THE WALSINGHAM HOUSE (PICCADILLY)
"Oh, yes," said my maiden aunt. "I read of your going out to dinners
and taking actresses and grass-widows and other pretty ladies to dine.
I wonder you are not tired of so much frivolity."
I answered meekly that the worthlessness of my life was often felt
seriously by me, and that I took actresses and grass-widows out to
dinner because they were kind enough to say that they enjoyed such
little outings; but that I would really prefer much more serious
company.
My aunt drew down the corners of her mouth and looked at me through her
spectacles with supreme disapproval.
"If I could only," I went on, revelling in my wickedness, "secure a
missionary lady, or a captain in the Salvation Army, or a shining
light of the Pioneer Club, or even one of my maiden aunts, as a dining
companion, do you think for a moment that I would dally with the
butterflies of the pasture or the stage?"
My maiden aunt was so angry that she sniffed. "As if you would think
of asking us!" she said with a snap. "I have noticed you have been
facetious at the expense of an imaginary invalid aunt; but you would be
very sorry to ask me out really."
"But I do ask you. It would be one of the greatest honours of my life
to entertain you at dinner."
My aunt sat silent for a moment or two, her lips so tightly shut that
they were almost white. Then there came a tiny twinkle in her eyes.
"Very well," she said, "when you name an evening I'll come--just to
punish you."
I felt afterwards that I had done a bold thing, and while I was about
it I rather regretted that I had not asked my grave and spectacled
relative to sup at a Bohemian restaurant--the contrast would have been
as delicious as a _soufflé en surprise_; but dinner it had to be, and
as the good lady told all the rest of the family that I had asked her
to dinner, but was meanly trying to get out of the offer, I wrote
a formal invitation requesting the pleasure of her company at the
Walsingham House at 8 P.M., and to this I received a formal answer of
acceptance.
The Walsingham House restaurant is in the house which the Isthmian
Club occupied so long, and it forms part of the block of chambers and
hotels that stretches from the Green Park to Arlington Street. Its name
in great gilt letters stands out boldly on the red-brick face; and the
twin entrances, with glass shelters, one to the dwelling-house, the
other to the restaurant, have become well-known features of Piccadilly.
A flight of steps leads up from the door to the restaurant, and at the
top of these stairs there is a comfortable ante-room; but I preferred
to wait by the fireplace in the hall, so as to be on the spot when my
aunt arrived.
She came in a four-wheeler, the driver of which is a special retainer
of hers. He is sober and he goes to church, and as the possessor of
these two cardinal virtues, he is retained to drive my aunt on all
special occasions. I saw the glint of her spectacles through the cab
window, and went out to welcome her.
"Well, I've come, you see," she said with a certain amount of grimness;
and when I said that that was the proudest moment of my life, she
bridled and tossed her head to show how much faith she put in speeches
of that kind. I told the faithful cabman that he had better be in
evidence at half-past nine, and then I waited on the landing while my
aunt went up to the region of the second floor to leave her cloak.
When she reappeared, I found that she was in her raiment of ceremony,
and felt duly honoured. She was wearing her best black silk dress, a
dress of such richness of silk that--so the family tradition goes--it
will stand up of itself, and her most highly ornamented lace cap. She
had her thick gold chain on, her brooch of rose diamonds, and her long
enamel earrings. I ushered her in to the table for two, which I had
reserved, and she settled down with a rustle, and then looked round
somewhat defiantly.
"Are you well known here?" she asked, and I said that I occasionally
lunched or dined in the restaurant. "I only hope that they won't take
me for one of your actress friends--that's all," she said, and, do what
I could, I could not prevent the corners of my mouth from twitching. I
was told severely that it was no laughing matter; and, putting her fan
down by her plate, my aunt took up the menu and read it through:--
Hors-d'œuvre.
Croûte au pot. Mock turtle.
Filets de sole Dutru.
Tournedos Walsingham.
Pommes soufflées.
Suprême de volaille Jeannette.
Canard sauvage.
Salade.
Artichauts Hollandaises.
Glaces Napolitaines.
Patisserie.
My respected relative knows what constitutes a good dinner as well as
anybody does; and though she would have dearly loved to be able to
pick a hole in the menu, she put it down with a satisfied expression,
and, indeed, except for the _croûte au pot_, which is to me what King
Charles's head was to poor Mr. Dick, it was a very well-considered
dinner.
I ate the mock turtle, very good soup, but still a foreigner's idea of
what is a thoroughly Britannic dish, and while I did so my aunt, who
had refused soup, sat and watched me. "You have been getting terribly
stout of late years," she said, as I put down my spoon, "and for a man
with a neck like yours that is dangerous. There is apoplexy in the
family; one of your poor dear great-uncles died in an apoplectic fit.
He always ate and drank too much, poor fellow."
The _filets de sole_, with their slight flavouring of cheese and
accompanying shrimps and _moules_, were excellent. My aunt supped her
champagne, and the corners of her mouth relaxed. But she still had some
ammunition to fire away. "You were not at church last Sunday," she
said with severity; but that was a matter I declined to discuss while
eating dinner, and, to change the subject, I drew her attention to the
beauties of the room, the deep frieze admirably painted with subjects
of the chase, showing how our skin-clad ancestors collected their
venison and game birds, the cunningly concealed lights, the panelling
of inlaid woods, the white pillars and cornices just touched with gold,
the comfortable brown-red carpet and chairs to match it, the curtains
of deep crimson velvet, the ceiling with its little cupids floating
on roseate clouds; and the old lady nodded her head in approval. M.
Renato, the spick-and-span little manager; the waiters with white
waistcoats, gold buttons to their coats, and a thin piping of gold on
their collars; the band playing subdued music, the brass candelabra on
the table with red shades, the fine napery and glass, were all noted by
her. I told my aunt that the coat-of-arms on the china, supported by
two griffins scratching their backs with their noses, were the arms of
the De Greys, and with a "Hoity-toity!" I was requested not to give her
lectures in heraldry.
The _tournedos Walsingham_, with truffles, _fonds d'artichauts_ and
a pink sauce so cunningly mixed that one could not tell what the
ingredients were, showed the artistic hand of M. Dutru; and the cold
entrée, the _suprême de volaille_ served on a rock of glass, was
excellent. My aunt by now was in an inquiring mood, and wanted to know
if there were any of my actress friends among the many diners--for by
half-past eight nearly every table was occupied. I was sorry that I
could not show her any lights of the stage, but I could tell her of the
Irish lord who was giving a family dinner-party, of the old general
dining _tête-à-tête_ with his son, and of the three foreign attachés
who were inventing fables as to the Dreyfus case for each other's
benefit.
The duck, the artichokes, and the ice were all that they should be, and
my aunt was thoroughly pleased, for she told me, smilingly, that she
had always considered me the scapegrace of the family.
I paid my bill. Two dinners, 15s.; two cafés doubles, 1s. 6d.;
champagne, 15s.; liqueurs, 2s.; total, £1: 13: 6.
The faithful cabman was waiting outside, and as my aunt got into the
cab she tapped me on the arm with her fan, and said that she had
enjoyed herself.
Perhaps, after all, the old lady will remember me in her will.
21_st January_.
* * * * *
I asked Mons. Gelardi, the manager of the Walsingham House, if he would
be so kind as to give me the _recette_ for the _tournedos Walsingham_,
and M. Dutru very kindly wrote it out for me.
Tournedos Walsingham
_Faire sauter les tournedos à feu vif: dresser sur fonds d'artichauts
et saucer d'une sauce madère avec lames de truffes; envoyer à part une
saucière de Béarnaise à la tomate et pommes._
[Illustration]
Cook your tournedos over a quick fire, place them on _fonds
d'artichauts_ and add Madeira sauce and sliced truffles. Serve
separately Béarnaise sauce _à la tomate_ and potatoes.
M. Gelardi also told me of a dinner for fifty people that was to be
served at the Walsingham the next night, and showed me the menu.
Hors-d'œuvre.
Caviar. Saumon fumé.
Tortue claire. Velouté printanier Royal.
Truite saumonée glacée au champagne.
Sole à la Meunière.
Filets de poulet aux truffes. Petits pois à l'anglaise.
Selle d'agneau de Galles. Artichauts aux frais herbes.
Suprême de cailles Valsingham.
Timbale d'écrevisses Américaine.
Sorbet au Clicquot Rosé.
Caneton de Rouen Rouennaise.
Salade Rachel.
Asperges d'Argenteuil hollandaise.
Cerise Jubilé. Bombe Alaska.
Friandises.
Soufflé au Paprica. Dessert.