# Mrs. Robson's Discovery

Extracted from Windsor magazine, v.57, 1922-23, pp. 331-335. Accompanying illustration by J. H. Thorpe omitted.
MRS. ROBSON'S DISCOVERY
By W. PETT RIDGE
IN many respects, an ideal household. It had an admirable servant, and Ladywell folk will tell you, in confidence, that this, in a domestic establishment, is half the battle. Mr. Robson left the house in time to catch the 8.47 a.m. to Cannon Street, and Mrs. Robson went, a few minutes later, to get the 8.57 that travelled direct to Charing Cross. They were home, in a general way, by half-past six at night.
"And both earning good money, and with no children," said Ladywell matrons. They added, with a sigh, that some people had all the luck.
You yourself would guess that husband and wife, one engaged in the City and the other in the West End, found many subjects for discussion when they met after the day's work. There was a time when this might have been a shrewd comment; it no longer possessed the element of accuracy. The Robsons' maid could have whispered that if people called, then her master and mistress joined in the conversation; left alone, they exchanged little more than words of one syllable. The maid could have announced, too (only that, as Ladywell mentioned, she was just about as communicative as a brick wall) that the alteration in methods came when Mrs. Robson moved from one establishment in Oxford Street to another further west, and obtained an increase of salary that made her income larger than that earned by her husband.
It can be added that Mrs. Robson took her holidays in the company of an unmarried sister in August; Robson went away, with his friend and colleague Barwick, in September.
It was Barwick who, encountering Mrs. Robson on a Sunday morning in the Recreation Grounds, conveyed information on a particular subject. He did it with an air of mystery.
"I'm not supposed to disclose the facts," he said, "but I thought you'd be interested to know. We're going to give your husband a testimonial."
"Sorry I can't see my way to making any contribution," She remarked.
"Such a thing," declared Barwick, "was not expected, and in no way desired. This is an office scheme, and he won't know about it until it's sprung on him at the annual dinner."
"But why should you tell me, of all people in the world?"
"I'll explain," said Barwick patiently. "I find it impossible to shut my eyes to the circumstance that you and he are no longer on the terms you used to be."
"Nothing, Mr. Barwick, escapes your highly trained observation."
"Be that as it may, it occurred to me that it wouldn't do you any harm if you came to the dinner and overheard what those who know him well have to say about him. You could bring your sister, and I'd arrange for you both to have a quiet feed in the grill-room, and at the proper moment I'd smuggle you into a gallery in the room where the dinner is held, and you'd see and hear everything without being either heard or seen."
"This," she said, "is altogether too amusing for words. So far as I understand, the idea is that, having listened to a group of City men speaking under the influence of burgundy, I shall instantly change my own sober views. Mr. Barwick, you mean well, no doubt, but that can be said of other diplomatists who blunder."
"I never pretend to be over and above tactful."
She glanced at her watch. "Where are you and he going this afternoon?"
"We thought of a Queen's Hall concert. Would you care——"
Mrs. Robson shook her head. "I can't be cross with you," she remarked, "because I owe you so much for relieving me of his company."
Barwick gave himself the time to choose his words. "I hear you spoken of, Mrs. Robson," he said, "as a first-class business woman. I can only say that in private life you're more than a trifle difficult to get on with." The lady beamed, as some do in accepting a compliment.
Barwick received a note on the following morning. He turned to the signature, Aileen Robson. The note communicated the fact that the writer had been talking to her sister, who, it appeared, was feeling depressed, and believed that contemplation of a set of men at dinner who did not know they were being watched was the exactly correct remedy. Mrs. Robson, mentioning that her sister had a keen sense of humour, begged Mr. Barwick to furnish date, hour, and place of the event.
At the restaurant on the evening the two ladies entered a dimly lighted gallery. Mrs. Robson implored her companion, in a whisper, not to laugh; the farce below would encourage signs of amusement, but these must be restrained.
"I'll do my best," promised the girl, "but I do hope they won't be too funny!"
About forty guests sat at the table, and Barwick had chosen the moment of arrival discreetly; the vivacity attendant on a meal was over, and the chairman was putting on pince-nez, examining notes. Two of the guests left and returned with something covered by green baize, which they placed on a side-table; the neighbours of Mr. Robson engaged him in persistent conversation whilst this was being done. The vice-chairman rose and gave the toast of "The Firm." The chairman replied. Neither could be reckoned a highly gifted speaker, and in the gallery Mrs. Robson's sister held handkerchief over mouth as they bungled along with "What I mean to say," and "The point I'm trying to make clear is this." The girl declared that if it went on much longer, she would most assuredly have a fit.
"There is worse to come," mentioned Mrs. Robson.
Barwick, at the pianoforte, sang a song to his own accompaniment, and Mrs. Robson's sister admitted it was a fair baritone voice. Mr. Robson, called upon by the chairman, gave a ballad that seemed to bring memories to the elder lady in the gallery. One or two of the others followed, and then the chairman, finding his second paper of notes, but disregarding them, and now speaking fluently, announced that he had a gratifying task to perform; one which gave him, as a partner in the firm, considerable pleasure. A certain gentleman, seated at that table, had completed his twenty-first year in the firm's employment. He could remember when young Robson—now no longer so young—came to the office. He could recollect the occasion when Robson made his choice of a wife, and settled down to a married career that had been, the chairman understood, an unalloyed success. Many husbands owed a great deal to their respective wives, and most husbands failed to pay the bill. (Laughter.) He felt sure Robson was indebted to Mrs. Robson—the chairman wished it had been possible for the lady to be present—and he knew that no man could work in the City as Robson had worked unless he found, after the labours of the day, complete happiness at home. So Robson's friends and colleagues had selected a gift which would be, the chairman hoped, acceptable alike to Mr. Robson and to Mrs. Robson, and here was a rose bowl to be taken home to Ladywell with the hearty compliments and the earnest good wishes of the donors. (Cheers.)
"Now," whispered Mrs. Robson in the gallery, "now we shall hear the voice of humbug."
Robson, in a few words, made no attempt to avail himself of the opportunity of referring to his home life. He said the incident was unexpected, and he supposed it would be modest to declare it was undeserved. He valued the friendships he had been able to collect during his life; sometimes he found himself wishing they were greater in number, but that could not now be helped. The older one grew, the more difficult it became to secure fresh companionship. For his own part, he was content with the friends he possessed, and he would never omit, in looking at the rose bowl, to think of them. (Cheers.)
Barwick went up expectantly to the gallery. Mrs. Robson said that, assuming the diversions of the entertainment were now over, it would be advisable perhaps to get along to Charing Cross and secure a mid-Kent train.
"You've seen for yourself," urged Barwick, "how much he is respected by the men who know him."
"He appears to belong to your Mutual Admiration Society."
"May I venture to hope that you will become a member?"
"No desire whatever to do so," she retorted. "I forget whether you have met my sister."
Barwick, in the character of a faithful knight, escorted both ladies so far as the station, and afterwards undertook to find a tramcar for Mrs. Robson's sister. The night was fine, and the Embankment attractive; the two walked up and down there, discussing the situation of the Ladywell couple. Mrs. Robson's sister agreed it was a pity they had drifted apart; in a burst of confidence she mentioned that not once, but no less than three times, she herself had rejected offers of marriage because of the unlucky experience of the other member of her family.
"Nothing will ever persuade me," said the girl resolutely, "that my sister is in any way to blame. Still, there's no reason why you and I shouldn't discuss it another time."
Barwick and the young woman did meet on several occasions, and the talk did not always restrict itself to the item on the agenda. But that matter was argued, and information pieced together. The rose bowl, it seemed, arrived at Ladywell, and Mrs. Robson asked casually, "How much were you foolish enough to pay for that?" and Robson answered, in an equally off-hand way, that he had picked it up as a bargain. For the rest, a ridiculous game was being played with the gift. Robson, before leaving of a morning, placed it at the centre of the table of the dining-room; Mrs. Robson, so soon as he had gone, put it in a retired place on the sideboard.
"Just like a pair of naughty children," remarked Mrs. Robson's sister.
Robson had, it seemed, for the fuller employment of spare time, taken over the secretaryship of a Women's League (mainly because his wife counselled him to have nothing to do with it). The League, to the distress of its more active supporters, had been for some time on the down grade, and especially in regard to its finances. Robson grappled with the matter in a business-like way. Laggard subscribers were informed that, unless they paid up, their names would be struck off; he induced the committee to make examples of one or two, and these implored to be forgiven and to be taken back. Robson looked up a newspaper man, a friend of his, and the League found its work described or alluded to in various journals. Robson's post of a morning excited the silent derision of his wife; once, on looking over the envelopes, all in feminine handwriting and some with crests, she forgot to play the usual game with the rose bowl. This grave oversight worried her during the day at Oxford Street, and when a new and energetic director there made a recommendation concerning the department of which she had charge, she rejected the proposal brusquely.
"I think you haven't been here long enough," she said, "to decide what should be done."
"And I think you have been here too long," he snapped. By the end of the week Mrs. Robson received notice to leave.
It was thought by Barwick and Mrs. Robson's sister that disappearance of personal income would solve the difficulty at Ladywell; their expectations were not fulfilled. Mrs. Robson accepted from her husband an increased contribution towards the expenses of the household, but made no other change in her deportment. She joined the League which he was managing.
Mrs. Robson obtained an appointment with a new firm, and, before taking it up, resolved to show independence by attending a meeting of the League, and by moving a vote of censure on the secretary. She confided the plans to her sister, whom she thought could be trusted; I have no doubt in my own mind that the sister told Barwick, and it is likely Barwick gave a hint to Robson, who never professed enjoyment of scenes. At any rate, the secretary was absent from the meeting, and when the minutes had been confirmed, a note from him was read. Robson mentioned that the finances of the League were now in a satisfactory condition, and his work might be reckoned over. He tendered his farewell; assured the ladies that they and their League had his best wishes. Then began the ordeal of Mrs. Robson. She listened amazedly.
"A charming and most engaging personality," said one.
"To watch his admirable methods has been little short of an education," declared another fervently.
"We can never forget his courtesy and his most valuable assistance."
"In the best and truest sense of the word, a gentleman!"
Mrs. Robson, deeply impressed, made a purchase at the florist's in Lewisham. At breakfast, the next morning, the rose bowl, set by her at the centre of the table, was filled. She began to talk with animation so soon as the meal started; her husband, once he had recovered from astonishment, followed her lead.
"I mustn't miss the 8.47," he remarked presently. "You're catching the later one, I suppose?"
"In future," she said, with a smile, "I shall walk to the station with you."
The trusty maid never told a soul in Ladywell that, coming in at the moment, she found Mr. Robson exchanging a kiss with his wife. And this was as well, for if the maid had communicated the fact, not a soul in Ladywell would at that period have credited the statement.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1930, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 93 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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