IT was now the turn of Elfreda to be taken aback.
“Pikey,” she said, “are you mad?”
The look in the eyes of the duenna rather suggested that condition.
But Elfreda did not yield an inch. “Are you mad, Pikey?” she repeated
sternly.
Before such hardihood the spirit of the Dragon quailed. So proper and
natural would it have been for Pikey to ask the question that Elfreda
by adopting the simple expedient of asking the question herself
completely took the wind out of Pikey’s sails.
“Go back at once.” Elfreda was perfectly amazing. “How dare you come
here.” She might have been scolding a disobedient dog. “I am quite
ashamed of you, Pikey. Didn’t I say I would write to you?”
A conflict began in the faithful bosom of Pikey as an eye flashing with
scorn transfixed her.
“Tell me, Pikey, didn’t I say I would write to you?”
Faced by an attitude so preposterous yet so uncompromising, Pikey began
to feel less sure of her ground. The dismal admission was wrung out of
her that her charge had promised to do so.
“Very well, then.” In spite of her green ulster and her cheap hat
Elfreda grew positively majestic. “Go back as quickly as ever you
can and don’t dare to come here again unless you are sent for. If you
wish to communicate with me privately, please do so by letter. Do you
understand?”
Notwithstanding a very definite sense of outrage Pikey felt absolutely
cowed. This really was a little spitfire and yet she was just as cool
as you please.
“It is your duty to look after Miss--Miss What’s-her-name and to see
that she doesn’t make mistakes or get into mischief or give us away or
anything of that kind.”
To the wretched Pikey’s eternal dishonor she could only muster the
spirit for a dismal and forlorn acquiescence. Even as she did so, she
knew that she was tamely submitting to be put in the wrong. The thought
filled her with fury, but there was nothing to be done. Ruefully she
realized that the headstrong little wretch was altogether too much for
her.
“I--I shall write to Herself.”
“Don’t dare to do anything of the kind.” A blue eye suddenly blazed
forth like an angry sapphire. “Please understand that if it is found
out I take all responsibility.”
Pikey could only gasp.
“But,”--the words of the amazing Elfreda were half ice, half fire--“if
you can really behave like a sensible creature nobody need be any the
wiser.”
“Whatever will his lordship say?”
“I wouldn’t worry about his lordship if I were you, Pikey.” The voice
of the little wretch had taken the soft wheedling tone which somehow
had always been able to get round her nurse. “Don’t worry about
anything. You’ll see it will all come right. And if it doesn’t, the
whole of the responsibility is mine.”
Just then Pikey would cheerfully have slain her charge, but alas! she
knew herself at heart for a foolish fond old woman who was without any
real hope of being able to prevail against her favorite. She never had
been able to prevail against her, if it came to that.
Pikey was not merely in the presence of defeat. The final words of
Elfreda struck her with panic.
“I want you to let me have two blouses, some silk stockings, a pair of
shoes and a decent hat as soon as you can. Send them by post, and mind
you pack them carefully. You understand?”
Pikey’s heart sank. No matter what she might be on the surface,
immediately below it she was very much a woman and by no means
deficient in the intuitions of her sex. Such a demand was full of
sinister meaning. The martial figure in khaki that had passed on round
the corner now recurred vividly to the eye of her mind. “You must
either come to Clavering Park or I shall write to Herself.” That should
have been her rejoinder to this shameless rebel. Beyond doubt a wise
woman would have made it, but do as she would at this fatal moment she
simply could not find the necessary courage.
“Address the parcel to Miss Cass, in the care of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson
at The Laurels. I will write it down for you so that there shall be no
mistake.”
The amazing Elfreda calmly unbuttoned the green ulster, produced a
small pocket diary and wrote down the address with a deliberate care
that seemed decidedly ironical. Then she tore out the leaf. “As soon as
ever you can, Pikey. You quite understand?”
Once more, at the tone’s finality, the duenna could merely gasp. It was
the only form of protest she had now the wit or the power to make.