PART XIV
LE VÉTÉRINAIRE MALGRÉ LUI
Outside the Stables at Wyvern. Time —About 10 P.M.
Undershell (to himself, as he follows Adams). Now is my time to arrange about getting away from here. (To Adams.) By the bye, I suppose you can let me have a conveyance of some sort – after I've seen the horse? I – I'm rather in a hurry.
Adams. You'd better speak to Mr. Checkley about that, sir; it ain't in my department, you see. I'll fetch him round, if you'll wait here a minute; he'd like to hear what you think about the 'orse.
[He goes off to the coachman's quarters.
Undershell (alone). A very civil fellow this; he seems quite anxious to show me this animal! There must be something very remarkable about it.
[Adams returns with Checkley.
Adams. Mr. Checkley, our 'ed coachman, Mr. Undershell. He's coming in along with us to 'ear what you say, if you've no objections.
Undershell (to himself). I must make a friend of this coachman, or else – (Aloud.) I shall be charmed, Mr. Checkley. I've only a very few minutes to spare; but I'm most curious to see this horse of yours.
Checkley. He ain't one o' my 'orses, sir. If he 'ad been – But there, I'd better say nothing about it.
Adams (as he leads the way into the stables, and turns up the gas). There, sir, that's Deerfoot over there in the loose box.
Undershell (to himself). He seems to me much like any other horse! However, I can't be wrong in admiring. (Aloud, as he inspects him, through the rails.) Ah, indeed? he is worth seeing! A magnificent creature!
Adams (stripping off Deerfoot's clothing). He's a good 'orse, sir. Her ladyship won't trust herself on no other animal, not since she 'ad the influenzy so bad. She'd take on dreadful if I 'ad to tell her he wouldn't be fit for no more work, she would!
Undershell (sympathetically). I can quite imagine so. Not that he seems in any danger of that!
Checkley (triumphantly). There, you 'ear that, Adams? The minute he set eyes on the 'orse!
Adams. Wait till Mr. Undershell has seen him move a bit, and see what he says then.
Checkley. If it was what you think, he'd never be standing like he is now, depend upon it.
Adams. You can't depend upon it. He 'eard us coming, and he's quite artful enough to draw his foot back for fear o' getting a knock. (To Undershell.) I've noticed him very fidgety-like on his forelegs this last day or two.
Undershell. Have you, though? (To himself.) I hope he won't be fidgety with his hind-legs. I shall stay outside.
Adams. I cooled him down with a rubub and aloes ball, and kep 'im on low diet; but he don't seem no better.
Undershell (to himself). I didn't gather the horse was unwell. (Aloud.) Dear me! no better? You don't say so!
Checkley. If you'd rubbed a little embrocation into the shoulder, you'd ha' done more good, in my opinion, and it's my belief as Mr. Undershell here will tell you I'm right.
Undershell (to himself). Can't afford to offend the coachman! (Aloud.) Well, I dare say – er – embrocation would have been better.
Adams. Ah, that's where me and Mr. Checkley differ. According to me, it ain't to do with the shoulder at all – it's a deal lower down… I'll 'ave him out of the box and you'll soon see what I mean.
Undershell (hastily). Pray don't trouble on my account. I – I can see him capitally from where I am, thanks.
Adams. You know best, sir. Only I thought you'd be better able to form a judgment after you'd seen the way he stepped across. But if you was to come in and examine the frog? – I don't like the look of it myself.
Undershell (to himself). I'm sure I don't. I've a horror of reptiles. (Aloud.) You're very good. I – I think I won't come in. The place must be rather damp, mustn't it – for that?
Adams. It's dry enough in 'ere, sir, as you may see; nor yet he ain't been standing about in no wet. Still, there it is, you see!
Undershell (to himself). What a fool he must be not to drive it out! Of course it must annoy the horse. (Aloud.) I don't see it; but I'm quite willing to take your word for it.
Adams. I don't know how you can expect to see it, sir, without you look inside of the 'oof for it.
Undershell (to himself). It's not alive – it's something inside the hoof. I suppose I ought to have known that. (Aloud.) Just so; but I see no necessity for looking inside the hoof.
Checkley. In course he don't, or he'd ha' looked the very fust thing, with all his experience. I 'ope you're satisfied now, Adams?
Adams. I can't say as I am. I say as no man can examine a 'orse thoroughly at that distance, be he who he may. And whether I'm right or wrong, it 'ud be more of a satisfaction to me if Mr. Undershell was to step in and see the 'oof for himself.
Checkley. Well, there's sense in that, and I dessay Mr. Undershell won't object to obliging you that far.
Undershell (with reluctance). Oh, with pleasure, if you make a point of it.
[He enters the loose box delicately.
Adams (picking up one of the horse's feet). Now, tell me how this 'ere 'oof strikes you.
Undershell (to himself). That hoof can't; but I'm not so sure about the others. (Aloud, as he inspects it.) Well – er – it seems to me a very nice hoof.
Adams (grimly). I was not arsking your opinion of it as a work of art, sir. Do you see any narrering coming on, or do you not? That's what I should like to get out of you!
Undershell (to himself). Does this man suppose I collect hoofs! However, I'm not going to commit myself. (Aloud.) H'm – well, I – I rather agree with Mr. Checkley.
Checkley. I knew he would! Now you've got it, Adams! I can see Mr. Undershell knows what he's about.
Adams (persistently). But look at this 'ere pastern. You can't deny there's puffiness there. How do you get over that?
Undershell. If the horse is puffy, it's his business to get over it – not mine.
Adams (aggrieved). You may think proper to treat it light, sir; but if you put your 'and down 'ere, above the coronet, you'll feel a throbbing as plain as —
Undershell. Very likely. But I don't know, really, that it would afford me any particular gratification if I did!
Adams. Well, if you don't take my view, I should ha' thought as you'd want to feel the 'orse's pulse.
Undershell. You are quite mistaken. I don't. (To himself.) Particularly as I shouldn't know where to find it. What a bore this fellow is with his horse!
Checkley. In course, sir, you see what's running in Mr. Adams's 'ed all this time, what he's a-driving at, eh?
Undershell (to himself). I only wish I did! This will require tact. (Aloud.) I – I could hardly avoid seeing that– could I?
Checkley. I should think not. And it stands to reason as a vet like yourself'd spot a thing like navickler fust go off.
Undershell (to himself). A vet! They've been taking me for a vet all this time! I can't have been so ignorant as I thought. I really don't like to undeceive them – they might feel annoyed. (Aloud, knowingly.) To be sure, I – I spotted it at once.
Adams. He does make it out navicular after all! What did I tell you, Checkley? Now p'raps you'll believe me!
Checkley. I'll be shot if that 'orse has navickler, whoever says so – there!
Adams (gloomily). It's the 'orse 'll 'ave to be shot; worse luck! I'd ha' give something if Mr. Undershell could ha' shown I was wrong; but there was very little doubt in my mind what it was all along.
Undershell (to himself, horrified). I've been pronouncing this unhappy animal's doom without knowing it! I must tone it down. (Aloud.) No – no, I never said he must be shot. There's no reason to despair. It – it's quite a mild form of er – clavicular – not at all infectious at present. And the horse has a splendid constitution. I – I really think he'll soon be himself again, if we only – er – leave Nature to do her work, you know.
Adams (after a prolonged whistle). Well, if Nature ain't better up in her work than you seem to be, it's 'igh time she chucked it, and took to something else. You've a lot to learn about navicular, you 'ave, if you can talk such rot as that!
Checkley. Ah, I've 'ad to do with a vet or two in my time, but I'm blest if I ever come across the likes o' you afore!
Undershell (to himself). I knew they'd find me out! I must pacify them. (Aloud.) But, look here, I'm not a vet. I never said I was. It was your mistake entirely. The fact is, my – my good men, I came down here because – well, it's unnecessary to explain now why I came. But I'm most anxious to get away, and if you, my dear Mr. Checkley, could let me have a trap to take me to Shuntingbridge to-night, I should feel extremely obliged.
[Checkley stares, deprived of speech.
Adams (with a private wink to Checkley). Certainly he will, sir. I'm sure Checkley 'll feel proud to turn out, late as it is, to oblige a gentleman with your remarkable knowledge of 'orseflesh. Drive you over hisself in the broom and pair, I shouldn't wonder!
Undershell. One horse will be quite sufficient. Very well, then. I'll just run up and get my portmanteau, and – and one or two things of mine, and if you will be round at the back entrance – don't trouble to drive up to the front door – as soon as possible, I won't keep you waiting longer than I can help. Good evening, Mr. Adams, and many thanks. (To himself, as he hurries back to the house.) I've got out of that rather well. Now, I've only to find my way to the Verney Chamber, see this fellow Spurrell, and get my clothes back, and then I can retreat with comfort, and even dignity! These Culverins shall learn that there is at least one poet who will not put up with their insolent patronage!
Checkley (to Adams). He has got a cool cheek, and no mistake! But if he waits to be druv over to Shuntingbridge till I come round for him, he'll 'ave to set on that portmanteau of his a goodish time!
Adams. He did you pretty brown, I must say. To 'ear you crowing over me when he was on your side. I could 'ardly keep from larfing!
Checkley. I see he warn't no vet long afore you, but I let it go on for the joke of it. It was rich to see you a-wanting him to feel the 'oof, and give it out navickler. Well, you got his opinion for what it was wuth, so you're all right!
Adams. You think nobody knows anything about 'orses but yourself, you do; but if you're meanin' to make a story out o' this against me, why, I shall tell it my way, that's all!
Checkley. It was you he made a fool of, not me – and I can prove it – there!
[They dispute the point, with rising warmth, for some time.
Adams (calming down). Well, see 'ere, Checkley, I dunno, come to think of it, as either on us 'll show up partickler smart over this 'ere job; and it strikes me we'd better both agree to keep quiet about it, eh? (Checkley acquiesces, not unwillingly.) And I think I'll take a look in at the 'ousekeeper's-room presently, and try if I can't drop a hint to old Tredwell about that smooth-tongued chap, for it's my belief he ain't down 'ere for no good!
PART XV
TRAPPED!
In a Gallery outside the Verney Chamber. Time —About 10.15 P.M.
Undershell (to himself, as he emerges from a back staircase). I suppose this is the corridor? The boy said the name of the room was painted up over the door… Ah, there it is; and, yes, Mr. Spurrell's name on a card… The door is ajar; he is probably waiting for me inside. I shall meet him quite temperately, treat it simply as a – (He enters; a waste-paper basket, containing an ingenious arrangement of liquid and solid substances, descends on his head.) What the devil do you mean, sir, by this outrageous – ? All dark! Nobody here! Is there a general conspiracy to insult me? Have I been lured up here for a brutal – (Spurrell bursts in.) Ah, there you are, sir! (With cold dignity, through the lattice-work of the basket.) Will you kindly explain what this means?
Spurrell. Wait till I strike a light. (After lighting a pair of candles.) Well, sir, if you don't know why you're ramping about like that under a waste-paper basket, I can hardly be expected to —
Undershell. I was determined not to remove it until somebody came in; it fell on my head the moment I entered; it contained something in a soap-dish, which has wetted my face. You may laugh, sir, but if this is a sample of your aristocratic —
Spurrell. If you could only see yourself! But I'd nothing to do with it, 'pon my word I hadn't; only just this minute got away from the hall… I know! It's that sulky young beggar, Bearpark. I remember he slipped off on some excuse or other just now. He must have come in here and fixed that affair up for me – confound him!
Undershell. I think I'm the person most entitled to – But no matter; it is merely one insult more among so many. I came here, sir, for a purpose, as you are aware.
Spurrell (ruefully). Your dress clothes? All right, you shall have them directly. I wouldn't have put 'em on if I'd known they'd be wanted so soon.
Undershell. I should have thought your own would have been more comfortable.
Spurrell. More comfortable! I believe you. Why, I assure you I feel like a Bath bun in a baby's sock! But how was I to know? You shouldn't leave your things about like that!
Undershell. It is usual, sir, for people to come to a place like this provided with evening clothes of their own.
Spurrell. I know that as well as you do. Don't you suppose I'm unacquainted with the usages of society! Why, I've stayed in boarding-houses at the seaside many a time where it was de rigger to dress – even for high tea! But coming down, as I did, on business, it never entered my head that I should want my dress suit. So, when I found them all as chummy and friendly as possible, and expecting me to dine as a matter of course, – why, I can tell you I was too jolly glad to get hold of anything in the shape of a swallowtail and white choker to be over particular!
Undershell. You seem to have been more fortunate in your reception than I. But then I had not the advantage of being here in a business capacity.
Spurrell. Well, it wasn't that altogether. You see, I'm a kind of a celebrity in my way.
Undershell. I should hardly have thought that would be a recommendation here.
Spurrell. I was surprised myself to find what a lot they thought of it; but, bless you, they're all as civil as shopwalkers; and, as for the ladies, why, the old Countess and Lady Maisie and Lady Rhoda couldn't be more complimentary if I'd won the Victoria Cross, instead of getting a first prize for breeding and exhibiting a bull-bitch at Cruft's Dog show!
Undershell (bitterly, to himself). And this is our aristocracy! They make a bosom friend of a breeder of dogs; and find a poet only fit to associate with their servants! What a theme for a satirist! (Aloud.) I see nothing to wonder at. You possess precisely the social qualifications most likely to appeal to the leisured class.
Spurrell. Oh, there's a lot of humbug in it, mind you! Most of 'em know about as much of the points of a bull as the points of a compass, only they let on to know a lot because they think it's smart. And some of 'em are after a pup from old Drummy's next litter. I see through all that, you know!
Undershell. You are a cynic, I observe, sir. But possibly the nature of the business which brings you here renders them —
Spurrell. That's the rummest thing about it. I haven't heard a word about that yet. I'm in the veterinary profession, you know. Well, they sent for me to see some blooming horse, and never even ask me to go near it! Seems odd, don't it?
Undershell (to himself). I had to go near the blooming horse! Now I begin to understand; the very servants did not expect to find a professional vet in any company but their own! (Aloud.) I – I trust that the horse will not suffer through any delay.
Spurrell. So do I; but how do I know that some ignorant duffer mayn't be treating him for the wrong thing? It may be all up with the animal before I get a chance of seeing what I can do?
Undershell (to himself). If he knew how near I went to getting the poor beast shot! But I needn't mention that now.
Spurrell. I don't say it isn't gratifying to be treated like a swell, but I've got my professional reputation to consider, you know; and if they're going to take up all my time talking about Andromeda —
Undershell (with a start). Andromeda! They have been talking about Andromeda? To you! Then it's you who —
Spurrell. Haven't I been telling you? I should just jolly well think they have been talking about her! So you didn't know my bull's name was Andromeda before, eh? But you seem to have heard of her, too!
Undershell (slowly). I – I have heard of Andromeda – yes.
[He drops into a chair, dazed.
Spurrell (complacently). It's curious how that bitch's fame seems to have spread. Why, even the old Bishop – But, I say, you're looking rather queer; anything the matter with you, old fellow?
Undershell (faintly). Nothing – nothing. I – I feel a little giddy, that's all. I shall be better presently.
[He conceals his face.
Spurrell (in concern). It was having that basket down on your head like that. Too bad! Here, I'll get you some water. (He bustles about.) I don't know if you're aware of it, old chap, but you're in a regular dooce of a mess!
Undershell (motioning him away irritably). Do you suppose I don't know that? For Heaven's sake, don't speak to me! let me alone!.. I want to think – I want to think. (To himself.) I see it all now! I've made a hideous mistake! I thought these Culverins were deliberately – And all the time – Oh, what an unspeakable idiot I've been!.. And I can't even explain!.. The only thing to do is to escape before this fellow suspects the truth. It's lucky I ordered that carriage! (Aloud, rising.) I'm all right now; and – and I can't stay here any longer. I am leaving directly – directly!
Spurrell. You must give me time to get out of this toggery, old chap; you'll have to pick me out of it like a lobster!
Undershell (wildly). The clothes? Never mind them now. I can't wait. Keep them!
Spurrell. Do you really mean it, old fellow? If you could spare 'em a bit longer, I'd be no end obliged. Because, you see, I promised Lady Rhoda to come and finish a talk we were having, and they've taken away my own things to brush, so I haven't a rag to go down in except these; and they'd all think it so beastly rude if I went to bed now!
Undershell (impatiently). I tell you you may keep them, if you'll only go away!
Spurrell. But where am I to send the things to when I've done with 'em?
Undershell. What do I – Stay, here's my card. Send them to that address. Now go and finish your evening!
Spurrell (gratefully). You are a rattling good chap, and no mistake! Though I'm hanged if I can quite make out what you're doing here, you know!
Undershell. It's not at all necessary that you should make it out. I am leaving immediately, and – and I don't wish Sir Rupert or Lady Culverin to hear of this – you understand?
Spurrell. Well, it's no business of mine; you've behaved devilish well to me, and I'm not surprised that you'd rather not be seen in the state you're in. I shouldn't like it myself!
Undershell. State? What state?
Spurrell. Ah, I wondered whether you knew. You'll see what I mean when you've had a look at yourself in the glass. I dare say it'll come off right enough. I can't stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and thanks awfully!
[He goes out.
Undershell (alone). What does he mean? But I've no time to waste. Where have they put my portmanteau? I can't give up everything. (He hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door leading into a small dressing-room.) Ah, it's in there. I'll get it out, and put my things in. (As he rushes back, he suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection in a cheval glass.) Wh – who's that? Can this – this piebald horror possibly be —me? How – ? Ah, it was ink in that infernal basket – not water! And my hair's full of flour! I can't go into a hotel like this, they'd think I was an escaped lunatic! (He flies to a wash-hand stand, and scrubs and sluices desperately, after which he inspects the result in the mirror.) It's not nearly off yet! Will anything get rid of this streakiness? (He soaps and scrubs once more.) And the flour's caked in my hair now! I must brush it all out before I am fit to be seen. (He gradually, after infinite toil, succeeds in making himself slightly more presentable.) Is the carriage waiting for me all this time? (He pitches things into his portmanteau in a frantic flurry.) What's that? Some one's coming!
[He listens.
Tredwell (outside). It's my conviction you've been telling me a pack o' lies, you young rascal. For what hearthly business that feller Undershell could 'ave in the Verney – However, I'll soon see how it is. (He knocks.) Is any one in 'ere?
Undershell (to himself, distractedly). He mustn't find me here! Yet, where – Ah, it's the only place!
[He blows out the candles, and darts into the dressing-room as Tredwell enters.
Tredwell. The boy's right. He is in here; them candles is smouldering still. (He relights one, and looks under the bed.) You'd better come out o' that, Undershell, and give an account of yourself – do you 'ear me?.. He ain't under there! (He tries the dressing-room door; Undershell holds his breath, and clings desperately to the handle.) Very well, sir, I know you're there, and I've no time to trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay where you are till you're wanted. I've 'eard o' your goings-on from Mr. Adams, and I shall 'ave to fetch Sir Rupert up to 'ave a talk with you by and bye.
[He turns the key upon him, and goes.
Undershell (to himself, overwhelmed, as the butler's step is heard retreating.) And I came down here to assert the dignity of Literature!