Patricia Brent, Spinster

Patricia turned with a little cry of pleasure.

"Jump in," cried Lady Tanagra. "It's no good refusing a Bowen. Our epidermises are too thick, or should it be epidermi?"

Patricia shook her head and laughed as she seated herself beside Lady Tanagra.

The car crooned its way up Sloane Street and across into Knightsbridge, Lady Tanagra intent upon her driving.

"Is it indiscreet to ask where you are taking me?" enquired Patricia with elaborate humility.

Lady Tanagra laughed as she jammed on the brake to avoid running into the stern of a motor-omnibus.

"I feel like a pirate to-day. I want to run away with someone, or do something desperate. Have you ever felt like that?"

"A politician's secretary must not encourage such unrespectable instincts," she replied.

Lady Tanagra looked at her quickly, noting the flatness of her voice.

"A wise hen should never brood upon being a hen," she remarked oracularly.

Patricia laughed. "It is all very well for Dives to tell Lazarus that it is noble to withstand the pangs of hunger," she replied.

"Now let us go and get tea," said Lady Tanagra, as she turned the car into the road running between Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park.

"Tea!" cried Patricia, "why it's past five."

"Tea is a panacea for all ills and a liquid for all hours. You have only to visit a Government Department for proof of that," said Lady Tanagra, as she descended from the car and walked towards the umbrella-sheltered tea-tables dotted about beneath the trees. "And now I want to have a talk with you for a few minutes," she said as they seated themselves at an empty table.

"I feel in the mood for listening," said Patricia, "provided it is not to be good advice," she added.

"I've been having a serious talk with Peter," said Lady Tanagra.

Patricia looked up at her. Overhead white, fleecy clouds played a game of hide-and-seek with the sunshine. The trees rustled languidly in the breeze, and in the distance a peacock screamed ominously.

"I have told him," continued Lady Tanagra, "that I will not have you worried, and he has promised me not to see you, write to you, telephone to you, send you messenger-boys, chocolates, flowers or anything else in the world, in fact he's out of your way for ever and ever."

Patricia looked across at Lady Tanagra in surprise, but said nothing.

"I told him," continued Lady Tanagra evenly, "that I would not have my friendship with you spoiled through his impetuous blundering. I think I told him he was suburban. In fact I quite bullied the poor boy. So now," she added with the air of one who has earned a lifelong debt of gratitude, "you will be able to go your way without fear of the ubiquitous Peter."

Still Patricia said nothing as she sat looking down upon the empty plate before her.

"Now we will forget all about Peter and talk and think of other things. Ah! here he is," she cried suddenly.

Patricia looked round quickly; but at the sight of Godfrey Elton she was conscious of a feeling of disappointment that she would not, however, admit. Her greeting of Elton was a trifle forced.

Patricia was never frank with herself. If it had been suggested that for a moment she hoped that Lady Tanagra's remark referred to Bowen, she would instantly have denied it.

"No, Godfrey, don't look at me like that," cried Lady Tanagra. "I am not so gauche as to arrange a parti-à-trois. I've got someone very nice coming for Patricia."

Again Patricia felt herself thrill expectantly. Five minutes later Mr. Triggs was seen sailing along among the tables as if in search of someone. Again Patricia felt that sense of disappointment she had experienced on the arrival of Godfrey Elton.

Suddenly Mr. Triggs saw the party and streamed towards them, waving his red silk handkerchief in one hand and his umbrella in the other.

"He has found something better than the fountain of eternal youth," said Elton to Patricia.

"Whatever it is he is unconscious of possessing it," replied Patricia as she turned to greet Mr. Triggs.

"I'm late, I know," explained Mr. Triggs as he shook hands. "I 'ad to run in and see 'Ettie and tell 'er I was coming. It surprised 'er," and Mr. Triggs chuckled as if at some joke he could not share with the others.

"Now let us have tea," said Lady Tanagra. "I'm simply dying for it."

Mr. Triggs sank down heavily into a basket chair. He looked about anxiously, as it creaked beneath his weight, as if in doubt whether or no it would bear him.

"All we want now is – " Mr. Triggs stopped suddenly and looked apprehensively at Lady Tanagra.

"What is it you want, Mr. Triggs?" enquired Patricia quickly.

"Er – er – I – I forget, I – I forget," floundered Mr. Triggs, still looking anxiously at Lady Tanagra.

"When you're in the company of women, Mr. Triggs, you should never appear to want anything else. It makes an unfavourable impression upon us."

"God bless my soul, I don't!" cried Mr. Triggs earnestly. "I've been looking forward to this ever since I got your wire yesterday afternoon."

"Now he has given me away," cried Lady Tanagra. "How like a man!"

"Given you away, me dear!" cried Mr. Triggs anxiously. "What 'ave I done?"

"Why, you have told these two people here that made an assignation with you by telegram."

"Made a what, me dear?" enquired Mr. Triggs, his forehead corrugated with anxiety.

"Lady Tanagra is taking a mean advantage of the heat, Mr. Triggs," said Elton.

"Anyway, I'll forgive you anything, Mr. Triggs, as you have come," said Lady Tanagra.

Mr. Triggs's brow cleared and he smiled.

"Come! I should think I would come," he said.

Lady Tanagra then explained her meeting with Mr. Triggs and how he had striven to avoid her company at luncheon on the previous day. Mr. Triggs protested vigorously.

During the tea the conversation was entirely in the hands of Lady Tanagra, Elton and Mr. Triggs. Patricia sat silently listening to the others. Several times Lady Tanagra and Mr. Triggs exchanged meaning glances.

"Why ain't you talking, me dear?" Mr. Triggs once asked.

"I like to hear you all," said Patricia, smiling across at him. "You're all too clever for me," she added.

"Me clever!" cried Mr. Triggs, and then as if the humour of the thing had suddenly struck him he went off into gurgles of laughter. "You ought to tell 'Ettie that," he spluttered. "She thinks 'er old father's a fool. Me clever!" he repeated, and again he went off into ripples of mirth.

"What are your views on love, Mr. Triggs?" demanded Lady Tanagra suddenly.

Mr. Triggs gazed at her in surprise.

Then he looked from Patricia to Elton, as if not quite sure whether or no he were expected to be serious.

"If I were you I should decline to reply. Lady Tanagra treats serious subjects flippantly," said Elton. "Her attitude towards life is to prepare a pancake as if it were a soufflé."

"That proves the Celt in me," cried Lady Tanagra. "If I were English I should make a soufflé as if it were a pancake."

Mr. Triggs looked from one to the other in obvious bewilderment.

"I am perfectly serious in my question," said Lady Tanagra, without the vestige of a smile. "Mr. Triggs is elemental."

"To be elemental is to be either indelicate or overbearing," murmured Elton, "and Mr. Triggs is neither."

"Love, me dear?" said Mr. Triggs, not in the least understanding the trend of the conversation. "I don't think I've got any ideas about it."

"Surely you are not a cynic. Mr. Triggs," demanded Lady Tanagra.

"A what?" enquired Mr. Triggs.

"Surely you believe in love," said Lady Tanagra.

"Me and Mrs. Triggs lived together 'appily for over thirty years," he replied gravely, "and when a man an' woman 'ave lived together for all that time they get to believe in love. It's never been the same since she died." His voice became a little husky, and Elton looked at Lady Tanagra, who lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Triggs. Will you tell us about – about – ?" she broke off.

"Well, you see, me dear," said Mr. Triggs in an uncertain voice, "I was a foreman when I met 'er, and she was a servant; but – somehow or other it seemed that we were just made for each other. Once I knew 'er, I didn't seem to be able to see things without her. When I was at work – I was in the building trade, foreman-carpenter," he explained, "I used to be thinking of 'er all the time. If I went anywhere without 'er – she only had one night off a week and one day a month – I would always keep thinking of how she would like what I was seeing, or eating. It was a funny feeling," he added reminiscently as if entirely unable to explain it. "Somehow or other I always wanted to 'ave 'er with me, so that she might share what I was 'aving. It was a funny feeling," he repeated, and he looked from one to another with moist eyes. "Of course," he added, "I can't explain things like that. I'm not clever."

"I think, Mr. Triggs, that you've explained love in – in – " Lady Tanagra broke off and looked at Elton, who was unusually grave.

"Mr. Triggs has explained it," he replied, "in the only way in which it can be explained, and that is by being defined as unexplainable."

Mr. Triggs looked at Elton for a moment, then nodded his head violently.

"That's it, Mr. Elton, that's it. It's a feeling, not a thing that you can put into words."

Lady Tanagra looked at Patricia, who was apparently engrossed in the waving tops of the trees.

"I shall always remember your definition of love, Mr. Triggs," said Lady Tanagra with a far away look in her eyes. "I think you and Mrs. Triggs must have been very happy together."

"'Appy, me dear, that wasn't the word for it," said Mr. Triggs. "And when she was taken, I – I – " he broke off huskily and blew his nose vigorously.

"Suppose you were very poor, Mr. Triggs," began Patricia.

"I was when I married," interrupted Mr. Triggs.

"Suppose you were very poor," continued Patricia, "and you loved someone very rich. What would you do?"

"God bless my soul! I never thought of that. You see Emily 'adn't anything. She only got sixteen pounds a year."

Lady Tanagra turned her head aside and blinked her eyes furiously.

"But suppose, Mr. Triggs," persisted Patricia, "suppose you loved someone who was very rich and you were very poor. What would you do? Would you tell them?"

For a moment Patricia allowed her eyes to glance in the direction of Elton, and saw that his gaze was fixed upon Mr. Triggs.

"But what 'as money got to do with it?" demanded Mr. Triggs, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Exactly!" said Patricia. "That's what I wanted to know."

"Money sometimes has quite a lot to do with life," remarked Elton to no one in particular.

"With life, Mr. Elton," said Mr. Triggs; "but not with love."

"You are an idealist," said Lady Tanagra.

"Am I?" said Mr. Triggs, with a smile.

"And he is also a dear," said Patricia.

Mr. Triggs looked at her and smiled.

Lady Tanagra and Elton drove off, Patricia saying that she wanted a walk. Mr. Triggs also declined Lady Tanagra's offer of a lift.

"She wanted me to bring 'er with me," announced Mr. Triggs as they strolled along by the Serpentine.

"Who did?"' enquired Patricia.

"'Ettie. Ran up to change 'er things and sent out for a taxi."

"And what did you say?" enquired Patricia.

"I didn't say anything; but when the taxi come I just slipped in and came along 'ere. Fancy 'Ettie and Lady Tanagra!" said Mr. Triggs. "No," he added a moment later. "It's no good trying to be what you ain't. If 'Ettie was to remember she's a builder's daughter, and not think she's a great lady, she'd be much 'appier," said Mr. Triggs with unconscious wisdom.

"Suppose I was to try and be like Mr. Elton," continued Mr. Triggs, "I'd look like a fool."

"We all love to have you just as you are, Mr. Triggs, and we won't allow you to change," said Patricia.

Mr. Triggs smiled happily. He was as susceptible to flattery as a young girl.

"Well, it ain't much good trying to be what you're not. I've been a working-man, and I'm not ashamed of it, and you and Lady Tanagra and Mr. Elton ain't ashamed of being seen with me. But 'Ettie, she'd no more be seen with 'er old father in Hyde Park than she'd be seen with 'im in a Turkish bath."

"We all have our weaknesses, don't you think?" said Patricia.

And Mr. Triggs agreed.

"You, for instance, have a weakness for High Society," continued Patricia.

"Me, me dear!" exclaimed Mr. Triggs in surprise.

"Yes," said Patricia, "it's no good denying it. Don't you like knowing Lord Peter and Lady Tanagra, Mr. Elton and all the rest of them?"

"It's not because they're in Society," began Mr. Triggs.

"Oh, yes it is! You imagine that you are now a very great personage. Soon you will be moving from Streatham into Park Lane, and then you will not know me."

"Oh, me dear!" said Mr. Triggs in distress.

"It's no good denying it," continued Patricia. "Look at the way you made friends with Lord Peter." Patricia was priding herself on the way in which she had led the conversation round to Bowen; but Mr. Triggs was not to be drawn.

"God bless my soul!" he cried, stopping still and removing his hat, mopping his brow vigorously. "I don't mind whether anyone has a title or not. It's just them I like. Now look at Lady Tanagra. No one would think she was a lady."

"Really, Mr. Triggs! I shall tell her if you take her character away in this manner. She's one of the most exquisitely bred people I have ever met."

Mr. Triggs looked reproachfully at Patricia.

"It's a bit 'ard on a young gal when she finds 'er father drops 'is aitches," he remarked, reverting to his daughter. "I often wonder whether I was right in giving 'Ettie such an education. She went to an 'Igh School at Eastmouth," he added. "It only made 'er dissatisfied. It was 'ard luck 'er 'aving me for a father," he concluded more to himself than to Patricia.

"I am perfectly willing to adopt you as a father, Mr. Triggs, if you are in want of adoption," said Patricia.

Mr. Triggs turned to her with a sunny smile.

"Ah! you're different, me dear. You see you're a lady born, same as Lady Tanagra; but 'Ettie ain't. That's what makes 'er sensitive like. It's a funny world," Mr. Triggs continued; "if you go about with one boot, and you 'appen to be a duke, people make a fuss of you because you're a character; but if you 'appen to be a builder and go about in the same way they call you mad."

That evening Patricia was particularly unresponsive to Mr. Bolton's attempts to engage her in conversation.

CHAPTER XVI

PATRICIA'S INCONSTANCY

Patricia's engagement and approaching marriage were the sole topics of conversation at Galvin House, at meal-times in particular. Bowen was discussed and admired from every angle and aspect. Questions rained upon Patricia. When was she likely to get married? Where was the wedding to take place? Would she go abroad for her honeymoon? Who was to provide the wedding-cake? Where did she propose to get her trousseau? Would the King and Queen be present at the wedding?

At first Patricia had endeavoured to answer coherently; but finding this useless, she soon drifted into the habit of replying at random, with the result that Galvin House received much curious information.

Miss Wangle's olive-branch was an announcement of how pleased the dear bishop would have been to marry Miss Brent and Lord Peter had he been alive.

Mr. Bolton joked as feebly as ever. Mr. Cordal masticated with his wonted vigour. Mr. Sefton became absorbed in the prospect of the raising of the military age limit, and strove to hearten himself by constant references to the time when he would be in khaki. Miss Sikkum continued to surround herself with an atmosphere of romance, and invariably returned in the evening breathless from her chaste endeavours to escape from some "awful man" who had pursued her. The reek of cooking seemed to become more obvious, and the dreariness of Sundays more pronounced. Some times Patricia thought of leaving Galvin House for a place where she would be less notorious; but something seemed to bind her to the old associations.

As she returned each evening, her eyes instinctively wandered towards the table and the letter-rack. If there were a parcel, her heart would bound suddenly, only to resume its normal pace when she discovered that it was for someone else.

Of Lady Tanagra she saw little, news of Bowen she received none. Her most dexterous endeavours to cross-examine Mr. Triggs ended in failure. He seemed to have lost all interest in Bowen. Lady Tanagra never even mentioned his name.

Whatever the shortcomings of Lady Tanagra and Mr. Triggs in this direction, however, they were more than compensated for by Mrs. Bonsor. Her effusive friendliness Patricia found overwhelming, and her insistent hospitality, which took the form of a flood of invitations to Patricia and Bowen to lunch, dine or to do anything they chose in her house or elsewhere, was bewildering.

At last in self-defence Patricia had to tell Mrs. Bonsor that Bowen was too much occupied with his duties even to see her; but this seemed to increase rather than diminish Mrs. Bonsor's hospitable instincts, which included Lady Tanagra as well as her brother. Would not Miss Brent bring Lady Tanagra to tea or to luncheon one day? Perhaps they would take tea with Mrs. Bonsor at the Ritz one afternoon? Could they lunch at the Carlton? To all of these invitations Patricia replied with cold civility.

In her heart Mrs. Bonsor was raging against the "airs" of her husband's secretary; but she saw that Lady Tanagra and Lord Peter might be extremely useful to her and to her husband in his career. Consequently she did not by any overt sign show her pique.

One day when Patricia was taking down letters for Mr. Bonsor, Mr. Triggs burst into the library in a state of obvious excitement.

"Where's 'Ettie?" he demanded, after having saluted Patricia and Mr. Bonsor.

Mr. Bonsor looked at him reproachfully.

"'Ere, ring for 'Ettie, A. B., I've got something to show you all."

Mr. Bonsor pressed the bell. As he did so Mrs. Bonsor entered the room, having heard her father's voice.

With great empressement Mr. Triggs produced from the tail pocket of his coat a folded copy of the "Illustrated Universe". Flattening it out upon the table he moistened his thumb and finger and, with great deliberation, turned over several leaves, then indicating a page he demanded:

"What do you think of that?"

"That," was a full-page picture of Lady Tanagra walking in the Park with Mr. Triggs. The portrait of Lady Tanagra was a little indistinct; but that of Mr. Triggs was as clear as daylight, and a remarkable likeness. Underneath was printed "Lady Tanagra Bowen and a friend walking in the Park."

Mrs. Bonsor devoured the picture and then looked up at her father, a new respect in her eyes.

"What do you think of it, 'Ettie?" enquired Mr. Triggs again.

"It's a very good likeness, father," said Mrs. Bonsor weakly.

It was Patricia, however, who expressed what Mr. Triggs had anticipated.

"You're becoming a great personage, Mr. Triggs," she cried. "If you are not careful you will compromise Lady Tanagra."

Mr. Triggs chuckled with glee as he mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.

"I rang 'er up this morning," he said.

"Rang who up, father?" enquired Mrs. Bonsor.

"Lady Tan," said Mr. Triggs, watching his daughter to see the effect of the diminutive upon her.

"Was she annoyed?" enquired Mrs. Bonsor.

"Annoyed!" echoed Mr. Triggs. "Annoyed! She was that pleased she's asked me to lunch to-morrow. Why, she introduced me to a duchess last week, an' I'm goin' to 'er place to tea."

"I wish you would bring Lady Tanagra here one day, father," said Mrs. Bonsor. "Why not ask her to lunch here to-morrow?"

"Not me, 'Ettie," said Mr. Triggs wisely. "If you want the big fish, you've got to go out and catch 'em yourself."

There was a pause. Patricia hid a smile in her handkerchief. Mr. Bonsor was deep in a speech upon the question of rationing fish.

"Well, A. B., what 'ave you got to say?"

"Dear fish may mean revolution," murmured Mr. Bonsor.

Mr. Triggs looked at his son-in-law in amazement.

"What's that you say?" he demanded.

"I – I beg your pardon. I – I was thinking," apologised Mr. Bonsor.

"Now, father," said Mrs. Bonsor, "will you come into the morning-room? I want to talk to you, and I'm sure Arthur wants to get on with his work."

Mr. Triggs was reluctantly led away, leaving Patricia to continue the day's work.

Patricia now saw little of Mr. Triggs, in fact since Lady Tanagra had announced that Bowen would no longer trouble her, she found life had become singularly grey. Things that before had amused and interested her now seemed dull and tedious. Mr. Bolton's jokes were more obvious than ever, and Mr. Cordal's manners more detestable.

The constant interrogations levelled at her as to where Bowen was, and why he had not called to see her, she found difficult to answer. Several times she had gone alone to the theatre, or to a cinema, in order that it might be thought she was with Bowen. At last the strain became so intolerable that she spoke to Mrs. Craske-Morton, hinting that unless Galvin House took a little less interest in her affairs, she would have to leave.

The effect of her words was instantly manifest. Wherever she moved she seemed to interrupt whispering groups. When she entered the dining-room there would be a sudden cessation of conversation, and everyone would look up with an innocence that was too obvious to deceive even themselves. If she went into the lounge on her return from Eaton Square, the same effect was noticeable. When she was present the conversation was forced and artificial. Sentences would be begun and left unfinished, as if the speaker had suddenly remembered that the subject was taboo.

Patricia found herself wishing that they would speak out what was in their minds. Anything would be preferable to the air of mystery that seemed to pervade the whole place. She could not be unaware of the significant glances that were exchanged when it was thought she was not looking. Several times she had been asked if she were not feeling well, and her looking-glass reflected a face that was pale and drawn, with dark lines under the eyes.

One evening, when she had gone to her room directly after dinner, there was a gentle knock at her door. She opened it to find Mrs. Hamilton, looking as if it would take only a word to send her creeping away again.

"Come in, you dear little Grey Lady," cried Patricia, putting her arm affectionately round Mrs. Hamilton's small shoulders, and leading her over to a basket-chair by the window.

For some time they talked of nothing in particular. At last Mrs. Hamilton said:

"I – I hope you won't think me impertinent, my dear; but – but – "

"I should never think anything you said or did impertinent," said Patricia, smiling.

"You know – " began Mrs. Hamilton, and then broke off.

"Anyone would think you were thoroughly afraid of me," said Patricia with a smile.

"I don't like interfering," said Mrs. Hamilton, "but I am very worried."

She looked so pathetic in her anxiety that Patricia bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

"You dear little thing," she cried, "tell me what is on your mind, and I will do the best I can to help you."

"I am very – er – worried about you, my dear," began Mrs. Hamilton hesitatingly. "You are looking so pale and tired and worn. I – I fear you have something on your mind and – and – " she broke off, words failing her.

"It's the summer," replied Patricia, smiling. "I always find the hot weather trying, more trying even than Mr. Bolton's jokes," she smiled.

"Are you – are you sure it's nothing else?" said Mrs. Hamilton.

"Quite sure," said Patricia. "What else should it be?" She was conscious of her reddening cheeks.

"You ought to go out more," said Mrs. Hamilton gently. "After sitting indoors all day you want fresh air and exercise."

And with that Mrs. Hamilton had to rest content.

Patricia could not explain the absurd feeling she experienced that she might miss something if she left the house. It was all so vague, so intangible. All she was conscious of was some hidden force that seemed to bind her to the house, or, when by an effort of will she broke from its influence, seemed to draw her back again. She could not analyse the feeling, she was only conscious of its existence.