Busman's Honeymoon

PROTHALAMION-3

24 May.--Harriet to tea. Helen came in--very rude and tiresome when I introduced Harriet. Said, "Oh, really! and where is Peter? Run off abroad again? How absurd and unaccountable he is!" Went on to talk Town and County solidly, saying every so often, "Do you know the So-and-so's, Miss Vane? No? They're very old friends of Peter's." "Do you hunt, Miss Vane? No? What a pity! I do hope Peter doesn't mean to give it up. It does him good to get out." Harriet very sensibly said "No" and "Certainly" to everything, without any explanations or apologies, which are always so dangerous (dear Disraeli!). I asked Harriet how the book was getting on and if Peter's suggestions had helped. Helen said, "Oh, yes, you write, don't you?" as if she'd never heard of her, and asked what the title was, so that she could get it from the library. Harriet said, quite gravely, "That is very kind of you, but do let me send you one--I am allowed six free copies, you know." First sign of temper, but I don't blame her. Apologised for Helen after she'd gone, and said I was glad my second son was marrying for love. Fear my vocabulary remains hopelessly old-fashioned in spite of carefully chosen reading. (Must remember to ask Franklin what I have done with The Stars Look Down.)

1 June.--Letter from Peter, about taking the Belchesters' house in Audley Square from Michaelmas and furnishing it. H., thank Heaven, ready to prefer eighteenth-century elegance to chromium tubes. H. alarmed by size of house, but relieved she is not called upon to "make a home" for Peter. I explained it was his business to make the home and take his bride to it--privilege now apparently confined to aristocracy and clergymen, who can't choose their vicarages, poor dears, usually much too big for them. H. pointed out that Royal brides always seemed to be expected to run about choosing cretonnes, but I said this was duty they owed to penny papers which like domestic women--Peter's wife fortunately without duties. Must see about housekeeper for them--someone capable--Peter insistent wife's work must not be interrupted by uproars in servants' hall.

5 June.--Sudden outburst of family feeling in most tiresome form. Gerald first--worried of course by Helen--to ask if girl is presentable and has she got modern ideas, meaning children of course, that is to say not wanting children. Told Gerald to mind his own business, which is Saint-George. Next Mary, to say Small Peter sickening for chicken-pox and will this girl really look after Peter? Told her, Peter perfectly capable of looking after himself, and probably not wanting wife with head stuffed with chicken-pox and best way to boil fish. Found beautiful Chippendale mirror and set tapestry chairs at Harrison's.

25 June.--Love's dream troubled by solemn interview with Murbles about Settlements--appalling long document providing for every conceivable and inconceivable situation and opening up ramifications into everybody's death and remarriage, "covered," as Murbles observes, "by THE WILL" (in capitals). Had not realised Peter was doing so well out of the London property. H. more and more uncomfortable at every clause. Rescued her in depressed state and took her to tea at Rumpelmayer's. She finally told me, "Ever since I left College, I've never spent a penny I hadn't earned." Said to her, "Well, my dear, tell Peter what you feel, but do remember he's just as vain and foolish as most men and not a chameleon to smell any sweeter for being trodden on." On consideration, think I meant "camomile" (Shakespeare? Must ask Peter.) Considered writing to P. about this, but better not--young people must fight their own battles.

10 August.--Returned from country yesterday to find question of Settlements settled. H. showed me three pages of intelligent sympathy from P., beginning, "Of course I had foreseen the difficulty," and ending, "Either your pride or mine will have to be sacrificed--I can only appeal to your generosity to let it be yours." H. said, "Peter can always see the difficulty--that's what's so disarming." Agree heartily--can't stand people who "can't see what the fuss is about." H. now meekly prepared to accept suitable income, but has solaced pride by ordering two dozen silk shirts in Burlington Arcade, and paying cash for them. Evinces dogged determination to do thing properly while she is about it--has grasped that if Helen can pick holes, Peter will suffer for it, and resolutely applies intelligence to task. Something apparently to be said for education--teaches grasp of facts. H. grappling with fact of P.'s position--interesting to watch. Long letter from Peter, very dubious about League of Nations, and sending detailed instructions about library shelving and a William-and-Mary bedstead, also irritable about being left in Rome "like a plumber, to stop diplomatic leaks." English very unpopular in Italy, but P. had soothing discussion with the Pope about a historical manuscript--must have made a pleasant change for both of them.

16 August.--Harriet, who has been down to the country to look at a water-mill (something to do with her new book), said she had motored back through Herts, and paid a visit to her old home at Great Pagford. Talked about her people--quiet country doctor and wife. Father made quite good income, but never thought of saving anything (thought he'd live for ever, I suppose)--very anxious, however, H. should have good education--just as well, as things turned out. H. said her own childish ambition had been to make enough money to buy quaint old farmhouse called Talboys in next village. Had seen it again on her trip--Elizabethan, very pretty. Said how differently things turned out from what one expected. I said it sounded just the sort of place she and P. would want for week-end cottage. H. rather taken aback--said, Yes, she supposed so. Left it at that.

19 August.--Found the exact right hangings for the bedstead. Helen says all that kind of thing highly insanitary. Says Gerald has had bad reports of the partridges and thinks country going to the dogs.

20 August.--H. has written to Peter about buying Talboys. Explained she thought Peter "liked giving people things." So he does, poor boy! Facts now apparently faced once for all--looks as though he was going to get five-and-a-half years' arrears of patience repaid in a lump. Said mildly I thought nothing would give P. greater pleasure. When she had gone, danced quiet jig in drawing-room, to surprise of Franklin (silly woman--she ought to know me by this time).

21 August.--Harriet's book finished and sent to publisher. This unfortunately leaves her mind free to worry about Abyssinia, so tiresome. Convinced civilisation will perish and Peter never be seen again. Like cat on hot bricks saying she wasted five years of P.'s life and can't forgive herself and it's no good saying he's over age because he has M.I. written all over his conscience and if he was seventy he might still be gassed or bombed in an air-raid. Earnestly hope we shall not have another war with meat-coupons and no sugar and people being killed--ridiculous and unnecessary. Wonder whether Mussolini's mother spanked him too much or too little--you never know, these psychological days. Can distinctly remember spanking Peter, but it doesn't seem to have warped him much, so psychologists very likely all wrong.

24 August.--Peter has instructed agent to negotiate for Talboys with present owner--man called Noakes. His letter to me very discreet--but he is delighted. Situation in Rome apparently clearing, so far as his own job is concerned. H. still uneasy about prospects of war.

30 August.--Harriet completely exalted by letter from Peter saying, "Even if it is the twilight of the world, before night falls I will sleep in your arms."... (How well I recognise the old, magniloquent Peter of twenty years back)...and adding that his plumbing is done and he has asked for his papers, which is more to the point.

4 September.--They have made a good job of the chandeliers for the hall and great saloon. Gerald says they can have the tapestries from the Blue Room--they will look well on the upper landing, I think--have sent them to be overhauled and cleaned, which they badly need. (Peter would say, so do my pronouns, but I know quite well what I mean.) Ahasuerus sick in Franklin's bedroom--funny how fond he is of her, seeing she doesn't really like cats.

7 September.--Peter wires he will be back next week. Harriet insisted on taking me out to dinner and standing me champagne. Said, hilariously, her last opportunity, as Peter doesn't care for champagne. Condoled with her on loss of freedom in brief and witty speech (brief for me, anyway). Should like to see Helen taking me out to dinner and listening to a speech.

14 September.--Peter came back. He dined somewhere with Harriet and then came round to see me--alone, so nice of them, because of course I had said, bring her too. He looks thin and tired, but I think that must be Mussolini or the weather or something, because he obviously has no doubts about anything (except the League, naturally)--and it struck me so much that he sat absolutely quiet for nearly two hours without fidgeting or saying very much, so unusual, because as a rule peas on a hot shovel are nothing to it. Very sweet about what I had done as regards the house. Will leave it to me to engage staff, as Harriet not experienced. They will need about eight servants, besides Bunter and the housekeeper--so I shall have a nice busy time.

15 September.--Harriet came round this morning to show me her ring--big solitaire ruby--old Abrahams had it cut and set specially to instructions. Poor H. laughed at herself, because when Peter gave it to her yesterday she was looking at him and ten minutes afterwards, when challenged, couldn't even tell him the colour of the stone. Said she was afraid she never would learn to behave like other people, but Peter had only said it was the first time his features had ever been prized above rubies. Peter joined us at lunch--also Helen, who demanded to see the ring, and said sharply, "Good Heavens! I hope it's insured." To do her justice, I can't see that she could have found anything nastier to say if she'd thought it out with both hands for a fortnight. She then went on to say she supposed they intended to get married quietly before the Registrar, but Peter said, No, he would as soon be married in a railway-station waiting-room, and that if Helen had developed religious scruples she need not lend her countenance to the proceedings. So Helen said, "Oh, I see--St. George's Hanover Square, I suppose"--and went on to arrange everything for them, including the date, the parson, the guests and the music. When she got to "The Voice that Breathed o'er Eden," Peter said, "Oh, for God's sake, cut out the League of Nations!" and he and Harriet began to invent rude rhymes, which left Helen rather out of it, as she never was good at drawing-room games.

16 September.--Helen obligingly presented us with a copy of the new form of marriage service, with all the vulgar bits left out--which was asking for trouble. Peter very funny about it--said he knew all about the "procreation of children," in theory though not in practice, but that the "increase of mankind" by any other method sounded too advanced for him, and that, if he ever did indulge in such dangerous amusements, he would, with his wife's permission, stick to the old-fashioned procedure. He also said that, as for the "gift of continence," he wouldn't have it as a gift, and had no objection to admitting as much. At this point, Helen got up and left the house, leaving P. and Harriet to wrangle over the word "obey." P. said he would consider it a breach of manners to give orders to his wife, but H. said, Oh, no--he'd give orders fast enough if the place was on fire or a tree falling down and he wanted her to stand clear. P. said, in that case they ought both to say "obey," but it would be too much jam for the reporters. Left them to fight it out. When I came back, found Peter had consented to be obeyed on condition he might "endow" and not "share" his worldly goods. Shocking victory of sentiment over principle.