The Rustle of Silk Part 13

"I know all about that," he went on. "Of course you've prayed for peace.

So did everybody over twenty-four. But what about us,-we who were caught as kids, before we knew anything, and taught the art of flying and sent up at any old time, careless of death, the eyes of the artillery, the protectors of the artillery, the supermen with beardless faces. What about us in this so-called peace of yours? Here we are at a loose end, with no education, because that was utterly interrupted, able to do absolutely nothing for a living,-let down, let out, looked on rather as though we were brigands because we have grown into the habit of breaking records, smas.h.i.+ng conventions and killing as a pastime. Do you see my point, old boy? We herd together in civics when we're not in the police courts for bas.h.i.+ng bobbies and not in the divorce courts for running off with other people's wives, and we ask ourselves, in pretty direct English, what the h.e.l.l is going to become of us,-and echo answers what.

But I can tell you this. What we want is war, perpetual b.l.o.o.d.y war, never mind who's the enemy. You made us want it, you fitted us for it and for nothing else. We're all pretty excellent in the air and in consequence utterly useless on earth. And when I read the papers, and I never read more than the headlines anyway, I long to see that Germany is going to take advantage of the d.a.m.ned stupidity of all the Allied governments, including that of America, gather up the weapons that she hasn't returned and the men who are going to refuse to pay reparations and start the whole business over again. My G.o.d, how eagerly I'd get back into my uniform, polish up my b.u.t.tons, stop drinking and smoking and get fit for flying once more. I'd sing like Caruso up there among the clouds and empty my machine gun at the first Boche who came along with a thrill of joy. That's my job. I know no other."

The old man's hair stood on end,-all of it, like a white bush.

IV

Something happened that afternoon which might have swung Lola's life on to an entirely different set of rails and put Fallaray even farther out of her reach. The unrest which had followed the War had made the acquisition of servants very difficult. The young country girls who had been glad enough to go into service in the large houses now preferred to stick to their factories, because they were able to have free evenings.

The housekeeper at Chilton Park was very short-handed and in consequence asked Lola and Mrs. Malwood's maid if they would make themselves useful.

Mrs. Malwood's didn't see it. She had been well bitten by the trades-union bug and, therefore, was not going to do anything of any sort except her specific duties, and those as carelessly as she could.

The housekeeper could go and hang herself. Violet, the girl in question, intended to lie on her bed and read _Scarlet Bits_ until she was needed by her mistress. Lola, whose blood was good, was very glad to lend a hand. With perfect willingness she committed an offence against lady's maids which shocked Violet to the very roots of her system. She donned a little cap and ap.r.o.n and turned herself into a parlor maid, a creature, as all the world knows, many pegs of the ladder beneath her own position as a lady's maid. When, therefore, tea was served on the terrace, Lola a.s.sisted the butler, looking daintier than ever, and so utterly free from coquetry, because there was no man in the world except Fallaray for her, that she might have been a little ghost.

But the trained eye of Gordon Macquarie looked her over immediately. He turned to Lady Feo, to whom he had not addressed a word for twenty minutes, and said with a sudden flash of enthusiasm, "Ye G.o.ds and little fishes, what a picture of a girl! Wouldn't she look perfectly wonderful in the front line of the chorus on the O. P. side! An actress too, I bet you. Look at the way she's pretending not to be alive. Of course she knows how perfectly sweet she looks in that saucy make-up."

If Mr. Gordon Macquarie had deliberately gone out of his way to discover the most brilliant method of sentencing himself to the lethal chamber he could not have been more successful than by using that outpouring of gus.h.i.+ng words. Feo had fully realized, from the moment that she had left the dining room, that in acquiring Gordon Macquarie she had committed the gravest _faux pas_ of her life. Not only was he a bounder but he did not possess the imagination and the sense of proportion to know that in being invited down to Chilton Park by Lady Feo he had metaphorically been decorated with a much coverted order. His egotism and his whining fright had made him unable to maintain his fourth wall and at least imitate the ways of a gentleman. Never before in her history had Feo spent an afternoon so unpleasant and so humiliating, and now, to be obliged to listen to a paean of praise about her maid, if you please, was the last straw. Any other woman would probably have risen from her place among her cus.h.i.+ons, followed Lola into the house and either boxed her ears or ordered her back to town.

But Feo had humor, and although her pride was wounded and she would willingly have given orders for Macquarie to be shot through the head, she pursued a slightly different method. She rose, gave Macquarie a most curious smile, waited until Lola had retired from the terrace, followed her and called her back just as she was about to disappear into the servants' quarters. "Lola," she said, "run up at once and pack my things. We are going back to town. Say nothing to anybody. Be nippy,"

the word was Simpkins's, "and in the meantime I will telephone for a car. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady." In Lola's voice there must have been something of the tremendous disappointment that swept over her. But it was ignored or unnoticed by her mistress. To leave Chilton Park almost as soon as she had seen it,-not to be able to creep secretly into Fallaray's room and stand there all alone and get from it the feeling of the man, the vibrations of his thoughts,-not to be able to steal out in the moonlight and wander among the Italian gardens made magic by the white light and picture to herself the tall ascetic lonely figure in front of whom some night she intended to move Heaven and earth to stand.

But she turned away quickly, obeyed orders without a single question and ran up the wide staircase blindly, because, for the moment, her eyes were filled with tears. But only for the moment. After all, there was nothing in this visit that could help her scheme along. She must keep her courage and her nerve, continue her course of study, watch her opportunities and be ready to seize the real chance when it presented itself. Lady Feo was bored,-which, of course, was a crime. Macquarie was a false coin. Lola could have told her that. How many exactly similar men had ogled her in the street and attempted to capture her attention.

She had been amazed to see him join Lady Feo at Paddington station that morning. She instantly put him down as a counter jumper from a second-rate linen draper's in the upper reaches of Oxford Street.-She was ready for Feo when she came up to put on her hat. Her deft fingers had worked quickly, and she was alert and bright, in spite of her huge disappointment.

It was characteristic of Feo to break up her houseparty with the most unscrupulous disregard for the convenience of the other members of it, and to care nothing for the fact that she would spoil the pleasure of her father. He and her brother, her little friend, Mrs. Malwood, and the two disappointing men must pay her bill. She never paid. It was characteristic of her, also, to turn her mind quickly, before leaving, upon some other way of obtaining amus.e.m.e.nt, as she dreaded to face a dull and barren Sunday in London. She remembered suddenly that Penelope Winchfield, one of the "gang," had opened her house near Aylesbury, which was only a short drive from Princes Risborough. It was a brain wave. So she went to the telephone and rang up, invited herself for the week-end and went finally into the car and slipped away with Lola without saying good-by to a single person. "How I hate this place," she said. "Something always goes wrong here." And she turned and made a face at the old building like a naughty child.

Any other woman-at any rate, any other woman whose upbringing had been as harum-scarum as Feo's-would have given Lola her notice and dropped her like an old shoe. But she had humor.

V

Queen's Road, Bayswater, so far as the jeweler's little shop was concerned, was in for a surprise that evening. Just as Lola's mother was about to close up after a rather depressing day which had brought very little business-a few wrist watches to be attended to, nothing more-a car drove up, and from it descended Lola, carrying a handbag and smiling like a girl let out of school.

"Why, my dear," cried Mrs. Breezy, "what does this mean? I thought you were going to Chilton Park." But she held her ewe lamb warmly and gladly in her arms, while a shout of welcome came from behind the gla.s.s screen where the fat man sat with the microscope in his eye.

Lola laughed. "I went there," she said, "but something happened. I'll tell you about that later. And then Lady Feo altered her plans, drove over to Aylesbury and told me I might do anything I liked until Monday night, as there was no room for me in Mrs. Winchfield's house. And so, of course, I came home. How are you, Mummy darling? Oh, I'm so glad to see you." And she kissed the little woman again with a touch of exuberance and ran into the shop to pounce upon her father, all among his watches. It was good to see the way in which that man caught his little girl in his arms and held her tight.-A good girl, Lola, a good affectionate girl, working hard when there was no need for her to do so and improving herself. Good Lord, she had begun to talk like a lady and think like a lady, but she would never be too grand to come into the little old shop in Queen's Road, Bayswater,-not Lola.

He said all that rather emotionally and this too. "It isn't as if we hadn't seen yer for such a long time. You've never missed droppin' in upon us whenever you could get away, but this's like a sunny day when the papers said it was goin' to be wet,-like finding a real good tot of cognac in a bottle yer thought was empty." And he kissed her again on both cheeks and held her away from him, the Frenchman in him coming out in his utter lack of self-consciousness. He looked her all over with a great smile on his fat face and stroked the sleeve of her blue serge coat, touched the white thing at her throat and finally pinched the lobe of one of her tiny ears.

"It isn't that yer clothes are smarter, or that yer've grown older or anything like that. It's that you seem to have pulled yer feet out of this place, me girl. It doesn't seem to be your place now.-It's manner.

It's the way yer hold yer head, tilt yer chin up.-It's accent. It's the way you end yer sentences. When a woman comes into the shop and speaks to me as you do, I know that she won't pay her bills but that her name's in the Red Book.-You little monkey, yer've picked up all the tricks and manners of her ladys.h.i.+p. You'll be saying 'My G.o.d' soon, as yer aunt tells us Lady Feo does! Well, well, well." And he hugged her again, laughed, and then, finding that he showed certain points of his French antecedents, began to exaggerate them as he had seen Robert Nainby do at the Gaiety. He was a consummate actor and a very honest person. The two don't always go together.

And then Mrs. Breezy, who in the meantime had been practical and shut the shop, followed them into the parlor, which seemed to Lola to be shrinking every time she saw it and more crowded with cardboard boxes, account books, alarm clocks and the surplus from the shop, and sprang a little surprise. "Who do you think's coming to dinner to-night?" she asked.

"Is anybody coming to dinner? What a nuisance," said Lola, who had looked forward to enjoying the company of her father and mother uninterrupted.

John Breezy gave a roguish glance at his wife and winked. "Give yer ten guesses," he said.

"Ernest Treadwell."

"No," said Mrs. Breezy, "Albert Simpkins."

"Simpky? How funny. Did you ask him or did he ask himself?"

"He asked himself," said John Breezy.

"I asked him," said Mrs. Breezy.

"I see. The true Simpky way. He suggested that he would like to have dinner with you and you caught the suggestion. He comes of such a long line of men who have worn their masters' clothes that he is now a sort of second-hand edition of them all, and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if, when he falls in love, he goes to the parents first and asks their permission to propose to the daughter; and he'll probably ask not for the daughter herself but for her hand,-which never seems to me to be much of a compliment to the daughter."

Mrs. Breezy and her husband exchanged a quick glance. Either there was something uncanny about Lola or she knew that this very respectable man was madly in love with her. During his numerous visits to the jeweler's shop Simpkins had invariably led the conversation round to Lola, finding a thousand phases of her character which he adored. But the last time he had been with them there was something in his manner and voice which made it easy to guess that his visit that evening was for the purpose of asking them whether they considered him worthy of becoming their son-in-law. It may be said that they considered that he was, especially after he had told them about the money inherited from his father and his own savings and confided in them his scheme of buying that very desirable inn at Wargrave, in which they could, of course, frequently spend very pleasant week-ends during the summer months. They had before this recognized in him a man of great depth of feeling, of excellent principles and a certain strange ecstasy,-somewhat paradoxical in one who nearly always appeared in a swallow-tail coat, dark trousers and a black tie.

Seeing that this was an occasion of considerable importance, Mrs. Breezy had arranged to dine in the drawing-room. It now behooved her to hurry up to her room and change her clothes and lay an extra place for Lola.

The dinner itself was being cooked at that moment by the baker next door,-duck, new peas and potatoes and apple pie with a nice piece of Gruyere cheese, which, with two bottles of Beaujolais from the Breezy cellar, would be worthy of Mr. Simpkins's attention even though he did come from Dover Street, Mayfair.

As a matter of fact, Lola's remark about the daughter's hand was merely an arrow fired into the air. She had been encouraging Simpkins to look with favor upon the lovesick girl who sat so frequently upon her bed and poured out her heart. She never conceived the possibility of being herself asked for by good old Simpky, who had been so kind to her and was such a knowledgable companion at the theater. The idea of becoming his wife was grotesque, ridiculous, pathetic, hugely remote from her definite plan of life. She considered that the girl Ellen was exactly suited to him. Had she not inherited all the attributes of an innkeeper's wife from her worthy parents who had kept the Golden Sheaf at Shepperton since away back before the great wind? So she ran up to her room to tidy herself, with her soul full of Chilton Park and Fallaray.

Simpkins arrived precisely on time, smelling of Windsor soap and brilliantine. He had indulged in a tie which had white spots upon it, discreet white spots, and into this he had stuck a golden pin,-a horse-shoe for luck. He was welcomed by Mr. Breezy in the drawing-room and immediately twigged the fact that there were four places laid.

Mr. Breezy was waggish. It is the way of a parent in all such circ.u.mstances. "My boy, who do you think?"

"I dunno. Who?" His tone was anxious and his brows were fl.u.s.tered.

"Lola," said Mr. Breezy.

"Lola!-I thought she was at Chilton Park with 'er ladys.h.i.+p. I chose this evening because of that. This'll make me very-well--"

"Not you," said John Breezy. "You're all right, me boy. We like you.

That inn down at Wargrave sounds good. I can see a nice kitchen garden.

I shall love to wander in it in the early morning and pull up spring onions. I'm French enough for them still. You can take it that the missus and I are all in your favor,-formalities waived. We'll slip away after dinner, go for a little walk and you can plump the question. The betting is you'll win." And he clapped the disconcerted valet heartily on the back,-the rather narrow back.

"I'm very much obliged, Mr. Breezy," said Simpkins, who had gone white to the lips, "and also to Mrs. Breezy. It's nice to be trusted like this, and all that. But I must say, in all honesty, I wanted to take this affair step by step, so to speak. If I'd 'ad the good fortune to be encouraged by you in my desire to ask for Lola's 'and,"-there it came,-"I should 'ave taken a week at least to 'ave thought out the proper things to say to Lola 'erself. Sometimes there's a little laugh in the back of 'er eyes which throws a man off his words. I don't know whether you've noticed that. But this is very sudden and I shall 'ave to do a lot of thinking during the meal."

"Oh, you English," said John Breezy and roared with laughter. "Mong Doo!"

One of Simpkins's hands fidgeted with his tie while the other straightened the feathers on the top of his head. Jumping Joseph, he was fairly up against it! How he wished he was a daring man who had traveled a little and read some of the modern novels. It was a frightful handicap to be so old-fas.h.i.+oned.

And then the ladies arrived,-Mrs. Breezy in a white fichu which looked like an antimaca.s.sar, a thing usually kept for Christmas day and wedding anniversaries; Lola in a neat blue suit and the highest spirits,-a charming costume.

"h.e.l.lo, Simpky."

"Good evening, Mr. Simpkins."

Simpkins bowed. He certainly had the Grandison manner. And while Lola brought him up to date with the state of affairs, so far as she knew them, Mrs. Breezy disappeared, stood on a chair against the fence in the back yard and received the hot dishes which were handed over to her by the baker's wife. A couple of scrawny cats, with tails erect, attracted by the aroma of hot duck, followed her to the back door,-but got no farther. "You shall have the bones," said Mrs. Breezy, and they were duly encouraged.