LYRE AND LANCET.
(A Story in Scenes.)
PART XII.—DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
Scene XXI.—The Housekeeper's Room at Wyvern; Mrs. Pomfret, the Housekeeper, in a black silk gown and her smartest cap, is seated in a winged arm-chair by the fire, discussing domestic politics with Lady Culverin's maid, Miss Stickler. The Chef, M. Ridevos, is resting on the sofa, in languid converse with Mlle. Chiffon, Miss Spelwane's maid; Pilliner's man, Louch, watches Steptoe, Sir Rupert's valet, with admiring envy, as he makes himself agreeable to Miss Phillipson, who is in demi-toilette, as are all the other ladies' maids present.
Miss Stickler (in an impressive undertone). All I do say, Mrs. Pomfret, ma'am, is this: if that girl Louisa marches into the pew to-morrow, as she did last Sunday, before the second laundry maid—and her only under-scullery maid—such presumptiousness should be put a stop to in future!
Mrs. Pomfret (wheezily). Depend upon it, my dear, it's her ignorance; but I shall most certainly speak about it. Girls must be taught that ranks was made to be respected, and the precedency into that pew has come down from time immemoriable, and is not to be set aside by such as her while I'm 'ousekeeper here.
Mlle. Chiffon (in French, to M. Ridevos). You have the air fatigued, my poor friend! Oh, there—but fatigued!
M. Ridevos. Broken, Mademoiselle, absolutely broken. But what will you? This night I surpass myself. I achieve a masterpiece—a sublime pyramid of quails with a sauce that will become classic. I pay now the penalty of a veritable crisis of nerves. It is of my temperament as artist.
Mlle. Chiffon. And me, my poor friend, how I have suffered from the cookery of these others—I who have the stomach so feeble, so fastidious! Figure to yourself an existence upon the villainous curry, the abominable "Iahristue," beloved by these barbarians, but which succeed with me not at all—oh, but not at all! Since I am here—ah, the difference! I digest as of old—I am gay. But next week to return with Mademoiselle to the curry, my poor friend, what regrets!
M. Rid. For me, dear Mademoiselle, for me the regrets—to hear no more the conversation, so spiritual, so sympathetic, of a fellow-countrywoman. For remark that here they are stupid—they comprehend not. And the old ones they roll at me the eyes to make terror. Behold this Gorgon who approaches. She adores me, my word of honour, this ruin!
[Miss Stickler comes up to the sofa smiling in happy unconsciousness.
Miss Stick, (graciously). So you've felt equal to joining us for once, Mossoo! We feel it a very 'igh compliment, I can assure you. We've really been feeling quite 'urt at the way you keep to yourself—you might be a regular 'ermit for all we see of you!
M. Rid. For invent, dear Mees, for create, ze arteeste must live ze solitaire as of rule. To-night—no! I emairge, as you see, to res-tore myself viz your smile.
Miss Stick, (flattered). Well, I've always said, Mossoo, and I always will say, that for polite 'abits and pretty speeches, give me a Frenchman!
M. Rid. (alarmed). For me it is too moch 'appiness. For anozzer, ah!
[He kisses his fingers with ineffable grace.
Phillipson (advancing to meet Miss Dolman, who has just entered). Why, I'd no idea I should meet you here, Sarah! And how have you been getting on, dear? Still with——?
Miss Dolman (checking her with a look). Her grace? No, we parted some time ago. I'm with Lady Rhoda Cokayne at present. (In an undertone, as she takes her aside.) You needn't say anything here of your having known me at Mrs. Dickenson's. I couldn't afford to have it get about in the circle I'm in that I'd ever lived with any but the nobility. I'm sure you see what I mean. Of course I don't mind your saying we've met.
Phill. Oh, I quite understand. I'll say nothing. I'm obliged to be careful myself, being maid to Lady Maisie Mull.
Miss Dolm. My dear Emma! It is nice seeing you again—such friends as we used to be!
Phill. At her Grace's? I'm afraid you're thinking of somebody else. (She crosses to Mrs. Pomfret.) Mrs. Pomfret, what's become of the gentleman I travelled down with—the horse doctor? I do hope he means to come in; he would amuse you, Mr. Steptoe. I never heard anybody go on like him; he did make me laugh so!
Mrs. Pomfr. I really can't say where he is, my dear. I sent up word to let him know he was welcome here whenever he pleased; but perhaps he's feeling a little shy about coming down.
Phill. Oh, I don't think he suffers much from that. (As the door opens.) Ah, there he is!
Mrs. Pomfr. (rising, with dignity, to receive Undershell, who enters in obvious embarrassment). Come in, Sir. I'm glad to see you've found your way down at last. Let me see, I haven't the advantage of knowing your—Mr. Undershell, to be sure! Well, Mr. Undershell, we're very pleased to see you. I hope you'll make yourself quite at home. Her ladyship gave particular directions that we was to look after you—most particular she was!
Undershell. You are very good, Ma'am. I am obliged to Lady Culverin for her (with a gulp) condescension. But I shall not trespass more than a short time upon your hospitality.
Mrs. Pomfr. Don't speak of it as trespassing, Sir. It's not often we have a gentleman of your profession as a visitor, but you are none the less welcome. Now I'd better introduce you all round, and then you won't feel yourself a stranger. Miss Phillipson you have met, I know.
[She introduces him to the others in turn; Undershell bows helplessly.
Steptoe (with urbanity). Your fame, Sir, has preceded you. And you'll find us a very friendly and congenial little circle on a better acquaintance—if this is your first experience of this particular form of society?
Und. (to himself). I mustn't be stiff, I'll put them at their ease. (Aloud.) Why, I must admit, Mr. Steptoe, that I have never before had the privilege of entering the—(with an ingratiating smile all round him) the "Pugs' Parlour," as I understand you call this very charming room.
[The company draw themselves up and cough in disapprobation.
Stept. (very stiffly). Pardon me, Sir, you have been totally misinformed. Such an expression is not current here.
Mrs. Pomfr. (more stiffly still). It is never alluded to in my presence except as the 'Ousekeeper's Room, which is the right and proper name for it. There may be some other term for it in the Servants' 'All for anything I know to the contrary—but if you'll excuse me for saying so, Mr. Undershell, we'd prefer for it not to be repeated in our presence.
Und. (confusedly). I—I beg ten thousand pardons. (To himself.) To be pulled up like this for trying to be genial—it's really too humiliating!
Stept. (relaxing). Well, well, Sir; we must make some allowances for a neophyte. You'll know better another time, I daresay. Miss Phillipson here has been giving you a very favourable character as a highly agreeable rattle, Mr. Undershell. I hope we may be favoured with a specimen of your social talents later on. We're always grateful here for anything in that way—such as a recitation now, or a comic song, or a yumorous imitation—anything, in short, calculated to promote the general harmony and festivity will be appreciated.
Miss (Stick acidly). Provided it is free from any helement of coarseness, which we do not encourage—far from it!
Und. (suppressing his irritation). You need be under no alarm, Madam. I do not propose to attempt a performance of any kind.
Phill. Don't be so solemn, Mr. Undershell! I'm sure you can be as comical as any playactor when you choose!
Und. I really don't know how I can have given you that impression. If you expect me to treat my lyre like a horse-collar, and grin through it, I'm afraid I am unable to gratify you.
Stept. (at sea). Capital, Sir, the professional allusion very neat. You'll come out presently, I can see, when supper's on the table. Can't expect you to rattle till you've something inside of you, can we?
Miss Stick. Reelly, Mr. Steptoe, I am surprised at such commonness from you!
Stept. Now you're too severe, Miss Stickler, you are indeed. An innocent little Judy Mow like that!
Tredwell (outside). Don't answer me, Sir. Ham I butler 'ere, or ham I not? I've a precious good mind to report you for such a hignorant blunder.... I don't want to hear another word about the gentleman's cloes—you'd no hearthly business for to do such a thing at all! (He enters and flings himself down on a chair.) That Thomas is beyond everything—stoopid hass as he is!
Mrs. Pomfr. (concerned). La, Mr. Tredwell, you do seem put out! Whatever have Thomas been doing now?
Und. (to himself). It's really very good of him to take it to heart like this! (Aloud.) Pray don't let it distress you; it's of no consequence, none at all!
Tred. (glaring). I'm the best judge of that, Mr. Undershell, Sir—if you'll allow me; I don't call my porogatives of no consequence, whatever you may! And that feller Thomas, Mrs. Pomfret, actially 'ad the hordacity, without consulting me previous, to go and 'and a note to one of our gentlemen at the hupstairs table, all about some hassinine mistake he'd made with his cloes! What call had he to take it upon himself? I feel puffecly disgraced that such a thing should have occurred under my authority!
[The Steward's Room Boy has entered with a dish, and listens with secret anxiety on his own account.
Und. I assure you there is no harm done. The gentleman is wearing my evening clothes—but he's going to return them——
[The conclusion of the sentence is drowned in a roar of laughter from the majority.
Tred. (gasping). Hevenin' cloes! Your hevenin'—— P'raps you'll 'ave the goodness to explain yourself, Sir!
Stept. No, no, Tredwell, my dear fellah, you don't understand our friend here—he's a bit of a wag, don't you see? He's only trying to pull your leg, that's all: and, Gad, he did it too! But you mustn't take liberties with this gentleman, Mr. Undershell, he's an important personage here, I can tell you!
Und. (earnestly). But I never meant—if you'll only let me explain——
[The Boy has come behind him, and administers a surreptitious kick, which Undershell rightly construes as a hint to hold his tongue.
Tred. (in solemn offence). I'm accustomed, Mr. Hundershell, to be treated in this room with respect and deference—especially by them as come here in the capacity of Guests. From such I regard any attempt to pull my leg as in hindifferent taste—to say the least of it. I wish to 'ave no more words on the subjick, which is a painful one, and had better be dropped, for the sake of all parties. Mrs. Pomfret, I see supper is on the table, so, by your leave, we had better set down to it.
Phill. (to Undershell). Never mind him, pompous old thing! It was awfully cheeky of you, though. You can sit next me if you like.
Und. (to himself, as he avails himself of this permission). I shall only make things worse if I explain now. But, oh, great Heavens, what a position for a Poet.
"Broken, Mademoiselle, absolutely broken."