In after days Toni always looked back
to the afternoon of the Vicarage Bazaar as the occasion
on which her eyes were opened ruthlessly to the cruelty
of life.
The day began auspiciously enough.
It was August now, a hot, languorous August, when
the river lay veiled in a mist of heat, and the air,
even in the early morning, was a sea of liquid gold.
There were wonderful, magical nights, too, nights
of mellow moonlight and sweet, mysterious perfumes,
nights when a breath of clean, fragrance from distant
bean-fields mingled with the richer, heavier scent
of roses and Madonna lilies.
To Toni the summer had been one long
time of enchantment. From the moment when she
opened her eyes in the dawn, and ran to the window
to see the hills shimmering in the heat, and the river
sparkling with the peculiar silvery sheen of early
morning, to the moment when she took her last stroll
in the garden at night, and saw the stars come out
in the darkening sky, while the white owls hooted
mournfully in the tall trees, all, to Toni, was happiness
and joy.
There is no doubt that people who
are not introspective lead the happiest lives.
Toni, not being given to wasting her time in reflection
or self-analysis, remained happily unconscious of the
fact that her life during that splendid summer was
a very idle one. Like a good many other girls,
she considered that a strenuous game on the tennis-court
or a stiff pull up the river entitled her to as much
subsequent leisure as she desired; and she enjoyed
the slight fatigue consequent on these exertions with
a virtuous sense of having really done some work which
entitled her to a holiday.
She did not see very much of her husband;
and sometimes she felt, with a slight pang of remorse,
that before their marriage she had really taken more
interest in his work than she found time to do nowadays.
Not that he ever seemed to expect anything from her
in that way. Once or twice, in the earlier days
of their married life, he had been led into discussing
various features of the review with her, and she had
really tried hard to listen intelligently, and understand
what he was talking about; but somehow he seemed to
guess that the subjects did not interest her; and
for the last few weeks he had confined his conversations
with her to the little trivial happenings of every
day.
He didn’t mind, she supposed.
He must get plenty of the old Bridge at the
office; and anyway it was far more of a change for
him, when he came home, to talk of other things, even
though they were in one sense less important.
She herself was perfectly happy; and
had she been asked, she would certainly have said
that Owen was in a state of equal bliss. Moreover,
seeing that he had chosen her out of a world of women
to be his wife, she never stopped to ask herself whether
or no she came up to his standard of wifely perfection.
And considering her peculiarly blind
and unquestioning attitude of mind on the subject
of her relation to her husband, the awakening which
presently came was doubly painful.
The occasion, as has been stated,
was that of the Vicarage Bazaar, an annual function
held in the Vicarage gardens in the middle of August;
and since Mrs. Madgwick, the Vicar’s wife, had
from motives of parochial diplomacy established some
sort of intimacy with the young mistress of Greenriver,
she had pressed Toni into her service as the great
day came round.
With Molly and Cynthia Peach, Toni
was to assist at the flower-stall, which was always,
so the Tobies assured her, certain of patronage; and
by ten o’clock on the morning of the day, Toni
was at the Vicarage, laden with masses of blossoms
sent from Greenriver as a contribution to the stall.
From that moment until the hour of
lunch, to which she was detained almost by force,
Toni worked like a veritable busy bee, running errands,
doing odd jobs, and, in the intervals, arranging the
flowers on the stall, until hands and feet were both
weary.
Having finished the hurried and uncomfortable
meal, consisting chiefly of tinned tongue and a rather
out-of-date cream cheese, Toni was allowed to run
home to change her dress; and at half-past two precisely
she was back, robed in the daintiest, filmiest white
lawn gown, to take her place with the other stallholders,
in readiness for the opening ceremony, performed,
much to the delight of the entire Madgwick family,
by a real duchess.
The Duchess had little to say and
said it very badly; but she was duly applauded and
presented with a bouquet by a small white-robed child,
stiff with starch and self-consciousness; after which
her Grace descended thankfully from the little platform
erected for her speech, and fulfilled the second and
easier half of her duty by making the round of the
stalls and spending a strictly equal amount at each
one.
By now Toni had a good many acquaintances
in the neighbourhood, and was pleased to see Mrs.
Anstey smiling at her as she inquired the price of
a magnificent bunch of sweet-peas which had come from
the gardens of Greenriver.
Toni told her the price, and she forthwith
bought the flowers, greatly to Toni’s pleasure,
for she loved her sweet-peas and had hoped, rather
childishly, that someone nice would buy them.
As she was handing over the change,
Toni summoned up courage to ask after Miss Lynn, and
Mrs. Anstey smiled.
“She is very well, thanks, and
coming here, I hope, in a week or two. She and
Mr. Raymond are to be married at Christmas, as I daresay
you have heard.”
“Yes, my husband told me so.”
Suddenly Toni blushed, remembering the occasion of
Miss Lynn’s visit to her; and at the same moment,
as though evoked by some mysterious method of thought,
the robust and gaily-dressed form of Lady Martin suddenly
materialized before her eyes.
Her ladyship was engaged in cheapening
a bunch of yellow roses, while Cynthia Peach was endeavouring,
without much success, to point out that their fresh
beauty and scent were well worth the original price.
“I’ll take them if you
knock off sixpence,” Lady Martin was declaring
rather aggressively; and Miss Peach glanced helplessly
at her sister.
“What shall I do, Toby?”
she murmured anxiously. “Of course they’re
cheap already, but still I suppose they won’t
last ”
“Oh, nonsense, Toby,”
whispered Mollie vigorously. “If she doesn’t
buy them heaps of people will.” Aloud she
said firmly “I’m afraid we can’t
take less, Lady Martin. The Duchess bought two
bunches of the same roses, and she didn’t think
them dear.”
Lady Martin paused, inherent meanness
struggling with a snobbish desire to emulate the Duchess;
and finally she gave in with a bad grace.
As she took the roses her eyes fell
on Toni, at that moment intent on her conversation
with Mrs. Anstey; and her ladyship’s ill-humour
was not lessened by noticing the friendly glances
which passed between them.
She bore down upon them accordingly
with outstretched hand.
“Dear Mrs. Anstey, it is ages
since we met!” Her piercing tones, likened by
the Tobies to those of a macaw, strove in vain for
suavity. “So good of you to come to this
affair such a distance for you, too!”
“Oh, I always try to come when
I am at home,” said Mrs. Anstey gently.
“I like to support Mr. Madgwick’s parish,
though I’m afraid I don’t spend a great
deal of money! Really the flowers and the home-made
cakes are the only things that tempt me.”
“And surely you have plenty
of flowers at home!” Lady Martin glanced with
a disparaging little laugh at the stall before her.
“I don’t know where these came from, but
they look sadly wilted already.”
“I’m afraid I can’t
agree with you there,” said Mrs. Anstey, with
a little smile. “I think the flowers are
charming, especially those sent by Mrs. Rose’s
kindness from Greenriver.”
She indicated Toni with a friendly
little gesture, and Lady Martin condescended, unwillingly,
to acknowledge the girl’s greeting. To tell
the truth, Lady Martin had no desire to better her
acquaintance with Toni. She had long ago intended
the owner of Greenriver for her son-in-law; and to
find this little nobody, with her provincial ways and
her foreign-looking eyes, acting as chatelaine
of the beautiful old house in her daughter’s
place had an irritating effect.
To make matters worse, several people
had known of her matrimonial designs; and since the
disappointment of one’s friends is frequently
a source of mirth, she had been annoyed by several
tactless allusions, made presumably in jest, to her
daughter’s disappointment.
So it was that she disliked Rose’s
wife with the hearty aversion of a spiteful and jealous
woman; and the fact that she herself came of the people
made her specially quick to suspect bourgeois
blood in others.
She took a delight, now, in snubbing
Toni; and presently made a point of asking after her
cousin Miss Mibbs.
“She’s very well, thank
you,” replied Toni, wondering a little at this
unusual condescension. “But her name isn’t
Mibbs, it’s Gibbs.”
“Really?” Lady Martin
drawled the word out insolently, as though to indicate
that the name of the young woman in question did not
interest her. “She is not here to-day,
I suppose?”
“No,” said Toni, absent-mindedly,
“she was not able to get off to-day.”
“Get off?” Lady Martin
pounced on the strange form of the admission.
“She is ... er ... full of social engagements?”
Afterwards Toni thought it was the
scent of the flowers which had made her feel hazy
just then. Although she had an intuition that
her interlocutor meant to be inquisitive, she had
not the sense to turn the subject with a vague assent;
and after a second’s hesitation replied rather
foolishly that her cousin’s engagements were
not in society.
“Indeed? But it is holiday
time surely Miss Gibbs is not teaching
now?”
Mrs. Anstey, feeling to the full the
insolence of this cross-examination, attempted to
come to the rescue; but Lady Martin stood waiting
so obviously for an answer that Toni felt constrained
to reply.
“No, Lady Martin. My cousin is not a governess.”
“No?” Lady Martin, who
had the lust for cruelty inherent in all mean natures,
pressed the point ruthlessly. “Then I
hardly see ... in the summer one does not work unless
one is a private secretary or something of that sort;
and I am sure your cousin” with a
pointed smile “did not look in the
very least like a private secretary!”
Suddenly Toni lost her head and her temper together.
“My cousin is no one’s
secretary, Lady Martin. She is in a shop Brown
and Evans, drapers, of Brixton; and she is not here
to-day because Thursday is the early-closing day for
the shops, and this is only Tuesday!”
There was a short silence. Even
Lady Martin felt uncomfortable, for though she had
literally goaded the girl into speech she did not enjoy
the spectacle of Toni’s flashing eyes and scarlet
cheeks, nor the expression of mingled contempt and
compassion on Mrs. Anstey’s face the
contempt, as she very well knew, being intended for
her, the compassion for Toni.
The moment she had spoken Toni knew
what she had done; that besides losing her temper
and behaving in an ill-bred way she had given a handle
to her enemies; and the tears were perilously near
her eyes, though pride forbade her to let them fall.
It was Cynthia Peach who came to the rescue.
“How awfully jolly for your
cousin,” she said plaintively. “I’ve
always longed to go into a shop! The girls have
such a good time and they meet heaps of
young men! Not like us poor things who hardly
ever see one!”
Her evident sincerity relieved the
situation. Her sister might murmur “Oh,
Toby!” under her breath, and Lady Martin
might sneer, but Mrs. Anstey patted the speaker’s
arm with a very kindly smile.
“Poor little Cynthia! I
shall have to scour the neighbourhood for young men
and give a party,” she said. “I’d
no idea you were so forlorn!”
“Well, there aren’t many,
really,” conceded the elder Toby. “And
I know what Cynthia means! That’s why she
was so pleased to come and sell flowers!”
“And you are all neglecting
your duties shamefully, my dears!” Mrs. Anstey
moved aside to allow a batch of customers to approach
the stall. “I mustn’t stay here chattering.
You will come and have tea with me, won’t you,
Mrs. Rose?” She turned to Toni, who was now as
white as one of her own lilies. “I will
look for you at five in the tent you will
be able to get off by then!”
She smiled kindly at the girl as she
moved away. Lady Martin had already gone, feeling,
no doubt, that the weight of public opinion was against
her; and as a rush of business just then overwhelmed
the flower-sellers, Toni had no time to dwell upon
the recent little scene.
But Mrs. Anstey looked for Toni in
vain when five o’clock came. As a matter
of fact Toni had felt, desperately, that she could
not face the crowded tea-tent, where doubtless she
would again meet her enemy, Lady Martin; and she wanted
no tea; she only wanted to be alone for a few moments,
away from prying eyes, unkind tongues, that she might
regain the equilibrium so cruelly upset.
With this end in view she slipped
away when the two sisters came back from their hurried
tea; and followed a little path which she knew would
bring her out at a quiet corner of the grounds, where
a rickety old summer-house might afford her the temporary
shelter she sought.
There was no one there; and although
the entrance to the little hut was almost choked up
with weeds and tall, rank flowers, she crept inside,
and then, sinking on to the seat in the dimmest, darkest
corner, gave herself up to the fit of depression which
had been stealing on her ever since her own rash avowal
to Lady Martin.
Suddenly she sat upright. Even
here, it seemed, she was not to be free from interruption.
She heard voices approaching, as though others were
seeking her hiding-place; and pushing aside one of
the rotting wooden shutters she peeped cautiously
out.
Fate was against her to-day.
In the two persons who were drawing near, evidently
with the intention of seating themselves upon the bench
outside the hut, she recognized Lady Martin and Mrs.
Madgwick; and instantly Toni felt a quick foreboding
of evil.
Something seemed to tell her that
it was she whom they were discussing so earnestly
as they walked; and Toni shrank back into the gloom,
totally incapable of facing them in her tear-stained
and generally dishevelled condition.
She breathed a prayer that they would
not attempt to enter the summer-house a
prayer which was answered, for the two ladies seated
themselves on the bench outside, which was first wiped
scrupulously clean by a large and substantial handkerchief
wielded by the Vicar’s wife.
Her escape thus cut off, Toni had
no choice but to remain silently within. She
supposed, forlornly, that she ought to make her presence
known; but she felt it almost impossible to stir; and
the first words she heard kept her chained to her
seat.
“A sad pity,” Mrs. Madgwick
was remarking in her unctuous voice. “I
always felt there was something just a little well,
what shall I call it? second-rate about
the girl. Mr. Rose being a gentleman in every
sense of the word makes the whole thing so much worse.”
“It does.” Lady Martin’s
thin lips tightened. “I too knew from the
first that the young woman was not a lady why,
on the occasion of my welcoming call I found her entertaining
this very cousin to a repast of tea and shrimps or
was it periwinkles? Something vulgar, anyway,
and I am nearly sure I saw a plate of watercresses
as well.”
“Dear me,” said the vicar’s
wife acidly. “What class does the girl
spring from? I always thought it was only servants
or shop-girls who ate things of that sort with
vinegar for tea!”
“Well, we have Mrs. Rose’s
own word for it that her cousin is assistant in a
shop.” Lady Martin laughed disagreeably.
“I have no doubt Mrs. Rose was employed in the
same manner before her marriage. It is really
remarkable what matches these pert shop girls make
nowadays. Men seem to prefer them to our daughters,
though it is hard to understand.”
“Hard? Impossible!”
The Vicar’s wife, thinking of her own plain and
middle-aged daughters, spoke snappily. “As
you say, no doubt Mrs. Rose was some little shop-assistant ”
“Ah, no! I remember now!”
Lady Martin spoke mysteriously, and Mrs. Madgwick
looked up sharply. “Mrs. Rose was not in
a shop. It was not there that Mr. Rose met her.
As a matter of fact she was his typist.”
“His typist! Ah!”
Toni, listening breathlessly, could not fathom the
significance of the lady’s tone.
“Of course he would never have
married her if he had not been so sore about Miss
Rees.” Lady Martin spoke fluently.
“I had the whole story of that affair from a
friend of my daughter’s who was intimately acquainted
with Miss Rees.”
“But who is or
was Miss Rees?” The speaker little
knew how Toni blessed her for putting the question.
“The girl he should have married the
Earl of Paulton’s niece.” Lady Martin
paused a moment to brush away an inquisitive gnat.
“It was quite a romantic affair, at first.
Mr. Rose was devoted, positively devoted to her, and
she is really a charming girl, handsome, accomplished,
in every way a contrast to the poor little creature
he has married.”
“But why, if he were so devoted ”
“Didn’t he marry her?
Well, it seems he had a motor smash, knocked himself
up and had to go away for a time; and whether, as I
have been told, she was glad of the excuse to break
her promise, or whether there was some other reason,
I don’t know, but anyhow she threw him over and
married Lord Saxonby without telling her first fiance
a word about it.”
“And he took it to heart?”
Mrs. Madgwick felt exhilarated by this authentic peep
into the lives of the great ones of the earth.
“Of course it must be galling to be thrown over
for another man though when it is a Lord ”
“Well, a Lord’s no worse
than another man,” said Lady Martin rather ambiguously.
“But they say there was a terrible scene Mr.
Rose reproaching the girl and threatening to kill
Lord Saxonby, and making all sorts of wild threats.
My daughter’s friend had a maid who had been
with Lady Saxonby, and she told her all this.”
“Ah, then of course it’s
true.” Mrs. Madgwick, having a mind which
delighted in gossip, did not quarrel with the source
of information. “But I don’t yet
see why Mr. Rose married this girl. Surely there
must have been plenty of ladies he could have had.”
“Ah, but they all knew he’d
been jilted,” said Lady Martin wisely.
“Besides they say he had sworn to marry the first
woman who would have him, to get even with Miss Rees,
you know, and I haven’t a shadow of doubt this
girl threw herself at his head.”
“Very likely,” agreed
the Vicar’s wife charitably. “Girls
of that class are so pushing. But as a wife for
Mr. Rose and the mistress of Greenriver she is eminently
unsuitable.”
“Dreadfully so,” sighed
Lady Martin. “I feel so sorry for the poor
man tied to a common, empty-headed little thing like
that. They tell me she is an absolute fool and
really in these days of evening classes and polytechnics
there is no excuse for such lamentable ignorance as
she displays. I hear that when they go out to
dinner she sits as dumb as a fish or else
commits such shocking solecisms that her poor husband
blushes for her.”
“Really? I have had very
little conversation with her,” said the other
woman judicially. “And beyond noting her
deplorable unsoundness on religious matters I have
had few opportunities of probing her mind.”
“Her mind? She hasn’t
one,” snapped Lady Martin. “She is
one of those mindless, soulless women who are simply
parasites, clinging to men for what they can get a
home, money, position and give nothing in
return because they have nothing to give.”
“It is indeed sad for Mr. Rose,”
said Mrs. Madgwick compassionately. “So
dreadfully boring for a clever man to be hampered with
a silly wife and one with such unpresentable
relations, too. What was her cousin like?
Quite quite, I suppose.”
“Oh, quite,” agreed Lady
Martin. “A red-faced, blowsy young woman
with a large bust and a pinched-in waist. Just
the sort of girl you’d expect to find in a draper’s
shop in Brixton. But now, I really feel quite
rested. Suppose we return to the Bazaar?
I have one or two little purchases to make, and possibly
by now the things will be reduced in price.”
The Vicar’s wife rose with alacrity,
and the two ladies moved away, discussing the probable
financial result of the Bazaar, and Toni was left
alone with her new knowledge.