No servant announced her name. I felt no warning tremor of solid Earth
beneath my feet. Yet there she was, in full equipment of bombazine dress,
hard black bonnet, reticule, and umbrella, gripped like an avenging sword.
Oh, that some merciful cloud might have swept us, like fair Iphigenia to
the abode of the gods, and left three soft-eyed hinds in our stead!
Yet, there we were, gazing at her, spellbound: and presently she enunciated
with awful distinctness:
"I am come to apologize for the intrusion of my wards upon your privacy,
and to remove them instantly."
"Oh, bless you," said the lady in pink, cheerily, "three or four more don't
matter to us. Won't you sit down? And children--please let the lady's
things be, d'you hear?" for these intrepid children had gathered around
Mrs. Handsomebody as though she were a dancing bear; and "Baby" had even
pulled her umbrella from her hand substituting for it the battledore which
Mrs. Handsomebody unconsciously held, with an effect of ferocious
playfulness.
"I thank you," replied Mrs. Handsomebody. "I shall remain standing."
"Let me make you acquainted with my husband," pursued the lady, "he's Lord
Simon de Lacey, second son of the Duke of Aberfalden. Please excuse him
smokin'!"
The effect of these simple words on Mrs. Handsomebody was startling. She
brandished the battledore as though to ward off the approaching Lord Simon,
and repeated in a trembling voice:
"Lord Simon de Lacey--Duke of Aberfalden. Surely there is some mistake."
"I'm afraid not," said Lord Simon, shaking her hand. "In me you behold the
traditional, impecunious younger son, and--"
"But it will not always be so," interrupted Lady Simon, shouting to make
herself heard, "for, you see, my husband's older brother is an invalid who
will never marry, so we shall inherit the dukedom and estates one day. This
child--" pointing to young Simon--"is a future duke."
"He has a lovely brow," said Mrs. Handsomebody, beaming at him.
Indeed, an astounding change had come over our governess. No longer was her
manner frigid; her face, so grey and hard, had softened till it seemed to
radiate benevolence. She beamed at Bill and Bunny playing at leap-frog
before her chair; she beamed at "Baby," galloping astride of her umbrella;
she beamed at Mops, trying to force a date into the mouth of a struggling
fox-terrier; she even beamed at me when I caught her eye.
"I trust that your father, the Duke, keeps well," she said to Lord Simon.
"Great old boy," he replied. "Never misses a meet. Been in at the death of
nearly four thousand foxes."
"Ah, blood will tell," breathed Mrs. Handsomebody.
"You see," interposed Lady Simon, "the Duke disinherited my husband when he
married me. Didn't approve of the Profession. I was Miss Dulcie June,
awfully well known. Photographs all over the place. Danced at the Gaiety,
y'know."
"I'm sure I have heard of you," said Mrs. Handsomebody.
"Well, the Duke and I ran into each other at a dog show last week, and he
was so struck with me, he asked to be introduced, and has asked us all to
visit him at Falden Castle. It looks hopeful, don't it?"
"Indeed, yes. But we shall be very sorry to lose you. It is so difficult
for me to find suitable companions for my wards, and your children are
so--spirited. Of course, blood will tell."
"Just what I say," assented Lady Simon, "for I was a spirited girl, if ever
there was one. What with late hours, and toe-dancin' and high-kickin', it's
a wonder how I stood it. I think I was like that Sir Galahad chap whose
'strength was as the strength of ten'--"
"Doubtless because your art was pure, my love," put in Lord Simon, with a
sly smile.
"I used to know this boy's father in those days," went on Lady Simon. "He
was a lamb."
"He was also my pupil in his youth," said Mrs. Handsomebody, and the two
talked on in the happiest fashion, till we took our leave, the whole family
following us to the door, and "Baby" returning Mrs. Handsomebody's
umbrella, and relieving her of the battledore without her having been aware
of the negotiation.
So we who had expected to be haled to retribution, as criminals of the
deepest dye, floated homeward in the serene light of Mrs. Handsomebody's
approval.
No one spoke till the Cathedral came in view. Then Angel said:
"There's a window in the Cathedral in memory of a son of some Duke of
Aberfalden. He died about a hundred years ago."
"The very same family," replied our governess, "and, I am sure, from now
on, my dear boy, you will regard the window with a new reverence."
"You must have noticed," she proceeded, "the geniality and dignity that
emanated from each separate member of that noble family. This is admirably
expressed by the French in the saying--'Noblesse oblige'--meaning that
nobility has its obligations. Repeat the phrase after me, David, that you
may acquire a perfect accent."
"Knob-less obleedge," repeated Angel, submissively; and The Seraph also
repeated it several times, as though storing it away for future use.
When Mrs. Handsomebody rang the door-bell, I trembled for Mary Ellen,
remembering where I had last seen her, but the admirable girl promptly
opened the door to us, clad in the drabbest of her cellar-cleaning garb, a
smudge of soot on her rosy cheek.
Mrs. Handsomebody ordered sardines for tea, and had the silver tea-pot
brought out. She also dressed for the occasion, adding a jet bracelet,
seldom seen, to her toilet.
All went well, till, at bedtime, The Seraph could not be found. Becoming
alarmed, Mrs. Handsomebody, at last, opened the door of the forbidden
parlour, Angel and I peering from behind her, hoping, yet fearing, to
discover the recreant.
Truly the gods had a mind to The Seraph. His was ever the cream of every
adventure. There he was, lolling at ease, in a tasselled velvet chair, just
beneath the portrait of Mr. Handsomebody. Lolling at ease, and smoking a
gold-tipped cigarette, which, he afterwards confessed, he had got from
Bill, in trade for a piece of India-rubber.
Like an old-timer he handled it, watching the smoke-wreaths above his head
with the tranquil gaze of an elderly club-man.
"Merciful Heaven!" screamed Mrs. Handsomebody, clutching Angel and me for
support. "Are you demented, Alexander? Do you realize what you are doing?"
The Seraph drew a long puff, looking straight into her eyes, before he
replied: then, in a tone of gentle seriousness, he said:
"Knob-less obleedge."
_Chapter IX: The Cobbler And His Wife_
I
Bootlaces had become of immense importance to us, since a lack of them
always meant a visit to the cobbler to buy new ones. They were
comparatively easy to break, or to tie in knots that even Mary Ellen's
strong fingers could not undo. Then there were tongues. One could always
dislocate a tongue. At any rate, the boots of one of the three were always
needing attention.
"Bless me!" our governess would exclaim, wrathfully, "Another heel off! One
would think you did it purposely. And boots such a price! Just think of
your poor father in South America, working day in and day out to provide
you with boots, which you treat with no more consideration than if they
were horseshoes--well, to the cobbler's then--and tell him to mind his
charges. It should cost no more than sixpence."
The cobbler lived in the tiniest of a group of tiny houses that huddled
together, in a panicky fashion, in a narrow street behind Mrs.
Handsomebody's house. From an upper window we could look down on their
roofs, where the plump, Cathedral pigeons used to congregate to gossip and
sun themselves.
You went down three stone steps into the cobbler's shop. There he always
sat at work by his bench, tapping away at the sole of a shoe, or stitching
leather with his strange needle. His hands fascinated us by their coat of
smooth oily dirt. Never cleaner, never dirtier, always the same useful,
glove-like covering. Did he go to bed with them so? How jolly! we thought.
His face, too, was of extraordinary interest. It was so thin that the sharp
bones could be seen beneath the dusky skin, and he would twitch his
nostrils at the breeze that came in his open window, for all the world like
an eager brown hare. His hair curled so tightly over his head that one knew
he could never pull a comb through it, and we were sure he was far too
sensible to try.
Mrs. Handsomebody said he was half gypsy, and not to be encouraged. Mary
Ellen said, God help him with that wife of his.
He bred canaries.
All about the low window their wooden cages hung. Even from the darkest
corners of the shop bursts of song leaped like little flames and yellow
breasts bloomed like daffodils. When the cobbler tapped a shoe with his
hammer, they sang loudest, making a wild and joyous din.
Thus they were all busy together when we entered on this winter morning,
carrying Angel's heelless boot, wrapped in a newspaper.
"Good-morning, Mr. Martindale," said Angel, above the din, "you see I've
got another heel off, so I'm wearing my Sunday boots, and Mrs. Handsomebody
says it shouldn't be above sixpence, please."
The cobbler ceased his tapping, and all the birds stopped to listen:
"Good-morning, little masters," he said, in his soft voice. "What wild
things your feet are to be sure. Try as I will, I cannot tame them. You
might as well try to keep three wild ponies shod." He undid the parcel and
turned the boot over in his hands. "Sixpence, did she say? Nay, tell her a
shilling, for the sole needs stitching as well."
"Oh, but you must keep that for another day," said Angel, "so we can come
again."
"How she tries to keep you down," said the cobbler. "How old are you now?"