Lily’s first real luncheon at La Solitude consisted of the remains of
last night’s excellent, almost luxurious supper. But a rough-looking,
unbleached tablecloth had taken the place of the beautiful lace one, and
the fine cut-glass decanters had disappeared from the sideboard.
They all three drank out of coarse, thick glass tumblers, and they ate
off heavy yellow plates. But the food was of the best, and they all make
a good and hearty meal—once, indeed, Aunt Cosy, looking affectionately
at the girl, exclaimed: “Yes, do not stint yourself, my little Lily, for
we have to live as a rule exceedingly simply. It is a strange fact”—a
hard tone came into her voice—“that Cristina has never learnt to cook.
Even I can cook better than Cristina!”
She looked at her husband as she spoke, and he, glancing up, observed in
French: “She does well enough. We have to buy cooked food, as fuel is so
dear.”
“Yes,” said the Countess crossly, “but fuel was not always dear. And
Cristina always cooked badly.” She turned to Lily: “I had thought of
asking you if you knew a little simple cooking—the delicious milk
puddings that I used to have at The Nest long years ago even now make my
mouth water, as you so funnily say in England. They are nutritious, and
at the same time cheap. But they do not teach English girls to do such
useful things.”
“Indeed they do!” answered Lily, smiling. “I’ll cook you a rice pudding
to-night, if you like, Aunt Cosy, though I don’t know if I shall be able
to brown the top properly as you haven’t got an oven!”
“No, no, I do not want you to roughen those pretty hands before Beppo
arrives,” observed the Countess. Then, all at once, she broke into rapid
French: “I am explaining to our little friend that I want her to look
her best when Beppo arrives.”
“Beppo?” queried the Count. “But Beppo is not coming, that I know of,
before the end of January?”
“Oh yes, he is! He is coming very soon. I heard from him to-day.”
Lily felt surprised, for Cristina had told her that morning that there
were no postal deliveries on Sunday at La Solitude.
They all three got up and went back into the drawing-room, and at once
the Count walked over to the card-table and, sitting down, started on
his Patience again.
“And now what will _you_ do?” said the Countess hesitatingly, turning to
Lily.
“I will go into the kitchen, Aunt Cosy, and help Cristina to wash up,”
said the girl.
“But take care of those pretty hands!” The warning was uttered very
seriously.
Poor Lily! She could not help rather regretting her offer. At home there
had been gallons of hot water, nice clean teacloths—everything, in a
word, required for the tiresome process known as washing-up. But
Cristina simply piled everything into a basin full of tepid water, then
she rubbed each plate with a dirty-looking little mop, and finally
handed each plate and dish to Lily to dry with what looked like a rather
worn old towel!
Suddenly Lily realised that the towel she was using to wipe the plates
was the very towel, with a hole in it, with which she had dried herself
with such very mixed feelings in the outhouse this morning! It almost
made the gently nurtured English girl feel sick; and yet what could she
say or do? Cristina evidently saw nothing wrong in it. And it was a
fact—to Lily rather a shocking fact—that the plates looked perfectly
clean after having been submitted to this disgusting process.
All at once Cristina crept up close to her—it was such a quick, stealthy
movement that it startled Lily.
“Listen,” said the old woman. “Listen, Mademoiselle! You must insist on
having enough to eat! You are paying one hundred and twenty-five francs
a week. I know it; for the Countess had to tell me. So do not let her
starve you!”
“Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t do that!” said Lily.
She smiled, but deep in her heart she was grateful to old Cristina.
“What am I to say?” she whispered back.
“You are to say that you must have two eggs and two cutlets every
day—also two large glassfuls of milk,” said Cristina quickly.
“But surely there will be plenty of food when Count Beppo arrives?” said
Lily.
Cristina shook her head. “The young Count is not coming till after New
Year,” she said.
“Oh yes, he is! The Countess told us at luncheon that she had heard from
him to-day, and that he was coming very much sooner—perhaps in a week or
ten days.”
Cristina looked extremely surprised. Then she said suddenly: “Even so,
speak to-day, Mademoiselle. Why be short of food for ten days?”
A dozen questions sprang to the girl’s lips. But she did not wish to
discuss her host and hostess with even the most trusted and best-liked
servant. Even so, she made up her mind to take Cristina’s advice, and to
tell Aunt Cosy courteously but firmly that she had been used at home to
good plain food, and, further, that the doctor had said she required
feeding up.
* * * * *
Lily had only half-written her first letter to Uncle Tom when she heard
the front-door bell echo through the house. She had not heard that bell
ring since M. Popeau had pulled the rusty iron bell-pull on her first
arrival at La Solitude, for their last night’s visitor had come up
through the orange grove and across the lawn. The front door seemed to
be scarcely ever used.
She got up and opening her door, waited for quite a little while. No
doubt it was M. Popeau and Captain Stuart? She was astonished at her own
keen pleasure, and, yes, relief, at the idea of seeing her two kind
friends again. And then, when there came another peal, she made up her
mind to run downstairs. She could not help feeling that Aunt Cosy was
not at all anxious to continue her slight acquaintance with M. Popeau.
It would be dreadful, _dreadful_, if Cristina had been told to say “Not
at home.”
At the bottom of the staircase a door was open, giving access to a room
Lily had not yet seen. It was evidently the Countess’s own sitting-room.
But there was a big writing-table near the window, and it looked more
like a man’s study than a lady’s boudoir.
The Countess was standing not far from the door, with a very singular
expression on her face. She appeared startled, even frightened, as also
did Cristina, who was standing close to her. They both looked up when
they heard the girl’s light footsteps on the uncarpeted stairs. “Shall
Mademoiselle answer the door?” Lily heard Cristina whisper.
“I think it must be M. Popeau and Captain Stuart,” said Lily a little
nervously.
“Of course! How foolish of me not to have thought of them!”
The Countess’s face cleared, her look of anxiety was succeeded by one of
relief. “Run, Cristina! Run and open the door to the two English
gentlemen. What will they think of us keeping them waiting like this?”
Then she turned to the girl: “I have no tea in the house, but you have
some tea, I know, Lily. Will you give a little to Cristina?”
“It’s so early—only three o’clock. I don’t think they’ll want tea now,”
said the girl smiling. She was feeling extraordinarily pleased at the
thought of seeing her two travelling companions again.
But alas the visit was a disappointment to Lily.
They all five sat in a formal circle round the empty grate of the stuffy
salon for some time, and Lily had no opportunity of exchanging a word
alone with the visitors. M. Popeau talked a great deal, in fact at one
moment he even out-talked the Countess. He answered her many questions
as to life in war-time Paris with the utmost frankness and good humour;
and he carelessly brought into his conversation the names of many
well-known Parisians, all, it appeared, good friends of his. As he had
intended should happen, his hostess’s respect for him visibly grew.
But when the genial Frenchman threw out a suggestion that Miss Fairfield
should come back with him and with Captain Stuart to spend an hour at
the Casino, the Countess shook her head.
“No, no,” she exclaimed. “Nice English people do not gamble on Sunday,
M. Popeau! I should have thought that even you would have known that,
speaking such beautiful English as you do. I seldom go down the hill.
But soon my son will be here, and he will escort Miss Fairfield where I
myself may not go. My son is an Italian, so he can do as he likes when
he comes here; he can even go to the Club and play—to my regret. But his
father cannot do so, being a native of the Principality!”
At last the Countess turned her attention to Captain Stuart, and it is
not too much to say that she riddled her younger visitor with questions.
How long had he been a soldier? In which of the battles of the war had
he fought? Where exactly had he been wounded? How much money did a
British captain earn? Was he an only child, or had he brothers and
sisters? Were his parents still alive, and in what part of Scotland did
they live?
All these somewhat indiscreet questions Captain Stuart answered with
composure. But finally, when the Countess, looking at him searchingly,
suddenly asked how long he had known Miss Fairfield, Lily was astonished
to hear him answer thoughtfully: “It seems a lifetime to me since I
first met Miss Fairfield.” But after he had made this surprising answer,
he looked across at Lily, and she saw a funny little twinkle in his eye.
A break occurred when Cristina opened the door noiselessly and announced
that _gouter_ was quite ready.
The whole party went off to the dining-room, where, Lily saw with
amazement, the splendours of the night before had been restored. Once
more the lace tablecloth was spread out on the round table, once more
the fruit was piled on the beautiful high crystal dishes, and now there
were five old painted china teacups set out in a semi-circle. The only
incongruous touch was that the tea had been made in a fine old silver
coffee-pot.
“Will you pour out the tea, dear child?” said the Countess suavely.
“That is a task we always delegate to young ladies,” she said, turning
to M. Popeau. “In England the old wait upon the young. But that is not
right.”
Lily poured out some of the straw-coloured liquid into each of the cups.
Both M. Popeau and Uncle Angelo took three lumps of sugar; Captain
Stuart took none. As for the Countess, she declared she would not have
any tea at all.
And then, at last, having spent altogether a little over an hour at La
Solitude, the two visitors prepared to depart. Lily and the Count walked
down with them through the garden, the Countess having decided that she
would stay in the house. And then, for the first time, Lily and Captain
Stuart were able to exchange a few words.
“Can’t you give your aunt the slip and come off with us now, just as you
are?” he asked in a low voice.
Lily shook her head. “Aunt Cosy would never forgive me! She’d be awfully
shocked if I were to do that after what she said.”
“I suppose she would,” said the young man reluctantly. “Still, she can’t
keep you cooped up here all the time. Do make her understand that in
England girls go about by themselves, Miss Fairfield.”
“I’ll try and make her understand it,” said Lily, smiling, “but it won’t
be easy. She’s _tremendously_ determined.”
“I can see that. I hope they’re nice to you?” he added a little
anxiously. And he looked at her with one of the quick, shrewd looks to
which she had become accustomed during their long journey together.
But this time there was something added—a something which made Lily’s
heart beat. She asked herself inconsequently what exactly he had meant
when he said that he felt as if he had known her a lifetime? But all she
said was:
“They are very kind to me in their own way, and I think I’m going to be
quite happy here.”
Twice, while she and the young man had been talking apart together, she
had seen Uncle Angelo look towards them uncomfortably, hesitatingly,
almost as if he thought he ought to cut across their conversation.
“Can’t you come down for a game of tennis early to-morrow morning? Do! I
could come and fetch you any time you fix.”
Perhaps M. Popeau heard the whispered invitation, for he said to Uncle
Angelo: “By the way, it has suddenly occurred to me, could not you and
Mademoiselle lunch with me to-morrow?”
The Count hesitated. It was clear that he was very much tempted to
accept. “I’m not certain about my wife’s plans,” he said at last, “so I
fear I must refuse your kind invitation this time.”
“Captain Stuart has to go to Milan for a few days, and I am giving
myself the pleasure of accompanying him. But we shall certainly be back
by next Sunday,” said M. Popeau amiably.
Lily felt curiously taken aback—indeed, sharply disappointed. The
thought that her late fellow-travellers were going to be away for
something like a week filled her with dismay.
She had known vaguely about this proposed trip of Captain Stuart’s, for
during their journey he had asked M. Popeau about the trains from Monte
Carlo to Milan, explaining that he had a relation living there who had
asked him to come over and see him. But at that time Captain Stuart had
been a stranger to her—now she felt as if he was an old friend!
Perhaps something of what she was feeling showed in her face, for the
Scotsman said suddenly: “I don’t really want to go to Milan this week,
Popeau. Why shouldn’t I wire and say I will come later on?”
But M. Popeau shook his head decidedly.
“You forget, my friend, that all arrangements have been made. I do not
think that we can make any change now.”
“Well, well,” said the Count easily. “I shall look forward to seeing you
again, messieurs, in about ten days’ time. Meanwhile, my young niece can
have a real rest. She has been ill, and must not over-exert herself.
There will be plenty of time to show her the sights of Monte Carlo after
you return.”
They were standing round the little gate which formed the boundary of
the property of La Solitude, and after shaking hands, English fashion,
with Captain Stuart and M. Popeau, the Count and Lily slowly made their
way up to the house again.
The Countess was waiting for them, rather impatiently, in the salon. And
then all at once Lily summoned up courage to say very quietly but very
firmly: “I’m afraid, Aunt Cosy, you’ll have to become accustomed to my
going about by myself. You see, I’m not a French girl but an English
girl. I simply couldn’t stay in a house where I didn’t feel free to come
and go.”
“But of course you’re free!” exclaimed the Countess. “Absolutely free,
dear child. I regret not having allowed you to go out this afternoon
with M. Popeau and your old friend, Captain Stuart, but I did not think
you would like to do what English people do at Monte Carlo on Sundays.”
“I did not want to go to the Casino,” said Lily, firmly. “But I do want
to join the tennis club, and to have a good game now and again. I
suppose you know some lady who would put me up, Aunt Cosy?”
The Countess hadn’t the slightest idea of what Lily meant by being “put
up,” but she nodded amiably.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “I will certainly find some lady. Meanwhile your
Uncle Angelo will take you down to Monte Carlo to-morrow morning, just
to show you the way. He has purchases to make, and he will be able to
see about the tennis. It is, so I understand, quite a young girl’s
game.”
“That Parisian asked me to lunch to-morrow; he desired Lily to come
too,” interposed the Count.
“Oh, I do not think you can do that, my friend,” said the Countess
decidedly. “I wish you to help with several important matters to-morrow.
You can go some other day.”
“He and the Englishman are going away to Italy for a few days.”
“Are they indeed?” said the Countess, indifferently. She hesitated—“I
would like to ask you what is perhaps a very indiscreet question, my
sweet child,” and she fixed her bright, differently-coloured eyes full
on Lily.
“Yes, Aunt Cosy?” The girl looked up.
“I suppose you are not what is called in England ‘engaged’?” asked Aunt
Cosy, very deliberately.
The colour flamed up in Lily’s cheeks. “No, I am not engaged, Aunt
Cosy.”
There was a curious pause, and then the Countess went on: “When you are
writing to your uncle, dear girl, I hope you will tell him that we are
doing our best to make you happy”—there was a pleading, almost an
anxious, tone in her voice.
“Of course I will!” said Lily affectionately.
She felt, as she expressed it to herself, “rather a pig” for having
stood up to the Countess. She was astonished too, at her easy victory.
Aunt Emmeline had been so very different! _She_ would never give in if
she thought a thing wrong. Lily could not help reflecting that the five
pounds a week must mean a great deal to Count and Countess Polda. She
could see that they were both painfully anxious that she should stay on
at La Solitude, and be happy and comfortable there.
* * * * *
A week can pass like a flash, or it can seem an eternity. The first week
of Lily Fairfield’s stay at La Solitude was, truth to tell, more like a
month, and a very long month, than a week. She did her best to feel
happy and comfortable, though it was a strange kind of life for a girl
used to all the cheerful comings and goings of an English country town.
After she had helped Cristina with the housework each morning there was
absolutely nothing left to do during the rest of the day.
Twice during that long week Lily accompanied the Count into Monte Carlo,
or rather into that part of the Principality which lies in a hollow
between Monaco and Monte Carlo, and which is called the Condamine. While
there, they had spent the whole of their time shopping in the funny
little native shops, the Count bargaining as if the question of a few
sous was of the utmost moment to him.
The second time they went down the hill, she asked Uncle Angelo to show
her where the English service was held each Sunday, and it was then that
he offered to show her the English bank. Indeed, the only time she was
allowed to go to Monte Carlo by herself was when she suggested that she
should pay the Countess four weeks in advance.
It had seemed strange at first to be walking all alone in a foreign
town, but she had managed quite well, and the famous bankers had been
very courteous to their pretty new client. The gentleman to whom she had
given her letter of credit had shaken his head when she had told him
about the unfortunate theft of fifty pounds, but he had not been as
surprised as she had been that the police had not been told about it.
“It would have been sheer waste of time, my dear young lady,” he said
smiling, “and would have only exposed your relations to a great deal of
worry. A visit from the police always entails a great deal of fuss and
unpleasantness on the Continent.”
During the same little expedition Lily bought, at a very big price, six
wicker chairs and a little outdoor table as a present to Aunt Cosy; and
to her relief the Countess seemed delighted with the gift. As the days
went on it became increasingly clear to Lily Fairfield that either the
Count and Countess Polda were very poor, or very mean. They were always
trying to save a sou here and a sou there; they were extraordinarily
fond, too, of talking about money.
One rather surprising, and, yes, exciting, thing happened to Lily during
that long, dull first week at La Solitude.
Captain Stuart wrote her three longish letters. They were simple,
informal, pleasant letters, telling her something of how Milan had
struck him, and how grateful he was to good-natured M. Popeau. But
though they were in a sense quite ordinary epistles, they gave the girl
pleasure, and made her feel less lonely.
But when the second letter came Lily could not help having an
uncomfortable suspicion that it had been steamed open and then closed
down again. She hated herself for suspecting such a thing, but she had
already come to the conclusion that Aunt Cosy was sly and, when it
suited her, very unscrupulous.
Now, it is an unfortunate fact that slyness always breeds slyness. Lily
had a frank, open, straightforward nature; but, then, she had always
been treated by Uncle Tom and Aunt Emmeline in a frank, open,
straightforward way. Neither of them would have dreamt of opening one of
her letters! Had they thought she was carrying on an unsuitable
correspondence they would have taxed her with it at once, and Aunt
Emmeline might have gone so far as to forbid her to receive letters from
a correspondent of whom she did not approve. But it would all have been
frank and above board.
Henceforth Lily took good care to be up when the postman came to the
door, and so, when Captain Stuart’s third letter arrived on the Saturday
morning, it was handed to her direct. In this last letter the Scotsman
told her that he hoped to see her at the English Church service on
Sunday morning.
That was all. And yet it cast a glow of pleasure over the whole of that
long, dull Saturday. It was hot and airless, even up at La Solitude, and
in the night there was a terrific storm of thunder, wind, and rain.