Lyre and Lancet: A Story in Scenes
M. Ridevos. It is for zat I do not remmain! Zey 'ave not toch him; my pyramide, result of a genius stupend, énorme! to zem he is nossing; zey retturn him to crash me! To-morrow I demmand zat miladi accept my demission. Ici je souffre trop!
[He leaves the room precipitately.Miss Stickler (offering to rise). It does seem to have upset him! Shall I go after him and see if I can't bring him round?
Mrs. Pomfret (severely). Stay where you are, Harriet; he's better left to himself. If he wasn't so wropped up in his cookery, he'd know there's always a dish as goes the round untasted, without why or wherefore. I've no patience with the man!
Tredwell (philosophically). That's the worst of 'aving to do with Frenchmen; they're so apt to beyave with a sutting childishness that – (checking himself) – I really ask your pardon, mamsell, I quite forgot you was of his nationality; though it ain't to be wondered at, I'm sure, for you might pass for an Englishwoman almost anywhere!
Mlle. Chiffon. As you for Frenchman, hein?
Tredwell. No, 'ang it all, mamsell, I 'ope there's no danger o' that! (To Miss Phillipson.) Delighted to see the Countess keeps as fit as ever, Miss Phillipson! Wonderful woman for her time o' life! Law, she did give the Bishop beans at dinner, and no mistake!
Phillipson. Her ladyship is pretty generous with them to most people, Mr. Tredwell. I'm sure I'd have left her long ago, if it wasn't for Lady Maisie – who is a lady, if you like!
Tredwell. She don't favour her ma, I will say that for her. By the way, who is the party they brought down with them? a youngish looking chap – seemed a bit out of his helement, when he first come in, though he's soon got over that, judging by the way him and your Lady Rhoda, Miss Dolman, was 'obnobbing together at table!
Phillipson. Nobody came down with my ladies; they must have met him in the bus, I expect. What is his name?
Tredwell. Why, he give it to me, I know, when I enounced him; but it's gone clean out of my head again. He's got the Verney Chamber, I know that much; but what was his name again? I shall forget my own next.
Undershell (involuntarily). In the Verney Chamber? Then the name must be Spurrell!
Phillipson (starting). Spurrell! Why, I used to – But of course it can't be him!
Tredwell. Spurrell was the name, though. (With a resentful glare at Undershell.) I don't know how you came to be aware of it, sir!
Undershell. Why, the fact is, I happened to find out that – (here he receives an admonitory drive in the back from the Boy) – that his name was Spurrell. (To himself.) I wish this infernal boy wouldn't be officious – but perhaps he's right!
Tredwell. Ho, indeed! Well, another time, Mr. Hundershell, if you require information about parties staying with us, p'raps you'll be good enough to apply to me pussonally, instead of picking it up in some 'ole-and-corner fashion. (Undershell controls his indignation with difficulty.) To return to the individual in question, Miss Phillipson, I should have said myself he was something in the artistic or littery way; he suttingly didn't give me the impression of being a gentleman.
Phillipson (to herself, relieved). Then it isn't my Jem! I might have known he wouldn't be visiting here, and carrying on with Lady Rhodas. He'd never forget himself like that – if he has forgotten me!
Steptoe. It strikes me he's more of a sporting character, Tredwell. I know when I was circulating with the cigarettes and so on, in the hall just now, he was telling the Captain some anecdote about an old steeplechaser that was faked up to win a selling handicap, and it tickled me to that extent I could hardly hold the spirit-lamp steady.
Tredwell. I may be mistook, Steptoe. All I can say is, that when me and James was serving cawfy to the ladies in the drawing-room, some of them had got 'old of a little pink book all sprinkled over with silver cutlets, and, rightly or wrongly, I took it to 'ave some connection with 'im.
Undershell (excitedly). Pink and silver! Might I ask – was it a volume of poetry, called – er —Andromeda?
Tredwell (crushingly). That I did not take the liberty of inquiring, sir, as you might be aware if you was a little more familiar with the hetiquette of good society.
[Undershell collapses; Mr. Adams enters, and steps into the chair vacated by the Chef, next to Mrs. Pomfret, with whom he converses.Undershell (to himself). To think that they may be discussing my book in the drawing-room at this very moment, while I – I – (He chokes.) Ah, it won't bear thinking of! I must – I will get out of this accursed place! I have stood this too long as it is! But I won't go till I have seen this fellow Spurrell, and made him give me back my things. What's the time?.. ten! I can go at last. (He rises.) Mrs. Pomfret, will you kindly excuse me? I – I find I must go at once.
Mrs. Pomfret. Well, Mr. Undershell, sir, you're the best judge; and, if you really can't stop, this is Mr. Adams, who'll take you round to the stables himself, and do anything that's necessary. Won't you, Mr. Adams?
Adams. So you're off to-night, sir, are you? Well, I'd rather ha' shown you Deerfoot by daylight, myself; but there, I dessay that won't make much difference to you, so long as you do see the 'orse?
Undershell (to himself). So Deerfoot's a horse! One of the features of Wyvern, I suppose; they seem very anxious I shouldn't miss it. I don't want to see the beast; but I dare say it won't take many minutes; and, if I don't humour this man, I shan't get a conveyance to go away in! (Aloud.) No difference whatever – to me. I shall be delighted to be shown Deerfoot; only I really can't wait much longer; I – I've an appointment elsewhere!
Adams. Right, sir; you get your 'at and coat, and come along with me, and you shall see him at once.
[Undershell takes a hasty farewell of Miss Phillipson and the company generally – none of whom attempts to detain him – and follows his guide. As the door closes upon them, he hears a burst of stifled merriment, amidst which Miss Phillipson's laughter is only too painfully recognisable.PART XIV
LE VÉTÉRINAIRE MALGRÉ LUI
Outside the Stables at Wyvern. Time —About 10 P.M.
Undershell (to himself, as he follows Adams). Now is my time to arrange about getting away from here. (To Adams.) By the bye, I suppose you can let me have a conveyance of some sort – after I've seen the horse? I – I'm rather in a hurry.
Adams. You'd better speak to Mr. Checkley about that, sir; it ain't in my department, you see. I'll fetch him round, if you'll wait here a minute; he'd like to hear what you think about the 'orse.
[He goes off to the coachman's quarters.Undershell (alone). A very civil fellow this; he seems quite anxious to show me this animal! There must be something very remarkable about it.
[Adams returns with Checkley.Adams. Mr. Checkley, our 'ed coachman, Mr. Undershell. He's coming in along with us to 'ear what you say, if you've no objections.
Undershell (to himself). I must make a friend of this coachman, or else – (Aloud.) I shall be charmed, Mr. Checkley. I've only a very few minutes to spare; but I'm most curious to see this horse of yours.
Checkley. He ain't one o' my 'orses, sir. If he 'ad been – But there, I'd better say nothing about it.
Adams (as he leads the way into the stables, and turns up the gas). There, sir, that's Deerfoot over there in the loose box.
Undershell (to himself). He seems to me much like any other horse! However, I can't be wrong in admiring. (Aloud, as he inspects him, through the rails.) Ah, indeed? he is worth seeing! A magnificent creature!
Adams (stripping off Deerfoot's clothing). He's a good 'orse, sir. Her ladyship won't trust herself on no other animal, not since she 'ad the influenzy so bad. She'd take on dreadful if I 'ad to tell her he wouldn't be fit for no more work, she would!
Undershell (sympathetically). I can quite imagine so. Not that he seems in any danger of that!
Checkley (triumphantly). There, you 'ear that, Adams? The minute he set eyes on the 'orse!
Adams. Wait till Mr. Undershell has seen him move a bit, and see what he says then.
Checkley. If it was what you think, he'd never be standing like he is now, depend upon it.
Adams. You can't depend upon it. He 'eard us coming, and he's quite artful enough to draw his foot back for fear o' getting a knock. (To Undershell.) I've noticed him very fidgety-like on his forelegs this last day or two.
Undershell. Have you, though? (To himself.) I hope he won't be fidgety with his hind-legs. I shall stay outside.
Adams. I cooled him down with a rubub and aloes ball, and kep 'im on low diet; but he don't seem no better.
Undershell (to himself). I didn't gather the horse was unwell. (Aloud.) Dear me! no better? You don't say so!
Checkley. If you'd rubbed a little embrocation into the shoulder, you'd ha' done more good, in my opinion, and it's my belief as Mr. Undershell here will tell you I'm right.
Undershell (to himself). Can't afford to offend the coachman! (Aloud.) Well, I dare say – er – embrocation would have been better.
Adams. Ah, that's where me and Mr. Checkley differ. According to me, it ain't to do with the shoulder at all – it's a deal lower down… I'll 'ave him out of the box and you'll soon see what I mean.
Undershell (hastily). Pray don't trouble on my account. I – I can see him capitally from where I am, thanks.
Adams. You know best, sir. Only I thought you'd be better able to form a judgment after you'd seen the way he stepped across. But if you was to come in and examine the frog? – I don't like the look of it myself.
Undershell (to himself). I'm sure I don't. I've a horror of reptiles. (Aloud.) You're very good. I – I think I won't come in. The place must be rather damp, mustn't it – for that?
Adams. It's dry enough in 'ere, sir, as you may see; nor yet he ain't been standing about in no wet. Still, there it is, you see!
Undershell (to himself). What a fool he must be not to drive it out! Of course it must annoy the horse. (Aloud.) I don't see it; but I'm quite willing to take your word for it.
Adams. I don't know how you can expect to see it, sir, without you look inside of the 'oof for it.
Undershell (to himself). It's not alive – it's something inside the hoof. I suppose I ought to have known that. (Aloud.) Just so; but I see no necessity for looking inside the hoof.
Checkley. In course he don't, or he'd ha' looked the very fust thing, with all his experience. I 'ope you're satisfied now, Adams?
Adams. I can't say as I am. I say as no man can examine a 'orse thoroughly at that distance, be he who he may. And whether I'm right or wrong, it 'ud be more of a satisfaction to me if Mr. Undershell was to step in and see the 'oof for himself.
Checkley. Well, there's sense in that, and I dessay Mr. Undershell won't object to obliging you that far.
Undershell (with reluctance). Oh, with pleasure, if you make a point of it.
[He enters the loose box delicately.Adams (picking up one of the horse's feet). Now, tell me how this 'ere 'oof strikes you.
Undershell (to himself). That hoof can't; but I'm not so sure about the others. (Aloud, as he inspects it.) Well – er – it seems to me a very nice hoof.
Adams (grimly). I was not arsking your opinion of it as a work of art, sir. Do you see any narrering coming on, or do you not? That's what I should like to get out of you!
Undershell (to himself). Does this man suppose I collect hoofs! However, I'm not going to commit myself. (Aloud.) H'm – well, I – I rather agree with Mr. Checkley.
Checkley. I knew he would! Now you've got it, Adams! I can see Mr. Undershell knows what he's about.
Adams (persistently). But look at this 'ere pastern. You can't deny there's puffiness there. How do you get over that?
Undershell. If the horse is puffy, it's his business to get over it – not mine.
Adams (aggrieved). You may think proper to treat it light, sir; but if you put your 'and down 'ere, above the coronet, you'll feel a throbbing as plain as —
Undershell. Very likely. But I don't know, really, that it would afford me any particular gratification if I did!
Adams. Well, if you don't take my view, I should ha' thought as you'd want to feel the 'orse's pulse.
Undershell. You are quite mistaken. I don't. (To himself.) Particularly as I shouldn't know where to find it. What a bore this fellow is with his horse!
Checkley. In course, sir, you see what's running in Mr. Adams's 'ed all this time, what he's a-driving at, eh?
Undershell (to himself). I only wish I did! This will require tact. (Aloud.) I – I could hardly avoid seeing that– could I?
Checkley. I should think not. And it stands to reason as a vet like yourself'd spot a thing like navickler fust go off.
Undershell (to himself). A vet! They've been taking me for a vet all this time! I can't have been so ignorant as I thought. I really don't like to undeceive them – they might feel annoyed. (Aloud, knowingly.) To be sure, I – I spotted it at once.
Adams. He does make it out navicular after all! What did I tell you, Checkley? Now p'raps you'll believe me!
Checkley. I'll be shot if that 'orse has navickler, whoever says so – there!
Adams (gloomily). It's the 'orse 'll 'ave to be shot; worse luck! I'd ha' give something if Mr. Undershell could ha' shown I was wrong; but there was very little doubt in my mind what it was all along.
Undershell (to himself, horrified). I've been pronouncing this unhappy animal's doom without knowing it! I must tone it down. (Aloud.) No – no, I never said he must be shot. There's no reason to despair. It – it's quite a mild form of er – clavicular – not at all infectious at present. And the horse has a splendid constitution. I – I really think he'll soon be himself again, if we only – er – leave Nature to do her work, you know.
Adams (after a prolonged whistle). Well, if Nature ain't better up in her work than you seem to be, it's 'igh time she chucked it, and took to something else. You've a lot to learn about navicular, you 'ave, if you can talk such rot as that!
Checkley. Ah, I've 'ad to do with a vet or two in my time, but I'm blest if I ever come across the likes o' you afore!
Undershell (to himself). I knew they'd find me out! I must pacify them. (Aloud.) But, look here, I'm not a vet. I never said I was. It was your mistake entirely. The fact is, my – my good men, I came down here because – well, it's unnecessary to explain now why I came. But I'm most anxious to get away, and if you, my dear Mr. Checkley, could let me have a trap to take me to Shuntingbridge to-night, I should feel extremely obliged.
[Checkley stares, deprived of speech.Adams (with a private wink to Checkley). Certainly he will, sir. I'm sure Checkley 'll feel proud to turn out, late as it is, to oblige a gentleman with your remarkable knowledge of 'orseflesh. Drive you over hisself in the broom and pair, I shouldn't wonder!
Undershell. One horse will be quite sufficient. Very well, then. I'll just run up and get my portmanteau, and – and one or two things of mine, and if you will be round at the back entrance – don't trouble to drive up to the front door – as soon as possible, I won't keep you waiting longer than I can help. Good evening, Mr. Adams, and many thanks. (To himself, as he hurries back to the house.) I've got out of that rather well. Now, I've only to find my way to the Verney Chamber, see this fellow Spurrell, and get my clothes back, and then I can retreat with comfort, and even dignity! These Culverins shall learn that there is at least one poet who will not put up with their insolent patronage!
Checkley (to Adams). He has got a cool cheek, and no mistake! But if he waits to be druv over to Shuntingbridge till I come round for him, he'll 'ave to set on that portmanteau of his a goodish time!
Adams. He did you pretty brown, I must say. To 'ear you crowing over me when he was on your side. I could 'ardly keep from larfing!
Checkley. I see he warn't no vet long afore you, but I let it go on for the joke of it. It was rich to see you a-wanting him to feel the 'oof, and give it out navickler. Well, you got his opinion for what it was wuth, so you're all right!
Adams. You think nobody knows anything about 'orses but yourself, you do; but if you're meanin' to make a story out o' this against me, why, I shall tell it my way, that's all!
Checkley. It was you he made a fool of, not me – and I can prove it – there!
[They dispute the point, with rising warmth, for some time.Adams (calming down). Well, see 'ere, Checkley, I dunno, come to think of it, as either on us 'll show up partickler smart over this 'ere job; and it strikes me we'd better both agree to keep quiet about it, eh? (Checkley acquiesces, not unwillingly.) And I think I'll take a look in at the 'ousekeeper's-room presently, and try if I can't drop a hint to old Tredwell about that smooth-tongued chap, for it's my belief he ain't down 'ere for no good!
PART XV
TRAPPED!
In a Gallery outside the Verney Chamber. Time —About 10.15 P.M.
Undershell (to himself, as he emerges from a back staircase). I suppose this is the corridor? The boy said the name of the room was painted up over the door… Ah, there it is; and, yes, Mr. Spurrell's name on a card… The door is ajar; he is probably waiting for me inside. I shall meet him quite temperately, treat it simply as a – (He enters; a waste-paper basket, containing an ingenious arrangement of liquid and solid substances, descends on his head.) What the devil do you mean, sir, by this outrageous – ? All dark! Nobody here! Is there a general conspiracy to insult me? Have I been lured up here for a brutal – (Spurrell bursts in.) Ah, there you are, sir! (With cold dignity, through the lattice-work of the basket.) Will you kindly explain what this means?
Spurrell. Wait till I strike a light. (After lighting a pair of candles.) Well, sir, if you don't know why you're ramping about like that under a waste-paper basket, I can hardly be expected to —
Undershell. I was determined not to remove it until somebody came in; it fell on my head the moment I entered; it contained something in a soap-dish, which has wetted my face. You may laugh, sir, but if this is a sample of your aristocratic —
Spurrell. If you could only see yourself! But I'd nothing to do with it, 'pon my word I hadn't; only just this minute got away from the hall… I know! It's that sulky young beggar, Bearpark. I remember he slipped off on some excuse or other just now. He must have come in here and fixed that affair up for me – confound him!
Undershell. I think I'm the person most entitled to – But no matter; it is merely one insult more among so many. I came here, sir, for a purpose, as you are aware.
Spurrell (ruefully). Your dress clothes? All right, you shall have them directly. I wouldn't have put 'em on if I'd known they'd be wanted so soon.
Undershell. I should have thought your own would have been more comfortable.
Spurrell. More comfortable! I believe you. Why, I assure you I feel like a Bath bun in a baby's sock! But how was I to know? You shouldn't leave your things about like that!
Undershell. It is usual, sir, for people to come to a place like this provided with evening clothes of their own.
Spurrell. I know that as well as you do. Don't you suppose I'm unacquainted with the usages of society! Why, I've stayed in boarding-houses at the seaside many a time where it was de rigger to dress – even for high tea! But coming down, as I did, on business, it never entered my head that I should want my dress suit. So, when I found them all as chummy and friendly as possible, and expecting me to dine as a matter of course, – why, I can tell you I was too jolly glad to get hold of anything in the shape of a swallowtail and white choker to be over particular!
Undershell. You seem to have been more fortunate in your reception than I. But then I had not the advantage of being here in a business capacity.
Spurrell. Well, it wasn't that altogether. You see, I'm a kind of a celebrity in my way.
Undershell. I should hardly have thought that would be a recommendation here.
Spurrell. I was surprised myself to find what a lot they thought of it; but, bless you, they're all as civil as shopwalkers; and, as for the ladies, why, the old Countess and Lady Maisie and Lady Rhoda couldn't be more complimentary if I'd won the Victoria Cross, instead of getting a first prize for breeding and exhibiting a bull-bitch at Cruft's Dog show!
Undershell (bitterly, to himself). And this is our aristocracy! They make a bosom friend of a breeder of dogs; and find a poet only fit to associate with their servants! What a theme for a satirist! (Aloud.) I see nothing to wonder at. You possess precisely the social qualifications most likely to appeal to the leisured class.
Spurrell. Oh, there's a lot of humbug in it, mind you! Most of 'em know about as much of the points of a bull as the points of a compass, only they let on to know a lot because they think it's smart. And some of 'em are after a pup from old Drummy's next litter. I see through all that, you know!
Undershell. You are a cynic, I observe, sir. But possibly the nature of the business which brings you here renders them —
Spurrell. That's the rummest thing about it. I haven't heard a word about that yet. I'm in the veterinary profession, you know. Well, they sent for me to see some blooming horse, and never even ask me to go near it! Seems odd, don't it?
Undershell (to himself). I had to go near the blooming horse! Now I begin to understand; the very servants did not expect to find a professional vet in any company but their own! (Aloud.) I – I trust that the horse will not suffer through any delay.
Spurrell. So do I; but how do I know that some ignorant duffer mayn't be treating him for the wrong thing? It may be all up with the animal before I get a chance of seeing what I can do?
