Chapter XXI: Six Letters

Mrs. Maradick to Miss Crowdet.

The Elms, Epsom.
_October 17._

My dearest Louie,

I’ve been meaning to write all this week, but so many things
have accumulated since we’ve been away that there’s simply not
been a minute to write a decent letter. No, Treliss wasn’t very
nice this time. You know, dear, the delightful people that were
there last year? Well, there were none of them this year at all
except that Mrs. Lawrence, who really got on my nerves to such
an extent!

There were some people called Gale we saw something of—Lady and
Sir Richard Gale. I must say I thought them rather bad form, but
Jim liked them; and then their boy eloped with a girl from the
town, which made it rather thrilling, especially as Sir Richard
was simply furious with Jim because he thought that he’d had
something to do with it. And you can’t imagine how improved dear
old Jim is with it all, really quite another man, and so amusing
when he likes; and people quite ran after him there, you
wouldn’t have believed it. There was a horrid woman, a Mrs.
Lester, who would have gone to any lengths, I really believe,
only, of course, Jim wasn’t having any. I always said that he
could be awfully amusing if he liked and really nice, and he’s
been going out quite a lot since we’ve been back and everybody’s
noticed the difference.

And what do you think? We may be leaving Epsom! I know it’ll be
simply hateful leaving you, dear, but it’ll only be London, you
know, and you can come up whenever you like and stay just as
long as you please, and we’ll be awfully glad. But Epsom is a
little slow, and what Jim says is quite true—why not be either
town or country? It’s what I’ve always said, you know, and
perhaps we’ll have a little cottage somewhere as well.

By the way, dear, as you are in town I wish you’d just look in
at Harrod’s and see about those patterns. Two and elevenpence is
much too much, and if the ones at two and sixpence aren’t good
enough you might ask for another sort!

Do come and see us soon. I might come up for a matinée some day
soon. Write and let me know.

Your loving
Emmy.
To Anthony Gale, Esq.,
20 Tryon Square,
Chelsea, S.W.

My dear Boy,

I was very glad to get your letter this morning. You’ve been
amazingly quick about settling in, but then I expect that
Janet’s an excellent manager. I’ll be delighted to come to
dinner next Wednesday night, and shall look forward enormously
to seeing you both and the kind of home that you have. I can’t
tell you what a relief it is to me to hear that you are both so
happy. Of course I knew that you would be and always, I hope,
will be, but the responsibility on my part was rather great and
I wanted to hear that it was all right. I’m so glad that your
mother likes Janet so much. I knew that they would get on, and I
hope that very soon your father will come as well and make
everything all right in that direction. We’re all quite settled
down here again now; well, not quite. Treliss has left its mark
on both of us, and we’re even thinking—don’t jump out of your
chair with excitement—of coming up to London to live. A little
wider life will suit both of us better now, I think. Nothing is
settled yet, but I’m going to look about for a house.

Treliss did rather a lot for all of us, didn’t it? It all seems
a little incredible, really; but you’ve got Janet to show you
that it’s real enough, and I’ve got, well, quite a lot of
things, so that it can’t have been all a dream.

Well until Wednesday. Then I’ll hear all the news.

My affection to Janet.

Your friend,
James Maradick.
To James Maradick,
The Elms, Epsom.
20 Tryon Square,
Chelsea, S.W.
_October 25, 1909_.

My dear Maradick,

Hurray! I’m so glad that you can come on Wednesday, but I’m just
wild with joy that you are really coming to live in London.
Hurray again! Only you must, you positively must come to live in
Chelsea. It’s the only possible place. Everybody who is worth
knowing lives here, including a nice intelligent young couple
called Anthony and Janet Gale. The house—our house—is simply
ripping. All white and distempered by your humble servant; and
Janet’s been simply wonderful. There’s nothing she can’t do, and
everybody all over the place loves her. We haven’t had a word
from her father, so I don’t suppose that he’s going to take any
more trouble in that direction, but I heard from Garrick the
other day—you remember Punch—and he says that he saw him not
long ago sitting on the shore and piping to the waves with a
happy smile on his face. Isn’t he rum?

The Minns is here and enjoying herself like anything. She’s
bought a new bonnet and looks no end—my eye! And what do you
think? Who should turn up this morning but the governor! Looking
awfully cross at first, but he couldn’t stand against Janet; and
he went away as pleased as anything, and says we must have a
better sideboard in the dining-room, and he’s going to give us
one. Isn’t that ripping? The writing’s getting on. I met a
fellow at tea the other day, Randall, he’s editor of the _New
Monthly_; he was a bit slick up, but quite decent, and now he’s
taken one of my things, and I’ve had quite a lot of reviewing.

Well, good-bye, old chap. You know that Janet and I would rather
have you here than anyone else in the world, except the mater,
of course. We owe you everything. Buck up and come here to live.
Love from Janet.

Your affect.
Tony.
To Lady Gale,
12 Park Lane, W.
Rossholm,
Nr. Dartford, Kent,
_October 25_.

My Dear,

This is only a hurried little scrawl to say that Fred and I are
going to be up in town for a night next week and should awfully
like to see you if it’s possible. Fred’s dining that night with
some silly old writer, so if I might just come in and have a
crumb with you I’d be awfully glad. Fred and I have both decided
that we didn’t like Treliss a bit this year and we’re never
going there again. If it hadn’t been for you I simply don’t know
what we’d have done. There’s something about the place.

Fred felt it too, only he thought it was indigestion. And then
the people! I know you rather liked those Maradick people. But I
thought the man perfectly awful. Of course one had to be polite,
but, my dear, I really don’t think he’s very nice, not quite the
sort of man—oh well! you know! Not that I’d say anything
against him for the world, but there’s really no knowing how far
one can go with a man of that kind. But of course I scarcely saw
anything of them.

How is Tony? I hear that they’ve settled in Chelsea. Is Sir
Richard reconciled? You must tell me everything when we meet.
Fred—he is such a pet just now—sends regards.

Ever
Your loving
Milly.
To James Maradick, Esq.,
The Elms, Epsom.
12 Park Lane, W.
_October 21_.

Dear Mr. Maradick,

I’ve been wanting to write to you for some days, but so many
things crowd about one in London, and even now I’ve only got a
moment. But I thought that you would like to know that both my
husband and myself have been to see Tony in Chelsea and that we
think Janet perfectly charming. My husband was conquered by her
at once; one simply cannot help loving her. She is no fool
either. She is managing that house splendidly, and has got a
good deal more common-sense than Tony has.

Of course now you’ll say that we ought to have shown her to Sir
Richard at once if he’s got to like her so much. But that isn’t
so. I’m quite sure that he would never have allowed the marriage
if there’d been a chance of it’s being prevented. But now he’s
making the best of it, and it’s easy enough when it’s Janet.

I think he feels still sore at your having “interfered,” as he
calls it, but that will soon wear off and then you must come and
see us. Alice Du Cane is staying with us. She has been so much
improved lately, much more human; she’s really a charming girl.

And meanwhile, how can I thank you enough for all that you have
I done? I feel as though I owed you everything. It won’t bear
talking or writing about, but I am more grateful than I can ever
say.

But keep an eye on Tony. He is devoted to you. He is still very
young, and you can do such a lot for him.

Please remember me to your wife.

I am,
Yours very sincerely,
Lucy Gale.
To James Maradick, Esq.,
The Elms, Epsom.
On the road to Ashbourne,
Derbyshire.

11 a.m.

I’m sitting under a hedge with this bit of paper on my knee;
dirty you’ll be thinking it, but I find that waiting for paper
means no letter at all, and so it’s got to be written when the
moment’s there. I’m tramping north—amongst the lakes I’m making
for. It’s fine weather and a hard white road, and the show’s
been going strong these last days. There’s a purple line of
hills behind me, and a sky that’ll take a lot of poet’s talking
to glorify it, and a little pond at the turn of the road that’s
bluer than blue-bells.

The new dog’s none so stupid as I thought him; not that he’s
Toby, but he’s got a sense of humour on him that’s more than a
basketful of intelligence. Last night I was in a fine inn with a
merry company. I wish that you could have heard the talking, but
you’ll have been dining with your napkin on your knee and a soft
carpet at your feet. There was a fine fellow last night that had
seen the devil last week walking on the high ridge that goes
towards Raddlestone.

Maybe it was Morelli; like enough. He’s often round that way.
I’m thinking of you often, and I’ll be back in London, November.
I’d like to have you out here, with stars instead of chimney
pots and a red light where the sun’s setting.

I’ll write again from the North.

Yours very faithfully,
David Garrick.