I
Elsie finished with the show on the last Saturday at Mundley, when she had been given a most successful Benefit Night, concluding with genuine tears and bouquets. Jimmy had already slipped down to Birmingham to interview and book her successor, Miss Mamie Potter. This first week of their return to the Gatford Hippodrome was going to be exciting. The new soubrette was due to arrive on Monday morning, to rehearse in the afternoon, to appear at night. Then on Wednesday there was Elsie‚Äôs wedding, which was to be celebrated out at the Dulver‚Äôs hotel on the London Road. They were all going and the bus had already been ordered. Then on Saturday there was to be another Grand Benefit Night‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou could see the bills plastered all over the town‚ÅÝ‚Äîthis time for Miss Susie Dean, our popular comedienne. Next Saturday was Susie‚Äôs twenty-first birthday. And she was giving a tea party first, and there was to be some sort of jollification, only vaguely outlined, as yet, after the show. Moreover, the Hippodrome would be packed out every night, as they all knew, with enthusiastic Gatfordians. Here was excitement enough for hardworking professionals. What a week!
Yet all was not well with them. The old members of the troupe, Jimmy and Mitcham and the Brundits, were still quietly in despair about the Bournemouth offer, not yet accepted. Miss Trant seemed so dreamy and remote these days that she was considered unapproachable for the time being. It was very odd, but there it was. Business was never better, and, on the other hand, nothing bolder had been attempted for years in the C.P. world than Miss Trant‚Äôs present venture, the renting of the Hippodrome, on stiff terms, with some nasty clauses slipped in; and yet‚ÅÝ‚Äîso fantastic is the sex, as Jimmy and Mr.¬ÝMitcham pointed out to one another‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe did not seem to be bothering her head about it at all. But then all the young people were rather queer. Jerry Jerningham was more aloof and mysterious than usual, and was thought to be up to something, though nobody knew what. In spite of birthday and benefit‚ÅÝ‚Äîor because of them‚ÅÝ‚ÄîSusie was still restless, rather snappy at times, and given to wriggling her pretty shoulders at people who asked the simplest and friendliest questions. She had snubbed poor Inigo so often lately that now he kept out of her way, stalked about with a new and purposeful air, and was understood to be hard at work revising the eight numbers he had written for them, which he called his Tripe √Ý la mode de Jazz‚ÅÝ‚Äîto the entire mystification of his friend, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. Success had come at last, but all these young people seemed to be taking it the wrong way, which proved conclusively to Mr.¬ÝMitcham that young people were not what they were when he had been a young person.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was mystified by many things these days. He was as interested as any of the others in the events of the near future. In his own fashion he shared any excitement that was going. Nevertheless, he found himself brooding somewhat darkly on Canada and 51 Ogden Street and the destiny of the Good Companions. He had never been very fond of Elsie, but she was ‚Äúone o‚Äô t‚Äôowd lot,‚Äù and the fact that she was going and another taking her place troubled him more than it did any of the others. Perhaps he alone, from out of the depths of his philosophy of Sudden Change, felt that this coming week would take them all much further than they ever imagined, that the exciting plans they had made for it were nothing compared with some other plans already being laid down for them by the old powers, the conspiracy of the wind and the stars. The thread we saw dangling before him‚ÅÝ‚Äîso long ago, it seems!‚ÅÝ‚Äîas he walked up Manchester Road, Bruddersford, after the match, that thread, its colour changing, deepening, is now running faster and faster; and perhaps he has heard‚ÅÝ‚Äîin a dream, through some Old Salt reverie‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe rattle of its winding spool.
The first thing that happened, of course, was Miss Mamie Potter. Jimmy had said that she was young but experienced, had no voice to speak of but danced well, and would do. When pressed more closely, he always pointed out that people who were in a hurry could not pick and choose as long as they liked, and that for his part he did not pretend to be able to work miracles. There was thought to be something queer, fishy, about this. The arrival, the rehearsal, the appearance on the stage, of Miss Potter soon settled the question. Jimmy had no good solid reason for not engaging her, and so he had engaged her, but some instinct must have warned him that all was not well. On the stage she was adequate enough; as a matter of fact she was better than Elsie had ever been. But off the stage, Miss Mamie Potter was insufferable. Within less than twelve hours of her first arrival at Gatford station, she had put all their backs up; and it was clear that she was indeed a born putter-up of backs.
Miss Potter had a sleek, almost electroplated, blonde head; no eyebrows; very round blue eyes; a button of a nose, so small and heavily powdered that it resembled the chalked end of a billiard cue; and a mouth that was a perpetual crimson circle of faint astonishment. The upper half of her, her neck and shoulders and the thin arms ending so curiously in little dumpy hands, was poor; but her legs were really beautiful. It was as if she were being carried about by two fine sonnets. Those two exquisite, twinkling silky calves of hers seemed to be always making charmingly witty and impudent comments on the world. If she had never done anything but walk a little way in front of depressed males, she would have been a notable public benefactor, distributing a sense of the joy of life. Unfortunately, she talked; and she talked in a kind of idle, staring voice, and the result was havoc. Her perpetual opening “I say” was very soon a storm signal.
‚ÄúI say,‚Äù she said to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, after she had known him about quarter of an hour, ‚Äúyou seem to get a lot of your own way here, don‚Äôt you? You‚Äôre only the props, aren‚Äôt you?‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd regarded her with astonishment and rubbed his chin hard. ‚ÄúAy, that‚Äôs all,‚Äù he replied finally. ‚ÄúNobbut a sort o‚Äô dog like. Just let me knaw if you hear me speaking out o‚Äô my turn. You mun just set us right as you go on. We knaw nowt.‚Äù This speech might have puzzled and possibly quietened some people, but Miss Potter merely gave it a little condescending nod and then strolled away. ‚ÄúI say,‚Äù she said to the horrified Morton Mitcham, ‚Äúsome of those card tricks of yours are pretty ancient, aren‚Äôt they?‚Äù Equally ancient, in her opinion, were Jimmy‚Äôs gags and Mrs.¬ÝJoe‚Äôs ballads. ‚ÄúI say,‚Äù she remarked to Susie, ‚Äúyou seem to go down here very well, but they‚Äôre letting you dig an awfully big hole in the programme, aren‚Äôt they?‚Äù This was after the show on Monday night. It had been a rather queer performance. The house was crowded and as generally enthusiastic as ever, but from somewhere at the back of the pit (which was the cheapest part of the house, there being no gallery at the Hippodrome) there had come, at odd times, various loud jeers and hootings and catcalls, obviously resented by most people in the audience, though now and then raising a laugh. This had never happened before, and they were all talking about it after the show. The furious Susie told Mrs.¬ÝJoe that it must be Mamie Potter, but this did not satisfy Mrs.¬ÝJoe or anybody else, not even Susie herself.
On Tuesday morning, the wind had dropped to a mild breeze and a little watery sunshine crept over the Midlands. Miss Trant, still unsettled by her visit to Hitherton, still haunted by the daffodils and the bursting crocuses of the Cottage garden, decided that she must have some light and air, and so took Susie and some sandwiches for a run in the car.
“It’s heavenly to see the country again,” cried Miss Trant, when they had left the car factories and the Triangle trams a long way behind. “I wish you could stay with me at Hitherton, some time, Susie. Do you think you would like the country?”
‚ÄúOh, I adore the country,‚Äù cried Susie in her turn. She had imagined herself saying that, more than once, in interviews. She asked for nothing better, she always told the imaginary journalist, a young man, very nice, very respectful, than to retire to her little country place‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust a cottage where she could do everything for herself (see photograph). But what she did not know, that morning, was that very soon, sooner than she expected, she really would be giving those interviews. ‚ÄúI‚Äôve never seen enough of it,‚Äù she went on, ‚Äúbecause I‚Äôve spent nearly every bit of my time in towns‚ÅÝ‚Äîusually awful holes. If the country only had theatres and shops and people, it would be perfect, wouldn‚Äôt it?‚Äù
Miss Trant laughed, then took the car into the side of the road, and stopped, “We can eat our sandwiches here, don’t you think?”
Susie sniffed the air appreciatively. ‚ÄúIt feels quite strong, doesn‚Äôt it?‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe air, I mean. It‚Äôs so funny not to get it secondhand, used up a bit. I‚Äôve been brought up on that kind, and this sort makes me feel a bit tight. Really it does. I want to giggle.‚Äù She skipped out of the car and pirouetted a little on the shining grass. Then she looked down ruefully. ‚ÄúJolly wet, though. That‚Äôs the nuisance about the country, though, isn‚Äôt it?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîIt‚Äôs so wet and muddy. When it does dry up, it suddenly gets dusty then, and if you go a walk you‚Äôre absolutely choked and too thirsty to speak and your shoes are too tight all of a sudden.‚Äù
They ate sandwiches. “I wonder what the very superior Miss Potter thinks about us all this morning,” Miss Trant remarked. “You don’t like her, do you?”
“Like her!” cried Susie. “She made me feel like murder last night. She did everybody. And as for thinking this morning, she won’t have started yet. I know. She’ll be just getting up now, wiping the cold cream off her face. Honestly, she’s poisonous. She’ll have us all quarrelling like mad within a week. They always do, that kind. You just watch. Jimmy ought to have known, even if he was in a hurry and she sounded all right. A woman would have spotted what she was right off.”
“Perhaps she’ll improve in a day or two,” said Miss Trant, rather indifferently. “I must admit she was rather terrible yesterday.”
“Did she say anything to you?” Susie inquired. “I’ll bet she did.”
“Oh yes. I wasn’t left out, I assure you, Susie. She strolled up to me and said: ‘I say, I don’t quite see why you’re doing this, you know. This isn’t your line at all, is it?’ ”
“She would! The cheek! How that girl’s come to live so long beats me.” Having relieved her feelings, Susie grew thoughtful, stole a glance or two at her companion, then said, finally: “But it isn’t your line, is it?”
“I never said it was,” Miss Trant replied.
“No, of course not,” Susie went on. “Don’t think I’m going to be cheeky now. Or if you do, stop me. And I can promise you now that I’m not going to say a word about Bournemouth, not going to mention the place.”
‚ÄúThank you, my dear,‚Äù said Miss Trant demurely. ‚ÄúAs a matter of fact, the others haven‚Äôt mentioned it lately‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
‚ÄúNo, they just look it now,‚Äù cried Susie. ‚ÄúI‚Äôve noticed them. Their eyes go rolling ‚ÄòBournemouth‚Äô at you. Honestly, don‚Äôt they? I noticed Joe‚ÅÝ‚Äîpoor darling!‚ÅÝ‚Äîyesterday staring at you, like a sick cow, and I really thought something was the matter with him until it dawned on me he was trying to stare you into telling him something about the Bournemouth offer. But what I was going to say was this‚ÅÝ‚ÄîAren‚Äôt you really getting a bit tired of us?‚Äù
“Gracious no!”
“Honestly now?”
‚ÄúNot a bit. I won‚Äôt include Miss Mamie Potter‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Gosh! I should think not.”
“But I assure you I’m not in the least tired of the rest of you, of the party. I’m like you, Susie. I’m feeling restless, not knowing what I want to do but only knowing what I don’t want to do. The thought of our spending a whole summer on the South Coast somehow doesn’t attract me at all.”
“I know. But what does attract you?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” Miss Trant replied, as lightly as possible, though it was quite obvious she was in earnest.
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs me all over‚ÅÝ‚Äîup to a point,‚Äù Susie remarked. ‚ÄúI do know what I want, though‚ÅÝ‚Äîand a fine fat chance I‚Äôve got of getting it! Inigo annoys me. Doesn‚Äôt he you?‚Äù
“No. Why should he?” Miss Trant was amused.
‚ÄúDon‚Äôt laugh; it‚Äôs serious. Well, he could do something, and he just doesn‚Äôt. He‚Äôs so feeble‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust the amah‚Äëteurrr, you know ab‚Äëso‚Äëlutely.‚Äù Here Susie gave a vindictive imitation of Inigo‚Äôs careless tones. ‚ÄúWhen he follows me round, looking like a dying duck‚ÅÝ‚Äîand yet won‚Äôt do anything‚ÅÝ‚Äîand is so high-and-mighty about the bits of things he writes for papers‚ÅÝ‚Äîthough no paper will ever have them‚ÅÝ‚Äîand won‚Äôt bother about his songs, though they might get him anywhere‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, I could beat him, I really could. And then if I say something nasty to him, instead of answering back or putting his tongue out or giving me a good shaking‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Which I’m sure you’ve deserved,” Miss Trant put in.
‚ÄúHe just looks at me‚ÅÝ‚Äîlike the Norphan Child‚ÅÝ‚Äîand walks away, and then stays away, sulking. He makes me furious. Not that it really matters, of course, what he does. But just now, when I‚Äôm dying for a chance myself, it‚Äôs enough to make me sick to see somebody who has a chance not doing anything. So that‚Äôs that. And now you can laugh, if you like. Let‚Äôs go, shall we?‚Äù
On the way back a curious thing happened. The side-road they were on joined the main road about ten miles out of Gatford, and it chanced that when they arrived at the turning the traffic on the main road, consisting for the most part of new cars from Gatford, was thicker than usual, so that they pulled up for a minute or two. Miss Trant was idly watching the procession of cars when suddenly she stared intently and gave a little gasp. The next moment she was standing up trying to obtain a last glimpse of a car that had gone past them, there on the main road, and in the opposite direction from Gatford. The moment after she was sitting down again, still wide-eyed and a trifle pale.
“What’s the matter?” cried Susie.
‚ÄúI thought I saw someone I know‚ÅÝ‚Äîor used to know,‚Äù Miss Trant replied shakily.
Susie looked at her. Then she burst out in triumph: “It’s that man you once told me about, isn’t it? Doctor McIntyre or whatever his name is? The one on the boat.”
‚ÄúDoctor McFarlane. Yes, I thought it was. But it was all so quick. Besides‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh, it‚Äôs absurd!‚Äù
“Why is it absurd? I don’t see it. Couldn’t he be here as well as anywhere else? Haven’t you ever tried to find out where he is?”
“No, I haven’t,” Miss Trant replied not very firmly. “Why should I?”
“Why should you!” Susie was both sympathetic and derisive. “If it was me, I should know all about him. Doctors ought to be easy to find. Wouldn’t it be marvellous if you didn’t feel well and sent for a doctor, and then he came and said: ‘What, you!’ You don’t know. He may have been in Gatford or Mundley or Stort or somewhere round here all the time. Let’s get back at once and find out. If you don’t, I will.”
It was useless for Miss Trant to protest, and indeed she did not protest very much. Once back in Gatford, Susie made for the nearest telephone directory and was so excited that she could hardly turn the pages. Susie was always wildly romantic on other people‚Äôs behalf, and is to this day. But no Dr.¬ÝHugh McFarlane was to be found in the telephone directory, which cast a wide net in the district. This was rather a blow for Susie, but she was not daunted. She pestered Miss Trant until that embarrassed lady was compelled to admit there was such a thing as a Medical Directory, where any doctor might be found. She was also compelled to admit that she had never examined one. ‚ÄúAnd how you couldn‚Äôt beats me,‚Äù cried Susie. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs no use you saying you don‚Äôt want to know, because you do.‚Äù
“But it’s all so ridiculous,” the other protested. “I haven’t seen him for years. He’s probably forgotten my existence.”
‚ÄúAnd probably not,‚Äù Susie told her. ‚ÄúThe sort of man you‚Äôd like probably wouldn‚Äôt, though I must say I wouldn‚Äôt give most men six months. I believe,‚Äù she added shrewdly and boldly, ‚Äúyou‚Äôre frightened. I‚Äôm being really cheeky now, I know, but it‚Äôs because I‚Äôm so fond of you. And I hate to think of you just looking after us and then sitting alone reading about the three musketeers or Robin Hood or whatever it is you do read about, when there may be, somewhere round the corner, a marvellous Scotch doctor who‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîand here Susie became very dramatic‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúwhen he comes back to his lonely house, late at night, after performing all sorts of operations‚ÅÝ‚Äîand ‚ÄòBless you, doc!‚Äô the poor people say‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI got that from a film‚ÅÝ‚Äîsits in his chair and smokes a pipe and thinks of you‚ÅÝ‚Äîand already his hair is turning grey at the temples‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Oh, do be quiet, Susie,” cried Miss Trant, crimson, half-laughing, half-angry. “I shall really be cross if you don’t.”
“All right then, I will,” said Susie, preparing to depart. They were at Miss Trant’s hotel now. “But I shall go round to the Free Library and see if they’ve got that book with all the doctors in. You can’t stop me doing that. Goodbye.”
And about three-quarters of an hour later Miss Trant was called to the telephone. It was Susie. “I daren’t come round, and I couldn’t wait,” said Susie. “I looked at that book. It’s stiff with McFarlanes. They must all be doctors. Honestly, dozens of ’em. I’m not sure whether I found the right one.”
“He was born in 1885 and went to Edinburgh.” Miss Trant told the receiver, and then heard a little laugh come floating back to her.
‚ÄúWell, anyhow he isn‚Äôt here. Isn‚Äôt it a shame? I got it down to three‚ÅÝ‚Äîand they were all miles off‚ÅÝ‚Äîone in India and another in Aberdeen‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I think the other was in London. I asked the Library man if the book wasn‚Äôt out of date‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he got quite annoyed‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut when he calmed down a bit, he admitted that lots of the doctors could have moved since it came out. And he‚Äôs seen our show‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he recognized me after a bit and was quite sweet. So I think it probably was him, don‚Äôt you?‚Äù
‚ÄúNo, I don‚Äôt,‚Äù said Miss Trant. ‚ÄúIt couldn‚Äôt have been. You shouldn‚Äôt have bothered. It‚Äôs all‚ÅÝ‚Äînothing.‚Äù
And when she returned to her room, she reminded herself that it was all nothing. It is not much fun being so intimately concerned with nothing. The thought of it can even rob you of your legitimate pleasure in a good historical novel. Louis the Eleventh of France and the Duke of Burgundy made a poor show of capturing Miss Trant‚Äôs interest for the rest of that afternoon. One sneered, the other stormed, but all in vain‚ÅÝ‚Äîpoor shadows!