AS Elfreda dressed for dinner in her meager and cheerless bedroom she
felt that interesting developments might be at hand. Her sense of humor
was keen and she was ready to enjoy every moment of the situation for
which she had made herself responsible. It would not be her fault if
coming events did not help to lighten her lot. Secretly, however, she
was more deeply annoyed than she chose to admit, even to herself,
by Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s ukase. How dare the woman, how dare any
woman venture to treat her in that way! She must try to remember, of
course, that the position she now chose to occupy was quite outside her
experience; at the same time while the new governess in the privacy of
her room proceeded to inspect the array of evening garments in the tin
trunk labeled “Cass,” she felt absurdly hostile, not merely to Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson, but also to the relations and friends of that lady
and to all their works.
Consideration of the wardrobe of Miss Cass disclosed it to be strictly,
even painfully, limited. In spite of this handicap, Elfreda, however,
was fully determined to make the most of herself for that evening, and
took considerable pains with her toilette. The best she could muster
was a black silk skirt, a semi-décolleté blouse of black chiffon and a
pair of velvet slippers. Elfreda was much too matter of fact to paint
extravagant pictures of her own appearance, but when she looked in the
glass and beheld the prim result of her labors it needed all the humor
she possessed to save her from laughing on the wrong side of her mouth.
Still, the fighting spirit of a hundred “Catkin Earls” or so had been
awakened in the frilled bosom of the new governess. Black chiffon or
no black chiffon, she was out for blood that evening. She went down to
dinner on the stroke of eight with certain grim thoughts smoldering
in the depths of a heart that had inherited a quite honest share of
natural arrogance. In the drawing room General Norris stood in the
center of the hearthrug, alone. The master and mistress of the house
and the fair Dolores were not quite up to time.
“I hope you enjoyed your walk, Miss Cass.” The young man’s voice
sounded just a shade reproachful.
“Ye-es.” There was a world of doubt in the tone of the new governess,
but in the odd way she had of looking at people she looked at
George Norris. There was a smile in the look, which in spite of
the circumstances or perhaps because of them, was somehow queerly
attractive. You couldn’t call her pretty, the young man decided, but
in that smile was something, although perhaps he didn’t know it, which
spoke to him far more deeply than a merely superficial attractiveness
would have done. As for Elfreda, she had reached the conclusion already
that this distinguished soldier was a very simple and extraordinarily
handsome young man.
Their brief talk was interrupted almost at once by the entrance of Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson and the fair Dolores. The lady of Birmingham looked
more metallic than ever in a glittering green dress with hair ornament
to match, yet so clear was her skin, so good were her teeth, so bright
was her hair that most people would have considered her uncommonly
handsome. At any rate that was Miss Parbury’s estimate of herself and
she had all the assurance of recognized beauty. The single glance she
cast at the chiffon blouse and the cheap black skirt of the little
governess had a touch of scornful pity. Perhaps it would have been pity
unadulterated had she not already discussed Miss Cass with her hostess
and had they not agreed to doubt whether the new governess quite knew
her place.
During dinner, alas, this doubt crystallized into certainty. Miss
Cass did not know her place. She insisted on taking such an important
part in the conversation that the fair Dolores and even Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson herself came perilously near to being outshone.
On every subject that presented itself for discussion she talked
confidently and with point, and from time to time, to the growing
resentment of the other ladies, she even dared to indulge in a little
badinage. Governesses at The Laurels in the last four years had been
many, but before the meal was at an end Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had
sorrowfully concluded that this was a new kind of governess altogether.
Miss Cass had been highly recommended by no less a person than Canon
Carnaby of Laxton, whose brother, the Reverend Sirius Carnaby, was
the venerable incumbent of the neighboring parish of Yeldham, but her
conduct at the dinner table, in the stern purview of her critics really
amounted to “showing off.” For a full half of the meal she entirely
monopolized General Norris, that is to say she would have monopolized
him had not the hostess and Miss Parbury been determined that she
should not; for the other half she was bewildering the company with the
originality of her remarks, the independence of her judgment and the
range of her information. Just before the meal came to an end, however,
she was guilty of a decidedly bad break.
Apart from the military prowess of George Norris, his real claim to
distinction in the sight of his former employers was that he had been
“taken up” by some very “nice” people. Foremost among these was that
exclusive clan the Lancelots of Amory Towers, the chimney pots of whose
ancestral seat were visible on a clear day from The Laurels’ back
windows. The Lancelots were the sun of the local firmament round which
all minor stars and planets were more or less content to revolve. This
family was too well established to insist unduly on its position; for
generations its name had been known for miles round not merely as a
symbol of place and power, but also as a cause of place and power in
others. The Lancelots were what their neighbors desired to be; at least
that was the opinion of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, although just what they
were beyond the fact that they were “very influential” would have been
difficult to say.
Still, there was no gainsaying the fact that George Norris, who four
years and three months ago had been a clerk earning a modest three
pounds a week in the office of a Clavering auctioneer, had several
times been invited to luncheon and dinner by the Lancelots, and Miss
Ethel herself, the bright one of the family, had only last week
attempted the fox-trot with him in public. It is true that it was at
the Assembly Rooms in the cause of mercy, but either Miss Ethel was
growing extremely progressive for a virgin of thirty or the stock of
George Norris was rising to a perilous height in the local market.
Towards the end of the meal the Lancelots were rather freely
discussed and it was then that the new governess by a series of
incautious remarks lent piquancy to the conversation. In fact she
betrayed a knowledge so intimate of this distinguished clan that Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson was impelled to challenge it. By what means had Miss
Cass acquired so much information concerning them?
The new governess inadvertently replied that the Lancelots were old
friends of her mother’s.
“_Your_ mother’s, Miss Cass?” said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson sharply; “but
I am speaking of the Lancelots of Amory Towers.”
In cool tones Elfreda made it quite clear that she also was speaking of
the Lancelots of Amory Towers.
“But how does _your_ mother come to know them?” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson
offered open battle to Miss Cass.
The new governess smiled frankly and cheerfully as she caught the eye
of the young man opposite. “Well you see----” The unconscious insolence
of the slight drawl amounted to downright bad form in any governess,
new or otherwise. “Well, you see my father happened to be the butler at
Amory Towers and my mother was lady’s maid.”
A solemn pause ensued. Finally it was broken by a gurgle of suppressed
laughter from General Norris. The tension which gripped the dinner
table was thereby released, but even in the myopic sight of Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson the lie of the new governess was so palpable that she
decided at once that Miss Cass would have to take another situation at
the end of her month.
For the rest of the evening the other ladies were openly hostile to
Miss Cass. In the drawing room this attitude grew quite marked, when
during Miss Parbury’s brilliant performance--brilliancy was her note in
everything, the key, in fact, of her personality--of Opp’s Prelude in A
minor upon the piano-forte the new governess persistently indulged in
loud and animated chatter with General Norris. Broad hints were given
that such conduct was unseemly, but they did not make one pennyworth of
difference. It was almost as if Miss Cass took a malicious pleasure in
flouting Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson and in restricting the opportunities of
Miss Parbury who found herself quite at a loss. General Norris was much
to blame, no doubt, but he was to be excused on the ground of social
inexperience. For the new governess there was no excuse. Such behavior
could not be passed over. As the clock on the chimney piece chimed ten
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was moved to put her just resentment into words.
“Miss Cass”--perhaps the resentment was more apparent in the tone than
in the words themselves--“you must really go to bed, I think. The
children’s breakfast is at half-past eight, you know. They were ten
minutes late this morning.”
Elfreda rose at once with the meaningful look that both ladies had
now come to dislike so intensely. General Norris convoyed her to the
drawing room door and opened it with a deference not lost upon them.
Moreover they observed the frank and ready smile with which she
rewarded the young man and the look he gave her in return.
Elfreda went to her chill nest very well content with her evening’s
work. She had made the discovery already that but for the presence in
the house of General Norris, life at The Laurels as nursery governess
would be quite insupportable. However, he was a very interesting young
man and the fact lent piquancy to the situation. And the manner in
which the other ladies had chosen to bear themselves in it had roused
Elfreda’s fighting spirit to a perilous pitch. More than ever was she
determined to “ride off” the fair Dolores; and she also expected a
reasonable measure of amusement in the process.
Meanwhile in the drawing room the mistress of the house was seeking
balm for her protégé. “I will see that she dines upstairs to-morrow,
dear.” With these discreetly whispered words did Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson
salve the wounds of the fair Dolores as General Norris closed the door
softly and smilingly upon the new governess.