Chapter II: Part I: I (2)

Lola knew this. She could see the whole story behind the boy's smile. So she took his arm to compensate him,--knowing how well it would. "There are crocuses in Kensington Garden," she said. "We'll have a look at those as we pass."

Every head that turned and every eye that flared made Ernest Treadwell swell with pride as well as resentment. A policeman held up the traffic for Lola at the top of the road and one of the keepers of the Gardens, an old soldier, saluted her as she went through the gates. She rewarded these attentions with what she called her best de Breze smile. Some day other and vastly more important men should gladly show her deference. They followed the broad path which led to Marble Arch, raising their voices in order to overcome the incessant roar of traffic in the Bayswater Road. Lola did most of the talking that afternoon and it was all inspirational, to fire the boy into greater ambition and effort. She had read some of his poetry,--strange stuff that showed the influence of Masefield, crude and half-baked but not untouched with imagery. She believed in Ernest Treadwell and took a very real delight in his improvement. But for her encouragement it might have been some years before he broke out of hobble-de-hoydom and the semi-vicious ineptitude that goes with it. He was very happy as he went along with the warm hand on his arm. His vanity glowed under her friendship, as she intended that it should.

The old Gardens were green and fresh, gay with new leaves and daffodils. Only the presence of smashed men made it look different from the good days before the War. Would all those children who played under the eyes of mothers and nurses be laid presently in sacrifice upon the altars of the old Bad Men of politics who had done nothing to avert the recent cataclysm?

Lola was excited and on her mettle. She was nearing the crossroads. On the one that she had marked out stood Fallaray,--the merest speck. Success with Aunt Hannah meant the first rung of her ladder. Oxford Street was like a once smart woman who had become _declasse_. It seemed to be competing with High Street, Putney. There was something pathetically blatant in the shop window arrangements, a strained effort to catch what little money was left to the public after the struggle to make both ends meet and pay the overwhelming taxation. The two young people were unconscious of the change. Lola babbled incessantly. Among other things she said, "I suppose you're a socialist, aren't you, Ernest? You've never discussed it with me, but I think you must be because you write poetry, and somehow all poets seem to be socialists. I suppose it's because poetry's so badly paid."

"I dunno about that. I've never tried to sell my stuff. I'm against everything and everybody, if that's what you mean. But I don't know whether it's true to call it Socialism. There's a new word for it which suits me,--intelligensia. I don't think that's the way to pronounce it but it's near enough. It's in all the weekly papers now and stands for anarchy with hair oil on the bombs. Why do you ask me?"

Lola still had her hand on his arm. "Well, I'm afraid I'm going to give you a shock soon. I'm going to be a servant."

"Good God," said Ernest. His grandfather had been a valet, his father a piano tuner, he himself had risen to the heights of assistant librarian in a public library, and if his ambition to become a Labor member ever was realized he might very easily wind up as a peer. His children would then belong to the new aristocracy with Lola as Lady Treadwell. He gasped under the blow. "What will your mother say?"

"I'm afraid Mother will hang her head in shame until she gets my angle of it. Luckily I can always point to Aunt. She's a housekeeper, you see, and after all that's only a sort of upper servant, isn't it?"

"But,--what's the idea?"

This was not a question to which Lola had any intention of giving an answer. It was a perfectly private affair. She went off at one of her inevitable tangents so useful in order to dodge issues. She pointed to an enormous Rolls-Royce which stood outside Selfridge's. On the panel was painted a coat of arms as big as a soup tureen. She held Ernest back to watch the peculiar people who descended from it,--the man small and fat, with bandy legs and a great moustache waxed into points; the woman bulbous and wobbly, cluttered up with diamonds, made pathetic by a skirt that was almost up to her knees. What an excellent thing the War had been for them.

"New rich," said Lola. "I saw them the other day coming out of a house at the top of Park Lane which Father told me used to belong to a Duke. Good Lord, why shouldn't I be a servant without causing a crack in the constitution of the country?"

Fundamentally snobbish as all socialists are, the boy shook his head. "You should lead, not serve," he said, quoting from one of his masters. And that was all he could manage. Lola,--a servant! They turned into Bond Street in which all the suburban ladies who were not enjoying the matinees were gluing their noses to the shop windows. Ernest Treadwell was unfamiliar with this part of London. He preferred the democratic Strand when he could get away from his duties. He felt more and more sheepish and self-conscious as Lola drew up instinctively at every shop in which corsets were displayed and diaphanous underwear spread out. The silk stockings on extremely well-shaped wooden legs she admired extremely and desired above all things. The bootmakers' shops also came in for her close attention. The little French shoes with high vamps and stubby noses drew exclamations of delight and envy. Several spots on the window of Aspray's bore the impression of her nose before she could tear herself away. A set of dressing-table things made of gold and tortoiseshell made her eyes widen and her lips part. Ernest Treadwell would willingly have sacrificed all his half-baked socialism to be able to buy any one of those things for Lola.

Finally they came to Dover Street, that oasis in the heart of Mayfair where even yet certain houses remain untouched by the hand of trade. The Fallaray house was on the sunny side, where it stood gloomily with frowning windows and an uninviting door. It was the oldest house in the street and wore its octogenarian appearance without camouflage. It had belonged originally to the Throgmorton family upon whom Fate had laid a hoodoo. The last of the line was glad to sell it to Fallaray's grandfather, the cotton man. What he would have said if he could have returned to his old haunts, opened his door with his latch key and walked in to find Lady Feo and her gang God only knows.

It was well known to Lola. Many times she had walked up and down Dover Street in order to gaze at the windows behind which she thought that Fallaray might be sitting, and several times she had been into her aunt's rooms which overlooked the narrow yards of Bond Street.

"Wait for me here, Ernest," she said. "I don't think I shall be very long. If I'm more than half an hour, give me up and we'll have another afternoon later on."

She waved her hand, went down the area steps and rang the bell. Ernest Treadwell, to whom the house had taken on a sinister appearance, sloped off with rounded shoulders and a tight mouth. They might have been in Hampton Court looking at the crocuses.--Lola,--a servant. Good God!

VIII

Albert Simpkins opened the door.

It wasn't his job to open doors, because he was a valet. But it so happened that he was the only person in the servants' quarters who was not either dressing, lying down after a heavy lunch or out to enjoy an hour's fresh air.

"Miss Breezy, please," said Lola.

Simpkins gasped. If he had been passing through the hall and a footman had opened the front door to this girl he would have slipped into a dark corner to watch her enter, believing that she had come to visit Lady Feo. He knew a thoroughbred when he saw one. That she should have come to the area of all places seemed to him to be irregular, not in conformity with the rules of social rectitude which were his religion. All the same he thrilled, and like every other man who caught sight of Lola and stood near enough to catch the indefinable scent of her hair, stumbled over his words.

Lola repeated her remark and gave him a vivid friendly smile. If she carried her point with her aunt presently, this man would certainly be useful. "If you will please come in," said Simpkins, "I'll go and see if Miss Breezy's upstairs. What name shall I say?"

"Lola Breezy."

"Miss Lola Breezy. Thank you." He paused for a moment to bask, and then with a little bow in which he acknowledged her irresistible and astonishing effect, disappeared,--valet stamped upon his respectability like a Cunard label on a suit case.

Lola chuckled and remained standing in the middle of what was used by the servants as a sitting room. How easy it was, with her gift, to shatter men's few senses. She knew the place well,--its pictures of Queen Victoria and of famous race horses cut from illustrated papers cheaply framed and its snapshots of the gardens of Chilton Park, Whitecross, Bucks. Discarded books of all sorts were piled up on various tables. _The Spectator_ and _The New Statesman_, Massingham's peevish weekly, _Punch_, _The Sketch_ and _The Tatler_, _Eve_ and the _Bystander_, which had come downstairs from the higher regions, were scattered here and there. They had been read and commented upon first by the butler and then downwards through all the gradations of servants to the girl who played galley slave to the cook. Lola wondered how long it would be before she also would be spending her spare time in that room, hobnobbing with the various members of the family below stairs. A few days, perhaps, not more,--now that she had fastened on this plan.

Simpkins returned almost immediately. "If you will follow me," he said, and gave her an alluring smile which disclosed a row of teeth that were peculiarly English. He led the way along a narrow passage up the back staircase and out upon a wide and imposing corridor, hung with Flemish tapestry and old portraits, which appealed to Lola's sense of the decorative and sent her head up with a tilt of proprietorship. This was her atmosphere. This was the corridor along which her imaginary sycophants had passed so often to her room in Queen's Road, Bayswater. "We're not supposed to go through here," said Simpkins, eager to talk, "except on duty. But it's a short cut to the housekeeper's quarters and there's no one in to catch us. You look well against that hanging," he added. "Like a picture in the Academy,"--which to him was the Temple of Art.

A door opened and there were heavy footsteps.

"Look out. The governor." He seized Lola's arm and in a panic drew her into the shadow of a large armoire.

Her heart jumped into her mouth!--It was her hero in the flesh, the man at whose feet she had worshipped,--within a few inches of her, walking slowly, with his hands behind his back, his mouth compressed and a sort of hit-me-why-don't-you in his eye. Still with Simpkins's hand upon her arm she slipped out,--not to be seen, not with any thought of herself, but to watch Fallaray stride along the corridor; and get the wonder of a first look.

A door banged and he was gone.

"A pretty near thing," said Simpkins. "It always happens like that. I don't suppose he would have noticed us. Mostly he sees nothing but his thoughts,--looks inwards, I mean. But rules is rules. He lives in that wing of the 'ouse,--has a library and a bedroom there and another room fitted up as a gym where he goes through exercises to keep hisself fit. Give 'im enough in the House to keep 'im fit, you'd think, wouldn't yer? A wonderful man.--Come on, Miss, nick through here." He opened a door, ran lightly up a short flight of stairs and came back again into the servant's passage. "'Ere you are," he said and smiled brilliantly, putting in, as he thought, good work. This girl----! "I'll be glad to see you 'ome," he added anxiously.

Lola said, "Thank you, but I have some one waiting for me," and entered.

IX

"Well!" said Miss Breezy.

"I hope so," said Lola, kissing the ear that was presented to her.

"I'm just rearranging my things. Her Ladyship's just given me some new pictures. They used to be in the morning room, but she got sick of them and handed 'em over to me. I'm going to hang them up." She might have added that nearly everything that the room contained had been given to her by Lady Feo with a similar generosity but her sense of humor was not very keen or else her sense of loyalty was. At any rate, there she stood in the middle of a nice airy room with something around her head to keep the dust out of her hair, wearing a pair of gloves, a stepladder near at hand.

There were six fair-sized canvases in gold frames,--seascapes; bold, excellent work, with the wind blowing over them and spray coming out that made the lips all salty. They made you hear the mewing of sea gulls.

"Lady Feo bought them to help a young artist. He was killed in the War. She hates the sea, it makes her sick, and doesn't want to be reminded of anything sad. I don't wonder, and anyway, they'll look very nice here. Do you like them?"

Lola had sized them up in a glance. She too would have turned them out. They seemed to her rough and draughty. "Yes," she said, "they're very good, aren't they?" She mounted the ladder and held out her hands. She had come to ask a favor. She might as well make herself popular at once. "Hand them up, Auntie, and I'll hang them for you."

"Oh, well now, that's very nice. I get giddy on a ladder. You came just at the right moment. Can you manage it? It's very heavy. The first time I've ever seen you making yourself useful, my dear."

This enabled Lola to get in her first point. "Mother never allows me to be useful," she said, "and really doesn't understand the sort of thing that I can do best." She stretched up, hung the cord over a brass bracket and straightened it.

"Well, you can certainly do this job! Go on and do the rest while you're at it. I was looking forward to a very tiring afternoon. I didn't want to have any of the maids to help me. They resent being asked to do anything that is outside their regular duty."

And so Lola proceeded, hating to get her hands dirty and not very keen on indulging in athletics, but with a determination made doubly firm by the fleeting sight of Fallaray.

Miss Breezy was in an equable mood that afternoon,--less pompous than usual, less consumed with the importance of being the controlling brain in the management of the Fallaray "establishment," as she called it in the stilted language of the auctioneer. She became almost human as she watched Lola perform the task which would have put her to a considerable amount of physical inconvenience. When one is relieved of anything in the nature of work, equability is the cheapest form of gratitude.

The room was a particularly nice one, large, with a low ceiling and two windows which overlooked Dover Street. It didn't in the least indicate the character of the housekeeper because not a single thing in it was her own except a few books. Everything else had been given to her by Lady Feo, and like the pictures, had been discarded from one or other of the rooms below. The Sheraton sofa had come from the drawing-room. A Dowager Duchess had sat on it one evening after dinner and let herself go on the question of the Feo gang. It had been thrown out the following morning. The armoire of ripe oak, made up of old French altarpieces--an exquisite thing worth its weight in gold--had suffered a similar fate. Rappe the ubiquitous photographer had taken a picture of Lady Feo leaning against one of its doors. It turned out badly. In fact, the angel on the other door looked precisely as though it were growing on Lady Feo's nose. It might have been good art but it was bad salesmanship. Away went the armoire. The story of all the other things was the same so that the room had begun to assume the appearance of the den of a dealer in old furniture. There were even a couple of old masters on the walls,--a Reynolds and a Lely, portraits of the members of Lady Feo's family whose faces she objected to and whose admonishing eyes she couldn't bear to have upon her when she came down to luncheon feeling a little chippy after a night out. These also were priceless. It had become indeed one of the nicest rooms in the house. Every day it added something to Miss Breezy's increasing air of dignity and beatitude.

Lola did not fail to admire the way in which her aunt had arranged her wonderful presents and used all her arts of flattery before she came round to the reason of her visit. This she did as soon as Miss Breezy had prepared tea with something of the ceremony of the Japanese and arranged herself to be entertained by the child for whose temperament she had found some excuse by labelling it French. Going cunningly to work, she began by saying, "What do you think? You remember Mother's friends, the Proutys, who were playing cards the other night?"

"Indeed I do," replied Miss Breezy. "Whenever I meet those people it takes me some time to get over the unpleasant smell of meat fat. What about them?"

"Cissie, the daughter, has gone into the chorus of the Gaiety, and is very happy there. She's going to be in the second row at first, but she's bound to be noticed, she says, because she has to pose as a statue in the second act covered all over with white stuff."

"Nothing else?"

"No, but it will take an hour to put on every night. And before the end of the run she'll probably be married at St. Margaret's to an officer in the Guards, she says. She told me that she couldn't hope to become a lady in any other way. I was wondering what you would say if I did the same thing?"

Miss Breezy almost dropped her cup as Lola knew that she would. "You don't mean to say you've come to tell me that you've got _that_ fearful scheme in the back of your head, you alarming child? A chorus girl?"

Lola laughed. "You know _my_ way of improving myself: to serve an apprenticeship as a lady's maid, a respectable way,--the way in which you're going to help me now that you've thought it all over."

The answer came like the rapping of a machine gun. "I've not thought it over and what's more, I'm not going to begin to think it over. I told you so."

Without turning a hair Lola handed a plate of cakes. "But you wouldn't like me to follow Cissie's example, would you,--and that's the alternative." Poor dear old Aunt! What was the use of pretending to be firm. All the trumps were against her.

But for once Lola miscalculated her hand and the woman. "If you must make a fool of yourself," said Miss Breezy, "you must. I'm not your mother and luckily you can't break my heart. I told you the other night and I tell you again that I do not intend to be a party to your lowering yourself by becoming a servant and there's an end of it." And she waved her disengaged hand.

It was almost a minute before Lola recovered her breath. She sat back, then, and put her head on one side. "In that case," she said in a perfectly even voice, "I must try to get used to the other idea. I think I might look rather well in tights and Cissie tells me that if I were to join her at the Gaiety I should be put into a number in which five other girls will come on in underclothes in a bedroom scene. Of course I should keep my own name and before long you'd see my photograph in the _Tatler_ as 'the latest recruit to the footlights,--the great-great-granddaughter of the famous Madame de Breze.' I should tell the first reporter that, of course, to make it interesting."

Miss Breezy rocked to and fro, gripping her cup. How often had she shuddered at the sight of scantily dressed precocious girls sitting in alarming attitudes on the shiny paper of the _Tatler_. To think of Lola in underclothes, debasing a highly respectable name! Nevertheless, "I am not to be bullied," she said, wobbling like a turkey. "I have always given way to you before, Lola, but in this case my mind is made up. Can't you understand how awkward it would be to have you in the house on a level with servants who have to be kept in order by me? It would undermine my authority." That was the point, and it was a good one. And then her starchiness left her under the horror of the alternative. "As for that other thing,--well, you couldn't go a better way to kill your poor mother and surely you don't want to do that?"

"Of course I don't, Auntie."

"There's no call for you to think about any way of earning a living, Lola. Your parents don't want to get rid of you, Heaven knows, and even in these bad times they can get along very nicely and keep you too. You know that."

Lola had never dreamed of this adamantine attitude. Her aunt had been so easy to manage before. What was she to do?

Thinking that she was winning, Miss Breezy went at it again. "Come, now. Be a good child and forget both these schemes. Go on with your classes and it won't be long before a suitable person will turn up and ask you to marry him. Your type marries young. Now, will you promise me to think no more about it all?"

But this was Lola's only chance to enter the first stage of her crusade. She would fight for it to the last gasp. "The chorus, yes," she said. "As for the other thing, no, Auntie. If you won't help me I must get the paper in the morning and search through the advertisements. I'm sure to come across some one who wants a lady's maid and after all, it won't very much matter who it is. You see, I want to earn my living, and I have made up my mind to do it in this way. There's good pay, a beautiful house to live in, no early trains to catch, no bad weather to go through, holidays in the country and with any luck foreign travel. I can't understand why many more girls like me don't go in for this sort of life. I only thought, of course, it would be so nice to be under your eye and guidance. Mother would much prefer it to be that way, I'm sure."

But even this practical argument had no effect except to rouse the good lady's dander. "You are a very nagging girl," she cried. "I can see perfectly well what you're driving at but you won't undermine my decision, I can tell you that. I will not have you in this house and that's final."

Lola was beaten. To her astonishment and chagrin she found that her nail was not to be hammered in. There was steel in the old lady's composition, after all. But there was steel in her own and she quickly decided to leave things as they stood and think out another line of attack before the following Thursday. And then, remembering Ernest Treadwell, who was living up to his name from one end of the street to the other and back, she rose to tear herself away with an air of great patience and affection. Just as she was about to bend down and touch the usual ear with her lips, the door suddenly swung open and a woman with bobbed hair, wearing a red velvet tam-o'-shanter and a curious one-piece garment of brown velvet which disclosed a pair of very admirable legs, stood smiling in the doorway. Her face was as white as the petals of a white rose. Her large violet eyes had lashes as black as her eyebrows and her wanton mouth showed a set of teeth as white and strong as a negro's. "Oh, hello, Breezy," she cried out, her voice round and ringing. "Excuse my barging in like this. I want to know what you've done about the table decorations for to-morrow night."

Miss Breezy rose hurriedly to her feet, and Lola, although she had never seen this woman before, followed her example, sensing the fact that here was the famous Lady Feo.

"I sent Mr. Biddle round to Lee and Higgins in Bond Street, my lady. You need have no anxiety about it."

"That's all right but I've altered my mind. I don't want flowers. I've bought a set of caricatures and I'm going to put one in front of every place. If it's too late to cancel the order, telephone to Lee and Higgins and tell them to send the flowers to any old hospital that occurs to them." Lady Feo had spotted Lola immediately and during all this time had never taken her eyes away from the girl's face and figure, which she looked over with frank and unabashed curiosity and admiration. With characteristic effrontery she made her examination as thorough as she would have done if she had been sizing up a horse with a view to purchase. "Attractive little person," she said to herself. "As dainty as a piece of Sevres. What the devil's she doing here?" Making conversation with a view to discover who Lola was, she added aloud, "I see you've hung the pictures, Breezy.--Breezy and seascapes; they go well together, don't they?" And she laughed at the little joke,--a gay and boyish laugh.

With her heart thumping and a ray of hope in front of her, Lola marked her appreciation of the joke with her most delighted smile.

And Miss Breezy indulged in a diplomatic titter.

"Isn't it a little remiss of you, Breezy, not to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh, I beg your ladyship's pardon, I'm sure. This is my niece Lola." She wished the child in the middle of next week and dreaded the result of this most unfortunate interruption.

Lady Feo stretched out her hand,--a long-fingered able hand, born for the violin. "How do you do," she said, as though to an equal. "How is it that I haven't seen you before? Breezy and I are such old friends. I call her Breezy in that rather abrupt manner--forgive me, won't you?--because I'm both rude and affectionate. I hope I didn't cut in on a family consultation?"

Lola braced herself. Here was her opportunity indeed! "Oh, no, my lady. It _was_ a sort of consultation, because I came to talk to Aunt about my future. It's time I earned my own living and as she doesn't want me to go on the stage, she's going to be kind enough to help me in another way." She got all this in a little breathlessly, with charming naivete.

"What way?" asked Lady Feo bluntly. "I should think you'd make a great success on the stage."

Lola took no notice of her aunt's angry and frantic signs. She stood demure and modest under the searching gaze of Lady Feo and with a sense of extreme triumph took the jump. "The way I most wanted to begin," she said, "was to be your ladyship's maid. That's my great ambition."

"And for the love of heaven, why not? Breezy, why the deuce haven't you told me about this girl? I would like to have her about me. She's decorative. I wouldn't mind being touched by her and I'm sure she'd look after my things. Look how neat she is. She might have come out of a bandbox."

Miss Breezy bit her lip. She was bitterly annoyed. She was unaware of the expression but she felt that Lola had double-crossed her,--as indeed she had. "Well, my lady," she said, "to tell you the truth, I didn't think that you would care to have two people of the same family in your house. It always leads to trouble."

"Oh, rot," said Lady Feo, "I loathe those old shibboleths. They're so silly." She turned to Lola. "Look here, do you really mean to say that you'd rather be a lady's maid than kick your heels about in the chorus?"

"If you please, my lady," said Lola.

"Well, I think you'll miss a lot of fun, but as far as I'm concerned, you're an absolute Godsend. The girl I've had for two years is going to be married. Of course, I can't stop that, as much as I shall miss her. The earth needs repeopling, so I must let her go. The question has been where to get another. With all the unemployment no one seems very keen on doing anything but work in factories. I'd love to have you. Come by all means. Breezy, engage her. I hope we shall rub along very nicely together."

As much to hide the gleam in her eyes from her aunt as to show deference to her new mistress, Lola bowed. "I thank you, my lady," she said.

"Fine," said Lady Feo, "fine. That's great. Saves me a world of trouble. Pretty lucky thing that I looked in here, wasn't it?" She went to the door and turned. "When can you come, Lola?"

"To-morrow.--To-night."

"To-night. I will let Emily off at once. She'll be glad enough. I'll send you home in the car. You can pack your things and get back in time to brush my hair. I suppose you know something about your job?"

Miss Breezy broke in hurriedly. Even now perhaps it might not be too late to beat this girl at her own game. "That's it, my lady," she said, tumbling over her words. "She doesn't know anything about it. I'm afraid I ought to say----"

"Oh, well, Breezy, that's nothing new. They none of 'em know anything. I'll teach her. I don't want a sham expert with her nose in the air. All I need is a girl with quick fingers, nippy on her feet, good to look at, who will laugh at my jokes. You promise to do that, Lola?"

A most delicious smile curled all about Lola's mouth. "I promise, my lady," she said.

Lady Feo nodded at her. "She'll make a sensation," she thought. "How jealous they'll all be.--Righto, then. Seven o'clock. Don't be late. So long." And off she went, slamming the door behind her.

"You little devil," said Miss Breezy, her dignity in great slabs at her feet.

But Lola had won. And the amazing part of it was that the door of the house in Dover Street had been opened to her by Fallaray's wife.