Chapter D: Appleton and Company (4)

During dinner, alas, this doubt crystallized into certainty. Miss Cass did not know her place. She insisted on taking such an important part in the conversation that the fair Dolores and even Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson herself came perilously near to being outshone. On every subject that presented itself for discussion she talked confidently and with point, and from time to time, to the growing resentment of the other ladies, she even dared to indulge in a little badinage. Governesses at The Laurels in the last four years had been many, but before the meal was at an end Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had sorrowfully concluded that this was a new kind of governess altogether.

Miss Cass had been highly recommended by no less a person than Canon Carnaby of Laxton, whose brother, the Reverend Sirius Carnaby, was the venerable incumbent of the neighboring parish of Yeldham, but her conduct at the dinner table, in the stern purview of her critics really amounted to “showing off.” For a full half of the meal she entirely monopolized General Norris, that is to say she would have monopolized him had not the hostess and Miss Parbury been determined that she should not; for the other half she was bewildering the company with the originality of her remarks, the independence of her judgment and the range of her information. Just before the meal came to an end, however, she was guilty of a decidedly bad break.

Apart from the military prowess of George Norris, his real claim to distinction in the sight of his former employers was that he had been “taken up” by some very “nice” people. Foremost among these was that exclusive clan the Lancelots of Amory Towers, the chimney pots of whose ancestral seat were visible on a clear day from The Laurels’ back windows. The Lancelots were the sun of the local firmament round which all minor stars and planets were more or less content to revolve. This family was too well established to insist unduly on its position; for generations its name had been known for miles round not merely as a symbol of place and power, but also as a cause of place and power in others. The Lancelots were what their neighbors desired to be; at least that was the opinion of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, although just what they were beyond the fact that they were “very influential” would have been difficult to say.

Still, there was no gainsaying the fact that George Norris, who four years and three months ago had been a clerk earning a modest three pounds a week in the office of a Clavering auctioneer, had several times been invited to luncheon and dinner by the Lancelots, and Miss Ethel herself, the bright one of the family, had only last week attempted the fox-trot with him in public. It is true that it was at the Assembly Rooms in the cause of mercy, but either Miss Ethel was growing extremely progressive for a virgin of thirty or the stock of George Norris was rising to a perilous height in the local market.

Towards the end of the meal the Lancelots were rather freely discussed and it was then that the new governess by a series of incautious remarks lent piquancy to the conversation. In fact she betrayed a knowledge so intimate of this distinguished clan that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was impelled to challenge it. By what means had Miss Cass acquired so much information concerning them?

The new governess inadvertently replied that the Lancelots were old friends of her mother’s.

“_Your_ mother’s, Miss Cass?” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson sharply; “but I am speaking of the Lancelots of Amory Towers.”

In cool tones Elfreda made it quite clear that she also was speaking of the Lancelots of Amory Towers.

“But how does _your_ mother come to know them?” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson offered open battle to Miss Cass.

The new governess smiled frankly and cheerfully as she caught the eye of the young man opposite. “Well you see----” The unconscious insolence of the slight drawl amounted to downright bad form in any governess, new or otherwise. “Well, you see my father happened to be the butler at Amory Towers and my mother was lady’s maid.”

A solemn pause ensued. Finally it was broken by a gurgle of suppressed laughter from General Norris. The tension which gripped the dinner table was thereby released, but even in the myopic sight of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson the lie of the new governess was so palpable that she decided at once that Miss Cass would have to take another situation at the end of her month.

For the rest of the evening the other ladies were openly hostile to Miss Cass. In the drawing room this attitude grew quite marked, when during Miss Parbury’s brilliant performance--brilliancy was her note in everything, the key, in fact, of her personality--of Opp’s Prelude in A minor upon the piano-forte the new governess persistently indulged in loud and animated chatter with General Norris. Broad hints were given that such conduct was unseemly, but they did not make one pennyworth of difference. It was almost as if Miss Cass took a malicious pleasure in flouting Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson and in restricting the opportunities of Miss Parbury who found herself quite at a loss. General Norris was much to blame, no doubt, but he was to be excused on the ground of social inexperience. For the new governess there was no excuse. Such behavior could not be passed over. As the clock on the chimney piece chimed ten Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was moved to put her just resentment into words.

“Miss Cass”--perhaps the resentment was more apparent in the tone than in the words themselves--“you must really go to bed, I think. The children’s breakfast is at half-past eight, you know. They were ten minutes late this morning.”

Elfreda rose at once with the meaningful look that both ladies had now come to dislike so intensely. General Norris convoyed her to the drawing room door and opened it with a deference not lost upon them. Moreover they observed the frank and ready smile with which she rewarded the young man and the look he gave her in return.

Elfreda went to her chill nest very well content with her evening’s work. She had made the discovery already that but for the presence in the house of General Norris, life at The Laurels as nursery governess would be quite insupportable. However, he was a very interesting young man and the fact lent piquancy to the situation. And the manner in which the other ladies had chosen to bear themselves in it had roused Elfreda’s fighting spirit to a perilous pitch. More than ever was she determined to “ride off” the fair Dolores; and she also expected a reasonable measure of amusement in the process.

Meanwhile in the drawing room the mistress of the house was seeking balm for her protégé. “I will see that she dines upstairs to-morrow, dear.” With these discreetly whispered words did Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson salve the wounds of the fair Dolores as General Norris closed the door softly and smilingly upon the new governess.

XVI

IN the meantime gloom and anxiety reigned at Clavering Park. By just missing the bus from the Pendennis Arms, Pikey delayed her return from The Laurels until nearly three o’clock. Therefore Miss Cass decided to obey orders and by pleading a headache take luncheon in bed. Several good reasons led her to do so. Apart from the fact that Girlie’s respect for her stern custodian was tinged with awe, she was more comfortable in the security of her own room than she was likely to be anywhere else in that house at that moment. Besides, although she had given up a whole morning to the diligent study of “The Lady of Laxton,” at present she was very far from being word perfect in her part; thus she did not feel equal to the task of going through a rehearsal that afternoon. And sum and crown of all her woes, was the haunting continual fear of the arrival of Mr. Montagu Jupp.

That veritable Old Man of the Sea was expected from London by the four o’clock train. It needed no great amount of foresight on the part of Miss Cass to realize that when that event happened the game would be up. All the morning as she wrestled with Sir Toby’s dialogue, Mr. Montagu Jupp was a specter in the background of her thoughts. Should she make a clean breast of the matter there and then and so anticipate the public exposure that was inevitable later in the day? She was in such a state of panic that there seemed much to be said for that course, yet after all, as further reflection showed, there was nothing to gain by a bootless confession. At all events it would be wise to await the return of Pikey, if only because she had promised to bring Lady Elfreda with her. But there could be no building upon that. It was always possible, of course, that the Evil Genius was already bored sufficiently by her taste of drudgery to come and face the music, but poor Girlie was very far from counting upon the fact.

Pikey, however, returned Elfreda-less but terribly cross. Indeed “cross” was altogether too mild a word for her mood. It was really so savage that for a time the hapless Deputy could do nothing with her. Moreover, so completely was Girlie under the spell of Mr. Montagu Jupp that her will became inert. In sheer desperation she resigned herself to her bed for the rest of that day at least. By that means she would avoid Mr. Montagu Jupp until the morrow and so put off the hour of discovery.

Downstairs, in the meantime, consternation was rife. The sudden indisposition of the leading lady had caused the first rehearsal to be postponed. But Sir Toby was by profession an optimist. He looked at the world he lived in and all the beings who inhabited it through rose-colored spectacles. It was “good form” to do so. Every woman of his acquaintance was “a dear” or she was “charming,” every man was “a sportsman” and a good fellow. Clouds had been known to obscure the sun now and again, but after all they were only a temporary matter. He was a believer in a bright and cheerful world. That was the only side of the picture he could ever condescend to recognize. Nevertheless, even Sir Toby allowed, in the privacy of his heart, that “The Lady of Laxton” might prove an ambitious undertaking for a decidedly scratch company at short notice.

However, the author of the piece had a real stand-by in Montagu Jupp. That famous man was said by common report “to know the theater backwards.” He had only to set his hand to the business for all to be well. His arrival by the four o’clock train was eagerly awaited. Even Sir Toby’s optimism deigned to regard the coming of the great and admired Montagu as a _sine qua non_. He knew all about everything, theatrically speaking. Not only was he a “producer,” he was a Napoleon among producers. And on his own showing he had yet to learn the meaning of the word “failure.”

Alas, when the omnibus returned from Clavering station on the stroke of five, a chill descended upon the bevy of tea drinkers in the hall. The great man had not arrived. But in lieu of him a telegram had been handed to the chauffeur on the journey home. It was addressed to Sir Toby Philpot and it contained the dire news that Mr. Montagu Jupp was “unavoidably detained, important business.”

Sir Toby was stout of heart, but a cloud, an unmistakable cloud passed across the sun of his optimism. There was much to do and but a very little time in which to do it. His star artiste, upon whom so much depended, had taken to her bed; his other stand-by had let him down at the last moment; and the performance was already widely advertised to take place in the Assembly Rooms at Clavering on the following Tuesday. Moreover, Sir Toby in the bounty of his nature had given an undertaking that the performance should be repeated in the Town Hall at the neighboring city of Meichester three days later.

It was the hostess herself who presently bore the news of Mr. Montagu Jupp’s non-arrival to King Edward’s bedroom. Girlie was sitting up in bed in a beribboned dressing jacket, grappling bravely with the typescript of her part. No doubt it was an act of sheer despair, but her mind in the present state of its infirmity craved occupation. The severe task of committing to memory Sir Toby’s dialogue was by way of being an antidote to her many terrors. And when the yellow chrysanthemum lady, full of counsel and solicitude, came and sat by her bed, and bitterly deplored Mr. Jupp’s failure to appear, it was almost as if the invalid gained strength from the woes of others. At all events it suddenly occurred to her that she might be able to come down to dinner.

The kindly hostess was far from urging that course upon her guest, but certainly Lady Elfreda’s early reappearance would lessen the gloom that had fallen upon Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and other members of the cast, and even upon Sir Toby himself. So sharp was the recoil from the certainty of immediate discovery that Girlie began to feel quite bold. Her long day in bed had been a torture and a weariness, Pikey since her return from The Laurels had been intolerable, and the postponement of the worst had brought such relief that in the sudden reaction Girlie took heart of grace.

A sword hung over her head which sooner or later must fall. In the meantime, desperation nerved her and she decided upon a run for her money. She was not without courage, or it may have been that the rewards of courage inspired her to an unnatural hardihood. At any rate, a festive dinner downstairs, even if a little too highly spiced with adventure, was greatly to be preferred to a further prolonged mope in bed.

When, however, the hostess had left the room and the Deputy informed Pikey of her decision, there was a clash of wills. That autocrat vetoed the proposal ruthlessly. Miss No-Class would be far safer where she was. But the student of _The Patrician_ had made up her mind. Now that Mr. Montagu Jupp was a peril less imminent, she was in such an agreeable state of recoil that the previous evening had become a proud and happy memory. Looking back upon it in perspective, she felt entitled to consider herself a success.

Let her rise to the height of her opportunity! That thought was ever in her mind. A heavy penalty would be exacted from her presently, her career as a governess would be ruined, but in the meantime if she were really wise she would “see life,” and boldly play her part in a tragi-comedy which one day might make her as famous as Miss Mary Cholmondeley or Mrs. Elinor Glyn. No matter what the future had in store she would weave into her life a high experience that should even raise her above the Brontës and all their gifts.

Pikey continued to breathe slaughter and fire, but the Deputy, sustained by thoughts of the renown that might one day be hers, showed a firmness amounting to heroism.

“I will have a bath--please. And I will wear the blue dress.”

Could Pikey have had her way, she would have beaten the small plebeian soundly and put her back into bed. But the duenna was shaken a good deal by the tribulations of the day. She was feeling weak and she was filled with despair. The unexpected defiance vanquished her. Sullenly she prepared the bath, sullenly she went through the toilette ritual. But on this occasion her proud spirit had to submit to rebuke.

“You are hurting me.” The Deputy tried her utmost to speak sternly, even if the result was not as impressive as she could have wished. “I think I can manage my hair quite well myself, thank you.”

Pikey was still strong enough not to yield her office, but her methods became less drastic. The Deputy, however, was not permitted to wear the blue dress. She was curtly told that _real_ ladies did not appear in the same frock on two successive evenings. An affair of pink silk was unwillingly placed at her disposal. And when Girlie came to look at herself in the glass, she found it just as becoming and slightly more modern in style. Perhaps it did not go quite so well with her eyes, but in the course of an epic twenty-four hours the rose had deepened in her cheeks, so that all things considered “what she lost on the roundabouts she gained on the swings.”

XVII

THE anxieties of the day had not improved the nerves of Miss Cass. They were a little frayed, no doubt, when she was led in to dinner on the arm of the genial, loud-voiced host. Mr. Minever was a great one for chaff and there was something about poor Girlie’s woe-begone appearance that was a direct challenge to his powers. Had the Bartlet’s masterpiece proved too much for her? If the little man wrote as he talked she was a very wise young woman, in Mr. Minever’s opinion, to keep her bed in order to grapple with his dialogue. Sir Toby laughed brightly at all the sallies which reached his end of the table, where the luckless yellow chrysanthemum lady and Mrs. Spencer-Jobling were bearing up with superhuman patience. Still, it has to be said for Sir Toby that he was a little sportsman in his way.

From time to time, as the noisily cheerful meal went on, Sir Toby stole a glance down the table at the innocent cause of the mirth. She really was nailingly pretty, although her color was so high this evening that it could hardly be her own. The little man grew pensive, not to say distrait. By the time the port appeared it had begun to seem rather a pity that Carabbas notoriously “hadn’t a bob.” Still Grandpapa Angora was on his last legs according to all accounts, and even if keeping up a dukedom was becoming an expensive hobby and supertax was now on a very democratic basis, the head of the clan must surely have kept a little bit in the family stocking just to bring them in out of the rain.

Indeed, that seemed quite a fascinating speculation as Sir Toby preened his small tail feathers and held the door for the ladies to file cheerfully and jauntily out of the room. But one there was neither jaunty nor cheerful. She was a duke’s granddaughter it was true, but she was so timid and demure that she might have been a nursery governess. Her one desire, seemingly, was to efface herself altogether. And yet, as Sir Toby reflected, there _is_ something to be said after all for pedigree stock. These Sheffielders--or was it Leeds they came from?--with their familiarity, their badinage, their amazing self-confidence, how tiresome they were! The little Catkin Puss might be dull--dull as a mud fence--but when the worst had been said, she was a Lady!

“Penny for your thoughts, Philpot.” The loud-voiced host emphasized this speculative offer by pushing his so-called 1890 towards Sir Toby.

“Worth a sight more than that, ain’t they, Pot?” quoth a puffy man opposite with a face as red as a boiled lobster. And then, to Sir Toby’s unspeakable annoyance, he winked impudently at the others. “But I’m bound to say I admire your taste.”

The retort which rose to the long suffering lips of Sir Toby was, “I wish I could return the compliment!” That would have been a fit reply to one who always made a point of treating him as if he were still in Puppyhole. His tormentor, one Garden by name, was a man of some parts, but in the course of a rather hopeless life, having done most things and most people, he had steadily declined in the world’s esteem, until now there was only dramatic criticism, occasional journalism and the tolerance of club acquaintances between the jail, the poorhouse and himself.

Soft, however, was Sir Toby’s answer. This same Garden had once kicked him round Sixpenny, and although the experience had not done him as much good as it might have, the little baronet had a deep-seated desire that it should never happen again.

The host, however, that prince of crude fellows whose size in dancing pumps was a large ten, lost no time in putting his foot still deeper in the mire. Before Sir Toby could deal efficiently with his ancient foe, Mr. Minever had coarsely guffawed, “So does Duckingfield.” At this breach of taste on the part of the host, Sir Toby glared. And the new peer glared also.

“I _fink_ you are up for the O. B. H.,” said Sir Toby in tones that would have re-frozen an icicle.

The host grinned at Garden. “Means he’s going to see about pilling me, eh?”

Said that worthy, “If he does, you’ll get in for sure.”

“S-s-sh! Don’t give it away!” Again the host grinned at Garden. “But, seriously, she’s as pretty as pretty. And I’m willing to lay a hundred to ten she gets off before next season.”

Ruefully and wrathfully reflected Sir Toby, “This man Minever doesn’t begin to be Sahib. An awful pity we are not stayin’ with somebody else. However....”

As for my lord of Duckingfield, whose hostile gaze was short-circuiting Sir Toby’s inmost thoughts, he too was nursing an almost savage antagonism. “Like to punch his head for him”--that was its formula. But whose head it was that the honest and forthright Midlander yearned to punch was not exactly clear. He certainly glared at the host as the desire passed through his mind, but with even greater intensity he glared at Sir Toby.

Howbeit, Sir Toby returned the gesture with interest. The little man had been only too quick to read the thought in the mind of the presumptuous maker of munitions. How dare this newest of new men lift his eyes to a duke’s granddaughter?

To some minds it is not the least of the advantages pertaining to an old title that it is competent to ask these questions!

XVIII

DURING the epic days which followed, the mind of Sir Toby was haunted by this inquiry. But there were matters almost as vital to vex that ingenuous soul. From the first the rehearsals were not at all satisfactory. The author of “The Lady of Laxton” did not pretend to be more than a tyro in theatrical affairs and the company he had gathered to embody the heir of his invention was as resolutely “amateur,” if rather less enthusiastic, than himself. In the first place “social position” was felt to be even more important than histrionic ability, a fact which made the eleventh-hour defection of Mr. Montagu Jupp the more to be deplored. He was to have been the prop and mainstay of “the production.” But, as the cynical Garden shrewdly declared, the astute Montagu must have smelt a rat.

“I hope, Pot,” said that critic when the second rehearsal had come to its dismal end and a dark specter was invading Sir Toby’s life, “you were not such a fool as to let Jupp see the list of your people.”

Sir Toby ingenuously admitted that he had.

“Hence the pyramids, my boy.” The relentless Garden chuckled. “Unavoidably detained. Important business. Great Cumberland place!” _Flaneur_ of the _Dramatic and Sporting Weekly_ whistled a few bars of Chopin’s Funeral March. “You little fathead, you ought to be bled for the simples!”

“I assure you, old man,” said Sir Toby, almost tearfully, “Lady Elfreda simply knocked ’em endways in Yorkshire in the ‘Duke of Killiecrankie.’”

“But you can’t hear a word she says.”

It was fatally true, and there was the crux of the whole matter. The star artiste, upon whom so very much depended, might never have been on a stage before. So far she was grievously disappointing. She showed little intelligence and less aptitude, and she was so shy of opening her mouth that it seemed certain that “on the night” she would not be heard by the first row of stalls.

So much was clear already even to the capacity of Sir Toby Philpot. Indeed it was slowly beginning to dawn upon him that somebody must have been “pulling his leg.” He had been too ready to take the word of others, of Monty Jupp for example, that Lady Elfreda had so much talent, “that she could play the ingénues out of all the West End theaters.” That was the memorable phrase the sagacious and admired Montagu had used. The old wretch had simply been pulling his leg. No wonder that important business kept him from Clavering St. Mary’s. “What a fool I have been,” reflected the despondent author, “not to take the simple precaution of seeing the girl act before counting upon her to pull us through.”

In the course of the third rehearsal, which proved even more trying than the other two, the company began to show unmistakable signs of mutiny. Mrs. Spencer-Jobling, for instance, who felt she had a reputation to lose on the stage if nowhere else, became so openly and mordantly sarcastic that she actually reduced the leading lady to tears. Later in the day a sort of informal meeting was held in the library, at which Garden presided, in the course of which it was decided to present an ultimatum to Sir Toby. Either he must obtain professional assistance and advice or the cast would throw up their parts en masse.

Only five days now remained, for on the following Tuesday the performance was due in the Assembly Rooms. Faced by this ultimatum Sir Toby was in despair. But one fact was clear. If the situation was to be saved a Titan was called for. At all hazards the recalcitrant Montagu must come down to Clavering Park. And all the art, all the tact, all the experience of even that superman would be necessary if the curtain was to rise on Tuesday afternoon.

With the ferocity of despair Sir Toby telephoned at once to the great man’s chambers in the Albany. Alas, Mr. Montagu Jupp was out of town, but he was expected from Newmarket in the course of that evening. Soon after dinner Sir Toby telephoned again, but Montagu had not returned. Finally, on the verge of midnight, the author telephoned a third time and on this occasion success rewarded him. The authentic voice of Montagu informed him that he had just donned his pyjamas. That plea, however, was of no avail; for a long twenty minutes he had to suffer the prayers and the entreaties of the unlucky author of “The Lady of Laxton.” But to these he was deaf. Mr. Montagu Jupp had reasons of his own for not throwing himself into the breach. He remained adamant. Important business must keep him in town for at least another week, shamelessly adding particularly as he had just lost a valuable day at Newmarket.

Then it was that Sir Toby, knowing all to be lost unless Montagu relented, hastily decided upon a final and desperate throw. He would run up to town by the early morning train and so bring home to the great man the extreme urgency of the whole position. And in the evening he would return with him to Clavering Park if flesh and blood could compass that essential deed.

XIX

TIME was precious indeed if “The Lady of Laxton” was ever to know the vicarious glamour of the footlights, but an acute sense of relief was felt by all the members of the cast when at breakfast time the next morning it was announced that for that day at least there was to be an interregnum. In the absence of Sir Toby there would be no further rehearsal until the following day. And to no member of the company was the news quite so welcome as the leading lady.

Girlie had been nearly a week now at Clavering Park and events were nerving her almost to the pitch of desperation. She had reached the point at which she hardly cared what happened. Yet if not exactly a fighter she had the tenacity that often goes with weak natures, and there were certain aspects of the adventure, strange nightmare as it was, that were delightful. In spite of the drawbacks to a position which she had been absolutely mad to accept, this was Life with a very large letter. As far as she herself was concerned it was all a wonder and a wild desire, a never-to-be-forgotten romance, a complex of soul-harrowing torments and delirious possibilities. She really felt that if she could emerge from this position of peril without being damned eternally in the sight of the world, she would have gained so much first-hand experience that she might hope to become one of the foremost novelists of her time and country.

All the same it needed every spark of will power she could summon not to run away. Each night as she came to assuage her throbbing temples with the luxury of King Edward’s bedroom and the incidents of the day recurred to her, how she contrived to go on “sticking it” she simply did not know. Time and again as she realized how near she must be to discovery she shuddered in the depths of her soul. And heaven knew what penalty would be exacted when the discovery was inevitably made!

Had a reasonable alternative presented itself she must have bolted after her abject failure at the third rehearsal. By no means a fool, she was only too keenly aware of the veiled hostility and the covert sarcasms of the other ladies. But what could she do? Where could she go? She had no money beyond a few rapidly diminishing Bradburys. She had no home, no friends; above all, she had thrown away her situation without any sort of hope of getting another one. Merely to review such a position was to induce a paralysis of the will. Whatever happened she must hold on a little while longer, if only in self defense. Yet as she clearly foresaw the time was surely coming when she must be found out, or still worse, when her overdriven nerves would give way and compel her to throw up the sponge.

It was a huge relief, therefore, to learn that the rehearsals were suspended until Sir Toby’s return. But it was certainly tempered as far as Miss Cass was concerned, by Mr. Minever’s announcement at breakfast that the little man had sworn a great oath that he would bring Monty Jupp back with him or he would die in the attempt. Opinion was divided as to whether or not Sir Toby would have to embrace the grim alternative. The majority, however, were so emphatic that Sir Toby’s mission was doomed to fail, that the trembling Girlie plucked up a little courage. After all there was still a slender hope that the mysterious Providence which so far had watched over her would continue to do so.

Before the morning was far advanced Girlie had quite an inspiration. She suddenly decided to set forth to The Laurels and seek advice from the person best able to give it. Moreover, this course of action commended itself to Pikey. When the Dragon was informed of the project she agreed that in the circumstances it was quite the best thing the Deputy could do and gave her some sound advice as to the best means of getting there.

Cunning was needed to escape the attentions of the hostess and her fellow guests. Yet it was not really difficult to slip away unseen, for by this time, having become thoroughly unpopular with the other members of the house party, they were now leaving her severely alone. As Girlie’s conversation was confined almost exclusively to “Yes” and “No,” it had become rather a moot point with the others as to whether this was a form of “side” on the part of Lady Elfreda, or whether it was that she was merely a fool. The more charitable view was perhaps the latter. At any rate, her aloofness no longer caused surprise, while her movements generally roused no particular interest.

Duly instructed by Pikey and favored by a fair share of luck, Girlie arrived at The Laurels about half-past eleven. She was received by a rather supercilious parlor-maid, who met her demand to see Miss Cass by showing her into the drawing room. The parlor-maid then asked the name of the visitor. Girlie met the case by the modest formula, “Please say a lady would like to see her.”

It happened, however, that the ever-watchful mistress of the house was lurking near at hand. She had observed the visitor’s arrival from the window of the morning room and filled with curiosity she now intercepted the parlor-maid before she could deliver the message to Miss Cass.

“Who is it, Jarvis?”

“A lady, ma’am, to see Miss Cass. She won’t give her name, ma’am.”

“How odd.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson ruminated for a brief twenty seconds. Then she added, “I will tell Miss Cass myself.”

Further rumination followed. In the class of born-busybodies, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had claims to rank high. Curiosity stirred her in regard to this quite attractive-looking and decidedly well-turned-out young woman--Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson prided herself upon being a judge of such matters--who declined to give her name. And the new governess was enough of “a dark horse” already without having secretive callers to intensify the mystery. Therefore it took Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson less than a minute to seek the light for herself.

The mistress of the house entered the drawing room flutelike but dominant, and her unexpected appearance came to the visitor, who was girding herself to do battle with some one very different, as a complete surprise. Frankly, almost naïvely quizzical, the lady of the house made no secret of a desire for information. “Perhaps you will tell me who you are and then I will tell Miss Cass.”

Somehow Girlie had not been able to foresee that it would be necessary to provide herself with a name. But only too clearly a name was required. And on the spur of the moment there was only one that came to her. Almost in spite of herself it now sprang automatically to her lips.

“Lady Elfreda Catkin.”

It was a terrible blunder, and this Girlie realized at the very moment in which it was made. But, taken so completely by surprise, and faced with the calm insistence of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, no middle course seemed open. If anything, however, this revelation of identity added fuel to the flame of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s curiosity. The mystery surrounding the new governess appeared to deepen considerably. And it grew more intriguing than ever.

Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was visibly impressed. Her first thought was that Miss Cass’s boast of the Lancelots being old friends of her mother’s was in some sort corroborated, her second thought was that the distinguished friends of the new governess made her so interesting that she was rather glad than otherwise that Miss Cass had not yet received a month’s notice. For the past four days, in fact, almost from the moment of the arrival of Dolores Parbury, who had taken a violent dislike to Miss Cass, the mistress of The Laurels had been at the point of terminating the engagement of that lady. But for some reason or other the drastic step had remained in abeyance, and as Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson made a dignified progress to the schoolroom she was inclined to rejoice that it had.

Miss Cass in that slow, cool, oddly imperious voice of hers, which had the malign power of driving the other ladies to secret fury, was in the act of setting a sulky Master Peter and a disgruntled Miss Joan to write to dictation. The children made no secret of the fact that they had a hearty dislike of Miss Cass, and that lady, if austerity of mien and acidity of tongue were any indication, hardly cared to disguise that their feelings were fully reciprocated. But as the smiling Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson floated into the room, with quite a new air of kindly politeness, and informed Miss Cass that Lady Elfreda Catkin had called to see her and that she now awaited her in the drawing room the heavy thunderclouds were momentarily dispersed. All the same, as Miss Cass laid down her book and her pencil they suddenly returned with added density.

“Another friend of your mother’s, Miss Cass?” There was not a suspicion of sarcasm in that discreet inquiry. It was the honest child of a shameless curiosity.

“Ye-es.” The somewhat ambiguous reply of Miss Cass was extremely reluctant. And there was a look on her face that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had no means of interpreting.

“Such a pretty girl.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was a little inclined to gush. “And so very young to be such a clever actress.”

Miss Cass looked coldly down her arrogant nose. The little idiot must have taken leave of her wits!

The new governess did not seem to be anywise flattered by having such a very interesting young woman to call upon her. Thunderclouds gathered even more heavily about her as she rose from the table and made her way to the drawing room.

Consumed by an intense curiosity, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson would dearly have liked to put her ear to the keyhole of the drawing room door. But the line has to be drawn somewhere, and with a sigh Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson remembered that she was “a lady.” Well it was that she had this scruple, for the conversation the other side of the door must have increased the flame that was devouring her.

“Why are _you_ here?” was Elfreda’s greeting to her pale and embarrassed counterfeit.

The answer was tears.

“I--I don’t think I can keep on.” So complex is the human mind that even in that moment of genuine tragedy poor Girlie could not help noticing with what an air of authority the blue serge skirt she had contrived out of her meager capital and the cunning of her own needle and the woolen jumper she had knitted herself were now invested. The trim form of their present wearer showed them off to rare advantage.

It was a painful meeting, nevertheless. Girlie was at the limit of endurance. In the pitiless view of the evil genius who had brought a highly respectable daughter of suburbia to the verge of ruin she looked even more rabbit-like than when she had seen her last. And at that moment Elfreda’s paramount desire was to shake her.

“I hope you don’t mean that you are going to run away?” There was a nascent ferocity that threatened actual bodily violence.

“I--I don’t know,” gasped the visitor.

“You don’t mean to say they’ve found out!”

Girlie reluctantly admitted that they had not yet actually done so, but that it was as certain as anything could be that the hour was near when all must be discovered.

“Not necessarily,” was the Stoic’s answer, “if only you keep on doing your best.”

But there is a limit to human endurance and Miss Cass seemed to have reached it already. Besides she was now in very deep waters indeed and in no sense was she a strong swimmer. Alarming developments threatened continually and she now felt that she simply could not go on.

However, she was in the toils of an implacable will.

“You are bound to go through with it now,” said the pitiless Elfreda. “It will let them down shamefully if you run away before the performance. You must at least wait until afterwards.”

“But I am sure to be found out.”

“You have not been found out yet, and you will not be--if you continue to do your best.”

Even if Miss Cass continued to do her best, however, and if by a supreme effort she brought herself finally to face the music, what must be the upshot of it all? She had no place to go to when this tragic farce was at an end. What was to become of her? The nearer she approached the abyss that yawned beneath her feet the wider and blacker it looked. In the end, as she knew only too well, that bottomless pit must devour her.

“But I will certainly find you another situation--when the time comes,” said Elfreda staunchly.

It was very well for the reckless author of the mischief to promise so boldly, but what did such a promise amount to? As far as Girlie was concerned the future appeared hopeless.

Besides, the matter had another aspect, of which the Deputy had lately been made aware. She was afraid, she was terribly afraid, that a certain peer was on the verge of proposing to her.

In the circumstances, it was a confession that Girlie felt bound to make to her principal. Humiliating the confession might be, a little demoralizing it certainly was, yet bound up in it was a sense of romance, a secret thrill of adventure. Somehow she felt bound in honor to tell Lady Elfreda what she feared was going to happen. Half shamefacedly she made her odd disclosure, and yet as she did so with many blushes, deep hesitations and some tears, it would be less than just to Girlie or to Girlie’s sex to say that pain was her dominant emotion.

As for Elfreda, when she grasped the true meaning of the disjointed, tremulous words, she was able to conceal her real feelings, whatever they might have been. In that art at least she was singularly adept. A light of humor burned in the eyes that seemed to peer into the very soul of Girlie Cass. And then an arrogant lip curled ever so slightly. She was justified, she was more than justified in what she had done! The thought seared the pride of one who as yet had hardly begun to learn her own intrinsic value in the matter-of-fact world of men and things.

So this was the measure of the man whom her parents considered good enough for her! In the sight of this Crœsus any underbred little impostor was as eligible as her authentic self. Suddenly the red light was hoisted in Elfreda’s eyes. That rubbishy little thing to be accepted at her surface value! Elfreda’s face grew hard.

“What ought I to do?” twittered poor Girlie.

The eyes of this daughter of a picturesque race altered curiously in the fragment of time that elapsed before she could bring herself to answer the question.

Twittered poor Girlie again--“Do tell me, please, what I ought to do!”

“Do!” The scorn was cold drawn, barbaric. “Why, go back at once and make him propose to you. And”--the eyes were like those of Medusa--“don’t let me see or hear from you again until he has done so.”

XX

GIRLIE could only gasp. Elfreda’s speech in its frigid nonchalance was stupefying. More fully than ever did she realize that she was in the toils of an Evil Genius. This girl, this amazing girl, had a will of iron. She was growing positively afraid of her.

It was all very well for Lady Elfreda Catkin to issue an ukase, but it was not she who would have to foot the bill. She was a person of importance, she had powerful friends, her position was secure. No matter how deep and angry the waters, no matter how menacing the sky, she belonged to the class that was able to weather the most violent storms. But for the Girlie Casses of the planet it was a very different matter. What for the one might be nothing more than a new and original, if rather perilous, form of entertainment, for the other might mean the end of all things.

Girlie’s mind was a chaos as her scared eyes met the implacable ones that were fixed on hers. General damnation was their only portent. She knew she was done for, anyway. It was but a question of putting off the evil day. But if she bolted now she would at least save herself from being publicly found out, whereas if she waited for the inevitable exposure there was no saying what might happen to her.

“Oh, but I daren’t let him propose--I simply daren’t.”

Elfreda harshly told her not to be foolish.

“But---!” Girlie knew only too well that her wriggles were miserably inadequate. And in the midst of them yet another complication presented itself. She remembered that there might be two Richmonds in the field. Signs had not been wanting that the little baronet also was inclined to view her with a favorable eye. Certain cadences of his voice lingered in her ears even now. There seemed but one thing to do. As one seeking the aid of a strength beyond her own she confessed to Elfreda that Sir Toby Philpot also might be on the verge of a proposal.

To this admission Elfreda did not immediately reply. But with that pitiless glance that had the power of striking far below the surface of things, she looked at the Deputy. Was this the kind of little idiot who believes that every man who smiles as he opens a door is in love with her, or was it literally true that at Clavering Park she was _un succès fou_? Elfreda continued to analyze her mercilessly. Yes, in her way, she was undoubtedly a pretty little thing. And the half-scared manner and the timid voice made her rather a plaintive, rather a pathetic little thing, so that after all it would not be so very remarkable if she made a strong appeal to the male. At the same time, the idea of her playing such havoc was ludicrous and, from Elfreda’s own private standpoint, more than a little humiliating.

Here was the richest possible commentary on the sort of people whom her own parents considered good enough for her. Had fuel been needed to sustain Elfreda’s fighting spirit it was here in abundance. If only for pure devilment now she would go on with the farce. An odd sparkle in her eyes must have proclaimed her intention, for at the mere sight of it the hapless Deputy gave one further gasp.

“Oh, please--please, do come back with me and put things right!”

Girlie would have done as well to have appealed to a stone. “No, not yet.” There was not a hint of compromise. “You must keep it up--until after Tuesday at any rate. I will come to you one day next week, perhaps Wednesday or Thursday. And if you will do your best and stand it as well as you can, no harm shall come to you. I promise that.”

It was meager comfort. But to judge by Elfreda’s eyes there was no hope just then of anything else. Be the cost what it might her decision was made. Poor Girlie clung for support to an arm of the sofa. Sheer beneath her feet yawned a chasm.

As if to intensify this grim illusion Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson chose that moment to return to the drawing room. Her return, moreover, was fraught with purpose. “Lady Elfreda.” So flutelike was the lady of the house that the new governess could not help wondering privately how her voice would have sounded at the Queen’s Hall!--“Won’t you stay to luncheon? We shall be _so_ glad if you will.”

The answer of the distinguished visitor was to regard the new governess with a scared and apprehensive eye. But that lady was quite equal to the situation. She turned to Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson and said with a kind of frigid decision that forbade any possible doubt, “Lady Elfreda is expected for luncheon at Clavering Park.”

Thereupon, in a manner that left no loophole for argument, Miss Cass moved to the drawing room door and opened it. As her eyes drew Girlie towards it they seemed full of a latent menace. The visitor was just able to muster a half audible “Good-by. Thank you so much,” for the benefit of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, before she was sternly shepherded if not actually hustled by Elfreda across the hall.

“Do your best. Don’t be afraid. I will let you know the day I can come next week. And remember that I take all responsibility.” Amid this spate of final low-toned instructions poor Girlie was put out on to the gravel and the front door of The Laurels closed rather peremptorily upon her.

From behind the drawing room curtains Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson watched the slight form of the visitor fade from view along the carriage drive. A tempest raged in the bosom of the lady of the house. If the manner of Miss Cass meant anything she looked down upon her employer; her arbitrary dismissal of the luncheon project could bear no other interpretation. However, the fury of the storm was a little assuaged by a wholesome curiosity; otherwise it might have gone hard with Miss Cass. Not only was that amazing person called upon by the aristocracy, but her attitude towards it was that of one who claims a half scornful equality. She had no more respect for Lady Elfreda Catkin than she had for any one else!

There was balm in that thought. For several days past Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had been at the point of telling the new governess that she would not suit, and of advertising for some one else. Indeed, for the sake of General Norris and dear Dolores, she had been obliged to ask Miss Cass to dine upstairs. But even now Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson could not quite bring herself to give that lady notice. She was far too interesting; in fact a type of governess altogether new in her present employer’s rather chequered experience. The children hated her, but she might be good for them. She would be able to teach them self-assurance.

Taking one consideration with another, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson still shrank from the drastic step of giving Miss Cass her congé. She would wait, at any rate, until she had told the story to Dolores. Whether she would take the advice of Dolores and get rid of her, that, of course, was the point to decide. Poor dear Dolores loathed Miss Cass.

XXI

BY the time that Girlie, homeward bound, had reached the Pendennis Arms at Clavering, she realized that even if the erratic vehicle which went by the gates of the Park was prepared to start immediately, luncheon would be over by the time she got back. She made up her mind accordingly “to go the whole hog,” and proceeded to regale herself with a cup of tea and a war bun at an adjacent confectioner’s. Then, after an hour’s inspection of the small and sleepy town, she set her face towards her temporary home.

She was in no hurry to get there. For one thing she had to evolve some sort of excuse that would cover the fact of her absence from the luncheon table. Again, she had to decide the question whether it was absolutely necessary to return at all. Why not bolt? It would not be difficult. There was a little, only a very little money in her purse, it was true. Should she accept this as the price of her career? That was the question. Just now almost anything seemed better than to return and meet the public exposure which could not long be delayed.

At a bend of the leaf-strewn road, where beyond a rich expanse of park land the imposing chimneys of the Hall rose into view, she suddenly stopped to grapple once again with this sore problem. Only too clearly did she realize that flight was her only chance. As far as she was concerned there could be no other solution. It would be a base betrayal of Lady Elfreda, yet Girlie saw now with painful clearness that her new acquaintance was far too dangerous to be regarded as a friend.

The young woman masquerading at The Laurels was entitled to such small consideration that Girlie felt she could square her conscience on that point at least. But now that her thoughts were centered upon running away, she was met by the fact that she had given up her rooms at Laxton, that she had lost her situation, that she had nowhere to go. In the lee of the park wall there followed a tense five minutes of mental conflict. In the end it may have been her odd strain of megalomania that decided the question. Certainly that fatal flaw had much to answer for. Let her rise to the height of opportunity! Let her not be afraid of life, but drink bravely of the cup of high experience!

Finally, swayed no doubt by these perilous ideas, she passed on by the park wall and through the lodge gates. Defiant of fate and all its machinations, she went straight to her room to tidy herself for tea. In the act of doing so she could not help marveling at her own cynicism. It was so incredible that she could not recognize herself. While she changed her dress and rearranged her hair she began to evolve some sort of a story to cover her absence. As soon as she appeared in the hall she had, of course, to run the gauntlet.