 CHAPTER 11 PART 1 OF MISS MAP The sea mist and the rain continued without intermission next morning. But shopping with umbrellas and macintoshes was unusually brisk, for there was naturally a universally felt desire to catch sight of a contessa with as little delay as possible. The foggy conditions perhaps added to the excitement, for it was not possible to see more than a few yards, and thus at any moment anybody might almost run into her. Diva's impressions, meager though they were, had been thoroughly circulated, but the morning passed, and the ladies of Tilling went home to change their wet things, and take a little ammoniated quinine as a precaution after so long in Chilean exposure, without a single one of them having caught sight of the single eyeglass. It was disappointing, but the disappointment was bearable since Mr. Wise, so far from wanting his party to be very small, had been encouraged by Mrs. Poppet to hope that it would include all his world of Tilling with one exception. He had hopes with regard to the Major and the Captain, and the Padre and Wee Wifee, and Irene and Miss Mab, and, of course, Isabel, but apparently he despaired of Diva. She alone, therefore, was absent from this long wet shopping, for she waited indoors almost pen in hand to answer in the affirmative the invitation which had at present not arrived. Owing to the thickness of the fog, her absence from the street passed unnoticed, for everybody supposed that everybody else had seen her, while she, biting her nails at home, waited and waited and waited. Then she waited. About a quarter past one she gave it up and duly telephoned, according to Promise, via Janet and Withers, to Miss Mab to say that Mr. Wise had not yet hoped. It was very unpleasant to let them know, but if she had herself rung up and been answered by Elizabeth, who usually rushed to the telephone, she felt that she would sooner have choked than have delivered this message. So Janet telephoned, and Withers said she would tell her mistress, and did. Miss Mab was steeped in pleasant conjectures. The most likely of all was that the Contessa had seen that roundabout little busybody in the station, and taken an instant dislike to her through her single eyeglass, or she might have seen poor Diva inquistively inspecting the luggage with the cornets and the Fs on it, and have learned with pain that this was one of the ladies of Tilling. Algernon, she would have said, so said Miss Mab to herself. Who is that queer little woman? Is she going to steal some of my luggage? And then Algernon would have told her that this was poor Diva, quite a decent sort of little body. But when it came to Algernon asking his guests for the dinner party in honor of his betrothal, and her arrival at Tilling, no doubt the Contessa would have said, Algernon, I beg, or if Diva, poor Diva, was right in her conjectures that the notes had been written before the arrival of the train, it was evident that Algernon had torn up the one address to Diva, when the Contessa heard whom she was to meet the next evening. Or Susan might easily have insinuated that they would have two very pleasant tables of bridge after dinner without including Diva, who was so wrong and quarrelsome over the score. Any of these explanations were quite satisfactory, and since Diva would not be present, Miss Mapp would naturally don the Crimson Lake. They would all see what Crimson Lake looked like when it decked a suitable wearer and was not parodied to the other side of the card table. How true, as Dear Major Benji had said, that one woman could wear what another could not, and if there was a woman who could not wear Crimson Lake, it was Diva, or was Mr. Wise really ashamed to let his sister see Diva in the Crimson Lake, it would be just like him to be considerate of Diva and not permit her to make a guy of herself before the Italian aristocracy. No doubt he would ask her to lunch some day, quite quietly. Or had Miss Mapp loomed with pretty conjectures, like some alpine meadow when smitten into flour by the spring, and enjoyed her lunch very much indeed. The anxiety and suspense of the morning, which instead of being relieved, had ended in utter gloom, gave Diva a headache, and she adopted her usual strenuous methods of getting rid of it. So instead of lying down and taking aspirin and dozing, she set out after lunch to walk it off. She sprinted and splashed along the myery roads, indifferent as to whether she stepped in puddles or not, and careless how wet she got. She bit on the bullet of her omission from the dinner party this evening, determined not to mind one atom about it, but to look forward to a pleasant evening at home instead of going out, like this, in the wet. And never, never under any circumstances would she ask any of the guests what sort of an evening had been spent, how Mr. Wise announced the news, how the Faradidlioni played bridge. She said that satirical word aloud, mouthing it in the puddles, and the dripping hedgerows. She would not evince the slightest interest in it all. She would cover it with spadefuls of oblivion, and when next she met Mr. Wise she would, whatever she might feel, behave exactly as usual. She plumed herself on this dignified resolution and walked so fast that the hedgerows became quite transparent. That was the proper thing to do. She had been grossly slighted, and, like a true lady, would be unaware of that slight, whereas poor Elizabeth, under such circumstances, would have devised a hundred petty schemes for rendering Mr. Wise's life a burden to him. What if, if, she only said if, she found any reason to believe that Susan was at the bottom of this, then probably she would think of something worthy, not so much of a true lady, but of a true woman, without asking any questions she might easily arrive at information which would enable her to identify Susan as the culprit, and she would then act in some way which would astonish Susan. What that way was she need not think yet, and so she devoted her entire mind to the question all the way home. Feeling better and better with her headache quite gone, she arrived in tilling again, drenched to the skin. It was already after tea-time, and she abandoned tea altogether and prepared to console herself for her exclusion from gaiety with a good blow-out in the shape of regular dinner instead of the usual muffin now, and a tray later. To add dignity to her feast, she put on the Crimson Lake tea-gown for the last time that it would be Crimson Lake, though the same tea-gown still, since to-morrow it would be sent to the dyers to go into perpetual mourning for its banished glories. She had meant to send it to-day, but all this misery and anxiety had put it out of her head. Having dressed thus to the great astonishment of Janet, she sat down to divert her mind from trouble by patience. As if to reward her for her stubborn fortitude, the malignity of the cards relented, and she brought out an intricate matter three times running. The clock on her mantelpiece chiming a quarter to eight surprised her with the lateness of the hour, and recalled to her, with a stab of pain, that it was dinnertime at Mr. Weiss's, and at this moment some seven pairs of eager feet were approaching the door. Well, she was dining at a quarter to eight, too. Janet would enter presently to tell her that her own banquet was ready, and gathering up her cards she spent a pleasant, though regretful, minute in looking at herself in the Crimson Lake for the last time in her long glass. The tremendous walk in the rain had given her an almost equally high color. Janet's foot was hurt on the stairs, and she turned away from the glass. Janet entered. "'Dinner,' said Diva. "'No, ma'am, the telephone,' said Janet. "'Mr. Weiss is on the telephone, and wants to speak to you very particularly.' "'Mr. Weiss himself,' asked Diva, hardly believing her ears, for she knew Mr. Weiss's opinion of the telephone. "'Yes, ma'am.' Diva walked slowly, but reflected rapidly. What must have happened was that somebody had been taken ill at the last moment. Was it Elizabeth? And that he now wanted her to fill the gap. She was torn in two. Passionately as she longed to dine at Mr. Weiss's, she did not see how such a course was compatible with dignity. He had only asked her to suit his own convenience. It was not out of encouragement to hope that he invited her now. No, Mr. Weiss should want. She would say that she had friends dining with her. That was what the true lady would do. She took up the earpiece and said, "'Hello!' It was certainly Mr. Weiss's voice that spoke to her, and it seemed to tremble with anxiety. "'Dear lady,' he began. "'A most terrible thing has happened.' "'Wonderful Elizabeth's very ill,' thought Diva. "'Quite terrible,' said Mr. Weiss. "'Can you hear?' "'Yes,' said Diva, hardening her heart. "'By the most calamitous mistake, the note which I wrote you yesterday, was never delivered. Figus has just found it in the pocket of his overcoat. I shall certainly dismiss him unless you plead for him. "'Can you hear?' "'Yes,' said Diva excitedly. "'In it I told you that I had been encouraged to hope that you would dine with me tonight. There was such a gratifying response to my other invitations that I most culpably and carelessly, dear lady, thought that everybody had accepted. "'Can you hear?' "'Of course I can,' shouted Diva. "'Well, I come on my knees to you. Can you possibly forgive the joint stupidity of Figus and me, and honour me after all? We will put off dinner, of course. At what time, in case you are ever so kind and indulgent as to come, shall we have it? Do not break my heart by refusing. Sue, Mrs. Poppet will send her car for you.' "'I have already dressed for dinner,' said Diva proudly. "'Very pleased to come at once.' "'You are too kind. You are angelic,' said Mr. Weiss. The car shall start at once. It is at my door now.' "'Right,' said Diva. "'Too good, too kind,' murmured Mr. Weiss. "'Figus, what do I do next?' Diva clapped the instrument into place. "'Powder,' she said to herself, remembering what she had seen in the glass, and whizzed upstairs. Her fish would have to be degraded into kegery, though place would have done just as well a soul for that. The cutlets could be heated up again, and perhaps the whisking for the apple meringue had not begun yet, and could still be stopped. "'Janet,' she shouted, going out to dinner, stop the meringue.' She dashed an interesting pallor onto her face as she heard the hootine of the roice, and coming downstairs, stepped into its warm luxuriousness, for the electric lamp was burning. There were Susan's sables there. It was thoughtful of Susan to put them in, but ostentatious. And there was a carriage-rug, which she was convinced was new, and was very likely a present for Mr. Weiss. And soon there was the light streaming out for Mr. Weiss's open door, and Mr. Weiss himself in the hall to meet and greet and thank and bless her. She pleaded for the contrite figures, and was conducted in a blaze of triumph into the drawing-room, where all Tilline was awaiting her. She was led up to the Contessa, with whom, mis-map, wreathes and sycophantic smiles was eagerly conversing. The Crimson Lakes. There were embarrassing moments during dinner. The Contessa confused by having so many people introduced to her in a lump, got all their names wrong, and addressed her neighbors as Captain Flint in Major Puffin, and thought Diva was Mrs. Mapp. She seemed ferventious and good-humored, dropped her eyeglasses into her soup, talked with her mouth full, and drank a good deal of wine, which was a very bad example for Major Puffin. Then there were many sudden and complete pauses in the talk for Diva's news of the kissing of Mrs. Puppet by the Contessa had spread like wildfire through the fog this morning, going to mis-map's dissemination of it, and now, whenever Mr. Weiss raised his voice ever so little, everybody else stopped talking in the expectation that the news was about to be announced. Occasionally, also, the Contessa addressed some remark to her brother in shrill and voluble Italian, which rather confirmed the gloomy estimate of her table manners in the matter of talking with her mouth full, for to speak in Italian was equivalent to whispering, since the perpet of what she said could not be understood by anybody except him. Then, also, the sensation of dining with a Countess produced a slight feeling of strain, which, in addition to the correct behavior which Mr. Weiss's presence always induced, almost congealed correctness into stiffness. But as dinner went on, her evident enjoyment of herself made itself felt, and her eccentricities, though carefully observed and noted by mis-map, were not succeeded by silences and hurried bursts of conversation. And is your ladyship making a long stay in Tilling, as the real major, to cover the pause which had been caused by Mr. Weiss saying something across the table to Isabel? She dropped her eyeglass with quite a splash into her gravy, pulled it out again by the string as if landing a fish and sucked it. That depends on you, gentlemen, she said with greater audacity than was usual in Tilling. If you and Major Puffin and that sweet little Scotch clergyman all fall in love with me and fight duels about me, I will stop forever. The major recovered himself before anybody else. Your ladyship may take that for granted, he said gallantly, and a perfect hubbub of conversation rose to cover this awful topic. She laid her hand on his arm. You must not call me ladyship, Captain Flint, she said. Only servants say that. Contessa, if you like. And you must blow away this fog for me. I have seen nothing but bales of cotton wool out of the window. Tell me this, too. Why are those ladies dressed alike? Are they sisters? Mrs. Mapp, the little round one, and her sister, the big round one. The major cast and apprehensive eye on Miss Mapp seated just opposite, whose acuteness of hearing was one of the terrors of Tilling. His apprehensions were perfectly well founded and Miss Mapp hated and despised the Contessa from that hour. No, not sisters, said he, and you've made a little error about the names. The one opposite is Miss Mapp, the other Mrs. Pleistone. The Contessa moderated her voice. I see, she looks vexed your Miss Mapp. I think she must have heard, and I will be very nice to her afterwards. Why does not one of you gentlemen marry her? I see I shall have to arrange that. The sweet little scotch clergyman now, little men like big wives, ah, married already is he to the mouse, then it must be you, Captain Flint. We must have more marriages in Tilling. Miss Mapp could not help glancing at the Contessa as she made this remarkable observation. It must be the cue, she thought, for the announcement of that which she had known so long. In the space of a wink, the clever Contessa saw that she had her attention and spoke rather loudly to the major. I have lost my heart to your Miss Mapp. She said, I am jealous of you, Captain Flint. She will be my great friend in Tilling, for if you marry her, I shall hate you, for that will mean that she likes you best. Miss Mapp hated nobody at that moment, not even Diva off whose face the hastily applied powder was crumbling, leaving little red marks peeping out like the stars on a fine evening. Dinner came to an end with roasted chestnuts brought by the Contessa from Capri. I always scold Amelia for the luggage she takes with her, said Mr. Wise to Diva. Amelia, dear, you are my hostess tonight. Everybody saw him look at Mrs. Poppet. You must catch somebody's eye. I will catch Miss Mapps, said Amelia, and all the ladies rose as if connected with some hidden mechanism which moved them simultaneously. There was a great deal of pretty diffidence at the door, but the Contessa put an end to that. Eldest first, she said, and marched out, making Miss Mapp, Diva, and the Mouse feel remarkably young. She might drop her eyeglass and talk with her mouthful, but really, such tact. They all determined to adopt this pleasing device in the future. The disappointment about the announcement of the engagement was sensibly assuaged, and Miss Mapp and Susan, in their eagerness to be younger than the Contessa, and yet take precedence of all the rest, almost stuck in the doorway. They rebounded from each other and Diva whizzed out between them. Quaint Irene went in her right place, last. However quaint Irene was, there was no use in pretending that she was not the youngest. However, hopelessly, Amelia had lost her heart to Miss Mapp. She did not devote her undivided attention to her in the drawing room, but swiftly established herself at the card table, where she proceeded with the most complicated sort of patience and a series of cigarettes to wile away the time till the gentlemen joined them. Though the ladies of Tilling had plenty to say to each other, it was all about her, and such comments could not conveniently be made in her presence, unless, like her, they talk some language unknown to the subject of their conversation. They could not talk at all, and so they gathered round her table and watched the lightning rapidity with which she piled black naves on red queens in sunpacks and red naves on black queens in others. She had taken off all her rings in order to procure a greater freedom of finger, and her eyeglass continued to crash onto a glittering mass of magnificent gems. The rapidity of her motions was only equaled by the swift and surprising monologue that poured from her mouth. There, that odious king gets in my way, she said. So like a man to poke himself in where he isn't wanted. Baco! No, not that. I have a cigarette. I hear all you ladies are terrific bridge players. We will have a game presently, and I shall sink into the earth with terror at your Camorra. Dio! There is another king, and that's his own queen whom he doesn't want at all. He has Amoroso for that black queen who is quite covered up, and he would like to be covered up with her. Susan, my dear! That's interesting, but they all knew it already. Kindly ring the bell for coffee. I expire if I do not get my coffee at once, and a toothpick. Tell me all the scandal of Tilly, Miss Mapp, while I play all the dreadful histories of that major and that captain. Such a grand air has the captain. No, it is the major, the one who does not limb. Which of all you ladies do they love the most? It is Miss Mapp, I believe. That is why she does not answer me. Here is the coffee, and the other king. Three lumps of sugar, dear Susan, and then stir it up well and hold it to my mouth so that I can drink without interruption. Ah, the ace! He is the intervener, or is it the king's proctor? It would be nice to have a proctor who told you all the love affairs that were going on. Susan, you must get me a proctor. You shall be my proctor, and here are the men, the wretches. They have been preferring wine to women, and we will have our bridge, and if anybody scolds me, I shall cry, Miss Mapp and Captain Flint will hold my hand and comfort me. She gathered up a heap of cards and rings, dropped them on the floor, and cut with the remainder. Miss Mapp was very lenient with the Contessa, who was her partner, and pointed out the mistakes of her and their adversaries with the most winning smile and eagerness to explain things clearly. Then she revoked heavily herself, and the Contessa, so far from being angry with her, burst into peals of unquenchable merriment. This way of taking a revoke was new to Tilly, for the right thing was for the revoker's partner to sulk and be sarcastic for at least 20 minutes after. The Contessa's laughter continued to spurred out at intervals during the rest of the rubber, and it was all very pleasant. But at the end, she said she was not up to Tilly's standards at all and refused to play any more. Miss Mapp, in the highest good humor, urged her not to despair. Indeed, dear Contessa, she said, you play very well. A little overbidding of your hand, perhaps, do you think? But that is a tendency we're all subject to. I often overbid my hand myself. Not a little wee rubber more. I'm sure I should like to be your partner again. You must come and play at my house some afternoon. We will have tea early in a good two hours, nothing like practice. The evening came to an end without the great announcement being made, but Miss Mapp, as she reviewed the events of the party, sitting next morning in her observation window, found the whole evidence so overwhelming that it was no longer worthwhile to form conjectures, however fruitful on the subject, and she diverted her mind to pleasing reminiscences and projects for the future. She had certainly been distinguished by the Contessa's marked regard, and her opinion of her charm and ability was of the very highest. No doubt her strange remark about dueling at dinner had been humorous and in tension, but many a true word is spoken in jest, and the Contessa, perspicacious woman, had seen at once that Major Benjean Captain Puffin were just the sort of men who might get to dueling, or at any rate challenging, about a woman, and her asking which of the ladies the men were most in love with, and her saying that she believed it was Miss Mapp. Miss Mapp had turned nearly as red as four diva when that came out. So lightly and yet so acutely. Diva. It had, of course, been a horrid blow to find that Diva had been asked to Mr. Wise's party in the first instance, an even shrooter one when Diva entered with such a necessary fussing and apology on the part of Mr. Wise in the Crimson Lake. Luckily it would be seen no more, for Diva had promised, if you would trust Diva, to send it to the dyers, but it was a great puzzle to know why Diva had it on at all, if she was preparing to spend a solitary evening at home. By eight o'clock she ought by rights to have already had her tray dressed in some old thing, but within three minutes of her being telephone, for she had appeared in the Crimson Lake, and eaten so heartily that it was impossible to imagine, really though she was, that she had already consumed her tray. But in spite of Diva's adventitious triumph, the main feeling in Ms. Mapp's mind was pity for her. She looked so ridiculous in that dress with the powder peeling off her red face. No wonder the dear Contessa stared when she came in. There was her bridge party for the Contessa to consider. The Contessa would be less nervous, perhaps, if there was only one table. That would be more homey and cozy, and it would, at the same time, give rise to great heart-burnings and indignation in the breasts of those who were left out. Diva would certainly be one of the spurn, and the Contessa would not play with Mr. Wise. Then there was Major Benji. He must certainly be asked, for it was evident that the Contessa delighted in him. End of chapter 11, part one, recording by Jane Greensmith of jngs.com. Chapter 11, part two of Ms. Mapp. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Jane Greensmith. Ms. Mapp by E. F. Benson, chapter 11, part two. Suddenly Ms. Mapp began to feel less sure that Major Benji must be of the party. The Contessa, charming though she was, had said several very topical Italian things to him. She had told him that she would stop here forever if the men fought duels about her. She had said, you dear darling, to him at Bridge, when, as adversary, he failed to trump her losing card, and she had asked him to ask her to tea, with no one else, for I have a great deal to say to you, when the General Massaduan of Sables, our reservoirs, and thanks for such a nice evening, took place in the hall. Ms. Mapp was not, in fact, sure when she thought it over, that the Contessa was a nice friend for Major Benji. She did not do him the injustice of imagining that he would ask her to tea alone. The very suggestion proved that it must be a piece of the Contessa's southern extravagance of expression. But, after all, thought Ms. Mapp to herself, as she writhed at the idea, her other extravagant expressions were proved to cover a good deal of truth. In fact, the Major's chances of being asked at the select bridge party diminished swiftly towards a vanishing point. It was time, and indeed late, to set forth on morning marketing, and Ms. Mapp had already determined not to carry her capacious basket with her today, in case of meeting the Contessa and the High Street. It would be grander and wiser and more magnificent to go basketless, and direct that the goods should be set up, rather than run the risk of encountering the Contessa, with the basket containing a couple of mutton cutlets, a ball of wool, and some tooth powder. So she put on her Prince of Wales cloak, and, postponing for the reflection over the bridge party till a less busy occasion, set forth an unencumbered gentility for the morning gossip. At the corner of the High Street, she ran into Diva. News, said Diva, met Mr. Weiss just now, engaged to Susan, all over the town by now. Everybody knows, oh, there's the Padre for the first time. She shot across the street, and Ms. Mapp, shaking the dust of Diva off her feet, proceeded on her chagrined way, annoyed as she was with Diva. She was almost more annoyed with Susan. After all she had done for Susan, Susan ought to have told her long ago, pledging her to secrecy. But, to be told like this by that common Diva, without any secrecy at all, wasn't a front that she would find it hard to forgive Susan for. She mentally reduced by half the sum that she had determined to squander on Susan's wedding present. It should be plated, not silver, and if Susan was not careful, it shouldn't be plated at all. She had just come out of the chemist after an indignant interview about precipitated chalk. He had deposited the small packet on the counter when she asked to have it sent up to her house. He could not undertake to deliver small packages. She left the precipitated chalk lying there, emerging, she heard a loud foreign sort of scream from close at hand. There was the contessa, all by herself, carrying a marketing basket of unusual size and newness. It contained a bloody stake and a crap. But where is your basket, Miss Mapp, she exclaimed. Algernon told me that all the great ladies of Tilling went marketing in the morning with big baskets. And if I aspire to be Dumond, I must have my basket too. It is the greatest fun, and I have already written to Checo to say I am just going marketing with my basket. Look, the stake is for Figus, and the crap is for Algernon and me. If Figus does not get it, but why are you not Dumond? Are you do Demiwond, Miss Mapp? She gave a croak of laughter and tickled the crap. Will he eat the stake, do you think, she went on? Is he not lively? I went to the shop of Mr. Hopkins, who was not there because he was engaged with Miss Coles. And was that not Miss Coles last night at my brother's, the one who spat in the fire when nobody, but I was looking? You are enchanting at Tilling. What is Mr. Hopkins doing with Miss Coles? Do they kiss? But your market basket, that disappoints me. For Algernon said you had the biggest market basket of all. I bought the biggest I could find. Is it as big as yours? Miss Mapp's head was in a whirl. The Contessa said in the loudest possible voice, all that everybody else only whispered. She displayed in her basket, all that everybody else covered up with thick layers of paper. If Miss Mapp had only guessed that the Contessa would have a market basket, she would have paraded the high street with a leg of mutton protruding from one end and a pair of Wellington boots from the other. But who could have suspected that a Contessa? Black thoughts succeeded. Was it possible that Mr. Weiss had been satirical about the affairs of Tilling? If so, she wished him nothing worse than to be married to Susan. But a playful face must be put for the moment on the situation. Too lovely of you, dear Contessa, she said. May we go marketing together tomorrow, and we will measure the size of our baskets. Such fun I have to laughing at the dear people in Tilling. But what thrilling news this morning about our sweet Susan and your dear brother, though, of course, I knew it long ago. Indeed, how was that? Said the Contessa quite sharply. Miss Mapp was nettle at her tongue. Oh, you must allow me two eyes, she said, since it was merely tedious to explain how she had seen them from behind a curtain kissing in the garden. Just two eyes, and a nose for scent, remarked the Contessa very geneal-y. This was certainly course, though probably Italian. Miss Mapp's opinion of the Contessa fluctuated violently like a barometer before a storm and indicated changeable. Dear Susan is such an intimate friend, she said. The Contessa looked at her very fixedly for a moment and then appeared to dismiss the matter. My crab, my steak, she said. And where does your nice captain, no, major flit live? I have a note to leave on him, for he has asked me to tea all alone to see his tiger skins. He is going to be my flirt while I am in tilling. And when I go, he will break his heart, but I will have told him who can mend it again. Dear Major Benji, said Miss Mapp at her wit's end to know how to deal with so feather-tongued the lady. What a treat it will be to him to have you to tea. Today, is it? The Contessa quite distinctly winked behind her eyeglass, which she had put up to look at Diva, who whirled by on the other side of the street. And if I said today, she remarked, you would, what is that one says? She indicated Diva, yes, you would pop in and the good major would pay no attention to me. So if I tell you I shall go today, you will know that it is a lie, you clever Miss Mapp. And so you will go to tea with him tomorrow and find me there. Bene, now, where is his house? This was a sort of scheming that had never entered into Miss Mapp's life. And she saw with pain how shallow she had been all these years. Often and often she had, when inquisitive questions were put her, answered them without any strict subservience to truth. But never had she thought of confusing the issues like this. If she told Diva a lie, Diva probably guessed it was a lie and acted accordingly. But she had never thought of making it practically impossible to tell whether it was a lie or not. She had no more idea when she walked back along the high street with a Contessa swinging her basket by her side, whether that lady was going to tea with Major Benji today or tomorrow or when. Then she knew whether the crab was going to eat the beef steak. There's his house, she said, as they paused at the dentist's corner. And there's mine next to it with the little bow window of my garden room looking out onto the street. I hope to welcome you there, dear Contessa, for a tiny game of bridge and some tea one of these days very soon. What day do you think, tomorrow? Then she would know if the Contessa was going to tea with Major Benji tomorrow. Unfortunately, the Contessa appeared to know that she would know it too. My flirt, she said. Perhaps I may be having tea with my flirt tomorrow. Better anything than that. I will ask him too to meet you, said Miss Mapp, feeling in some awful and helpless way that she was playing her adversary's game. Adversary, did she say that to herself? She did. The inscrutable Contessa was up to that too. I will not amalgamate my treats, she said. So that is his house. What a charming house. How my heart flutters as I ring the bell. Miss Mapp was now quite distraught. There was the possibility that the Contessa might tell Major Benji that it was time he married. But on the other hand, she was making arrangements to go to tea with him on an unknown day, and the hero of amorous adventures in India and elsewhere might lose his heart again to somebody quite different from one whom he could hope to marry. By daylight, the dear Contessa was undeniably playing. That was something. But in these short days, tea would be conducted by artificial light. And by artificial light, she was not so like a rabbit. What was worse was that by any light, she had a liveliness which might be mistaken for wit and a flattering manner which might be taken for sincerity. She hoped men were not so easily duped as that and was sadly afraid that they were blind fools. The number of visits that Miss Mapp made about tea time in this week before Christmas to the post box at the corner of the High Street with an envelope in her hand containing Mr. Hopkins' bill for fish and a postal order enclosed, baffles computation. Naturally, she did not intend either by day or night to risk being found again with a blank, unstamped envelope in her hand. And the one enclosing Mr. Hopkins' bill and the postal order would have passed scrutiny for correctness anywhere. But fair and calm as was the exterior of that envelope, none could tell how agitated was the hand that carried it backwards and forwards until the edges got crumpled and the inscription clouded with much fingering. Indeed, of all the tricks that Miss Mapp had compassed for others, none was so sumptuously contrived as that in which she had now entangled herself. For these December days were dark and in consequence, not only would the Contessa be looking her best, such as it was at tea time, but from Miss Mapp's window, it was impossible to tell whether she had gone to tea with him on any particular afternoon, for there had been a strike at the gasworks and the lamp at the corner, which in happier days would have told all, told nothing whatever. Miss Mapp must therefore trudge to the letterbox with Mr. Hopkins' bill in her hand as she went out and, after a faint of posting it, with it in her pocket as she came back, in order to gather from the light in the windows from the sound of conversation that would be audible as she passed close beneath them, whether the major was having tea there or not, and with whom. She should hear that ringing laugh which had sounded so pleasant when she revoked, but now was so sinister. She had quite determined to go in and borrow a book or a tiger skin, anything. The major could scarcely fail to ask her to tea and, once there, wild horses should not drag her away until she had outstayed the other visitor. Then, as her malady of jealousy grew more feverish, she began to perceive, as by the ray of some dreadful dawn that lights in the major's room and sounds of elfin laughter were not completely trustworthy as proofs that the Contessa was there. It was possible, awfully possible, that the two might be sitting in the firelight. The voices might be hushed to amorous whisperings that pregnant smiles might be taking the place of laughter. On one such afternoon, as she came back from the letterbox with patient Mr. Hopkins overdue bill in her pocket, a wild certainty seized her when she saw how closely the curtains were drawn and how still it seemed inside his room that firelight dallings was going on. She rang the bell and imagined she heard whisperings inside while it was being answered. Presently, the light went up in the hall and the major's Mrs. Dominic opened the door. "'The major's in, I think, isn't he, Mrs. Dominic?' said Miss Mapp, in her most insinuating tones. "'No, Miss, out!' said Dominic uncompromisingly. Miss Mapp wondered if Dominic drank. "'Dear me, how tiresome when he told me,' said she with playful annoyance. "'Would you be so kind, Mrs. Dominic, "'and just see for certain that he is not in his room? "'He may have come in.' "'No, Miss, he's out,' said Dominic, "'with a parrot-like utterance of the determined liar. "'Any message?' Miss Mapp turned away, "'more certain than ever that he was in "'and immersed in dalliance. "'She would have continued to be quite certain about it. "'Had she not, glancing distractedly down the street, "'caught sight of him coming up with Captain Puffin? "'Mean time, she had twice attempted "'to get up a cozy little party of four, "'so as not to frighten the Contessa, "'to play bridge from tea till dinner, "'and on both occasions, the Faradidliani, "'for so she had become, "'was most unfortunately engaged. "'But the second of these disappointing replies "'contained the hope that they would meet "'at their marketing's tomorrow. "'And though Miss Mapp was really getting very tired "'with these innumerable visits to the postbox, "'whether wet or fine, "'she said forth next morning with the hopes, anyhow, "'of finding out whether the Contessa had been to tea "'with Major Flint, "'or on what day she was going. "'There she was, just opposite the post office, "'and there, oh, shame, "'was Major Benjiana's way to the tram "'in lighthearted conversation with her. "'It was a slight consolation "'that Captain Puffin was there to.' "'Miss Mapp quickened her steps "'to a little tripping run. "'Dear Contessa, so sorry I am late,' she said. "'Such a lot of little things to do this morning. "'Major Benjia, Captain Puffin. "'Oh, how naughty of you "'to have begun your shopping without me.' "'Only been to the grocers,' said the Contessa. "'Major Benjia has been so amusing "'that I haven't got on with my shopping at all. "'I have written to Checo to say "'that there is no one so witty.' "'Major Benjia,' thought Miss Mapp bitterly. "'Remembering how long it had taken her to arrive at that. "'And witty, she had not arrived at that yet.' "'No, indeed,' said the Major. "'It was the Contessa, Miss Mapp, "'who has been so entertaining. "'I'm sure she would be,' said Miss Mapp, "'with an enormous smile. "'And, oh, Major Benjia, "'you'll miss your tram unless you hurry "'and get no golf at all "'and then be vexed with us for keeping you. "'You men always blame us poor women.' "'Well, upon my word, what's a game of golf "'compared with the pleasure of being with the ladies?' "'As the Major, with a great fat thou.' "'I want to catch that tram,' said Puffin, quite distinctly, "'and Miss Mapp found herself more nearly forgetting "'his inebriated insults than ever before. "'You poor Captain Puffin,' said the Contessa. "'You shall catch it. "'Be off both of you at once. "'I will not say another word to either of you. "'I will never forgive you if you miss it. "'But tomorrow afternoon, Major Benjia,' he turned round "'to bow again, and a bicycle, luckily, for the rider, "'going very slowly, butted softly into him behind. "'Not heard,' called the Contessa. "'Good, I, Miss Mapp, let us get to our shopping. "'How well you manage those men. "'How right you are about them. "'They want their golf before they want us. "'Whatever they may say, they would hate us "'if we kept them from their golf. "'So sorry not to have been able to play bridge "'with you yesterday, but in engagement, "'what a busy place tilling is, let me see. "'Where is the list of things that Figus told me to buy?' "'That Figus, a roller towel for his pantry "'and some blacking for his boots and some flannel, "'I suppose, for his fat stomach. "'It is all for Figus. "'And there is that swift Mrs. Pleistow. "'She comes like a train with a red light "'her face and wheels and whistling. "'She talks like a telegram. "'Good morning, Mrs. Pleistow.' "'Enjoyed my game of bridge, Contessa?' "'Pented Diva. "'Delightful game of bridge yesterday.' "'The Contessa seemed in rather a hurry to reply. "'But long before she could get a word out, "'Miss Mapp felt she knew what had happened.' "'So pleased,' said the Contessa quickly. "'And now for Figus's towels, Miss Mapp. "'Ten and six pins apiece,' he says. "'What a price to give for a towel. "'But I learned housekeeping like this. "'And Checa will delight in all the economies I shall make. "'Quick to the drapers, lest there should be no towels left.' "'In spite of Figus's list, "'the Contessa's shopping was soon over, "'and Miss Mapp, having seen her as far as the corner, "'walked on as if to her own house "'in order to give her time to get to Mr. Weiss's "'and then fled back to the high street. "'The suspense was unbearable. "'She had to know without delay "'when and where Diva and the Contessa "'had played bridge yesterday. "'Never had her eye so rapidly scan "'the movement of passengers in that entrancing thoroughfare "'in order to pick Diva out "'and learn from her precisely what had happened.' "'There she was, coming out of the dyers "'with her basket completely filled by a bulky package, "'which it needed no ingenuity to identify "'as the late Crimson Lake. "'She would have to be pleasant with Diva, "'for much as that perfidious woman might enjoy telling her "'where this first-of-bridge party had taken place, "'she might enjoy even more torturing her with uncertainty. "'Diva could, if put to it, give no answer "'whatever to a direct question, "'but skillfully changing the subject "'talk about something utterly different.' "'The Crimson Lake,' said Miss Mab, pointing to the basket, "'hope it will turn out well, dear.' "'There was a rather wicked light in Diva's eyes. "'Not Crimson Lake,' she said, "'jet black. "'Sweet of you to have it dyed again, dear Diva,' "'said Miss Mab. "'Not very expensive, I trust. "'Send the bill into you, if you like,' said Diva.' "'Miss Mab laughed very pleasantly. "'That would be a good joke,' she said. "'How nice it is that the dear Contessa "'takes so warmly to our tilling ways, "'so amusing she was about the commission's figures "'had given her. "'But a wee bit satirical, do you think?' "'This ought to put Diva in a good temper, "'for there was nothing she liked so much "'as a few little dabs at somebody else.' "'Diva was not very good-natured.' "'She is rather satirical,' said Diva. "'Oh, tell me some of her abusing little speeches,' "'said Miss Mab enthusiastically. "'I can't always follow her, but you are so quick. "'A little course, too, at times, isn't she?' "'But what she said the other night "'when she was playing patience about the Queens and Kings "'wasn't quite, um, was it at the toothpick?' "'Yes, toothpick,' said Diva. "'Perhaps she has bad breath,' said Miss Mab. "'It runs in families, and Mr. Weiss, as you know, "'we're very lucky you and I.' "'Diva maintained a complete silence, "'and they had now come nearly as far as her door. "'If she would not give the information "'that she knew Miss Mab longed for, "'she must be asked for it, "'with uncertain hope that she would give it then. "'Bimba Lane bridge lately, dear?' asked Miss Mab. "'Quite lately,' said Diva. "'I thought I heard you say something about it "'to the Contessa. "'Yesterday was it? "'Whom did you play with?' "'Diva paused, and when they had come quite to her door, "'made up her mind. "'Contessa sues and Mr. Weiss me,' she said. "'But I thought she never played with Mr. Weiss,' said Miss Mab. "'Had to get a four,' said Diva. "'Contessa wanted her bridge, nobody else.' "'She popped into her house.' "'There is no use describing Miss Mab's state of mind, "'except by saying that for the moment "'she quite forgot that the Contessa was almost certainly "'going to tea with Major Benji tomorrow.'" End of chapter 11, recording by Jane Greensmith of JaneGS.com. Chapter 12 and epilogue of Miss Mab. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kara Schellenberg. Miss Mab by E. F. Benson, chapter 12. Peace on earth and mercy mild, sang Miss Mab, holding her head back with her uvula clearly visible. She sat in her usual seat close below the pulpit, and the sun streaming in through a stained glass window opposite made her face of all colors like Joseph's coat. Not knowing how it looked from outside, she pictured to herself a sort of celestial radiance coming from within, though Diva, sitting opposite, was reminded of the iridescent hues observable on cold-boiled beef. But then Miss Mab had registered the fact that Diva's notion of singing alto was to follow the trebles at the uniform distance of a minor third below so that matters were about square between them. She wondered between the verses if she could say something very tactful to Diva, which might, before next Christmas, induce her not to make that noise. Major Flint came in just before the first hymn was over and held his top hat before his face by way of praying in secret before he opened his hymn-book. A piece of loose holly fell down from the window-ledge above him on the exact middle of his head, and the jump that he gave was, considering his baldness, quite justifiable. Captain Puffin, Miss Mab was sorry to see, was not there at all, but he had been unwell lately with attacks of dizziness, one of which had caused him, in the last game of golf that he had played, to fall down on the 11th green and groan. If these attacks were not due to his lack of perseverance, no right-minded person could fail to be very sorry for him. There was a good deal more peace on earth, as regards tilling, than might have been expected, considering what the week immediately before Christmas had been like. A picture by Miss Coles, who had greatly dropped out of society lately, owing to her odd ways, called Adam, which was certainly Mr. Hopkins, though no one could have guessed, had appeared for sale in the window of a dealer in pictures and curios, but had been withdrawn from public view at Miss Mab's personal intercession, and her revelation of whom, unlikely as it sounded, the picture represented. The unshivalrous dealer had told the artist the history of its withdrawal, and it had come to Miss Mab's ears, among many other things, that quaint Irene had imitated the scene of intercession with such piercing fidelity that her servant, Lucy Eve, had nearly died of laughing. Then there had been clandestine bridge at Mr. Wise's house on three consecutive days, and on none of these occasions was Miss Mab asked to continue the instruction, which she had professed herself perfectly willing to give to the Contessa. The Contessa, in fact, there seemed to be no doubt about it, had declared that she would sooner not play bridge at all than play with Miss Mab, because the effort of not laughing would put an unwarrantable strain on those muscles which prevented you from doing so. Then the Contessa had gone to tea quite alone with Major Benji, and though her shrill and senseless monologue was clearly audible in the street, as Miss Mab went by to post her letter again, the Major's Dominic had stoutly denied that he was in, and the notion that the Contessa was haranguing all by herself in his drawing-room was too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment. And Diva's dyed dress had turned out so well that Miss Mab gnashed her teeth at the thought that she had not had hers dyed instead. With some green chiffon round the neck, even Diva looked quite distinguished for Diva. Then quite suddenly an angel of peace had descended on the distracted garden-room, for the Poppets, the Contessa, and Mr. Wise all went away to spend Christmas and the New Year with the Wises of Whitchurch. It was probable that the Contessa would then continue a round of visits with all that coronet had luggage, and leave for Italy again without revisiting tilling. She had behaved as if that was the case, for taking advantage of a fine afternoon, she had borrowed the Royce, and hurled round the town on a series of calls, leaving PPC cards everywhere and saying only, so Miss Mab gathered from Whithers, your mistress not in, so sorry, and had driven away before a Whithers could get out the information that her mistress was very much in, for she had a bad cold. But there were the PPC cards, and the Wises with their future connections were going to Whitchurch, and after a few hours of rage against all that had been going on, without revenge being now possible, and of reaction after the excitement of it, a different reaction set in. Odd and unlikely as it would have appeared a month or two earlier, when tilling was seething with duels, it was a fact that it was possible to have too much excitement. Ever since the Contessa had arrived, she had been like an active volcano, planted down among dangerously inflammable elements, and the removal of it was really a matter of relief. Miss Mab felt that she would be dealing again with materials whose properties she knew, and since no doubt the strain of Susan's marriage would soon follow, it was a merciful dispensation that the removal of the volcano granted tilling a short restorative pause. The young couple would be back before long, and with Susan's approaching elevation, certainly going to her head, and making her talk in a manner wholly intolerable about the grandeur of the Wises of Whitchurch, it was a boon to be allowed to recuperate for a little before settling to work afresh to combat Susan's pretensions. There was no fear of being dull for plenty of things had been going on in tilling before the Contessa flared on the high street, and plenty of things would continue to go on after she had taken her explosions elsewhere. By the time that the second lesson was being read, the sun had shifted from Miss Mab's face and enabled her to see how ghastly dear Evie looked when focused under the blue robe of Jonah, who was climbing out of the whale. She had had her disappointments to contend with for the Contessa had never really grasped at all who she was. Sometimes she mistook her for Irene. Sometimes she did not seem to see her, but never had she appeared fully to identify her as Mr. Bartlett's wee wifey. But then dear Evie was very insignificant even when she squeaked her loudest. Her best friends, among whom was Miss Mab, would not deny that. She had been wilted by non-recognition. She would recover again now that they were all left to themselves. The sermon contained many repetitions and a quantity of split infinitives. The Padre had once openly stated that Shakespeare was good enough for him, and that Shakespeare was guilty of many split infinitives. On that occasion there had nearly been a breach between him and Mistress Mab, for Mistress Mab had said, but then you are not Shakespeare, dear Padre. And he could find nothing better to reply then, hoots! There was nothing more of interest about the sermon. At the end of the service Miss Mab lingered in the church looking at the lovely decorations of Holly and Laurel, for which she was so largely responsible until her instinct assured her that everybody else had shaken hands and was wondering what to say next about Christmas. Then, just then, she hurried out. They were all there, and she came like the late and honoured guest. Poor Diva. Diva, darling, she said, Merry Christmas, and Evie, and the Padre. Padre, dear, thank you for your sermon, and Major Benjy. Merry Christmas, Major Benjy. What a small company we are, but not the last Christmas-y. No Mr. Wise, no Susan, no Isabelle. Oh, and no Captain Puffin. Not quite well again, Major Benjy. Tell me about him. Those dreadful fits of dizziness, so hard to understand. She beautifully succeeded in detaching the Major from the rest. With the peace that had descended on tilling, she had forgiven him for having been made a fool of by the Contessa. I'm anxious about my friend Puffin, he said. Not at all, up to the mark. Most depressed. I told him he had no business to be depressed. It's selfish to be depressed, I said. If we were all depressed, it would be a dreary world, Miss Elizabeth. He's sent for the doctor. I was to have had a round of golf with Puffin this afternoon, but he doesn't feel up to it. It would have done him much more good than a host of doctors. Oh, I wish I could play golf, and not disappoint you of your round, Major Benjy, said she. Major Benjy seemed rather to recoil from the thought. He did not profess, at any rate, any sympathetic regret. And we were going to have had our Christmas dinner together to-night, he said, and spend a jolly evening afterwards. I'm sure quiet is the best thing for Captain Puffin with his dizziness, said Miss Mapp firmly. A sudden audacity seized her. Here was the Major feeling lonely as regards his Christmas evening. Here was she delighted that he should not spend it jollily with Captain Puffin, and there was plenty of plum pudding. Come and have your dinner with me, she said. I'm alone, too. He shook his head. Very kind of you, I'm sure, Miss Elizabeth, he said, but I think I'll hold myself in readiness to go across to poor old Puffin if he feels up to it. I feel lost without my friend Puffin. But you must have no jolly evening, Major Benjy, she said, so bad for him. A little soup and a good night's rest, that's the best thing. Perhaps he would like me to go in and read to him. I will gladly tell him so from me, and if you find he doesn't want anybody, not even you, well, there's a slice of plum pudding at your neighbors and such a warm welcome. She stood on the steps of her house, which in summer were so crowded with sketchers and would have kissed her hand to him, had not Diva been following close behind, for even on Christmas day poor Diva was capable of finding something ill-natured to say about the most tender and womanly action, and Miss Mapp let herself into her house with only a little wave of her hand. Somehow the idea that Major Benjy was feeling lonely and missing the quarrelsome society of his debauched friend was not entirely unpleasing to her. It was odd that there should be anybody who missed Captain Puffin. Without wishing Captain Puffin any unpleasant experience, she would have borne with equanimity the news of his settled melancholia or his permanent dizziness, for Major Benjy with his bright robustness was not the sort of man to provide a willing comrade to a chronically dizzy or melancholic friend. Nor would it be right that he should be so. Men in the prime of life were not meant for that, nor were they meant to be the victims of designing women, even though the wisest of Whitchurch. He was saved from that by their most opportune departure. In spite of her readiness to be interrupted at any moment, Miss Mapp spent a solitary evening. She had pulled a cracker with withers and severely jarred a tooth over a thrippany piece in the plum pudding, but there had been no other events. Once or twice, in order to see what the night was like, she had gone to the window of the garden room and been aware that there was a light in Major Benjy's house. But when half past ten struck, she had disparate of company and gone to bed. A little carol singing in the streets gave her a Christmas feeling, and she hoped that the singers got a nice supper somewhere. Miss Mapp did not feel as genial as usual when she came down to breakfast next day and omitted to say good morning to her rainbow of piggies. She had run short of wool for her knitting and Boxing Day appeared to her a very ill-advised institution. You would have imagined, thought Miss Mapp as she began cracking her egg, that the tradespeople had had enough relaxation on Christmas Day, especially when, as on this occasion, it was immediately preceded by Sunday and would have been all the better for getting to work again. She never relaxed her effort for a single day in the year, and why? An overpowering knocking on her front door caused her to stop cracking her egg. That imperious summons was succeeded by but a moment of silence, and then it began again. She heard the hurried step of withers across the hall and almost before she could have been supposed to reach the front door, Diva burst into the room. Dead, she said, in his soup, Captain Puffin, can't wait. She whirled out again and the front door banged. Miss Mapp ate her egg in three mouthfuls, had no marmalade at all, and putting on the Prince of Wales cloak, tripped down into the high street. Though all shops were shut, Evie was there with her market basket, eagerly listening to what Mrs. Brace, the doctor's wife, was communicating. Though Mrs. Brace was not, strictly speaking, in society, Miss Mapp waved all social distinctions and pressed her hand with a mournful smile. "'Is it all too terribly true?' she asked. Mrs. Brace did not take the smallest notice of her, and, dropping her voice, spoke to Evie in tones so low that Miss Mapp could not catch a single syllable, except the word soup, which seemed to imply that Evie had got hold of some correct news at last. Evie gave a shrill little scream at the concluding words, whatever they were, as Mrs. Brace hurried away. Miss Mapp firmly cornered Evie and heard what had happened. Captain Puffin had gone up to bed last night, not feeling well, without having any dinner, but he had told Mrs. Gashley to make him some soup, and he would not want anything else. His parlor maid had brought it to him and had soon afterwards opened the door to Major Flint, who, learning that his friend had gone to bed, went away. She called her master in the morning and found him sitting, still dressed, with his face in the soup, which he had poured out into a deep soup plate. This was very odd, and she had called Mrs. Gashley. They settled that he was dead and rang up the doctor who agreed with them. It was clear that Captain Puffin had had a stroke of some sort and had fallen forward into the soup, which he had just poured out. But he didn't die of his stroke, said Evie in a strangled whisper. He was drowned. Drowned, dear, said Miss Mapp. Yes, lungs were full of ox tail. Oh, dear me, a stroke first, and he fell forward with his face in his soup plate and got his nose and mouth quite covered with the soup. He was drowned, all on dry land and in his bedroom, too terrible, what dangers we are all in. She gave a loud squeak and escaped to tell her husband. Diva had finished calling on everybody and approached rapidly. He must have died of a stroke, said Diva. Very much depressed lately, that precedes a stroke. Oh, then haven't you heard, dear, said Miss Mapp. It is all too terrible on Christmas Day, too. Suicide, asked Diva. Oh, how shocking. No, dear, it was like this. Miss Mapp got back to her house long before she usually left it. Her cook came up with the proposed bill of fare for the day. That will do for lunch, said Miss Mapp, but not soup in the evening, a little fish from what was left over yesterday and some toasted cheese. That will be plenty, just a tray. Miss Mapp went to the garden room and sat at her window. All so sudden, she said to herself. She sighed. I dare say there may have been much that was good in Captain Puffin, she thought, that we knew nothing about. She wore a wintry smile. Major Benji will feel very lonely, she said. End of chapter 12. Epilogue. Miss Mapp went to the garden room and sat at her window. It was a warm, bright day of February and a butterfly was enjoying itself in the pale sunshine on the other window and perhaps, so Miss Mapp sympathetically interpreted its feelings, was rather annoyed that it could not fly away through the pain. It was not a white butterfly, but a tortoise shell, very pretty, and in order to let it enjoy itself more, she opened the window and it fluttered out into the garden. Before it had flown many yards, a starling ate most of it up, so the starling enjoyed itself, too. Miss Mapp fully shared in the pleasure first of the tortoise shell and then of the starling, for she was enjoying herself very much, too, though her left wrist was terribly stiff. But Major Benji was so cruel, he insisted on her learning that turn of the wrist which was so important in golf. Upon my word, you've got it now, Miss Elizabeth, he had said to her yesterday and then made her do it all over again fifty times more. Such a bully. Sometimes she struck the ground, sometimes she struck the ball, sometimes she struck the air, but he had been very much pleased with her and she was very much pleased with him. She forgot about the butterfly and remembered the starling. It was idle to deny that the last six weeks had been a terrific strain and the strain on her left wrist was nothing to them. The worst tension of all, perhaps, was when Diva had bounced in with the news that the Contessa was coming back. That was so like Diva, the only foundation for the report proved to be that Figus had said to her Janet that Mr. Wise was coming back and either Janet had misunderstood Figus, or Diva, far more probably, had misunderstood Janet and Mismap only hoped that Diva had not done so on purpose, though it looked like it. Stupid as poor Diva undoubtedly was, it was hard for charity itself to believe that she had thought that Janet really said that. But when this report proved to be totally unfounded, Mismap rose to the occasion and said that Diva had spoken out of stupidity and not out of malice towards her. Then in due course Mr. Wise had come back and the two puppets had come back and only three days ago one puppet had become a wise and they had all three gone for a motor tour on the Continent in the Royce. Very likely they would go as far south as Capri and Susan would stay with her new Grand Battalion connections. What she would be like when she got back, Mismap, for bore to conjecture since it was no use anticipating trouble. But Susan had been so grandiose about the wisest, multiplying their incomes and their acreage by 15 or 20, so Mismap conjectured, and talking so much about country families that the liveliest imagination failed to picture what she would make of the Faraglionis. She already alluded to the count as my brother-in-law, Seco Faraglione, but had luckily heard Diva say Faradidlione in a loud aside which had made her a little more reticent. Susan had taken the insignia of the member of the British Empire with her as she at once conceived the idea of being presented to the Queen of Italy by Amelia and going to a court ball, and Isabelle had taken her manuscript book of Malaprops and Spoonerisms. If she put down all the Italian Malaprops that Mrs. Wise would commit, it was likely that she would bring back two volumes instead of one. Though all these grandeurs were so rightly irritating, the departure of the young couple and Isabelle had left tilling, already shocked and shattered by the death of Captain Puffin, rather flat and purposeless. Mismap alone refused to be flat and had never been so full of purpose. She felt that it would be unpardonably selfish of her if she regarded for a moment her own loss when there was one in tilling who suffered so much more keenly and she set herself with admirable singleness of purpose to restore Major Benjy's zest in life and fill the gap. She wanted no assistance from others in this. Diva, for instance, with her jerky ways would be only too apt to jar on him and her black dress might remind him of his loss if Mismap had asked her to go shares in the task of making the Major's evenings less lonely. Also the weather, during the whole of January, was particularly inclement and it would have been too much to expect Diva to come all the way up the hill in the wet while it was but a step from the Major's door to her own. So there was little or nothing in the way of Winter Bridge as far as Mismap and the Major were concerned. Piquet, with a single sympathetic companion who did not mind being Rubicon at Thruppence a hundred, was as much as he was up to at present. With the end of the month the balmy foretaste of spring, such as had encouraged the tortoise shell butterfly to hope, set him and the Major used to drop in after breakfast and stroll round the garden with her, smoking his pipe. Mismap's sweet snow drops had begun to appear and green spikes of crocuses pricked the black earth and the sparrows were having such fun in the creepers. Then one day the Major, who was going out to catch the eleven-twenty tram, had a golf stick, as Mismap so foolishly called it with him, and a golf ball, and after making a dreadful hole in her lawn she had hit the ball so hard that it rebounded from the brick wall, which was quite a long way off and came back to her very feet as if asking to be hit again by the golf stick. No, golf club. She learned to keep her wonderfully observant eye on the ball and bought one of her own. The Major lent her a mashy and before anyone would have thought it possible, she had learned to propel her ball right over the bed where the snow drops grew without beheading any of them in its passage. It was the turn of the wrist that did that and withers cleaned the dear little mashy afterwards and put it safely in the corner of the garden room. Today was to be epoch-making. They were to go out to the real links by the eleven-twenty tram, consecrated by so many memories, and he was to call for her at eleven. He had key-hide for porridge fully an hour ago. After letting out the torcheshell butterfly from the window looking into the garden, she moved across to the post of observation on the street and arranged snow drops into a little glass vase. There were a few over when that was full and she saw that a reel of cotton was close at hand in case she had an idea of what to do with the remainder. Eleven o'clock chimed from the church and on the stroke she saw him coming up the few yards of street that separated his door from hers, so punctual, so manly. Diva was careering about the high street as they walked along it and Mismap kissed her hand to her. Off to play golf, darling, she said. Is that not grand? Oh, reservoir! Diva had not missed seeing the snow drops in the major's buttonhole and stood stupefied for a moment at this news. Then she caught sight of Evie and shot across the street to communicate her suspicions. Quaint Irene joined them and the Padre. Snow drops, if eggs, said he, End of Epilogue, read by Kara Schallenberg, www.kray.org, on October 22nd, 2008 in San Diego, California. And this is the end of Mismap by E. F. Benson.