Simpson

Dedication

To all Simpsons — whether spelt with a “p” or without — this book is dedicated : though they, and others, are warned of the fact that it deals almost entirely with love, so that those who feel no interest in this great passion, which still “rules the camp, the court, the grove,” are recommended to the study of Blue Books, or other printed matter of that description. For myself I have always loved love: made a fine art of the practice of it : delighted to write of it. Thus, in dedicating this book to all Simpsons, I dedicate it most particularly to those who are, or study to become, lovers.

Elinor Mordaunt.

Part I

I. Simpson adventures into the Open Country . 3

II. Finds the Enchanted Land and falls under

the Spell of Fountains 12

III. Lilian Fane’s Most Persistent Endeavours are

put to Nought by the Rising of a New Star ; and the Prospective Club gains a New Member . 27

IV. The Lease of Fountains Court is obtained and

the Plan of Campaign is agreed upon . . 42

V. The Club is inaugurated — and invaded . . 52

VI. Mr. Banks flutters his Wings for the Admiration of Mrs. Strang and her Two Daughters 68

VII. Patience goes unrewarded, though Persistence

. wins Much 80

VIII. A Mystic and a New Member 88

IX. Alarms and Excursions 101

X. The First Club Dinner, to which Each Member' may invite One Female Guest, is pregnant with Results for the One Member whose Guest invites HERSELF 109

XI. A Twentieth-Century Courtship during which

the Millionaire’s Son is put through his Paces 127

XII. Van Rennen arranges for his Own Banishment

to Siberia 143

vii

CONTENTS

XIII. Desmond makes his Peace, throwing over-

board, without a Single Qualm, all the . Tenets of the Club 153

XIV. Lady Van Rennen investigates the Affairs of

the Kerkerod Company: and arranges for Another and a very Different Partnership 159

Part II

XV. Some Fruit of the First Dinner Party, by which

Strang is torn with Many Diverse Passions 169

XVI. Simpson acts as an Embassy to the Gipsies’ Camp; finding in himself an unexpected Affinity for Vagabondage 181

XVII. Gilbert Strang flings his Black Bowler over

the Windmill . . . .■ . . .199

XVIII. The News of the Second Deserter reaches the Club, and Banks’s Young Love is temporarily

NIPPED IN THE BUD 206

XIX. A Gipsy in Villadom; and the Suffering conse-

quent UPON FORCING SQUARE PEGS INTO ROUND

Holes 214

XX. A Soul in Prison, and a Small Life lost . 227 XXL Desmond’s Book reaches a Triumph an? Ending 239

XXII. And is followed by the Tragedy which treads

on the Heels of Most Triumphs . . . 247

XXIII. The Second Dinner Party: which ends in the Return of Two Travellers and the Departure of a Third 263

viii

CONTENTS

XXIV. Desmond’s Sweetheart starts Life afresh,

TO THE VERY BEST OF HER ABILITIES . .282

XXV. Simpson’s Rustic Peace is again broken . 288

XXVI. Strang makes Some Efforts to play the Man 298

XXVII. But it appears that his Wife has already

taken Matters into her Own Hands . 306

XXVIII. Banks receives yet Another, and Most Unexpected Check 312

XXIX. Agar Finch forsakes the Club for what

SEEM LIKE VERY INSUFFICIENT REASONS . 33 1

XXX. Of a Fashionable Wedding and a True Mar-

riage 338

Part III

XXXI. Lydia Strang takes her Fate into her Own

Hands once more . 353

XXXII. Banks is accepted with Moderate Enthusiasm 360

XXXIII. Parrifleet and the Lady of the Opal . . 368

XXXIV. Fountains Court becomes Simpson’s Own

Property 377

XXXV. A Possession that renders him not altogether Free from Discontent . . . 390

XXXVI. He meets his Former Landlady for the

First Time 397

XXXVII. And books a Most Important Engagement . 414

Chapter I Simpson Adventures Into The Open Country

‘‘Which way now?” enquired Simpson. For the moment the driver ceased to urge his horse forward ; it had stopped, and stood puffing, with an exaggerated air of exhaustion, its fore legs stuck straight out in front of it ; while the man had risen in his seat and was scanning the landscape ; his stubbly underlip — for it was Wednesday, and he was in the weekly meridian between a beard and a clean shave — protruding, his eyes screwed up into mere shadowy slits, devoid of intelligence, beneath their penthouse of bushy brows and dilapidated hat brim.

At Simpson’s question he took off his hat, examined it curiously, as though it belonged to some one else : wiped it out with his handkerchief : passed his sleeve across his brow, and scratched his head before replying, with drawling deliberation : —

“ Well, you see, it ’s this fashion. It may be tu th’ right, then again it may be tu th’ left: I’m danged if I don’t disremember. It ’s a powerful time since I corned along this way ; an’ there were n’t not no signposts in them days.”

“ But the signpost says nothing of Fountains Court,” put in Finch rather impatiently: “it says to Market Charlford and Long Ilkley.”

“ But it sort o’ gets me muddled up, for all that,” replied the driver ; then replaced his headgear, knotted his reins to the rail of the splashboard with an air of finality, took out his pipe and began to fill it, ramming home the tobacco with a stubby fourth finger.

“ If I could mind me whether Fountains be on the road to Long Ilkley, or on the road to Charlford, well, there we ’ud be. But I was n’t along there not more than once, at the burryin’ o’ the old lady ; an’ Mr. Thompson — that was Reannie’s steward — was that free-handed with the liquor — lashin’s an’ leavin’s there was, better nor any wedding — that I don’t seem to have any clear recollection, so to speak, o’ which way’s which. It seems to me, if I might make so bold, that, seein’ as that things be as they be, the best plan ’ud be for you gentlemen to bide along here quietly till some ’un comes by as we can ask the way of. Better nor stavangering off, the Lord only knows where, up an’ down them there danged hills.”

“ Seems to me as if we might wait till doomsday.” Finch flung himself impatiently to his feet, a slim, nervous figure in his grey flannel suit ; and turning round, stood with one foot on the seat of the ancient victoria. “Two Paradises were as one to dwell in Paradise alone,” he quoted. “And barring your 4

INTO THE OPEN COUNTRY august presence, Simpson, and that old reprobate on the box, it seems as if that ’s what is likely to happen. Did you ever see such slumberous, sleek beauty, and such solitude? All within thirty miles of London, too. I wonder who on earth ever treads the flowery way to Long Ilkley and Market Charlford, or are they mere figments of the imagination ! But, by Jove, what colour! Did you ever see anything like that pinkish haze, where the trees are just coming into leaf, as though spring had touched them with rose-tipped fingers; and the breath of green across the larches. ‘Trees, hills and dales’ — but, hang it all, not so much as a chimney. And, ’pon my soul, I believe that present solitude, and the memory of past beers, have lulled our Jehu to sleep. Now, what are we to do? I’d sit here with all the joy in the world and make a sketch if I had my things with me; but I haven’t — and meanwhile there’s Fountains Court. Have n’t you anything to suggest ? — George ! ’ ’

The name came with a vehement burst of impatience.

Very deliberately Simpson inserted two fingers in the pocket of the tan waistcoat which lay in such a calm and un wrinkled expanse across his broad person, and took out half a sovereign.

“Tails to the right, and heads to the left,” he said. Tossed, caught the coin, and opened his hand.

“ Heads — the road to Long Ilkley.” He rose leisurely, and slipped out of his light overcoat. 5

“ Come, Agar, we ’ll walk a mile or two anyhow, and see what happens.”

“ Leave the sleeping beauty to be overgrown with brambles and briars — right you are. Adios, Bacchuscum-Morpheus.” And he jumped out of the carriage, while Simpson leant forward and touched the driver on the arm.

“ You ’ll wait till we come back,” he said, speaking very slowly and distinctly, as though to a child ; then joined his companion, who had already started off down the deep-rutted lane which called itself the road to Long Ilkley.

The air was of an exquisite freshness and purity. The sky true spring blue ; flecked with white clouds among which the wind rioted ; so engrossed in its pastime that it left all else, save the very tops of the trees, unstirred.

Either side of the road were high banks, rank with the neutral-tinted grass of a past season ; shot through and through with the brilliant green of a new growth : the glossy arrow-heads of lords-and-ladies ; red and brown fungi ; masses of wild hellebore ; the vivid lances of oncoming bluebells ; and here and there — where the red-brown soil had broken away leaving a comparatively clear space above a disintegrated mass of roots — a tiny milkwhite flower against a background of clear, pale green, trefoil-like leaves.

“ Pretty stuff that,” remarked Finch, pointing with his stick. “ Something like what we expect our first loves to be, and never find them. Something like 6

INTO THE OPEN COUNTRY

Shelley, ‘all exquisite,’ don’t you know. I’d like to paint a Virgin crowned with them, throned on a carpet of them ; and, oddly enough, against an Italian background, an emblem of my sophisticated self, breaking through my poetic fancies. But, by Jove, things of that sort make a fellow feel like saying his prayers.”

“Wood-sorrel,” remarked Simpson placidly, and moved on ; a stolid figure in his rather new tweeds, over which the aura of a black frock coat and top hat still seemed to hang.

Again Finch stared for a moment ; then laughed : “’Pon my soul, George, you’re the most unexpected person I ever met. I enthuse about the stuff, but it might be a mangel-wurzel bloom for all I know ; and out you come, pat, with wood-sorrel. It ’s uncanny to find a person immersed in the ways of bulls and bears, trekking off in such an unexpected fashion — you might be a reincarnation of Sylvanius himself.” And he glanced rather patronisingly, though with evident affection, at the unemotional figure of his friend.

The satire, though kindly enough, was obvious. Nothing could have been further removed from the popular ideal of the swart, lichen-crusted god of woods and forests than the prosperous stock-broker ; already a little inclined to put on flesh — which accounted for the smooth perfection of his waistcoat ; more than inclined to baldness, as was shown when he removed his hat and carried it in his hand ; with 7 a square chin, and heavy jaw, whose Georgian outline was discounted by a certain austerity of the firm, straight mouth, and brilliancy of the rather small blue eyes, which were the one arresting feature of Simpson’s face.

For the rest he had topped forty; had, so far, escaped matrimony by a protective instinct for perfection ; cherishing beneath his matter-of-fact exterior an idealism which preferred loneliness to disillusion : the delicate perceptions of a young girl, combined with the shrewd good sense of a successful man of business.

They had reached the top of the hill by now; Simpson moving steadily forward ; his companion veering from side to side of the road like a foraging dog — in search of new treasures, and peeps of landscape ; climbing the banks, and focusing each fresh view from beneath his arched hands.

For a while the road ran level ; then dipped suddenly. And there beneath them lay a village ; a medley of red and grey roofs as tightly packed round the squat, square-towered church as a rustic posy; fringed with leafless elms, purple with buds ; overhung by a cloud of cawing rooks and a mist of blue smoke ; the pervading pastel-tints relieved only by the fluttering lines of washing which form an integral part of such a landscape.

“ We can ask here,” said Simpson.

“ And, pray the Lord, get something to drink,” added Finch piously: straight on the road at the 8

INTO THE OPEN COUNTRY very thought, his fine, lean profile nosing forward like that of a greyhound.

The village proved itself as Long Ilkley. And in the very middle of it, alongside the stocks, a brave new signpost took up the legend afresh — “ To Little Ilkley.”

“ How many more Ilkleys ? ” queried Finch. “ A curiously uninspiring name ; anyhow, here’s a pub.” And he turned in beneath the swinging Red Lion, with Simpson at his heels.

Over the beer and bread and cheese, they bored a slow trickle of information out of their host. Fountains Court was not “ more nor half a mile, or maybe a mile — happen two.” But there was a stile in the village itself, from which a short cut ran across the fields and through a hanger ; intersecting the drive halfway, and saving the long walk round by the lodge.

“ But the missus bain’t not there,” he added ; and glanced at them curiously out of his moist little eyes.

“ I know that,” responded Simpson rather curtly.

But once started, the man’s expression of slow thoughts was as difficult to stop as a leaky tap.

“ Ain’t been there, not nothing ter speak of, since the master died. No company, no nothing. I don’t hold with such ways; the gentry has a duty ’wards the like o’ we, the same as we ’ave a duty ’wards them ; and it ain’t not good for trade, neither. But there you are ; these be queer stavangering days for womenfolk, there ain’t no mistake about that, what 9 with breaking windows, an’ what not. An’ not a foot of weeds to ’er, the very first Sunday as she come ter church arter the burry in’ : just a bit o’ a black veil to ’er chin. Weeds ain’t what they was in my young days, nor widows neither, nor wives neither. Such goin’s on there ain’t not knowing t’other from which. ‘A widow?’ says I, askin’ Mr. Thompson, as was the Reannies’ butler, concerning a young madame as was staying at Fountains, six years back. 4 A widow o’ sorts,’ says ’ee : ‘ though I ’m danged if I know whether it be grass or sod.’ 4 Grass or sod,’ ’ee says, says ’ee. A rare ’un for ’is joke was Mr. Thompson. 4 Grass or sod ’ ! That ’s a good ’un — 4 grass or sod ’ ! ” And the man smote his thigh, in appreciation of Mr. Thompson’s oft-repeated witticism. 44 A good ’un that, a danged good ’un.”

44 We must be going.” Simpson threw a halfcrown on the table and nodded to the rosy-faced maid who had served them.

The innkeeper, roused from his trance of joyful memories, followed them to the door. 44 Maybe you ’d like a boy to go along with you to show you the way,” he suggested.

44 Maybe you thinkin’ o’ takin’ Fountains Court. Me an’ my ferther afore me, we served the housekeeper’s room and ’all with beer for nigh on fifty years past; if you’ll excuse me mentioning it, sir; no offence meant, and none taken.”

44 That’s all right,” said Simpson vaguely, and io

INTO THE OPEN COUNTRY moved on after Finch; while the proprietor of the Red Lion followed him with meditative eyes.

“ A furriner, a danged furriner ; ” and he spat to show his contempt. “A furriner from Lunnon.”

“ A foreigner’s a chap as comes from France or India or such like,” remarked the girl, who was fresh from a board school.

“ Argufying with me — argufying with me, are you ? ” The innkeeper turned, and regarded her with cold scorn. “You as ain’t never been further than Little Ilkley since you was hatched. Did you ever see a native of these ’ere parts as ever wore his leggins splayed out over his feet that fashion ? You tell me now. I ’ve travelled a fairish bit in my time, an’ I know what I know; an’ if I says a thing, that’s enough. Now just you get them there dirty crocks out o’ the way, and don’t you waste your time argufying with yer betters. An’ mind me ! The next time I catch you winkin’ at any o’ my customers when I ’m tellin’ ’em a story, I ’ll clout yer ’ead for you.”

“ I did n’t wink.” The crimson of the girl’s cheeks flooded into her neck and down over her bare arms.

“ Well, yer did ; ’cause I saw yer in the glass myself, an’ what I sees I sees! It wur only ter that there long chap, an’ ’ee didn’t pay; so ’ee don’t count, or else I ’d give yer what for, let me tell yer that, my girl. Winking at a male man, an’ givin’ me the lie ter my face when I talks of furriners! You ’ll be wantin’ the vote next — you , by gummy!”

Chapter II

SIMPSON FINDS THE ENCHANTED LAND AND FALLS UNDER THE SPELL OF FOUNTAINS

The stile, and path, well worn to the width of two by Sunday sweethearts, was easy enough to find and follow: meandering leisurely along through undulating green fields — whose whole trend lay downwards — till they ended in a dry ditch and bank, starred with celandines, where it crossed an arching grass-grown bridge, crept under another stile, and led into a long narrow coppice; when, turning at right angles, it continued its way along the hollow; pointing off, at length, in a deep cleft between two broad sweeps of park land.

Climbing up out of this, in a straggling fashion — for the path had disappeared, and Finch was bearing to the high ground westward, in search of prospective sketches, while Simpson pressed on steadily due north — the two men caught sight of a winding riband of drive, accommodating itself to the far older trees ; and beyond that a dense mass of evergreens, topped by a shimmer of foliage ; from above which rose a wavering column of blue smoke.

“ There ’s the drive,” said Simpson, and would have made for it, had not Finch laid a detaining hand upon his arm.

“ Hang the drive ! Let ’s get into the place from the side : surprise it asleep. There ’s a sort of half-hearted path, and I bet there ’s a gate, or a hole, or something. Come on, Simpson.” And he was off, swinging along whistling ; while the other man, after a moment’s hesitation, followed his lead.

At first their way was deceptively easy ; the thicket merging into a half shrubbery, half woodland, of scattered trees and undergrowth, at the far side of a stone wall, bolstered up with ivy and saplings till it had grown to be almost a hedge, though easy enough to negotiate.

But soon the place began to thicken. There was a rank undergrowth of wild hellebore and nettles; impassable laurels, and yews — things that bent back, then snapped viciously forward against their faces, beyond which they could scarcely see a yard — holly bushes, arbutus, and laurustinus.

Finch was the best off. Somehow he slid past it all. But Simpson, furiously annoyed and stolidly persistent, pounded through it.

“ You ’re a damned fool, Finch ! ” he panted in gasps : “ you artist chaps — always up to some damn fool tricks ! If you let any more of those confounded things fly back in my face I ’ll — ”

“ Eureka ! ” Utterly regardless of the half-uttered threat, Finch had darted ahead ; “ An open place at last ; we ’re through the worst of it. Oh, hang ! ”

“ What the devil is it now ? ” The elder man was struggling with a fine growth of brambles, in painful 13 proximity to an overhanging barberry. “ It can’t be worse than this,” he went on morosely. “ Of all the fool games. Well, and now may I ask what you propose to do ? ”

He had broken free at last, to the detriment of his shiny brown gaiters, and stood by Finch’s side, surveying that which had brought even him to a pause : a wide, deep-sunk fence topped by more laurels.

“ One could jump. If only there was room to take off — ” demurred Finch.

“ I — suppose we ’d better turn back.”

“ Back ! through that? No, thank you, my friend ! ” And moving a step forward Simpson began to clamber down the steep, slippery bank.

“ Look here, old fellow, you can’t climb that thing,” protested Finch, half hysterical with amusement. “You’re not — well, not that sort of figure, you know.”

Simpson, deep in the hollow, lifted a crimson and outraged face. “ Go to hell ! ” he said, stuck his fingers into a fissure in the ten-foot wall, and groped for a foothold ; got it and swept his brown boot desperately round in search of another — while all the blood in his body seemed to gather to his fingertips ; caught his toe in a crack — the merest crack, which needed a sharp kick before it would yield him sanctuary ; found another, and then another — with agonizing intervals — clung with one boot waving wildly in mid air; then at last, only one moment 14 later than Finch, wriggled onto the strip of green turf at the top, where he lay for a space, breathing heavily. Then he rose and pushed his way, with a sort of desperation, right into the midst of a thick belt of laurels ; pressed forward for a few steps ; and once more broke into the open with a long-drawn “Oh!”

“I say, I hope — ” Finch crashed through behind him; half apologetic, choking with laughter; then paused at his companion’s side.

“ By Jove, that ’s good ! ” he said, his head on one side, his eyes half closed to focus the scene before him.

For “Fountains Court” lay just beneath them. Finch had been right ; they had caught her dreaming in the afternoon sunshine. Just breathing, as that one plume of smoke testified ; infinitely peaceful, as though folded in a pleasant haze of memories.

It was a three-storeyed grey house, built in the shape of a hollow square, with abbreviated ends, of which each terminated in an eight-sided bay ; the clustering chimneys also octagonal in shape, and curiously carved ; the windows stone-mullioned ; the pointed roof covered with stone tiles, all gold and green with lichen ; while, in the very centre, flanked by long windows, was a wide arched porch and open door.

Evidently they had approached the house on the wrong side, for there was no sign of a drive : only a wide border, a narrow terrace; and below that a 15 straight flagged path; bordered by a prim garden with more flagged paths, — arranged in geometrical order round a grey sundial, — the interstices of which formed triangular flower-beds, gleaming in silvery grey foliage and punctuated by dark, primly cut dwarf yews and box bushes.

Below this, again, stretched an undulating lawn, dotted with trees deep in moss, roughening almost to pasture land where it joined the shrubbery; the whole ablaze with crocuses and pierced with the grey spikes of coming daffodils.

To the east of this lawn, there was a thickening of trees, and a glimpse of outbuildings which might have been stables. To the west a square walled garden, running out almost to the edge of the shrubbery.

Towards this Simpson made his way. “ I ’ll be hanged if I ’ll cross that lawn, in full sight of all those windows,” he declared ; found a narrow path, pressed between the laurels and high grey wall, and followed it till he reached an arched doorway ; pushed it open, and found himself in a maze of closely cut grass paths, bordered by pleached fruit trees, along which he moved, with a curious feeling as if he was reading a book, every word of which he knew by heart: going over some inevitable and oft-repeated plan of action ; till he reached a round pond, surrounded by stone coping on which crouched a small boy, who, apparently conscious of wrongdoing, sprang to his feet the moment the two men ap- 16 peared ; ran to the side of the garden ; doubled as they advanced ; hung for a moment, — with head thrust forward, and light eyes furtive as those of some small wild animal, — darted forward, and bolted out of the door by which they had entered.

“ Poaching ! ” remarked Simpson dryly ; advanced towards the pond, and lifting a palpitating gold-fish which lay upon the bank, dropped it back into its native element.

“ I wonder why he bolted past us like that, instead of out at that door.” And Finch jerked his head towards the opposite side of the garden.

“Leads to the house. There ’re people there, you know ; ‘ MacCracken and MacCracken ’ told me : a housekeeper and gardener fellow.” Simpson was surveying himself pensively in the water as he spoke. “ I say, I can’t go up to the house in this condition. No responsible person would trust me inside the door. Hang it all, if I know how you managed to wriggle through and keep as clean as that.” And he gazed at his friend almost reproachfully.

“ Oh, you ’re all right ; only for the front of your waistcoat, where it reached the wall first,” grinned Finch maliciously: “if you will understudy for a City Alderman, you know ! But hold on a minute, while I brush you down ; and there ’s a smudge of black on your nose from those beastly yews. There you are. Now, come along. Odd, I suppose this is as English as anything can be ; but one could sketch it to look pure Japanese, with all these plums in bloom, and 1 7 those pale iris, and grey, velvety-leafed things. It ’s all herbs, do you see, and seedlings, and violet-beds ; no beastly cabbages or anything of that sort ; — ‘A garden is a winsome place, God wot.’ ”

“ I shan’t take the place unless it ’s got a decent vegetable garden,” declared Simpson ; half ashamed of the spell Fountains had already cast upon him; fighting against the inevitable knowledge that he would take it, even if it were destitute of every necessity of civilization. For already it seemed his : quite inevitably his. He had come home. And, however much certain detached things might be wrong about it, the whole was right : part of himself.

With that almost uncanny perception which his artistic nature gave him, Finch realised this and laughed.

“That ’s all bunkum. You ’re in love! If ever I saw a man in love for the first time, it ’s you, my dear George. And you ’ve got it badly, as we all do when we are past our first youth. You come here to escape from woman and all her works and fall in love with a place — an atmosphere, a temple of romance ; grey walls and a garden : will wed the whole caboodle, as a nun weds Heaven.”

“ They don’t,” protested Simpson feebly.

“Well, they ought to, then. By Jove, how good it all smells, and what peace ! I wonder if it would end by making one do all sorts of things that one oughtn’t — run away with one’s neighbor’s wife, for instance.”

“ The house does n’t look up to much. Those gable things with three open sides ’ud be devilish cold in winter,” said Simpson ; arguing against his own feelings with the persistence of an obstinate child. Then he opened the door in the wall, opposite to that through which they entered ; and, followed by Finch, wound his way among the flagged paths towards the front of the house ; mounted the wide flight of shallow steps to the terrace, and became aware, for the first time, that a stout, elderly woman stood in the porch ; staring at them, with one hand shading her eyes from the sun.

“ Incarnate romance. Now, then, my gallant knight, forward and at her,” laughed Finch ; while Simpson — acutely conscious of his scratched and smeared condition, and their unconventional approach to the house — advanced towards the woman, who stood solidly at guard, with something of the aspect of a broadened and mature Minerva. An emblem of the old regime ; too immensely superior even to show scorn of the new.

“ Good afternoon,” he said. “ My name ’s Simpson. I come from Messrs. MacCracken and MacCracken ; perhaps you have heard from them.”