Miss Pim's camouflage

Front matter

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MISS PIM’S CAMOUFLAGE BY

LADY STANLEY

Chapter I

Miss Pim was hurt, — that is how she put it, — very much hurt. After a hard morning’s work in the garden, she had taken refuge ina deep easy-chair, in the library, glad to escape the direct rays of a very fervent sun. |

Miss Pim liked to call her weeding and hoeing “‘war-work.” ‘The two gardeners had long ago gone to the front: only old Cherryman and an incompetent boy remained. Miss Pim had therefore felt it to be her duty to assist in raising vegetables, and in that way to “help the country,” as she put it.

Miss Pim had always prided herself on her patriotism. “I come of a long line of soldiers,” she would say, straightening herself. ‘‘We even had a General in the family.”” General Pim had flourished early in the 1700’s, but there had been many military Pims since then, though of less exalted rank. Colonel Pim, Perdita Pim’s father, had died when she was still a young girl, but she fondly treasured his memory. “I took after my father, the Colonel, whereas George, my brother, was the image of my gentle mother. The Colonel often said to me: ‘Purr, you should have been the boy. George is cut out for a girl; but you - would have become another General Pim, and won Bavaria

And now! — to hear Lesley, her niece, who was lolling outside in a basket chair, say to the Vicar’s son: —

“Oh, Auntie Purr is just a vegetable marrow, — a dear, placid, lazy vegetable marrow, — and I shall become just like her if I keep on living this sheltered country life.”

“What plant are you like at present?” asked George Barton tenderly.

“‘Oh, a stinging nettle!” cried Lesley, jumping up. “Come, let’s finish our set before lunch.”” And away they ran, flinging laughter behind them.

Yes — Perdita Pim was hurt, not to say angry.

Her brother, Major Pim, a widower, had retired from the Army, and lived with his daughter Lesley at Torquay. When war was declared, he hastened to rejoin his old regiment, the house was let, and Lesley came to live at Froghurst Manor with Auntie Purr.

‘A vegetable marrow,” Miss Pim repeated, looking more like a ripe tomato, as she lay back in the armchair, very hot and ruffled. “Here have I been all the morning weeding the onion bed, working for my country, until I have a curious spinning in my head and my spine positively aches, and that chit of a girl calls me lazy!”

MISS PIM’S CAMOUFLAGE Miss Pim pressed back her head and suddenly felt a curious crick in the neck — “like a slight dislocation,” she said to herself. ‘‘Ah, well, the onion bed must wait; I cannot go out till after tea, the sun is far too hot.”

But Miss Pim never finished that onion bed. Luncheon was ready; the neat parlour maid sounded a carillon on graduated metal tubes. Lesley and the Vicar’s son were waiting in the hall for Auntie Purr; but Miss Pim felt strangely disinclined to move, she wanted to get up and change her shoes, smooth her hair, ruffled by her morning labours, but a strange lethargy held her, whether of body or will she could not say. Then Lesley ran in, calling, ‘“‘Auntie Purr.” She looked round and cried, “‘Where can she be?”

“Here, dear,” said Miss Pim, rather faintly.

“Where are you, Auntie?”

“Why, just here,” said Miss Pim testily, staring at rosy-cheeked Lesley.

“Playing hide-and-seek, Auntie Purr, and luncheon on the table!”

Miss Pim bade her go to lunch, adding, ‘*I will join you in a few minutes, dear.”

Lesley looked round the library bewildered; then she gently closed the door and returned to the dining-room. ‘Such an odd thing! I have been talking to Auntie Purr in the library and she is n’t there!”

*That’s an Irish bull,” said George Barton.

“No, it is n’t; she was hidden out of sight, but she answered me quite — quite naturally.”

“Did you expect her to answer unnaturally?”

“No,” said Lesley; “but it did seem odd, not to see her,’’

‘Did you go into the room and look round?”

“No; I just stood in the doorway.”

“Well, there’s nothing very surprising in that. Your aunt was behind the sofa or armchair, packing up something. Are we to wait for lunch?” ,

“No; she said she would join us.”” And Lesley sat down, but the puzzled look lingered.

Miss Pim, still feeling “a touch of the sun,” slowly went to her room. Her maid had neglected to put hot water there, — “‘just as though I could do ‘war-work’ all the morning and dispense with hot water.” She rang, pressing her finger unusually long on the electric bell.

Jane hurried in with the hot water, a guilty flush on her cheek. She looked round and exclaimed, “There, now! I could have swore she rang.”

“T did ring,” said Miss Pim severely. ‘‘I ought to have found the hot water awaiting me.”

Jane stared round the room.

“Here, take my skirt and have it brushed, that onion bed is so sandy.” And Miss Pim stepped out of her neat serge skirt, holding it out to Jane; but Jane stood near the washing-stand, ignoring Miss Pim, her red cheek mottled by pallor, her eyes rolling. What is the matter, Jane? Here, take this skirt.” Miss Pim again held it out, then dropped it on to the floor. Jane snatched it up, and rushed out, of the room, leaving Miss Pim disturbed by the girl’s foolish behaviour.

Slowly she washed her hands, and then seated herself before the dressing-table, distressed at feeling so tired. “‘It’s quite ridiculous, after all; I only weeded half that onion bed. I cannot think what’s come over me, I must hurry down to lunch, and take a little whiskey-and-soda, instead of barley water. Now for my hair; it must be all in wisps.” Miss Pim took up her ivory-backed hairbrush and gazed into the large shield-shaped mirror. There she saw reflected the dear familiar room, the pretty chintz-covered couch, the Sheraton bedstead with the blue satin eider-down coverlet spread over the snowy counterpane; she saw white bookshelves laden with treasured volumes of her girlhood; but, terrible to say, she saw no reflection of herself nor of the chair she sat on. Miss Pim rose trembling, clutching the dressing-table; as she rose, the chair appeared in the mirror. Miss Pim turned to the bell; then, remembering Jane’s face, she paused and tottered to the chintz-covered couch;

from there her eyes travelled fearfully to the mirror. She could see neither herself nor the couch! This was something altogether beyond Miss Pim’s power of conception. Her first thought was self-concealment; then, remembering with a pang she was only too effectually concealed, she walked furtively to the door and locked it. Then, like a stage conspirator, she stole towards a mirror set in the wardrobe, and with clasped hands sought in vain for the well-known reflection of a sandy-haired, rather stout woman of fifty: where were those kindly round greenish eyes, which had met hers ever since she could remember; that small nose she secretly ‘“‘rather liked”; the friendly mouth, always ready to smile back at her? It was truly appalling: “for I am in existence,” wailed Miss Pim, searching for her handkerchief, which was in the pocket of her serge skirt. That serge skirt which Jane, at that very time, was brushing and shaking in the sewing-room.

“She spoke just as plain as I now speak to you,” said Jane to Bessie, the young housemaid, who sat in the old rocking-chair, cuddling a tortoise-shell kitten. “°Take my skirt,’ and there wasn’t no Miss Pim ~ and no skirt! Then, all of a sudden this skirt drops of itself on the carpet, and there was n’t a soul in the room, only a voice, and that Miss Pim’s.’”’ Bessie giggled and rocked herself. ‘‘It’s all very fine, your jeering there, you’d have fainted and had hysterics. All my blood turned, but I kept my ’ed. I picked up this skirt and left the room, shutting the door on the voice.”

Suddenly Miss Pim’s bell “went.” The maids looked at each other. “You go, Bessie, my girl, whilst I finish this dress.”

Bessie, who was very anxious to see invisibility for herself, ran upstairs. Her heart beat more quickly when she heard “‘ the voice’’; she knocked and entered. Miss Pim, quite substantial, was lying on the couch.

**Please tell Miss Lesley that I am a little exhausted by the heat, and therefore I shall not come down to lunch; and tell Mr. Barton that I should be much obliged if, after lunch, he would ask his father to call on me; I must see him on very particular business.”

Miss Pim had recovered her visibility: lying back on the couch and stretching back her head, she had felt a slight dislocating jar, and reappeared; but the experience had been too solemn and dreadful to bear all alone. She must confide in the Vicar, a holy man, who could tell her if this disappearance was what is called “‘being possessed”’; possibly he could suggest some form of exorcism, “if you can exorcise something which is n’t there,” thought Miss Pim. |

Very slowly and timidly she made her way down to the library, as though she might, by some unexpected movement, cause her re-disappearance.

Lesley came running to her in unfeigned concern: Oh, Auntie Purr, you are not ill? It’s that horrid gardening in a broiling sun. I am sure it was too much for you. Do go and lie down.”

“‘T feel quite myself now, dear,” said Miss Pim. *T shall leave off gardening for to-day, and sit here; I have plenty to do, all the penny club accounts, and the book catalogue, but I want to see the Vicar; I have some — some business to talk over with him.”

“Yes; George has run over to tell his father. Do have an early tea, Auntie Purr. Lie back in your chair and read some of the books that came yesterday from the library.”

“Perhaps I will,” said Miss Pim faintly. She had not recovered from the shock, and really felt incapable of adding up school pennies, or cataloguing books of the school lending library.

She lay there in the large leather armchair, where Colonel Pim used to sit smoking, long ago in those “laughing days.”’ She recalled his tender look, when he called her his “little General Pim, V.C.”; “and here I am, cowardly as a rabbit, without nerve enough to face the housemaid!’’ But then, she remembered, it was because she could not face herself, or any one else, that she had been so upset. ‘‘ What is better than

Io presence of mind?” — “Absence of body.” The silly old riddle recurred to her. Absence of body! That was just it, the most blood-freezing experience any one could have. She might have thought it a delusion, a brain attack caused by the sun; but Lesley had not seen her, when she sat there, and Jane nearly had a fit when she spoke to her. No; it was a fact. Miss Pim could not deceive herself; she had, for an appreciable time, become invisible, and it was very important that no one should know it, — no one but the dear Vicar, who could be trusted to keep it a secret.

Chapter II

My dear Miss Pim, I hope nothing is amiss,” cried the Reverend Eustace Barton, entering the library. *‘T am delighted to see you; in fact, I had promised myself the pleasure of a visit to Froghurst Manor to-day; we have a great deal to talk over, have we not? Those two dear young people — so devoted — sO eS | :

“Oh, Mr. Barton, Mr. Barton, — there is or has been something very much amiss, and I feel I must tell you, just you and only you.”

Then Miss Pim recounted her strange experience. The Vicar, a very solid, sensible country gentleman, with a legal-looking face, keen kindly eyes, and close-cropped grey hair, listened patiently to Miss Pim; he liked and greatly respected her, and her story gave him pain. ‘‘Such a sensible woman, too; the very last woman one would have thought to give way to delusions.”

“Well?” said Miss Pim, anxiously looking at him; ‘vou are silent? Speak, tell me what it all means.” Miss Pim drew out her handkerchief.

The Vicar looked steadily at Miss Pim.

“You really want my opinion? Well, send for

Dr. Mulready, or go to London and see a good man; perhaps that would be better, Mulready is rather a gossip. Take a holiday, my dear Miss Pim; you are run down. Oh, we shall miss you in the Parish, but we must n’t be greedy. Go away and rest. Rest,” he said, almost fiercely, keeping a quelling eye upon her, as much as to say, “ Disappear, now, if you dare!”’

Miss Pim was shocked. ‘‘So, then, you do not believe me? Of course, I ought to have realised that it does seem unbelievable. I would n’t have believed you, I suppose, if you had told me that story.”

“TI don’t in the least blame you, Miss Pim; you just can’t help it. All you must do is to get rest and complete change of scene.”

‘But it 15 true, my dear Vicar. I wish with all my heart and soul I were mistaken. If zt returns, what am I to do? It may never return, but — if I again become — invisible — tell me”? — and here her voice broke, — “‘tell me what to do.”

The Reverend Eustace Barton felt annoyed. He Was a very matter-of-fact, sensible man; he felt he could solve most problems, and was ready and willing to settle the worldly and spiritual affairs of each one of his parishioners; but to sit and talk nonsense with Miss Pim was exceedingly distasteful to him. His son was engaged to her niece, and if Miss Pim’s mind was failing, he should seriously object to his son marrying into the family. Mr. Barton’s face took on his most severe, legal look.

“IT have a good deal of work, especially to-day,” he began, looking fixedly at Miss Pim, ‘and if there is nothing else you wish to talk of, I think I must go.

A curious feeling of triumph now came over Miss

Pim: the Vicar was in her power; he doubted her word, or her sanity; it rested with her to convince him; she would share the dreadful secret with him. Seeing is believing, but this was a case of not seeing in order to believe. Yes, Miss Pim had an unmistakable glint of triumph in her eyes. She leant forward in her chair and spoke with measured solemnity.

“Mr. Barton, one moment, if you please; look at me fixedly. It is necessary that I should disappear; only remember, I am there all the time. Now!” And Miss Pim leant back, stiffened her neck, her kindly face took on a strained, anxious expression, and she disappeared! And the chair she sat in also disappeared!

To say that the good Vicar was astonished would be a feeble way of putting it. He felt physical insecurity, he stepped back cautiously, clutching the back of his chair, as though he expected to be swept away, with Miss Pim, into nothingness.

i4

““Can you see me?” said her voice.

“No, no, I do not,” cried the Vicar, very nervously.

“Now, Mr. Barton, please come forward and take my hand, I am reaching it out to you,” continued Miss Pim.

Mr. Barton, greatly disturbed, groped his way to the invisible lady, starting violently when he felt a hand on his coat sleeve.

“There, now, stop; put your hand on my toattee follow up my arm; there, now; you see I am here, sitting in the armchair.”

““No, I don’t see; that is, I don’t understand.”

‘Just so,” burst in Miss Pim, “neither do I understand. In fact, I should not know that I am invisible. Has the chair gone also?” she enquired anxiously.

*You and the chair are — out of sight,” olin the Vicar.

“Well, go back to your seat, and I will reappear. It is dificult to carry on a connected conversation knowing yourself to be invisible; it is awkward, and if any one came in, it would seem as though you had been talking to yourself.”

Mr. Barton tiptoed backwards to his chair, feeling very hot and upset. He carefully dabbed his forehead and the back of his neck with his handkerchief.

Then suddenly Miss Pim was there, and her eyes said, “I told you so,” triumphantly. But the triumph soon gave place to a very real look of sorrow.

““Oh, tell me, is this an evil possession, the work of — of Satan. Dear Vicar, have I—a—a—devil?”

But the Reverend Mr. Barton had recovered himself; here was a wonderful phenomenon undoubtedly, and it was for him to consider it and advise.

“‘T don’t think it is reasonable to put down to — the Evil One what we cannot explain. My dear Miss Pim, this new — faculty — you have suddenly become possessed of is amazing and mysterious, but we need not associate it with evil. You say it occurred for the first time to-day. And so everything you touch disappears?”

“Yes, it is awfully — extraordinary; and no one would believe it, simply from reading or hearing about it; it is unbelievable.”

“It is n’t a malady, for you do not look ill; it’s — it’s just miraculous.”

‘But, all the same, it is very dreadful,” groaned Miss Pim. ‘‘I have attended church regularly, and been to most of your week-day services. I have worked hard to produce food in the garden, I have done all the club accounts, I have —” and here Miss Pim buried her full round face in her ample handkerchief.

Mr. Barton moved impatiently. “But you appear to persist in believing this mysterious power is evil, and if not a power for evil, at any rate, a punishment for some imaginary sin. I do not share your view of it; I have quite a different opinion about it.”

Miss Pim looked up; her middle-aged face wore a very young, a quite childlike expression of surprise, interest, and hope.

“Yes; a very different answer to the enigma presents itself to me,” continued the Vicar, who was now quite at his ease. He had been called on for help and advice; he was ready as ever to give both. At first he was taken aback, but every problem has its solution, and the Reverend Eustace Barton was ready now to give Miss Pim what she sought. Hungry sheep never looked up to him in vain — he fed them.

“This — er — this faculty of becoming invisible I consider a distinct call. Yes, a call to your patriotism. Something great is expected of you. You are to dedicate this — er — gift — to your country.”

Miss Pim’s feelings were mingled; astonishment and exaltation combined rendered her speechless. She kept her eyes fixed on the Vicar, her mouth slightly opened.

“Yes,” continued the Reverend Mr. Barton; “this power has been conferred on you for some high purpose. I cannot tell you how it should be utilised;

experts must decide. What you have to do, and that without delay, is to go up to London and offer yourself to the War Office.”” Miss Pim gasped. ‘Oh, yes! I know the difficulties, but we are more intelligent at the War Office than we were,” continued the worthy Vicar, waving his hand; “‘a new idea has some chance of — er — gaining admittance there. You must go to the War Office at once.”? And Mr. Barton looked rather fierce, as though Miss Pim required coercion.

“But what can I do at the War Office?” said Miss Pim helplessly.

“Disappear, of course,” said Mr. Barton, settling his clerical collar, and straightening his clerical waistcoat.

“But disappearing will not impress — officers,” said Miss Pim feebly, feeling an hysterical inclination to giggle.

Mr. Barton looked his sternest. “They'll have to — be impressed; you must disappear before Sir Robert Williamson himself. I’ll tell you what, Miss Pim. I will accompany you, to-morrow, to the War Office. My nephew, invalided from. the front, is working there; we’ll start with him.”

“But I do not understand, in the very least, what you expect of me; what would be expected of me?”

“* That I cannot tell you — er — my dear lady; you must simply show your patriotism by offering your unique services to your country. Remember — er — that a soldier’s eye is on you,” said the Vicar dramatically, pointing to General Pim, a pale-faced man in a peruke, with very dark eyes.

The portrait in pastel had faded in the sunshine of some one hundred and twenty summers. The red coat had become pink, the flesh tints were bleached; only the eyes remained vivid and dark, staring back at whoever stared into their depths. Miss Pim clasped her hands as she gazed at her pale ancestor, and then and there dedicated herself to her country, making her silent vows with closed eyes.

“To-morrow, by the 10.18 express, we’ll meet at the station,” she heard the Vicar say; “‘and now, I must really hurry away, to make arrangements.” And Miss Pim was alone.

It would be difficult to convey to the reader that good lady’s feelings. Confused they certainly were; courageous, exalted, and nevertheless timid. Perhaps we shall best sum up Miss Pim’s state of mind by saying that she was exceedingly anxious to do her duty and to show her patriotism. It cannot be denied that she would have preferred to show it in weeding the kitchen garden, but Mr. Barton had shown her a better way, and she would follow it.

Chapter III

Les.ey thought her aunt’s visit to London very odd and unexpected. ‘“‘Perhaps she is going up to see a doctor, poor dear, and does not want me to know.”

She was confirmed in this surmise, when Auntie Purr refused Lesley’s escort, in an embarrassed way. ‘“No, my dear; I have some private business, or I should rather say public business, to attend to, — not exactly public, not at present. I am sure it should be considered confidential business, — something which concerns me,”’ said Miss Pim, confused.

“It sounds as though you were eloping —to a registry office,”’ laughed Lesley; “‘going off, perhaps, with the Vicar.”

Miss Pim blushed as red as an Oriental poppy — Lesley was very “teasing,” she thought; and when it became known that Mr. Barton had accompanied her to town, Lesley would tease her aunt still more.

Miss Pim resolved to keep her own counsel, however, and allow matters to mature. “‘I can always explain later on,” she said to herself. But she did not feel easy till she sat in the 10.18 express and was off on her non-stop journey to town.

Mr. Barton’s presence was very reassuring. He managed to make her feel that “‘disappearing” was, if not quite a normal occurrence, at any rate, something natural, a special gift, like ventriloquism, or the phenomenal calculating powers of so-called prodigies.

Mr. Barton was so “‘balanced” and “‘sane’’; she felt steadied by his kindly presence. And Mr. Barton was immensely enjoying himself. He knew he was offering a prodigy to the War Office, and that but for him all the potentialities of this amazing discovery would have been lost.

Lieutenant Ellis, at the War Office, came down to his uncle, in the big waiting-room. He was a thoroughly good fellow, and though he was bored by his uncle, he never showed it. He greeted Miss Pim just as though she were eighteen, remarkably pretty, wore high heels and silk stockings, morning décolletage, and a fetching hat. Mr. Barton took him aside and in a low voice told him of Miss Pim’s miraculous power and how it was absolutely necessary to secure an interview with Sir Robert Williamson.

Lieutenant Ellis looked, his uncle thought, uncommonly stupid. “Oh, I say! But I never see Sir Robert; I can’t approach him.”

“But there are others who can. Look here, Bertie, you must get us into a private room, and bring some War Office bigwigs,—a Colonel or two and a General, — and Miss Pim will disappear.”

Bertie grinned; then he thought rapidly. He knew a jolly Colonel in one Department who would think it tremendous sport, and two other pals, who might pass as Colonels; anyhow, it would all be screamingly funny. He’d risk it.

“Uncle,” he said, “I’m your man; follow me.”

**Miss Pim, will you step this way.”’ Solemnly they mounted a broad stone staircase, and were ushered into a small room.

The cells of officials, I am convinced, have a great deal to do with shaping the official mind and manner. And why not? We know that ordinary bees’ eggs laid in a particular cell produce royal bees; if bees put their eggs in official cells they would produce official bees; that is to say, bees with enlarged heads and diminished brain power.

Bertie Ellis was less official than many, and this was his uncle. Besides, it was not far from the - luncheon hour, and he was to meet at a delightful restaurant a delightful girl who worked at the Admiralty and wore the newest, smartest frocks. So Bertie was not quite so official that day; he was still a human being. He left Miss Pim and his uncle to fetch his friends, and soon returned with three very correct young officers in faultless khaki, and a stout, jolly.colonel with a very red face. Mr. Barton then made a short address about Miss Pim, in rather a showman-like way. The three young lieutenants made really convulsive efforts to keep a War Office demeanour, almost breaking down when Mr. Barton said, “I will now ask Miss Pim to seat herself in the middle of the room and disappear.”

“Not on the floor,”’ said the gallant Colonel, hastening forward with a large office chair.

“Certainly not on the floor,” replied the Vicar severely. ‘‘Miss Pim, please be seated.”

Miss Pim, very pale and nervous, looked at her audience; two of the younger men had pressed their handkerchiefs to their lips. With sorrowful dignity Miss Pim sat down, leant back in her chair, and disappeared, chair and all.

There was a deep silence, broken by Mr. Barton. ‘Will you speak, Miss Pim, to show you are here amidst us, though invisible.’ Mr. Barton spoke exactly as people do at spiritualist seances.

“Yes, I am here, and everything appears to me just the same,” said Miss Pim’s voice.

“Will you now be good enough to rise, and shake hands with the Colonel,” ordered Mr. Barton.

The Colonel backed behind the table. ‘Oh, I say! Choose one of the young ’uns,” he cried. But Miss Pim had him by the hand before he could escape from the room, and every officer found himself in succession shaking hands with ‘‘something.”

Just then the door opened and a lean, old staff officer walked in with a bundle of papers.

Bertie jumped up. ‘‘Sir, excuse me, Sir, but there is something awfully strange going on. You ought to know. Sir Robert Williamson ought to know. By Jove, Sir, it’s lucky you came. I—I should n’t have dared to ask you to come,” said Bertie boyishly.

The officer looked at him kindly with shrewd eyes. “Perhaps you will introduce me to your reverend friend, and then explain. But you must make it short; you know how pressed I am.” |

“Sir Hector Russell — my uncle— Mr. Barton, Vicar of Froghurst.”

At the great name of Hector Russell, Miss Pim felt faint, and wished she might remain invisible, so great was her emotion. The Vicar then briefly explained the case, dropping his rather portentous manner. Sir Hector listened acutely; it really is the best way to describe his keen, intense attitude. Then in a very gentle, quiet way he asked, “‘And the lady, you say, is here in this room?”

“Miss Pim, please to reappear,” said the Vicar, rather tremulously.

And Miss Pim became visible, seated on the chair in the middle of the office. Sir Hector stood before her, silent, as though in a trance; then, looking at Miss Pim reassuringly, he put out his hand.

“This is very wonderful, almost unnerving; it is quite extraordinarily kind of you coming to us.” Then turning to the officers, he said, ““Gentlemen, not a word of this to any one, in the War Office or outside — that must clearly be understood.”” The Colonel and the Lieutenants murmured their acquiescence. ‘‘And here are the papers, Colonel, to look at when you get time. Gentlemen, I will not detain you.” And the door closed, leaving Sir Hector with the Vicar and Miss Pim.

“Of course Sir Robert Williamson must meet you; he is in Committee now, but it would be better for him to see you away from here. What do you say to our motoring out to Froghurst on Sunday afternoon, and you could give us a cup of tea?”

Sir Hector asked this so easily, in such a friendly way, Miss Pim felt quite reassured. Sir Hector then begged her to observe the greatest secrecy about it —not to let any one know of this extraordinary power, and not to publish the visit of Sir Robert Williamson and himself. Miss Pim assured him of her discretion, and Sir Hector escorted her and Mr. Barton to the great hall below.