Works of e f benson, p.146
Works of E F Benson, page 146
“Years and years after that,” said Elizabeth, moving away.
He turned to Evie.
“A bicycle would be a grand thing for me in getting about the parish,” he said. “I’ll step into the bicycle-shop, and see if they’ve got one on hire for to learn on.”
“Oh, Kenneth, I should like to learn, too,” said Evie. “Such fun!”
Meantime the pioneers, rosy with success, had come to the end of the High Street. From there the road sloped rapidly downhill. “Now we can put on the pace a little, Georgie,” said Lucia, and she shot ahead. All her practisings had been on the level roads of the marsh or on the sea-shore, and at once she was travelling much faster than she had intended, and with eyes glued on the curving road, she fumbled for her brake. She completely lost her head. All she could find in her agitation was her bell, and, incessantly ringing it, she sped with ever increasing velocity down the short steep road towards the bridge over the railway. A policeman on point duty stepped forward, with the arresting arm of the law held out to stop her, but as she took no notice he stepped very hastily back again, for to commit suicide and possibly manslaughter, was a more serious crime than dangerous riding. Lucia’s face was contorted with agonised apprehension, her eyes stared, her mouth was wide open, and all the young constable could do by way of identification was to notice, when the unknown female had whisked by him, that the bicycle was new and that there was the Borough coat of arms on the tool-bag. Lucia passed between a pedestrian and a van, just avoiding both: she switch-backed up and down the railway-bridge, still ringing her bell . . . Then in front of her lay the long climb of the Tilling hill, and as the pace diminished she found her brake. She dismounted, and waited for Georgie. He had lost sight of her in the traffic, and followed her cautiously in icy expectation of finding her and that beautiful new bicycle flung shattered on the road. Then he had one glimpse of her swift swallow-flight up the steep incline of the railway-bridge. Thank God she was safe so far! He traversed it himself and then saw her a hundred yards ahead up the hill. Long before he reached her his impetus was exhausted, and he got off.
“Don’t hurry, dear,” she called to him in a trembling voice. “You were right, quite right to ride cautiously. Safety first always.”
“I felt very anxious about you,” said Georgie, panting as he joined her. “You oughtn’t to have gone so fast. You deserve to be summoned for dangerous riding.” A vision, vague and bright, shot through Lucia’s brain. She could not conceive a more enviable piece of publicity than, at her age, to be summoned for so athletic a feat. It was punishable, no doubt, by law, but like a crime passionel, what universal admiration it would excite! What a dashing Mayor!
“I confess I was going very fast,” she said, “but I felt I had such complete control of my machine. And so exhilarating. I don’t suppose anybody has ever ridden so fast down Landgate Street. Now, if you’re rested, shall we go on?”
They had a long but eminently prudent ride, and after lunch a well-earned siesta. Lucia, reposing on the sofa in the garden-room, was awakened by Grosvenor’s entry from a frightful nightmare that she was pedalling for all she was worth down Beachy Head into the arms of a policeman on the shore.
“Inspector Morrison, ma’am,” said Grosvenor. “He’ll call again if not convenient.”
Nightmare vanished: the vague vision grew brighter. Was it possible? . . .
“Certainly, at once,” she said springing up and Inspector Morrison entered.
“Sorry to disturb your Worship,” he said, “but one of my men has reported that about eleven a.m. to-day a new bicycle with the arms of Tilling on the tool-bag was ridden at a dangerous speed by a female down Landgate Street. He made enquiries at the bicycle shop and found that a similar machine was sent to your house yesterday. I therefore ask your permission to question your domestics—”
“Quite right to apply to me, Inspector,” said Lucia. “You did your duty. Certainly I will sign the summons.”
“But we don’t know who it was yet, ma’am. I should like to ask your servants to account for their whereabouts at eleven a.m.”
“No need to ask them, Inspector,” said Lucia. “I was the culprit. Please send the summons round here and I will sign it.”
“But, your Worship—”
Lucia was desperately afraid that the Inspector might wriggle out of summoning the Mayor and that the case would never come into Court. She turned a magisterial eye on him.
“I will not have one law for the rich and another for the poor in Tilling,” she said. “I was riding at a dangerous speed. It was very thoughtless of me, and I must suffer for it. I ask you to proceed with the case in the ordinary course.”
This one appearance of Lucia and Georgie doing their shopping on bicycles had been enough to kindle the spark of emulation in the breasts of the more mature ladies of Tilling. It looked so lissom, so gaily adolescent to weave your way in and out of traffic and go for a spin in the country, and surely if Lucia could, they could also. Her very casualness made it essential to show her that there was nothing remarkable about her unexpected feat. The bicycle shop was besieged with enquiries for machines on hire and instructors. The Padre and Evie were the first in the field, and he put off his weekly visit to the workhouse that afternoon from half-past two till half-past three, and they hired the two bicycles which Lucia and Georgie no longer needed. Diva popped in next, and was chagrined to find that the only lady’s bicycle was already bespoken, so she engaged it for an hour on the following morning. Georgie that day did quite complicated shopping alone, for Lucia was at a committee meeting at the Town Hall. She rode there — a distance of a hundred and fifty yards — to save time, but the gain was not very great, for she had to dismount twice owing to the narrow passage between posts for the prevention of vehicular traffic. Georgie, having returned from his shopping, joined her at the Town Hall when her meeting was over, and, with brakes fully applied, they rode down into the High Street, en route for another dash into the country. Susan’s Royce was drawn up at the bicycle-shop.
“Georgie, I shan’t have a moment’s peace,” said Lucia, “until I know whether Susan has ambitions too. I must just pop in.”
Both the Wyses were there. Algernon was leaning over Susan’s shoulder as she studied a catalogue of the newest types of tricycles . . .
The Mayoress alone remained scornful and aloof. Looking out from her window one morning, she observed Diva approaching very slowly up the trafficless road that ran past Grebe buttressed up by Georgie’s late instructor, who seemed to have some difficulty in keeping her perpendicular. She hurried to the garden-gate, reaching it just as Diva came opposite.
“Good morning, dear,” she said. “Sorry to see that you’re down with it, too.”
“Good morning, dear,” echoed Diva, with her eyes glued to the road in front of her. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
“But is it wise to take such strenuous exercise?” asked Elizabeth. “A great strain surely on both of you.”
“Not a bit of a strain,” called Diva over her shoulder. “And my instructor says I shall soon get on ever so quick.”
The bicycle gave a violent swerve.
“Oh, take care,” cried Elizabeth in an anxious voice, “or you’ll get off ever so quick.”
“We’ll rest a bit,” said Diva to her instructor, and she stepped from her machine and went back to the gate to have it out with her friend. “What’s the matter with you,” she said to Elizabeth, “is that you can’t bear us following Lucia’s lead. Don’t deny it. Look in your own heart, and you’ll find it’s true, Elizabeth. Get over it, dear. Make an effort. Far more Christian!”
“Thank you for your kind interest in my character, Diva,” retorted Elizabeth. “I shall know now where to come when in spiritual perplexity.”
“Always pleased to advise you,” said Diva. “And now give me a treat. You told us all you learned to ride in ten minutes when you were a girl. I’ll give you my machine for ten minutes. See if you can ride at the end of it! A bit coy, dear? Not surprised. And rapid motion might be risky for your relaxed throat.”
There was a moment’s pause. Then both ladies were so pleased at their own brilliant dialectic that Elizabeth said she would pop in to Diva’s establishment for tea, and Diva said that would be charming.
In spite of Elizabeth (or perhaps even because of her) this revival of the bicycling nineties grew most fashionable. Major Benjy turned traitor and was detected by his wife surreptitiously practising with the gardener’s bicycle on the cinder path in the kitchen garden. Mr. Wyse suddenly appeared on the wheel riding in the most elegant manner. Figgis, his butler, he said, happened to remember that he had a bicycle put away in the garage and had furbished it up. Mr. Wyse introduced a new style: he was already an adept and instead of wearing a preoccupied expression, made no more of it than if he was strolling about on foot. He could take a hand off his handle-bar, to raise his hat to the Mayor, as if one hand was all he needed. When questioned about this feat, he said that it was not really difficult to take both hands off without instantly crashing, but Lucia, after several experiments in the garden, concluded that Mr. Wyse, though certainly a very skilful performer, was wrong about that. To crown all, Susan, after a long wait at the corner of Porpoise Street, where a standing motor left only eight or nine feet of the roadway clear, emerged majestically into the High Street on a brand new tricycle. “Those large motors,” she complained to the Mayor, “ought not to be allowed in our narrow streets.”
The Town Hall was crowded to its utmost capacity on the morning that Lucia was summoned to appear before her own Court for dangerous riding. She had bicycled there, now negotiating the anti-vehicular posts with the utmost precision, and, wearing her semiofficial hat, presided on the Borough Bench. She and her brother magistrates had two cases to try before hers came on, of which one was that of a motor-cyclist whose brakes were out of order. The Bench, consulting together, took a grave view of the offence, and imposed a penalty of twenty shillings. Lucia in pronouncing sentence, addressed some severe remarks to him: he would have been unable to pull up, she told him, in case of an emergency, and was endangering the safety of his fellow citizens. The magistrates gave him seven days in which to pay. Then came the great moment. The Mayor rose, and in a clear unfaltering voice, said:
“Your Worships, I am personally concerned in the next case, and will therefore quit my seat on the Bench. Would the senior of Your Worships kindly preside in my temporary absence?”
She descended into the body of the Town Hall.
“The next case before your Worships,” said the Town Clerk, “is one of dangerous riding of a push-bicycle on the part of Mrs. Lucia Pillson. Mrs. Lucia Pillson.”
She pleaded guilty in a voice of calm triumph, and the Bench heard the evidence. The first witness was a constable, who swore that he would speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He was on point duty by the railway-bridge at 11 a.m. on Tuesday the twelfth instant. He observed a female bicyclist approaching at a dangerous speed down Landgate Street, when there was a lot of traffic about. He put out his arm to stop her, but she dashed by him. He estimated her speed at twenty miles an hour, and she seemed to have no control over her machine. After she had passed, he observed a tool-bag on the back of the saddle emblazoned with the Borough coat-of-arms. He made enquiries at the bicycle-shop and ascertained that a machine of this description had been supplied the day before to Mrs. Pillson of Mallards House. He reported to his superior.
“Have you any questions, your Worsh — to ask the witness?” asked the Town Clerk.
“None,” said Lucia eagerly. “Not one.”
The next witness was the pedestrian she had so nearly annihilated. Lucia was dismayed to see that he was the operator with the fire-pot. He began to talk about his experiences when tarring telegraph-posts some while ago, but, to her intense relief, was promptly checked and told he must confine himself to what occurred at 11 a.m. on Tuesday. He deposed that at that precise hour, as he was crossing the road by the railway-bridge, a female bicyclist dashed by him at a speed which he estimated at over twenty miles an hour. A gratified smile illuminated the Mayor’s face, and she had no questions to ask him.
That concluded the evidence, and the Inspector of Police said there were no previous convictions against the accused.
The Bench consulted together: there seemed to be some difference of opinion as to the amount of the fine. After a little discussion the temporary Chairman told Lucia that she also would be fined twenty shillings. She borrowed it from Georgie, who was sitting near, and so did not ask for time in which to pay. With a superb air she took her place again on the Bench.
Georgie waited for her till the end of the sitting, and stood a little in the background, but well in focus, while Lucia posed on the steps of the Town Hall, in the act of mounting her bicycle, for the photographer of the Hampshire Argus. His colleague on the reporting staff had taken down every word uttered in this cause célèbre and Lucia asked him to send proofs to her, before it went to press. It was a slight disappointment that no reporters or photographers had come down from London, for Mrs. Simpson had been instructed to inform the Central News Agency of the day and hour of the trial . . . But the Mayor was well satisfied with the local prestige which her reckless athleticism had earned for her. Elizabeth, indeed, had attempted to make her friends view the incident in a different light, and she had a rather painful scene on the subject with the Padre and Evie.
“All too terrible,” she said. “I feel that poor Worship has utterly disgraced herself, and brought contempt on the dignified office she holds. Those centuries of honourable men who have been Mayors here must turn in their graves. I’ve been wondering whether I ought not, in mere self-respect, to resign from being Mayoress. It associates me with her.’’
“That’s not such a bad notion,” said the Padre, and Evie gave several shrill squeaks.
“On the other hand, I should hate to desert her in her trouble,” continued the Mayoress. “So true what you said in your sermon last Sunday, Padre, that it’s our duty as Christians always to stand by our friends, whenever they are in trouble and need us.”
“So because she needs you, which she doesn’t an atom,” burst out Evie, “you come and tell us that she’s disgraced herself, and made everybody turn in their graves. Most friendly, Elizabeth.”
“And I’m of wee wifie’s opinion, mem,” said the Padre, with the brilliant thought of Evie becoming Mayoress in his mind, “and if you feel you canna’ preserve your self-respect unless you resign, why, it’s your Christian duty to do so, and I warrant that won’t incommode her, so don’t let the standing by your friends deter you. And if you ask me what I think of Mistress Lucia’s adventure, ’twas a fine spunky thing to have gone flying down the Landgate Street at thirty miles an hour. You and I daurna do it, and peradventure we’d be finer folk if we daur. And she stood and said she was guilty like a God-fearing upstanding body and she deserves a medal, she does. Come awa’, wifie: we’ll get to our bicycle-lesson.”
The Padre’s view was reflected in the town generally, and his new figure of thirty miles an hour accepted. Though it was a very lawless and dangerous feat, Tilling felt proud of having so spirited a Mayor. Diva indulged in secret visions of record-breaking when she had learned to balance herself, and Susan developed such a turn of speed on her tricycle that Algernon called anxiously after her “Not so fast, Susan, I beg you. Supposing you met something.” The Padre scudded about his parish on the wheel, and, as the movement grew, Lucia offered to coach anybody in her garden. It became fashionable to career up and down the High Street after dark, when traffic was diminished, and the whole length of it resounded with tinkling bells and twinkled with bicycle lamps. There were no collisions, for everyone was properly cautious, but on one chilly evening the flapping skirt of Susan’s fur coat got so inextricably entangled in the chain of her tricycle that she had to shed it, and Figgis trundled coat and tricycle back to Porpoise Street in the manner of a wheel-barrow.
As the days grew longer and the weather warmer, picnic-parties were arranged to points of interest within easy distance, a castle, a church or a Martello tower, and they ate sandwiches and drank from their thermos flasks in ruined dungeons or on tombstones or by the edge of a moat. The party, by reason of the various rates of progress which each found comfortable, could not start together, if they were to arrive fairly simultaneously, and Susan on her tricycle was always the first to leave Tilling, and Diva followed. There was some competition for the honour of being the last to leave: Lucia, with the cachet of furious riding to her credit, waited till she thought the Padre must have started, while he was sure that his normal pace was faster than hers. In consequence, they usually both arrived very late and very hot. They all wondered how they could ever have confined physical exercise within the radius of pedestrianism, and pitied Elizabeth for the pride that debarred her from joining in these pleasant excursions.
CHAPTER VII.
Lucia had failed to convince the Directors of the Southern Railway that the Royal Fish Train was a practicable scheme. “Should Their Majesties” so ran the final communication “express Their Royal wish to be supplied with fish from Tilling, the Directors would see that the delivery was made with all expedition, but in their opinion the ordinary resources of the line will suffice to meet Their requirements, of which at present no intimation has been received.”
“A sad want of enterprise, Georgie,” said the Mayor as she read this discouraging reply. ‘‘A failure to think municipally and to see the distinction of bringing an Elizabethan custom up to date. I shall not put the scheme before my Council at all.” Lucia dropped this unenterprising ultimatum into the waste paper basket. The afternoon post had just arrived and the two letters which it brought for her followed the ultimatum.
