Miss Mapp by E. F. Benson (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📕

strategist, carrying his round roll of diaries, much the shape of a bottle, under his coat, went about half-past nine that evening to look at the rain-gutter which had been weeping into his yard, and let himself out of the back-door round the corner. From there he went down past the fishmonger’s, crossed the road, and doubled back again up Puffin’s side of the street, which was not so vividly illuminated, though he took the precaution of making himself little with bent knees, and of limping. Puffin was already warming himself over the fire and imbibing Roman roads, and was disposed to be hilarious over the Major’s shopping.

“But why top-hat and frock-coat, Major?” he asked. “Another visit of the Prince of Wales, I asked myself, or the Voice that breathed o’er Eden? Have a drink—one[223] of mine, I mean? I owe you a drink for the good laugh you gave me.”

Had it not been for this generosity and the need of getting on the right side of Puffin, Major Flint would certainly have resented such clumsy levity, but this double consideration caused him to take it with unwonted good-humour. His attempt to laugh, indeed, sounded a little hollow, but that is the habit of self-directed merriment.

“Well, I allow it must have seemed amusing,” he said. “The fact was that I thought she would appreciate my putting a little ceremony into my errand of apology, and then she whisked me off shopping before I could go and change.”

“Kiss and friends again, then?” asked Puffin.

The Major grew a little stately over this.

“No such familiarity passed,” he said. “But she accepted my regrets with—ha—the most gracious generosity. A fine-spirited woman, sir; you’ll find the same.”

“I might if I looked for it,” said Puffin. “But why should I want to make it up? You’ve done that, and that prevents her talking about duelling and early trains. She can’t mock at me because of you. You might pass me back my bottle, if you’ve taken your drink.”

The Major reluctantly did so.

“You must please yourself, old boy,” he said. “It’s your business, and no one’s ever said that Benjy Flint interfered in another man’s affairs. But I trust you will do what good feeling indicates. I hope you value our jolly games of golf and our pleasant evenings sufficiently highly.”

“Eh! how’s that?” asked Puffin. “You going to cut me too?”

The Major sat down and put his large feet on the fender.[224] “Tact and diplomacy, Benjy, my boy,” he reminded himself.

“Ha! That’s what I like,” he said, “a good fire and a friend, and the rest of the world may go hang. There’s no question of cutting, old man; I needn’t tell you that—but we must have one of our good talks. For instance, I very unceremoniously turned you out of my house this afternoon, and I owe you an explanation of that. I’ll give it you in one word: Miss Mapp saw you come in. She didn’t see me come in here this evening—ha! ha!—and that’s why I can sit at my ease. But if she knew——”

Puffin guessed.

“What has happened, Major, is that you’ve thrown me over for Miss Mapp,” he observed.

“No, sir, I have not,” said the Major with emphasis. “Should I be sitting here and drinking your whisky if I had? But this morning, after that lady had accepted my regret for my share in what occurred the other night, she assumed that since I condemned my own conduct unreservedly, I must equally condemn yours. It really was like a conjuring trick; the thing was done before I knew anything about it. And before I’d had time to say, ‘Hold on a bit,’ I was being led up and down the High Street, carrying as much merchandise as a drove of camels. God, sir, I suffered this morning; you don’t seem to realize that I suffered; I couldn’t stand any more mornings like that: I haven’t the stamina.”

“A powerful woman,” said Puffin reflectively.

“You may well say that,” observed Major Flint. “That is finely said. A powerful woman she is, with a powerful tongue, and able to be powerful nasty, and if she sees you and me on friendly terms again, she’ll turn the full hose on to us both unless you make it up with her.”

[225] “H’m, yes. But as likely as not she’ll tell me and my apologies to go hang.”

“Have a try, old man,” said the Major encouragingly.

Puffin looked at his whisky-bottle.

“Help yourself, Major,” he said. “I think you’ll have to help me out, you know. Go and interview her: see if there’s a chance of my favourable reception.”

“No, sir,” said the Major firmly, “I will not run the risk of another morning’s shopping in the High Street.”

“You needn’t. Watch till she comes back from her shopping to-morrow.”

Major Benjy clearly did not like the prospect at all, but Puffin grew firmer and firmer in his absolute refusal to lay himself open to rebuff, and presently, they came to an agreement that the Major was to go on his ambassadorial errand next morning. That being settled, the still undecided point about the worm-cast gave rise to a good deal of heat, until, it being discovered that the window was open, and that their voices might easily carry as far as the garden-room, they made malignant rejoinders to each other in whispers. But it was impossible to go on quarrelling for long in so confidential a manner, and the disagreement was deferred to a more convenient occasion. It was late when the Major left, and after putting out the light in Puffin’s hall, so that he should not be silhouetted against it, he slid into the darkness, and reached his own door by a subtle detour.

Miss Mapp had a good deal of division of her swift mind, when, next morning, she learned the nature of Major Benjy’s second errand. If she, like Mr. Wyse, was to encourage Puffin to hope that she would accept his apologies, she would be obliged to remit all further punishment[226] of him, and allow him to consort with his friend again. It was difficult to forgo the pleasure of his chastisement, but, on the other hand, it was just possible that the Major might break away, and, whether she liked it or not (and she would not), refuse permanently to give up Puffin’s society. That would be awkward since she had publicly paraded her reconciliation with him. What further inclined her to clemency, was that this very evening the crimson-lake tea-gown would shed its effulgence over Mrs. Poppit’s bridge-party, and Diva would never want to hear the word “kingfisher” again. That was enough to put anybody in a good temper. So the diplomatist returned to the miscreant with the glad tidings that Miss Mapp would hear his supplication with a favourable ear, and she took up a stately position in the garden-room, which she selected as audience chamber, near the bell so that she could ring for Withers if necessary.

Miss Mapp’s mercy was largely tempered with justice, and she proposed, in spite of the leniency which she would eventually exhibit, to give Puffin “what for,” first. She had not for him, as for Major Benjy, that feminine weakness which had made it a positive luxury to forgive him: she never even thought of Puffin as Captain Dicky, far less let the pretty endearment slip off her tongue accidentally, and the luxury which she anticipated from the interview was that of administering a quantity of hard slaps. She had appointed half-past twelve as the hour for his suffering, so that he must go without his golf again.

She put down the book she was reading when he appeared, and gazed at him stonily without speech. He[227] limped into the middle of the room. This might be forgiveness, but it did not look like it, and he wondered whether she had got him here on false pretences.

“Good morning,” said he.

Miss Mapp inclined her head. Silence was gold.

“I understood from Major Flint——” began Puffin.

Speech could be gold too.

“If,” said Miss Mapp, “you have come to speak about Major Flint you have wasted your time. And mine!”

(How different from Major Benjy, she thought. What a shrimp!)

The shrimp gave a slight gasp. The thing had got to be done, and the sooner he was out of range of this powerful woman the better.

“I am extremely sorry for what I said to you the other night,” he said.

“I am glad you are sorry,” said Miss Mapp.

“I offer you my apologies for what I said,” continued Puffin.

The whip whistled.

“When you spoke to me on the occasion to which you refer,” said Miss Mapp, “I saw of course at once that you were not in a condition to speak to anybody. I instantly did you that justice, for I am just to everybody. I paid no more attention to what you said than I should have paid to any tipsy vagabond in the slums. I daresay you hardly remember what you said, so that before I hear your expression of regret, I will remind you of it. You threatened, unless I promised to tell nobody in what a disgusting condition you were, to say that I was tipsy. Elizabeth Mapp tipsy! That was what you said, Captain Puffin.”

[228] Captain Puffin turned extremely red. (“Now the shrimp’s being boiled,” thought Miss Mapp.)

“I can’t do more than apologize,” said he. He did not know whether he was angrier with his ambassador or her.

“Did you say you couldn’t do ‘more,’” said Miss Mapp with an air of great interest. “How curious! I should have thought you couldn’t have done less.”

“Well, what more can I do?” asked he.

“If you think,” said Miss Mapp, “that you hurt me by your conduct that night, you are vastly mistaken. And if you think you can do no more than apologize, I will teach you better. You can make an effort, Captain Puffin, to break with your deplorable habits, to try to get back a little of the self-respect, if you ever had any, which you have lost. You can cease trying, oh, so unsuccessfully, to drag Major Benjy down to your level. That’s what you can do.”

She let these withering observations blight him.

“I accept your apologies,” she said. “I hope you will do better in the future, Captain Puffin, and I shall look anxiously for signs of improvement. We will meet with politeness and friendliness when we are brought together and I will do my best to wipe all remembrance of your tipsy impertinence from my mind. And you must do your best too. You are not young, and engrained habits are difficult to get rid of. But do not despair, Captain Puffin. And now I will ring for Withers and she will show you out.”

She rang the bell, and gave a sample of her generous oblivion.

“And we meet, do we not, this evening at Mrs. Poppit’s?” she said, looking not at him, but about a[229] foot above his head. “Such pleasant evenings one always has there, I hope it will not be a wet evening, but the glass is sadly down. Oh, Withers, Captain Puffin is going. Good morning, Captain Puffin. Such a pleasure!”

Miss Mapp hummed a rollicking little tune as she observed him totter down the street.

“There!” she said, and had a glass of Burgundy for lunch as a treat.

CHAPTER X

The news that Mr. Wyse was to be of the party that evening at Mrs. Poppit’s and was to dine there first, en famille (as he casually let slip in order to air his French), created a disagreeable impression that afternoon in Tilling. It was not usual to do anything more than “have a tray” for your evening meal, if one of these winter bridge-parties followed, and there was, to Miss Mapp’s mind, a deplorable tendency to ostentation in this dinner-giving before a party. Still, if Susan was determined to be extravagant, she might have asked Miss Mapp as well, who resented this want of hospitality. She did not like, either, this hole-and-corner en famille work with Mr. Wyse; it indicated a pushing familiarity to which, it was hoped, Mr. Wyse’s eyes were open.

There was another point: the party, it had been ascertained, would in all number ten, and if, as was certain, there would be two bridge-tables, that seemed to imply that two people would have to cut out. There were often nine at Mrs. Poppit’s bridge-parties (she appeared to be unable to count), but on those occasions Isabel was[230] generally told by her mother that she did not care for bridge, and so there was no cutting out, but only a pleasant book for Isabel. But what would be done with ten? It was idle to hope that Susan would sit out: as hostess she always considered it part of her duties to play