Fiction ~ short story
Published 'by special arrangement' in The Courier [Taunton, UK], 28th January 1925¹
3,795 words
(First read 30/05/2014)
Yay! the welcome return of Mrs Hancock from Arundel (1914). This one tells the story of Mrs H's marriage to the newly-widowed vicar Mr Martin (who barely gets a look in) and is set in the first six months or so of the Great War. Utterly true to type, Mrs H/M decides in her infinite generosity to give Mr M a little run-about car as a wedding present, mainly so that she can continue to have exclusive use of her own massive motor, and on the proviso that he pays its running costs; when the beastly war starts she finds it the perfect excuse to make economies and retrench, so poor Mr M never gets his car. Nor have any of the appeals from various charitable funds (the Soldiers' and Sailors' Fund, etc.²) had a solitary farthing from her by the time the story ends. Very funny, if you like that kind of thing.
¹ I've no idea if this was the first-ever publication, I'm afraid ~ I would imagine, given all the references to the war charities, that EFB wrote this during the War itself, and that it was possibly published previously in 1914-18. For another 'special arrangement' story that appeared in Taunton's The Courier, see The Dorothy Crystal Syndicate (1935).
² EFB himself was a keen supporter of the Sailors and Soldiers Tobacco Fund.
Below is the
story reproduced in full ~ to the best of my knowledge ~ for the first
time in 89 years, free gratis and for all the world to see. Enjoy!
The Economies of Mrs Hancock by E. F. Benson
Heathmoor,
generally, that salubrious and prosperous settlement, the houses of
which for the most part stand completely detached, and surrounded by
their own private gardens and croquet lawns, was much excited at the
authentic news that Mrs Hancock, whose fiftieth milestone of life was
already clearly in sight, was going to marry Mr Martin, the vicar of
their newly-built red-brick church. Mr Martin, lately widowed, was a
little younger (but not much) than his prospective bride, and thus it
will readily be understood that the interest which the announcement
aroused was not of romantic calibre, and was rather concerned with
the financial aspect of this unexpected visit of Cupid. But finance
formed so large an ingredient in the life of Heathmoor, whose male
inhabitants almost without exception go up to the City every morning
by the 9-6, and return, slightly richer, by the 4-40 from Marylebone
in the afternoon, that they could give a more reliable verdict on the
appropriateness of the match than if it had been complicated by
passion or romance, about which they knew less. As it was, the
important facts of it were that Mrs Hancock lived on the scale, more
or less, of three thousand a year, with a handsome motor, a two-acre
plot of house and harden, a butler and a lady's maid, in addition to
the ordinary domestic service which was usual, while Mr Martin's
professional stipend was four hundred pounds a year; with house. But
he was believed to enjoy what is called 'a little money' from the
decease of his first wife, while on the other hand Mrs Hancock
certainly put by 'a little money' every years. The conclusion
therefore that Heathmoor came to was that Mrs Hancock probably had
four thousand a year, and Mr Martin twice as many hundreds. This
conjecture was so near the mark that it reflected great credit on the
financial acumen of the place.
It
followed, as a corollary, that Mr Martin would be in more comfortable
circumstances than had been his hitherto, while there was no need for
retrenchment on the part of Mrs Hancock. The young people ~ there
was a slightly tendency towards acidity in the Heathmoor comments ~
were going to live at Arundel, Mrs Hancock's very spacious villa, and
the parsonage was to be let. And as the parsonage would certainly
fetch two hundred and fifty pounds a year, there was no reason to
suppose that there would be any diminution of excellence in Mrs
Hancock's habitual hospitality. But though Heathmoor was inclined to
be a little acid about it ~ Heathmoor is a very satirical place in
its own quiet way ~ there as no doubt that the young people were
sincerely attached to each other, and would, no doubt, be very
comfortable together.
It
must be supposed that Mrs Hancock thought so, since comfort was the
ruling passion of her life, and she would go through any discomfort
to procure it. The financial aspect of her adventure also had
concerned her as much if not more than it had concerned her friends
and neighbours, and months before the event was to take place she had
busied herself with contriving little economies with a view to
meeting the outlay that the joint occupation of Arundel would entail.
She meant her husband to be thoroughly comfortable also, and thus
was prepared to turn the best spare bedroom into a sitting room for
him, and give him as a dressing room, the original best spare
dressing room that adjoined it. Similarly, she was seriously
considering whether she would not buy him a small car which would
really be quite at his own disposal for his regular parish work, and
his no less regular games of golf. The running expenses of such a
car were very small, so she had ascertained, whereas the road to the
golf links was very trying for a heavy car. Besides, such an
arrangement would leave her with complete command of her own car, and
she could not dream of letting Alfred continue to go afoot everywhere
as he had been accustomed to do. There was something of the personal
dignity of the man who was to be her husband that must be considered.
The
marriage was to take place in September, and on one fine evening in
July when the two were talking together, before he went back to the
vicarage for the night, she discussed with him some of these opulent
plans for his comfort. Her kind brown eyes beamed with pleasure at
the enumeration of her own unselfish thoughts, as she sat in the
window of the drawing-room at Arundel, after routing her new Patience
twice in succession.
“Alfred,
my dear,” she said, “I have been thinking over so many plans and
arrangements to-day. Is it not a lovely night, and would you open
the window a shade more? I do not think I shall feel the draught if
I sit well back in my chair and if I do, perhaps you would close it
again. Well!”
A
smile of content at her own generosity played round her mouth. But,
before she proceeded to her announcement a sudden thought struck her.
The running expenses of the new car, as has been mentioned would be
small, and now her delicacy suggested to her that her husband might
feel himself less burdened by her gift, if he paid for his petrol and
tyre bill himself. She had been prepared to do that, too, when she
made her original plan, but now a finer instinct asserted itself.
But there was a little draught from the window, even if she leaned
back.
“I
think I must trouble you, dear Alfred,” she said, “to close the
window again. I might catch cold sitting here, and how would you
like to have me laid up, and perhaps catch a cold from me yourself?
I could not forgive myself if you did. Thank you dear! That is
quite comfortable.”
It
was pleasant to put off the moment of her great announcement like
this, tasting the delights of anticipation.
“Now
I have made up my mind,” she said, “that before our marriage I am
going to order a new little car. And who do you think is going to
drive in it? Why you, my dear. It is to be yours, for your very
own, as the children say, to take you to your golf and your district
visiting. And the more you use it, the better shall I be pleased.
There!”
Mr
Martin had taken the rôle of Prince-Consort, so to speak, from the
very first. He was quite aware that he was about to marry the Queen
of Heathmoor; and though he was accustomed to strike the attitude of
a proud, independent Englishman, he was not above receiving benefits
from his future wife.
“My
dear, you are determined to spoil me,” he said. “Fancy me with a
motor of my own.”
Mrs
Hancock beamed with pleasure.
“And
I'll be bound that you learn to drive it in no time,” she said,
“with Denton to coach you. And they are so cheap to run too. I
daresay that your petrol bill won't be more than a pound a week. And
I gave orders to-day about the door being cut between the best spare
bedroom, which is to be your study, and the dressing room, so that
you'll be quite snug there. As I told you, I shall always tap on
your study door, if I want to see you, so that you'll only have to
call out “Go away, Julia” if you're busy, and I shall not come in
to disturb you. Look, there is a thrush on the lawn. There! It is
running away into the bushes. Has it got a study and a dressing-room
there, I wonder?”
The
entrance of Mrs Hancock's butler with the evening paper put an end to
any further pretty conjectures about the thrush's domestic
arrangements, and Mr Martin took it under the lamp to gather and
retail the news.
“Upon
my word, things look very threatening,” he said. “Germany has
insisted on Russia's ceasing to mobilize.”
Mrs
Hancock noticed that the thrush had run out of the bushes again, but
bent her mind to European affairs.
“How
tiresome Germany is!” she said, “and Russia, too, for that
matter. What a pity that nations are not like us and find enough to
do in their own home without wanting to quarrel with other people.
What do you think will happen next, Alfred?”
Alfred
swiftly glanced to see what the leader writer thought would happen
next.
“Hard
to tell,” he said. “Personally I should not be surprised if
Germany declared war on Russia.”
“Dear!
What a disturbance that would be. I think I shall have just one
more game at his new Patience, before I go to bed. Germany and
Russia at war! I am glad it will be so far away.”
The
events of the week, however, brought this remote conflict nearer
home, but even when the Allied Armies were in retreat from Mons, Mrs
Hancock felt but the faintest personal interest in the matter. She
had no relatives or friends who had adopted a soldier's profession,
nor in fact, even if they had, would she have felt any particular
anxiety, since she really cared nothing but for her own comfort,
though she liked, as adding to that, to have cheerful faces round
her. But when it became apparent that the war was going to cost a
considerable sum of money, she became much more interested and
patriotic.
“And
to think that we've been forced into it against our will by those
horrid Germans!” she exclaimed to Mr Martin. “I never liked
Germans, and now I declare I detest them. My dear, is not this an
excellent soufflé? Pray take a little more before, as you say, it
sits down. Such a good expression! But where is all the money to
come from until we get it back from Germany, when we have beaten
her?”
“From
the tax-payers, I am afraid,” said Mr Martin.
“Ah!
that is like this horrid Radical Government. Why don't they just
increase the national debt, instead of making us pay? And Mrs
Williams tells me that meat is up a penny in the pound already, and I
assure you that the postman never goes by without putting into my
letter-box some fresh appeal for money. There is the national fund
one day, and soldiers' and sailors' help another, and Belgian
refugees a third. One needs to be a millionaire ...”
As
a matter of fact, all these appeals that were left in Mrs Hancock's
letter-box had proved more expensive to the senders than to the
recipient, since she had not given anything to any of them. With a
guileless sincerity, that probably deceived herself, she proceeded to
explain her attitude, having taken a little more of the soufflé
before it sat down.
“They
pour in every day,” she said, “but I suppose they will stop soon,
and then I shall go very carefully over all of them, and divide among
them what I find I can give, for it would be dreadful if I gave away
at once all I can afford, and then got some very deserving appeal,
which I found I could not respond to. I never thrown one away; I
keep them all. But I should like your advice, dear. The national
fund, now; could you tell me what you gave to that, and whether it is
deserving?”
“I
sent them fifty pounds,” said Mr Martin.
Mrs
Hancock held up her hands in admiration.
“My
dear, I do call that generous,” she said. “Fifty pounds! But
you always are so generous. I think, then, as we have subscribed so
much to that ~ for now I count all my money as yours ~ I shall leave
that out of my list. Everyone must do their share, mustn't they? and
we have done ours there. I must go very carefully into my expenses,
and see if I cannot save a pound here and a pound there, so as to be
able to give liberally.”
An
idea of a brilliant nature occurred to her as they rose to leave the
table.
“I
am sure you feel as I do about it,” she said, “and we must put
our heads together to arrange our budget, for after next week, when
we are married, it will be our budget, won't it? Now, my dear, I'm
going to be very frank with you. You remember that I was going to
give you a little motor-car to run about with, and you were going to
supply the petrol and tyres. I feel now that you will want to be
spared that expense, and I should hate to embarrass you. So let me ~
“
Mr
Martin took her hand.
“My
dear Julia,” he said, “you want to take the expense of that
yourself. But I couldn't possibly permit it. I shall be able to
manage it easily.”
For
the moment Mrs Hancock, instead of him, was embarrassed. It was
really a little difficult to explain that this had not been her idea.
But she made light of difficulties when faced by this need of saving
a pound here and a pound there. She was going to save a good many
pounds here.
“Ah,
how willingly I would pay every penny connected with it,” she said,
“if only I had the money. But I see I shall have to be very
careful for these next months, and what I was going to propose, dear,
was that I should postpone my present to you till better times. I
know you could ill afford the running expenses of it just now, and as
for me, I shall to retrench in every way I can. But I need hardly
tell you that my car will always be at your service, if you don't
mind walking up that little lane to the golf-links, where it is so
bad for the springs. And so we shall both have a little more money
to give to some of those funds. I declare I feel quite a miser for
their sakes.”
Mrs
Hancock's processes of thought were not swift and lightning-like, but
calm and brooding, like the radiance of sun on still autumn mornings,
and during the next few days she devoted a great deal of quiet time
(sitting out in her tent in the garden, for the weather was lovely)
to the question of economies. Her decision about Mr Martin's motor,
which she had designed to be a wedding present for him next week was
a solid piece of retrenchment, and what particularly (so she thought)
pleased her about it, was that she had been the means of saving him
the expense of its upkeep. Then it seemed to her that wine (which
she never touched herself) was an unnecessary luxury in those
troubled financial times, and thorough in all she did (including her
own habitual self-deception) she cut off her servants' beer money
also. To effect this, she summoned her butler and her cook, and made
them quite a touching little speech, reminding them that burden of
the war must fall on all who were proud to call themselves British,
and that all such must cheerfully make sacrifices for the sake of
their country. This she expressed so neatly and feelingly that Lind
and Mrs Williams quite lost sight of the fact that she was docking
their wages and saving herself some ten shillings a week, for this
she concealed under the announcement that she was going to provide no
wine either for her guests or herself, while the charitable calls on
her purse were so numerous, and produced the general impression that
it was everybody's duty to deny themselves, rather than that it was
her delight to deny everybody else. Further she dismissed her
under-gardener (giving him an excellent character), and
counter-ordered the painting of her front-gate, and the cutting of
the door from Mr Martin's dressing-room into his sitting-room.
She
talked over all those admirable plans with him in the course of the
next few days. She had noted down the saving that would be effected
thereby on a half-sheet of writing paper. “I declare it has been
three days' hard work,” she said, “but now, dear, I have got what
I call my revised budget ready, and I think that I have provided for
the extra taxation you tell me that we must expect, so that I can
consider my income will be no less than it was, and I shall be able
to give to all these appeals as if there had been no inroads into it.
You will not feel, too, as if you were going to marry a pauper, and,
apart from the wine, I shall be able to keep a good table still, and
shan't starve you! That I was quite determined on, for after all,
charity begins at home and certainly doesn't begin by the wife making
her husband uncomfortable.”
But
the rosy radiance produced by the thought that she was saving money
in order eventually to answer all these charitable appeals with
suitable generosity, turned rather grey when, in the course of the
next month it became apparent that her dividends were not being paid
with their accustomed regularity. The chief defaulter was the
Thessalian Oil Company which instead of sending £500 to her bank,
sent a polite letter to her intimating that it postponed its payment.
Mrs Hancock ~ now Mrs Martin ~ had been almost prepared to devote a
hundred pounds of this to various charities, and had gone so far as
to divide it up (on paper) among them, assigning one ninth to one,
and two ninths to another. This had all taken time, and now, it
appeared, all that head-work was love's labour lost, since with this
uncertainty about dividends, it would be very wrong to be spendthrift
in charity that did not begin at home.
“And
such trouble as I took about the division, my dear,” she said to
her husband, “and it's all thrown away, for I could not give to
Belgian refugees, when I may not have enough to pay my own servants.
If I had not been prudent at the beginning, when I so much longed to
help everybody, I don't know what you and I would be doing to-day!”
Mr
Martin was divided between a desire to console his wife for this
blow, and a conviction that they were not yet within sight of living
one whit less comfortably (apart from the drinking of wine, which
only affected him) than before.
“Of
course it's a great disappointment to you dear,” he said, “but
after all the dividend is only postponed. I daresay in a month or
two, it will be paid, and you will be no worse off. I think, if I
were you, I should pay some little subscription to all these
charities, which really are in need of help.”
His
wife became a shade more dignified.
“My
dear, I have been accustomed to manage my income so long,” she
said, “that you will excuse me if I continue to do so according to
the best of my ability. In my view, it would be very wrong of me if
I gave away now the money I may need to keep our home together. One
does not not know what may happen or how much one may need money for
even more pressing claims than these, a little later on. But I am
not going to be depressed about it. Let us have a game of that
excellent new patience which you showed me yesterday, and see if we
can't bring it out, together. Oh, look, there is a little spider on
the table. Perhaps that will bring us all better luck!”
The
autumn weeks went on, and the appeals to Mrs Martin's charity, none
of which she ever threw away, but kept, neatly docketted, with an
elastic band round them, got ever bulkier. Sometimes, it is true,
the hopelessness of dealing with them all on a scale that should
satisfy her generosity, and the impossibility of choosing between
them, so grew on her, that she was tempted to throw them all away,
but matters never quite came to such a point. In the interval her
financial affairs grew a little brighter, there was dawn on the
wreck, for all the postponed dividends with the exception of
Thessalian Oil were paid, and she felt that she had still a hope of
avoiding bankruptcy. On the other hand the scare about the coming
Zeppelins increased, and she felt far from easy in her mind about the
risk of Heathmoor being bombarded by them. German spies who
apparently knew everything, could hardly be unaware ow large a
contingent of city men lived there, and it seemed to her, in her less
sanguine moments, very likely that they would aim this staggering
blow at their hearts and homes. And what if that happened, if a bomb
dropped on her garage and blew to motor to atoms? She would
certainly have to get a new one. The non-payment of the Thessalian
Oil dividend weighed on her as heavy as life. Zeppelins! Thessalian
oil! The words obsessed her like a nightmare.
One
bright December morning, she received by post a small package and one
letter. The package was her pass-book returned from the bank in a
highly satisfactory mood, the fruit of her prudent economies. The
letter was a communication from the Thessalian Oil Company saying
that the postponed dividend had been paid, and that the usual
December distribution would take place as usual. At breakfast she
talked over this happy development with her husband.
“I
declare all this planning and scheming over my little economies has
made me quite a financier, dear,” she said. “I knew I should
have have to be prudent, and how well it has turned out. Now I shall
keep that Thessalian oil dividend apart from my other money, ear-mark
it, don't they say, as an insurance against Zeppelins. Then I shall
feel quite happy in my mind, and when the December dividends come in,
I shall go through all those appeals again. Is it not a lovely
morning? You will have a pleasant game of golf. But Lind tells me
that coal has gone up another half-crown. Is it not lucky I always
have the cellar filled in the summer? He thinks we shall get through
till the warmer weather begins without buying any more. But we must
be prepared for its not lasting out.”
Reproduced from The Courier [Taunton, Somerset, UK], 28/01/1925
