________________________________________________
_ When, on a June afternoon about twelve months later, Lily Holl
walked into Mrs. Povey's drawing-room overlooking the Square, she
found a calm, somewhat optimistic old lady--older than her years--
which were little more than sixty--whose chief enemies were
sciatica and rheumatism. The sciatica was a dear enemy of long
standing, always affectionately referred to by the forgiving
Constance as 'my sciatica'; the rheumatism was a new-comer,
unprivileged, spoken of by its victim apprehensively and yet
disdainfully as 'this rheumatism.' Constance was now very stout.
She sat in a low easy-chair between the oval table and the window,
arrayed in black silk. As the girl Lily came in, Constance lifted
her head with a bland smile, and Lily kissed her, contentedly.
Lily knew that she was a welcome visitor. These two had become as
intimate as the difference between their ages would permit; of the
two, Constance was the more frank. Lily as well as Constance was
in mourning. A few months previously her aged grandfather, 'Holl,
the grocer,' had died. The second of his two sons, Lily's father,
had then left the business established by the brothers at
Hanbridge in order to manage, for a time, the parent business in
St. Luke's Square. Alderman Holl's death had delayed Lily's
marriage. Lily took tea with Constance, or at any rate paid a
call, four or five times a week. She listened to Constance.
Everybody considered that Constance had 'come splendidly through'
the dreadful affair of Sophia's death. Indeed, it was observed
that she was more philosophic, more cheerful, more sweet, than she
had been for many years. The truth was that, though her
bereavement had been the cause of a most genuine and durable
sorrow, it had been a relief to her. When Constance was over
fifty, the energetic and masterful Sophia had burst in upon her
lethargic tranquillity and very seriously disturbed the flow of
old habits. Certainly Constance had fought Sophia on the main
point, and won; but on a hundred minor points she had either lost
or had not fought. Sophia had been 'too much' for Constance, and
it had been only by a wearying expenditure of nervous force that
Constance had succeeded in holding a small part of her own against
the unconscious domination of Sophia. The death of Mrs. Scales had
put an end to all the strain, and Constance had been once again
mistress in Constance's house. Constance would never have admitted
these facts, even to herself; and no one would ever have dared to
suggest them to her. For with all her temperamental mildness she
had her formidable side.
She was slipping a photograph into a plush-covered photograph
album.
"More photographs?" Lily questioned. She had almost exactly the
same benignant smile that Constance had. She seemed to be the
personification of gentleness--one of those feather-beds that some
capricious men occasionally have the luck to marry. She was
capable, with a touch of honest, simple stupidity. All her
character was displayed in the tone in which she said: "More
photographs?" It showed an eager responsive sympathy with
Constance's cult for photographs, also a slight personal fondness
for photographs, also a dim perception that a cult for photographs
might be carried to the ridiculous, and a kind desire to hide all
trace of this perception. The voice was thin, and matched the pale
complexion of her delicate face.
Constance's eyes had a quizzical gleam behind her spectacles as
she silently held up the photograph for Lily's inspection.
Lily, sitting down, lowered the corners of her soft lips when she
beheld the photograph, and nodded her head several times, scarce
perceptibly.
"Her ladyship has just given it to me," whispered Constance.
"Indeed!" said Lily, with an extraordinary accent.
'Her ladyship' was the last and best of Constance's servants, a
really excellent creature of thirty, who had known misfortune, and
who must assuredly have been sent to Constance by the old watchful
Providence. They 'got on together' nearly perfectly. Her name was
Mary. After ten years of turmoil, Constance in the matter of
servants was now at rest.
"Yes," said Constance. "She's named it to me several times--about
having her photograph taken, and last week I let her go. I told
you, didn't I? I always consider her in every way, all her little
fancies and everything. And the copies came to-day. I wouldn't
hurt her feelings for anything. You may be sure she'll take a look
into the album next time she cleans the room."
Constance and Lily exchanged a glance agreeing that Constance had
affably stretched a point in deciding to put the photograph of a
servant between the same covers with photographs of her family and
friends. It was doubtful whether such a thing had ever been done
before.
One photograph usually leads to another, and one photograph album
to another photograph album.
"Pass me that album on the second shelf of the Canterbury; my
dear," said Constance.
Lily rose vivaciously, as though to see the album on the second
shelf of the Canterbury had been the ambition of her life.
They sat side by side at the table, Lily turning over the pages.
Constance, for all her vast bulk, continually made little nervous
movements. Occasionally she would sniff and occasionally a
mysterious noise would occur in her chest; she always pretended
that this noise was a cough, and would support the pretence by
emitting a real cough immediately after it.
"Why!" exclaimed Lily. "Have I seen that before?" "I don't know,
my dear," said Constance. "HAVE you?"
It was a photograph of Sophia taken a few years previously by 'a
very nice gentleman,' whose acquaintance the sisters had made
during a holiday at Harrogate. It portrayed Sophia on a knoll,
fronting the weather.
"It's Mrs. Scales to the life--I can see that," said Lily.
"Yes," said Constance. "Whenever there was a wind she always stood
like that, and took long deep breaths of it."
This recollection of one of Sophia's habits recalled the whole
woman to Constance's memory, and drew a picture of her character
for the girl who had scarcely known her.
"It's not like ordinary photographs. There's something special
about it," said Lily, enthusiastically. "I don't think I ever saw
a photograph like that."
"I've got another copy of it in my bedroom," said Constance. "I'll
give you this one."
"Oh, Mrs. Povey! I couldn't think--!"
"Yes, yes!" said Constance, removing the photograph from the page.
"Oh, THANK you!" said Lily.
"And that reminds me," said Constance, getting up with great
difficulty from her chair.
"Can I find anything for you?" Lily asked.
"No, no!" said Constance, leaving the room.
She returned in a moment with her jewel-box, a receptacle of ebony
with ivory ornamentations.
"I've always meant to give you this," said Constance, taking from
the box a fine cameo brooch. "I don't seem to fancy wearing it
myself. And I should like to see you wearing it. It was mother's.
I believe they're coming into fashion again. I don't see why you
shouldn't wear it while you're in mourning. They aren't half so
strict now about mourning as they used to be."
"Truly!" murmured Lily, ecstatically. They kissed. Constance
seemed to breathe out benevolence, as with trembling hands she
pinned the brooch at Lily's neck. She lavished the warm treasure
of her heart on Lily, whom she regarded as an almost perfect girl,
and who had become the idol of her latter years.
"What a magnificent old watch!" said Lily, as they delved together
in the lower recesses of the box. "AND the chain to it!"
"That was father's," said Constance. "He always used to swear by
it. When it didn't agree with the Town Hall, he used to say: 'Then
th' Town Hall's wrong.' And it's curious, the Town Hall WAS wrong.
You know the Town Hall clock has never been a good timekeeper.
I've been thinking of giving that watch and chain to Dick."
"HAVE you?" said Lily.
"Yes. It's just as good as it was when father wore it. My husband
never would wear it. He preferred his own. He had little fancies
like that. And Cyril takes after his father." She spoke in her
'dry' tone. "I've almost decided to give it to Dick--that is, if
he behaves himself. Is he still on with this ballooning?"
Lily Smiled guiltily: "Oh yes!"
"Well," said Constance, "I never heard the like! If he's been up
and come down safely, that ought to be enough for him. I wonder
you let him do it, my dear."
"But how can I stop him? I've no control over him."
"But do you mean to say that he'd still do it if you told him
seriously you didn't want him to?"
"Yes," said Lily; and added: "So I shan't tell him."
Constance nodded her head, musing over the secret nature of men.
She remembered too well the cruel obstinacy of Samuel, who had
nevertheless loved her. And Dick Povey was a thousand times more
bizarre than Samuel. She saw him vividly, a little boy, whizzing
down King Street on a boneshaker, and his cap flying off.
Afterwards it had been motor-cars! Now it was balloons! She
sighed. She was struck by the profound instinctive wisdom just
enunciated by the girl.
"Well," she said, "I shall see. I've not made up my mind yet.
What's the young man doing this afternoon, by the way?"
"He's gone to Birmingham to try to sell two motor-lorries. He
won't be back home till late. He's coming over here to-morrow."
It was an excellent illustration of Dick Povey's methods that at
this very moment Lily heard in the Square the sound of a motor-
car, which happened to be Dick's car. She sprang up to look.
"Why!" she cried, flushing. "Here he is now!"
"Bless us, bless us!" muttered Constance, closing the box.
When Dick, having left his car in King Street, limped
tempestuously into the drawing-room, galvanizing it by his
abundant vitality into a new life, he cried joyously: "Sold my
lorries! Sold my lorries!" And he explained that by a charming
accident he had disposed of them to a chance buyer in Hanbridge,
just before starting for Birmingham. So he had telephoned to
Birmingham that the matter was 'off,' and then, being 'at a loose
end,' he had come over to Bursley in search of his betrothed. At
Holl's shop they had told him that she was with Mrs. Povey.
Constance glanced at him, impressed by his jolly air of success.
He seemed exactly like his breezy and self-confident
advertisements in the Signal. He was absolutely pleased with
himself. He triumphed over his limp--that ever-present reminder of
a tragedy. Who would dream, to look at his blond, laughing,
scintillating face, astonishingly young for his years, that he had
once passed through such a night as that on which his father had
killed his mother while he lay immovable and cursing, with a
broken knee, in bed? Constance had heard all about that scene from
her husband, and she paused in wonder at the contrasting hazards
of existence.
Dick Povey brought his hands together with a resounding smack, and
then rubbed them rapidly.
"AND a good price, too!" he exclaimed blithely. "Mrs. Povey, I
don't mind telling you that I've netted seventy pounds odd this
afternoon."
Lily's eyes expressed her proud joy.
"I hope pride won't have a fall," said Constance, with a calm
smile out of which peeped a hint of a rebuke. "That's what I hope.
I must just go and see about tea."
"I can't stay for tea--really," said Dick.
"Of course you can," said Constance, positively. "Suppose you'd
been at Birmingham? It's weeks since you stayed to tea."
"Oh, well, thanks!" Dick yielded, rather snubbed.
"Can't I save you a journey, Mrs. Povey?" Lily asked, eagerly
thoughtful.
"No, thank you, my dear. There are one or two little things that
need my attention." And Constance departed with her jewel-box.
Dick, having assured himself that the door was closed, assaulted
Lily with a kiss.
"Been here long?" he inquired.
"About an hour and a half."
"Glad to see me?"
"Oh, Dick!" she protested.
"Old lady's in one of her humours, eh?"
"No, no! Only she was just talking about balloons--you know. She's
very much up in arms."
"You ought to keep her off balloons. Balloons may be the ruin of
her wedding-present to us, my child."
"Dick! How can you talk like that? ... It's all very well saying I
ought to keep her off balloons. You try to keep her off balloons
when once she begins, and see!"
"What started her?"
"She said she was thinking of giving you old Mr. Baines's gold
watch and chain--if you behaved yourself."
"Thank you for nothing!" said Dick. "I don't want it."
"Have you seen it?"
"Have I seen it? I should say I had seen it. She's mentioned it
once or twice before."
"Oh! I didn't know."
"I don't see myself carting that thing about. I much prefer my
own. What do you think of it?"
"Of course it is rather clumsy," said Lily. "But if she offered it
to you, you couldn't refuse it, and you'd simply have to wear it."
"Well, then," said Dick, "I must try to behave myself just badly
enough to keep off the watch, but not badly enough to upset her
notions about wedding-presents."
"Poor old thing!" Lily murmured, compassionately.
Then Lily put her hand silently to her neck.
"What's that?"
"She's just given it to me."
Dick approached very near to examine the cameo brooch. "Hm!" he
murmured. It was an adverse verdict. And Lily coincided with it by
a lift of the eyebrows.
"And I suppose you'll have to wear that!" said Dick.
"She values it as much as anything she's got, poor old thing!"
said Lily. "It belonged to her mother. And she says cameos are
coming into fashion again. It really is rather good, you know."
"I wonder where she learnt that!" said Dick, drily. "I see you've
been suffering from the photographs again."
"Well," said Lily, "I much prefer the photographs to helping her
to play Patience. The way she cheats herself--it's too silly! I--"
She stopped. The door which had after all not been latched, was
pushed open, and the antique Fossette introduced herself painfully
into the room. Fossette had an affection for Dick Povey.
"Well, Methusaleh!" he greeted the animal loudly. She could
scarcely wag her tail, nor shake the hair out of her dim eyes in
order to look up at him. He stooped to pat her.
"That dog does smell," said Lily, bluntly.
"What do you expect? What she wants is the least dose of prussic
acid. She's a burden to herself."
"It's funny that if you venture to hint to Mrs. Povey that the dog
is offensive she gets quite peppery," said Lily.
"Well, that's very simple," said Dick. "Don't hint, that's all!
Hold your nose and your tongue too."
"Dick, I do wish you wouldn't be so absurd."
Constance returned into the room, cutting short the conversation.
"Mrs. Povey," said Dick, in a voice full of gratitude, "Lily has
just been showing me her brooch--"
He noticed that she paid no heed to him, but passed hurriedly to
the window.
"What's amiss in the Square?" Constance exclaimed. "When I was in
the parlour just now I saw a man running along Wedgwood Street,
and I said to myself, what's amiss?"
Dick and Lily joined her at the window.
Several people were hurrying down the Square, and then a man came
running with a doctor from the market-place. All these persons
disappeared from view under the window of Mrs. Povey's drawing-
room, which was over part of Mrs. Critchlow's shop. As the windows
of the shop projected beyond the walls of the house it was
impossible, from the drawing-room window, to see the pavement in
front of the shop.
"It must be something on the pavement--or in the shop!" murmured
Constance.
"Oh, ma'am!" said a startled voice behind the three. It was Mary,
original of the photograph, who had run unperceived into the
drawing-room. "They say as Mrs. Critchlow has tried to commit
suicide!"
Constance started back. Lily went towards her, with an instinctive
gesture of supporting consolation.
"Maria Critchlow tried to commit suicide!" Constance muttered.
"Yes, ma'am! But they say she's not done it."
"By Jove! I'd better go and see if I can help, hadn't I?" cried
Dick Povey, hobbling off, excited and speedy. "Strange, isn't it?"
he exclaimed afterwards, "how I manage to come in for things?
Sheer chance that I was here to-day! But it's always like that!
Somehow something extraordinary is always happening where I am."
And this too ministered to his satisfaction, and to his zest for
life. _
Read next: BOOK IV WHAT LIFE IS: CHAPTER V - END OF CONSTANCE: PART II
Read previous: BOOK IV WHAT LIFE IS: CHAPTER IV END OF SOPHIA: PART IV
Table of content of Old Wives' Tale
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
