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Lady of the Basement Flat

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<h3>Chapter Twenty One.</h3> <h4>Mr Maplestone is pleased.</h4> As a result of my suggestion, Mr Hallett has taken Mr Thorold to several concerts, and as a crowning effort actually lured him to a week-end at Brighton. That was last week; and as the day was mild and—almost!—sunny, I suggested to the little girls that we should go holiday-making on our own account, and pay a visit to the Zoo. The proposal excited great enthusiasm, and an early lunch was ordered so that we could set forth in good time, so as to have a couple of hours with the animals before adjourning to a confectioner’s for tea. I remembered my own childhood too well to suggest returning home for the meal. To drink tea out of strange cups, in a strange room, to have a practically unlimited choice of strange cakes—this is a very orgie of bliss to anything “in one figure,” and when the tea is followed by a drive home in a taxi, satisfaction approaches delirium. I remembered Mr Thorold’s pathetic “Make them happy!” and determined that, if it were in my power, this should be a day to be remembered. Lunch was finished, I dressed the little girls in their new hats and coats, wriggled their fingers into new gloves, saw to it that there was not a crease in their stockings nor a chink in the lacing of their boots, and had just settled them on the sofa in the drawing-room to wait quietly until I rushed through my own hasty toilette, when—the door opened, and who should walk in but Ralph Maplestone himself! For different reasons his appearance struck consternation into the breasts of all three beholders. I was naturally overcome with embarrassment as to what he had come for now; the little girls were seized with a devastating fear lest his arrival should interfere with their treat. They leapt to their feet, and rent the air with protestations. “Oh, oh! It’s the Same Man!” “We’re going out! We’re going out! We’ve got on our hats.” “To the Zoo! So’s Miss Harding. She’s just going to put on her hat.” “It’s our treat. Father’s away. He’s having a treat, and she promised—she promised we could go!” Tears sounded in the voices, showed in suspicious redness round the eyes. Mr Maplestone smiled—like many grave people he has a beautiful smile—he laid one big hand on the top of each little hat, and swayed them gently to and fro. “Well, and why not? Of course you are going! All good little girls go to the Zoo, and ride on the elephants, and throw buns to the bears. You are extra good little girls, and so you can see something else—a little bird, not much bigger than a canary, who can talk and say words almost as well as you can yourselves. And think of the monkeys!” He withdrew one hand and held it out to me across the children’s heads, smiling and apologetic. “I’m afraid I am looked upon as an obstacle. Please don’t let me detain you. I would not disappoint them for the world. I can call another day.” But by this time fear had given place to gratitude and the quick affection which children show to grown-ups who understand! Winifred and Marion leapt at his arms, clung, wheedled, and implored. “You come too! You come too! Show us the bird that talks. We want you. We want you to come with us. Miss Harding wants you. You do want him, don’t you, Miss Harding?” The leap of my heart showed that I did! The very suggestion had been enough to give an altogether different aspect to the expedition; to invest it with a spice of adventure, not to say romance, which was most refreshing to a spinster living in a basement flat! I fought down an inclination to laugh, hoped that I conquered an inclination to blush, and said primly:— “My dears, you must not be exacting. Mr Milestone has no doubt engagements—” “Not one!” he contradicted eagerly. “Not one! Please let me come, Miss Harding. It would be a charity, for if you turn me away I shall be at a loose end all the afternoon. I am like a fish out of water in town!” “You should return to the country,” I said sternly. “It is wasting time to remain here.” The children caught at the last sentence, naturally applied it to their own plans, and pranced with renewed impatience. “Yes! Yes! You said directly after lunch. Put on your hat, Miss Harding—do put it on! We want to see the bird.” He looked at me, lifted his eyebrows, and smiled as if to say that further protest was useless, and indeed it seemed that it was. There was nothing for it but to retire to my room, and put on the boat-shaped hat, the thick, unbecoming veil, and the badly-cut coat, which aided my outdoor disguise. I looked plain to a degree. Nothing in the world can disfigure a woman more successfully than an unbecoming hat and a cheap black veil, which imparts a dingy, leaden tint to the complexion. I had every reason to be satisfied with my disguise that afternoon, but I wasn’t. Not a bit! I felt cross, and irritated, and balked! We took a taxi and drove straight to the Albert Road entrance, made our way down the steep incline, under the bridge, and up again towards the lion houses. Marion and Winifred hung, one on each of Ralph’s arms, chattering in a continuous stream. Child-like, they ignored me in the fascinations of a new friend; also—and this interested me very much!—he was charming with them, hitting just the right combination of sense and nonsense, entering into their ideas, and adapting himself with an enjoyment which was obviously real, not feigned. I reminded myself that this was the first time I had seen him in the company of children. Mem. Every woman ought to see a man in several circumstances before she accepts him as a husband. 1. In his own home. 2. With his dependents. With children and old people. With his best friend. 3. When he is angry. 4. Tried by the money test. 5. Flirted with by a woman prettier than herself. We visited the larger animals in turns, and whenever there was a seat the Squire thoughtfully pressed me to sit down, while the children pranced about to let off the steam of their enjoyment. After a few minutes he invariably joined me, and led the conversation to the same topic. Above the roar of the lions, above the jabber of the monkeys, he shouted in my ears to know if I were still obdurate. Wouldn’t I help him? Why wouldn’t I help him? If I really loved Evelyn, and cared for her welfare, how could I stand aside? I must see—surely I must see that she belonged to the essentially feminine type of women who needed a home! “I believe there are many women nowadays who are honestly satisfied with an independent career, but she is not one. She is made to love and be loved. She needs a man to look after her.” “The right kind of man!” I said primly. “I agree with your diagnosis, Mr Maplestone, but Evelyn’s nature makes it peculiarly essential that she should make a wise choice. If her marriage was a failure, she would suffer greatly. No one but herself can decide who is the Right Man.” Feeding hour was approaching; a furious outburst of roars proclaimed the lions’ knowledge of the fact. Mr Maplestone leant his arm on the back of the seat and shouted into my ear:— “But you know her so well; she has spoken to you. There could be no harm in giving me some hints. Some things might be altered, though others could not. Does she think me an ugly brute?” His face was close to mine. I looked at the blunt features, the clear, healthful tints, and found nothing that offended my eye. As I had realised in Mr Hallett’s presence, expression counts for more than mere correctness of outline. I turned aside and shook my head. “The question of appearance does not count. In that respect you have the one qualification which a woman demands.” “Which is?” “Manliness—strength. Evelyn would care little for handsome features.” He sighed relief. “Disposition then! I made a bad impression at our first meeting. My temper is hasty. I dislike opposition, but if we loved one another we should agree. There would be no opposition.” I smiled at his innocence. It is astonishing how guileless these big, strong men can be. I was about to undeceive him, but before I had time to speak the children were back with a rush, dragging at our arms, and demanding to move on. For the next half-hour we had no private conversation, but at the first chance he began once more. “Evelyn has been accustomed to the country. I could give her the life she likes. If she wished it I would take a house in town for the season. To a certain extent I believe in women’s rights. I should not interfere with her pursuits. I should want her to be happy in her own way.” “Always providing that her husband was the chief consideration, and came before everything else?” “Of course!” he cried loudly. “Why, of course! What else could you expect?” I waved my thick dogskin gloves. “Oh, Mr Maplestone, what is the use of arguing? It all comes back to the one thing. If she loved you the other things would adjust themselves. Without love, without sympathy, all would go wrong.” “There is sympathy. She may not realise it, perhaps, but if she thinks, if you ask her to think, she must acknowledge that, in spite of small surface disagreements, our real selves have drawn together, closer and closer. Ask her if she feels to me as she does towards other men? If there seems no difference between us? I know she does not love me—yet; but if she gave me my chance, I could make her. No, she would not need to be made. You can at least tell her that.” Mr Hallett’s words sounded warningly in my ears. I hesitated, weakly compromised. “Yes—I might go so far. She shall hear what you say, and judge for herself. And now we have really talked enough. Suppose we hear your bird for a change?” An hour later we drove to Fuller’s and indulged in tea. It was curiously enough the sight of one of the well-known angel cakes which recalled Delphine Merrivale to my memory, for she had shown a child-like appreciation of these dainties when they had appeared on our tea-table at “Pastimes”. Poor little Delphine! I felt a pang of compunction when I remembered what store she had set on my friendship, and how little, how very little, I had concerned myself about her during the last months! With due caution I proceeded to seek information. “I hope the tenants at ‘Pastimes’ are well, and the Vicar and his wife—that pretty little ‘Delphine’ of whom Evelyn is so fond?” “The Vicar is not well; been ailing all autumn, but Delphine is going strong. Quite launched out this autumn. Become quite a leader of fashion in our small world.” I felt another pang—of foreboding this time, and said sharply:— “How very unsuitable! Are you speaking figuratively, Mr Maplestone? Surely a clergyman’s wife—” “Clergymen’s wives differ, Miss Harding, as greatly as the wives of other members of society. They are not turned out by a machine, and this particular one is very young, and not particularly wise.” “Apparently not. In what way has she ‘launched out’?” “Oh–oh—” he vaguely waved his hands. “Smart clothes, you know. Lots of ’em. Dinner parties. Luncheons. Less parish work, and more amusement. Always trotting over to the ‘Moat’.” The present owners of the “Moat” were rich City people who gave lavish entertainments, and obviously chose their friends with a consideration of how much amusement could be counted upon in return. Pretty, gay Delphine was a valuable addition to a house-party, and would no doubt receive as many invitations as she cared to accept; but the influence could not be good. Continual association with smart, worldly people would of a certainty heighten her discontent, and lure her into extravagance. I munched my cake in gloomy silence, which was not lightened by the next remark. “I’m sorry for Delphine’s sake that—she—is away! If you worry it out, this development is her doing. She ought to be there to put on the brake!” “What do you mean? In what possible way is Evelyn to blame?” “Who spoke of blame? I didn’t! It is natural to her to be dainty and beautiful. She has the money, and she has the taste. What is wrong for the wife of a poor man is a virtue in a rich woman. Even I—a man—who never noticed such things before, found pleasure in her clothes. She had one blue muslin—” He looked at me with dumb, awed eyes. Surely never did a muslin gown at somewhere about a shilling a yard, reap such a harvest of appreciation. I shall preserve that dress in lavender and rose leaves for evermore. “Until She came, Delphine had the field to herself in our little village. Any comparisons must have been in her favour. Then suddenly she found herself up against a new standard. Being young and—er—vain, she evidently felt it necessary to her peace of mind to follow the leader. From a spectacular point of view the effect is good.” Spectacular indeed! I was too perturbed, too anxious to speak. Evidently Delphine had been going in for an orgie of extravagance; a pretty serious one too, since it had attracted the attention of a mere man; and some of the responsibility seemed to fall on my own shoulders! I determined to write her a letter that very night, and in absent-minded fashion began to compose its sentences as I poured out second cups of tea. “Although I have not written, you must not think that I have forgotten you. I am leading a busy life, and have little time to spare, but if you should ever need me; if there ever comes a time when you feel I can be of real help, write to me through my lawyers, and I could meet you in town, or even run down for the day.” Yes, that would do! That would open the way for confidences, if she were in a mood to make them. In any case, I should feel more satisfied in my own mind when I had sent off the message, and shown that I was to be found if needed. Looking up suddenly from the tea tray I beheld Ralph Maplestone smiling to himself across the table, with precisely the same mysterious accession of complaisance that I had noticed on his first visit to the flat. Our eyes met, and he turned aside, drawing in his lips to hide the smile, but the light danced in his eyes, and refused to be quenched. Most mysterious and perplexing! His moods are evidently very variable. I am glad he was pleased, but I should very much like to know why! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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