rupert.

Sir Rupert. So I understand from Mr. Spurrell. Is he here still?

Tredwell. He is, Sir Rupert. I – I considered it my dooty not to allow him to leave the house, not feeling —

Sir Rupert. Quite right, Tredwell. I should have been most seriously annoyed if I had found that a guest we were all anxiously expecting had left the Court, owing to some fancied – Where is he now?

Tredwell (faintly). In – in the Verney Chamber. Leastways —

Sir Rupert. Ah. (He glances at Spurrell.) Then where – ? But that can be arranged. Go up and explain to Mr. Undershell that we have only this moment heard of his arrival; say we understand that he has been obliged to come by a later train, and that we shall be delighted to see him, just as he is.

Spurrell (to himself). He was worth looking at just as he was, when I saw him!

Pilliner (to himself). By a later train? Then, how the deuce did his clothes – ? Oh, well, however it was, it don't concern me.

Tredwell. Very good, Sir Rupert. (To himself, as he departs.) If I'm not precious careful over this job, it may cost me my situation!

Spurrell. Sir Rupert, I've been thinking that, after what's occurred, it would probably be more satisfactory to all parties if I shifted my quarters, and – took my meals in the housekeeper's room.

[Lady Maisie and Lady Rhoda utter inarticulate protests.

Sir Rupert. My dear sir, not on any account – couldn't hear of it! My wife, I'm sure, will say the same.

Lady Culverin (with an effort). I hope Mr. Spurrell will continue to be our guest precisely as before – that is, if he will forgive us for putting him into another room.

Spurrell (to himself). It's no use; I can't get rid of 'em; they stick to me like a lot of blooming burrs! (Aloud, in despair.) Your ladyship is very good, but – Well, the fact is, I've only just found out that a young lady I've long been deeply attached to is in this very house. She's a Miss Emma Phillipson – maid, so I understand, to Lady Maisie – and, without for one moment wishing to draw any comparisons, or to seem ungrateful for all the friendliness I've received, I really and truly would feel myself more comfortable in a circle where I could enjoy rather more of my Emma's society than I can here!

Sir Rupert (immensely relieved). Perfectly natural! and – hum – sorry as we are to lose you, Mr. Spurrell, we – ah – mustn't be inconsiderate enough to keep you here a moment longer. I've no doubt you will find the young lady in the housekeeper's room – any one will tell you where it is… Good night to you, then; and, remember, we shall expect to see you in the field on Tuesday.

Lady Maisie. Good night, Mr. Spurrell, and – and I'm so very glad – about Emma, you know. I hope you will both be very happy.

[She shakes hands warmly.

Lady Rhoda. So do I. And mind you don't forget about that liniment, you know.

Captain Thicknesse (to himself). Maisie don't care a hang! And I was ass enough to fancy – But there, that's all over now!

In the Verney Chamber.

Undershell (in the dressing-room, to himself). I wonder how long I've been locked up here – it seems hours! I almost hope they've forgotten me altogether… Some one has come in… If it should be Sir Rupert!! Great heavens, what a situation to be found in by one's host!.. Perhaps it's only that fellow Spurrell; if so, there's a chance. (The door is unlocked by Tredwell, who has lighted the candles on the dressing table.) It's the butler again. Well, I shall soon know the worst! (He steps out, blinking, with as much dignity as possible.) Perhaps you will kindly inform me why I have been subjected to this indignity?

Tredwell (in perturbation). I think, Mr. Undershell, sir, in common fairness, you'll admit as you've mainly yourself to thank for any mistakes that have occurred; for which I 'asten to express my pussonal regret.

Undershell. So long as you realise that you have made a mistake, I am willing to overlook it, on condition that you help me to get away from this place without your master and mistress's knowledge.

Tredwell. It's too late, sir. They know you're 'ere!

Undershell. They know! Then there's no time to be lost. I must leave this moment!

Tredwell. No, sir, excuse me; but you can't hardly do that now. I was to say that Sir Rupert and the ladies would be glad to see you in the droring-room himmediate.

Undershell. Man alive! do you imagine anything would induce me to meet them now, after the humiliations I have been compelled to suffer under this roof?

Tredwell. If you would prefer anything that has taken place in the room, sir, or in the stables to be 'ushed up —

Undershell. Prefer it! If it were only possible! But they know – they know! What's the use of talking like that?

Tredwell (to himself). I know where I am now! (Aloud.) They know nothink up to the present, Mr. Undershell, nor yet I see no occasion why they should – leastwise from any of Us.

Undershell. But they know I'm here; how am I to account for all the time – ?

Tredwell. Excuse me, sir. I thought of that, and it occurred to me as it might be more agreeable to your feelings, sir, if I conveyed an impression that you had only just arrived – 'aving missed your train, sir.

Undershell (overjoyed). How am I to thank you? that was really most discreet of you – most considerate!

Tredwell. I am truly rejoiced to hear you say so, sir. And I'll take care nothing leaks out. And if you'll be kind enough to follow me to the droring-room, the ladies are waiting to see you.

Undershell (to himself). I may actually meet Lady Maisie Mull after all! (Aloud, recollecting his condition.) But I can't go down like this. I'm in such a horrible mess!

Tredwell. I reelly don't perceive it, sir; except a little white on your coat-collar behind. Allow me – there it's off now. (He gives him a hand-glass) If you'd like to see for yourself.

Undershell (to himself as he looks). A slight pallor, that's all. I am more presentable than I could have hoped. (Aloud.) Have the kindness to take me to Lady Culverin at once.

In the Chinese Drawing-room. A few minutes later.

Sir Rupert (to Undershell, after the introductions have been gone through). And so you missed the 4.55 and had to come on by the 7.30 which stops everywhere, eh?

Undershell. It – it certainly does stop at most stations.

Sir Rupert. And how did you get on to Wyvern – been here long?

Undershell. N – not particularly long.

Sir Rupert. Fact is, you see, we made a mistake. Very ridiculous, but we've been taking that young fellow, Mr. Spurrell, for you all this time; so we never thought of inquiring whether you'd come or not. It was only just now he told us how he'd met you in the Verney Chamber, and the very handsome way, if you will allow me to say so, in which you had tried to efface yourself.

Undershell (to himself). I didn't expect him to take that view of it! (Aloud.) I – I felt I had no alternative.

[Lady Maisie regards him with admiration.

Sir Rupert. You did an uncommon fine thing, sir, and I'm afraid you received treatment on your arrival which you had every right to resent.

Undershell (to himself). I hoped he didn't know about the housekeeper's room! (Aloud.) Please say no more about it, Sir Rupert. I know now that you were entirely innocent of any —