‘You know, Jasper, something must be done about Nelson’s arm, so that it doesn’t show. Yesterday one could see it under the pinned-up sleeve all the time, it did look so idiotic.’
‘Yes, and why does Nelson limp and pretend to be deaf? Gross overacting, I call it.’
‘Of course the whole Nelson episode is a bit unsatisfactory. For instance, was Lady Hamilton really so matey with George III? I have a sort of idea she was never received at Court at all, and anyway he was batty by then.’
‘Nobody will know that.’
‘Well, I dare say, but I’m sure everyone knows she wasn’t at Nelson’s deathbed. There is a very famous picture of it for one thing.’
‘She isn’t meant to be in it,’ cried Jasper despairing, ‘I’ve told her time and again to keep off. She quite ruins the “Kiss me, Hardy” bit.’
‘Oh! but what happened yesterday was that Hardy never turned up, and as somebody had to kiss the old boy, Lady Hamilton did seem to be the obvious person.’
‘It appears she’s nuts about him, in real life, I mean. Miss Trant told me.’
‘Anyway, I saw a letter in the Sunday Times saying it was really Kismet, Hardy.’
‘I don’t care, Hardy kissed him all right. Everybody knows that.’
‘Oh, this rain!’
‘Didn’t you think the bit where Wolfe recites Gray’s “Elegy” to his troops dragged rather? I suppose it couldn’t be pruned at all?’
‘And Napoleon on board the Bellerophon looked exactly like the “Wounding of Nelson at the Canary Islands”. I told you it would.’
‘It struck me that Napoleon was blind, anyway.’
‘Well, I don’t know where he found anything to drink, I never did.’
‘The ennobling of Pitt was nice,’ said Eugenia. ‘I must tell the Comrades to cheer like anything for that. Had Pitt been alive today he would have been a Social Unionist, of course. So would Fox.’
‘Oh, this rain!’
‘By the way,’ said Eugenia, ‘one of the old carriage horses has gone quite lame since yesterday, so we are going to use Vivian Jackson instead. He is awfully pleased, the darling, he loves to be in on things.’
The rain continued all the evening without a break. It poured and poured. At tea-time the telegram Jasper had sent his sister returned to him, ‘Gone abroad, whereabouts not known’.
‘Oh, dear,’ he said gloomily, ‘it never rains but it pours. I suppose when cheques begin coming back on one it is quite natural for telegrams to follow suit. I say old boy, lend me ten pounds.’
‘Sorry, old boy.’
‘Darling Miss Smith,’ he said, much later in the evening, ‘are you going to marry me or aren’t you? I should be glad to know soon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if not I think I shall bunk after the pag.’
‘Where to?’
‘Uruguay.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Then marry me.’
‘I will tell you tomorrow,’ said Poppy, ‘after the pageant is over – if it ever takes place at all. Oh, this rain!’
Jasper wondered why he found it impossible to borrow ten pounds from Poppy. He had never been troubled by such diffidence before in his relations with women. Poor little Marigold, indeed, had once been left in pawn in a Paris hotel where he had found it impossible to pay the bill, and for all he knew she was still there. He could not quite imagine himself meting out such treatment to Poppy.
‘Good night, darling,’ he said, ‘oh, this rain!’
There was but little sleep in the Jolly Roger that night, the weather was too much on everybody’s mind. Some composed themselves for rest with their curtains drawn back so that they could observe from their beds the smallest change, others tried to forget their anxiety by shutting the windows, but soon found themselves making continual pilgrimages to open them again. At 2 a.m. the rain suddenly stopped and except for the regular dripping of trees there was no sound. The sky could not be seen, or any stars, there was a profound darkness. Shortly before five o’clock advancing daylight revealed that the village was wrapped in an opaque white mist. At eight o’clock this began to clear, and by nine a hot sun was pouring down its rays on to the steamy fields. It was a perfect summer day.
17
It was a perfect summer day. Morning sun blazed into the windows of the Jolly Roger, but quite failed to awaken the occupants. As soon as they felt perfectly confident that this fine weather was an indisputable fact, they had all made up for a wakeful night by sinking into happy, carefree slumber. The more the sun shone the sounder they slept. It was not until nearly eleven o’clock, when Eugenia and Vivian Jackson appeared on Chalford green, that they were finally aroused by a hideous din, compounded of shouting, neighing, and the cracking of a whip. Sleepy faces appeared, one by one, in four windows.
‘Hail! and arise, Union Jackshirt Comrades!’ cried Eugenia. ‘I don’t know how you could still be in bed on such a day – I myself have been out since dawn. There is much work for all to do in Chalford Park – I command you, as your district leader, to follow me there without delay.’ She dragged Vivian Jackson’s head right round, whereupon he reared twice and gave several tremendous buck-jumps, after which he galloped away, while Eugenia, sitting like a rock, sang at the top of her voice, ‘Land of Union Jackshirts, Mother of the Flag’.
Poppy was the first to be ready. She abandoned her usual post in the battle of the bathroom, having had the wily idea that it might be possible to take a hot, deep bath in Chalford House whilst dressing for the pageant. She came downstairs delighted at having thus stolen a march on
