Part 17

Had George been as brave morally as he was in the field he would have made a bolt for The Laurels after his second cup of tea. Such publicity was altogether too much. He felt these hard-bitten worldlings were simply gloating over the possibilities of the situation. Still, even in the extremity of stage fright he was bound to remember that he had asked this little girl to marry him and that she had consented to do so. Of course, the preposterous circumstances made the whole thing invalid, but as now he wrestled with his moral weakness it came home to him that he was very honestly in love with this minx. She was adorable. And as man is the being he is in the world of the present, she was the more adorable because so palpably out of his reach.

In point of time it was not very long and yet quite long enough for the peace of mind of George Norris before certain tokens heralded the return of Lord Carabbas.

Perhaps the tidings were first promulgated by Hobson, the butler, as he moved up to the front door. He was an impassive fellow, but the look on his face and the sight of him nervously crossing the hall parquet seemed to demoralize more impressionable members of the community. From Sir Toby Philpot there arose a cry which resembled the shriek of a plover. Nothing could check it except a violent attack of coughing which intervened at the precise moment that a lowering, heavy-jowled, empurpled face suddenly projected itself from behind the large screen of Chinese lacquer which shut off the cozy inner hall from the outer darkness of the universe.

Apart from the muffled sound of Sir Toby’s attack the silence was of the tomb. Lord Carabbas himself stood speechless, glowering upon the company not unlike a bull confronted by a red umbrella. Swiftly, however, with a cry of charmed surprise, Lady Elfreda rose from her place beside the hostess. “So here you are, papa! You have been to The Laurels, I hear. So sorry we missed you.”

As those tones of gay welcome rode the storm it was recognized at once that rumor had not over-painted this young woman’s powers as an actress. Montagu Jupp had been well within the mark when he had said that their possessor was capable of playing all the ingénues off the London stage. The intrepid coolness with which she came forward to greet her parent was sublime.

Lord Carabbas lowered his head a point as if about to charge. For the moment, however, his animal energy was confined to a few syncopated sounds in his throat.

Not in the least abashed Lady Elfreda continued to keep a firm hold on the situation.

“Let me introduce George Norris, papa.” It really was sublime. For all the buzzing in his ears General Norris was able to rise from his chair and bow with solemnity.

Lord Carabbas did not return the bow. Indeed, if the eyes of my lord had a meaning they simply affirmed a desire to kill General Norris.

Tea was over, happily, and the spectators, although fascinated by a scene more richly comic than any it was their avowed business to create, did not allow private considerations to balk a sense of sportsmanship. It seemed only fair, at any rate, to a blameless young soldier and an innocent peer, to give them a chance. Mrs. Minever had the presence of mind to lead the way to the drawing room. And the others began silently, if in some cases reluctantly, to melt away. They would have given much to remain, but decent people, after all, must sacrifice a little to the manes of fair play.

In spite of her feeling that she had a prescriptive right to be there, Girlie rose and followed in the wake of the others. But a great effort of will was needed in order to do so. And yet to stay in her nook, a thrilled and guilty witness of the scene, would call for more courage than she possessed.

“But I don’t understand.” Those were the words Girlie heard as she rose from her place by the fire. The tone in which they were uttered was deep, stern, menacing. Lord Carabbas, his voice trembling with fury, looked first at Lady Elfreda and then at her cavalier. “Perhaps you will explain.” The voice tailed off so queerly that Girlie half expected Lord Carabbas to hit General Norris a blow. Without waiting for any such dreadful development she hurriedly retired to King Edward’s bedroom.

So tense was the moment that George Norris stepped back involuntarily, as if a blow was fully expected.

Elfreda, however, was magnificent.

“General Norris has asked me to marry him, papa, and I should like to do so.” The precision of the speech had a sort of astringent humor which somehow had the effect of keeping “The Dadda” in hand. It served to remind him that, in spite of the strain which had been cast upon him, it was his duty to remember that beyond all things he was a gentleman.

There was a long moment of silence in which it seemed to George Norris that anything might happen, and then Lord Carabbas, obviously making a tremendous effort to keep calm, fixed the young man with the eye of war and growled, “I don’t think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance and yet I seem to know your face.”

There was another long and tense moment. Involuntarily George Norris stepped back another pace. And then he said in that curiously frank manner which Lady Elfreda liked so much, “Don’t you remember me, sir? I am George Norris.”

“Norris--George Norris?” My lord’s brow was a thundercloud. But that was merely the process of thought. For the moment his memory had betrayed him.

“Perhaps, sir,” said the young man in his straightforward fashion, “you will remember my father better than you remember me.”

Lord Carabbas shook his head. Plainly he was still at a loss.

“My father, sir, was butler for nearly thirty years at Bally Euchra,” said General Norris modestly.

XLIII

A PIN might have been heard to fall on the hall parquet. And then the voice of Lord Carabbas rose to a bellow.

“What! Son of old Norris!”

“Yes, sir,” said the modest George. But there was a note in the voice of my lord that at once enabled George Norris to assume perfect mastery over himself. “And my father married Miss Hook, the maid to your mother the Duchess.” With an air mildly ironical the young man turned as he spoke to the girl at his side.

Lady Elfreda was biting her lip sharply. She had turned rather pale.

Another pin might have been heard to fall on the hall parquet and then George Norris said very quietly and calmly: “I should like you to understand, sir, that when I asked Lady Elfreda to marry me I was under the impression that she was a governess without a situation, without money, without friends.”

Lord Carabbas nodded truculently. He was wise, no doubt, not to trust himself with words.

“And, of course, you will understand, also, that when Lady Elfreda did me the honor to accept my offer she had no idea that I was the only son of her grandfather’s late head butler and her grandmother’s second--I believe it was second--maid.”

The young man ended this speech with a slight bow for the benefit of Lady Elfreda. And then quite suddenly he exploded in laughter. Lady Elfreda had the wit to respond with a tempered outburst of her own. But it lacked spontaneity. For all her power of will she was obviously laughing now on the wrong side of her mouth. As for Lord Carabbas, sore, bewildered, seeking to fix a quarrel, he saw a new affront in the method by which this son of old Norris chose to handle a matter quite without precedent.

“I’m hanged if _I_ can see anything to laugh at,” he said.

Again Lord Carabbas stood looking from one to the other of the culprits as if he would dearly like to commit murder. But at this grim moment he was saved from any rash or overt act by the composure of his daughter and the manly commonsense of this son of old Norris.

“I suppose, sir, I ought to apologize,” he said matter-of-factly, “for landing you in this hocus. But, of course, I hadn’t the least idea----”

“No, that I quite see,” snapped Lord Carabbas.

“And of course it alters the case.”

Lord Carabbas saw that too. His nod, at any rate, affirmed as much. And basking in a sense of acute relief that the more pressing evil was in process of being removed, he suddenly remembered what was due to this brilliant son of an old family retainer.

Recovering his air of grand seigneur, Lord Carabbas, with as much heartiness as he could muster, congratulated George Norris on his achievements in the field. They did him great credit and his lordship was quite sure that George’s parents, who had retired years ago from the Duke’s service to the keeping of an hotel near a golf links in County Down, a more lucrative if less distinguished proposition, must be proud of their son.

George modestly hoped that the old people were. Lord Carabbas grew quite reassured. “By the way,” he said, “were you ever in the Duke’s service? I seem to remember you.”

“I was never really in the house, sir, except that as a boy I did odd jobs; but at sixteen I contrived to get into the estate office. You see, sir,” George laughed, “I was always inclined to be ambitious. There was an idea at the back of my mind that one day I might become a land agent.”

Lord Carabbas nodded approvingly. “Now the war is over I don’t know what your plans are, but I daresay that something might be arranged.”

“As a matter of fact, sir,” said George, “I have just received the offer of a billet in British East Africa. You see, I have decided to make the Army my profession.”

Again Lord Carabbas nodded approvingly. Such a career sounded almost as attractive as the offer of a stool in the Bally Euchra Estate Office. Still, the civilian career might be the less precarious. Anyhow, Lord Carabbas would be pleased to do what he could in the matter if the son of old Norris cared to consider the project.

George thanked Lord Carabbas. Thereupon that peer congratulated him upon his success, hoped that whatever course he took would prove to be the right one and shook him gravely but cordially by the hand. Having thus disposed of one whom he was bound to regard as his protégé, my lord went up to his room and proceeded resolutely to compose his ruffled feelings in a mustard bath.

XLIV

THERE now remained for George Norris the task of taking a final leave of the lady of his choice. Recent developments should have made the task easy, but when it came to the point he found it supremely difficult.

While The Dadda was still in the act of ascending the stairs George offered the hand of farewell. “Good-by, Lady Elfreda.” This trying business was like a chemist’s draught; let it be attacked at once and got over quickly.

Lady Elfreda, however, had to be consulted in the matter of pace and even in the mode of procedure. Completely ignoring the hand of farewell she asked calmly with that leisureliness which was at times so exasperating, “When do you start for East Africa?”

“I am going up to town to-morrow,” said George, “to see them at the War Office. I’m hoping to get out pretty soon.”

“It’ll be very jolly if you do.” She looked at him with the odd directness which sometimes was so delightful and sometimes so disconcerting.

Her manner gave no hint of the gulf that had opened between them. He was troubled exceedingly. Educated by the usage of a hard world he was not unduly sensitive or inclined to take himself too seriously, but still he was not proof altogether against a feeling of resentment. He had been so properly fooled that her air of unconcern seemed an added impertinence. Still, it was no use mounting the high horse. He must grin and bear the blow. Perhaps the process would be a little easier for the fact that in his own mind he was quite sure he didn’t really deserve it.

George was still trying to make a final exit without loss of dignity and Lady Elfreda in a subtle way seemed to be trying her utmost to compromise it still further when Mrs. Minever arrived from the drawing room. The young man was at such a serious disadvantage that he was ready to welcome the lady of the house as an agent of providence. But she, it seemed, was not so much prepared to offer a means of escape as to fix still further the shackles of embarrassment upon him. She hoped General Norris would stay to dinner.

Nothing was further from the wish or the intention of General Norris, but for a reason only known to herself, Mrs. Minever was not at all inclined to take a polite refusal. “The Laurels is on the telephone. It will be easy to let them know--unless you have some particular engagement? And the car shall take you there afterwards.”

The urgency of Mrs. Minever backed by the dynamic glance of the enchantingly wicked Elfreda made it very difficult for George Norris to be firm.

“But my clothes,” he said rather weakly, to end a pause which he felt was undoing him.

Really, it was the feeblest of moves. The yellow chrysanthemum lady merely cast a glance at the displays of ribands peeping shyly from beneath his open overcoat. “I hope,” she said archly, “the King’s uniform will always be good enough for us.”

George saw he was done. The light in the eye of the wicked Elfreda told him so. Evidently some new game was in the wind--but in for a penny, in for a pound! It was a moment for philosophy. Besides, a natural appetite for adventure had been enormously whetted by the amazing events of the past three hours.

There was no help for it. With a reluctance which in the depths of his heart George Norris knew to be not wholly sincere he allowed Mrs. Minever to lead him to the telephone.

XLV

GIRLIE, in the meantime, had gone to ground in King Edward’s bedroom. The public eye was no place for her. All she asked now, if so much was permitted her, was to retire permanently into private life. She even cherished the modest hope that she might be allowed to make her escape from that house by the first train in the morning.

Shivering at her thoughts over the recently lighted bedroom fire, her faith was still pinned upon Lady Elfreda. It was a much-tired, a sorely-shattered faith, but it was now her only stand-by. The task would devolve upon Lady Elfreda of convincing Mrs. Minever and the others that her Deputy was really not “an adventuress” at all, or any kind of criminal in disguise, but the well educated daughter of a solicitor, who, no matter what her folly, was quite incapable of theft.

It was a horrid position for a budding Charlotte Brontë to occupy. As she viewed in perspective the eleven epic days she had contrived to live through since leaving London she could but marvel at herself. Oh, why had she ever embarked on this maddest of schemes! Her place was lost, her character was lost, she had used abominably a man who had gained her admiration and respect, whom she would have found it very easy to love. Never again could she hold up her head, not even if Lady Elfreda was able to satisfy the police that her Deputy was a reasonably innocent member of society!

Shivering over the logs as they spluttered to a reluctant heat, Girlie had never felt so low and miserable in her life. Remorse was whipping her severely. Ruin stared her in the face. Whatever would become of her! A hopeless future loomed ahead. No ray of hope was visible. Her mad enterprise had ended in the only way it could have done.

Soon after the clock had struck seven Girlie, fathoms deep in gloom, was startled by the entrance of Lady Elfreda. By now the poor Deputy had begun to feel a profound dislike of this cynical girl who had involved her in ruin. Howbeit, she still found it difficult not to admire her. Such assurance, such decision, such competence, such spirit were marvelous. She seemed to have every attribute of a She Napoleon.

“Where’s that stupid old Pikey?” she said. In her manner of pressing the bell Girlie felt there was something magnificent. “She ought to be here rooting me out some clothes for this evening.”

“I suppose,” said Girlie dismally, yet heroically suppressing her tears, “I must leave this room now.”

“Oh, no.” There was a regal indifference to the room even if it was King Edward’s. “There’s one next door will do for me. But I must have something to put on this evening.” She pressed the bell again just as Pikey entered, half truculent, half scared.

Girlie was still in awe of the Werewolf. Even the partial collapse of Pikey under the stress of events did not allow the Deputy to get on terms with her. But Elfreda’s method of handling the creature was almost an education. In the sight of her lawful charge she counted for rather less than nobody.

“Pikey, what am I to wear this evening?” At the moment this was the question of questions for Elfreda.

“There’s nothing you can wear,” Pikey muttered dismally.

“Nothing? Don’t be absurd. I know you packed at least five evening dresses.”

Pikey flashed a savage glance at Miss Cass.

“_She’s_ worn them all,” said Pikey in a tone of shameful confession.

“Of course. Why not?” said a very polite and very prompt Elfreda. No one likes other people wearing one’s clothes, but Pikey’s implication that their patrician owner would never be able to use them again was a little too much. It was one more barb for Miss No-Class.

Elfreda, however, with a woman’s understanding of the case did her best to soften it. She was the soul of tact and she was quite charming to Miss Cass.

“Please choose the one you like best for this evening.” Her winning grace brought back to poor Girlie’s mind their never-to-be-forgotten journey from London.

Girlie declined the offer with tears.

“I--I c-couldn’t think of going down to dinner this evening,” she said with a little shiver.

“But, of course, you are going down to dinner.” Napoleon--Hannibal--Etc.; the sinister cycle of their first meeting was being enacted again.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t--I really couldn’t--I could never face them all!”

“But of course you will.” Each slow syllable of the Evil Genius seemed to burn itself in Girlie’s heart. “If you don’t play up now you will spoil everything.”

Girlie shuddered. She fought against her tears. “I--I am ruined and disgraced. I--I don’t know whatever will become of me.”

“I don’t either,” Elfreda grimly agreed, “if you let go now.”

With the power of will that made her so formidable Elfreda ordered Pikey to lay out Madame Lucile’s new pink dress for Miss Cass.

“That is the one I think. It goes perfectly with your coloring. You must let Pikey do your hair. And you shall have my nicest necklace.”

At the word “necklace” Girlie shuddered again. The prison gates loomed before her eyes.

“And you shall have my new Pinet slippers if they’ll fit you. Now do be sensible. This evening you must simply play up for all you are worth.”

It was all very well, but nature has set a limit to what flesh and blood can endure. Stage fright had once more fixed its talons on Girlie. “Oh, no, I can’t face them to-night,” she said miserably.

She was reckoning, however, without the dæmonic force that encompassed her. Its power over weak vessels was truly remarkable. And among these Pikey was foremost. The Werewolf, after all, was no more than a lath painted to look like iron and none knew that quite so well as her mistress. She ordered the disgruntled old woman about with the genial arrogance she might have bestowed on a favorite dog. And Pikey, mumbling under her breath, was only too ready to do her bidding

As for Miss Cass, she found herself in the midst of her toilet before she could quite realize what was taking place. Elfreda superintended it. “Yes, the pink one, Pikey. And those stockings, I think.”

As ever, she was curiously impersonal but her taste was sure, she could bring her mind down to details and it was inflexible. Miss Cass was clay in her hands. Yet even now there was just one matter in which the unfortunate Deputy was able to muster a mind of her own. She insisted that no alien fingers should touch her hair.

“Better let Pikey, hadn’t you? She’s used to hair. She’s really rather clever with it.”

Here it was, however, that Miss Cass made her stand. She took the terrible, long-handled brush gently but firmly from Pikey’s grasp. “I am used to doing it myself--I am really.”

Pikey’s sniff of disdain confirmed that statement. Elfreda was loth to yield the point, but time was fleeting. And Miss Cass, hairbrush in hand, was displaying such skill that it seemed vain to contest it.

“Perhaps you had better come and give me a hand, Pikey.”

With a devout sense of thankfulness Girlie watched mistress and maid retire to the room next door.

XLVI

WHEN Elfreda returned about half an hour later she was dressed for the evening. Girlie was thrilled by the picture of charm and fascination that she made. If not exactly pretty, she had a highly finished daintiness and beyond everything the strength of personality which transcends physical beauty yet is in itself a form of beauty. Somehow the sight of Elfreda cap-à-pie, bright, strong and audacious meant a great deal to her fellow conspirator.

“Now please remember,” said the Evil Genius with that impersonal air which seemed to add to her power, “you simply _must_ play up.”

Poor Girlie had no spirit left in her. So black was the future that it was mere mockery to speak of “playing up.” Besides, where was the necessity now?

Elfreda looked her up and down with an eye of frank but not unkindly criticism.

“Don’t let go, whatever you do--for your own sake. Your dress is most becoming.” She really _was_ pretty. Madame Lucile’s latest creation might have been made for her. And the forlorn look in her tear-dimmed eyes was an added weapon ... if the little noodle only knew how to use it!

Elfreda led the way along the corridor and downstairs to the drawing room. There seemed to be a buzz of suppressed excitement as they came in. Most of the others were already there. They did not want to miss a moment of the comedy. All might be said to be on tiptoe to learn the next turn in the game.

Girlie would dearly have liked to sink through the floor, yet she was sustained by the imperious power which still enslaved her. And before dinner was announced an event occurred which did much to lessen the painful tension of the Deputy. In fact it appeared to have an immediate effect upon everybody. Mrs. Minever pointed to an article which enclosed the third finger of her left hand and said with a rather forced laugh, “Behold, the missing ring!”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve found it, Kate,” cried her lord.

Sure enough, Mrs. Minever had. It seemed that the precious ring had merely been mislaid. She was willing to take the whole of the blame upon herself, although it should really belong to a stupid and forgetful servant.

“Well, I call that the limit!”

Mr. Minever was not alone in so regarding the incident. A deep growl of humorous disgust slowly permeated the room. “There now, didn’t I say that man from Scotland Yard was a perfect fool!”

A shout of laughter greeted the indignant words of Lord Duckingfield. It was freely owned that the worthy Midlander had said so from the first. He had stood alone in his defense of the little governess. His sportsmanship had been admired, if skeptics deplored his gullibility. And now at this dramatic moment, like the big-hearted man he was, he contrived to underscore this admirable quality. For as the hostess and Lord Carabbas led the way to the dinner table, he moved across to Girlie, bowed to her and offered his arm.

It was a very hilarious meal. Everybody realized that they were on their honor “to play up,” There could be no middle course. In the eyes of the fastidious these people might be vulgar, they might be second-rate, yet they were fully entitled to plume themselves on their sportsmanship.