"Tell her--I can't!"
Eveleen told her everything, and I will say this for her, she made out
things to be as bad as they very well could be. Ellen Mackenzie's face
was a study. She is one of the plainest girls I know--her dress did not
suit her at all; I knew it wouldn't; nothing ever does; and she seemed
to grow plainer and plainer as she listened. But she was more
sympathetic than any of my relations had been. She threw her arms round
me, quite indifferent as to what might happen to her dress.
"You poor darling! To have had your presents stolen--and two
bridesmaids down with the measles--and your father gone to that horrid
City--and the servants quarrelling--and now no wedding-dress! As to
that Mme. Sylvia, if I were in your place I should feel like wringing
her neck."
"I shouldn't be surprised if I did wring it if my dress isn't ready by
the time that Eliza gets there. Eliza, haven't you got your hat on?"
She had actually stood there looking on and listening, with her eyes
and mouth wide open. But she was ready almost as soon as the note
was--it was a note! And just as we had started her off, with strict
injunctions to come back at once and bring the dress back with her, if
she had to snatch it out of the dressmaker's hands, a person arrived
who stated that he was a detective and had come to inquire into the
burglary, and who insisted on seeing me. So we saw him all three of us
together, and a most unpleasant interview it was. He asked me the most
disagreeable questions, wanting to know what I valued the missing
presents at, and how much they had cost, and if the jewellery was real,
and unpleasant things of that sort. While we were in the very midst of
it mamma came in in a state of painful excitement.
"Are you a policeman?" she demanded. "Because if you are I should like
you to tell my cook and my parlourmaid that if they leave my house this
day without giving me due and proper notice they will do so at their
peril, and that I shall prosecute them both as sure as they are
living." The detective stroked his chin and seemed disinclined to do as
mamma desired. She went on, "My parlourmaid has been making the most
unwarrantable accusations against my cook, in consequence of which she
declares that she won't stay in the house another minute; and when I
told my parlourmaid what I thought of her behaviour she announced that
she should also go at once. They are both perfectly well aware that it
is my daughter's wedding day, and that if they do go everything will be
in a state of confusion; so I want you to speak to them and bring them
to a proper sense of their duty."
The detective still seemed dubious.
"I am afraid, madam, that that sort of thing hardly comes within my
jurisdiction. But if they are going I should like to ask them a few
questions about this burglary before they leave the house."
Cook with her hat on, and Mary with hers in her hand, had been standing
in the doorway all the while. Cook now came forward--battle in her eye;
we always had had trouble with her temper.
"I'm quite ready to answer any questions that's put to me; but if
anyone says a word against Mr Parsons, who's as honest and respectable
a man as ever walked this earth, then I say they're liars."
Then came Mary, who, as we had all of us noticed, always had a way of
hinting more than she actually said.
"What I say is true, and I'm not going to be frightened from speaking
the truth by anyone. I say that Mr Parsons was hanging about this house
last night till after twelve o'clock; and so he was."
There was a frightful scene. I believe, if the detective had not been
present, that those two women would have attacked each other. When
Eveleen and Ellen got me back into my own room my nerves were in such a
state that I was trembling all over. It was past eleven. There were
still no signs of Eliza or my dress. The carriage was to come to take
me to the church at twelve; the wedding was to be at half-past; as we
wanted to catch the afternoon train for Paris we had arranged to have
it early. I was feeling both miserable and desperate, altogether
different from what I had intended to feel.
"I shall go and fetch the dress myself," I said.
"Rather than you shall do that," exclaimed Eveleen, "I'll go myself."
And she went, giving me a few words of advice before she departed. "Do
control yourself, Maud, and don't give way. Everything will be all
right if you keep calm. I promise to bring you your dress in twenty
minutes, if I don't meet Eliza with it on the way."
It was all very well for her to talk about keeping calm, but I had
reached a stage when something had to be done. So I threw myself on the
bed and had a cry. Although Ellen did try to comfort me it was not the
slightest use. Then, when she saw the state I was in, she started
crying too. And while we were both of us at it in came mamma. She was
almost in a worse condition than we were. Cook and Mary had both left,
and the detective had gone without having done the slightest good, and
everything was topsy-turvy. The refreshments for the reception which
was to take place after the wedding were to come in from outside, and
the waiters also; still, it was dreadful to be practically servantless.
Mamma was in such a state of painful agitation that she almost drove me
to hysterics. Then Jane, the kitchenmaid, came rushing in. Since Eliza
had not yet returned, she was the only maid we had in the house.
"If you please, ma'am, the carriages have come."
"Carriages! What carriages?"
"To take Miss Maud and her bridesmaids to the wedding, ma'am."
"Wedding!" Mamma laughed; it was an awful sound. "Since it does not
seem likely that there will be any wedding, it will hardly be worth
their while to wait."
"Shall I tell them to go, ma'am?"
When the idiotic Jane asked that question I leapt right off the bed on
to the floor.
"Mamma! Jane! How can you be so absurd?"
I was just going to give both of them a piece of my mind--because
mamma's conduct really was ridiculous--when someone else came tearing
up the staircase. It was Eveleen, followed by a smartly-dressed young
woman carrying a large box--which I made a dash at--with Eliza in the
rear.
"Here's your dress!" cried Eveleen.
The young woman began to explain.
"Mme. Sylvia sends her apologies, and hopes you will excuse her for
having kept you waiting; but there has been an unavoidable delay owing
to an unfortunate misunderstanding--"
Eveleen cut her short.
"We'll have the apologies and all that sort of thing afterwards. What
you have to do, Maud, is to put on that dress in the shortest time on
record, and let's hope it fits. You've been crying--so have you,
mamma--and Ellen! You're three nice people. As for you, Ellen, nothing
will get those marks off your face except clean water, and you'll have
to wash."
Ellen's complexion takes a tremendous time; she uses all sorts of
things for it, so that that was a bad blow for her. We all began to
bustle. The young woman began to unpack the box, and I got quite ready
to slip into the dress when it was unpacked. Suddenly there was an
exclamation from Mme. Sylvia's assistant.
"My goodness! what is this?" She was holding up what looked as if it
were some weird sort of a blouse made of all the colours of the
rainbow; it was certainly not part of my wedding-dress. She stared and
we stared. Then she dropped on to a chair with a groan. "There's been a
mistake," she gasped. "In the hurry I've brought a dress which we have
been making for Mrs Markham for a fancy-dress ball, and I'm afraid your
dress has gone to her."
There are moments in life when, the worst having come to the worst,
obviously the only thing left to do is to look it boldly in the face. I
realised that one of those moments had come to me then. All hope was
gone; nothing remained but to calmly face despair. I gave myself
a sort of mental pinch, and walked quietly up to that young woman,
feeling--and no doubt looking--almost dangerously cool. I picked up
the parti-coloured garment, which was all that had been brought to me
after all that strain and stress.
"This looks as if it might be some sort of fancy dress. Am I to
understand that it is a fancy dress?"