39
The Old Patchwork Parasol
Midge had not made a conscious decision that everything would be splendid, running smoothly, and in perfect order, when Jarvis came home. Somehow or another the notion had just got itself into her head. Or perhaps her head had conceived of it for itself. But certainly by the time Yoly appeared in the district and Midge dispatched her note to the Vicomte, it was in there. She would demonstrate to Jarvis that she was as capable as any man, up to and including the burra zemindar himself, and thus force him to see that he should share his duties with her! For obviously suggestion would never work: shoving the fait accompli under his nose was the only way. And whether or not Hutton and Tonkins declared it was the story of Lieutenant Fiennes and the cook waggons all over again, the which by now they both of course had done, she was determined to go through with it. She was not, after all, a green lieutenant, and her enterprise, unlike that of the gallant Fiennes, was not fated to end in disaster! And certainly so far, in spite of the burgeoning mounds of paper in the study, everything had gone along splendidly. Splendidly. Jarvis had even written a note to say that he was very glad to have d’Arresnes try out for secretary, and so far the lad was doing excellently well. And he would see her in a week’s time, and to give Master Tommy a big kiss from his loving father. The which did seem to indicate that he might have got over his fury with Master Tommy’s mother.
It was, therefore, all the more disconcerting to discover, on riding over to Cherry Tree Lane, the which she had not done for quite some days, what with Yoly’s arrival and the growing mountains of correspondence, that all was not going splendidly there. The cottages were finished, apart from the very end one, the interior of which was clearly so near done that the men would have it finished by the end of the week. And actual bricks were starting to be laid at Cherry Tree Rise. But as for Bluebell Dell—! What was the man doing? The foundations were in, but there was not a workman to be seen on the site!
Mr Hazy attempted to explain that their decision to double the size of the house, in fact duplicating the existing structure, so that the finished Bluebell Dell would feature two gables, with a new single-storeyed entrance hall and pillared porch built across the front, entailed certain testing of the existing structure, in order to ensure that the side wall, which would be the central wall—
Angrily her Ladyship pointed out that they had known that weeks back, and where were the workmen?
Gloomily Mr Hazy admitted that he was not absolutely sure, but he thought that the squire and young Mr Golightly had ordered them to—
“What?” screamed Midge. “They are Maunsleigh men, not the squire’s!”
“Y— Er, well, many of them are local fellows, and… I wasn't here,” he confessed glumly. “But the fellow working on the cottages over the way mentioned—er—poultry, my Lady,” he said, clearing his throat and giving her a helpless, agonised look.
“P— Sir William has heard about our efforts to beat him at the show!”
“Mm,” agreed Mr Hazy unhappily.
“That does not give him the right to tell our men they may work on Mr Golightly’s barn, and I want them back today! Today!” she cried.
“Yes, my Lady. I have sent Hutton over to fetch them back, my Lady.”
“Good. And is it too much to ask,” said Midge grimly, “why Hutton was not here at the time they were stolen?”
“Um, wasn’t he over in Nettleford on an errand to do with the show?”
“Oh. So he was. He cannot,” said Midge, scowling, and beginning to stride up and down, “be here all the time! And he should not need to be!”
“No, my Lady.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I shall call on Lady Ventnor and make it very clear that while this time I am lightly amused, next time will be neither funny nor acceptable. That will settle his hash!”
The architect blenched, but agreed that it would.
“And I shall oversee the work myself. Get them started as soon as they reappear.”
Her Ladyship then ordered her architect briskly to help her remount Chota Lady, and trotted away in the direction of Nettlefold Hall, her back very straight indeed.
“Oh, Gawd,” said young Mr Hazy, producing a flag-like handkerchief and mopping his fevered brow.
“My Lady, is this wise?” asked Bates somewhat limply.
“It appears it is the only thing to do,” replied Midge grimly, tying her bonnet strings fiercely. “There is still a little furniture in the house, and it is habitable. Is the carriage ready?”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Good. I shall be over to see Master Tommy at the usual time.”
“Of course, my Lady,” agreed Bates. “But might I suggest that the house will not be very comfortable?”
“I dare say. It cannot signify,” returned his mistress grimly. “I have given David Watts his orders, so the dairy should be all right. And Potts can manage in the garden very well without me. I think that is all.”
Bates gave in to force majeure, bowed, and gravely saw her Ladyship out to the carriage. But as the carriage clattered away down the drive the footmen in Maunsleigh great hall were treated to the unusual sight of a large butler collapsing limply on a small occasional chair. True, he did not positively mop his brow. But he did look as if he wanted to.
“If those are the usual nonsense from the county about unfair agricultural and horticultural competition from Maunsleigh,” said Jarvis with a smile as his new secretary brought in the usual sheaf, “we shall be down there so very soon, that possibly we might skip them for this morning.” He then perceived that M. d’Arresnes’s pleasant countenance had an agonised expression. “What?”
“Monsieur, I think you had best see this,” he said faintly.
Jarvis had gone rather white. “Not Midge or Tommy?” he said sharply.
“No, no, they are both well. But—eugh…” Limply he held it out.
“Hutton?” said his Lordship incredulously, seizing the sheet.
“Yes, sir. And there is another one from Tonkins.”
Jarvis scanned the sheet rapidly.
My Lord,
Beg to report that the chota mem has gone over to Bluebell Dell. All have tried to persuayde her that it is not the done thing, begging the zemmindar’s pardon. She took her kit in a bundel and says there is furniture enough. And not only men can sleep ruff. No one can not do nothing to persuayde her other wise. Down to Mr Bates himself.
Master Tommy is going on well there is no need to worry.
Respf.lly yrs.,
J. Hutton, Cpl. (Rtd.)
“Brief, if not perhaps to the point,” he murmured. “What do you make of it?”
M. d’Arresnes went very red and stuttered.
“I beg your pardon: that was entirely unfair,” said Jarvis calmly. “Perhaps one should rather say, what precisely does Hutton intend one to make of it?”
The young Frenchman merely gulped.
“You do not know him,” murmured Jarvis. “There is also a chit from Tonkins, did you say?”
M. d’Arresnes handed it to him. It had been opened: Jarvis blinked, and then realised he had forgotten to tell his new secretary to hand Tonkins’s chits straight to him. Well, never mind.
My Lord,
In pursuance of yr. Lordship’s orders, I am most regretfully constrained to inform yr. Lordship that her Ladyship has taken up residence at the house known as Bluebell Dell, Cherry Tree Lane, nr. Lower Nettlefold. All efforts to persuade her Ladyship to remain at Maunsleigh have proven singularly unavailing.
I respectfully beg yr. Lordship to rest assured that yr. Lordship’s humble servant will continue to watch over her Ladyship night and day, and that no harm shall come to her.
With all respectful assurances, my Lord,
I remain,
Yr. Lordship’s humble, obedient servant,
J.H.V. Tonkins.
“The thing is,” said Jarvis conversationally to his new secretary, “they are both as cunning as a waggonload of monkeys. I dare say every word of both these effusions is true. But what have they left out?”
“Sir, there seems no doubt that her Ladyship has gone back to her old home!” he blurted.
“Mm. But why?”
“Lord Sleyven,” faltered the young man, “if you do not care to have me as your secretary after all, you have only to say so—”
“No, no! My dear boy! I am very glad that Midge thought of the idea! Please, do not distress yourself. This is nothing whatsoever to do with that. Tell me, are there any other letters from Maunsleigh? Nothing from Mrs Fendlesham, the housekeeper? Or from the burra khitmagar? –Bates.”
“Bates? Your butler, sir? Why, no,” he said somewhat dazedly.
“No? Nothing else that should induce me to panic and ride ventre à terre down to Maunsleigh?”
M. d’Arresnes coughed. “There is one from a Miss Humphreys, sir. But it is couched in such very vague terms… Well, I do not think it is my English at fault.”
“I am sure it isn’t,” agreed Jarvis on a dry note. “Hand it over.”
Miss Humphreys begged his Lordship to excuse the temerity; well, she had said that the previous time. She was a trifle worried about dear Lady Sleyven. She had said that before, too. Though that time the “trifle” had not been underlined. It was quite understandable, but Bluebell Dell was not entirely a desirable residence. (For what or for whom, not specified.) In especial with the builders there. Though Mr Hazy was a very reliable young man, she was sure. And with Rosie and the faithful Tonkins just over the road, no-one could breathe a word. The note concluded with her assurances that it was all quite understandable (the “quite” underlined twice), and the reminder that dear Lady Sleyven had never been precisely herself since the birth of dearest little Lord Froissart.
“Obscure,” concluded Jarvis drily.
“Ye-es. Well, perhaps not in conjunction with the two others.”
“No. Though there is no question—well, knowing Hutton, very little question,” he amended, “that she is in cahoots with the pair of budmushes.” He got up. “If there is nothing urgent, d’Arresnes, I think you might order up the curricle, and we’ll get off. This has all gone far enough. Should you care to drive with me?”
M. d’Arresnes gasped out an agreement, and hurried off to pack an overnight bag. Jarvis took up the letter from Hutton and re-read it, very slowly. “Damned budmush,” he concluded with a grin.
“Good evening, my Lord,” said the Maunsleigh butler, coming forward smoothly to relieve his master of his hat. “Thank you, Frederick,” he added, as Frederick, having admitted his Lordship, was just standing there like a stock, with his mouth half open. Frederick jumped visibly, and retreated. Backwards: rather as if Bates were Royalty.
Jarvis introduced his new secretary calmly to his butler, asked Bates to see that Mr Crayshaw’s old room was made ready for Mr d’Arresnes, and, ordering dinner to be served in half an hour, and advising his secretary not to change for it, ran upstairs to see his son.
He was very shaken indeed to find how much he had grown.
“Well, they do, at that age, my Lord,” said Nurse Fendlesham cautiously.
“Yes,” he said with a lump in his throat. “Of course.” He looked down at the somnolent Tommy. “What a fool I— Never mind. Thank you, Nurse.”
“Her Ladyship sees him every day, regular as clockwork, my Lord!” volunteered the nurse, unasked.
“I am sure. Thank you,” he repeated lamely, retreating.
He was very silent over dinner. M. d’Arresnes tactfully did not attempt to chat.
“I suppose,” said Jarvis with a smothered sigh, as the two sipped brandy, “that it might be wise just to look into the study, to gain an idea of what we may expect to tackle tomorrow. Though as Midge’s reports indicate she is thoroughly on top of it all, possibly there will not be much.”
“Yes, sir,” he agreed respectfully.
They duly looked into the study. A small fire was burning therein, and the room was occupied by an enormous cat. At the precise moment, sitting up washing its white waistcoat on a large wing-chair, which judging by its position must be the one the master of the house was accustomed to sit in by his own fire in his own study. The young Frenchman swallowed.
“Mischief,” said Jarvis briefly.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” he replied faintly.
Jarvis was gingerly inspecting the mountains of paper on his desk. “Mm? Oh! The creature’s name. Reputed to be a man-eater. It supports my presence, barely, has instituted a running feud with Bates, and is spoilt rotten by every female in the house.”
“Monsieur, I think it is not a tiger!” he said with a smothered laugh.
“Technically, no. I assure you it has the habits and disposition of one. –My God, and we thought we were being inundated by correspondence from all the agriculturists and horticulturists of the county,” he muttered.
“Is there more?”
“Floods of it. I’d say there was a week’s correspondence here, with which she has not yet managed to cope. So much for Adjutant Midge!” he said with a grin.
M. d’Arresnes offered eagerly to start on it first thing tomorrow.
“That would not be a wise tactical move, d’Arresnes. Neither of us will touch any of this, much though I would like to, until we have consulted with Adj— with Lady Sleyven. Um… Well, at least the room is more than big enough to take two desks.”
“Why, yes, indeed! More the size of a library, indeed, sir!” he said eagerly.
“Yes, well, the Maunsleigh library is about the size of a damned ballroom, though before we came, I don’t think a volume in it was ever opened. We have no idea of what’s in there. Did you mention you know a fellow who has catalogued a library?”
“Yes, sir. Antoine de la Plante. Er, he is a cousin several times removed of Pretty Polly de la Plante, but I beg you will not allow that to count against him, sir!” he said urgently as his employer was seen to wince. “He did an excellent job of cataloguing the collection at Bretton Hoe, and the Duke is said to have been very pleased with him.”
“In that case, perhaps you had better— No. We shall discuss it with her Ladyship, and if she agrees, then you may contact him to see if he is free to come and tackle it. Reads Greek and Latin, does he?”
M. d’Arresnes assured his Lordship that he did, and also several modern languages.
“I think he will need to. Midge has found several Italian volumes, and Humphreys—a fellow who lives in the village, and a damned clever scholar—said there was a considerable collection of German works, also. Now, let me see… I think it would be reasonable to move another desk in here tomorrow morning. Perhaps you could see that done? Your own office is the little room adjoining: almost the same arrangement as we have at Wynton House, you see? And Bates and the footmen all know to show any mulaquati in to you first. Oh, and whatever you do, do not lay a finger on any of the stuff on this desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bates will send in tomorrow’s post to you, and you may deal with it as normal. And finish off anything you brought from town, of course. I would normally see you immediately after breakfast, but tomorrow I shall be busy in the morning.”
“Yes, monsieur,” agreed his secretary, going rather red.
“Oh, and when things are going along normally, Lady Sleyven and I breakfast alone together. I hope you won’t mind if we don’t ask you to join us, just at first, d’Arresnes.”
“Of course, not, sir,” he said, bowing.
Jarvis smiled at him. “There is no need to bow: I dislike that sort of ceremony. Eventually I would hope to see you, the children, and their governess—and M. de la Plante, depending on the time it takes to get the library under control,” he added, his lips twitching, “all joining us for a family breakfast.”
“That sounds most comfortable.”
Jarvis went over to the door. “I hope it will be. May I ask, is that the sort of home life you had, yourself?”
“Why, yes, monsieur! I was born in England, you know, though when Papa was alive we all spoke French at home. My sisters and I would all join Maman and Papa, with Cousine Élise, for breakfast. After Papa died Maman continued the custom and our governess would join us also. Eugh—perhaps that sounds as if our schooling was deputed to a qualified teacher, but actually she was an émigrée like ourselves, and not very much of a teacher, and Maman used to teach us, also!” he said with a smile.
“Really?”
“Why, yes, sir. She is an excellent mathematician.”
“I see,” he said slowly. “I know of your mother’s family, a little. They did not find it—er—unseemly? Or, perhaps, find it permissible only because you were living as émigrés in a foreign country?”
M. d’Arresnes replied readily: “Maman is an intelligent woman, and her family was always one which educated its daughters. Cousin Vallon—he is the son of Maman’s paternal aunt, monsieur—Cousin Vallon would have thought it very strange indeed if Maman had refused to participate in the education of her own children. She taught us music, as well as mathematics: those are her two strengths. Plus German and Italian. The girls speak them both better than I: when it was decided that I should be sent to an English school I had to concentrate on Latin and Greek instead. If I may speak frankly, I do know that Lady Sleyven is very much interested in education. Allow me to say, that persons who would consider it unsuitable for her Ladyship to teach your children are not persons who have the priorities of thinking beings.”
He had ended on a very firm note: Jarvis’s lips twitched, but he replied formally: “Thank you, M. d’Arresnes; I am very grateful for your advice. My own home was a very simple one, and for the sake of my children I should not like to do the wrong thing. But as Midge enjoys teaching, I would hate to have to forbid her to do it. I shall look forward to the time when Master Tommy is old enough to adorn the schoolroom, then!”
And with that, for they had had a very long drive, he dispatched the young man firmly to bed.
He himself also retired, but he did not sleep very much, and got up in the grey light before dawn to gaze out at the green acres of Maunsleigh. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “I have been a damned idiot, Midgey, but God knows, you are not an easy woman to live with. And if you truly want to sit at a desk like a damned adjutant all day, so be it.”
Frederick was in the hall when he came down. He leapt like a stranded fish on seeing his master. The Earl asked placidly for breakfast, and for Hutton to be fetched without delay. His head footman did not seem much reassured by these requests, but managed to bow very properly. Jarvis was not at all surprised to find, after this, that Bates himself bore in the coffee-pot.
“Thank you. I forgot to warn M. d’Arresnes about Dumpkin,” he said, as the butler poured for him. “Is he in the house?”
“Yes, my Lord. Her Ladyship did have him with her, but it did not answer.”
“Did he bite anyone?” asked Jarvis grimly.
His butler replied with dignity: “Certainly not, my Lord. There was an incident of barking at the bricklayers, however, so her Ladyship thought it best he should come home.”
“Mm. Well, please keep him out of the study, and out of M. d’Arresnes’s office.”
“Of course, my Lord. He has not been permitted to go into the study.—John, the ham, if you please.—Mischief is generally in the study.”
“So I saw. Er—he hasn’t attacked Dumpkin, has he?”
“Not recently my Lord, no,” said Bates smoothly. “There was a slight incident, but her Ladyship decided it would be better to keep the two quite separate.”
“Mm. Just clarify this for me, if you would, Bates. The cat is jealous of the dog, is that it?”
“Not entirely, my Lord. It is also jealous of Viscount Froissart.”
Jarvis at this point perceived that young John bore the appearance of a footman who was about to burst. “And?” he said unemotionally.
Bates gave a slight cough. “Since the cat attacked him, my Lord, Dumpkin does appear to bear it something of a grudge.”
John at this opened his mouth in amazed indignation, but caught the butler’s eye, and shut it again.
“Yes, well, I am quite sure that any decisions her Ladyship has made about the two were the right ones,” said Jarvis mildly.
“If I may say so, my Lord, I did mention to her Ladyship the fact that it would be difficult to get the cat out of the study again.”
The Earl responded placidly: “At least if he is in the study he is not attacking Dumpkin or smothering Tommy. If that is M. Fermour’s grainy mustard, I will have some, please.”
Bates gave John a minatory look, and the mustard was put in front of his Lordship. He spread it on the ham and reflected that he would not remark that the ham was not quite up to its usual standard, or even ask whether it had come from Home Farm: for, frankly, there were some things it was better not to know.
Hutton presented himself before he had finished his last cup of coffee. Not quite saluting.
“I got your note,” said Jarvis neutrally.
“Yessir!”
“You may stand easy, Corporal,” said his master drily. “I think the less said on that topic, the better. What’s all this about you racing the mem’s prize moorghees?”
“Never tell me that that Tonkins wrote you that!” he gasped.
“No; he is not a fool.”
“Well, ’oo did?” demanded Mr Hutton angrily.
The Earl eyed him in some amusement, saying nothing.
Mr Hutton went very red. “Beg pardon, me Lord.”
“I should damn’ well think so. As a matter of fact, Charles Langford wrote me of it. He seemed to think it was funny.”
Mr Hutton looked sulky.
“I suppose there is little point in asking you why you did it.”
“That Sam Potts, he bet—”
“Yes, I understand that that was the immediate provocation. But why did you do it, Hutton?”
Scowling, Mr Hutton returned: “Don’t think I get the burra-sahib’s drift, Colonel, sir. –Me Lord.”
“Just think about it. You must have known that if word got back to Mr Lumley, he would not be pleased to know you were gambling again. Have you changed your mind about wanting to marry Bella, is that it?”
“No!” he said indignantly.
“Think about it, please, Hutton.”
Hutton stood there scowling.
“Well?” said Jarvis after some time had elapsed.
“I ain’t changed me mind! Not to say, changed me mind. Only, it’s taking an awful long time, Colonel, sir. And sometimes a feller thinks, well, why? A snug little cottage is all very well in its way, but what if she nags you to death once you’ve been and gone and tied the knot? Only I do want to, really,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “And that didn’t have nothing to do with the moorghees, sir, that was just a bit of fun.”
Jarvis could see that it had had everything to do with the moorghees, but did not insist: Hutton was quite probably incapable of seizing the connection. “Yes. Well, see it doesn’t happen again. I quite take your point about its taking a long time, and if you wish, will speak to Lumley myself. Don’t get excited,” he said as Hutton began to thank him. “I shan’t pretend you’re anything but what you are. But I shall say that I don’t see there’s much good to be achieved by waiting. –God knows I ought to know,” he muttered under his breath.
“Yessir! Thank you, Colonel, sir! Me Lord!” he beamed.
“Don’t thank me, she may yet nag you to death, you know. By the by, has Rosie had her baby?”
“Don’t tell me none of them mentioned it! Just like that lot,” he said in disgust. “Not even Nurse? Gawd,” he said as Jarvis shook his head. “Day before yesterday. A boy, both doing nicely. Well, it’s yellerish and got a head of black hair like a ’edge’og, but she thinks it’s wonderful, and he’s over the moon. Um, he’ll want to call it Jarvis,” he said, clearing his throat. “In especial as the chota mem was there when it started and held Rosie’s hand through the lot.”
“Did she? Good,” he said mildly.
“Yes,” replied Mr Hutton with extreme aggression, sticking out his chin.
“One more reason for her not to return to Maunsleigh yesterday,” he said neutrally.
“Look, I never claimed—” Mr Hutton broke off.
“I think you had best say no more. Tonkins may call his boy Jarvis with my good will, though I pity the brat, growing up with the handle. What are your orders for today?”
“Um, I’m expected at Bluebell Dell, to make sure the squire and Mr Golightly don't grab them builder’s men back, and to get some actual work out of them budmushes, sir.”
“The squire and Mr Golightly what? –Never mind,” he said hastily. “Sufficient unto the day. Tell them to saddle the black, we’ll ride over together.”
“Yessir!” Mr Hutton came smartly to attention, wheeled himself about and marched himself out.
There was no sign of Midge at Bluebell Dell. Mr Hazy, who was supervising the activity there, assured his Lordship that she had been here earlier. He thought she might have gone in to the village. Er—no, her Ladyship was not riding, today, he said with a cough.
Hutton began eagerly: “I’ll get off and look—”
“No, you will not,” said his master brutally. “I think we should call at Tonkins’s cottage.”
“Right you are, me Lord. It’s the big one. That there blue paint was all his idea.”
“I have no objection if Tonkins wishes to paint his gate and door blue,” said the Earl mildly, tethering his horse to Bluebell Dell’s gatepost.
“Shutters as well. And the chota mem let ’im have window-box things—well, if she says that’s what they’re called, that’s what they are. But that was all ’is idea, too. And ’e got the marigold seeds off Miss Humphreys, it ain’t down to Maunsleigh,” he said on a defiant note.
They had now reached Bluebell Cottage, which was only a few yards along the lane, and Jarvis could see that the blue was a particularly bright one. Marigolds in the boxes at each window would certainly look cheerful.
The door was answered by Mrs Fred, beaming and bobbing. And noting that it was good to see his Lardship at last. They were allowed, after Mr Hutton’s boots had been inspected, to go upstairs and greet Rosie and Jarvis Tonkins. And to admire Master Tonkins’s presents, the which included a silver mug engraved with the name “Jarvis” from Lady Sleyven, which so exactly matched the ornate silver table-settings used at Maunsleigh for everyday ware that Jarvis Wynton had no doubt at all it had been created for some ancestor of his own, and a small blue statue of an elephant from his father. Entwined with marigolds, which could not have come from the seedlings in their own window-boxes.
“Ganesh?” muttered his Lordship to his faithful henchman as they retreated, Jarvis having left a golden guinea for the baby “for luck”.
“Gotta be. Didn’t think ’e ’ad no religion at all, the budmush,” replied Mr Hutton somewhat weakly.
“No, well, life is precarious enough: it can do no harm to propitiate any gods there may be. And the elephant god is, after all, the remover of obstacles.”
“Aye. Rosie thinks it's a h’ornament,” he noted.
“Yes, well, let’s not disabuse her of that comfortable notion.” Jarvis then agreed with Mrs Fred that Rosie and Baby were both looking well, reiterated his pleasure that Lady Sleyven had been there throughout for Rosie, and forbore to ask her if she had seen her Ladyship this morning.
Mr Hutton was not so reticent. “Seen the chota mem this morning, Mrs Fred?”
Mrs Fred revealed that she had popped in just after breakfast, yes.
“Where is she?” he asked bluntly.
Mrs Fred’s jaw dropped. “Lard, you mean you ain’t seen ’er?”
“No,” said Jarvis drily before his henchman could utter. “I haven’t. Hazy thinks she might have gone to the village.”
“’Im! Not but what I dessay she could of. Well, ’Arold was keeping a h’eye on ’er, me Lard. ’E went out a bit back. Didn’t take the spotted pony, though. S’pose she might of gone to see Miss Humphreys.”
“Mm. I might try in that direction.” Jarvis thanked Mrs Fred, congratulated her again on the birth of her grandson, and got himself out in fairly good order.
“Them marigolds, ’e must ’ave got them off Miss Humphreys, and the budmush can’t of told ’er what for, acos she’s a very churchy lady!”
“Just shut it, Hutton,” he sighed.
“Look, I’ll ask the men if they saw what direction she went!” Corporal Hutton marched back across the very much widened lane before his Colonel could utter.
“Well, she definite headed down the lane, not up, so she ain’t gone up to Cherry Tree Rise, nor took the short-cut over to Nettlebend Farm nor Nettlefold ’All, neither. Come on, sir, shall we try the village?”
Jarvis put a hand on his shoulder. “No. Thank you, Hutton, my good fellow, but I’ll look for her myself.” He squeezed the shoulder hard, and released him.
Blinking somewhat, Mr Hutton managed to utter: “Right you are, Colonel, sir!” And to touch his hat smartly as his master walked back down Cherry Tree Lane towards the road. “Gawd,” he muttered to himself when the straight back was safely out of sight. “Last time ’e called me ’is good fellow was that time the ’ole regiment thought ’e was gonna be took orf with the cholera!” This remark was followed by a long sniff and the drawing of the coat sleeve across the face. Corporal Hutton then squared his shoulders and, a martial glint in his eye, sallied forth to do battle with the unfortunate builders and bricklayers at Bluebell Dell.
There was no sign of Midge in the village. Somewhat desperately Jarvis called at the Humphreyses’ cottage. Unfortunately Mr Humphreys was out: feeling very well, he had gone over to see the vicar. Miss Humphreys was overcome to see his Lordship. And assured him that dear Lady Sleyven had been the most tremendous support to little Rosie, and that it was only the birth of the baby which had prevented her returning to Maunsleigh two days since, for the naughty workmen at Bluebell Dell had been quite sorted out, and that pleasant Mr Hazy was seeing to it that they kept their noses to the grindstone, as it were! And of course there would be no question—no question at all—of their going off to work on Mr Golightly’s barn again. Sir William quite understood the position. And had sent the most beautiful pair of dressed capons down to Bluebell Dell for her Ladyship’s dinner!
Jarvis had to repress the impulse to pass his hand across his pate. “I see,” he said weakly. “Miss Humphreys, I think you know Midge well enough, and I hope you also feel you know myself well enough by now, to feel comfortable answering this question: whom else has she unwittingly offended in this over-enthusiasm for the building enterprises in Cherry Tree Lane, the summer fair, or both?”
After considerable gulping, the throwing of the hands in the air, and the administering of one of Jarvis’s pleasantest smiles, the which, sad to relate, was entirely deliberate, not to say manipulative on its owner’s part, she managed to reveal that dear Mr Platt was just the teeniest bit put out that Lady Sleyven was encouraging Mr Potts to show vegetable marrows this year, that Mrs Lumley had just mentioned that the Maunsleigh dairymaid should not think that her butter would be a patch on that produced by Nettlebend Farm, that Mrs Jeffson was far too sensible to pay any heed to silly stories that the Maunsleigh eggs would beat those of Home Farm this year, and that there was no possibility—no possibility at all—that Mr David Watts’s new bull could hold a candle to Mr Lumley’s Nettlebend Warrior: Lord Sleyven was not to worry his head over that at all!
“All of them, in short,” said Jarvis with a sigh.
It was not positively all! Though she had to admit that Mrs Waldgrave always took first prize with her damson jelly and had not been altogether pleased to hear that Maunsleigh would be competing in that class this year. And though of course Mrs Patterson was not particularly concerned with their little local fairs—Jarvis here experienced an impulse to close his eyes—there was the fact, which she thought she should just mention, of the Verne Lea strawberry preserves almost always winning in their class. And dear Lady Sleyven had just happened to say that the Maunsleigh strawberry jam was the most delicious she had ever tasted, and that M. Fermour needed the encouragement. And she was quite sure that McVeigh’s pigs would win, because they always did.
“Pigs?” said Jarvis faintly.
Oh, well, of course Maunsleigh had never run pigs in the past, but her Ladyship felt that all that excellent mast in the Home Wood was going to waste—the acorns and chestnuts, she explained respectfully—and there was no reason why Watts shouldn’t run a few pigs. White, she revealed lugubriously. Huge things. McVeigh claimed their flesh was fatty and tasteless. Well, yes, she believed they were the same sort as General Sir Michael Garrity ran, as a matter of fact.
“Garrity and McVeigh at one blow?” said Jarvis dazedly.
Miss Humphreys produced an uneasy titter. “N— Well of course, Lady Sleyven has never approved of General Sir Michael— But dear Mr Lumley is far too sensible to care about such a thing; it is just that McVeigh is so partisan about his pigs, you know!”
“Mm. And Mrs McVeigh?”
Miss Humphreys went very red, bit her lip, and did not answer.
“You had best tell me the rest. Whom have we left out? Um… Somerton, Cuthbertson, Bottomley-Pugh, young Lattersby?”
Miss Humphreys was driven to close her eyes for a moment. “It was something to do with wheat. Mr Cuthbertson was in such a— Normally such a gentlemanly man! I did not venture to speak of it to her Ladyship, but Powell assures me it is only Mr Jeffson’s wheat from Home Farm.”
“She has not covered the park with wheat? You astound me. Is that it?”
“More or less, my Lord,” she said faintly. “Though we did hear that the combining of the two fairs has resulted in—in what could be called some ill-feeling amongst the—the various…”
“Factions. Yes,” said Jarvis flatly. “That was entirely to be expected.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “But the Bishop is very pleased that the animals will not be coming into his field!” she added, brightening.
“That must be a silver lining, then,” said Jarvis evenly. “Miss Humphreys, I would be so very glad of a cup of your excellent tea at this juncture, if I might?”
Of course! And Lady Ventnor’s Mrs Little had sent a delicious cake, quite unexpected: the receet which always took first prize at the— She broke off, gulping.
“Let’s eat it and enjoy it!” said Jarvis with a laugh.
Very pink and smiling, Miss Humphreys nodded hard, excused herself, and rushed out to speak to Gertie Potts.
Jarvis sat back limply. “I suppose you will never forgive me if I mention any of this, Midgey,” he murmured under his breath. “…Pigs in the Home Wood? Oh, Lor’.”
He was quite uncertain of which direction to take after leaving Miss Humphreys; but as a very young Millie Watts, importantly on duty in the shop, had informed him that she was certain-sure ’er Ladyship hadn’t never come past this morning, he turned back and took the road which led past the end of Cherry Tree Lane and eventually on to Maunsleigh. It was a gloriously sunny day: the sky a clear blue, almost as bright as Tonkins’s window-boxes. The bees hummed in the hedgerows and overgrown ditches. Jarvis walked along comfortably enough, reflecting by the by that the ditches, pretty thought they were, were almost completely choked with grass, clover, buttercup, and other weeds, and should be cleared before autumn, or the road would be flooded… After a considerable time he caught sight of it, bobbing above the hedges: the old patchwork parasol.
Even although he had never believed for an instant that Midge had intended to take up permanent residence again at Bluebell Dell, and had not needed to be assured of the same by Mrs Fendlesham, Mrs Fred Watts and Miss Humphreys, Jarvis’s heart gave a painful lurch. Surely she could not have— No, absurd! He quickened his pace.
“Midgey!” he gasped, finally catching up with the parasol.
“Oh—hullo,” said Midge lamely, turning. “It’s you.”
The faded, patched parasol assorted somewhat oddly with the pretty print dress: a pattern of yellow flower sprigs on white. Her Ladyship’s husband did not register the significance of this pretty dress, definitely a post-Maunsleigh garment; he just gasped: “What are you doing—old—parasol?”
“What? Oh,” said Midge feebly, looking up at it. “I found it in a cupboard at Bluebell Dell. I didn’t think to take one over with me, and it's such a hot day.”
Jarvis nodded, his chest heaving.
“Were you running?” said his wife on a dubious note.
“Yes!” he gasped. He took a deep breath. “Added to which, I was damned scared.”
“What of?” said Midge, looking round warily. “Has Mr Lumley put Nettlebend Warrior out to pasture?”
“No. I thought,” he said, taking another deep breath, “that the parasol might indicate you had—um—rejected Maunsleigh and all its ways, and me, for good.”
Midge’s jaw dropped. Finally she managed: “I went over to Bluebell Dell to make sure the squire didn't steal our workmen again and to make absolutely sure that they were applying themselves. Mr Hazy didn’t seem to be getting much out of them, and if Vyv and Susi-Anna are to be married in October, I thought they might like more than half a house to move into. I remembered what you said, about regular inspections from the Colonel sahib in person serving to put heart into them as well as the fear of God, so I thought if I was there in person for a day or two, it would. And it did. I never envisaged staying more than a night, or at the most two, but then Rosie’s baby came. It’s a boy, the dearest little thing!” she added, her face lighting up.
“Yes, I saw it this morning,” said Jarvis, feeling in his pocket. “Possibly this will give you some idea that I had cause for alarm, Midgey.” He handed her the letters from his two faithful budmushes.
Midge gasped in horror.
“Well, they did it out of love, you know,” he murmured.
“But they’ve given you the impression— Both of them!” she cried.
“Yes. Well, no.” He removed the letters from her slackened grasp, shoved them into his pocket again, and took her free hand firmly. “They certainly tried to panic me into coming back. But I didn't really believe that you'd deserted me. Me and Tommy,” he added with a little smile. “It was just— When I saw the parasol, I—um—panicked.”
“Yes,” said Midge confusedly. “What a silly idea. Of course I— No, well, I'm glad you realise... So you didn’t rush back because of that?”
“Not quite. I rushed back because I couldn’t bear to be away from you for another single moment, Midgey, and I was sort of hoping that, manipulative and rigid and so forth though I am, you might feel the same.”
Midge swallowed. “Yes,” she said hoarsely, her eyes filling with tears. “I didn't think you would stay away so long… I mean, London is not so very far.”
“No. I’m as damned obstinate as you are, have not our friends and relatives informed you of that fact?” he said lightly. “It sounds as if you have managed splendidly, Midgey, and your reports were the best of any adjutant I have ever had; and, in short, will you be my adjutant for the rest of our lives? –What is it?” he said in alarm as her lip wobbled and two huge tears slid slowly down her round cheeks.
“It’s all—gone—wrong!” wailed the Countess, throwing herself against her husband’s chest.
Jarvis took the parasol out of her hand and cast it aside. He put both arms round her and rested his chin on her glorious auburn hair. “Where’s your hat, Mrs Wynton?” he said with a laugh in his voice. “I thought you’d sorted out the fellows at Bluebell Dell? And the cottages look splendid.”
“Yes— No. Not that,” said Midge soggily into his waistcoat. “The horrible fair. At first everything seemed to be going excellently well,” she said earnestly, looking up at him, “and I was very excited, and Hutton was organising the carts for the townspeople, and the Bishop was very pleased that I had found another field, and the committee wrote me a letter of thanks! But then everybody started writing to me, and… I don’t know! They assured me that it was what they all wanted, and both of the groups came to see me—the farmers and the gardeners, you see, so I was sure it was the right thing! But now they’re all sending me horrible letters, and half of them don't want it at all! And I've grossly insulted Lady Ventnor,” she gulped. “I was really horrible to her, Jarvis: I got the bit between my teeth and—and I spoke to her as if I was Lady Fitz-Brereton!”
“Horrors,” said Jarvis mildly, hugging her.
“But what did I do?” wailed Midge, bursting into sobs. “I thought the fair was what they all wanted!”
“Mm. Don’t cry, Midgey, dearest.” He waited until she was at the sniffing and gulping stage, gave her his handkerchief, and said: “I dare say Hutton and Tonkins may have mentioned the story of Fiennes and the damned cook waggons.”
Midge went very red and gave him a defiant glare. “I suppose the Colonel sahib can sort it all out!”
“No. The point of that story, Midge, though I don’t think either of the budmushes will have got it, is that there was no solution. Just as there is no solution to this fair thing. You see, when you received that deputation—”
“It was both groups, Jarvis! I made sure of it!”
“I know. What you received was the factions from both groups, agriculturists and horticulturists, who wanted the amalgamated fair.”
“Um—yes. I see that, now. But don’t say I shouldn’t have encouraged them, because encouraging the other ones, who wanted to keep the two separate, would have been just as bad!” she said fiercely.
“Yes,” agreed Jarvis mildly: “that is the point. Fiennes’s problem was essentially the same. Placating cook-waggon faction A could only result in the incensing of cook-waggon faction B, and vice versa: the two were never going to agree. The classic definition of a dilemma, in fact.”
“So—so what is your solution?” asked Midge uncertainly.
“There is no solution, Midgey, darling, that is my point. Only a very experienced burra-sahib would have grasped from the outset that whichever side he came down upon, the other side would remain disaffected. The only solution, though that is a misnomer, would be to go into the thing prepared from the outset to wrestle with the continual streams of complaints and injuries arising. –Well, there is an alternative, and that is to dissociate oneself entirely from the whole damned thing and to send the fellows packing. I recognise it is the solution which has heretofore been applied by Maunsleigh; but in my eyes it constitutes abrogation of one’s responsibilities.”
Midge gaped at him.
“That is the point of the story of Fiennes and the cook waggons,” he said mildly.
“Y— Um, I certainly did not gather that from the version given me by the other ranks,” said Midge with a feeble attempt at a smile.
“No.”
“I am afraid,” she admitted, gulping, “that I have got terribly behind with the correspondence. It just never stops!”
“Yes. Perhaps we could tackle it together? And d’Arresnes is proving an excellent secretary, so if we let him reply to those he thinks do not need our personal attention?”
“But the thing is, many of them have written to me, personally!” she cried, very flushed.
“Mm. In that sort of case, I find that the only way to avoid being submerged in great seas of this stuff is to let one’s secretary write the letters, and sign them oneself. It seems to answer quite well. It may be somewhat hard-hearted, but if one wants to achieve anything like a reasonable sort of life, it is the only thing to do.”
Midge sniffed hard. “Yes, I see. Um, but will he know which of them should really receive a more personal reply?”
Jarvis replied calmly: “No. But any injured feelings will speedily be soothed by an invitation to something or another at Maunsleigh. And you might try writing him out a list of those who you feel should receive a letter from yourself.”
“That’s a good idea!” said Midge in relief. She thought about it. “I suppose there are not very many. Anything from the Palace, of course.”
His lips twitched. “Not if it be signed by Cunningham, my angel; one has one’s position to consider.”
“Yes,” said Midge with an evil grin. “I see! Um, well in that case there are really very few. I don’t suppose Miss Humphreys, for example, would find it necessary to write to me!” she added with a smile.
“Er—no. Not to you—quite,” he murmured.
“Jarvis! She didn't?”
“Well, yes: twice. The second so very disjointed that I really thought I had best head home, whether or no my doing so would give Hutton and Tonkins inflated notions of their own importance. –What is it?” he said, as Midge had gone very red.
“She—um—it was the day after I had moved into Bluebell Dell. She called—well, of course she knew, Hawkins and Rosie had seen me arrive, and then, Hutton and Tonkins knew all about it. But she came rather early, and—um—I was crying,” said the Countess in a very small voice.
“Oh? Over what?”
“The immediate cause was the kitchen stove. It would not light. The wood was damp. Um, actually I was crying because it brought back the old life, when there seemed such an insuperable distance between Bluebell Dell and Maunsleigh, and I—I suddenly thought how far away you were,” said Midge in a tiny, tiny voice.
Jarvis hugged her strongly. “I’m very sorry, Midgey. I’m back now. Forgive me?”
“No, it was my fault,” said Midge miserably. “I was a beast to you and let you go, and then I wrote you all those horrible cold reports… Colonel Langford called them dispatches,” she added dully.
“Mm. Shall we agree that we were both unkind and unreasonably stubborn, not to say unreasonably wilful?”
“Yes,” said Midge, looking up at him doubtfully.
“And that I in particular was a damned fool not to see that you could never be truly happy as the Countess of Sleyven, unless at the same time,” said Jarvis, his mouth twitching, “you were allowed to be Adjutant Midge?”
“Um—yes. I have enjoyed it: it has been very interesting. Um, do you mean I can truly help with all of the business of the estates?’
“Yes.”
“And the town properties?”
“Yes. Everything. Half and half. I truly mean it, this time, Midgey!” he said hurriedly as she opened her mouth again.
“Yes. Good,” said Midge with a sigh. “I was only going to say, I’ve been and let Mischief establish himself in the study. But I can always boot him out.”
“Certainly not! The study is big enough for the two of us, and for Mischief! I've ordered them to bring another desk in, by the by. I left it up to their ingenuity to find one.”
“There’s a big one in the library. Almost as horribly Rococo as the one in the study.”
“Good, they’ll match,” he said, hugging her strongly. “Would this red-haired country maid give the burra zemindar a big kiss, or would that be taking hopeless advantage of our relative positions?”
“It does make you think of that time,” said Midge, holding up her face.
Jarvis kissed her hungrily. “I love you terribly, Midgey,” he said into her neck. “And Tommy. He’s grown so much… I’ve missed weeks and weeks of him. I’m not going to miss another moment.”
“Good,” said Midge in a choked voice, putting both arms round him.
“You're not bawling again, are you, Midgey?” said Jarvis cautiously.
“Yes!” she choked, the tears spilling over. “I love you so much! I’ve loved you dreadfully, ever since—since that time!”
“That— The very first time? When you lost your patchwork parasol?” he said dazedly.
“Mm,” she said dolefully, sniffing horribly.
“In that case, I shall have a glass case built for it and it will have pride of place in damned Maunsleigh great hall! –I’ve loved you ever since then, too,” he said more soberly.
Midge looked up at him, smiling tearfully. “Have you really? I'm glad. It’s just— It’s been so hard!”
“Mm.”
“Being ladified didn't really help, and getting married didn’t solve things miraculously, even though before the event all the married ladies gave one to suppose it would! And even having Tommy didn’t—didn’t work a miracle, either.”
“No.” Jarvis took both her hands in his and held them very tightly. “The thing is, Midgey, it is rather like the incident of Fiennes and the cook waggons, isn’t it? Or at least, so I think.”
“I see… You mean there is no solution to marriage?”
“No, well, I think I mean rather, to life itself. But certainly to married life. One just has to accept that if one—one decides to go into it, one will have to deal with all the—er—complaints and injuries arising,” he said, biting his lip.
“Yes. I’m afraid I haven’t been very good at that.”
“Nor have I. Shall we agree that we’ll both try harder and—and in the future, Midgey,” he said in a voice that shook a little, “we’ll try to work it out together?”
“Yes,” said the Countess of Sleyven with a deep sigh. “Let’s do that, Jarvis!”
The bees hummed in the flowers, the sun shone in a cloudless summer sky. Above the overgrown hedgerows of the road to Maunsleigh the old patchwork parasol could be seen, bobbing its way along very, very slowly. Rather as if it was sheltering two persons who were walking arms entwined, as if they had the rest of their lives before them in which to be happy…
The end of the story of
THE PATCHWORK PARASOL
But you can follow the further adventures of “Roland Lefayne” & Harold Hartington in
THE OLD CHIP HAT
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