Tenterhooks

Ada Leverson

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• Publié par: arga
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 19
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, Tenterhooks, by
Ada Leverson
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Title: Tenterhooks
Author: Ada Leverson
Release Date: November 8, 2003 [eBook #10021]
Language: English
Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG
EBOOK TENTERHOOKS***
E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Sarah Lewis,
and Project Gutenberg Distributed ProofreadersTenterhooks
[Book 2 of The Little Ottleys]
by Ada Leverson
1912
TO ROBERT ROSSCHAPTER I
A Verbal Invitation
Because Edith had not been feeling very well, that
seemed no reason why she should be the centre of
interest; and Bruce, with that jealousy of the
privileges of the invalid and in that curious spirit of
rivalry which his wife had so often observed, had
started, with enterprise, an indisposition of his own,
as if to divert public attention. While he was at
Carlsbad he heard the news. Then he received a
letter from Edith, speaking with deference and
solicitude of Bruce's rheumatism, entreating him to
do the cure thoroughly, and suggesting that they
should call the little girl Matilda, after a rich and
sainted—though still living—aunt of Edith's. It might
be an advantage to the child's future (in every
sense) to have a godmother so wealthy and so
religious. It appeared from the detailed description
that the new daughter had, as a matter of course
(and at two days old), long golden hair, far below
her waist, sweeping lashes and pencilled brows, a
rosebud mouth, an intellectual forehead, chiselled
features and a tall, elegant figure. She was a
magnificent, regal-looking creature and was a
superb beauty of the classic type, and yet with it
she was dainty and winsome. She had great talent
for music. This, it appeared, was shown by the
breadth between the eyes and the timbre of her
voice.Overwhelmed with joy at the advent of such a
paragon, and horrified at Edith's choice of a name,
Bruce had replied at once by wire, impulsively:
'Certainly not Matilda I would rather she were
called Aspasia.'
Edith read this expression of feeling on a
colourless telegraph form, and as she was, at
Knightsbridge, unable to hear the ironical tone of
the message she took it literally.
She criticised the name, but was easily persuaded
by her mother-in-law to make no objection. The
elder Mrs Ottley pointed out that it might have
been very much worse.
'But it's not a pretty name,' objected Edith. 'If it
wasn't to be
Matilda, I should rather have called her something
out of
Maeterlinck—Ygraine, or Ysolyn—something like
that.'
'Yes, dear, Mygraine's a nice name, too,' said Mrs
Ottley, in her humouring way, 'and so is Vaselyn.
But what does it really matter? I shouldn't hold out
on a point like this. One gets used to a name. Let
the poor child be called Asparagus if he wishes it,
and let him feel he has got his own way.'
So the young girl was named Aspasia Matilda
Ottley. It was characteristic of Edith that she kept
to her own point, though not aggressively. When
Bruce returned after his after-cure, it was too lateto do anything but pretend he had meant it
seriously.
Archie called his sister Dilly.
Archie had been rather hurt at the—as it seemed
to him—unnecessary excitement about Dilly. Not
that he was jealous in any way. It was rather that
he was afraid it would spoil her to be made so
much of at her age; make her, perhaps, egotistical
and vain. But it was not Archie's way to show these
fears openly. He did not weep loudly or throw
things about as many boys might have done. His
methods were more roundabout, more subtle. He
gave hints and suggestions of his views that should
have been understood by the intelligent. He said
one morning with some indirectness:
'I had such a lovely dream last night, Mother.'
'Did you, pet? How sweet of you. What was it?'
'Oh, nothing much. It was all right. Very nice. It
was a lovely dream.
I dreamt I was in heaven.'
'Really! How delightful. Who was there?'
This is always a woman's first question.
'Oh, you were there, of course. And father. Nurse,
too. It was a lovely dream. Such a nice place.'
'Was Dilly there?''Dilly? Er—no—no—she wasn't. She was in the
night nursery, with
Satan.'
Sometimes Edith thought that her daughter's
names were decidedly a failure—Aspasia by
mistake, Matilda through obstinacy, and Dilly by
accident. However the child herself was a success.
She was four years old when the incident occurred
about the Mitchells. The whole of this story turns
eventually on the Mitchells.
The Ottleys lived in a concise white flat at
Knightsbridge. Bruce's father had some time ago
left him a good income on certain conditions; one
was that he was not to leave the Foreign Office
before he was fifty. One afternoon Edith was
talking to the telephone in a voice of agonised
entreaty that would have melted the hardest of
hearts, but did not seem to have much effect on
the Exchange, which, evidently, was not
responsive to pathos that day.
'Oh! Exchange, why are you ringing off? Please try
again…. Do I want any number? Yes, I do want
any number, of course, or why should I ring up?…
I want 6375 Gerrard.'
Here Archie interposed.
'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?'
'No, Archie, you can't just now, dear…. Go away
Archie…. Yes, I said 6375 Gerrard. Only 6375
Gerrard!… Are you there? Oh, don't keep onasking me if I've got them!… No, they haven't
answered…. Are you 6375?… Oh—wrong number
—sorry…. 6375 Gerrard? Only six—are you there?
… Not 6375 Gerrard?… Are you anyone else?…
Oh, is it you, Vincy?… I want to tell you—'
'Mother, can I have your long buttonhook?'
Here Bruce came in. Edith rang off. Archie
disappeared.
'It's really rather wonderful, Edith, what that
Sandow exerciser has done for me! You laughed at
me at first, but I've improved marvellously.'
Bruce was walking about doing very mild
gymnastics, and occasionally hitting himself on the
left arm with the right fist.' Look at my muscle—
look at it—and all in such a short time!'
'Wonderful!' said Edith.
'The reason I know what an extraordinary effect
these few days have had on me is something I
have just done which I couldn't have done before.
Of course I'm naturally a very powerful man, and
only need a little—'
'What have you done?'
'Why—you know that great ridiculous old wooden
chest that your awful Aunt Matilda sent you for
your birthday—absurd present I call it—mere
lumber.''Yes?'
'When it came I could barely push it from one side
of the room to the other. Now I've lifted it from your
room to the box-room. Quite easily. Pretty good,
isn't it?'
'Yes, of course it's very good for you to do all these
exercises; no doubt it's capital…. Er—you know
I've had all the things taken out of the chest since
you tried it before, don't you?'
'Things—what things? I didn't know there was
anything in it.'
'Only a silver tea-service, and a couple of salvers,'
said Edith, in a low voice….
…He calmed down fairly soon and said: 'Edith, I
have some news for you. You know the Mitchells?'
'Do I know the Mitchells? Mitchell, your hero in
your office, that you're always being offended with
—at least I know the Mitchells by name. I ought to.'
'Well, what do you think they've done? They've
asked us to dinner.'
'Have they? Fancy!'
'Yes, and what I thought was so particularly jolly of
him was that it was a verbal invitation. Mitchell said
to me, just like this, 'Ottley, old chap, are you doing
anything on Sunday evening?''Here Archie came to the door and said, 'Mother,
can I have your long buttonhook?'
Edith shook her head and frowned.
''Ottley, old chap,'' continued Bruce, ''are you and
your wife doing anything on Sunday? If not, I do
wish you would waive ceremony and come and
dine with us. Would Mrs Ottley excuse a verbal
invitation, do you think?' I said, 'Well, Mitchell, as a
matter of fact I don't believe we have got anything
on. Yes, old boy, we shall be delighted.' I accepted,
you see. I accepted straight out. When you're
treated in a friendly way, I always say why be
unfriendly? And Mrs Mitchell is a charming little
woman—I'm sure you'd like her. It seems she's
been dying to know you.'
'Fancy! I wonder she's still alive, then, because you
and Mitchell have known each other for eight
years, and I've never met her yet.'
'Well, you will now. Let bygones be bygones. They
live in Hamilton
Place.'
'Oh yes….Park Lane?'
'I told you he was doing very well, and his wife has
private means.'
'Mother,' Archie began again, like a litany, 'can I
have your long buttonhook? I know where it is.'
'No, Archie, certainly not; you can't fasten laced