Patricia Brent, Spinster

From Miss Brent she had received a characteristic reply to her letter.

"DEAR PATRICIA," she wrote,

"I have read with pain and surprise your letter. What your poor dear father would have thought I cannot conceive.

"What I did was done from the best motives, as I felt you were compromising yourself by a secret engagement.

"I am sorry to find that you have become exceedingly self-willed of late, and I fear London has done you no good.

"As your sole surviving relative, it is my duty to look after your welfare. This I promised your dear father on his death-bed.

"Gratitude I do not ask, nor do I expect it; but I am determined to do my duty by my brother's child. I cannot but deplore the tone in which you last wrote to me, and also the rather foolish threat that your letter contained.

"Your affectionate aunt,

"ADELAIDE BRENT.

"P.S. – I shall make a point of coming up to London soon. Even your rudeness will not prevent me from doing my duty by my brother's child. – A. B."

As she tore up the letter, Patricia remembered her father once saying, "Your aunt's sense of duty is the most offensive sense I have ever encountered."

One day as Patricia was endeavouring to sort out into some sort of coherence a sheaf of notes that Mr. Bonsor had made upon Botulism, Mr. Triggs entered the library. After his cheery "How goes it, me dear?" he stood for some moments gazing down at her solicitously.

"You ain't lookin' well, me dear," he said with conviction.

"That's a sure way to a woman's heart," replied Patricia gaily.

"'Ow's that, me dear?" he questioned.

"Why, telling her that she's looking plain," retorted Patricia.

Mr. Triggs protested.

"All I want is a holiday," went on Patricia. "There are only three weeks to wait and then – "

There was, however, no joy of anticipation in her voice.

"You're frettin'!"

Patricia turned angrily upon Mr. Triggs.

"Fretting! What on earth do you mean, Mr. Triggs?" she demanded.

Mr. Triggs sat down suddenly, overwhelmed by Patricia's indignation.

"Don't be cross with me, me dear." Mr. Triggs looked so like a child fearing rebuke that she was forced to smile.

"You must not say absurd things then," she retorted. "What have I got to fret about?"

Mr. Triggs quailed beneath her challenging glance. "I – I'm sorry, me dear," he said contritely.

"Don't be sorry, Mr. Triggs," said Patricia severely; "be accurate."

"I'm sorry, me dear," repeated Mr. Triggs.

"But that doesn't answer my question," Patricia persisted. "What have I to fret about?"

Mr. Triggs mopped his brow vigorously. He invariably expressed his emotions with his handkerchief. He used it strategically, tactically, defensively, continuously. It was to him what the lines of Torres Vedras were to Wellington. He retired behind its sheltering folds, to emerge a moment later, his forces reorganised and re-arrayed. When at a loss what to say or do, it was his handkerchief upon which he fell back; if he required time in which to think, he did it behind its ample and protecting folds.

"You see, me dear," said Mr. Triggs at length, avoiding Patricia's relentless gaze, as he proceeded to stuff away the handkerchief in his tail pocket. "You see, me dear – " Again he paused. "You see, me dear," he began for a third time, "I thought you was frettin' over your work or something, when you ought to be enjoyin' yourself," he lied.

Patricia looked at him, her conscience smiting her. She smiled involuntarily.

"I never fret about anything except when you don't come to see me," she said gaily.

Mr. Triggs beamed with good-humour, his fears now quite dispelled.

"You're run down, me dear," he said with decision. "You want an 'oliday. I must speak to A. B. about it."

"If you do I shall be very angry," said Patricia; "Mr. Bonsor is always very kind and considerate."

"It – it isn't – " began Mr. Triggs, then paused.

"It isn't what?" Patricia smiled at his look of concern.

"If – if it is," began Mr. Triggs. Again he paused, then added with a gulp, "Couldn't I lend you some?"

For a moment Patricia failed to follow the drift of his remark, then when she appreciated that he was offering to lend her money she flushed. For a moment she did not reply, then seeing the anxiety stamped upon his kindly face, she said with great deliberation:

"I think you must be quite the nicest man in all the world. If ever I decide to borrow money I'll come to you first."

Mr. Triggs blushed like a schoolboy. He had fully anticipated being snubbed. He had found from experience that Patricia had of late become very uncertain in her moods.

They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Bonsor.

"'Ere, A. B.!" cried Mr. Triggs. "What do you mean by it?"

"Mean by what?" enquired Mr. Bonsor, busy with an imaginary speech upon street noises, suggested by a barrel-piano in the distance.

"You're working 'er too 'ard, A. B.," said Mr. Triggs with conviction.

"Working who too hard?" Mr. Bonsor looked helplessly at Patricia. He was always at a disadvantage with his father-in-law, whose bluntness of speech seemed to demoralise him.

"Mr. Triggs thinks that you are slowly killing me," laughed Patricia.

Mr. Bonsor looked uncertainly at Patricia, and Mr. Triggs gazed at Mr. Bonsor. He had no very high opinion of his daughter's husband.

"Well, mind you don't overwork 'er," said Mr. Triggs as he rose to go. A few minutes later Patricia was deep in the absorbing subject of the life history of the potato-beetle.

"Ugh!" she cried as the clock in the hall chimed five. "I hate beetles, and," she paused a moment to tuck away a stray strand of hair, "I never want to see a potato as long as I live."

That evening when she reached Galvin House she went to her room, and there subjected herself to a searching examination in the looking-glass, she was forced to confess to the paleness of her face and dark marks beneath her eyes. She explained them by summer in London, coupled with the dreariness of Arthur Bonsor, M.P., and his mania for statistics.

"You're human yeast, Patricia!" she murmured to her reflection; "at least you're paid two-and-a-half guineas a week to try to leaven the unleavenable, and you mustn't complain if sometimes you get a little tired. Fretting!" There was indignation in her voice. "What have you got to fret about?"

With the passage of each day, however, she grew more listless and weary. She came to dread meal-times, with their irritating chatter and uninspiring array of faces that she had come almost to dislike. She was conscious of whisperings and significant looks among her fellow-boarders. She resented even Gustave's cow-like gaze of sympathetic anxiety as she declined the food he offered her.

Lady Tanagra and Mr. Triggs never asked her out. Everybody seemed suddenly to have deserted her. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of them in the Park on Sunday morning Once she saw Bowen; but he did not see her. "The daily round and common task" took on a new and sinister meaning for her. Sometimes her thoughts would travel on a few years into the future. What did it hold for her? Instinctively she shuddered at the loneliness of it all.

One afternoon on her return to Galvin House, Gustave opened the door. He had evidently been on the watch. His kindly face was beaming with goodwill.

"Oh, mees!" he cried. "Mees Brent is here."

"Aunt Adelaide!" cried Patricia, her heart sinking. Then seeing the comical lock of indecision upon Gustave's face caused by her despairing exclamation she laughed.

When she entered the lounge, it was to find Miss Brent sitting upright upon the stiffest chair in the middle of the room. Miss Wangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe were seated together in the extreme corner, Mrs. Barnes and two or three others were grouped by the window. The atmosphere was tense. Something had apparently happened. Patricia learned that from the grim set of Miss Brent's mouth.

"I want to talk to you, Patricia," Miss Brent announced after the customary greeting.

"Yes, Aunt Adelaide," said Patricia, sinking into a chair with a sigh of resignation.

"Somewhere private," said Miss Brent.

"There is no privacy at Galvin House," murmured Patricia, "except in the bathroom."

"Patricia, don't be indelicate," snapped Miss Brent.

"I'm not indelicate, Aunt Adelaide, I'm merely being accurate," said Patricia wearily.

"Cannot we go to your room?" enquired Miss Brent.

"Impossible!" announced Patricia. "It's like an oven by now. The sun is on it all the afternoon. Besides," continued Patricia, "my affairs are public property here. We are quite a commune. We have everything in common – except our toothbrushes," she added as an afterthought.

"Well! Let us get over there."

Miss Brent rose and made for the corner farthest from Miss Wangle and Mrs. Mosscrop-Smythe. Patricia followed her wearily.

"I've just snubbed those two women," announced Miss Brent, as she seated herself in a basket-chair that squeaked protestingly.

"There were indications of electricity in the air," remarked Patricia calmly.

"I want to have a serious talk with you, Patricia," said Miss Brent in her best it's-my-duty-cost-it-what-it-may manner.

"How can anyone be serious in this heat?" protested Patricia.

"I owe it to your poor dear father to – "

"This debtor and creditor business is killing romance," murmured Patricia.

"I have your welfare to consider," proceeded Miss Brent. "I – "

"Don't you think you've done enough mischief already, Aunt Adelaide?" enquired Patricia coolly.

"Mischief! I?" exclaimed Miss Brent in astonishment.

Patricia nodded.

"As your sole surviving relative it is my duty – "

"Don't you think," interrupted Patricia, "that just for once you could neglect your duty? Sin is wonderfully exhilarating."

"Patricia!" almost shrieked Miss Brent, horror in her eyes. "Are you mad?"

"No," replied Patricia, "only a little weary."

"You must have a tonic," announced Miss Brent.

Patricia shuddered. She still remembered her childish sufferings resulting from Miss Brent's interpretation and application of The Doctor at Home. She was convinced that she had swallowed every remedy the book contained, and been rubbed with every liniment its pages revealed.

"No, Aunt Adelaide," she said evenly. "All I require is that you should cease interfering in my affairs."

"How dare you! How – " Miss Brent paused wordless.

"I am prepared to accept you as an aunt," continued Patricia, outwardly calm; but almost stifled by the pounding of her heart. "It is God's will; but if you persist in assuming the mantle of Mrs. Grundy, combined with the Infallibility of the Pope, then I must protest."

"Protest!" repeated Miss Brent, repeating the word as if not fully comprehending its meaning.

"If I am able to earn my own living, then I am able to conduct my own love affairs."

"But – " began Miss Brent.

"I am sorry to appear rude, Aunt Adelaide, but it is much better to be frank. I am sure you mean well; but the fact of your being my sole surviving relative places me at a disadvantage. If there were two of you or three, you could quarrel about me, and thus preserve the balance. Now let us talk about something else."

For once in her life Miss Brent was nonplussed. She regarded her niece as if she had been a two-tailed giraffe, or a double-headed mastodon. Had she been American she would have known it to be brain-storm; as it was she decided that Patricia was sickening for some serious illness that had produced a temperature.

In all her experience of "the Family" never once had Miss Brent been openly defied in this way, and she had no reserves upon which to fall back. She held personal opinion and inclination must always take secondary place to "the Family." The individual must be sacrificed to the group, provided the individual were not herself. Births, deaths, marriages, christenings, funerals, weddings, were solemn functions that must be regarded as involving not the principals themselves so much as their relatives. Her doctrine was, although she would not have expressed it so philosophically, that the individual is mortal; but the family is immortal.

That anyone lived for himself or herself never seemed to occur to Miss Brent. If their actions were acceptable to the family and at the same time pleased the principals, then so much the better for the principals; if, on the other hand, the family disapproved, then the duty of the principals was clear.

This open flouting of her prides and her prejudices was to Miss Brent a great blow. It seemed to stun her. She was at a loss how to proceed; all she realised was that she must save "the Family" at any cost.

"Now tell me what happened when you came in," said Patricia sweetly.

"I must be going," said Miss Brent solemnly.

"Must you?" enquired Patricia politely; but rising lest her aunt should change her mind.

"Now remember," said Patricia as they walked along the hall, "you've lost me one matrimonial fish. If I get another nibble you must keep out of – "

But Miss Brent had fled.

"Well, that's that!" sighed Patricia as she walked slowly upstairs.

CHAPTER XVII

LADY PEGGY MAKES A FRIEND

One Sunday morning as Patricia was sitting in the Park watching the promenaders and feeling very lonely, she saw coming across the grass towards her Godfrey Elton accompanied by a pretty dark girl in an amber costume and a black hat. She bowed her acknowledgment of Elton's salute, and watched the pair as they passed on in the direction of Marble Arch.

Suddenly the girl stopped and turned. For a moment Elton stood irresolute, then he also turned and they both walked in Patricia's direction.

"Lady Peggy insisted that we should break in upon your solitude," said Elton, having introduced the two girls.

"You will forgive me, won't you?" said Lady Peggy, "but I so wanted to know you. You see Peter has the reputation of being invulnerable. We're all quite breathless from our fruitless endeavours to entangle him, and I wanted to see what you were like."

"I'm afraid you'll find I'm quite common-place," said Patricia, smiling. It was impossible to be annoyed with Lady Peggy. Her frankness was disarming, and her curiosity that of a child.

"I always say," bubbled Lady Peggy, "that there are only two men in London worth marrying, and they neither of them will have me, although I've worked most terribly hard."

"Who are they?" enquired Patricia.

"Oh! Goddy's one," she said, indicating Elton with a nod, "and Peter's the other. They are both prepared to be brothers to me; but they're not sufficiently generous to save me from dying an old maid."

"I must apologise for inflicting Peggy upon you, Miss Brent," said Elton; "but when you get to know her you may even like her."

"I'm not going to wait until I know her," said Patricia.

"Bravo!" cried Lady Peggy, clapping her hands. "That's a snub for you, Goddy," she said, then turning again to Patricia, "I know we're going to be friends, and you can afford to be generous to a defeated rival."

"I must warn you against Lady Peggy," said Elton quietly. "She's a most dangerous young woman."

"And now, Patricia," said Lady Peggy, "I'm going to call you Patricia, and you must call me Peggy. I want you to do me a very great favour."

Patricia looked at the girl, rather bewildered and breathless by the precipitancy with which she made friends. "I'm sure I will if I possibly can," she replied.

"I want you to come and lunch with us," said Lady Peggy.

"It's very kind of you, I shall be delighted some day," replied Patricia conventionally.

"No, now!" said Lady Peggy. "This very day that ever is. I want you to meet Daddy. He's such a dear. Goddy will come, so you won't be lonely," she added.

"I'm afraid I've got – " began Patricia.

"Please don't be afraid you've got anything," pleaded Lady Peggy. "If you've got an engagement throw it over. Everybody throws over engagements for me."

"But – " began Patricia.

"Oh, please don't be tiresome," said Lady Peggy, screwing up her eyebrows. "I shall have all I can do to persuade Goddy to come, and it's so exhausting."

"I will come with pleasure," said Elton, "if only to protect Miss Brent from your overwhelming friendliness."

"Oh, you odious creature!" cried Lady Peggy, then turning to Patricia she added with mock tragedy in her voice, "Oh! the love I've languished on that man, the gladness of the eyes I have turned upon him, the pressures of the hand I've been willing to bestow on him, and this is how he treats me." Then with a sudden change she added, "But you will come, won't you? I do so want you to meet Daddy."

"If the truth must be told," said Elton, "Peggy merely wants to be able to exploit you, as everybody is wanting to know about you and what you are like. Now she will be a celebrity, and able to describe you in detail to all her many men friends and to her women enemies."

Lady Peggy deliberately turned her back upon Elton.

"Now we are going to have another little walk and then we'll go and get our nosebags on," she announced. "No, you're not going to walk between us" – this to Elton – "I want to be next to Patricia," she announced.

Patricia felt bewildered by the suddenness with which Lady Peggy had descended upon her. She scarcely listened to the flow of small talk she kept up. She was conscious that Elton's hand was constantly at the salute, and that Lady Peggy seemed to be indulging in a series of continuous bows.

"Oh! do let's get away somewhere," cried Lady Peggy at length. "My neck aches, and I feel my mouth will set in a silly grin. Why on earth do we know so many people, Goddy? Do you know," she added mischievously, "I'd love to have a big megaphone and stand on a chair and cry out who you are. Then everybody would flock round, because they all want to know who it is that has captured Peter the Hermit, as we call him." She looked at Patricia appraisingly. "I think I can understand now," she said.

"Understand what?" said Patricia.

"What it is in you that attracts Peter."

Patricia gasped. "Really," she began.

"Yes, we girls have all been trying to make love to Peter and fuss over him, whereas you would rather snub him, and that's very good for Peter. It's just the sort of thing that would attract him." Then with another sudden change she turned to Elton and said, "Goddy, in future I'm going to snub you, then perhaps you'll love me."

Patricia laughed outright. She felt strongly drawn to this inconsequent child-girl. She found herself wondering what would be the impression she would create upon the Galvin House coterie, who would find all their social and moral virtues inverted by such directness of speech. She could see Miss Wangle's internal struggle, disapproval of Lady Peggy's personality mingling with respect for her rank.

"Oh, there's Tan!" Lady Peggy broke in upon Patricia's thoughts "Goddy, call to her, shout, wave your hat. Haven't you got a whistle?"

But Lady Tanagra had seen the party, and was coming towards them accompanied by Mr. Triggs.

Lady Peggy danced towards Lady Tanagra. "Oh, Tan, I've found her!" she cried, nodding to Mr. Triggs, whom she appeared to know.

"Found whom?" enquired Lady Tanagra.

"Patricia. The captor of St. Anthony, and we're going to be friends, and she's coming to lunch with me to meet Daddy, and Goddy's coming too, so don't you dare to carry him off. Oh, Mr. Triggs! isn't it a lovely day," she cried, turning to Mr. Triggs, who, hat in hand, was mopping his brow.

"Beautiful, me dear, beautiful," he exclaimed, beaming upon her and turning to shake hands with Patricia. "Well, me dear, how goes it?" he enquired. Then looking at her keenly he added, "Why, you're looking much better."

Patricia smiled, conscious that the improvement in her looks was not a little due to Lady Peggy and her bright chatter.

"You've become such a gad-about, Mr. Triggs, that you forget poor me," she said.

"Oh no, he doesn't!" broke in Lady Peggy, "he's always talking about you. Whenever I try to make love to him he always drags you in. I've really come to hate you, Patricia, because you seem to come between me and all my love affairs. Oh! I wish we could find Peter," cried Lady Peggy suddenly, "that would complete the party."

Patricia hoped fervently that they would not come across Bowen. She saw that it would make the situation extremely awkward.

"And now we must dash off for lunch," cried Lady Peggy, "or we shall be late and Daddy will be cross." She shook hands with Mr. Triggs, blew a kiss at Lady Tanagra and, before Patricia knew it, she was walking with Lady Peggy and Elton in the direction of Curzon Street.

Patricia was in some awe of meeting the Duke of Gayton. Hitherto she had encountered only the smaller political fry, friends and acquaintances of Mr. Bonsor, who had always treated her as a secretary. The Duke had been in the first Coalition Ministry, but had been forced to retire on account of a serious illness.

"Look whom I've caught!" cried Lady Peggy as she bubbled into the dining-room, where some twelve or fourteen guests were in process of seating themselves at the table. "Look whom I've caught! Daddy," she addressed herself to a small clean-shaven man, with beetling eyebrows and a broad, intellectual head. "It's the captor of Peter the Hermit."

The Duke smiled and shook hands with Patricia.

"You must come and sit by me," he said in particularly sweet and well-modulated voice, which seemed to give the lie to the somewhat stern and searching appearance of his eyes. "Peter is a great friend of mine."

Patricia was conscious of flushed cheeks as she took her seat next to the Duke. Later she discovered that these Sunday luncheons were always strictly informal, no order of precedence being observed. Young and old were invited, grave and gay. The talk was sometimes frivolous, sometimes serious. Sunday was, in the Duke's eyes, a day of rest, and conversation must follow the path of least resistance.

Whilst the other guests were seating themselves, Patricia looked round the table with interest. She recognised a well-known Cabinet Minister and a bishop. Next to her on the other side was a man with hungry, searching eyes, whose fair hair was cropped so closely to his head as to be almost invisible. Later she learned that he was a Serbian patriot, who had prepared a wonderful map of New Serbia, which he always carried with him. Elton had described it as "the map that passeth all understanding."

It embraced Bulgaria, Roumania, Transylvania, Montenegro, Greece, Albania, Bessarabia, and portions of other countries.

"It's a sort of game," Lady Peggy explained later. "If you can escape without his having produced his map, then you've won," she added.

At first the Duke devoted himself to Patricia, obviously with the object of placing her at her ease. She was fascinated by his voice. He had the reputation of being a brilliant talker; but Patricia decided that even if he had possessed the most commonplace ideas, he would have invested them with a peculiar interest on account of the whimsical tones in which he expressed them. He was a man of remarkable dignity of bearing, and Patricia decided that she would be able to feel very much afraid of him.

In answer to a question Patricia explained that she had only met Lady Peggy that morning.

"And what do you think of Peggy's whirlwind methods?" asked the Duke with a smile.

"I think they are quite irresistible," replied Patricia.

"She makes friends quicker than anyone I ever met and keeps them longer," said the Duke.

Presently the conversation turned on the question of the re-afforestation of Great Britain, springing out of a remark made by the Cabinet Minister to the Duke. Soon the two, aided by a number of other guests, were deep in the intricacies of politics. During a lull in the conversation the Duke turned to Patricia.

"I am afraid this is all very dull for you, Miss Brent," he remarked pleasantly.

"On the contrary," said Patricia, "I am greatly interested."

"Interested in politics?" questioned the Duke with a tinge of surprise in his voice.

Gradually Patricia found herself drawn into the conversation. For the first time in her life she found her study of Blue Books and her knowledge of statistics of advantage and use. The Cabinet Minister leaned forward with interest. The other guests had ceased their local conversation to listen to what it was that was so clearly interesting their host and the Cabinet Minister. In Patricia's remarks there was the freshness of unconvention. The old political war-horses saw how things appeared to an intelligent contemporary who was not trammelled by tradition and parliamentary procedure.