LITMIR.BIZ

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to amuse herself and not to make money. Miss Mapp had acidly replied, "That's lucky, darling." But that was smoothed over, and this compromise had been arrived at. It worked quite well, and was a convenient way of getting rid of coppers if you lost, and the only difficulty was when there happened to be a difference of fifty or a hundred and fifty between the scores. "If a hundred is fourpence halfpenny,’ said Miss Mapp, "and fifty is half a hundred, which I think you'll grant, fifty is twopence farthing." . . . So after that, they all brought one or two farthings with them.

      Still, even at these new and paltry stakes, Miss Mapp's bag this evening jingled pleasantly as she stepped homewards. But one thing rather troubled her: it was like a thunder-cloud muttering on the horizon of an otherwise sunny sky. For she had heard no more from the admirable tenants: there had just been the enquiry whether she was thinking of letting, and then a silence which by degrees grew ominous.

      She wondered whether she had acted with more precipitation than prudence in committing herself to take Diva's house, before she actually let her own, and no sooner had she reached home than she became unpleasantly convinced that she had. The evening post had come in, and there was a letter from That Woman who had written so many in the garden, to say that a more bracing climate had been recommended for her husband, and that therefore many regrets . . .

      It was a staggering moment. Instead of raking in a balance of seven guineas a week, she would possibly be paying out eight. July was slipping away, so the pessimistic Mr Hassall reminded her when she saw him next morning, and he was afraid that most holiday-makers had already made their arrangements. It would be wise perhaps to abate the price she was asking.

      By the twentieth of July, anybody could have had Miss Mapp's house for twelve guineas a week: by the twenty-fourth, which ironically enough happened to be her birthday, for ten. But still there was no one who had the sense to secure so wonderful a bargain. It looked, in fact, as if the Nemesis which has an eye to the violation of economic problems, had awakened to the fact that the ladies of Tilling took in each other's washing (or rather took each other's houses) and scored all round.

      And Nemesis, by way of being funny, did something further.

      On July the thirtieth, Miss Mapp's most desirable residence, with garden and the enjoyment of garden-produce, could be had, throughout August and September, for the derisory sum of eight guineas a week. On that very day two children in the cottage which Mrs Tropp (Diva's lessor) had taken for herself developed mumps. A phobia about microbes was Mrs Tropp's most powerful characteristic, and with the prospect of being houseless for two months (for she would sooner have had mumps straight away than be afraid of catching them) she came in great distress to Diva, with the offer to take her own house back again at the increased rental of five guineas a week.

      Besides, she added, to turn two swollen children out into the hop-fields was tantamount to manslaughter. Upon which, to Mrs Tropp's pained surprise, Diva burst out into a fit of giggles. When she recovered, she accepted Mrs Tropp's proposal.

      "So right," she said, "we couldn't bear to have manslaughter on our consciences. Oh, dear me, how it hurts to laugh. Poor Elizabeth!"

      Diva, still hurting very much, whirled away to Mr Hassall's.

      "A cousin of mine," she said, "is looking out for a house at Tilling for August and September. Miss Mapp's, I think, would suit her, but seven guineas a week, I feel sure, is the utmost she would pay. I should like a definite answer at once, and I'll wait. Why, if I didn't use exactly those words to you, Mr Hassall, when last you telephoned to Miss Mapp for me! I won't give my name at present — just an offer."

      Miss Mapp was in the depths of depression that afternoon when the telephone bell summoned her. She had practically determined to stay in her own spacious and comfortable house for the next two months, since it was of quite a different class to Diva's, but the thought of paying out eight guineas a week for a miserable little habitation (in spite of the apple-trees) in which would never set foot gnawed at her very vitals. Of course with the produce of her own garden and Diva's, she would have any amount of vegetables, and with the entire crop of Diva's apples added to her own cooking-pears (never had there been such a yield) she would do well in the way of fruit for the winter, but at a staggering price . . .

      Then the telephone bell rang and with a sob of relief she accepted the offer it brought her. She hurried to Mr Hassall's to confirm it and sign the lease. When she knew that the applicant was Diva, and divined beyond doubt that Diva's cousin was Diva too, she moistened her lips once or twice, but otherwise showed no loss of self-control.

      So for two months these ladies stayed in each other's houses. Mrs Plaistow's letters were addressed to "Care of Miss Mapp", and Miss Mapp's letters to "Care of Mrs Plaistow". Every week Diva received a cheque for one guinea from her tenant (which was the balance due) and another from Mrs Tropp, and immensely enjoyed living in quite the best house in Tilling. She gave several parties there, to all of which she invited Elizabeth who with equal regularity regretfully declined them on the grounds that in the little house in which she found herself it was impossible to return hospitalities . . .

      It may be added that on the happy day on which Miss Mapp got back to her own spaciousness, several large hampers of apples were smuggled in through the back door. But Diva had had a similar inspiration, and, scorning concealment, took away with her a hand-cart piled high with cooking-pears.

      The Room in the Tower, and Other Stories

       Table of Contents

Table of Contents

       The Room in the Tower

       Gavon’s Eve

       The Dust-Cloud

       The Confession of Charles Linkworth

       At Abdul Ali’s Grave

       The Shootings of Achnaleish

       How Fear Departed from the Long Gallery

       Caterpillars

       The Cat

       The Bus-Conductor

       The Man Who Went Too Far

       Between the Lights

       Outside the Door

       The Other Bed

       The Thing in the Hall

       The House with the Brick-Kiln

       The Terror by Night

      The Room in the Tower

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