The Cathedral Part 10

But when he returned and was in the house it was more difficult to cheat herself. She saw at once that he had something on his mind, that he was engaged in some pursuit that he kept from every one. She discovered, too, that she was the one of whom he was afraid, and rightly so, the Archdeacon being incapable of discovering any one's pursuits so long as he was engaged on one of his own. Falk's fear of her perception brought about a new situation between them. He was not now oblivious of her presence as he had been. He tried to discover whether she knew anything. She found him often watching her, half in fear and half in defiance.

The thought that he might be engaged now upon some plan of his own in which she might share excited her and gave her something new to live for.

She did not care what his plan might be; however dangerous, however wicked, she would a.s.sist him. Her moral sense had never been very deeply developed in her. Her whole character was based on her relations with individuals; for any one she loved she would commit murder, theft or blasphemy. She had never had any one to love except Falk.

She despised the Archdeacon the more because he now perceived nothing.

Under his very nose the thing was, and he was sublimely contented. How she hated that content, and how she despised it!

About a week after the affair of the elephants, Mrs. Combermere asked her to tea. She disliked Mrs. Combermere, but she went to tea there because it was easier than not going. She disliked Mrs. Combermere especially because it was in her house that she heard silly, feminine praise of her husband.

It amused her, however, to think of the amazed sensation there would be, did she one day burst out before them all and tell them what she really thought of the Archdeacon.

Of course she would never do that, but she had often outlined the speech in her mind.

Mrs. Combermere also lived in the Precincts, so that Mrs. Brandon had not far to go. Before she arrived there a little conversation took place between the lady of the house, Miss Stiles, Miss Dobell and Dr. Puddifoot, that her presence would most certainly have hindered. Mrs. Combermere was once described by some one as "constructed in concrete"; and that was not a bad description of her, so solid, so square and so unshakable and unbeatable was she. She wore stiff white collars like a man's, broad thick boots, short skirts and a belt at her waist. Her black hair was brushed straight back from her forehead, she had rather small brown eyes, a large nose and a large mouth. Her voice was a deep ba.s.s. She had some hair on her upper lip, and thick, strong, very white hands. She liked to walk down the High Street, a silver-topped cane in her hand, a company of barking dogs at her heels, and a hat, with large hat-pins, set a little on one side of her head. She had a hearty laugh, rather like the Archdeacon's.

Dr. Puddifoot was our doctor for many years and brought many of my generation into the world. He was a tall, broad, loose-set man, who always wore tweeds of a bright colour.

Mrs. Combermere cared nothing for her surroundings, and her house was never very tidy. She bullied her servants, but they liked her because she gave good wages and fulfilled her promises. She was the first woman in Polchester to smoke cigarettes. It was even said that she smoked cigars, but no one, I think, ever saw her do this.

On this afternoon she subjected Miss Stiles to a magisterial inquiry; Miss Stiles had on the preceding evening given a little supper party, and no one in Polchester did anything of the kind without having to render account to Mrs. Combermere afterwards. They all sat round the fire, because it was a cold day. Mrs. Combermere sat on a straight-backed chair, tilting it forward, her skirt drawn up to her knees, lier thick-stockinged legs and big boots for all the world to see.

"Well, Ellen, whom did you have?"

"Ronder and his aunt, the Bentinck-Majors, Charlotte Ryle and Major Drake."

"Sorry I couldn't have been there. What did you give them?"

"Soup, fish salad, cutlets, chocolate souffle, sardines on toast."

"What drink?"

"Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky."

"Any catastrophes?"

"No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards."

"Hum--not sorry I missed _that_. When was it over?"

"About eleven."

"What did you ask them for?"

"For the Ronders."

Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze.

"Tea will be in in a minute.... Now, I'll tell you for your good, my dear Ellen, that I don't like your Ronder."

Miss Stiles laughed. "Oh, you needn't mind me, Betsy. You never have. Why don't you?"

"In the first place, he's stupid."

Miss Stiles laughed again.

"Never wronger in your life. I thought you were smarter than that."

Mrs. Combermere smacked her knee. "I may be wrong. I often am. I take prejudices, I know. Secondly, he's fat and soft--too like the typical parson."

"It's an a.s.sumed disguise--however, go on."

"Third, I hear he agrees with everything one says."

"You hear? You've not talked to him yourself, then?"

Mrs. Combermere raised her head as the door opened and the tea came in.

"No. I've only seen him in Cathedral. But I've called, and he's coming to- day."

Miss Stiles smiled in her own dark and mysterious way.

"Well, Betsy, my dear, I leave you to find it all out for yourself.... I keep my secrets."

"If you do," said Mrs. Combermere, getting up and going to the tea-table, "it's the first time you ever have. _And_ Ellen," she went on, "I've a bone to pick. I won't have you laughing at my dear Archdeacon."

"Laughing at your Archdeacon?" Miss Stiles' voice was softer and slower than any complaining cow's.

"Yes. I hear you've all been laughing about the elephant. That was a thing that might have happened to any one."

Puddifoot laughed. "The point is, though, that it happened to Brandon.

That's the joke. _And_ his new top hat."

"Well, I won't have it. Milk, doctor? Miss Dobell and I agree that it's a shame."

Miss Dobell, who was in appearance like one of those neat silk umbrellas with the head of a parrot for a handle, and whose voice was like the running brook both for melody and monotony, thus suddenly appealed to, blushed, stammered, and finally admitted that the Archdeacon was, in her opinion, a hero.

"That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a laughable circ.u.mstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's reign. I, for one, intend to laugh."

"No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him.

Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as they are, thank you."

Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot.

"Then," she said, "if he means all that to the place, he'd better look after his son more efficiently."

"_And_ exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Combermere.

"Oh, everybody knows," said Miss Stiles, looking round to Miss Dobell and the doctor for support, "that young Brandon is spending the whole of his time down in Seatown, and that Miss Annie Hogg is not entirely unconnected with his visits."

"Really, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, bringing her fist down upon the table, "you're a disgusting woman. Yes, you are, and I won't take it back, however much you ask me to. All the worst scandal in this place comes from you. If it weren't for you we shouldn't be so exactly like every novelist's Cathedral town. But I warn you, I won't have you talking about Brandon. His son's only a boy, and the handsomest male in the place by the way--present company, of course, excepted. He's only been home a few months, and you're after him already with your stories. I won't have it----"