Busman’s Honeymoon (3 page)

  
16 August.—
Harriet, who has been down to the country to look at a water-mill (something to do with her new book) said she had motored back through Herts, and paid a visit to her old home at Great Pagford. Talked about her people—quiet country doctor and wife. Father made quite good income, but never thought of saving anything (thought he’d live for ever, I suppose)—very anxious, however, H. should have good education—just as well, as things turned out. H. said her own childish ambition had been to make enough money to buy quaint old farmhouse called Talboys in next village. Had seen it again on her trip—Elizabethan, very pretty. Said how differently things turned out from what one expected. I said it sounded just the sort of place she and P. would want for weekend cottage. H. rather taken aback said. Yes, she supposed so. Left it at that.

  
19 August.—
Found the exact right hangings for the bedstead. Helen says all that kind of thing highly insanitary. Says Gerald has had bad reports of the partridges and thinks country going to the dogs.

  
20 August.—
H. has written to Peter about buying Talboys. Explained she thought Peter ‘liked giving people things’. He does, poor boy! Facts now apparently faced once for all—looks as though he was going to get five-and-a-half years’ arrears of patience repaid in a lump. Said mildly I thought nothing would give P. greater pleasure. When she had gone, danced quiet jig in drawing-room, to surprise of Franklin (silly woman—she ought to know me by this time).

  
21 August.—
Harriet’s book finished and sent to publisher. This unfortunately leaves her mind free to worry about Abyssinia, so tiresome. Convinced civilisation will perish and Peter never be seen again. Like cat on hot bricks saying she wasted five years of P.’s life and can’t forgive herself and it’s no good saying he’s over age because he has M.I. written all over his conscience and if he was seventy he might still be gassed or bombed in an air-raid. Earnestly hope we shall
not
have another war with meat-coupons and no sugar and people being killed—ridiculous and unnecessary. Wonder whether Mussolini’s mother spanked him too much or too little—you never know, these psychological days. Can distinctly remember spanking Peter, but it doesn’t seem to have warped him much, so psychologists very likely all wrong.

  
24 August.—
Peter has instructed agent to negotiate for Talboys with present owner—man called Noakes. His letter to me very discreet—but he is delighted. Situation in Rome apparently clearing, so far as his own job is concerned. H. still uneasy about prospects of war.

  
30 August.—
Harriet completely exalted by letter from Peter saying, ‘Even if it is the twilight of the world, before night falls I will sleep in your arms.’... (How well I recognise the old, magniloquent Peter of twenty years back) ... and adding that his plumbing is done and he has asked for his papers, which is more to the point.

  
4 September.—
They have made a good job of the chandeliers for the hall and great saloon. Gerald says they can have the tapestries from the Blue Room—they will look well on the upper landing, I think—have sent them to be overhauled and cleaned, which they badly need. (Peter would say, so do my pronouns, but
I
know quite well what I mean. Ahasuerus sick in Franklin’s bedroom—funny how fond he is of her, seeing she doesn’t really like cats.

  
7 September.—
Peter wires he will be back next week. Harriet insisted on taking me out to dinner and standing me champagne. Said, hilariously, her last opportunity, as Peter doesn’t care for champagne. Condoled with her on loss of freedom in brief and witty speech (brief for me, anyway). Should like to see Helen taking me out to dinner and listening to a speech.

  
14 September.—
Peter came back. He dined somewhere with Harriet and then came round to see me—alone, so nice of them, because of course I had said, bring her too. P looks thin and tired, but I think that must be Mussolini, the weather or something, because he obviously has no doubts about anything (except the League, naturally)—and it struck me so much that he sat absolutely quiet for near two hours without fidgeting or saying very much, so unusual because as a rule peas on a hot shovel are nothing to it. Very sweet about what I had done as regards the house. Will leave it to me to engage staff, as Harriet not experienced. They will need about eight servants, besides Bunter and the housekeeper, so I shall have a nice busy time.

  
15 September.—
Harriet came round this morning to show me her ring—big solitaire ruby—old Abrahams had it cut and set specially to instructions. Poor H. laughed at herself because when Peter gave it to her yesterday she was looking at
him
and ten minutes afterwards, when challenged, couldn’t even tell him the colour of the stone. Said she was afraid she never would learn to behave like other people, but Peter had only said it was the first time his features had ever been prized above rubies. Peter joined us at lunch—also Helen, who demanded to see the ring, and said sharply, ‘Good Heavens! I hope it’s insured.’ To do her justice, I can’t see that she could have found anything nastier to say if she’d thought it out with both hands for a fortnight. She then went on to say she supposed they intended to get married quietly before the Registrar, but Peter said, No, he would as soon be married in a railway-station waiting-room, and that if Helen had developed religious scruples she need not lend her countenance to the proceedings. So Helen said, ‘Oh, I see—St George’s, Hanover Square, I suppose’—and went on to arrange everything for them, including the date, the parson, the guests and the music. When she got to ‘The Voice that Breathed o’er Eden,’ Peter said, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, cut out the League of Nations!’ and he and Harriet began to invent rude rhymes, which left Helen rather out of it, as she never was good at drawing-room games.

  
16 September.—
Helen obligingly presented us with a copy of the new form of marriage service, with all the vulgar bits left out—which was asking for trouble. Peter very funny about it—said he knew all about the ‘procreation of children’, in theory though not in practice, but that the ‘increase of mankind’ by any other method sounded too advanced for him, and that, if he ever did indulge in such dangerous amusements, he would, with his wife’s permission, stick to the old-fashioned procedure. He also said that, as for the ‘gift of continence’, he wouldn’t have it as a gift, and had no objection to admitting as much. At this point, Helen got up and left the house, leaving P. and Harriet to wrangle over the word ‘obey’. P. said he would consider it a breach of manners to give orders to his wife, but H. said. Oh, no—he’d give orders fast enough if the place was on fire or a tree falling down and he wanted her to stand clear. P. said, in that case they ought both to say ‘obey’, but it would be too much jam for the reporters. Left them to fight it out. When I came back, found Peter had consented to be obeyed on condition he might ‘endow’ and not ‘share’ his worldly goods. Shocking victory of sentiment over principle.

  
18 September.—
Must really say ‘
Damn!
’ Disgusting newspapers have raked up all that old story about Harriet and Philip Boyes. Peter
furious.
Harriet says, ‘Only to be expected.’ Was horribly afraid she might offer to release P. from engagement, but she controlled herself nobly—expect she realises it would nearly kill him to go through that again. Think it is probably fault of that Sylvester-Quicke woman who tried so hard to get hold of Peter—have always suspected her of writing gossip-column for Sunday papers. Helen (coming down strong, but heavy-footed, on family side) determined that best plan is to have colossal Society wedding and face it out. Has decided, for reasons best known to herself, 16th October most suitable date. Kindly undertaken choice of bridesmaids—our own friends, as H.’s friends ‘obviously impossible’—and offered loan of house for reception—also ten villas belonging to impoverished nobility for honeymoon. Peter, losing patience, said, ‘Who’s getting married, Helen? You or we?’ Gerald tried to take Head of Family line—well snubbed all round. Helen again gave her views, and ended by saying, ‘Then I take it the 16th is settled.’ Peter said, ‘Take what you like.’ Helen said she would take her departure till he chose to realise she was only doing her
best
for them—and Gerald looked so imploring that Peter apologised for incivility.

  
20 September
.—Agent reports price for Talboys settled. Many alterations and repairs needed, but fabric sound. Agreement to purchase with immediate possession—present owner to be left there till after honeymoon, when Peter will go down and see what they want done and send the workmen in.

  
25 September.—
Situation, what with Helen and newspapers, becoming impossible. Peter upset at idea of St George’s and general hullaballoo. Harriet suffering from return of inferiority complex which she tries hard not to show. Have held up all invitations.

  
27 September.—
Peter came to me and said that if this went on they would both be driven mad. He and H. have decided to do the whole thing quietly, without telling anybody except their own personal friends. Small wedding at Oxford, reception
here,
honeymoon in some peaceful spot in the country. I have readily agreed to help them.

  
30 September.—
They have fixed up with Noakes to have honeymoon at Talboys, nobody to know anything about it. Apparently N. can clear out at short notice and lend all furniture, &c. I asked, ‘What about DRAINS?’ Peter said, Damn drains—no drains (to speak of) at the Hall when he was a boy (well I remember it!). Wedding (Archbp’s licence) on the 8th October and let Helen think what she likes till last moment—also newspapers. Harriet very much relieved. Peter adds, anyway, honeymoon in hotels disgusting—own roof (especially if Elizabethan) much more suited to English gentleman. Fierce bustle about wedding-dress—Worth’s—period gown in stiff gold brocade, long sleeves, square neck, off-the-face head-dress, no jewels except my long earrings that belonged to great-aunt Delagardie. (
N.B.
Publisher must have come well up to scratch on new book.) H. to be married from her College (rather nice, I think) tremendous wirings and swearings to secrecy. Bunter to go ahead and see that all is in order at Talboys.

  
2 October.—
We have had to cancel Bunter. He is being dogged by pressmen. Found one forcing his way into Peter’s flat via service lift. B. narrowly escaped summons for assault. P. said, better take Talboys (including drains) on trust. Payment completed, and Noakes says he will have everything ready—quite accustomed to letting house for summer holidays, so it should be all right.... Helen agitated because no invitations yet sent out for 16th. Told her I believed 16th not yet officially settled. Helen asked, Why the delay? Had Peter got cold feet, or was that girl playing him up again? ... I suggested, wedding their own affair, both being well over age.... They are taking no servants but Bunter, who is a host in himself, and can do all they want with local help. I fancy Harriet rather shrinks from starting off at once with a strange staff, and Peter wants to spare her. And Town maids are always a perfect nuisance in the country. If Harriet can once establish herself with Bunter she will have no further trouble with domestics!

  
4 October.—
Went round to Peter’s flat to advise about settings for some stones he picked up in Italy. While there registered post brought large, flat envelope—Harriet’s writing. Wondered what it was she wanted to send and not bring. (Inquisitive me!) Watched Peter open it, while pretending to examine zircon (such a lovely colour!). He flushed up in that absurd way he has when anybody says anything rather personal to him, and stood staring at the thing till I got quite wound up, and said, ‘What is it?’ He said, in an odd sort of voice, ‘The bride’s gift to the bridegroom.’ It had been worrying me for some time how she’d grapple with that, because there isn’t an awful lot,
really,
one can give a very well-off man, unless one is frightfully well off oneself, and the wrong thing is worse than nothing, but all the same, nobody really wants to be kindly told that they can’t bring a better gift than their sweet selves—very pretty but so patronising and Lord of Burleigh—and after all, we all have human instincts, and giving people things is one of them. So I dashed up to look, and it was a letter written on a single sheet in a very beautiful seventeenth-century hand. Peter said, ‘The funny thing is that the catalogue was sent to me in Rome, and I wired for this, and was ridiculously angry to learn it had been sold.’ I said, ‘But you don’t collect manuscripts.’ And he said, ‘No, but I wanted this for Harriet.’ And he turned it over, and I could read the signature, ‘John Donne’, and that explained a lot, because of course Peter has always been queer about Donne. It seems it’s a very beautiful letter from D. to a parishioner—Lady Somebody—about Divine and human love. I was trying to read it, only I never can make out that old-fashioned kind of writing (wonder what Helen will make of it—no doubt she’ll think a gold cigarette-lighter would have been much more suitable)—when I found Peter had got on the phone, and was saying, ‘Listen, dear heart,’ in a voice I’d never heard him use in his life. So I shot out of the room, and ran slap into Bunter, just coming in from the hall-door. Afraid Peter is getting out of hand, because when he came out after telephoning, Bunter reported that he had ‘booked the best room at the Lord Warden, my lord, for the night of the 16th, and reserved cabin and train accommodation for Mentone as instructed.’ P. asked, were the hell-hounds on the trail? B. said. Yes—leading hell-hound had approached him as expected with pump working full blast. Had asked, Why Lord Warden and not night boat or aeroplane? B. had replied. Lady a martyr to sea-and-air-sickness. Hound appeared satisfied and tipped B. 10s., which B. says he will take liberty of forwarding to Prisoners’ Aid Society. I said, ‘Really, Peter!’ but he said. Why shouldn’t he arrange continental trip for deserving couple? and posted off reservations to Miss Climpson, for benefit of tubercular accountant and wife in reduced circumstances. (Query: How does one reduce a circumstance?)