Lucia in London

by E. F. Benson

“If you’ll give me three to one that I don’t know what you were going to say, I’ll take it,” she said.

“But you can’t know,” said Georgie.

“Yes I do. You wouldn’t mind betting that Lucia will be shingled.”

“Well, you are quick,” said Georgie admiringly.

It was known, of course, next morning, that Lucia and Pepino were intending to spend a few weeks in London before selling the house, and who knew what that was going to mean? Already it was time to begin rehearsing for the next May Day revels, and Foljambe, that paragon of all parlour-maids, had been overhauling Georgie’s jerkin and hose and dainty little hunting boots with turn-down flaps in order to be ready. But when Georgie, dining at The Hurst next evening, said something about May Day revels (Lucia, of course, would be Queen again) as they played Cut-throat with the Manual on Auction Bridge handy for the settlement of such small disputes as might arise over the value of the different suits, she only said:

“Those dear old customs! So quaint! And fifty to me above, Pepino, or is it a hundred? I will turn it up while you deal, Georgie!”

This complete apathy of Lucia to May Day revels indicated one of two things, that either mourning would prevent her being Queen, or absence. In consequence of which Georgie had his jerkin folded up again and put away, for he was determined that nobody except Lucia should drive him out to partake in such a day of purgatory as had been his last year.... Still, there was nothing conclusive about that: it might be mourning. But the evidence accumulated that Lucia meant to make a pretty solid stay in London, for she certainly had some cards printed at “Ye Signe of Ye Daffodille” on the Village Green where Pepino’s poems were on sale, with the inscription

Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lucas
request the pleasure of the company of
...............
at ............... on ...............
25 Brompton Square. R.S.V.P.

Daisy Quantock had found that out, for she saw the engraved copper-plate lying on the counter, and while the shopman’s back was turned, had very cleverly read it, though it was printed the wrong way round, and was very confusing. Still she managed to do so, and the purport was plain enough: that Lucia contemplated formally asking somebody to something some time at 25 Brompton Square. “And would she,” demanded Daisy, with bitter irony, “have had cards printed like that, if they were only meaning to go up for a week or two?” And if that was not enough Georgie saw a postcard on Lucia’s writing table “From Mrs. Philip Lucas, 25 Brompton Square, S.W.3,” plainly printed on the top.

It was getting very clear then (and during this week Riseholme naturally thought of nothing else) that Lucia designed a longer residence in the garish metropolis than she had admitted. Since she chose to give no information on the subject, mere pride and scorn of vulgar curiosity forebade anyone to ask her, though of course it was quite proper (indeed a matter of duty) to probe the matter to the bottom by every other means in your power, and as these bits of evidence pieced themselves together, Riseholme began to take a very gloomy view of Lucia’s real nature. On the whole it was felt that Mrs. Boucher, when she paused in her bath-chair as it was being wheeled round the green, nodding her head very emphatically, and bawling into Mrs. Antrobus’s ear-trumpet, reflected public opinion.