Black Mischief by Evelyn Waugh

Club to the Mormon
Missionary. This aloofness from the affairs of the town was traditional to the
Legation, being dictated partly by the difficulties of the road and partly by
their inherent disinclination to mix with social inferiors. On Lady Courteney’s
first arrival in Debra Dowa she had attempted to break down these distinctions,
saying that they were absurd in so small a community. General Connolly had
dined twice at the Legation and a friendship seemed to be in bud when its
flowering was abruptly averted by an informal call paid on him by Lady
Courteney in his own quarters. She had been lunching with the Empress and
turned aside on her way home to deliver an invitation to croquet. Sentries
presented arms in the courtyard, a finely uniformed servant opened the door,
but this dignified passage was interrupted by a resolute little Negress in a
magenta tea-gown who darted across the hall and barred her way to the
drawing-room.
    ‘I am
Black Bitch, ‘ she had explained simply. ‘What do you want in my house?’
    ‘I am
Lady Courteney. I came to see General Connolly.’
    ‘The
General is drunk today and he doesn’t want any more ladies.’
    After
that Connolly was not asked even to Christmas luncheon.
    Other
less dramatic incidents occurred with most of the English community until now,
after six years, the Bishop was the only resident who ever came to play croquet
on the Legation lawn. Even his Lordship’s visits had become less welcome
lately. His strength did not enable him to accomplish both journeys in the same
day, so that an invitation to luncheon involved also an invitation for the
night and, usually, to luncheon next day as well. More than this, the Envoy
Extraordinary found these incursions from the outside world increasingly
disturbing and exhausting as his momentary interest in Azania began to subside.
The Bishop would insist on talking about Problems and Policy, Welfare,
Education and Finance. He knew all about native law and customs and the
relative importance of the various factions at court. He had what Sir Samson
considered an ostentatious habit of referring by name to members of the royal
household and to provincial governors, whom Sir Samson was content to remember
as ‘the old black fellow who drank so much Kummel’ or ‘that
what-do-you-call-him Prudence said was like Aunt Sarah’ or ‘the one with
glasses and gold teeth’.
    Besides,
the Bishop’s croquet was not nearly up to Legation standards.
    As it
happened, however, they found him at table when, twenty minutes late for
luncheon, Prudence and William returned from their ride.
    ‘Do you
know,’ said Lady Courteney, ‘I thought for once you had been massacred.
It would have pleased Monsieur Ballon so much. He is always warning me of the
danger of allowing you to go out alone during the crisis. He was on the
telephone this morning asking what steps we had taken to fortify the Legation.
Madame Ballon had made sandbags and put them all round the windows. He told me
he was keeping his last cartridge for Madame Ballon.’
    ‘Everyone
is in a great state of alarm in the town,’ said the Bishop. ‘There are so many
rumours. Tell me, Sir Samson, you do not think really, seriously, there is any
danger of a massacre?’
    The
Envoy Extraordinary said: ‘We seem to have tinned asparagus for luncheon every
day … I can’t think why … I’m so sorry — you were talking about the
massacre. Well, I hardly know. I haven’t really thought about it … Yes, I
suppose there might be one. I don’t see what’s to stop them, if the fellows
take it into their heads. Still I dare say it’ll all blow over, you know.
Doesn’t do to get worried … I should have thought we could have grown it
ourselves. Much better than spending so much time on that Dutch garden. So like
being on board ship, eating tinned asparagus.’
    For
some minutes Lady Courteney and Sir Samson discussed the relative advantages
of tulips and asparagus.
    Presently
the Bishop