Exactly what we thought neither of us put into words; we just sat silently and stared, until presently Charmion rose, marched over to her writing-table, and scribbled a few words on a telegram form. Then she held it out for me to read:--

"Order for decorations at Pastimes cancelled herewith."

"Do you approve?"

"Er--oh, yes, of course--I suppose so. But how shall we--"

"That's easily arranged. Any town firm will be glad of the order. It will be more expensive, but will probably be better done. In any case we have no choice."

"It's such a tiny village. Where could the men sleep?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. That is their business, not mine. We shan't have any difficulty about that," Charmion declared, and she was right, for the West End firm who received our instructions waved aside the question with smiling a.s.surance. They were accustomed to sending workmen all over the country. To the loneliest places. All could be easily arranged. We were left with the impression that if it had been our pleasure to pitch our tent in the Sahara, the frock-coated manager would have executed our wishes with equal ease. So far, so good; but as we left the shop Charmion turned to me, and said darkly:--

"I think, under the circ.u.mstances, it might be wise to change our minds about employing country maids, and to engage London ones instead."

"You are afraid--"

"I am afraid of nothing, but I think it probable that the local girls who wrote to us about situations may now be 'urgently' bespoken for service at Uplands."

"Well, he will need servants," I said feebly, and fell to thinking of Uplands itself, and of how unfortunate it seemed that General Underwood should be settling so near ourselves. We had noticed the house, indeed, we could not fail to do so, as it lay a quarter of a mile along the high road from Pastimes, on the direct route from Escott, which was Mr Maplestone's village. It was a handsome-looking house, but painfully prosaic, built of grey stone, unsoftened by creepers, and showing a row of windows flat and narrow, and extraordinarily high. One could just imagine the rooms, like so many boxes, and the hall flag-tiled, and the house full of draughts, for the windows of the princ.i.p.al living-rooms faced perversely towards the north. I hoped the poor General would instal a heating system and a generous supply of rugs; but what chiefly concerned me at the moment was the thought that every time--every single time--that cross, red-headed man came over to visit his relative, he must pa.s.s our door!

My imagination immediately conjured up half a dozen irritating encounters. Evelyn returning home on a wet day, bedraggled, _not_ at her best, toiling along the wet lane, and being splashed with mud by the wheels of a giant car, from the cushioned seat of which the Squire and his wife regarded her with lofty disdain. There _was_ a Mrs Maplestone, and I had drawn a mental picture of her, which I felt sure was true to life. Small, meek, rather pretty, with big brown eyes which held a chronic expression of being rather frightened by what had just gone before, and exceedingly anxious as to what should come next. She would probably wear handsome furs, and a hat three seasons old.

Encounter number two represented Evelyn in her best hat and coat, feeling rather spry and pleased with herself, until presently, clinketty clank, round the bend of the road came the quick, staccato beat of horses' hoofs. Mr and Mrs Maplestone cantering past in hunting kit, which at one glimpse killed complacency and subst.i.tuted disgust for the poor fripperies of town.

Encounter number three was most obnoxious of all. It represented Evelyn _solus_ encountering Mr Maplestone _solus_ and on foot. Approaching him on the unsheltered road, torn by the problem, "Will he bow? Shall _I_ bow? Will he pretend? Shall I pretend?" moving nearer and nearer, and in a final moment of discomfort meeting the stare of blank, angry eyes. Poor man! It must be exhausting to have such a violent temper.

I wondered what he looked like when by chance he was happy and pleased!

The West End firm got through their work in record time, and at the end of three weeks Charmion and I took possession, and set to work at the task of putting our house in order. Every woman delights in this work in _prospect_; in reality, every one comes full tilt against a score of irritating, aggravating _contretemps_ which baulk her carefully-laid schemes.

Our _contretemps_ appeared in a very usual form. The cook and gardener, who had been definitely engaged to meet us on our arrival, and whom we had, therefore, not replaced in town, sent missives instead, to "hope they didn't inconvenience, but they had changed their minds". The two town servants who _had_ arrived were immediately plunged into woe, and, looking into their set, dour faces, one could _hear_ the inward thought, "Don't believe anyone ever _was_ engaged! Just one of their tricks to get us down here to do the work alone." We left them sitting like monuments of woe in the kitchen, and shut ourselves up in the drawing-room to consult.

"Uplands, I conclude," said Charmion coldly.

"Oh, no! I don't believe it. He wouldn't condescend to _that_!"

"Why not? He stopped the work in the house."

"That was different! After all, he _is_ the Squire, and when it was a case of inconveniencing him, or a stranger--a local tradesman could hardly be expected to put us first. At least, you can _understand_ his position."

"Does the same argument apply to local domestics?"

"It might do; but I don't believe it was used. To give a tradesman an order for now or never, and to--to stoop to bribe a servant to break an engagement--surely they are two different things! I do _not_ believe Mr Maplestone would do it!"

"Well!--we shall see. In the meantime, what about dinner?"

I went back to the kitchen and talked to the Londoners, smiling radiantly the while. I said it was upsetting, but we must expect upsets. No one ever settled into a new house without one. I said there would be no difficulty in getting another cook--we would telegraph for one to-morrow; in the meantime we would just picnic, and do the best we could. I looked from one sulky face to another, and asked confidently:--

"Now, which of you is the better cook?"

The parlour-maid said she was a parlour-maid. She had never been _asked_ to cook. She could make tea.

I said, "Thank you!" and turned to the housemaid.

The housemaid said she was a housemaid, and didn't understand stoves.

She had always lived where kitchen-maids were kept.

I said calmly, "Oh, well, it's fortunate that I am a woman, and can cook for the lot of you until help comes. Perhaps you will kindly bring tea into the hall, and then get your own as quickly as possible. I shall require the kitchen by six o'clock."

They were horribly discomposed, and I left them murmuring vaguely in protest, very pleased with myself and my fine womanly att.i.tude, though at the bottom of my heart I knew quite well that Bridget would come to the rescue, and never a saucepan should I be allowed to touch.

As a matter of fact the good soul descended on the slackers like a whirlwind, and the while she drove them before her, treated them to an eloquent lecture upon the future sufferings, privations, rebellions, and retaliations of the prospective husbands of females who had grown to woman's estate, and yet could not cook a meal. Through the green baize door I could hear the continuous torrent of invective, broken at first by protest, later on by soft exclamations of surprise, and finally--oh, the relief of that moment!--by an uncontrollable explosion of laughter.

The c.o.c.kney mind is keenly alive to humour, and when a racy Irishwoman gets fairly started on a favourite subject, the delicious contradictions of her denunciations are hard to beat! That laughter saved the situation, and the domestic wheels began to move.

Charmion wrote to an emergency lady in town. I didn't see the letter, but I diagnosed its tone. Peremptory and--lavish! Wages no object, but speed essential, or words to that effect. Anyway, in two days' time a married couple arrived, were pleased to approve of us, and settled down with the air of coming to stay. She was an excellent cook, and he seemed a rather indifferent gardener, which just suited our views. If gardeners are experts they want their own way, insist on bedding-out, carpet-beds, and similar atrocities. We meant to run our garden on different lines!

Hurrah! I am so relieved. The truants have _not_ gone to Uplands. I met the cook in the village to-day, recognised her, and tackled her to her face. She flushed and wriggled, looked uncomfortable, but not as penitent as I should have liked to have seen.

"Was it necessary to wait until we had actually arrived, before letting us know that you had changed your mind?"

She stood on one foot, and drew circles on the road with the other.

"Didn't decide myself till just the last minute."

"You hadn't taken another place then? I understood from your note--"

"I'm staying on with my mother. I may go to a lady at Guildford."

Silence. One department of my brain felt an immense relief, the other an immense exasperation.

"Then you were free all the time! Doesn't it strike you as wrong and dishonourable to show such a want of concern for other people's convenience?"

She muttered. I caught the sound of a few words--"_I'm not the Only One_!" and put on my most dignified air.

"However, it is all for the best. You certainly would not have suited us. I hope for your own sake you will learn to keep your word."

I walked on, nose in the air, aggressively complacent in appearance, but those words rankled!

"_Not the only one_!" Now what did she mean by that? Obviously the insinuation was meant to go home, but how and where had we been to blame? Not in our treatment of the woman herself. We had offered good wages, and to pay for the time she had been kept waiting; yet something had happened which had made her willing to lose money and time, and that something was not another place! I felt puzzled, and, at the bottom of my heart, _worried_ about it all!

Later on I paid my first visit to the little draper's shop, and ran the fire of a universal scrutiny from the staff. The "young ladies" knew who I was, and were devoured by curiosity, but it was not a friendly curiosity! Instead of the eager smiles which usually greet a new customer, there was a pursed-up gravity, a stolid attention to business, which was decidedly blighting. At home in Ireland every tradesman was more or less a friend, and what they did not know of Kathie's affairs and mine was not worth hearing.

"Pastimes, I believe!" said the sales-woman with the pasty face, when I directed the parcel to be sent home. Was it fancy which read a note of reproach in her intonation?

Coming home, I met General Underwood in a bath-chair, being pushed along by a man in livery. He has white hair and a yellow face. He looks tired and ill, and lonely and sad. I'm sure he hates the bath-chair, and fights horribly with his doctor, who insists on fresh air. He rolled his tired eyes at me as I pa.s.sed, and said something in a low voice to his attendant. I was misguided enough to turn my head, and behold! the Bath-chair was tilted round so that he might look after _me_. The man knew me by sight, and was laying bare the whole horrible truth.

"That's her, sir! The lady from Pastimes!" I felt ruffled, and went straight into my "sulky," where I stayed till lunch-time. We had a delicious _souffle_, and Charmion asked no questions, and went out of the way to be particularly sweet. I felt better every moment, and by the time coffee arrived had quite recovered my spirits.

If the General _had_ lived in Pastimes, he would have had to use the bath-chair just the same, and his hair would have been quite as white!