gone!" she said; "and we will have a dear little party on Wednesday to show we are all friends again. And we meet for lunch at dear Mr Wyse's the next day? Yes? He will get tired of poor little me if he sees me two days running, so I shall not ask him. I will just try to get two tables together, and nobody shall contradict dear Diva, however many shillings she says she has won. I would sooner pay them all myself than have any more of our unhappy divisions. You will have talked to them all before Wednesday, will you not, dear?"
As there were only four to talk to, Mrs Poppit thought that she could manage it, and spent a most interesting afternoon. For two years now she had tried to unfreeze Miss Mapp, who, when all was said and done, was the centre of the Tilling circle, and who, if any attempt was made to shove her out towards the circumference, always gravitated back again. And now, on these important errands she was Miss Mapp's accredited ambassador, and all the terrible business of the opening of the store-cupboard and her decoration as M.B.E. was quite forgiven and forgotten. There would be so much walking to be done from house to house, that it was impossible to wear her sable coat unless she had the Royce to take her about . . .
The effect of her communications would have surprised anybody who did not know Tilling. A less subtle society, when assured from a first-hand, authoritative source that a report which it had entirely refused to believe was false, would have prided itself on its perspicacity, and said that it had laughed at such an idea, as soon as ever it heard it, as being palpably (look at Miss Mapp!) untrue. Not so Tilling. The very fact that, by the mouth of her ambassador, she so uncompromisingly denied it, was precisely why Tilling began to wonder if there was not something in it, and from wondering if there was not something in it, surged to the conclusion that there certainly was. Diva, for instance, the moment she was told that Elizabeth (for Mrs Poppit remembered her Christian name perfectly) utterly and scornfully denied the truth of the report, became intensely thoughtful.
"Say there's nothing in it?" she observed. "Can't understand that."
At that moment Diva's telephone bell rang, and she hurried out and in.
"Party at Elizabeth's on Wednesday," she said. "She saw me laughing. Why ask me?"
Mrs Poppit was full of her sacred mission.
"To show how little she minds your laughing," she suggested.
"As if it wasn't true, then. Seems like that. Wants us to think it's not true."
"She was very earnest about it," said the ambassador.
Diva got up, and tripped over the outlying skirts of Mrs Poppit's fur coat as she went to ring the bell.
"Sorry," she said. "Take it off and have a chat. Tea's coming. Muffins!"
"Oh, no, thanks!" said Mrs Poppit. "I've so many calls to make."
"What? Similar calls?" asked Diva. "Wait ten minutes. Tea, Janet. Quickly."
She whirled round the room once or twice, all corrugated with perplexity, beginning telegraphic sentences, and not finishing them: "Says it's not true — laughs at notion of — And Mr Wyse believes — The Padre believed. After all, the Major — Little cock-sparrow Captain Puffin — Or t'other way round, do you think? — No other explanation, you know — Might have been blood —"
She buried her teeth in a muffin.
"Believe there's something in it," she summed up.
She observed her guest had neither tea nor muffin.
"Help yourself," she said. "Want to worry this out."
"Elizabeth absolutely denies it," said Mrs Poppit. "Her eyes were full of —"
"Oh, anything," said Diva. "Rubbed them. Or pepper if it was at lunch. That's no evidence."
"But her solemn assertion —" began Mrs Poppit, thinking that she was being a complete failure as an ambassador. She was carrying no conviction at all.
"Saccharine!" observed Diva, handing her a small phial. "Haven't got more than enough sugar for myself. I expect Elizabeth's got plenty — well, never mind that. Don't you see? If it wasn't true she would try to convince us that it was. Seemed absurd on the face of it. But if she tries to convince us that it isn't true — well, something in it."
There was the gist of the matter, and Mrs Poppit proceeding next to the Padre's house, found more muffins and incredulity. Nobody seemed to believe Elizabeth's assertion that there was "nothing in it". Evie ran round the room with excited squeaks, the Padre nodded his head, in confirmation of the opinion which, when he first delivered it, had been received with mocking incredulity over the crab. Quaint Irene, intent on Mr Hopkins's left knee in the absence of the model, said: "Good old Map: better late than never." Utter incredulity, in fact, was the ambassador's welcome . . . and all the incredulous were going to Elizabeth's party on Wednesday.
Mrs Poppit had sent the Royce home for the last of her calls, and staggered up the hill past Elizabeth's house. Oddly enough, just as she passed the garden-room, the window was thrown up."
"Cup of tea, dear Susan?" said Elizabeth. She had found an old note of Mrs Poppit's among the waste paper for the firing of the kitchen oven fully signed.
"Just two minutes' talk, Elizabeth," she promptly responded.
* * *
The news that nobody in Tilling believed her left Miss Mapp more than calm, on the bright side of calm, that is to say. She had a few indulgent phrases that tripped readily off her tongue for the dear things who hated to be deprived of their gossip, but Susan certainly did not receive the impression that this playful magnanimity was attained with an effort. Elizabeth did not seem really to mind: she was very gay. Then, skilfully changing the subject, she mourned over her dead dahlias.
Though Tilling with all its perspicacity could not have known it, the intuitive reader will certainly have perceived that Miss Mapp's party for Wednesday night had, so to speak, further irons in its fire. It had originally been a bribe to Susan Poppit, in order to induce her to spread broadcast that that ridiculous rumour (whoever had launched it) had been promptly denied by the person whom it most immediately concerned. It served a second purpose in showing that Miss Mapp was too high above the mire of scandal, however interesting, to know or care who might happen to be wallowing in it, and for this reason she asked everybody who had done so. Such loftiness of soul had earned her an amazing bonus, for it had induced those who sat in the seat of the scoffers before to come hastily off, and join the thin but unwavering ranks of the true believers, who up till then had consisted only of Susan and Mr Wyse. Frankly, so blest a conclusion had never occurred to Miss Mapp: it was one of those unexpected rewards that fall like ripe plums into the lap of the upright. By denying a rumour she had got everybody to believe it, and when on Wednesday morning she went out to get the chocolate cakes which were so useful in allaying the appetites of guests, she encountered no broken conversations and gleeful smiles, but sidelong glances of respectful envy.
But what Tilling did not and could not know was that this, the first of the autumn after-dinner bridge-parties, was destined to look on the famous tea-gown of kingfisher-blue, as designed for Mrs Trout. No doubt other ladies would have hurried up their new gowns, or at least have camouflaged their old ones, in honour of the annual inauguration of evening bridge, but Miss Mapp had no misgivings about being outshone. And once again here she felt that luck waited on merit, for though when she dressed that evening she found she had not anticipated that artificial light would cast a somewhat pale (though not ghastly) reflection from the vibrant blue on to her features, similar in effect to (but not so marked as) the light that shines on the
