MR. RODNEY SCREAMS.
That evening in the hall after dinner the Duke chanced to say:
"Another top-hat Ascot! I wish the Prince would set the fashion of
billycocks. What do you say, Mr. Bush? Wouldn't you rather have a low
hat in the heat? Anything low is always so pleasant—between you and
me. Eh? What—what?"
The paragon observed the grinning pantaloon face solemnly, and then
answered:
"Top-hats are rubbish. I've only brought a straw."
Mr. Rodney turned as pale as ashes.
"I sha'n't wear nought but a straw to-morrer," proceeded the paragon
with heavy calmness.
"A savage custom?" squeaked Lady Drake enquiringly.
"I hate a man to be over-dressed," ejaculated Miss Bindler approvingly.
"I beg your pardon," Mr. Rodney said suddenly, in a trembling voice—"I
beg your pardon, but I must venture to say that I feel certain Major
Clement will turn a—a straw off the lawn. Knowing him as I do, I
feel confidently certain of it." And he cast a glance of passionate
beseeching upon Mrs. Verulam.
For once she came to his rescue.
"I quite agree with Mr. Bush," she said; "a straw is much more
sensible—"
"Merciful heavens!" in an under cry of acute anguish from Mr. Rodney.
"In every way. But at the same time, Mr. Bush, don't you think that
custom should occasionally be adhered to?"
"Eh?"
"Every man will be wearing a top-hat to-morrow."
Mr. Bush began to look very sulky.
"I've hoed and I've planted in a straw for thirty year," he muttered,
"day in, day out."
"There's no hoeing and planting on a racecourse," said Mr. Rodney, with
vehement sarcasm.
"It'd make the going a bit heavy," said Miss Bindler reflectively.
"I fancy, Mr. Bush," said Mrs. Verulam very gently, "that, as you will
not have any opportunity of hoeing at the races to-morrow, owing to all
the silly rules and regulations, you will find it really pleasanter
to be as everyone else is—I mean only, of course, as regards your
head-covering."
"I haven't a-brought one," he mumbled; "I say I've only brought a
straw."
"We must send a man to Windsor," said Mr. Rodney, with a sudden
piercing decision, and he pushed eighteen times at an electric bell.
The powdered Frederick appeared.
"Kindly bring us a yard measure," said Mr. Rodney.
"A what, sir?" exclaimed the man.
"A yard measure, and order a dogcart round; there is much to do
to-night."
The powdered Frederick dropped his lower jaw like one confronted with
the mysteries of Udolpho, and fled to execute these sinister commands.
He returned, accompanied by Mr. Harrison, who had impounded a yard
measure with his left hand, and whose eyes were starting out of his
head with suspicion. The house-party were now tense with excitement as
medical students gathered to witness the operation of the century. Only
Mr. Rodney was wrapped in a white and still calm; he held out his long
thin hand for the yard measure, but Mr. Harrison showed a bold front.
"Mr. Lite's last orders to me, sir," he began, shaking his bald head
emphatically—"his last orders to me was: 'On no account, Mr. Harrison,
is the carriages to be measured. Oh, by no means must it be so
done—oh, indeed, on no account whatever!'"
"The carriages!" said Mr. Rodney, getting very red at this speech for
the defence—"the carriages! It is this gentleman's head!" He pointed
to the paragon.
"I understood, sir, from Frederick that the dogcart—oh, indeed, was
ordered to be——"
But at this point Mr. Rodney snatched the tape from the protecting
hand that secluded it, advanced heroically upon the paragon, measured
the circumference of his enormous cranium, wrote the measurement down
with a gold pencil on a sheet of writing-paper, gave it to the powdered
Frederick, said: "Have that taken at once to Windsor, rouse up the best
hatter in the royal borough, buy a top-hat of that size, and bring it
back as fast as the horse can gallop," and then sank down on a sofa
with the air of a man who, having stormed the heights, dies of his own
bravery as he grasps the standard of the enemy.
"A glass of water," he murmured.
It was brought. He recovered, and shortly afterwards the spectators
of the operation of the century retired to their respective bedrooms,
conscious that they had been assisting at a historical event, but a
little divided as to the complete tact and generalship shown by Mr.
Rodney.
That night, when the faithful Marriner came into the primrose bedroom
to brush Mrs. Verulam's pretty hair before the latter went to bed, she
found her mistress in a very serious mood. And, on her side, Marriner
was also unusually grave, although her demeanour, chastened as it was
by Schopenhauer and an acquaintance with Nordau which might almost be
termed intimate, was invariably and at all times sedate and thoughtful.
Chloe had adroitly avoided the smoking-room, in which the Duke was now
telling stories to Mr. Ingerstall; while Mr. Rodney wrote up his diary,
and Mr. Bush dreamed over a whisky and soda of gigantic proportions.
Mr. Harrison, above stairs, was with much tribulation and uncurled
whiskers preparing his report to lay before the Emperor at eight
o'clock on the following morning. The Duchess was asleep. Miss Bindler
was considering the chances of the morrow. The Lady Pearl was dreaming
softly of the person whom, in secret, she now named Huskinson; and Lady
Drake, who though acid had an extraordinarily sweet tooth, was eating
chocolate creams in a dressing-gown made from an Indian shawl presented
to her by a very great personage indeed.
The faithful Marriner removed a hairpin and breathed a sigh
simultaneously. Mrs. Verulam echoed the sigh, and hearing that she had
been honoured with an echo, Marriner ventured to say:
"Oh, ma'am!"
"Why do you say 'Oh,' Marriner?" said Mrs. Verulam. "What should you
have to say 'oh' about?"
"Many things, ma'am—many, many things," responded Marriner in a
doleful voice.
"Have any more thoughts been taking you like a storm, Marriner?"
"They have indeed, ma'am."
"If you think so much you ought to keep a lifeboat by you," said Mrs.
Verulam dreamily.
For her hair was now being brushed and was giving off electricity, and
the process soothed her.
"Might I speak, ma'am?" said Marriner, making use of her habitual
formula when she had anything special to say.
"You may, certainly."
"Ma'am," said Marriner, "I've heard a dreadful thing this night."
"Dreadful! What about?"
"Oh, ma'am, that I should have to say it—about you!" replied the
faithful creature, with every outward sign of extreme dejection.
Mrs. Verulam started beneath the brush.
"A dreadful thing about me, Marriner! Who from?"
"From Mrs. Crouch, ma'am, her Grace's woman."
"Why, what should Mrs. Crouch say about me?"
"Oh, ma'am, she says, ma'am, that Lady Sage is—is——"
"Don't break down, Marriner, you'll wet my hair. Please go on."
Thus adjured, Marriner continued in a fragmentary voice, as one
relating something almost too improper to be given tongue to:
"She says that—oh, that Lady Sage is going to have nothing at all to
do with you in the Enclosure to-morrow, ma'am—oh dear, dear me!"
Mrs. Verulam sat still in silence for a moment. It must be confessed
that during the moment she felt as if she was being whipped.
"Oh, ma'am, don't go—don't go there!" continued Marriner. "We should
not place ourselves between the feet of our enemies, ma'am; no, no, we
should not!"
"Be careful with the brush, Marriner, please," said Mrs. Verulam in a
rather low voice.
"But that's not all, ma'am—there is worse, ma'am—there is treachery,
indeed, and there is treason, ma'am."
"Really, one would think that Guy Fawkes was staying in the house,"
rejoined Mrs. Verulam, recovering herself a little.
"No, ma'am, indeed it is not him."
"Then who is it?"
"Oh, ma'am—her Grace."
"The Duchess!" said Mrs. Verulam in slight surprise.
"Yes, ma'am; Mrs. Crouch says, indeed, that her Grace will do as her
Ladyship—Lady Sage—does, when the week is over, ma'am. And it is all
because of Mrs. Van Adam—taking her for a man, ma'am. Oh, do—please,
please do tell them, ma'am!"
"The teeth of the comb! Be careful, Marriner, please!"
"Yes, ma'am, I will. But I do implore you, ma'am, if I might——"
"Hush!" cried Mrs. Verulam suddenly; "let me think! Brush softly,
Marriner, if you have any regard for me."
Marriner brushed softly, and Mrs. Verulam thought for a long while,
hating Lady Sage and the Duchess for themselves, womanlike, yet
half-inclined—or tricking herself to think so—to love their coming
deed. James Bush, too, and the squirrel Tommy, and the cage door, and
the different, the true, earnest, sincere, unaffected life—thoughts of
all these ran through that pretty head beneath the shining hair, until
the weary brusher ceased, and Mrs. Verulam said, "You may go to bed,
Marriner; good night."
In consequence of Marriner's revelation, when, on the following
morning, shortly before the Ribton Marches party started for the
course, Mr. Rodney mysteriously begged to be allowed to speak with
Mrs. Verulam alone, she was not much surprised by what he had to say,
although, for some perhaps feminine reason, she pretended to be so.
"Could I have just a word with you?" Mr. Rodney said, in a voice not
wholly unlike that of a sucking dove.
"Certainly," replied Mrs. Verulam. "Where?"
"I think there is no one in the pink boudoir."
"Let us go there, then."
They went, furtively watched by Mr. Harrison, who had just returned
from the fishing-cottage in possession of that rather unacceptable
belonging usually called a flea in the ear. For he had found the
Emperor in a terrible condition of fury over the James Bush business
and various other incidents of the preceding day. When Mrs. Verulam and
Mr. Rodney had gained the pink boudoir, the latter carefully closed the
pink door, walked very gently up to Mrs. Verulam, and said:
"Where do you think of watching the races from, may I venture to ask?"
"Where from? The Enclosure, of course!"
"Shall we sit down for a moment?" replied Mr. Rodney, with a consummate
endeavour after genial ease.
They sat down on a couple of flesh-coloured chairs and he proceeded
with extraordinary blandness:
"The Enclosure! Don't you think it is likely to be excessively hot?"
Mrs. Verulam instantly guessed that Mr. Rodney knew what the faithful
Marriner knew.
"Hot," she said, "why specially hot in the Enclosure?"
"Well, you know, in consequence of its being so difficult to gain
admission to, it is so very much more crowded than any other part of
the course. Don't you think so?"
"Well, but where else shall I go?"
"I have ventured to take a couple of excellent boxes. You see one or
two of our party, Mr. Ingerstall and Mr. Bush, have not got cards for
the Enclosure."
Mr. Rodney just glanced at his boots. Mrs. Verulam had never liked him
better than at this moment. Nevertheless, she was a woman, and, as all
her sex, sweetly mischievous.
"It is very good and thoughtful of you; still, I think I shall go to
the Enclosure. Mr. Van Adam is anxious to see what it is like."
Mr. Rodney stiffened.
"Indeed!"
"And then there are all one's friends there—Lady Clondart and Lady
Sage, and——"
Mr. Rodney became as cold as the adventurer who approaches the Pole. He
saw Mrs. Verulam rushing headlong to her doom, and he did not know how
to stop her.
"Lady Sage grows a little wearisome, I fancy," he murmured dissuasively.
"Do you think so? Oh, I love her recollections!"
"I think her too historical for hot summer weather, I confess,"
continued Mr. Rodney; "and then her insatiable appetite for dates."
"Oh, surely she wouldn't eat them in the Enclosure!" cried Mrs.
Verulam. "The Master of the Buckhounds would never permit it!"
"The dates of battles, dear lady, not dried fruits. Really, if you
prefer to go to the Enclosure, I strongly—very strongly—advise you
to avoid Lady Sage. She is agreeable in a drawing-room, but very, very
Crimean, I do assure you, on a racecourse. Do give me your word; I
cannot bear to see you bored!"
"You are all kindness," said Mrs. Verulam, secretly longing to pat
this kind and true friend upon his anxious face. "I must go to the
Enclosure, but I shall probably not see Lady Sage. Now, the carriages
must be round."
Mr. Rodney, in his usual soft manner, opened the pink door, and was
instantly confronted by Mr. Harrison, who, with tightly-shut eyes,
was revealed in a crouched attitude with his left ear glued to what,
had the door been shut, would doubtless have been the keyhole. This
surprising vision caused Mr. Rodney to start, and the groom of the
chambers, in some obvious confusion, assumed a less attentive posture,
and added:
"I was about to inform you, sir—in the temporary absence of all the
men-servants—that the carriages are now before the door—oh, most
certainly!"
He then proceeded to retire with a deliberate but distinct celerity.
"That man is really of a very original turn of body," remarked Mrs.
Verulam, as they went downstairs.
"He carries it too far, in my opinion," replied Mr. Rodney, with
considerable severity.
That day was to Mr. Rodney a day of trial and of acute anxiety. It
might truly be said that he did not have one moment's peace during
the whole course of it. He attended Mrs. Verulam into the Enclosure,
which was, as he had foreseen, most uncomfortably full and crowded, and
spent his time there in a faithful endeavour to emulate the procedure
of the trained private detective. His eye, to which he tried to give
that unmarkable acuteness attributed to the eye of the lynx, was ever
upon the look-out for the approach of Lady Sage, and when he saw that
redoubtable survival of pre-Crimean days moving afar off beneath a huge
bonnet in form like a helmet, he ingeniously glided Mrs. Verulam into
some other part of the royal pen, engaging her the while vigorously
in conversation, and leading unsuspecting countesses and others to
cover up her tracks in a masterly manner. Being a man, he thought that
she was quite unaware that for four hours she was subtly being dodged
about, and when at length the last race was over, and he placed her in
the barouche, he fancied that the sigh of triumph which he could not
help breathing was supposed by her to be merely a tribute to the heat.
The great lawn that stretched before the glittering windows of the
palace; the mighty cedar-tree beneath which the powdered Frederick and
his fellow menials now arranged the tea-tables—these works of Nature
appeared exceedingly charming to the dusty eyes of the Ribton Marches
house-party as they flocked anxiously out to refresh themselves after
the torments of a day of pleasure. But not all had returned. Mr. James
Bush and Mr. Ingerstall were absent. Lady Drake, exceedingly acidulated
in airy black; the Duchess, full of bass conversation about the events
of the day, but ever watchful of Chloe and Mrs. Verulam; Miss Bindler
and the Duke talking racing; Chloe and the Lady Pearl—all these
gathered round and sank in various attitudes of marked prostration into
garden chairs. But the hero from the Bungay Marshes and the thickset
person from Paris were nowhere to be seen.
"Where are Mr. Bush and Mr. Ingerstall?" said Mrs. Verulam, looking
round.
"I can't imagine," said Mr. Rodney peacefully, as Frederick placed the
magnificent grapes from Mitching Dean upon one of the little tables
near a rose-bush.
"I daresay Mr. Bush is on a roundabout," said the Duchess. "You say he
is fond of being rustic, Mrs. Verulam?"
"Yes; but not in that way, I hope."
"It all goes together, love of the country and a passion for riding
wooden horses painted yellow to the sound of comic songs. Depend upon
it, Mr. Bush is on a roundabout."
Mrs. Verulam began to look very anxious.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed, turning towards Mr. Rodney, "I do hope—Mr.
Rodney, don't you think, perhaps——"
Now, Mr. Rodney, beneath all his breeding, was human. He didn't know
it, but he was, and upon this occasion he revealed the fact.
He was at this moment, when Mrs. Verulam addressed him, very busily
engaged in being happy, and he was determined not to be interrupted
in this activity. His tired limbs were caressed by a charming chair,
into which he fitted quite perfectly. A soft breeze played about his
carefully-parted hair. His eyes were dazzled by the beautiful grapes
grown in his own hot-houses, and his heart was cradled in the arms
of success. Dreamlike he felt, softly rapturous, as the tired but
triumphant gladiator. The desperate past, haunted by Lady Sage, lay
behind him; tea, sugar, bread-and-butter, a future tenderly bright,
lay before. And should he allow even the woman whom he loved to send
him forth again to those arid stretches of dusty landscape, there to
quest among the perspiring vulgar for a great rustic bumpkin astride an
orange or blue horse, revolving furiously in the heat to the sound of
the music of the lower spheres? No, no. Rather annihilation.
Under the stress of this definite determination, therefore, he said
with unusual firmness:
"If Mr. Bush is fond of horse-exercise, I certainly think he should be
permitted to enjoy it in all freedom. Probably it is his custom to ride
on a roundabout every day. Dear me, tea is very refreshing on these
occasions!"
Mrs. Verulam was checkmated. She had never seen Mr. Rodney so masterful
before.
"There's a great deal of knack in sitting a wooden horse," said the
Duke. "Some people can never acquire it. I knew a very excellent
clergyman who was thrown three times running by a deal cob which his
cook rode perfectly at the very first try."
"You ought always to give a horse of that material his head," said Miss
Bindler, taking out a hunting-flask and pouring something yellow into
her tea. "If you try to hold him in you're done. Had a good day?" she
added to Mr. Rodney.
"Perfect!" said that gentleman celestially—"quite, quite perfect!"
"What, after backing Cubicle?"
"Absolutely perfect!"
"How much did you clear on all the results?"
"Clear?"
"Yes—pouch."
"Pouch?" said Mr. Rodney as in a happy dream—"pouch?"
"Did you have anything on Lambton and Try your Luck? Did you go for
Mulligatawney?"
"No, no; I didn't go for Mulligatawney."
"Well, then, I'm—I don't see how you had a good day," said Miss
Bindler, giving him up and turning again to the Duke.
"Do you like Ascot, Mr. Van Adam?" said the Lady Pearl, with unusual
vivacity.
"It's heavenly," cried Chloe; "it's like a dream."
"Have you nothing of the kind in America?"
"How can we, when we have no aristocracy? Oh, I should like to make
it my life's mission to create a grand American aristocracy, with
grades, a Debrett, and everything complete. I would travel, I would
hold meetings, I would stir up the splendid class feeling that makes
England what it is, I would leave no stone unturned, I would begin by
getting baronets for my dear native land—they should be the thin end
of the wedge, and everything else would follow."
Her cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, and her eyes sparkled as she
unbuttoned her frock-coat, and flung it open with the gesture of a born
orator. The Lady Pearl caught the infection of the missionary spirit.
"Mr. Van Adam," she said, "you should have lived in the olden days. You
should have led Crusaders."
"To Burke instead of battle, an army to armorial bearings. Oh!"
She drank her tea in a soft frenzy, which went straight to the heart of
the Lady Pearl.
The Duchess, who had observed these noble raptures with satisfaction,
looked narrowly at Mrs. Verulam.
"Is Mr. Van Adam to be much longer with you?" she asked.
"I am afraid not in London," said Mrs. Verulam. "But we may go over to
Paris together in a week or two."
"Indeed!" said her Grace, flushing with respectable fury—"indeed!"
"Or on the Continent," continued Mrs. Verulam, with pretty malice, as
she thought of the faithful Marriner's midnight remarks.
Her Grace heaved, and Mr. Rodney woke suddenly from his dreams, and
spilt some tea over his boots. Was Mrs. Verulam mad? For a moment he
dreaded that the Duchess would lose her head and make a scene, for the
famous features became enlarged with passion. Her Grace's form was
agitated like an enormous flower in a strong wind, and she opened her
capacious mouth as if to allow egress to a stream of eloquent remarks
of an opprobrious nature.
But, unfortunately, her curses were lost to an enquiring world, for at
this moment Mr. Bush and Mr. Ingerstall emerged from the palace and
came towards the group on the lawn with a demeanour which attracted
the attention of all. The artist looked wildly hilarious. His enormous
spectacles were dimmed with tears of laughter, and his frantic bow-tie
streamed abroad in a manner suggestive of unbridled licence. Mr. Bush's
gigantic countenance, on the other hand, was marked by its usual solid
gravity. But the hat from Windsor perched on the side of his head like
a wounded bird, battered and forlorn; his clothes seemed to have been
hurriedly put on during the active progress of an earthquake; one or
two buttons had burst off his boots, and he carried in his hands what
appeared at a distance to be a large number of cannon-balls, but as he
approached resolved themselves into various cocoanuts, such as grow so
plentifully in all places where the sinews of Great Britain assemble
to have a good time. All eyes were now riveted upon these nuts, two or
three of which Mr. Bush let drop on Mr. Rodney's toes as he gained the
tea-table. Miss Bindler was the first to break the awed silence which
reigned beneath the cedar-tree.
"Been betting in kind?" she said to Mr. Bush. "Taking the odds in
fruit? Not a bad idea, if you're keen on it. I shouldn't mind having a
bit on Kiss Me to-morrow—say in gooseberries."
Mr. Bush sat down in silence in a wicker chair and nursed his nuts,
while Mr. Rodney, with an approach to violence, kicked away that
portion of the winnings which had bruised his delicate feet.
"I would give one year—yes, one whole year—of my caricaturing life,"
shrieked Mr. Ingerstall, "to take Mr. Bush round the side-shows of
Montmartre. How he would appreciate their subtle beauty! He has the
artistic sense; he understands the exquisite poetry of vulgarity, the
inwardness of the cocoanut-shy, the extraordinary elements of the
picturesque which appear in the staring face of Madame Aunt Sally,
open-mouthed to receive the provender shot at her by Hodge and Harriet.
He knows well the bizarre and beautiful effect upon the nervous system
of that strange combination of the arts of music and motion—the
roundabout! He——"
"The roundabout?" interrupted the Duchess. "Didn't I say so?"
"You've been riding?" said the Duke to Mr. Bush. "Good exercise—good
for the liver! good for the muscles! Did you get a decent horse?"
Mr. Bush burst forth into a loud guffaw.
"Splendid animal!" cried Mr. Ingerstall. "I rode a pink, he a
delicate—a really very delicate—apple-green, with sulphur-coloured
spots. The music was that extremely pathetic composition 'Write me a
letter from home.' I should have preferred 'Quand les amoureux s'en
vont deux par deux'; still, the other really did very well. After
dismounting—Bush was thrown, by the way—we spent half an hour in a
tent with the bottle imp. Paris would like it. And then we passed on to
the two-faced lady, ending up with a cocoanut-shy, which Whistler would
love to paint. I really never enjoyed an Ascot so much—never!"
He swallowed a cup of tea as a Soudanese miracle-worker swallows an
impromptu bonfire, and leaned back, extending his short legs towards
the west, as if in compliment to the approaching sunset. Mrs. Verulam
looked with glistening approval at Mr. Bush.
"How original you are," she murmured; "and how bravely simple!" She
turned to the house-party. "Should we not all learn to find pleasure
in—in what Nature provides for us," she exclaimed, "instead of
creating artificial amusements to—to titillate our baser appetites?"
"Does Nature provide apple-green animals with sulphur-coloured spots?"
asked Chloe innocently, stroking the place where she was supposed to
shave meditatively with her forefinger.
"Nature," said Mr. Rodney, in a voice that quivered and was hoarse with
horror—"Nature is—is really scarcely decent."
Mrs. Verulam's approval of Mr. Bush's abominable and Neronic orgy shook
him to the soul. That she should praise bottle imps, two-faced females,
and speak of the royal Enclosure as ministering to our baser appetites!
Even the Mitching Dean grapes lost their colour, their peculiar
sweetness, for the moment.
"And all the better for that," began the Duke in his most St. John's
Wood manner.
"Lady Drake," said Mrs. Verulam a little hastily, "have you seen the
fish-pond? I believe it is lovely; and I know how fond you are of
fish-ponds. I wonder if the Duke——"
The hint was sufficient. Lady Drake immediately began to worry the
Duke, and the situation was saved.
All the party were now in that condition of physical refreshment which
leads human beings to think complacently of gentle movement. They
rustled like leaves in a forest, and this rustling was a preliminary
to a general uprising. Lady Drake carried off the Duke as the chariot
and horses carried off Elijah. The Duchess, under the stress of some
sudden mental prompting, swooped in a dignified manner upon Chloe. Mr.
Bush composed himself to rest with a cake in each hand. Lady Pearl,
Miss Bindler, and Mr. Ingerstall formed a somewhat unsympathetic trio,
and trundled towards an adjoining orchid-house; and Mr. Rodney, still
trembling and horror-stricken, strolled tragically forward with Mrs.
Verulam into the Bun Emperor's rose garden, Number 4. (All the rose
gardens were numbered at Ribton Marches.)
Mrs. Verulam was glowing, Mr. Rodney glowering. The former was full of
James Bush, the latter of intense and shrinking disgust. These feelings
rather clashed in the soft light which now began to fall over the
scented garden.
"The true path of pleasure," began Mrs. Verulam in an inward voice,
"lies where we never seek it—far, far away from the shams and the
conventions with which we surround our little lives. Oh! why—why are
we so blind?"
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Rodney; "I can see perfectly well, and I
must really venture to say that——"
"You think you can see," interrupted Mrs. Verulam in soft rebuke, "as
the blind man does when he mistakes men for trees walking."
"I never made any such mistake," Mr. Rodney rejoined with unwonted
vivacity; "I never in my life supposed that I saw a tree taking active
exercise. Really, I must protest——"
"Your very protestations prove your sad condition, and the sad
condition of all in our world," Mrs. Verulam went on intellectually;
"but I, at least, will be blind no longer. Mr. Bush shall open my eyes."
Mr. Rodney gasped. He felt that the time had indeed arrived for him to
speak out.
"Mrs. Verulam," he began—"Mrs. Verulam, I must—forgive me."
"For what?" she sweetly queried.
"I must, indeed—I must speak. Are you—can you be aware of
what society will inevitably say if you permit a—a man—of Mr.
Bush's—er—appearance, or, indeed, any man to open your eyes? Society
will not permit these—these unwarrantable—forgive me—unwarrantable
liberties. The line will be drawn—it will, indeed. Let me implore you
to realise this before it is too late—let me implore you, if I have
any influence!"
He quite broke down, and trod on a valuable verbena.
"Society calls crimes virtuous, and virtues criminal," said Mrs.
Verulam.
"Oh, pardon me—pardon me!" he babbled.
"Yes, it does. True virtue is simple, frank, unashamed."
"Ah, ah! unashamed in the—the very shocking way of Eve before her very
desirable—if I may say so—fall," cried Mr. Rodney.
"Mr. Bush stands to me for virtue," added Mrs. Verulam irrepressibly.
This was too much for Mr. Rodney. He stood stock still like one struck
with paralysis.
"Mr. Bush!" he stuttered. "Then what does Mr. Van Adam stand for?"
"Chloe—er—Mr. Van Adam! What has he to say to the matter?"
"Oh, Mrs. Verulam, everything, everything! It is time, I see—it is
time—I must—I ought to tell you the truth."
"Please do so."
He hesitated for a moment, passing a cambric pocket-handkerchief across
his pallid lips; then he said:
"At least, let us come into the shade."
That "at least" gave the man's soul in a couple of words. He felt all
the terror of his coming revelation. Mrs. Verulam assented, and they
moved to a little grove of shrubs, monkey-trees, and other indigenous
plants which grew near by. Here the sun was less ardent; here a soft
breeze blew kindly; but here also something else occurred, which gave
Mr. Rodney time to compose himself a little. As they came into this
seclusion, artificially induced by the genius of the Bun Emperor's
landscape-gardener, an unexpected vision burst upon their eyes. Beneath
a monkey-tree of superb proportions, in a hammock suspended between
substantial supports, they beheld Mr. Harrison laid out at full length
smoking a large cigar in semi-unconsciousness, while the faithful
Marriner alternately rocked him gently the while she hummed a crooning
lullaby, and stroked the surface of his bald and dome-like head with
the palm of her delicate hand. For a moment the charm of this quite
unexpected fairy scene so enervated Mrs. Verulam and Mr. Rodney that
they remained motionless in contemplation of it. The rhythmically
rocking groom of the chambers, the shrill and monotonous cry of the
lady's-maid in the sultry summer evening, created a sort of magical,
unreal atmosphere. The slanting light, too, caught the bald head, and
transformed it almost into the likeness of a globe of some glittering
material. And as it swayed solemnly to-and-fro like the pendulum of a
clock, in obedience to the motion given by the faithful Marriner to the
hammock, it laid a hypnotic spell upon these two who gazed at it.
"Sleep, oh, sleep! it's never too late for that;
Sleep, yes, sleep, with your head upon the mat!
For the workman's train is passing nigh,
And the early milkman gives his cry,
You'll be taken to quod when the copper comes by,
So sleep, yes, slee-eep!"
sang Marriner tenderly, and Mr. Harrison did all he knew to be
obedient. He dozed, and was rapidly proceeding towards the most
profound condition of slumber, when Mr. Rodney, whether by accident
or design, coughed rather loudly. At this unearthly sound, Marriner,
who was half dreaming while she sang, was greatly startled. Surprise
released her limbs from her control, and the arm that rocked the
hammock shot suddenly forward with such violence that Mr. Harrison was
ejected from his delicious position, and, executing a clever turn in
the air, alighted at full length upon the ground, face downwards, with
a noise that was surprising. Mrs. Verulam looked reproachfully at Mr.
Rodney, while the faithful Marriner fell on her knees beside the groom
of the chambers.
"Oh, he's dead!" she wailed. And she, too, turned on Mr. Rodney.
"You've killed him, sir!" she shrieked respectfully.
"I am very sorry," said Mr. Rodney. "I didn't intend."
At this juncture Mr. Harrison lifted his face from the earth, sat
round so that they could see his indignant expression, heaved himself
forward upon his knees, and then, planting his hands, palms downwards,
upon the ground, and using them as a lever, straightened his legs very
deliberately, and was presently successful in standing upon his feet.
He made no remark after this elaborate acrobatic performance, but gave
Mr. Rodney a markedly malignant glance, and then shambled away among
the monkey-trees till he was lost to sight. Marriner, meanwhile, stood
by looking downcast.
"I am sure, ma'am," she said at length, "if I had surmised that the
races would conclude so early, I should never——"
"You can go, Marriner," said Mrs. Verulam. "I had no idea you had such
a pretty singing voice."
"If I might speak, ma'am."
"Certainly, Marriner."
"I learnt from going to hear Madame Albani, ma'am, at the Albert Hall
on my evenings out."
And she slipped away, carrying with her an atmosphere of curious
cultivation.
"That man is very offensive, very!" said Mr. Rodney with feeling.
"For being thrown out of the hammock?"
"He had no business to be in it. Servants should not go about sleeping
all over the place in their masters' gardens. This sort of thing is
never permitted at Mitching Dean."
"Oh, I like to see the humble enjoying themselves," said Mrs. Verulam
with vague beneficence, a little forgetful, perhaps, of Mr. Harrison's
natural self-importance and late severe accident. "But what were you
going to say to me?"
And she sat down on a rustic seat made from the trunk of a tree all
knobs. Mr. Rodney perched in a distressed manner upon one of the
branches, and said dolefully:
"Really, all this—this tumult has quite put it out of my head."
"You wished, I think, to tell me the truth about something," said Mrs.
Verulam in an assisting voice.
"I believe so—yes, I thought it my duty," began Mr. Rodney.
He was now in cold blood, owing to the late hammock episode, and found
it difficult to say what would have been easy enough when he was in
what was for him a passion. He ran one long hand over a dozen or so of
the knobs, feeling them like a phrenologist.
"I really considered it my bounden duty," he continued very
plaintively, with an accent on the "bounden."
"Yes?" said Mrs. Verulam with calm innocence.
"To—to tell you what—what the world is saying," said Mr. Rodney in
marked discomfort.
"About me?"
"About you and—and Mr. Van Adam."
"Indeed! What should it say?"
"Very, very dreadful things!" said Mr. Rodney, almost blushing.
"Dear me! How very absurd!" she cried lightly.
"Indeed!" said Mr. Rodney, with more courage. "It is not absurd." He
thought of his hours of furtive precaution in the royal Enclosure.
"Far, far from it! I hardly like to tell you——"
"Please do."
"Well," commenced Mr. Rodney, with the manner of a budding anarchist
throwing his first bomb, "Lady Sage and one or two others—leading
la——" he thought of the _Era_, and hastily substituted "leading
women, take the matter so seriously that—oh, my dear Mrs. Verulam, do
pray forgive me! they are actually intending not to see you—when you
are there, you understand."
"They want to cut me, in fact?"
Mr. Rodney really blushed and was silent, giving consent.
"If they do so, what will follow?" said Mrs. Verulam, with a great deal
of apparent composure.
"Follow!" cried Mr. Rodney, with all his force and eloquence. "Death!"
"Indeed! Is Lady Sage to be the corpse, or am I?"
"You!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Mrs. Verulam, think of it! Social death,
ostracism, exile—er—er——" He tried to think of further words
bearing a similar signification, but failing, added: "Do you realise
my meaning? Do you see the gulf that is opening out beneath your very
feet?"
"Indeed I do, with very great pleasure."
"Pleasure!"
The word rose from him in a male scream.
"Who is being murdered?" remarked the deep voice of the Duchess, who at
this instant became visible threading her way through the shrubs with
Chloe at her side.