Produced by Al Haines.
*MASTER AND MAID*
BY
*MRS. L. ALLEN HARKER*
AUTHOR OF "MISS ESPERANCE AND MR. WYCHERLY,"
"A ROMANCE OF THE NURSERY," "HIS FIRST LEAVE,"
"CONCERNING PAUL AND FIAMMETTA," ETC.
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
TO
A. W. A. H.
"The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies."
*BOOKS BY L. ALLEN HARKER*
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Master and Maid
Miss Esperance and Mr. Wycherly
Concerning Paul and Fiammetta
A Romance of the Nursery
*MASTER AND MAID*
*CHAPTER I*
On the second Friday of term Anthony Bevan, whom all his world called
"Bruiser Bevan," Housemaster of "B. House" in Hamchester College, sat at
dessert with three of his prefects. They had exhaustively discussed the
prospects of the coming football season, had mutually exchanged their
holiday experiences, and now, when it was really time that the boys
should betake themselves to their several studies, they still lingered
enjoying the last few pleasant moments over the walnuts and the very
light port that their housemaster considered suited to their young
digestions.
The big window at the end of the room stood open to the soft September
evening, and the sudden crunch of wheels upon the newly gravelled drive
was plainly audible, followed as it was by a loud ring.
Master and boys fell silent, listening; and the parlour-maid opened the
dining-room door.
"Please, sir, there's a young lady--" she began; when the tale was taken
up by another voice, a young voice, singularly full and pleasant:
"It's me, Tony, dear; and didn't you expect me? Dad promised faithfully
he would telegraph, but I suppose he forgot, as usual; and oh, I'm so
tired! We had a good crossing, but I couldn't sleep, it was so stuffy."
Val, the Irish terrier, who always lay under his master's chair, rushed
at the newcomer, leaping upon her in rapturous and excited welcome.
"Ah! 'tis the dear dog is pleased to see me. Down, Val, down! You'll
tear me to bits! Dear Val! but your welcome is too warm altogether."
Into the circle of light thrown by the hanging lamp above the table came
a girl--a remarkably upright, small, slim girl of nineteen--clad in a
long light grey travelling coat, with a voluminous grey gauze veil
thrown back from her hat. Her little face was delicately featured and
pale. She was not particularly noticeable until she spoke: then the
_timbre_ of her voice was arresting, it was so full and sweet--not in
the least degree loud, but singularly clear and musical, with the
unmistakable lilt of a Southern Irish brogue.
Tony Bevan leapt to his feet and advanced to meet her, holding out both
his hands.
"You, Lallie! now! Why, I didn't expect you for another fortnight.
Your father's letter only----"
"Well, I'm here, Tony," she interrupted, "sure enough, and I'm ravenous.
Can't I sit down with you and these gentlemen and have some dinner
now--at once? I'm fairly clean, for I had ever such a wash at
Birmingham."
The girl included the three prefects who stood around the table in her
remarks, smiling radiantly upon the assembled company, and one of them
hastily set his chair for her near the head of the table which was
Tony's place.
As she sat down she flashed another entrancing smile in the direction of
the prefect exclaiming:
"Bring another chair now and sit down by me, and don't on any account
let me spoil your dinners. Just take it that I'm a few courses late,
and you'll all be kind and keep me company. Have some more nuts now,
do, and then I'll feel more at home."
With the best will in the world those three prefects sat down again, and
each one hastily helped himself to nuts, in spite of the fact that their
host, far from seconding the newcomer's invitation, turned right round
in his chair to look at the clock.
The concentrated and admiring gaze of three pairs of eyes did not in the
smallest degree disconcert her. She was manifestly and perfectly at her
ease. Not so her host; he looked distinctly worried and perturbed,
though he hastened to ring the bell and order some dinner for his
evidently unexpected guest. Then he sat down and poured her out a glass
of claret.
"Child, have you come straight from Kerry?" he asked.
"I left home yesterday afternoon and crossed at night, and I seem to
have been travelling ever since."
"By yourself?" Tony asked anxiously.
"The Beamishes met me at Chester, and I had a bath and luncheon at their
house, and afterwards we drove round the city. Oh! here's my dinner,
and it's thankful I am to see it. How nice of you not to have eaten all
the duck!"
Again she included all the company in her charming smile, and the senior
prefect helped himself anew to nuts.
"You're very quiet, Tony," she said, turning to her host; "not a patch
upon Val in your welcome. Am I in the way? Is there not a bed for me?
If so, you must take me to some kind of a lodging after dinner. Dad
forbade me to go to any sort of an hotel."
"Of course, of course," Tony exclaimed hastily, "it will be quite all
right, only it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be away
this week, just when you have come."
"For my part," she said, catching her opposite neighbour's eye and
making a little face, "I think that I will manage to exist without Miss
Foster quite nicely till her return. Don't you worry about me, Tony. I
feel quite at home already. I know you, Mr. Berry," and she nodded at
the senior prefect. "Paddy's got your portrait, and you come in lots of
groups. Don't you think, Tony, you ought to present these other
gentlemen to me?"
Mechanically Tony Bevan made the required introductions. Whereupon the
stranger added:
"I'm Paddy Clonmell's twin sister, you know; he was here last term, but
he's gone to Sandhurst now. You'll remember him quite well, don't you?"
"_Rather!_" came in vigorous chorus from the three, and for the moment
Tony Bevan's anxious expression changed to one of amusement.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck half-past eight.
"I think you fellows will need to go," said Tony; "Miss Clonmell will
excuse you; it's more than time you were doing your prep."
"Ah, well, we'll meet again to-morrow," Miss Clonmell announced
cheerfully. "There's ever so many of you I want to see. I know lots of
you by name as well as can be."
As the door was shut behind the last of the prefects the girl drew her
chair nearer to Tony's and laid a small deprecating hand upon his arm.
"I'm afraid I'm fearfully in the way, Tony," she said, in a voice that
subtly combined excuse, apology, and reproach. "You don't seem a bit
glad to see me; and if you won't let me stay here, Dad says I'd better
go to the big girls' school in this town as a by-something or other, and
I'll hate it!"
"My dear," and as he spoke Tony patted the pleading little hand that lay
so lightly on his arm, "_I_ am entirely delighted to see you, but as I
said before, it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be
away."
"Bother Miss Foster! I'm certain from all I've heard that she's the
very worst sort of Aunt Emileen. I'm glad she's away; I'd far rather be
here with you. Paddy says she's a regular catamaran. Honestly, Tony,
now, isn't she?"
Tony pursed up his lips, and tried hard to look severe as he shook his
head.
"I wish she were here just at present, anyhow. When irresponsible
children turn up unexpectedly, it needs some one strict to look after
them."
"Please, Tony, do you mind if I take off my hat? I didn't like to do it
before those boys, for I haven't a notion what state my hair is in, but
you've seen me at all times ever since I was a baby, haven't you? And
you'll excuse it."
She drew the big jade pins out of her hat and laid it on the senior
prefect's chair. Without it, she looked absurdly young: her face was the
face of a child, full of soft curves and sweet, blurred outlines. There
was something timid and beseeching in the dark eyes she raised to Tony
Bevan so confidingly: eyes black-lashed, with faint blue shadows
underneath--the "mark of the dirty finger" that every pretty Irishwoman
is proud to possess.
"You can look after me beautifully yourself, Tony, dear; that's why I've
come. Dad said I'd be safer with you than any one."
"But, my child, I am in College the greater part of the day. Every
minute of my time is filled up in school and out. As it is, I have an
appointment with the Chairman of the Playground Committee in five
minutes. What will you do with yourself?"
"Can't I see the chairman too? Well then, where's Paunch? Couldn't he
come and talk to me for a little bit--just while you settle with this
other man?"
"Hush! You must not call Mr. Johns by that nickname here. Besides,
he's taking prep., and would be impossible in any case."
"Now, Tony, don't you be hushing me for saying 'Paunch.' Everybody calls
him Paunch. I've heard you do it yourself."
"Yes, Lallie, I dare say you have, but not here. It would be most
disrespectful and rude----"
"Good gracious, Tony! You don't imagine I'm going to call the man
Paunch to his face, do you? Did you think that when he was introduced
to me I'd make him a curtsey like this"--here she arose and swept a
magnificent curtsey--"and say, 'I'm delighted to make your acquaintance
Mr. Paunch; I've heard a vast deal about you one way and another'? Don't
be a goose, Tony! What about Matron? _She_ hasn't left, has she? Paddy
says she's a regular brick, and anyway it won't be a bit duller for me
here than it was with Aunt Emileen whenever Dad was away."
"Child, who is Aunt Emileen? I don't seem to have heard of her before.
Couldn't she come and be with you for the next few days?"
The girl burst into sudden laughter--infectious, musical, Irish
laughter. She rocked to and fro in her mirth, and suddenly snuggling up
to Tony Bevan, rubbed her head against his shoulder.
"Oh, Tony, you are too delicious! She can certainly come if you want
her, but I'm not sure that you'd think her much good."
"Sit up, Lallie, there's some one coming down the drive. You haven't
answered my question. Who and where is Aunt Emileen?"
"Aunt Emileen is my chaperon, but she suffers from delicate health.
When Dad took a little house at Fairham last November--and a nice soft
winter it was--he told everybody about Aunt Emileen, so that no one
should come pestering him and suggesting some nice widow lady to keep
house and take care of me. And she answered very well indeed, though it
was a little difficult when the clergyman wanted to call and see her."
Again she lapsed into that absurd infectious laughter.
"But whose aunt is she?" persisted the bewildered Tony. "I know your
father hasn't any sisters, and your dear mother was an only girl. Is
she the wife of one of your uncles? Or is she your father's aunt?"
"Honestly, Tony, I can't tell you any more about the lady except that
she's Aunt Emileen."
"But what's her surname?"
"I can't tell you, Tony, for I don't know; we never bothered about a
surname."
"Now, that's ridiculous, Lallie; the servants couldn't call her Aunt
Emileen."
"Oh, Tony, you'll kill me, you're so funny. Listen, and I'll tell you
all about it. Aunt Emileen is--a creation, a figment of Dad's brain, a
sop thrown to conventionality by the most unconventional man in
creation: a Mrs. Harris. She could be as strict and stiff and
pernicketty as ever she liked, for she couldn't interfere with us
really; and she pleased people very much, but they were sorry she was
such an invalid."
"But do you mean to tell me that your father really talked about her to
strangers?"
"Of course he did. That's what she was for; we didn't want her. So
sympathetic he was; and then he'd break off and joke about her Low
Church leanings--she always reads the _Rock_, does Aunt Emileen--and her
wool-work, and her missionary box, and her very strict views of life and
its responsibilities--oh, there were some people quite pitied me having
such an old fuss to look after me."
Tony sighed.
"I really don't know which is the more incorrigible infant, you or your
father. However, you'd better get to bed now and we can see in the
morning what it will be best to do. I must see that chap at once; Ford
announced him in the middle of your interesting narrative about Aunt
Emileen. You must be dreadfully tired, poor child! I'll ask Matron to
look after you to-night; come with me."
"Can't I just go and say good-night to those nice boys and see their
little studies?"
"No, my dear, you most certainly can't. You must promise me, Lallie,
that you will never go into the boys' part of the house unless I or Miss
Foster be with you."
Lallie sighed deeply.
"I promise, Tony, but it is hard. I did like them so much, and it would
have cheered me up."
The musical voice was most submissive, but in addition it suggested much
fatigue and loneliness and disappointment; and poor Tony Bevan felt a
perfect brute. Her dark eyes followed him reproachfully as he held the
door open for her, and she paused on the threshold to say beseechingly:
"Don't try to be an Uncle Emileen, Tony; the part doesn't suit you one
little bit, and I know you'll never be able to keep it up. I'll be a
jewel of a girl and a paragon of propriety without you looking so solemn
and trying to talk so preachey. You'll be quite used to me being here
in a day or two, and I'm sure I'll get on with the boys like anything."
"My dear, you misunderstand me; I am delighted to have you, and I hope
you will be very happy. It is only that I am so sorry that Miss
Foster----"
"Tony, if you talk any more about Miss Foster I'll pinch you. I tell
you I'm thankful she's away. Now take me upstairs to my bed."
Matron, trim and neat in the uniform of a hospital nurse, met them at
the bedroom door. Lallie held out both her hands in greeting.
"I'm ever so pleased to meet you, Matron, dear," she cried in her sweet
voice. "You'll remember my brother, Paddy Clonmell? he's devoted to
you, and I'm to give you his love and no end of messages."
The matron's kind, worn face beamed.
"Mr. Clonmell's sister, isn't it, sir?" she said, turning to Tony. "She
has arrived before you expected her, so I've put her in Miss Foster's
room for to-night. I will see that her own is all in order to-morrow.
I'll look after her and take care that she is comfortable."
"Good-night, Lallie," said Tony, looking much relieved. "Don't trouble
to get up to breakfast; Ford will bring you some upstairs. Sleep well!"
He turned to depart, but the girl came flying after him to the head of
the stairs.
"Aren't you going to kiss me good-night, Tony?" she cried reproachfully,
"an' me so tired and homesick and all."
She turned up her face towards his--the pathetic, tired child-face.
Tony Bevan's somewhat weather-beaten countenance turned a dusky crimson.
He dropped a hasty kiss on the very top of her head and fled down the
staircase without looking back.
Matron, standing in the doorway, watched the little scene with
considerable interest.
"Perhaps he'd rather I didn't kiss him now I'm here," Lallie said
meditatively. "What do you think, Matron?"
The girl evidently asked her opinion in all good faith, and the matron,
who had a kind heart for everything young and a sincere liking for the
head of the house, said diplomatically:
"Of course I know Mr. Bevan's just like a dear uncle to you and your
brother; but if I was you, I don't think I'd expect him to kiss you
while you're here. It is a bit different being in a College House, you
know, to what it is at home, now isn't it?"
"It is, indeed," Lallie agreed fervently. "Tony seems so funny, so stiff
and stand-off; not a bit like he is when he comes over to us. We're all
so fond of him, servants and everybody."
"Of course you are, and so you will be here," the matron said briskly.
"Mr. Bevan is an exceedingly nice gentleman and a great favourite. But,
you know, a gentleman who is a schoolmaster must be a bit strict in term
time or he could never keep any order at all."
"You think that's it?" said Lallie, much comforted. "Of course I can
understand that. Paddy said he was quite different with us over in Kerry
to what he is here. I don't mind a bit if that's all. I was afraid
perhaps he'd taken a dislike to me."
"I don't think anybody could do that," the matron remarked consolingly.
"You see, Mr. Bevan only got your papa's letter, saying you were coming,
this morning, and I know he didn't expect you for some days. Somehow,
your papa had not made it clear you were coming at once; and Mr. Bevan
was upset to think that nothing was ready for you, and Miss Foster being
away----"
"I'd rather have you than twenty Miss Fosters," cried Lallie, throwing
her arms around Matron's neck. "You're a dear kind woman, and I love
you."
*CHAPTER II*
Mr. Nicholl, Chairman of the Playground Committee--commonly known as
"young Nick" to distinguish him from his brother, "old Nick," a master
of irascible disposition--sat awaiting Tony Bevan's collaboration in
that gentleman's comfortable study. While he waited, young Nick indulged
in all manner of romantic surmises as to his colleague's probable
engagement during the recent vacation. Young Nick was really young, and
was not in the least short-sighted. The brilliantly lighted dining-room
and its two occupants were almost forced upon his notice as he walked up
the drive to B. House, and it was with the greatest interest, tempered
by considerable good-natured amusement, that he beheld Tony Bevan,
shyest and, apparently, most confirmed of bachelors, in an attitude that
implied familiar, and even tender relations, with so young and
attractive a girl.
"Sly dog, old Tony," he reflected. "Kept it uncommonly dark till he
springs the girl upon us. She must be years younger than he is--wonder
what she saw in old Tony? I'd like to know how the affair strikes Miss
Foster--suppose she cleared out to give 'em a few minutes together.
Shouldn't have chosen that room to spoon in if I'd been them--too public
by far. Wonder how long he'll keep me waiting here? Shouldn't have
thought old Tony would have had the courage to face Miss Foster. I'd
have done it by letter if I'd been in his shoes; perhaps he did.
Anyway, she won't half like it. Thought she was a fixture here for
evermore, and pitied old Tony from the bottom of my heart. Well! Well!
If ever a man was safe from matrimony, old Tony seemed that chap--but no
one's safe. Only she really does look rather too much of a kiddie for
him. Good old Tony! he's a thorough sportsman and deserves the best of
luck, but it's quaint of him to spring her upon us without saying a word
first. I wonder why now----"
Here young Nick's reflections were interrupted by the entrance of their
subject, a little breathless; a little rumpled about the hair, for
Lallie at parting had thrown her arms about his neck with more warmth
than discretion; a little stirred out of his usual comfortable serenity.
Young Nick held out his hand, smiling broadly.
"It's no use pretending I didn't see, old chap, for I did. Heartiest
grats.----"
Tony Bevan stepped back a pace, nor did he make any attempt to clasp the
proffered hand. "Look here, Nicholl. For heaven's sake don't let there
be any mistake of that sort; that child is Paddy Clonmell's sister----"
Tony paused; and young Nick, thoroughly enjoying his evident discomfort,
remarked encouragingly.
"Well, there's no objection in that, is there?"
"Confound it!" Tony Bevan exclaimed angrily. "You've got hold of a
totally wrong idea; that child has been sent to me by her father--by her
father, mind you--to look after while he goes big game shooting in India
this winter. I've known her since she was a month old, and I've known
him since I was his fag here, five-and-twenty years ago. She's always
looked on me as a sort of uncle, and she's demonstrative, poor little
girl, like all the Irish----"
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said young Nick, with blue eyes that
would twinkle merrily in spite of all his efforts to the contrary; "but
you must confess it was a natural misconception. You see, you'd kept it
so uncommonly dark about her coming."
"Kept it dark!" Tony echoed indignantly. "Kept it dark! Why, I only
knew myself that Clonmell wanted me to have her this morning; and in his
letter he said, 'in a week or so'; then the child appears to-night,
wholly unexpectedly, and it's deuced awkward, for Miss Foster's gone
away for the week-end to a niece's wedding."
"Can't you get one of the married masters to have her till Miss Foster
comes back?"
"No, I can't do that; she'd be awfully hurt. They're all the soul of
hospitality themselves, and I could never make her understand my
reasons. I must worry through somehow, only don't you go off with any
ridiculously wrong impression."
"Of course not, of course not," young Nick remarked solemnly, still
gazing at Tony with eyes that seemed unable quite to see him in this new
rôle of guardian to a young lady.
They stared at each other in silence for a minute, and what young Nick
saw was a broad-shouldered, tall man, rather short-necked, very
square-jawed, brown and weather-beaten as to complexion; a well-shaved
man with a trustworthy but by no means beautiful mouth, except when he
smiled, when two rows of strong, absolutely perfect teeth, redeemed its
plainness. Of Tony Bevan's nose, the less said the better. It was
inconspicuous and far from classical in shape, but his eyes were really
fine: humorous, clear, very brown eyes that were in truth the mirrors of
a kind and candid soul. His head was good, with plenty of breadth and
height above the ear; his hair thick and usually very smooth and sleek.
"Clonmell senior must surely have married very young if you were his fag
here," young Nick continued.
"Clonmell married in his second year at Balliol, and Lallie and Paddy
were born while he was still an undergraduate. He's just twenty-three
years older than the twins--in years; in mind and conduct I do believe
he's younger than either of them, and heaven knows they're young enough.
Of course the Balliol authorities were furious at his marriage, but he
was so brilliant, they let him stay on, for they didn't want to lose
him. He was up five years you know, and took all sorts of honours in
classics. It was just the same here; any other chap would have got the
sack for half the things he did, but they knew he was safe for a Balliol
scholarship and didn't want to lose him."
"I've seen his name up in the big classical. Was he like Paddy?"
"Very like Paddy. Didn't you see him when he was down here for the last
concert, standing on a chair and singing 'Auld Lang Syne,' long after he
ought to have shut up? Paddy's the living image of what he was at the
same age, but hasn't half his brains. When he was here he had his
prefect's star taken away three times; got it back; and finally they had
to make him head of his house, for he was already captain of the eleven;
and for years won every short race in the sports. But you could never
tell what he'd do next. It wasn't that he broke rules, so much as that
he always seemed to think of doing things no mortal had conceived
possible. No code of rules on earth could be framed to forbid the
doings of Fitzroy Clonmell."
"Yet I suppose he was a good chap, really? Paddy was a thoroughly nice
boy, with all his vagaries."
"So was his father. Everybody liked him; everybody likes him to this
day. He looks far too young to be anybody's father, and is tremendously
popular wherever he is; but he's never in one place long--he's the most
restless fellow in the world--and now he has gone to India, and left
Lallie on my hands."
"Surely it was an odd thing to do? A house for boys in a public school
seems an incongruous sort of place to select."
"It's just because it is a house for boys he has selected it. His
theory is that nowhere is a girl so safe as surrounded by boys and men.
I can see his reasoning myself, but you can't make the world see it.
However, we'd better get those times fixed up and fit in the various
teams. All that beastly physical drill to arrange, too--but you
understand, don't you, Nicholl?"
"I quite understand," young Nick replied with so profound a gravity that
Tony instantly suspected him of a desire to laugh.
They lit their pipes, and for an hour or more wrestled with the problem
in hand. Then young Nick departed.
The instant Tony was left alone he sat him down in a comfortable chair,
switched on the electric light behind his head, and drew from his pocket
a letter. First of all he looked at the date, which he had not done
when he read it in the morning. It was dated eight days back, but the
postmark was that of the day before.
"Dear old Tony," it ran, "one always thinks of you when one wants
anything done in a hurry, and done most uncommonly well. That's what you
get by being so confoundedly conscientious and good-natured. The
combination is a rare one. I, for instance, am good-natured, but my
worst enemy couldn't call me tiresomely conscientious. Whenever you see
my handwriting, you will say, 'Wonder what young Fitz wants now? Of
course he wants something,' and of course I do. I want you to look
after Lallie for me till the end of March. You've got a magnificent big
house--far too large for a bachelor like you. You've got a
lady-housekeeper whose manifest propriety is so stupendous that even
Paddy is awed by it--a lady, I am sure, estimable in every respect--and
you have fifty boys ranging from thirteen to nineteen. Oh, yes! and I
forgot the worthy Paunch and Val. Now if you can't, amongst you, look
after my little girl for six months you ought to be ashamed of
yourselves. She's too old to put to school; I don't want to leave her
with hunting friends where she'd be engaged and perhaps married before I
got back. Young men are for ever falling in love with Lallie of late,
and it's a terrible nuisance. She cares not a penny for any of them, so
long as I am there to prove by comparison how inferior they all are to
her own father. But with me away, who knows but that their
blandishments might prevail? And I have other plans for Lallie--but not
yet. As you know, I've brought her up in a sensible reasonable human
sort of fashion. She has been taught to look upon mankind--and by
mankind I mean the male portion of humanity--as fellow creatures, just
as much deserving of kindness and trust and straightforward dealing as
girls or women; and because she looks upon them as fellow-creatures,
with no ridiculous mystery or conventional barriers between her and
them, she is far safer than most girls not to make a fool of herself or
to be taken in by cheap external attractions. Of course she's a bit of
a flirt--what self-respecting Irish girl is not?--and your big boys will
all be sighing at her shrine, but it will neither do them nor her any
harm.
"I don't often speak of Alice these days, but I never forget, and I know
you'll be kind to my little girl for her sake. Let the child go to the
dancing school, though there's little they can teach her; and she can
keep up her singing, and perhaps she'd better ride, though riding with a
master will be little to Lallie's taste. I enclose a cheque for the
lessons, etc. She's a good girl, Tony; and in spite of her unusually
sensible up-bringing, is as delicately feminine in all her instincts as
any old Tabby in Hamchester.
"Lord Nenogh offered me third gun in his shoot in India this cold
weather, and I couldn't resist it. I was getting a bit musty. I've
been bear-leading those children for eighteen months--ever since dear
old Madame died. Lallie and I always hit it off perfectly, but Paddy's
too like me, and gets on my nerves and reminds me that I'm not so young
as I was, and I felt I needed a complete change of scene and people, if
I am to remain the agreeable fellow I always have been; and I couldn't
take Lallie with me tiger shooting, now could I? We sail from
Marseilles in the _Mooltan_ on the 29th; send me a line to the _poste
restante_ there, just to tell me that my property has duly reached
you--as it should about the 23rd. Till then I shall be flying about all
over the place.
"Take care of my Lallie.
"Yours as ever,
"Fitz."
The writing was small, close, upright, and distinct. When he had read
the letter through Tony examined the envelope and found from its
appearance that it had evidently spent a considerable time in somebody's
pocket: either that of the writer or of some untrustworthy messenger.
He lit another pipe, and as he watched the fragrant clouds of smoke roll
forth and spend themselves about the room, his mind was busy with
memories of Fitzroy Clonmell; brilliant, inconsequent, lovable failure.
"He wouldn't have been a failure if his wife had lived," Tony always
maintained to those who, remembering Fitz and his early promise of
notable achievements, lamented his falling off; his wholesale violation
of those youthful pledges.
Tony found himself going back to those first years at Oxford, when
brilliant Fitz did all he could to push his young schoolfellow among the
athletic set, where, reading man as Fitz undoubtedly had been then, his
place was quite as assured as in the schools. Tony remembered his shock
of surprise when in his first term he went to Clonmell's rooms in the
High, to find them tenanted by a brown-haired, gentle-voiced girl who
informed him she was "Mrs. Clonmell"--Alice Clonmell.
"Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice, with hair hazel brown"--
Fitz used to sing at a time when the whole world read "Trilby," and make
eyes at his wife the while. She was very kind to Tony, and he adored
her with the humble dog-like devotion of a rather plain and awkward
youth whom ladies usually ignored.
He remembered the wrath of the Balliol authorities, and Fitz's account
of his stormy interview with the little Master, and how after much of
what Fitz called "fruitless altercation," he wheedled the Master into
coming to see Alice. Whereupon that dignitary observed that "there
were, perhaps, extenuating circumstances, which must be taken into
consideration."
By and by there came the twins, who were known as "the Balliol Babies."
Fitz, to the disappointment of all his friends, was called to the Irish,
not the English, Bar. But he was Irish before all else, and declared
that his brilliant abilities were far too precious and illuminating to
be taken out of his own country.
He practised with some success in Dublin. People began to talk of him as
a young lawyer who had arrived, when Alice met with the carriage
accident which caused her death.
Fitz threw up all his prospects at the Bar, left Ireland, and, with the
two children and their old nurse, wandered about Europe for a while,
finally settling them in a tiny hill-side villa near the village of
Veulettes, in Normandy, with an old French lady, in charge as governess.
It happened at that time that his own little property near Cahirciveen
in County Kerry, which had been let on a long lease during his minority,
fell vacant, and Fitz went back there for the spring months, taking
Madame, his French cook, and his children with him. He kept on the villa
at Veulettes, and the family lived alternately in Kerry and in Normandy,
as it happened to suit its erratic head. Fitz was a keen fisherman, and
a good shot. The fishing at Cahirciveen was beyond reproach. When he
wanted good hunting he took a little house for the season either in
Kildare or some hunting county in England, and wherever he went Madame
and Lallie, the Irish nurse and Celestine the French cook, went in his
train, and they were joined in the vacations by Paddy, who had been sent
to preparatory school at a very tender age.
Tony's pipe went out as he sat thinking of the innumerable vacations he
had spent with the Clonmells; of their warm-hearted and tireless
hospitality shown to him wherever that somewhat nomadic family happened
to be. No one knew better than Tony Bevan that Fitzroy Clonmell would
gladly share all he possessed with him, to the half of his kingdom; and
looking back down the long valley of years that lay behind him, Tony
could not see one that was not brightened by a thousand kindnesses from
Fitz. From the time he came as an ugly little fourth-form boy to
Hamchester, where Fitz was the idol of the lower school, the admiration
of all the bloods, and the trial and terror of most of the masters, he
had nothing to remember of him but good-nature, good feeling, and good
friendship. Fitz was casual, erratic, eccentric; nothing was stable
about him except his affections. The affections of his friends he often
strained almost to the snapping point by his irritating incapacity for
observing regular days or hours or ordinary conventions; but somehow the
strained affections always contracted into place again, and people
shrugged their shoulders and exclaimed, "Just like Fitz!" and forgave
him in the long run, till he made them angry again, when a precisely
similar process was repeated.
Tony saw as in a vision innumerable pictures of Lallie as an elf-like
small girl who always responded with enthusiastic affection to the
rather shy advances of the strong ugly young man who was so good at
games, so popular with his fellow sportsmen, so extremely shy in any
other society.
Every stranger noticed handsome Paddy, even as a baby; but for the most
part they passed Lallie by in her childhood, and Tony's notice and
affection were very precious to her. He and the quaint, pale-faced
little girl had much in common: they understood one another. He hadn't
seen Lallie for over a year, and during that time she had changed and
developed. Her manner had acquired a certain poise and balance wholly
lacking to the wild, shy nymph of Irish river and Norman hillside that
he knew so well.
Old Madame's death had made her not only more than ever the companion of
her father, but it had also made her mistress of his house, and Lallie
had found in herself all sorts of latent powers and possibilities,
hitherto wholly unsuspected, and these had crystallised into qualities.
Tony realised that while she was temperamentally the same
Lallie--subtle, sensitive, responsive to every smallest change in the
mental atmosphere--a new Lallie had arisen, who would be by no means so
easily dealt with, and a shrewd suspicion flashed across his mind that
Fitzroy Clonmell was equally aware of the change, and that with his
customary cleverness he had shifted the responsibility on to other
shoulders than his own.
Tony sat so still that Val came from under the chair, stretched himself,
and laid his head softly on his master's knees, regarding him with
tenderly inquiring eyes. The clock on the mantelpiece struck twelve,
and Tony arose.
"Time for bed, old chap," he said, "but we'll have a look at the night
first."
He and the dog went out into the garden, and Tony looked up at the black
bulk of the house against the moonlit sky. The great dormitories in the
wing lay stark and silent, all their teeming life wrapped in the silence
of healthy boyhood's slumber; and there too, in Miss Foster's room above
his own study, lay Lallie--Lallie, with her bodyguard of fifty boys. He
smiled at the quaint fancy. Val rubbed himself against his master's
legs.
"Well, Val, we must do our best to take care of her," said Tony, "but I
can't have her flirting with my boys and upsetting them. That would
never do. However, it isn't as if she was one of those flaringly pretty
girls that every fellow turns round to look at."
Somehow this reflection did not seem to afford much comfort to Tony. A
vision of Lallie's face lifted to his as she said good-night came
between him and the comfortable assurance that she, at all events, was
not pretty. How soft her dark hair was!--and it smelt of violets. Poor
little motherless, warm-hearted Lallie!
He saw Val comfortably settled in his basket, and went quietly up the
dark staircase. He paused outside Lallie's door to listen; all was
perfectly still. In another half-hour every soul in B. House was fast
asleep.
*CHAPTER III*
Lallie woke with a start, a great bell was clanging--it seemed to her in
the middle of the night--then she realised where she was, remembered
that Paddy had told her the rising bell rang at seven, and turned over
and went to sleep again, only to be awakened by another bell, equally
loud, an hour later.
This time Lallie sat up in bed, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and
looked about her. A long shaft of sunlight stretched across the room
through the gap made by a green blind that did not exactly fit its
window. The windows were open, and a gay little breeze moved the blinds
gently to and fro. Miss Foster's room was large and stately and
handsomely furnished; but somehow it lacked individuality: it was
impossible to divine, even to make a guess at Miss Foster's
characteristics from her bedroom.
"She must be a paragon of tidiness," thought Lallie; "but perhaps that's
Ford. After all, the woman can't leave things about when she's away, so
I won't hate her for that. I wonder what she'd say if some one showed
her one of those gazing crystals and she beheld me lying here in her
bed!" Lallie smiled as she pictured Miss Foster's astonishment, and
perhaps some thought of the same kind occurred to Ford, who at that
moment appeared bearing a breakfast tray, for she gave vent to a little
sound, as she crossed the room, that might have been mistaken for a
suppressed giggle had not her appearance been so severely servant-like
and respectful.
"Mr. Bevan sent his kind regards, miss, and hopes as you're rested; and
he says you're not to get up, but take it quietly this morning after
such a long journey. Shall I pull up your blinds, miss, or would you
prefer the shaded light?"
Ford shot out the words all in one breath, and deposited the tray on a
little table beside the bed.
"Pull them all up, Ford. Oh, what a beautiful morning! Give Mr. Bevan
my love and say I slept beautifully; and Miss Foster's bed, and Miss
Foster's room, and the view from Miss Foster's windows, and everything
that is hers is charming."
Ford waited in respectful silence till she had settled the tray on
Lallie's knees.
"You'll give me a hand with backs and things, won't you, Ford? Nearly
all my frocks fasten behind--'tis the stupid fashion of the present day,
but it can't be helped. I'm afraid I shall make a good deal more work
for you, Ford, but Daddie said I was to tell you he'll make it worth
while at Christmas. You see, we didn't know whether T--whether Mr.
Bevan would have room for Bridget; she's my old nurse, and she does
everything for me at home, but she's a bit difficult with other
servants. Do you think you'll be able to manage for me, Ford?"
"I shall be very pleased to do my best, miss," said Ford demurely. "You
see, I'm private parlourmaid; I've nothing to do with the young
gentlemen's part of the 'ouse, and Miss Foster requires very little
waiting on----'
"Oh, dear!" sighed Lallie; "not like me, but I'll try and be tidy in my
room. Madame made me be that though Bridget spoiled me. Now don't let
me be keeping you; I'll ring when I want to get up and you'll come and
show me the bath-room."
When Ford reached the kitchen region again, she remarked to the cook:
"I don't know what it is about that young lady--she's not much to look
at--but there's something about her that makes you want to do every
mortal thing she wants the minute she's as't you--I think it must be her
voice, it's that funny and weedlin'."
Cripps, the captain of the College fives, was in quarantine for mumps.
An inconsiderate little sister had developed this disease two days after
his return to school, and his mother being honest and considerate had
hastened to inform Tony of the fact by telegram. Hence, Cripps, in rude
health and the very worst of tempers, was removed from the society of
his fellows to the drear seclusion of the sick-room by night and of the
garden by day, or such parts of the neighbourhood as were in bounds,
while the boys were in College. The rest of the inhabitants of
Hamchester might take their chance. But Cripps, that morning, felt no
inclination for a walk; savage and solitary he armed himself with a
deck-chair and the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," and sat him down
under an elm at the edge of the tennis lawn nearest that side of B.
House which contained Miss Foster's room. Thus it came about that
Lallie, having with the assistance of Ford arrayed herself in a white
cambric frock, dismissed that excellent handmaid, and leaning out of the
window beheld Cripps.
A boy--a big boy, with broad shoulders and a brown face and hair that
stood up on end in front; a boy lying in a deck-chair and reading a
novel at eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning. Lallie was devoured by
curiosity. What was that boy doing there? Was he some old Hamchestrian
staying in the house? No; he looked too youthful for that. Why was he
not in College with the others?
Cripps turned a page and yawned widely, showing his white even teeth.
The September sun was hot and he felt sleepy. "The probity of parents
sets the children's teeth on edge," said Cripps to himself, with a vague
idea that he was quoting Scripture. He laid Sherlock Holmes face
downwards on his knee and closed his eyes. What a long morning it had
been! Might the maledictions of all righteous men fall upon that most
mischievous of trivial diseases called mumps! Why had no doctor
discovered the mump microbe and taken steps to stamp out the whole
noxious tribe? They were footling fellows these doctors on the whole;
all this trouble arose from the idiotic habit little girls have of
kissing one another. Probably his little sister had kissed some
wretched pig-tailed brat who was--Cripps had almost forgotten his wrongs
in slumber when he was startled by a full sweet voice which carolled----
"Captain, art tha' sleeping down below?"
Cripps sat up very straight and looked about him.
"Why are you not in College?" the voice asked again.
Cripps looked up in the direction of the voice and leapt to his feet.
Sherlock Holmes fell neglected on the grass.
Lallie was leaning out of the window just above him.
"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed politely; "I didn't know you were
there."
"Naturally, for you were asleep. Now how comes it that you were falling
asleep in the middle of the morning? That's what I want to know. Are
you stopping with T--with Mr. Bevan too?"
Cripps longed to pose as a visitor, but honesty, like many worse things,
is sometimes hereditary, so he hung his head and mumbled dismally:
"No, I'm one of the chaps; but I'm in quarantine--for mumps of all
beastly silly diseases. I know I shan't have it, too."
"Poor boy," said Lallie sympathetically, "I hope you won't. I've had
it, and it's horrible. Paddy brought it back from here once and gave it
to me. It seems to me that the boys in this house are always having
something."
"We don't have half as many things as the other houses," Cripps retorted
indignantly, "and I haven't got it, it's my beastly little sister----"
"Now that's not nice of you," said Lallie reprovingly, "to speak of the
poor little girl like that; no mortal could want mumps. But I don't
think I can keep bawling to you from here. I'll come down if you can
ferret out another chair--not a mumpy one, mind--and I'll try and bring
you to a more Christian frame of mind."
She vanished from the window and Cripps flew to the summer house to
fetch one of Tony's most luxurious garden chairs, feeling that for once
the fates had not dealt unkindly with him when they put him in
quarantine.
Across the lawn towards him came Lallie, swinging a green silk bag.
"Do you like your feet up?" asked the gallant Cripps. "There's a piece
that pulls out."
"Thank you--it would be a pity to waste these shoes, wouldn't it?"
And Lallie subsided into a long chair which supported her very pretty
feet, shod in shiny shoes with buckles and Louis Quinze heels. From the
green silk bag she drew forth a roll, which proved to be lace, and she
began to sew diligently.
"What pretty work!" said Cripps, drawing up his chair to face hers.
"It's a strip of Limerick lace I'm making, and I've just got to a
'basket.' The light's good, so I thought I'd do it this morning."
"May I see it close?" asked Cripps, wishing she would look at him
instead of at her lace, though black eyelashes resting on rounded cheeks
are by no means a disagreeable prospect.
This morning Lallie was not so pale. Her cheeks were never really rosy,
but they were fresh, with a delicate, fault colour like the inside of
certain shells. She held out the roll of work towards Cripps, and he
took hold of one end while she unpinned the other and spread out the
lace.
"By Jove!" said Cripps, but it was not at the lace he was looking so
much as at Lallie's hand. Such an absurd small hand compared to his; so
white, with beautiful pink filbert-shaped nails.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" said Lallie, of her lace.
"Awfully," said Cripps. "Whatever size do you take?"
"How d'you mean? You don't make lace in sizes."
"I beg your pardon, I was thinking of your hands. Look at
them--compared to mine!"
"Now don't you be reproaching me with being so little. It's no fault of
mine nor no wish; I've done my best to grow, but it's no use. I'm the
only little person in a tall family, and it's very out-of-date for a
girl to be small nowadays. I'm a sort of survival of the obsolete, and
if I live to be old, I'll be looked upon as a sort of rarity, and people
will come miles to see me."
"I should think people do that now," said Cripps, still keeping tight
hold of the lace.
Lallie let go her end of it and looked at him.
"Now that's very kind of you to say that--really kind and nice. I
wonder if all your family are exceptionally good-looking, because, if
so, perhaps you can sympathise with me. Are they?"
"Well, no, I don't think they are," Cripps said, getting very red. "I
really have never thought about it; one doesn't, you know, with one's
own people."
"You'd have to if you were like me," Lallie sighed. "Dad is
tremendously good-looking; so's Paddy--don't you think so?"
"Ye-e-e-s," Cripps answered, without enthusiasm, "I suppose he is; but
one doesn't notice that sort of thing much in fellows----"
"I think it's their noses that make them so distinguished," Lallie
continued meditatively. "Dad's and Paddy's, I mean. Now, my nose begins
well, it does really--but it changes its character half way; and it's
got a confiding tip, and that isn't in the least distinguished. My only
consolation is, it isn't often red."
"I think it's an extremely neat nose," Cripps said, with convincing
sincerity.
"Neat, but not gaudy! Ah, well, it's the best I've got, anyway, and I
can smell anything burning in the kitchen quicker than most people. But
all the same, I think it must be very agreeable to be so good-looking
that people want to please you just because of it, without you doing
anything at all. That's the way with Dad and Paddy. Now ordinary folks
like you and me--I hope you don't mind rowing in the same boat with
me?--have to be nice to people if we want them to like us."
"Is Paddy Clonmell your brother?"
"My twin brother, but we're not a bit alike, even in disposition, though
we're the best of friends and I adore him. What are you celebrated for,
and I'll see if I can't tell you your name; I've heard about most of
you."
Cripps blushed.
"I'm afraid I'm not celebrated at all," he said modestly. "I'm only in
Upper V.; I don't suppose you've ever heard of me."
Lallie laid down her work and looked at Cripps critically.
"I'll try again," she said. "Are you a College colour?"
"Yes."
"Cricket?"
"Oh, no, I'm no good at all."
"Football?"
"Yes."
"Fives?"
"Yes."
"Then you're two, and that's very grand; and I think," said Lallie
slowly, her eyes wandering from her companion's face to the book lying
on the grass and back again--"then I think you must be Mr. Cripps, the
captain of the College fives. Now aren't I a witch of a guesser?"
Distinctly gratified, Cripps duly expressed surprise at her discernment.
Lallie's sight was good, and she had seen his name on the paper copy of
Sherlock Holmes lying on the grass. They continued to chat happily till
morning school was over, and Tony Bevan rushed back to B. House to see
after his guest. She saw him coming and flew to meet him, crying:
"Oh, Tony, I've been so happy in your garden, and Mr. Cripps has been so
kind and nice, and has entertained me all the morning. It's been very
pleasant having him to talk to."
Tony smiled down at the radiant upturned face.
"You don't look a bit tired this morning, Lallie," he said, "and I'm
glad you've not been dull; but I'd forgotten all about Cripps, and I'm
not sure that you ought to have been talking to him at all. He's
contraband, you know, a suspect----"
"He told me all about it, Tony; and I've had the silly thing, and we
were out of doors, so it couldn't matter, now could it?"