“Ha!” said Lord Ottercove. “Was it like that?”
“I keep pretty close to life where I can,” answered Dickin.
“Well, go on. What happened to the woman, Mrs. Kerr?”
“They could not afford to stay on at the pension, and they took a room
and a kitchen in town, for the four of them. But she would not cut out
the dances.
“‘You know, Frederick Fyodorovich, what I’ll tell you. I am disappointed
in Tamara Leonidovna. As you know, all our things have been confiscated
by the bailiff. Everything, everything! But I managed to smuggle through
a bedroom carpet to a friend of mine at Bozen, and I gave Tamara
Leonidovna 500.000 Kronen, over thirty shillings, to go to Bozen and
bring the carpet. But my friend in Bozen, when she saw her, got
positively frightened of Tamara Leonidovna, who really looks forbidding.
A dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, just like a Gipsy. Those lips, those
consuming eyes. She is terribly sensual, you know.’
“‘Is she?’
“‘You don’t mean to say that you haven’t noticed it?’
“‘I haven’t.’
“‘Hasn’t she made any advances to you?’
“‘No.’
“Mrs. Kerr thought for a space. ‘Well, all the more honour to her, then.
Because, you can see by her face and whole figure how hard it is for her
to bridle her passions. The tram-driver, Herr König, won’t have her come
near him now that they’re divorced. He has another woman. And poor
Tamara Leonidovna, who has been used to a married life, doesn’t know
what to do with herself. But she leads, I think, an exemplary life. And
all the more honour to her, I say--but it’s not good, it’s a strain on
her. Well, the lady got such a fright when she saw Tamara Leonidovna
that she would not give the carpet. And Tamara Leonidovna got so scared
of the lady being scared to death of her that when the lady did offer to
give her the carpet Tamara Leonidovna wouldn’t take it. And her German,
as you know, is not up to much.
“‘“Why didn’t you take the carpet when she offered it, Tamara
Leonidovna?” I cried when she returned on Saturday, empty-handed--just
as I am waving my hair to go to the Hôtel d’Europe ball. Imagine my
position: I hadn’t a Krone left. The last went to pay for the entrance
tickets, for I was counting on Tamara Leonidovna returning with the
bedroom carpet. And my hair already waved. And here she stands and says:
“She wouldn’t give the carpet.” And looks at me like that--uncertainly,
and adds: “Besides, I was afraid of the Customs.”
“‘“The Customs?” I say. “Then you _did_ have a chance to get the carpet
from her?”
“‘“I had a chance ...” she says, uncertainly.
“‘“Then why--why--why (I was so angry that I shook the curling tongs at
her) tell me ... otherwise?” I wanted to say “a lie,” but restrained
myself.
“‘“Ah, if that’s the way you talk to me, after all my kindness to you,
good-bye to you,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.
“‘I rushed off to the station restaurant, where my husband always dines
with the Rittmeister. “Charles!” I cried, “that woman has come back
without the carpet! What _am_ I to do now? I am dressed for the ball and
I’ve ordered the table and I’ve no money to pay for the champagne
supper! What _am_ I to do, Charles?’”
“‘And what did he do?’
“‘He cursed me, Fyodor Ferdinandovich. Cursed me, cursed me, cursed
me--oh, _terrible_! He never talks to me now--only curses.’
“‘And the Rittmeister?’
“‘The Rittmeister laughed.’
“The Rittmeister must have laughed very contagiously, for, remembering
how he laughed, Mrs. Kerr began to laugh too, at first quietly, then
louder and louder, till her laughter became riotous. ‘What a life!’ she
sighed, wiping the tears that had come to her eyes from laughing so
heartily. ‘I have ceased to take myself, or my clothes, or my life, or
my fate seriously. I only look and laugh, look in wonder, in
astonishment--and laugh. But, as I tell you, I am disappointed in Tamara
Leonidovna. And what language she uses! Like a cab-driver. I am grateful
to God that my children do not know Russian. And that poor student she
wants to marry!’
“‘Why “poor”?’
“‘She will consume him. She is fire.’
“‘Daddy ought to know her,’ from Zita.
“‘He knows her.’
“‘But closer.’
“However, they went to the Hôtel d’Europe ball and there they met
Viscount de Jones, who knew them. And I presume he paid for the
champagne supper.”
“Look here,” said Lord Ottercove, looking worried, “now you are actually
using real names. Well-known names.”
Frank smiled.
“I have kept all the original names deliberately so as to attract your
attention. I knew I would have to change them for publication. But this
is a small matter.”
Lord Ottercove smiled, then leaned back and laughed. “That was clever of
you! I must confess that but for the names my serial editor might have
easily passed it over.... So de Jones paid, did he?” Lord Ottercove
looked pensive.
“I presume so.”
“But actually you know who pays?”
“Who?”
Lord Ottercove pointed a forefinger at his own chest.
Frank Dickin looked at him with dull amazement, but as Lord Ottercove
looked morose, did not press for explanation. “The silly woman rather
advertised her connection with Lord de Jones and told me, as though she
were giving me a hundred pounds, that she was going to introduce me to
the noble lord! I hadn’t the slightest interest to meet him. A pretty
big fool, I imagine, to judge by his tastes in women.”
“He has married my niece,” said Lord Ottercove.
“No!... I say, this is rather a brick I’ve let fall.”
“You mean to say you didn’t know it?”
“Well--how shall I say?--I did and I didn’t. I thought it would help to
keep up your flagging interest in my serial if I introduced into it
Hidden Hand bits from the back-door life of your relative. Not that I
know much about him. We novelists have to rely largely on our own
imagination. Though I remember now that Lord and Lady de Jones were on
their honeymoon and put up at the Tirolerhof in Innsbruck.”
“That’s a bigger brick than the first.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Not a bit of it. I don’t think you realise that what interests me most
in your serial is not what de Jones does but why he does it. What it is
that attracts him so in Mrs. Kerr. It must be nearly twenty years now
since he first met her, I believe, in Russia. Or was she already
married? And now I realise. You have conveyed her character wonderfully
well. I think it is that extraordinary irresponsibility,
that--that--that something else. It’s there, I feel it, though I can’t
for the moment describe the peculiar fascination. What else can it be?
Is she still so good-looking?”
“Good-looking, no, but attractive. Her daughters have it from her.”
“He always goes back to her. It is the second time he is married. My
niece should never have married him. But there is genius in him. He
could have been a second Newton if he had wanted to. As it is he is a
Genius of the Untried. They are all like that, the whole family. I have
a great affection for him. But Eleonor is determined to divorce him.
He’ll be quite penniless unless I find him something to do. But go on.
What happened to the woman?”
“I lost sight of them soon after that dance, and Frau König told me they
had gone off to Abbazia, while Lord de Jones had returned to England. I
enquired about her own affairs. ‘Everything now depends on the knitting
machine, which is due to arrive in March.’
“‘And your fiancé in Paris?’
“‘He is saving money for the factory. But imagine!’ she exclaimed, ‘in
his last letter--so pathetic--he writes that the franc, owing to the
political machinations of the Cartel des Gauches, has all gone to pieces
and reduced the potential capital of our knitting factory.’
“We spoke of Mrs. Kerr. ‘Your Mrs. Kerr,’ said Tamara Leonidovna, ‘is a
goose. Just a Great Big Goose.... What a fool that woman is! Not a cent
in her pocket, not an idea in her top storey beyond dancing and pleasing
men--at her age! A newly married man, too--just because he is a lord!
Openly, before her daughters! What matter that she is divorced? I, too,
am divorced and six years younger than she is, but I keep myself back.’
A look of strain came into her face. ‘I don’t let myself go.’ She set
her jaw, clenched her fists. ‘I try to keep myself in check. I have more
pride, more self-respect than ... than.... When he comes back from Paris
then ... then ... then yes.’”
“Go on,” said Lord Ottercove.