Vera's First Christmas Adventure by Arnold Bennett. One. Five days before Christmas,
Cheswardine came home to his wife from a week's sojourn in London on business.
Vera, in her quality of the best dressed woman in Bersley, met him
on the doorstep or thereabouts of their charming but childless home, attired in a
tea gown that would have ravished a far less impressionable male than her husband,
while he, in his quality of a prosaic and flourishing earthenware manufacturer, pretended
to take the tea gown as a matter of course, and gave her the
sober, solid kiss of a man who has been married six years and is
getting used to it. Still, the tea gown had pleased him, and
by certain secret symptoms, Vera knew that it had pleased him. She hoped
much from that tea gown. She hoped that he had come home in a
more pacific temper than he had shown when he left her, and she would
carry her point after all. Now, Naturally, when a husband in easy
circumstances the possessor of a pretty and pampered wife, spends a week in London
and returns five days before Christmas, certain things are rightly and properly to be
expected from him. He would need outstanding courage an amazing lack of a sense
of the amenity of conjugal existence in such a husband to enable him to disappoint
such reasonable expectations. And Cheeswerdine, though capable of pulling the curb very tight
on the caprices of his wife, was a highly decent fellow. He had
no intention to disappoint. He knew his duty, so that during afternoon tea,
with the tea gown, in a cozy corner of the great Chippendale drawing
room, he began to unfasten a small wooden case which he had brought into
the house in his own hand, opened it with considerable precaution, making a
fine mess of packing stuff on the carpet, and gradually drew to light a
pair of vases of Venetian glass. He put them on the mantel piece.
There, he said, proudly and with a virtuous air. They were obviously
costly antique vases, exquisite in form, exquisite in the graduated tints of their
pale blue and rose seventeenth century. He said, they're very nice Vera agreed
with a show of enthusiasm. What are they for your Christmas present? Cheswardine
explained, and added, my dear, oh Stephen, She murmured, A
kiss on these occasions is only just, and Cheswardine had one. Juvenes told
me they were quite unique, he said, modestly, and I believe them.
You might imagine that a pair of Venetian vases of the seventeenth century,
stated by Juvenes to be unique, would have satisfied a woman who had a
generous dress allowance and lacked absolutely nothing that was essential. But Vera was not
satisfied. She was, on the contrary, profoundly disappointed, for the presence
of those vases proved that she had not carried her point. They deprived her
of hope. The unpleasantness before Chezwudine went to London had been more or less
apropos of a Christmas present. Vera had seen in Bostock's vast Emporium in the
neighboring town of Hanbridge, a music stool in the style known as Art nouveaux,
which had enslaved her fancy. She had taken her husband to see it,
and it had not enslaved her husband fancy in the slightest degree. It
was made in light woods, and the woods were curved and twisted, as
though they had recently spent seven years in a purgatory for sinful trees. Here
and there in the design onyx stones had been set in the wood. The
seat itself was beauty soft. What captured Vera was chiefly the fact that it
did not open at the top, as most elaborate music stools do, but
at either side you pressed a button onix and the panel fell down, displaying
your music in little compartments ready to hand. And the eastern moiety of the
music stool was for piano pieces, and the Western moiety for songs. In
short, it was the last word of music stools. Nothing could possibly beneure.
But Cheswardine did not like it, and did not conceal his opinion.
He argued that it would not go with the Chippendale furniture, and Vera said
that all beautiful things went together, and Cheswardine admitted that they did rather dryly.
You see, they took the matter seriously because the house was their hobby.
They were always changing its interior, which was more than they could have
done for a child, even if they had had one, and Cheeswardine's finer
and soberer taste was always fire against Vera's predilection for the novel and the bizarre.
Apart from clothes, Vera had not much more than the taste of a
mouse. They did not quarrel in Bostocks. Indeed, they did not quarrel
anywhere. But after Vera had suggested that he might at any rate humor her
by giving her the music stool for a Christmas present, she seemed to think
that this would somehow help it to go with the Chippendale, and Cheswardine had
politely but firmly declined there had been a certain cool nurse, and quite six
tears. Vera had caused it to be understood that even if Cheswardine was not
interested in music, and even if he did hate music and did call the
broadwood ebony grand ugly, that was no reason why she should be deprived of
a pretty and original music stool that would keep her music tidy, and that
would be hers. As for it not going with the Chippendale, that was
simply an excuse, et cetera. Hence, it is not surprising that the
Venetian vases of the seven teenth century left Vera cold, and that the domestic
prospects for Christmas were a little cold. However, Vera, with wifely and
submissive tact, made the best of things, and that evening she began to
decorate the hall, dining room, and drawing room with holly and mizzletoe.
Before the pair retired to rest. The true Christmas feeling slightly tinged with a
tender melancholy permeated the house, and the servants were growing excited in advance.
The servants weren't going to have a dinner party with crackers and port and a
table center unmatched in the five towns. The servants weren't going to invite their
friends to an evening's jollity. The servants were merely going to work somewhat harder
and have somewhat less sleep. But such is the magical effect of holly and
mistletoe twined round picture cords and hung under chandeliers, that the excitement of the
servants was entirely pleasurable. And as Vera shut the bedroom door, she said,
with a delightful, forgiving smile, I saw a lovely cigar cabinet at
Bostox yesterday, oh said Cheswodine touched he had no cigar cabinet, and he
wanted one, and Vera knew that he wanted one, and Vera slept in
the sweet consciousness of her thoughtful wifeliness. The next morning, at breakfast,
Cheswudine demanded, getting pretty hard up, aren't you Maria? He called her
Maria when he wished to be arch well. She said, as a matter
of fact, I am what with thee? And he gave her a five
pound note. It happened so every year he provided her with the money to
buy him a Christmas present. But it is, I hope unnecessary to say
that the connection between her present to him and the money he furnished was never
crudely mentioned. She made an opportunity before he left for the works to praise
the Venetian vases, and she insisted that he should wrap up well because he
was showing some kines of one of his bad colds. Two in the early
afternoon, she went to Bosstock's emporium at Hambridge to buy the cigar cabinets and
a few domestic trifles. Bostocks is a good shop. I do not say
that it has the classic and serene dignity of Brunts over the way where one
orders one's dining room suites and one's flocks for the January dances. But it
is a good shop and one of the chief glories of the Paris of the
five towns. It has frontages in three streets, and it might be called
the shop of the hundred windows. You can buy pretty nearly anything at Boss
Stocks, from an art nouveau music stool up to the highest cheese, for
there is a provision department. You can't get cheese at Brunt's. Vera made
her uninteresting purchases first in the basement, and then she went upstairs to the
special Christmas department, which certainly was wonderful. A blaze and splendor of electric
light, a glitter of gilded, iridescent toys and knickknacks, A smiling,
excited pushing multitude of faces, young and old, and the cashiers in their
cages gathering in money as fast as they could lay their tired hands on it.
A joyous, brilliant scene calculated to bring soft tears of satisfaction to the
board of directors that presided over Boss Stocks. It was a record Christmas for
Boss Stocks. The electric cars were thundering over the frozen streets in all the
five towns to bring customers to boss Stocks. Children dreamt of boss Stocks.
Fathers went to scoff and remained to pay. Brunce was not exactly alarmed,
for nothing could alarm Bruns. But there was just a sort of suspicion of
something in the air at Brunce that did not make for odious self conceit.
People seemed to become intoxicated when they went into boss Stocks to close their heads
in a frenzy of buying, and there the art nouveaux music stools stood in
the corner. Had originally seen it, she approached it, not thinking of
the terrible danger. The compartments for music lay inviting the open four pounds nine
and six missus chest were dying, said a shop walker who knew her.
She stopped to finger it. Well, of course, everybody is acquainted with
that peculiar ecstasy that undoubtedly does overtake you in good shops, sometimes especially at
Christmas. I prefer to call it ecstasy rather than an intoxication, but I
have heard it called even drunkenness. It is a magnificent and overwhelming experience like
good wine. A blind instinct seizes your reason and throws her out of the
window of your soul, and then assumes entire control of the volition or machinery.
You listen to, no arguments, you care for, no consequences.
You want a thing, you must have it. You do have it.
Vera was caught unawares by this magnificent and overwhelming experience, just as she stooped
to finger the music stool, a fig for the cigar cabinet, a fig
for her husband's objections. After all, she was a grown up woman in
twenty nine or thirty and entitled to a certain freedom. She was not and
would not be, a slave. It would look perfect in the drawing room.
I'll take it, she said, yes, missus Jeswuddine. The unique
thing, quite unique. Pinkethmann and Vera followed Penkethman to a cash desk and
received half a guinea out of a five pound note. I want it carefully
packed, said Vera, Yes, ma'am, it will be delivered in the
morning. She was just beginning to realize that she had been under the sinister
influence of the ecstasy, and that she had not bought the cigar cabinet,
and that she had practically no more money, and that Stephen's rule against credit
was the strictest of all his rules. When she caught sight of mister Charles
Woodruff buying toys doubtless for his nephew's nieces. Mister Woodruff was the bachelor friend
of the family. He had loved Vera before Stephen loved her, and he
was still attached to her. Stephen and he were chums for the most advanced
kind. Why Stephen and Vera thought nothing of bickering in front of mister Woodruff,
who rated them both and sided with neither. Hello, said Woodruff,
flushing and moving his long, clumsy limbs when she touched him on the shoulder.
I'm just buying a few toys. She helped him to buy toys,
and then he asked her to go and have tea with him at the newly
opened sub Rosa Tea Rooms in Machin Street. She agreed, and in passing
the music stool, gave a small parcel which she was carrying to Penkuthman and
told him he might as well put it in the music stool. She was
glad to have tea with Charlie Woodruff, it would distract her, prevent her
from thinking. The ecstasy had almost died out, and she had a violent
desire not to think. Three A terrible blow fell upon her. The next
morning. Stephen had one of his bad colds, one of his worst.
The mere cold she could have supported with fortitude, but he was forced to
remain indoors, and his presence in the house she could not support with fortitude.
The music stool would be sure to arrive before lunch, and he would
be there to see it arrive. The ecstasy had fully expired now, and
she had more leisure to think than she wanted. She could not imagine what
mad instinct had compelled her to buy the music stool once out of the shop.
These instincts are always difficult to imagine. She knew that Stephen would be
angry. He might perhaps go to the length of returning the music stool whence
it came for Though she was a pretty and pampered woman, Stephen had a
way in the last resort of being master of his own house, and she
could not even placate him with the gift of a cigar cabinet. She could
not buy a five guineas cigar cabinet with ten and six. She had no
other money in the world. She never had money yet much and he was
always running through her fingers. Stephen treated her generously gave her an ample allowance,
but he would under no circumstances permit credit, nor would he pay her
allowance in advance. She had nothing to expect till the new year. She
attended to his cold and telephoned to the works for a clock to come up,
and she refrained from telling Stephen that he must have been very careless while
in London to catch a cold like that her self. Denial in this respect
surprised Stephen, but he put it down to the beneficent influence of Christmas and
the Venetian vases. Boss Stock's pear horse van arrived before the garden gate,
earlier than her worst fears had anticipated, and boss Stock's men were evidently in
a tremendous hurry that morning. In quite an abnormally small number of seconds,
the wooden case containing the fragile music stool was lying in the inner hall waiting
to be unpacked. Having signed a delivery book. Vera stood staring at the
accusatory p package. Stephen was lounging over the dining room fire, perhaps dozing,
she would have the thing swiftly transported upstairs and hidden in an attic for
a time. But just then Stephen popped out of the dining room. Stephen's
masculine curiosity had been aroused by the advent of Bostoc's van. He had observed
the incoming of the package from the window, and he had ventured to the
hall to inspect it. The event had roused him wonderfully from the heavy torpor
which a cold induces. He wore a dressing gown, the pockets of which
bulged with handkerchiefs. You oughtn't to be out here, Stephen, said his
wife. Nonsense, he said, why upon my soul, this steam heat
is warmer than the dining room fire. Vera, silenced by the voice of
truth, could not reply. Stephen bent his great height to inspect the package.
It was an appetizing Christmas package. Straw escaped from between its ribs,
and it had an air of being filled with something at once large and dead.
Oh, observed Stephen humorously. Ah so this is it? Is it?
Ah? Oh? Very good? And he walked round it. How
on earth had he learnt that she had bought it. She had not mentioned
the purchase to mister Woodruff. Yes, Stephen, she said timidly, that's
it, and I hope he ought to hold a tidy few cigars. That
ought, remarked Stephen complacently. He took it for the cigar cabinet. She
paused, struck. She had to make up her mind in an instant.
Oh yes, she murmured. A thousand, Yes, a thousand, she
said, I thought so, murmured Stephen. I mustn't kiss you because I've
got a cold, said he. But all the same, I'm awfully obliged.
VERA suppose we have it open now, eh, Then we could decide
where it is to go, and I could put my cigars in it.
Oh no, she protested, don't know, Stephen, that's not fair.
It must be opened before Christmas morning. But I gave you my vases yesterday.
That's different, she said, Christmas is Christmas. Oh very well,
he yielded, that's all right, my dear. Then he began to sniff.
There's a deuced, odd smell from it. He said. Perhaps it's
the wood. She faltered, I hope it isn't, he said, I
expect it's the straw. A deuced odd's smell. We'll have the thing put
in the side hall next to the clock. It'll be out of the way
there and I can come and gaze at it when I feel depressed, eh
Maria. He was undoubtedly charmed at the prospect of owning so large and precious
a cigar cabinet, considering that the parcel which he had given to Penkethman to
put in the music stool comprised a half pound of Bosstoc's very ripest gorgan Zola
cheese, brought at the cook's special request. The smell, which proceeded from
the mysterious inwards of the packing gase, did not surprise Verra at all,
but its inserted her none the less, and she wondered how she could get
the cheese out. For thirty hours, the smell from the unopened packing case
waxed in vigor and strength. Stephen's cold grew worse and prevented him from appreciating
its full beauty, But he saved enough of it to induce him to compare
it facetiously with the effluvium of a dead rat, and he said several times
that Bostocks really ought to use better straw. He was frequently to be seen
in the hall gloating over his cigar cabinet. Once he urged Vera to have
it opened and so get rid of the straw, but she refused and found
the nerve to tell him that he was exaggerating the odor. She was at
a loss what to do. She could not get up in the middle of
the night and unpack the package and hide its guilty secret. Indeed, to
unpack the package would bring about her ruin instantly, or the package unpacked,
Stephen would naturally expect to see the cigar cabinet, and so the hours crept
on to Christmas and Vera's undoing. She gave herself a headache. It was
just thirty hours after the arrival of the package when mister Woodruff dropped in for
tea. Stephen was asleep in the dining room, which apartment he particularly affected
during his colds. Woodruff was shown into the drawing room where Vera was having
her head ache. Vera brightened, In fact, she suddenly grew very bright,
and she gave Woodruff tea and took some herself, and Woodruff passed an
enjoyable twenty minutes. The two Venetian vases were on the mantelpiece. Vera rose
into ecstasies about them and called upon Charlie Woodruff to rise too. He got
up from his chair to examine the vases, which Vera had placed close together,
side by side, at the corner of the mantelpiece nearest to him.
Vera and Woodrooff also stood close together, side by side, and just as
Woodruff was about to handle the vases, Vera knocked his arm. His arm
collided with bon vase. That vase collided with the next, and both fell
to earth to the hard, unfeeling, unyielding tiles of the hearth. Four
they were smashed to atoms. Vera screamed, She screamed twice and ran out
of the room. Stephen, Stephen, she cried hysterically, Charlie has broken
my vases, both of them. It is too bad of him, He's
really too clumsy. There was a terrific pother. Stephen wakened violently, and
in a moment all three were staring in effectually at the thousand crystal fragments on
the hearth. But began Charlie Woodruff, and that was all he did say.
He and Vera and Stephen had been friends since infancy, so she had
the right not to conceal her feelings before him. Stephen had the same right,
and they both exercised it, but began Charlie again, Oh, never
mind, Stephen stopped him curtly. Accidents can't be helped. I shall get
another pair, said Woodruff. No you won't, replied Stephen. You can't.
There isn't another pair in the world. See. The two men simultaneously
perceived that Vera was weeping. She was very pretty in tears, but that
did not prevent the masculine world from feeling awkward and self conscious. Charley had
notions about going out and burying himself. Come Vera, come, her husband
enjoined, blowing his nose with unnecessary energy, bad as his cold was.
I I like those vases more than anything you've you've ever given me. Vera
blubbered charmingly, patting her eyes. Stephen glanced at Woodruff as who should say,
well, my boy, you uncork those tears. I'll leave you to
deal with them. You see, I'm an invalid and addressing gown. I
leave you and went no, no, but look here, look here,
I say, Charlie. Woodruff expostulated to Vera. When he was alone with
her, he often started and expostulation with that singular phrase, I'm awfully sorry.
I don't know how it happened. You must let me give you something
else. Vera shook her head. No, she said, I wanted Stephen
awfully to give me that music stool that I told you about a fortnight ago,
but he gave me the vases instead, and I like them ever so
much better. I shall give you the music stool if you wanted it a
fortnight ago, you want it now. It won't make up for the vases,
of course. But no, no, said Vera positively. Why not?
I do not wish you to give me anything. It wouldn't be quite
nice. Vera insisted. But I give you something every Christmas, do you,
asked Vera innocently. Yes, and you and Stephen give me something.
Besides, Stephen doesn't quite like the music stool. What's that got to do
with it? You like it, I'm giving it to you, not him.
I shall go over to Bostocks tomorrow morning and get it. I forbid
you to I shall. Woodruff departed within five minutes. The Cheswudine coachman was
driving off in the dog cart, a hanbridge, with the packing case in
the back of the cart and a note. He brought back the cigar cabinet.
Stephen had not stirred from the dining room, afraid to encounter a tearful
wife. Presently, his wife came into the dining room bearing the vast load
of the cigar cabinet in her delicate arms. I thought it might amuse you
to fill it with your cigars, just to pass the time, she said.
Stephen thought was well, women take the cake. It was a thought
that occurs frequently to the husband's of Vera's. There was ripe gorgan zola at
dinner. Stephen met it as one meets a person whom one fancies one has
met somewhere but cannot remember where. The next afternoon, the music stool came
for the second time into the house. Charlie brought it in his dogcart.
It was unpacked ostentatiously by the radiant Vera. What could Stephen say in depreciation
of this gift from their oldest and best friend? As a fact, he
could and did say a great deal. But he said it when he happened
to be all alone in the drawing room and had observed the appalling way in
which the music stool did not go with the Chippendale. Look at the deep
thing, he exclaimed to himself. Look at it. However, the Christmas
dinner party was a brilliant success, and after it Vera sat on the Art
nouveaux music stool and twittered songs. And what with her being so attractive and
bird like, and what with the Christmas feeling in the air well, Stephen
resigned himself to the music stool. End of Vera's first Christmas adventure.