Читать книгу Death Makes a Prophet - Ernest Elmore - Страница 10

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Lunch—spaghetti and lentil pie with prunes and custard to follow—was over. Mrs. Hagge-Smith, aflame with impatience, drew Eustace aside into the latter’s study. Eustace eyed his patron through his pince-nez with a nervous, rather apprehensive look. He conducted her to a chair and threw an extra log or two on the fire.

“Well, Alicia?”

“Eustace, my dear,” announced Mrs. Hagge-Smith dramatically. “We simply must have it! We must bend all our energies to its creation. We must organise it without delay. It all came to me last night in a vision.”

“It?”

Eustace looked utterly fogged. Mrs. Hagge-Smith threw wide her arms as if embracing her large and invisible idea.

“Our Summer School!” she cried. “Our very own al fresco Convention! A gathering of all our children, all of them... at Old Cowdene.”

“Old Cowdene?” echoed Eustace bleakly.

“All our children!” repeated Mrs. Hagge-Smith with a moist expression. “All of them.”

“All?” echoed Eustace, still more bleakly. “But my dear Alicia—”

“Eustace!” exclaimed Mrs. Hagge-Smith. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t the wildest enthusiasm for my idea. It would break my heart if I thought I couldn’t rely on your support. We shall have to put it, of course, to the members of the Inmost Temple. But as you know, we never have the slightest difficulty in overriding their objections. Well, what do you say?”

“It’s all so sudden, so extensive in scope, I’ve barely had time to grasp it all. You mean you are prepared to throw open your estate at Old Cowdene for a general convention of the Movement?” Mrs. Hagge-Smith nodded. “But how would you house them? We have, as you know”—Eustace coughed deprecatingly—“a present membership of over ten thousand. Even if only half of them were able to attend—”

“Tents!” broke in Mrs. Hagge-Smith with a snap.

“Tents?” echoed Eustace. “You mean we could accommodate them in tents?”

“I was granted an astral manifestation of it, my dear Eustace. Rows and rows of delightful tents with all our happy and devoted children wandering among them. With the Chinese summer-house converted into a Temple and a huge marquee for meals. It was all there—perfect in every detail. Even the cook-houses. It was all so beautiful, so idyllic, so right, that it brought tears to my eyes. I confess it, Eustace. When my vision faded I just lay in bed and wept with joy.”

“What if it rains?” asked Eustace in a tentative sort of way.

“It won’t,” said Mrs. Hagge-Smith decisively. “I have a feeling about these things. And I feel it won’t rain. I’m always lucky with my weather. It runs in the family.”

“And Peta?” asked Eustace. “How do you think he’ll react?”

“Yes, there is Mr. Penpeti,” said Mrs. Hagge-Smith, her previous self-assurance suddenly modified. “You rang him as I suggested and told him to come round at once?”

Eustace nodded.

“He should be here at any minute. I know you value his opinion on matters of grand policy.”

“I do. I think he’s an exceptionally gifted man. So hypnotic. A Gemini, of course. Like Shakespeare.”

“Umph,” commented Eustace with a hint of sourness. “I’m not sure if we can trust these astrological labels. Shakespeare himself said ‘It is not in our stars...’, didn’t he? And Gemini,” he mused. “The Heavenly Twins. I often think it is the sign of the two-faced. I have nothing against Peta, of course. But I sometimes think you overrate his sincerity.”

“Eustace!” gasped Mrs. Hagge-Smith. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Mr. Penpeti. You, the High Prophet of our order, allowing the grosser human emotions to...”

Mrs. Hagge-Smith got no further since at that moment the maid announced the arrival of Mr. Penpeti himself. He came into the room, still wearing his fez, with a smile of welcome on his pallid features. Ignoring Eustace entirely, he crossed the room with a pantherine tread, seized one of Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s large and capable hands and raised it to his lips.

“An unanticipated pleasure,” he murmured. “All day I have been filled with a strange sense of expectancy. And now...” He stood back with a soft, ingratiating smile. “And now this!”

He made to seize her hand a second time, but unfortunately Mrs. Hagge-Smith in the interim had unearthed her handkerchief to attend to a slight catarrhal trouble to which she was subject. Penpeti’s manœuvre, therefore, much to Eustace’s delight, was merely an embarrassment for both of them. He crossed to a chair and, somewhat stiffly, sat down.

“I called you round,” said Eustace haughtily, “because Alicia...er, that is, Mrs. Hagge-Smith, has a matter of considerable importance to discuss with us.”

“Indeed?”

“Mr. Penpeti!” exclaimed Mrs. Hagge-Smith. “I am sure I can look to you for the enthusiasm which dear Eustace has lamentably failed to exhibit.” Penpeti gave a little bow. “I have been blessed with a most wonderful inspiration. Last night in bed I—”

And for the second time Mrs. Hagge-Smith set out the details of her vision. Penpeti’s reaction was startling. He sprang from his chair, seized both Alicia’s hands, kissed them each in turn, and whipped round on Eustace.

“But this is a superb, incomparable idea! Of course we must have a Summer Camp. Why haven’t we thought of it before! We must ensure that we have representatives from every branch. My dear Mrs. Hagge-Smith, the Movement already owes more to you than it can ever repay. Now, alas, we’re more than ever in debt to you. And when do you suggest that we—?”

“Next June,” broke in Mrs. Hagge-Smith, whose organised mind had already worked out the general details of her scheme. “That will give us six months to prepare. We must, of course, have running water laid on, with proper drainage, shower-baths, electricity, telephone extensions, laundry facilities, washing-up machines——”

The list seemed to prolong itself interminably and as the magnitude of Mrs. Hagge-Smith’s conception dawned more fully on Mr. Mildmann’s mind, his nervousness seemed to increase. As a small provincial bookseller he was not used to thinking in a big way. The whole project not only staggered but frightened him. Carrying out the ceremonies of his faith in the snug and familiar atmosphere of the Welworth Temple, he was happy and confident. But this super-epic à la Cecil de Mille left him apprehensive and miserable. He dropped into a sulky silence whilst Alicia and Penpeti continued to discuss the scheme with ever-increasing liveliness. Only once did he look up and murmur a timid objection.

“But the expense ... the expense of it all! Have you thought of that, Alicia?”

Mrs. Hagge-Smith dismissed his objection with an airy wave of her hand and returned with redoubled fervour to Peta Penpeti. She was thinking it was a thousand pities that Cooism had been created by such a spineless creature as Eustace Mildmann. Otherwise Mr. Penpeti might have been its High Prophet—a splendid, forceful, inspiring leader, a man after her own heart. Together they could have lifted the Movement to new and exalted heights, expanding its influence, furthering its publicity until it was known from one end of the country to the other. This Summer Convention was but a trial spin. Mrs. Hagge-Smith could see the tentacles of Cooism reaching out over the Continent and beyond, to India, Africa and Asia, even to America. Cooism—a World Religion! And why not? With Penpeti by her side she was ready to dare anything. If only Eustace were not such a wet blanket, such a cautious old maid, so provincial in outlook! Alicia sighed. Life, even if you had a million, was very exasperating.