A Modern Petrucio.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1029, 20 November 1891, Page 11

A Modern Petrucio.

A Complete Stoky. ‘Had I known you were sucb a savage, I never would have married you.’

*By Jove ! I wish you hadn’t/ retorted the ‘ savage/ plunging the carving fork into the dried-up shoulder of mutton before him, and turning it over in a vain search for a j uicy cut.

It was rather too bad to call a man a * savage ’ because he preferred his meat underdone, and George Fielder was stirred up out of his usual goodhumour by the epithet. ‘ I wonder you don’t get a divorce/ Mrs Fielder returned, choking back a sob. ‘As you are a barrister, you might do it cheaply ; and as you have never had a brief, the case might introduce you to other clients.’ Having fired off this terrible shot, Mrs Fielder rose from the table and bounced out of the room.

Mr Fielder pushed away his plate, laden with leathery looking slices of mutton, and proceeded to reflect. He had been a Benedick just twelve months, and this was not the first quarrel.

* Something will have to be done/ he told himself. ‘ I thought I had married an angel, but she’s moulted her wings if ever she had any, and the other angelic attributes have gone with the feathers. I suppose this household will have to run two cooks—one to roast to cinders and stew to rags ; the other to cater for the cannibal. I could put up with the overdone mutton; but I can’t stand Fanny’s over-long and sharp tongue, and I won’t either. I must do something to shorten and sweeten it.’ The ‘ something ’ took the shape of a consultation with a brother barrister and Benedick of long standing. Begi nald Harker by name. Mr Harker listened patiently to his friend’s complaint. * It’s the reaction,’ he said. ‘ After a surfeit of sweets, the appetite craves something sharp and sour. You musn’t expect married life to be one long honeymoon. ’

‘Ho ; but it strikes me that mine’s going to be a never-failing vinegar-bar-rel. I want the tap turned off. I’m sick of being called ‘ brute ’ and ‘ savage.’ Fanny never tries to please me, so I will try to please myself. I want to be master in my own house.’ Reginald Harker smiled meaningly. ‘ That’s all very well/ he rejoined. * A great many married men flatter themselves that they govern their households, but I have yet to meet the man who does in reality. If you are wise, you will let Mrs Fielder rule in her own particular province. 5 ‘But I can’t get anything to eat. I musn’t smoke here, and I musn’t smoke there. I am ordered to do this, and not to do that. In short, lam treated like a dog. And if I speak an angry word, I’m a brute. Can you tell me how to alter this unbearable state of affairs?’

* Well— yes—l have been through the same mill, and I can give you my experience. The fact is, Fielder, like myself and the - majority of men, you spoiled your wife before marriage and immediately after. You- made too much of her; you were her slave ; you made her believe herself indispensable to your happiness, almost to your existence. Now you must show lier that you cain get on very well without her. Mrs Fielder is a second Mrs Harker. About a year after I married I came to the conclusion that running in double harness was a mistake. Do what I would I couldn’t please my wife, and she made no attempt to please me. My tastes were never consulted. I might have been a block of wood for all the attention that was paid to me. However, I changed all that. When 1 didn’t like the dinner provided, I said so in a quiet way, got up from the table aud went to my club. If I found Mrs Harker in an ill-lmmonr, I com plained and went to the theatre, or to some other amusement, alone. Of course, I told her where I was going. I didn’t win the battle without a severe struggle. Mrs Harker got up on her high horse, took her meals in her own room, threatened to go home to her mother, and treated me like a stranger. Eventually she invited her sister to stay with ns and act as buffer. That move enabled me to win. I didn’t exactly make love to the buffer, but I paid the sister the little attentions my wife had hitherto received. That brought her to her senses. She tried hard to regain her lost temper, and of course I allowed her to succeed.’ 1 j

* But Fanny hasn’t a sister/ said Mr Fielder, regretfully. ‘ Oh, well, make use of somebody else’s. Provided she is young and charming, one woman will serve as well as another. But take care of yourself, old fellow. If you practice the Jesuitical doctrine and. do evil that good may come, don’t lose sight of the object.’ ‘ Oh, I shall be all right. Thank you for the warning, all the same.’ That evening George Fielding opened the campaign. Not finding the dinner to his liking he rose from the table. ‘I am going to the club/ he said, slowly, ‘ To get something that I can eat/ he added, at the doer. Mrs Fielder looked surprised, but said nothing. The dissatisfied Benedick duly dined and hurried home. He found his wife in the drawing-room. ‘ I hope you have enjoyed your dinner, Mr Fielder/ she said, frigidly, rising and walking to the most distant corner in the room.

‘ Very much, indeed, thank you,’ he rejoined, speaking loudly. ‘1 have found the change so much to my liking that I’m going to try another. I’m off to the Lyceum. I shall be probably late homo. Don’t sit up for me. I’ve got my latch-key.’ And without staying to hear the lady’s objections, if she had any to urge, he backed out of the room, and left the house.

Mi-s Fielder saw him jump into a cab that was waiting in the street. She might have been expected to cry ; to fly into a violent rage ; to get herself into hysterics She merely rang the bell and summoned tlie chambermaid.

‘ Light a fire in the Blue room, air the bed, and see that the lock is in good order/ she said, and immediately sat down to the^piano. The truant returned at midnight.

The house was in darkness. Having finished liis cigar in his smoke room, he sought the conjugal couch. He passed the night solus. Going down to breakfast at the usual hour, he found an arrangement for one. ‘ Where is your mistress ?' he asked the girl who brought in the toast and kidneys. * She breakfasts in the Blue Room, Sir,’ was the reply. Mr Fielder emitted a prolonged whistle

Mary Jane giggled—outside the door.

The barrister passed tlie day at the Law Courts and his chambers in the Temple. Returning home at half-past seven he found another * arrangement for one ’on the table. He dined at his club. This continued for three days, during which husband and wife did not meet. On the fourth morning Mr Fielder found the contumacious Fanny at the breakfast table. He went straight to the point of disagreement. ‘I presume you were annoyed be cause I left the table the other evening and dined at the club V ■■ No answer.

‘ I am sorry the step was necessary. I hope I shall not have to do it again. Afterwards I vexed you by going alone to the theatre. The impossibility of spending a pleasant evening at home drove me away.’ ‘ Have you done V Mrs Fielder ominously asked. -- ‘ Yes, at present.’

* Then I have something to say. I have to tell you that you are not at all what I thought you were. You have broken every promise you ever made. Your tastes are those of a savage. Twice you have actually entered my chamber with the end of a cigar in your mouth and smelling of tobacco and whisky. You insult me daily ; aud if you haven’t struck me, it is because you are afraid of my mother. I have lost all faith in you. Only last week I saw you smile at Emily, the parlourmaid. I paid her a month’s wages and discharged her next day for breaking a mirror— ’ * What bosh !’

‘ I wonder you don’t call me a liar outright; it would be like you if you did. 1 know you want to get rid of me, but I shall s‘ay to vex you. I won’t be insulted for nothing. Now, go your own way. I came down this morning to tell you so. Dine at your club. Go to the theatre. Do what you like. I have invited Mrs Montmorency to day. When she goe3 I shall have somebody else here. I have no doubt I shall be able to survive your . cruel, cowardly conduct. Good morning, Mr Fielder !’ Mrs Fielder swept out the room, her husband smothering his laughter until the lady was on the other side of the door.

‘By Jove! Mrs Montmorency’s the very woman to enable me to play Harleer’s trump card. Ha, ha, ha ! Fanny couldn’t possibly have made a better selection from my point of view. Henceforth I dine at liome,«and the cook can do wliat the dickens she likes.’

Mrs Montmorency duly arrived at the Fielders’ residence. A petite, but well developed brunette of thirty ; a pretty panther, soft of footfall, soft spoken, and generally willing to purr pleasantly when stroked the right way. The Fielders had made her acquaintance at Venice, where they had spent part of the honeymoon. The widow, for such she was supposed to be, had been very friendly—indeed, slie had taken the inexperienced wife under her wing, given her much good advice—not acted upon—and generally filled the position of guide, philosopher, and friend. In England the friendship had been renewed ; but of the widow’s antecedents the Fielders knew next to nothing, save what she herself had told them.

Mrs Fielder welcomed Mrs Montmorency effusively. So, a couple of hours later, did Mr Fielder. The widow saw at once that something was wrong. ‘ Delighted to see me/ she reflected. ‘ Bored to death of each other—it was ever so—and eager to welcome anybody or anything that will relieve the monotony of existence. The occupation will, I hope, be profitable. I imagine it will be by duty to flirt with - ' Fanny's “ darling George V of the Venice days. That, I flatter me, will lend a zest to his life, and give his “ sweet pet ” a new sensation.’ During the first week of her visit, however, Mrs Montmorency had something else to do. A severe cold confined Mrs Fielder to the Blue Room, and the widow felt it her duty to act as nurse. His wife being ill, MiFielder relented, and declined to take advantage of the opportunities affoi-ded for flirtation by her absence from the drawing-room. But fate was working in his favour—perhaps. He had taken a box at the Gaiety. At the last moment Mrs Fielder, who had not forgiven her husband, found herself too unwell to go ; but slie insisted that Mrs Montmorency should not, on her account, remain at home. The widow had no such intention.

‘ Your wife has a great deal of faith in you,’ she said, playfully tapping her escort’s arm with her fan in the seclusion of the private box. ‘ So it appears/ said Mr Fielder. ‘Or is it innocence V ‘ A little of both, perhaps.’

‘I remember when I saw you in Venice I thought her the most unsophisticated bi-ide I had ever met/ ‘ Ah, yes ; she was quite a child as regards knowledge of the world.’ ‘ Blessed State/ said the widow, with a gentle sigh. ‘My husband, poor man, had every confidence in me. Poor, fond, foolish man ! lam afraid his confidence was just a little—a very little—misplaced. A dreadful confession, isn’t it V

Here she drew the box curtain until it shielded her from an enterprising opera-glass across the way, immediately afterwards pushing back her chair. The action was not lost upon her companion, who also executed a flank movement, and brought himself into alignment with and close contiguity to the widow. •‘ You have been a widow some years V he remarked, interrogatively. ‘ Oh, dear, no ; not years.’ ‘What a donkey I am! It is impossible that you could remain a widow for years.’ ‘ Oh, I don’t know. My matrimonial venture was not a success from a financial point of view. Indeed, it waß unlucky every way ; and you know the old adage ‘ Once bitten, twice shy ?’ lam very hard to please, now. 1 look for many things in a husband. First and foremost, I place wealth. Don’t think me mercenary ; I have wanted money badly, and know its value You would hardly think that a hundred pounds would be a veritable godsend to me at the present time.’ The opportunity was too good to be missed. Mr Fielder, who, although a briefless barrister, hud a good balance at his banker’s, did not miss it. * I shall be only too happy to loan you that sum/ he said, eagerly. ‘You are generous, but I might never be able to repay you/ returned tlie widow, with another sigh. ‘That would, not grieve me.’

‘ I don’t think it would. Well, if I am in the same mind to-morrow, I mav ask yon to do me this favour.’ ‘ I shall beg your acceptance of a i cheque at the earliest opportunity/ was the rejoinder. A man does not see all the architectural beauties of a house until he has a mortgage on it. Then he looks upon tlie building in quite a different light. In a sense it is his. George Fielder was not blini to tlie widow’s charms anterior to the mooted loan, which, in bis mind, was a’ready handed over. Now that he liad a sort of mortgage on her, lie saw charms not before visible, and he—drew tlie curtain a little closev. It was just a week after the visit to tlie Gaiety. Mr and Mrs Fielder were alone in the drawing-room. Mrs Montmorency was out, shopping, probably. Mrs Fielder was in tears. ‘ That dreadful woman shall never enter this—this house again/ she sobbed. ‘ Whatever do you mean, Fanny V Mr Fielder asked, with a pretty assumption of innocence. ‘ What dreadful woman V ‘Mrs Mont (sob) —morency. Don’t pretend that you don’t know. Mary Jane saw you put your arm round her waist.’ ‘ Mary Jane saw nothing of the kind.* ‘ Oh, yes, she did. And you are always with her.’ * I am with her when I am under this roof. Who is to blame for that ? Did I invite her V ’ ‘No; Tasked lier to come because of your cruelty, but not to make love to you.’ A thought struck Mr Fielder. He promptly acted upon it. ‘ Mrs Montmorency lias not made love to me. She has sympathised with me, certainly. No one could live in this house a day without seeing that our married life was unhappy, and that the fault was not mine.’ ‘ Not yours !’ ‘ Certainly not. If you think the fault is mine, ask Mrs Montmorency.’ ‘ Never !’ * Of course, you will please yourself. That is just what I have to complain of. You think you have married a brute. You have told me so. Perhaps I am; but if you had tried to please me a little more and yourself a little less, you would have found me as affectionate to-day as when I married you. Depend upon it, Fanny, the best husband in the world, if refused liis wife's sympathy, will seek it elsewhere. I sought Mrs Montmorency’s sympathy. I ’ Mr Fielier was about to say that he had found it. The remark was prevented by Maiy Jane, who entered the room with a card, which she handed to her master. ‘ Great Scott ! Show the gentleman up, Mary. Stay, I’ll see him in the dining-room.’ ‘ Who is it?’ Mis Fielder asked. ‘Colonel Montmorency. I thought she was a widow. I understood that the Colonel had died in India.’ ‘So did I. She told me so/ Mr Fielder rau downstairs and entered the dining-room, to find himself face to face with a military-looking gentleman in a tremendous passion. ‘Mr Fielder, I presume V he cried, stepping forward, threateningly. ‘ That is my name/ said the barrister, retreating. ‘ What the deuce do you mean by harbouring my wife V ‘ Really, sir, I am at a loss ’ ‘ Loss be hanged ! You understand me , very well.’ Here the Colonel fixed an eye-glass in his left eye, and glared at liis wife’s friend. ‘By !' he cried, changing his tone. ‘ You are the man ! You were with my wife at the Gaiety a week ago. I saw you. So did the private detective that was watching lier. I lost you outside, or I’d have thrashed you within an inch of your life. Now, mark what I say. I mean to have a divorce, and I shall cite you as co-respondent.’ The Colonel’s lace was as red as a turkey-cock’s comb; his voice a scream. ‘For Heaven’s sake say what you have to say in a lower tone/ Mr Fielder pleaded,, remembering that his wife was in the room immediately over head. ‘ 1 shall use what tone 1 choose/ the Colonel rejoined. ‘ Where is she ? Where is she, I say V

‘ I don’t know. She is out shopping, I believe.’ .‘lt’s a lie ! She is in this house/ . Here Colonel Montmorency went too

far. George Fielder was no coward, and he objected to the lie direct. ‘ Look here, Colonel,’ be said, ‘ this has gone far enough. If you have anything more to say, come to my chambers in the Temple. I shall be there in an hour.’ ‘Very good, Sir,’ returned the man of war. * 1 will meet you there.’ An hour later Mr Fielder, his friend Harker, and the fiery Colonel were closeted together. The latter did tlie greater part of the talking. The gist of what he said was as follows: A year previously, he, on active service in India, had sent his wife to Europe on account of her health. Failing to find her, he had employed a detective, with the result already known. He concluded his remarks thus : ‘I don’t want my wife. You are welcome to her. I want a divorce and reparation. I mean to have both. You say you are innocent; and wliy did you draw the curtain of the private box you occupied at the Gaiety V Here Mr Harker intervened, and took his friend into another room. ‘ Did you draw the curtain V he asked. ‘ Either Mrs Montmorency or I did. I foi’get/ ‘ Then you are in an uncommonly awkward scrape. Do had better let me deal with the Colonel. Do not see him again on any account. I shall try to square him.’ Reginald Harker tried and succeeded. The process cost four hundred pounds. Mr Fielder went home immediately after the matter was settled. In the ball he met liis wife. * Has Mrs Montmorency returned ?’ he asked. ‘ No/ was the reply; ‘ she will not return. Her maid has received a telegram. She immediately packed her mistress’s trunk, and took them away. What did that man want ? I heard him shouting.’ ‘His wife. He said she was here. I had a good deal of trouble to convince him that she wasn't. If you are going to have anybody else here, I hope you will know more about her than you did of Mrs Montmorency.’ ‘I am not/ said Mrs Fielder promptly. ‘ Then we’ll let the matter drop. What do you say to a month in Paris ? You want a change. So do I. lam sick of London.’ Mrs Fielder was delighted. She said so. More, she confessed that she had been in fault in the quarrel -which had resulted in the widow’s visit. She was very penitent, and promised to be more considerate in future. Mr Fielder was satisfied with the result cf following Reginald Harker’s advice, but not with the cost of it. ‘ Fanny seems to be cured/ he reflected ; ‘ but five hundred pounds is rather a long price to pay for it. It’s rather a pity she hasn’t a sister. It might have been done much cheaper if she had.’ In a first-class compartment of a Brighton express sat a lady and a gentleman who seemed to be on remarkably good terms with each other ; indeed, they were in a very merry mood. ‘lt’s the best haul we have ever made,’ said the lady, laughing rather boisterously. ‘I only regret one thing.’ ‘What is that?’ the gontleman asked. ‘ That I didn’t ask him to lend me two hundred instead of one. I could have got it just as easily.’ ‘Yery likely; but let it drop, my dear, or you will have me regretting that I didn’t stick out for a thousand instead of four hundred. I could have got it right enough from Fielder, but I fancied his friend Harker was a trifle suspicious. Anyway, we have done very well, and it’s no use grumbling/