THE three ladies now had the carriage to themselves. As soon as the
train had moved out of the station, Lady Elfreda discarded _The Queen_
and said, “What have you brought for luncheon, Pikey?”
The _Society Pictorial_ was laid aside while Pikey came resolutely
to grips with an interesting looking case which had been placed on a
vacant seat. In the meantime the blessed word “luncheon” had brought
a pang to the heart of Miss Cass. On leaving her home that morning
it had been her intention to procure some food en route. Alas, the
difficulties of metropolitan travel, the irregularity of ’bus and train
culminating in a bear fight at Belgravia, had driven all minor matters
out of a head that was not very strong in practical affairs. Therefore
it was now the part of Miss Gray Eyes to regard wistfully, from behind
her book, the disclosure of the contents of the luncheon basket.
Certainly it was quite in the tradition of a marquis’ daughter. There
was a place for everything and everything was in its place: delicious
looking sandwiches in neat tins, a cake which for war time could only
be described as royal, and crowning glory and wonder, a large bottle of
wine most artfully packed with glasses and corkscrew complete.
Lady Elfreda shed one neat glove with a very businesslike air and
offered the contents of the tins. “Those are egg, Pikey--and these are
ham, I think.”
The choice of Pikey was ham. The younger lady inserted a very level row
of teeth into the other kind. “Considerin’,” she remarked with obvious
satisfaction, “that these left Ireland at midnight they have stood the
journey pretty well.”
But the Werewolf was too busy to attempt any form of conversation.
Behind _The Patrician_, now rigidly fixed as a barrier, the mouth of
Miss Cass was watering. Within her was the emotion of sinking which
marks the sense of zero. It was a terribly long journey to Clavering
St. Mary’s. The train was not due in until after four. If only she had
provided herself with a piece of chocolate! At the next stopping place,
perhaps, she might be able to get something, but it was by no means a
certainty, having regard to the length of the train and the present
time of famine.
Suddenly Miss Cass was driven clean out of her dismal reflections. A
voice of irresistible charm was addressing her. “Won’t you have one of
these?” Both tins were offered. “Ham--and those are egg.”
Miss Cash blushed and hesitated. There was not the slightest need to do
either, but it was her nature to blush and to hesitate, and there is
no appeal from nature. A pair of eyes, very blue, very clear and only
very slightly ironical looked straight into hers. “Do.” The voice was
extraordinarily kind. “Please!--won’t you?”
It would have called for a heart of stone to resist such an appeal.
Besides, there was no need to resist it.
“Oh, thank you ever so much.” A small piece of paper was laid
reverently upon _The Patrician_ and a delicious looking egg sandwich
was laid with similar reverence upon it. Then a white woolen glove was
carefully removed.
The flavor of the sandwich was quite equal to its appearance. But it
was a mere prelude to the repast. There was a profusion of excellent
things, not a vulgar or ostentatious profusion, but the case had come
from a land flowing with milk and honey. Miss Cass was firmly required
to do her part with both kinds of sandwiches--dreams of sandwiches they
were!--alluring biscuits and rich, almond-studded cake. Above all--and
to be perfectly frank there would be no story without it--she was
compelled to drink honest measure of a generous and full-bodied wine.
The sombre eyes of Pikey glistened when she took this royal vintage out
of its improvised cradle and held it up to the light. “Herself said it
would be good on the journey,” she announced.
“I know you are clever with corkscrews, Pikey,” said Lady Elfreda,
handing the implement persuasively.
Pikey was very clever indeed with corkscrews if her present performance
was anything to go by.
“Be very ca-re-ful how you pour it out.” Such words were superfluous,
which Lady Elfreda well knew; in point of fact, they were a mere
concession to the famous cellar of Castle Carabbas, for Pikey showed
herself a past mistress in the art of decanting a great wine under
trying conditions.
“Clever Pikey!”
Clever enough. The Werewolf had not dwelt from babyhood at Castle
Carabbas and brought up half a dozen members of the Family without
acquiring knowledge which in some quarters was rated highly.
When she had delicately filled the tumbler to two-thirds of its
capacity she handed it to her mistress with something of the air of
sovereign pontiff. But to Pikey’s cold disgust that Irresponsible
offered it to the lady of the green ulster. Nay, she did more than
offer it. She pressed it upon the almost too obvious third-class
passenger with a cunning that made resistance almost impossible.
“Do--please! You have _such_ a long journey.” The blue eyes were
smiling. “It will do you _so_ much good.” The tone was charming
entreaty.
“But--but!” faltered Miss Cass.
“There is a great deal more than we shall require. It is quite a large
bottle.” That statement was very true. It was a decidedly large bottle.
The Dragon scowled over the fur clad shoulder of her mistress, whom
she would willingly have slain. Nevertheless Miss Cass had to yield to
_force majeure_.
“Those plain round biscuits are strongly recommended. They make
an excellent combination”--clever old Pikey to have thought of
those!--“You see, there is any amount--far more than we shall want.”
Resistance was vain. Miss Gray Eyes accepted a plain round biscuit and
then she drank of the full-bodied wine from the famous cellar of Castle
Carabbas.
“This is for you and me, Pikey.” The Dragon, a figure of grim
disapproval, had charged the one remaining tumbler. “You must have
the first drink. That is your side of the Atlantic,” Lady Elfreda
humorously drew an imaginary line across the mouth of the tumbler.
“This is my side.”
Pikey drank. But her nose was so long that it seemed to stretch from
Queenstown to Old Point Comfort.
Yes, a great wine, as none knew better than Pikey. She could not bear
to see it wasted on Miss No-Class. If Pikey’s will had prevailed it
would have choked the lady of the green ulster. What right had she to
be drinking it, much less to be having a tumbler to herself?
Who knows what imprisoned genius lurked in that magic bottle from the
cellar of Castle Carabbas? Miss Cass had never had such a meal. A
modest repast, if you like, yet full of a peculiar virtue. Her thoughts
began to fly round, her blood to course quicker; imprisoned forces
were unsealed in her brain; phrases, ideas began to shape themselves.
The moment with its pains and its fears began to press less heavily.
Suddenly she became free of a great kingdom that her dreams had hinted
at.
Suppose--entrancing supposition!--she were not an obscure, timid little
governess at all, but the daughter of a marquis. She could have looked
the part anyway; that was to say, had she been privileged to wear
the clothes of the lady opposite she could have made an equally good
showing. Privately she felt that with an equal chance she would have
made a better. At any rate, if a glass could be depended on, her eyes,
which were her chief asset, a rather curious gray, would have gone
extremely well with that beautiful skunk collar.
Miss Cass grasped her pencil with a confidence she had never felt
before. “The great charm of Mr. Galsworthy’s novels, which they share
with the novels of Mr. H. G. Bennett and Mr. Arnold Wells----”
... “This is _quite_ a large bottle, Pikey.”
The eyes of the Dragon glistened ... as if she didn’t know the size of
the bottle!
... “You must do _your_ share.” The tumbler was replenished.
That which slept in the royal vintage was known only to the Genie whose
happy task it was to stage manage this tiny fragment of the human
comedy. For the little Catkin lady, after a second modest recourse to
the glass, also began to sit up and take notice. She, too, began to
look at the world with other eyes.
Suppose one was little Miss Rabbit opposite? How must the world appear
when you wear cheap clothes and you carry your own luggage and you
have all suburbia upon your eyebrows? Rather nice eyes, though, by the
way. What was the book she was studying? Part of some very difficult
examination evidently, to judge by the way the poor hunted little mouse
was biting her pencil....
Governess, obviously ... of sorts. What must it be like to get one’s
living as a governess? How must it seem to be bored and bullied and
snubbed by total strangers for the sake of a few pounds a year? Still
in some ways even that mode of life might offer advantages. At any rate
one might be able to call one’s soul--one’s real soul--one’s own. If
you were an obscure little governess whom nobody cared twopence about,
you could do as you liked in the big things, even if the small things
did as they liked with you.
There must have been a powerful Genius lurking in that famous bottle,
for the ears of Lady Elfreda had begun to tingle with resentment. She
remembered that she was an unmarried daughter of a cynical father and
a selfish mother. Four of her sisters had been sacrificed on the altar
of money. And if the present journey into an unknown country meant
anything it was her turn now.
With a pang that was almost agony she searched for and read again her
mother’s letter.
Castle Carabbas,
Friday.
Dearest E:
I hope you will have a pleasant time at Clavering St. Mary’s. The D.
says you may find the host and hostess rather crude, but otherwise
very respectable, nice people. He is on several Boards with your
father. You are not likely to have met any of your fellow guests, but
no doubt you will find them quite agreeable. And in any case you must
bear in mind that you are giving your services for a noble cause. I
hear from Mabel that last week you had quite a success in “The Duke of
Killiecrankie.” The D. says that if everything else fails you will be
able to come out as a star!!!
By the way, one of the new Peers will be included in the house party.
He is what the D. calls “a Lloyd-George Particular,” all the same,
he says, he is quite a good fellow. He has made his money rather
suddenly, but from what one hears he is _extremely_ wealthy. And that
is something to bear in mind with things so black over here and the
outlook for land so uncertain.
The only people you are likely to know are our old friends the
Lancelots who live in the neighborhood. Perhaps you may get out one
day to see them.
As you will be among strangers I am sending Pikey to look after you.
And “under the rose” she is bringing a bottle of the D.’s choicest
Chateau Briault as you may be a little run down after your recent
Labors in the cause of charity. If you are bored with your present
task you must remember that you are giving your services for St.
Aidan’s. Much love,
Your affectionate mother,