Chapter XI headpiece
The Walk had got through Sunday as best it could. It had gone to church; it had read good books; the Admiral had carefully laid "Hervey's Meditations among the Tombs" open on his knees, and his bandana over his head, and had tried to sleep his Sunday sleep. But it was only a fitful slumber. Too many things had happened and were happening in the Walk. There was Jack, concealed in Doctor Sternroyd's house, for one. What did that mean? Sir Peter had called on Doctor Sternroyd, but the latter stood in his doorway with the door only ajar, and would not allow him to cross the threshold. He had kept a wary eye on the Walk and he was sure Jack and Marjolaine had not met. He himself had sat under the elm to an unconscionable hour, and had made it impossible for the lovers to meet. He would not betray them, but on the other hand there should be no underhand goings on. He had tried to intercept Marjolaine and talk to her like the Dutch uncle he had alluded to, but she laughed in his face, and ran away. But that was not all that troubled him. He had undoubtedly been embraced, in the presence of the whole Walk, by Mrs. Poskett. There was no blinking that fact; and he felt that his neighbours, with gross unfairness, put the blame on him. After the morning service, Miss Ruth Pennymint, who had gone to church alone, refused to walk home with him for the first time in his experience, and only gave a very lame excuse. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked at him with a disapproving eye. Mrs. Poskett had not shown herself since the awful scene with the cat. He had instructed Jim to reconnoitre; I don't know how Jim carried out that delicate task, but he came back to his master with the report that Mrs. Poskett was mortal bad, to be sure. Even Basil Pringle had been very distant with him when they met after church.
The Admiral turned and twisted in his chair. Surely the flies were more troublesome than usual so early in the summer.
He was so put about that, contrary to his usual custom, he went to church again in the evening. Madame Lachesnais was there, and to his confusion asked him to escort her home. Marjolaine walked on in front with Mr. Pringle and Ruth.
Madame had noticed the curious discomfort that pervaded the Walk. She had seen and heard nothing of yesterday's occurrences, as she had been shut in her own little room at the back of the house, busy with her own troubles. She took the Admiral into her confidence. Did he know what was the matter with the Walk? It seemed as if some imp of mischief had set everybody by the ears. She had ventured to address Doctor Sternroyd that morning, and he had turned even paler than usual—positively green—and had run away from her. What was the matter with Mrs. Poskett? Why had not Barbara been to church all day? And he, himself, why was he so silent? Why did he seem to wish to avoid her?
The Admiral was greatly troubled. He could only stammer that he supposed it was the change in the weather. "Well," said Madame, "I cannot let our good friends go on like this. Why, we should be unable to live together in the Walk, if we were not all on excellent terms with each other." And so the next morning all the inhabitants of the Walk received a pretty little three-cornered note, asking them to an al fresco tea-party that evening, under the elm.
Jack had never spent such a Sunday, and privately registered a vow he would never spend such another. Doctor Sternroyd did all his own housekeeping; he said he would rather spend his money on a book than on a cook. He invariably rose at six. He routed Jack out at that hour. At half-past six he was at work in his study, even on Sundays. At nine he made his breakfast, a thin cup of tea and a very thin rasher of bacon. What Jack did between six and nine, I do not know. After breakfast the Doctor went back to his study and he gave Jack his great manuscript work on "Prehistoric Remains found in the Alluvial Deposit of the Estuary of the Thames, together with Observations on the Cave-dwellers of Ethiopia," to while away the time. When the Doctor went to church he locked Jack in his room. After church he went for a long walk and forgot all about Jack. And he had forgotten all about him when he came back, so that Jack was forced to raise a perfect riot before he could get released. By midday on Monday Jack had worked his way through every edible thing in the house, and on Monday afternoon the Doctor not only had to go and see the Archbishop of Canterbury on the subject of the licence, but had been strictly enjoined by Jack to bring home food.
Fortunately for Madame's tea-party, that Monday evening was an ideal one. June had come and the roses in the little gardens had taken the opportunity to burst into bloom. The elm was in its fresh summer garb. The setting sun shone level through its leaves and turned them all to burnished gold. It gilded the entire Walk, and set the panes in the windows flashing and flaming; even the dirty little oil lamps were glorified as they reflected the golden blaze. The river shimmered with opal and amethyst; and a great barge, drifting down with the tide, might have borne Cleopatra and all her retinue, so gorgeously was it transfigured.
Not all the Walk was present. The Doctor, as we have just seen, was engaged with the Archbishop, and with his own marketing. Miss Barbara had sent a polite excuse. Her actual words were "Miss Barbara Pennymint presents her Compliments to Madame Lachesnais and is much obliged for her kind invitation to tea. Miss Barbara Pennymint much regrets she cannot avail herself of Madame Lachesnais' proffered hospitality as I am engaged in an educational experiment."
Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn, of course, was absent, as usual, for purely personal and private reasons.