WITHOUT another word Elfreda moved on round the corner and crossed the
stone bridge. As soon as she came in view of The Laurels she found
quite a number of people collected about its gate. It appeared that a
man had just stuck a bill on one of its wooden posts, that he was now
being severely admonished by the mistress of the house while an edified
Miss Joan, an equally edified Master Peter, and an amused young man in
khaki looked on.
To add to the piquancy of the scene the bill-sticker, conscious of
the fact that he was engaged on work of national importance and that
his services were at a premium, was inclined to give as good as he
got. “Thought as how you wouldn’t mind seein’ it were for a charitable
h’object,” said the offender, doggedly.
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, a tall, angular, fresh-complexioned lady with
light eyelashes and mouse-colored hair, had a decided weakness for “the
high horse.”
“You had no right to think anything of the kind,” she fluted on her
favorite note of high expostulation. “I consider it a great liberty.”
In spite of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s fierce assault the offender stood
his ground.
“You might at least have taken the trouble to ask my permission. I have
a great mind to have the bill removed. As my name is not thought good
enough to appear as a Lady Patroness, although I have subscribed for
six tickets in the front seats, perhaps my gate may not be good enough
to advertise the performance.”
“It can come down if you like, mum,” said the bill-sticker doggedly.
The mistress of The Laurels turned impressively to the young man in
khaki. “Would you have it down, General, if the gate were yours?”
“I should let it stay up,” said the General, who looked surprisingly
youthful for the rank accorded him. He spoke briefly and succinctly
as one knowing his own mind, on that particular subject at any rate;
moreover as he did so he smiled rather broadly in the direction of the
new governess who had just come on to the scene.
“Very well, then, it may do so,” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson. “But tell
me, man”--she was determined to ride off the field victorious--“by
whose orders did you stick it up?”
“The vicar’s, mum.”
“The vicar’s!” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was sensibly mollified. “Then why
didn’t you say so at once?”
“Because you didn’t ax me,” said the bill-sticker with the ready
defiance of true democracy.
General Norris and the new governess had barely time to exchange one
furtive smile before Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson augustly interposed. “Miss
Cass, remind me after luncheon that I write to the Vicar to complain of
this man’s impertinence.”
Instead of regarding her employer with the smile sycophantic as any
new governess who really knew her business might have been expected
to do in such circumstances, Miss Cass again reserved her glance for
the young man in khaki. Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was too busy with the
recalcitrant bill-sticker to observe this breach of etiquette, but Miss
Joan, a spectacled young woman of seven, who had an uncomfortable habit
of noticing everything, noticed it for her. Miss Joan, however, made no
comment, the bill-sticker was sent on his way, and the offending poster
was allowed to remain on the gate post of The Laurels.
“_Grand, original production of ‘The Lady of Laxton,’_” read the young
man in khaki in his precise, good-humored voice. “_First performance
on any stage. Under the personal direction of the author, Sir Toby
Philpot Bart and Montagu Jupp, Esquire, of the Mayfair Theater. The
cast will consist of The Lady Elfreda Catkin and the following ladies
and gentlemen_----”
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson brought a pair of eyeglasses into action in
order to study the _dramatic personæ_. “Miss Ethel Lancelot is in it, I
see. If she is as stiff in her acting as she is in herself she might
empty the Assembly Rooms quite easily. But I don’t suppose they will be
more than half full in any case.”
“You have taken six tickets, though,” said General Norris cheerfully.
“And if this entire list of distinguished patronesses has done the same
there may not be so very much room in the building.”
“By the way,” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, her voice going a whole
octave higher, “who is Lady Elfreda Catkin? I don’t think she belongs
to this part of the world.”
“One of the Carabbas girls I believe,” said the young man off-handedly.
“Have you met her?”
“No,” George Norris spoke with a slight air of boredom. “But the
_Society Pictorial_ says she’s very clever. Her portrait and all about
her is in this week.”
“I must look at the _Society Pictorial_,” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson.
“Have you the time, George?”
“Quarter to one,” said George after consulting the watch on his wrist.
“Miss Cass,” fluted Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson. “Will you walk on with the
children. Please wash their hands and brush their hair.”
For one very brief fraction of time it looked almost as if the new
governess would have preferred to delegate this simple and elementary
duty to Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson herself. That lady was too much occupied
with General Norris to observe the fact, but the young woman in
spectacles who noticed everything, noticed it all right.
“Come on, Petah,” she said. “Come and let Miss Cass wash your hands and
brush your hair.”
Master Peter, whose age was five, gave himself a shake and a wriggle.
“Don’t warn-too,” he said.
“Petah-darling!” fluted Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson to her son and heir.
Miss Cass made no comment, but she took Miss Joan quietly but firmly
in one hand and Master Peter with equal quietude and firmness in the
other. Without preface or apology she proceeded to lead them in the
direction of the house. It was not quite the mode of procedure of
former governesses--her charges had had four within the last twelve
months--but the grip of Miss Cass was so resolute that Master Peter was
able to shake and wriggle with rather less effect than usual.
“Tell me, George,” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, suddenly becoming
confidential as the small procession of three passed from view, “what
do you think of the new governess?”
The question was really superfluous. By the aid of the sixth sense
given to her sex in these little matters, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was
already fully informed as to what George Norris thought of the new
governess. Moreover she had been informed so plainly, that although the
new governess had not been four and twenty hours under her roof the
subject threatened already to become a matter of some concern.
“I think she is extremely nice.” The answer of George Norris was
simple, unstudied, genuinely sincere. And it was very much the answer
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson anticipated, except that she had not looked for
it to be quite so candid.
The response of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson to what almost amounted to
enthusiasm on the part of George Norris was rather formal. “She speaks
nicely,” she said. “And of course that is of great importance in a
governess.”
George Norris, who for all his remarkable array of decorations seemed
a very simple young man, naïvely said that he supposed it must be of
great importance for a governess to speak nicely, yet he may have
thought privately, had he ever been tempted to give thought to the
subject, that it was in the nature of a governess to do so.
In fact, although he did not put that view into words, his tone rather
implied it. But Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, who subsconciously followed his
train of ideas, felt it to be her duty to convict him of error.
“Governesses don’t always, I assure you,” she said. “Our last one had
quite a cockney accent.”
George Norris seemed surprised at the revelation.
“I am sure I hope Miss Cass will suit us.” The tone of Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson did not sound very optimistic. “One finds
governesses such a difficult class. You see they are not always ladies.”
George Norris betrayed more surprise. But Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s
confession was not without a certain method.
She was by no means well pleased that her guest should have walked into
Clavering with Miss Cass. He was a young man who in the course of four
years had won really remarkable military distinction, but his hostess
could not disguise from herself that his knowledge of the world had
hardly kept pace with his martial renown. In a word he lacked social
experience.
The truth was Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had come to regard herself as
the social mentor of General Norris. In a peculiar degree she felt
responsible for him. His career had been one of the many romances of
the war. In August, 1914, he had been a clerk in her husband’s office
in receipt of a salary of three pounds a week. He had joined up on the
morning war was declared, and having some little previous experience
with the local volunteer battalion, had gained a commission almost at
once. In France he had proved himself a born soldier in much of the
hardest fighting of the war, had been twice wounded, had won some very
high distinctions, had taken a course at the Staff College and was now
a professional soldier and a general officer to boot.
In launching this remarkable young man upon the world Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson may have been a little influenced by the fact that
her husband’s former clerk had been received with open arms in certain
local circles wherein Colonel Trenchard-Simpson and herself were
constrained to move with delicacy, even if they might be said to move
in them at all. Even those most exclusive people, the Lancelots of
Amory Towers, who wielded so much influence in that part of the world,
had taken George Norris under their wing. He had neither money nor
prospects apart from his profession and very little was known of his
origin, but in the little world of Clavering St. Mary’s, Colonel (on
carpet consideration) Trenchard-Simpson’s ex-clerk was cutting just
now such an amazingly distinguished figure that the wife of his former
employer felt that she really owed it to George Norris to do what she
could for him.
He had been housed at The Laurels rather less than a week as an honored
guest, but his manly and judicious bearing had impressed his hostess so
favorably that she had already invited Miss Dolores Parbury, a niece of
her husband’s, who lived at Birmingham, to spend a few days under that
hospitable roof.
The father of Miss Parbury had been able to leave the fair Dolores some
six thousand a year; and as he had been a successful retail grocer and
his only daughter had inherited not merely his money but also his view
of life, she had rather set her heart upon “marrying a title.” It was
a nice point, of course, whether a mere Brigadier-General fulfilled
this condition, but Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, after due reflection,
came to the conclusion that she was fully justified in the special
circumstances in sending for her husband’s niece.
Dolores was due to arrive at The Laurels in the course of the
afternoon and at luncheon her coming was much discussed. Colonel
Trenchard-Simpson, a recently hyphenated auctioneer, with a bald head
and a loud voice, was proud of his niece. Six thousand a year is six
thousand a year even if it is the fruit of retail grocery. On the other
hand Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson in her heart was not quite sure whether
Dolores was not a blot on the family escutcheon; she herself was the
daughter of a button manufacturer who had dabbled in local politics to
the extent of a knighthood. But such glittering accounts were given
of her to George Norris that, had the young man been romantically
inclined, extravagant hopes must have been raised in his bosom.
The new governess during her first luncheon at The Laurels was really
more interested in her immediate surroundings than in the coming of
Miss Parbury. There were several reasons for this. Foremost of course
were the surprising circumstances. She had not been long enough in
them as yet to regret the wicked trick she had played. Everything, so
far, was new and strange. She had never seen people quite like these,
nor had she ever found herself in this kind of household. Everything,
including the table decorations, the menu, the conversation, the style
and manner of the parlor-maid, came to her at a new and curious angle.
But with Miss Joan one side of her and Master Peter the other, her
opportunities for observation were a little curtailed. And when Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson instructed her rather pointedly to cut up the food of
the one and to see that the other consumed hers properly, somehow these
opportunities were curtailed still further.
There was another drawback also. And it was of an embarrassing, if
temporary, character. Joan, it seemed, had told her mother of the
meeting of Miss Cass and the strange woman. Moreover, the visit of
Pikey had been duly reported by the parlor-maid. “Tell me, Miss Cass,”
fluted Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson midway through the meal, “who was the
person who came to see you this morning?”
Several courses were open to Elfreda. Perhaps the one most obvious was
to lie royally. But she was such a calm and collected young woman that
she promptly decided to amuse herself by telling the blunt and literal
truth. “Oh, that old thing,” she said with a careless laugh that did
credit to her histrionic powers. “She’s an old servant of my mother’s
who happens to be living here just now.”
Unfortunately the offhand tone was a little overdone. It did not
actually arouse suspicion, but such a casualness of manner with its
underlying arrogance was hardly to be looked for in a governess. It
did not occur to Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson that Miss Cass had anything
to conceal, but certainly there was something about the new governess
that was decidedly odd. There were moments when she seemed almost to
patronize her employers, had it been humanly possible for her to do
so. Certainly her manner made pursuit of this particular topic very
difficult indeed.
Making allowance for all things, Elfreda’s first luncheon at The
Laurels was a new and salutary experience, yet perhaps it was the young
man seated opposite who interested her most. And as it was her nature
to follow her own bent as far as circumstances allowed, General Norris
received the lion’s share of her conversation.
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson remarked privately to her husband after the
meal, while Miss Cass put on the gaiters of Miss Joan and Master Peter
and otherwise prepared them for the afternoon’s airing, that no matter
what else the new governess might be, she certainly was not shy. She
talked easily and with point on any subject that came uppermost, but
somehow her discourse seemed lacking in that subtle deference which
surely should have been exacted by their respective conditions. Nor was
she at all well up in her duties, either; she certainly seemed to pay
more attention to the guest than to her employers or their offspring;
in a word, although she was a young woman of undeniably good address,
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson doubted gravely whether she would suit.
Furthermore, there was one point on which that lady had already
reached a decision. She must speak to the new governess on the subject
of walking into Clavering with General Norris. As a matter of fact
the point was raised rather sooner than Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had
anticipated. The children, duly gaitered and gloved, announced that
they were going to show Miss Cass the way to Copt Wood, whereupon
General Norris remembered that he had promised to walk over to see some
people who lived in that direction and made an offer to accompany the
party.
The offer was promptly accepted by the children, but their mother felt
obliged to lead the new governess aside before the expedition started
and lay down rules for their guidance. She must not take the children
to Copt Wood if General Norris insisted on going there, nor must she
take them in any other direction in which he proposed to go. And while
on the subject she had reluctantly but rather pointedly to refer to
their morning’s expedition into the town. Such a thing must not occur
again.
It is not too much to say that Elfreda felt perfectly furious. She
would like to have slain this complacent and overbearing dame. For
the time being, however, she was defenseless. Her color mounted high
as she said that it was by no wish of hers that they had walked into
Clavering together. To this Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson rejoined in a
rather “Tell-that-to-the-Marines” sort of tone that whether Miss Cass
had wished it or not it must not happen again.
The upshot was that when Miss Joan and Master Peter took the air they
were hauled rather peremptorily and decidedly against their inclination
in a direction opposite to Copt Wood, while General Norris, who seemed
a shade disconsolate, was left to follow a lonely path to that part of
the landscape.
While Elfreda and her charges trekked along the high road for a stolid
two miles and back again the thoughts of the rebel were dark indeed.
She was leading a life that hitherto she had hardly guessed at and
already she had found it quite surprisingly full of thorns. There was
every reason to congratulate her private stars that it was a kind of
life she had never been used to; at the same time even this brief taste
of servitude was curiously galling.
On the return of Miss Cass and the children to The Laurels shortly
before four o’clock they found the fair Dolores in the act of arrival
from Birmingham. She and several imposing boxes were being solemnly
disgorged from the household chariot while Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson stood
by in an attitude of mingled authority and adoration.
“Oh, the darlings!” was the greeting of Miss Parbury to Miss Joan and
Master Peter.
She was a lady with a very loud voice and an assurance of manner that
was little short of stupendous. It may have been for these reasons, or
for reasons more subtle, that the new governess who was a young woman
of quick and extremely definite intuitions decided almost as soon as
she saw Miss Parbury that she was not going to like her. For one thing,
although her reception of the children was stressed almost to the point
of effusion, she hardly so much as looked at the green ulster even when
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson introduced its occupant; she addressed no remark
then to Miss Cass nor later over the tea cups when the governess and
her charges were allowed to enter the drawing room.
The manner of Miss Parbury was forthcoming, yet she was not a great
talker. Her conversation appeared to consist mainly of “I mean to
say”--at least impartially considered that was the gist of it. Exactly
what Miss Parbury did mean to say, even when she had said all she had
to say, would have taken a very wise person to determine. Still she
was by no means ineffective in a metallic sort of way. Everything
about her was metallic, her voice, her appearance, her dress, her mode
of attack, yet when all was said she was hardly as metallic as her
hostess. Birmingham, it is true, was Miss Parbury’s home town, but
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had the further advantage of being the daughter
of a button manufacturer who had received the honor of knighthood.
Both ladies, however, were bright specimens of the particular style
they affected; it was in the nature of a physical feat, but not for
an instant did they fail to live up to it; and in the case of Miss
Parbury, with a cool six thousand a year at the back of her decided
good looks, this achievement was rewarded by the number of her
conquests in the midland counties. In fact it was clear almost before
General Norris had returned from his lonely trek in the vicinity of
Copt Wood that the accomplished Miss Parbury did not look for much
difficulty in adding another male scalp to her already fairly large
collection.