The Second E.F. Benson Megapack. E.F. Benson
at his humour, made him a curtsey, and next moment they were treading a little improvised minuet together with hands held high, and pointed toes. Georgie had very small feet, and it was a really elegant toe that he pointed, encased in cloth-topped boots. He had on a suit of fresh white flannels and over his shoulders, for fear of the evening air being chilly after this hot day, he had a little cape of a military cut, like those in which young ladies at music-halls enact the part of colonels. He had a straw-hat on, with a blue riband, a pink shirt and a red tie, rather loose and billowy. His face was pink and round, with blue eyes, a short nose and very red lips. An almost complete absence of eyebrow was made up for by a firm little brown moustache clipped very short, and brushed upwards at its extremities. Contrary to expectation he was quite tall and fitted very neatly into his clothes.
The dance came to an end with a low curtsey on Lucia’s part, an obeisance hat in hand from Georgie (this exposure shewing a crop of hair grown on one side of his head and brushed smoothly over the top until it joined the hair on the other side) and a clapping of the hands from Peppino.
“Bravo, bravo,” he cried from the tea-table. “Capital!”
Mrs Lucas blew him a kiss in acknowledgment of this compliment and smiled on her partner. “Amico!” she said. “It is nice to see you again. How goes it?”
“Va bene,” said Georgie to show he could talk Italian too. “Va very bene now that you’ve come back.”
“Grazie! Now tell us all the news. We’ll have a good gossip.”
Georgie’s face beamed with a “solemn gladness” at the word, like a drunkard’s when brandy is mentioned.
“Where shall we begin?” he said. “Such a lot to tell you. I think we must begin with a great bit of news. Something really mysterious.”
Lucia smiled inwardly. She felt that she knew for dead certain what the mysterious news was, and also that she knew far more about it than Georgie. This superiority she completely concealed. Nobody could have guessed it.
“Presto, presto!” she said. “You excite me.”
“Yesterday morning I was in Rush’s,” said Georgie, “seeing about some Creme de menthe, which ought to have been sent the day before. Rush is very negligent sometimes—and I was just saying a sharp word about it, when suddenly I saw that Rush was not attending at all, but was looking at something behind my back, and so I looked round. Guess!”
“Don’t be tantalising, amico,” said she. “How can I guess? A pink elephant with blue spots!”
“No, guess again!”
“A red Indian in full war paint.”
“Certainly not! Guess again,” said Georgie, with a little sigh of relief. (It would have been awful if she had guessed.) At this moment Peppino suddenly became aware that Lucia had guessed and was up to some game.
“Give me your hand, Georgie,” she said, “and look at me. I’m going to read your thoughts. Think of what you saw when you turned round.”
She took his hand and pressed it to her forehead, closing her eyes.
“But I do seem to see an Indian,” she said. “Ah, not red Indian, other Indian. And—and he has slippers on and brown stockings—no, not brown stockings; it’s legs. And there’s a beard, and a turban.”
She gave a sigh.
“That’s all I can see,” she said.
“My dear, you’re marvellous,” said he. “You’re quite right.”
A slight bubbling sound came from Peppino, and Georgie began to suspect.
“I believe you’ve seen him!” he said. “How tarsome you are….”
When they had all laughed a great deal, and Georgie had been assured that Lucia really, word of honour, had no idea what happened next, the narrative was resumed.
“So there stood the Indian, bowing and salaaming most politely and when Rush had promised me he would send my Creme de menthe that very morning, I just looked through a wine list for a moment, and the Indian with quantities more bows came up to the counter and said, ‘If you will have the great goodness to give me a little brandy bottle.’ So Rush gave it him, and instead of paying for it, what do you think he said? Guess.”
Mrs Lucas rose with the air of Lady Macbeth and pointed her finger at Georgie.
“He said ‘Put it down to Mrs Quantock’s account,’” she hissed.
Of course the explanation came now, and Lucia told the two men the contents of Mrs Quantock’s letter. With that her cards were on the table, and though the fact of the Brahmin from Benares was news to Georgie, he had got many interesting things to tell her, for his house adjoined Mrs Quantock’s and there were plenty of things which Mrs Quantock had not mentioned in her letter, so that Georgie was soon in the position of informant again. His windows overlooked Mrs Quantock’s garden, and since he could not keep his eyes shut all day, it followed that the happenings there were quite common property. Indeed that was a general rule in Riseholme: anyone in an adjoining property could say, “What an exciting game of lawn-tennis you had this afternoon!” having followed it from his bedroom. That was part of the charm of Riseholme; it was as if it contained just one happy family with common interests and pursuits. What happened in the house was a more private matter, and Mrs Quantock, for instance, would never look from the rising ground at the end of her garden into Georgie’s dining-room or, if she did she would never tell anyone how many places were laid at table on that particular day when she had asked if he could give her lunch, and he had replied that to his great regret his table was full. But nobody could help seeing into gardens from back windows: the “view” belonged to everybody.
Georgie had had wonderful views.
“That very day,” he said, “soon after lunch, I was looking for a letter I thought I had left in my bedroom, and happening to glance out, I saw the Indian sitting under Mrs Quantock’s pear-tree. He was swaying a little backwards and forwards.”
“The brandy!” said Lucia excitedly. “He has his meals in his own room.”
“No, amica, it was not the brandy. In fact I don’t suppose the brandy had gone to Mrs Quantock’s then, for he did not take it from Rush’s, but asked that it should be sent….” He paused a moment—“Or did he take it away? I declare I can’t remember. But anyhow when he swayed backwards and forwards, he wasn’t drunk, for presently he stood on one leg, and crooked the other behind it, and remained there with his hands up, as if he was praying, for quite a long time without swaying at all. So he couldn’t have been tipsy. And then he sat down again, and took off his slippers, and held his toes with one hand, while his legs were quite straight out, and put his other hand round behind his head, and grasped his other ear with it. I tried to do it on my bedroom floor, but I couldn’t get near it. Then he sat up again and called ‘Chela! Chela!’ and Mrs Quantock came running out.”
“Why did he say ‘Chela’?” asked Lucia.
“I wondered too. But I knew I had some clue to it, so I looked through some books by Rudyard Kipling, and found that Chela meant ‘Disciple.’ What you have told me just now about ‘Guru’ being ‘teacher,’ seems to piece the whole thing together.”
“And what did Daisy do?” asked Mrs Lucas breathlessly.
“She sat down too, and put her legs out straight in front of her like the Guru, and tried to hold the toe of her shoe in her fingers, and naturally she couldn’t get within yards of it. I got nearer than she did. And he said, ‘Beloved lady, not too far at first.’”
“So you could hear too,” said Lucia.
“Naturally, for my window was open, and as you know Mrs Quantock’s pear-tree is quite close to the house. And then he told her to stop up one nostril with her finger and inhale through the other, and then hold her breath, while he counted six. Then she breathed it all out again, and started