PART VIII

SURPRISES--AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE

_In the Amber Boudoir._ Sir RUPERT _has just entered_.

_Sir Rupert._ Ha, Maisie, my dear, glad to see you! Well, Rohesia, how are you, eh? You're _looking_ uncommonly well! No idea you were here!

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Sir Rupert! He'll hoof me out of this pretty soon, I expect!

_Lady Cantire_ (_aggrieved_). We have been in the house for the best part of an hour, Rupert--as you might have discovered by inquiring--but no doubt you preferred your comfort to welcoming so unimportant a guest as your sister!

_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). Beginning already! (_Aloud._) Very sorry--got rather wet riding--had to change everything. And I knew Albinia was here.

_Lady Cantire_ (_magnanimously_). Well, we won't begin to quarrel the moment we meet; and you are forgetting your other guest. (_In an undertone._) Mr. Spurrell--the poet--wrote _Andromeda_. (_Aloud._) Mr. Spurrell, come and let me present you to my brother.

_Sir Rupert._ Ah, how d'ye do? (_To himself, as he shakes hands._) What the deuce am I to say to this fellow? (_Aloud._) Glad to see you here, Mr. Spurrell--heard all about you--_Andromeda_, eh? Hope you'll manage to amuse yourself while you're with us; afraid there's not much you can do _now_ though.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Horse in a bad way; time they let me see it. (_Aloud._) Well, we must see, sir; I'll do all _I_ can.

_Sir Rupert._ You see, the shooting's _done_ now.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself, professionally piqued_). They might have waited till I'd seen the horse before they shot him! After calling me in like this! (_Aloud._) Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Sir Rupert. I wish I could have got here earlier, I'm sure.

_Sir Rupert._ Wish we'd asked you a month ago, if you're fond of shooting. Thought you might look down on sport, perhaps.

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Sport? Why, he's talking of _birds_--not the horse! (_Aloud._) Me, Sir Rupert? Not _much_! I'm as keen on a day's gunning as any man, though I don't often get the chance now.

_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself, pleased_). Come, he don't seem strong against the Game Laws! (_Aloud._) Thought you didn't look as if you sat over your desk all day! There's hunting still, of course. Don't know whether you ride?

_Spurrell._ Rather so, sir! Why, I was born and bred in a sporting county, and as long as my old uncle was alive, I could go down to his farm and get a run with the hounds now and again.

_Sir Rupert_ (_delighted_). Capital! Well, our next meet is on Tuesday--best part of the country; nearly all grass, and nice clean post and rails. You must stay over for it. Got a mare that will carry your weight perfectly, and I think I can promise you a run--eh, what do you say?

_Spurrell_ (_to himself, in surprise_). He _is_ a chummy old cock! I'll wire old Spavin that I'm detained on biz; and I'll tell 'em to send my riding-breeches and dress-clothes down! (_Aloud._) It's uncommonly kind of you, sir, and I think I can manage to stop on a bit.

_Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). Rupert must be out of his senses! It's bad enough to have him here till Monday! (_Aloud._) We mustn't forget, Rupert, how valuable Mr. Spurrell's time is; it would be too selfish of us to detain him here a day longer than----

_Lady Cantire._ My dear, Mr. Spurrell has already said he can _manage_ it; so we may all enjoy his society with a clear conscience. (Lady CULVERIN _conceals her sentiments with difficulty_.) And now, Albinia, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room and rest a little, as I'm rather overdone, and you have all these tiresome people coming to dinner to-night.

[_She rises and leaves the room; the other ladies follow her example._

_Lady Culverin._ Rupert, I'm going up now with Rohesia. You know where we've put Mr. Spurrell, don't you? The Verney Chamber.

[_She goes out._

_Sir Rupert._ Take you up now, if you like, Mr. Spurrell--it's only just seven, though. Suppose you don't take an hour to dress, eh?

_Spurrell._ Oh dear no, sir, nothing like it! (_To himself._) Won't take me two minutes as I am now! I'd better tell him--I can say my bag hasn't come. I don't believe it _has_, and, anyway, it's a good excuse. (_Aloud._) The--the fact is, Sir Rupert, I'm afraid that my luggage has been unfortunately left behind.

_Sir Rupert._ No luggage, eh? Well, well, it's of no consequence. But I'll ask about it--I dare say it's all right.

[_He goes out._

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_to_ SPURRELL). Sure to have turned up, you know--man will have seen that. Shouldn't altogether object to a glass of sherry and bitters before dinner. Don't know how _you_ feel--suppose you've a soul _above_ sherry and bitters, though?

_Spurrell._ Not at this moment. But I'd soon _put_ my soul above a sherry and bitters if I got a chance!

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_after reflection_). I say, you know, that's rather smart, eh? (_To himself._) Aw'fly clever sort of chap, this, but not stuck up--not half a bad sort, if he _is_ a bit of a bounder. (_Aloud._) Anythin' in the evenin' paper? Don't get 'em down here.

_Spurrell._ Nothing much. I see there's an objection to Monkey-tricks.

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_startled_). No, by Jove! Hope they'll overrule it--make a lot of difference to me if they don't.

_Spurrell._ Don't fancy there's much in it. Your money's safe enough, I expect. Have you any particular fancy for the Grand National? I know something that's safe to win, bar accidents--a dead cert, sir! Got the tip straight from the stable. You just take my advice, and pile all you can on Jumping Joan.

_Captain Thicknesse_ (_later, to himself, after a long and highly interesting conversation_). Thunderin' clever chap--never knew poets _were_ such clever chaps. Might be a "bookie," by Gad! No wonder Maisie thinks such a lot of him!

[_He sighs._

_Sir Rupert_ (_returning_). Now, Mr. Spurrell, if you'll come upstairs with me, I'll show you your quarters. By the way, I've made inquiries about your luggage, and I think you'll find it's all right. (_As he leads the way up the staircase._) Rather awkward for you if you'd had to come down to dinner just as you are, eh?

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Oh, lor, my beastly bag _has_ come after all! Now they'll _know_ I didn't bring a dress suit. What an owl I was to tell him! (_Aloud, feebly._) Oh--er--very awkward indeed, Sir Rupert!

_Sir Rupert_ (_stopping at a bedroom door_). Verney Chamber--here you are. Ah, my wife forgot to have your name put on the door--better do it now, eh? (_He writes it on the card in the door-plate._) There--well, hope you'll find it all comfortable--we dine at eight, you know. You've plenty of time for all you've got to do!

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). If I only knew _what_ to do! I shall never have the cheek to come down as I am!

[_He enters the Verney Chamber dejectedly._

_In an Upper Corridor in the East Wing._

_Steward's Room Boy_ (to UNDERSHELL). This is your room, sir--you'll find a fire lit and all.

_Undershell_ (_scathingly_). A fire? For me! I scarcely expected such an indulgence. You are _sure_ there's no mistake?

_Boy._ This is the room I was told, sir. You'll find candles on the mantelpiece, and matches.

_Undershell._ Every luxury indeed! I am pampered--_pampered_!

_Boy._ Yes, sir. And I was to say as supper's at ar-past nine, but Mrs. Pomfret would be 'appy to see you in the Pugs' Parlour whenever you pleased to come down and set there.

_Undershell._ The Pugs' Parlour?

_Boy._ What we call the 'ousekeeper's room, among ourselves, sir.

_Undershell._ Mrs. Pomfret does me too much honour. And shall I have the satisfaction of seeing your intelligent countenance at the festive board, my lad?

_Boy_ (_giggling_). On'y to _wait_, sir. I don't set down to meals along with the _upper_ servants, sir!

_Undershell._ And I--a mere man of genius--_do_! These distinctions must strike you as most arbitrary; but restrain any natural envy, my young friend. I assure you I am not puffed up by this promotion!

_Boy._ No, sir. (_To himself, as he goes out._) I believe he's a bit dotty, I do. I don't understand a word he's been a-talking of!

_Undershell_ (_alone, surveying the surroundings_). A cockloft, with a painted iron bedstead, a smoky chimney, no bell, and a text over the mantelpiece! Thank Heaven, that fellow Drysdale can't see me here! But I will not sleep in this place, my pride will only just bear the strain of staying to supper--no more. And I'm hanged if I go down to the housekeeper's room till hunger drives me. It's not eight yet--how shall I pass the time? Ha, I see they've favoured me with pen and ink. I will invoke the Muse. Indignation should make verses, as it did for Juvenal; and _he_ was never set down to sup with slaves!

[_He writes._

_In the Verney Chamber._

_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). My word, what a room! Carpet hung all over the walls, big fourposter, carved ceiling, great fireplace with blazing logs,--if this is how they do a _vet_ here, what price the _other_ fellows' rooms? And to think I shall have to do without dinner, just when I was getting on with 'em all so swimmingly! I _must_. I can't, for the credit of the profession--to say nothing of the firm--turn up in a monkey jacket and tweed bags, and that's all _I've_ got except a nightgown!... It's all very well for Lady Maisie to say, "Take everything as it comes," but if she was in _my_ fix!... And it isn't as if I hadn't _got_ dress things either. If only I'd brought 'em down, I'd have marched in to dinner as cool as a---- (_he lights a pair of candles._) Hullo! What's that on the bed? (_He approaches it._) Shirt! white tie! socks! coat, waistcoat, trousers--they _are_ dress clothes!... And here's a pair of brushes on the table! I'll swear they're not _mine_--there's a monogram on them--"U.G." What does it all mean? Why, of course! regular old trump, Sir Rupert, and naturally he wants me to do him credit. He saw how it was, and he's gone and rigged me out! In a house like this, they're ready for emergencies--keep all sizes in stock, I dare say.... It isn't "U.G." on the brushes--it's "G.U."--"Guest's Use." Well, this is what I call doing the thing in style! _Cinderella's_ nothing to it! Only hope they're a decent fit. (_Later, as he dresses._) Come, the shirt's all right; trousers a trifle short--but they'll let down; waistcoat--whew, must undo the buckle--hang it, it _is_ undone! I feel like a hooped barrel in it! Now the coat--easy does it. Well, it's _on_; but I shall have to be peeled like a walnut to get it off again.... Shoes? ah, here they are--pair of pumps. Phew--must have come from the Torture Exhibition in Leicester Square; glass slippers nothing to 'em! But they'll have to do at a pinch; and they _do_ pinch like blazes! Ha, ha, that's good! I must tell that to the Captain. (_He looks at himself in a mirror._) Well, I can't say they're up to mine for cut and general style; but they're passable. And now I'll go down to the drawing-room and get on terms with all the smarties!

[_He saunters out with restored complacency._