A Woman's War by Warwick Deeping (ap literature book list .txt) 📖

sufficiently assured of her own glory to stoop to attack a

humbled rival. Jealousy and a sneaking suspicion of

inferiority had embittered the feud for her of old; and

Kate Murchison, saddened and aged, half a suppliant

for the loyalty of a few good friends, could still inspire in

Betty a spirit of aggressive and impatient hate. She remembered that she had seen Catherine triumphant where

she herself had received indifference and disregard. The

instinct to crush this antipathetic rival was as fierce and

keen in her as ever.

 

“Call on her,” had been Madge Ellison’s suggestion.

 

“Call on her!”

 

“It would be more diplomatic.”

 

“Do you imagine, Madge, that I am going to make

advances to that woman? She used to snub me once;

my turn has come. I give the Murchisons just six months

in Roxton.”

 

How little mercy Betty Steel had in that intolerant and

subtle heart of hers was betrayed by the strategic move

that opened the renewal of hostilities. She had driven

Kate Murchison out of Roxton once, and the arrogance

of conquest was as fierce in this slim, refined-faced woman

as in any Alexander. She moved in a small and limited

sphere, but the aggressive spirit was none the less inevitable in its lust to overthrow. The motives were the

meaner for their comparative minuteness.

 

Lady Sophia’s Bazaar Committee met in Roxton public hall one day towards the end of May, to consider the

arrangement of stalls, and to settle a number of decorative details. Betty had spent half the morning at her

escritoire sorting letters, meditating chin on hand, scribbling on the backs of old envelopes, which she afterwards

took care to burn.

 

She seemed in her happiest vein that afternoon, as she

left Madge Ellison to provide tea for Dr. Little, and

drove to the public hall with her despatch-box full of the

Bazaar Fund’s correspondence. No one would have

imagined it possible for such refinement and charm to

cover instincts that were not unallied to the instincts found

in” an Indian jungle. Mrs. Betty went through her business with briskness and precision; the committee left their

chairs to discuss the grouping of the stalls about the

room. There were to be twelve of these booths, each to

represent a familiar flower; Lady Sophia had elected herself a rose. Mrs. Betty’s choice had been Oriental

poppies.

 

Lady Sophia was parading the hall with a pair of pincenez perched on the bridge of her nose, and a memorandumbook open in her hand. A group of deferential ladies followed her like hens about the farmer’s wife at feedingtime. The most trivial suggestion that fell from those

aristocratic lips was seized upon and swallowed with

relish.

 

“Betty, dear, have you heard from Jennings about the

draperies?”

 

The glory of it, to be “my deared” in public by Lady

Sophia Gillingham!

 

“Yes, I have a letter somewhere, and a list of prices.”

 

“You might pin up the letter and the price-list on the

black-board by the door, so that the stall-holders can take

advantage of any item that may be of use to them.”

 

Betty moved to the table and rummaged amid her

multifarious correspondence. She was chatting all the

while to a Miss Cozens, a thin, wiry little woman, alert

as a Scotch-terrier in following up the scent of favor.

 

“What a lot of work the bazaar has given you, Mrs.

Steel!”

 

“Yes, quite enough,” and she divided her attention

between Miss Cozens and the pile of papers.

 

“When is the next rehearsal?”

 

“Tuesday, I believe.”

 

“I hear you are the genius of the play.”

 

“Am I?” and Betty smiled like an ingenuous girl. “I

am most horribly nervous. I always feel that I am spoiling the part. Oh, here’s Jennings’s letter, and the list, I

think.”

 

She left the two papers lying unheeded for the moment,

while she answered Miss Cozens’s interested questions on

costume.

 

“Primrose and leaf green, that will be lovely.”

 

“Yes, so everybody says.”

 

Lady Sophia’s voice interrupted the gossip. She was

beckoning to Betty with her memorandumbook.

 

“Betty, can you spare me a moment?”

 

Miss Cozens’s sharp eyes gave an envious twinkle.

 

“Shall I pin up the papers for you, Mrs. Steel?”

 

“Would you?”

 

“With pleasure.”

 

And Betty swept two sheets of paper towards Miss

Cozens without troubling to glance at them, and turned

to wait on Lady Sophia.

 

Several ladies congregated about the black-board as

Miss Cozens pinned up the letter and the price-list with

such conscientious promptitude that she had not troubled

to read their contents. Had she had eyes for the faces

of her neighbors she might have been struck by the

puzzled eagerness of their expression. One elderly committee woman readjusted her glasses, and then touched

Miss Cozens with a pencil that she carried.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“There is some mistake I think.”

 

“Mistake?”

 

“Yes, that letter ” and the spectacled lady pointed to

the black-board with her pencil.

 

Miss Cozens took the trouble to investigate the charge.

The letter was written on one broad sheet in a neat, bold

hand. Miss Cozens’s prim little mouth pursed itself up

expressively as she read; her brows contracted, her

eyes stared.

 

“Good Heavens! what’s this? I must have taken the

wrong letter.”

 

She tore the sheet down, pushed past her neighbors,

and crossed the room towards Betty Steel. The group

about the black-board appeared to be discussing the incident. Mr. Jennings ‘s list of silks and drapings seemed

forgotten.

 

“Mrs. Steel, excuse me—”

 

“Yes?”

 

“This letter; there’s some mistake. It’s the wrong one.

I pinned it up, and Mrs. Saker called my attention to the

error.”

 

“Let me see.”

 

Miss Cozens gave her the sheet, intense curiosity quivering in every line of her doglike face.

 

“Good Heavens! how did this get mixed up with my

business correspondence?”

 

She looked perturbation to perfection.

 

“Miss Cozens, what am I to do? Has any one read

it?”

 

The little woman nodded.

 

“How horrible! I must explain It must not go any

further.”

 

Betty hurried across the hall towards the door, hesitated, and looked round her as though baffled by indecision. She knew well enough that inquisitive eyes

were watching her. Her skill as an actress and she was

consummately clever as a hypocrite served to heighten

the meaning that she wished to convey.

 

“Lady Sophia.”

 

Betty had doubled adroitly in the direction of the

amiable aristocrat.

 

“Yes, dear”

 

“Can I speak to you alone?”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh, I have done such an awful thing. Do help me.

You have so much nerve and tact/’

 

“My dear child, steady yourself.”

 

“I looked out Jennings ‘s papers; Miss Cozens was chattering to me, and when you called me, she offered to pin

the things on the board. How on earth it happened, I

cannot imagine, but a private letter of mine had got

mixed up with the bazaar correspondence. It must have

been lying by Jennings ‘s list, for Miss Cozens, without

troubling to read it, pinned it on the board.”

 

The perturbed, sensitive creature was breathless and

all a-flutter. Lady Sophia patted her arm.

 

“Well, dear, I see no great harm yet

 

“Wait! It was a letter from an old friend abroad, a

letter that contained certain confessions about a Roxton

family. What on earth am I to do? Look, here it is,

read it.”

 

Lady Sophia read the letter, holding it at arm’s-length

like the music of a song.

 

“Good Heavens, Betty, I never knew the man drank,

that it had been a habit

 

“Don’t, Lady Sophia, don’t!”

 

“You should have been more careful.”

 

“I know I know. I shall never forgive myself. For

goodness’ sake, help me. You have so much more tact

than I.”

 

Her ladyship accepted the responsibility with stately

unction.

 

“Leave it to me, dear. I can go round and have a quiet

talk with all those who happened to read the letter. How

unfortunate that the opening sentences should have contained this information. Still, it need never get abroad.”

 

“How good of you!”

 

“There, dear, you are rather upset, most naturally

so —”

 

“I think I had better retreat.”

 

“Yes, leave it to me.”

 

“Thank you, oh, so much. Tell them not to whisper

a word of it.”

 

“There will be no difficulty, dear, about that.”

 

Betty, white and troubled, added a sharper flavor to

the stew by withdrawing dramatically from the stage.

And any one wise as to the contradictoriness of human

nature could have prophesied how the news would spread

had he seen the Lady Sophia voyaging on her diplomatic

mission round the hall.

 

“Poor Mrs. Steel! Such an unfortunate coincidence!

Not a woman easily upset, but, believe me, my dear Mrs.

So-and-So, it was as much a shock to her as though she

had heard bad news of her husband. Now, I am quite

sure this unpleasant affair will go no further. Of course

not. I rely absolutely on your discretion.”

 

And since the discretion of a provincial town is complex to a degree of an ever-repeated confession, coupled

with a solemn warning against repetition, it was not improbable that this froth would haunt the pot for many a

long day.