TIME was precious indeed if “The Lady of Laxton” was ever to know the
vicarious glamour of the footlights, but an acute sense of relief was
felt by all the members of the cast when at breakfast time the next
morning it was announced that for that day at least there was to be
an interregnum. In the absence of Sir Toby there would be no further
rehearsal until the following day. And to no member of the company was
the news quite so welcome as the leading lady.
Girlie had been nearly a week now at Clavering Park and events were
nerving her almost to the pitch of desperation. She had reached the
point at which she hardly cared what happened. Yet if not exactly a
fighter she had the tenacity that often goes with weak natures, and
there were certain aspects of the adventure, strange nightmare as it
was, that were delightful. In spite of the drawbacks to a position
which she had been absolutely mad to accept, this was Life with a
very large letter. As far as she herself was concerned it was all a
wonder and a wild desire, a never-to-be-forgotten romance, a complex of
soul-harrowing torments and delirious possibilities. She really felt
that if she could emerge from this position of peril without being
damned eternally in the sight of the world, she would have gained so
much first-hand experience that she might hope to become one of the
foremost novelists of her time and country.
All the same it needed every spark of will power she could summon not
to run away. Each night as she came to assuage her throbbing temples
with the luxury of King Edward’s bedroom and the incidents of the day
recurred to her, how she contrived to go on “sticking it” she simply
did not know. Time and again as she realized how near she must be to
discovery she shuddered in the depths of her soul. And heaven knew what
penalty would be exacted when the discovery was inevitably made!
Had a reasonable alternative presented itself she must have bolted
after her abject failure at the third rehearsal. By no means a fool,
she was only too keenly aware of the veiled hostility and the covert
sarcasms of the other ladies. But what could she do? Where could she
go? She had no money beyond a few rapidly diminishing Bradburys. She
had no home, no friends; above all, she had thrown away her situation
without any sort of hope of getting another one. Merely to review such
a position was to induce a paralysis of the will. Whatever happened she
must hold on a little while longer, if only in self defense. Yet as she
clearly foresaw the time was surely coming when she must be found out,
or still worse, when her overdriven nerves would give way and compel
her to throw up the sponge.
It was a huge relief, therefore, to learn that the rehearsals were
suspended until Sir Toby’s return. But it was certainly tempered as
far as Miss Cass was concerned, by Mr. Minever’s announcement at
breakfast that the little man had sworn a great oath that he would
bring Monty Jupp back with him or he would die in the attempt. Opinion
was divided as to whether or not Sir Toby would have to embrace the
grim alternative. The majority, however, were so emphatic that Sir
Toby’s mission was doomed to fail, that the trembling Girlie plucked
up a little courage. After all there was still a slender hope that the
mysterious Providence which so far had watched over her would continue
to do so.
Before the morning was far advanced Girlie had quite an inspiration.
She suddenly decided to set forth to The Laurels and seek advice from
the person best able to give it. Moreover, this course of action
commended itself to Pikey. When the Dragon was informed of the project
she agreed that in the circumstances it was quite the best thing the
Deputy could do and gave her some sound advice as to the best means of
getting there.
Cunning was needed to escape the attentions of the hostess and her
fellow guests. Yet it was not really difficult to slip away unseen,
for by this time, having become thoroughly unpopular with the other
members of the house party, they were now leaving her severely alone.
As Girlie’s conversation was confined almost exclusively to “Yes” and
“No,” it had become rather a moot point with the others as to whether
this was a form of “side” on the part of Lady Elfreda, or whether it
was that she was merely a fool. The more charitable view was perhaps
the latter. At any rate, her aloofness no longer caused surprise, while
her movements generally roused no particular interest.
Duly instructed by Pikey and favored by a fair share of luck, Girlie
arrived at The Laurels about half-past eleven. She was received by a
rather supercilious parlor-maid, who met her demand to see Miss Cass by
showing her into the drawing room. The parlor-maid then asked the name
of the visitor. Girlie met the case by the modest formula, “Please say
a lady would like to see her.”
It happened, however, that the ever-watchful mistress of the house
was lurking near at hand. She had observed the visitor’s arrival from
the window of the morning room and filled with curiosity she now
intercepted the parlor-maid before she could deliver the message to
Miss Cass.
“Who is it, Jarvis?”
“A lady, ma’am, to see Miss Cass. She won’t give her name, ma’am.”
“How odd.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson ruminated for a brief twenty seconds.
Then she added, “I will tell Miss Cass myself.”
Further rumination followed. In the class of born-busybodies, Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson had claims to rank high. Curiosity stirred her in
regard to this quite attractive-looking and decidedly well-turned-out
young woman--Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson prided herself upon being a judge
of such matters--who declined to give her name. And the new governess
was enough of “a dark horse” already without having secretive callers
to intensify the mystery. Therefore it took Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson less
than a minute to seek the light for herself.
The mistress of the house entered the drawing room flutelike but
dominant, and her unexpected appearance came to the visitor, who
was girding herself to do battle with some one very different, as a
complete surprise. Frankly, almost naïvely quizzical, the lady of the
house made no secret of a desire for information. “Perhaps you will
tell me who you are and then I will tell Miss Cass.”
Somehow Girlie had not been able to foresee that it would be necessary
to provide herself with a name. But only too clearly a name was
required. And on the spur of the moment there was only one that came to
her. Almost in spite of herself it now sprang automatically to her lips.
“Lady Elfreda Catkin.”
It was a terrible blunder, and this Girlie realized at the very moment
in which it was made. But, taken so completely by surprise, and faced
with the calm insistence of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, no middle course
seemed open. If anything, however, this revelation of identity added
fuel to the flame of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s curiosity. The mystery
surrounding the new governess appeared to deepen considerably. And it
grew more intriguing than ever.
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was visibly impressed. Her first thought was
that Miss Cass’s boast of the Lancelots being old friends of her
mother’s was in some sort corroborated, her second thought was that
the distinguished friends of the new governess made her so interesting
that she was rather glad than otherwise that Miss Cass had not yet
received a month’s notice. For the past four days, in fact, almost
from the moment of the arrival of Dolores Parbury, who had taken a
violent dislike to Miss Cass, the mistress of The Laurels had been at
the point of terminating the engagement of that lady. But for some
reason or other the drastic step had remained in abeyance, and as Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson made a dignified progress to the schoolroom she was
inclined to rejoice that it had.
Miss Cass in that slow, cool, oddly imperious voice of hers, which had
the malign power of driving the other ladies to secret fury, was in
the act of setting a sulky Master Peter and a disgruntled Miss Joan to
write to dictation. The children made no secret of the fact that they
had a hearty dislike of Miss Cass, and that lady, if austerity of mien
and acidity of tongue were any indication, hardly cared to disguise
that their feelings were fully reciprocated. But as the smiling Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson floated into the room, with quite a new air of kindly
politeness, and informed Miss Cass that Lady Elfreda Catkin had called
to see her and that she now awaited her in the drawing room the heavy
thunderclouds were momentarily dispersed. All the same, as Miss Cass
laid down her book and her pencil they suddenly returned with added
density.
“Another friend of your mother’s, Miss Cass?” There was not a suspicion
of sarcasm in that discreet inquiry. It was the honest child of a
shameless curiosity.
“Ye-es.” The somewhat ambiguous reply of Miss Cass was extremely
reluctant. And there was a look on her face that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson
had no means of interpreting.
“Such a pretty girl.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was a little inclined to
gush. “And so very young to be such a clever actress.”
Miss Cass looked coldly down her arrogant nose. The little idiot must
have taken leave of her wits!
The new governess did not seem to be anywise flattered by having such a
very interesting young woman to call upon her. Thunderclouds gathered
even more heavily about her as she rose from the table and made her way
to the drawing room.
Consumed by an intense curiosity, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson would
dearly have liked to put her ear to the keyhole of the drawing room
door. But the line has to be drawn somewhere, and with a sigh Mrs.
Trenchard-Simpson remembered that she was “a lady.” Well it was that
she had this scruple, for the conversation the other side of the door
must have increased the flame that was devouring her.
“Why are _you_ here?” was Elfreda’s greeting to her pale and
embarrassed counterfeit.
The answer was tears.
“I--I don’t think I can keep on.” So complex is the human mind that
even in that moment of genuine tragedy poor Girlie could not help
noticing with what an air of authority the blue serge skirt she had
contrived out of her meager capital and the cunning of her own needle
and the woolen jumper she had knitted herself were now invested. The
trim form of their present wearer showed them off to rare advantage.
It was a painful meeting, nevertheless. Girlie was at the limit of
endurance. In the pitiless view of the evil genius who had brought a
highly respectable daughter of suburbia to the verge of ruin she looked
even more rabbit-like than when she had seen her last. And at that
moment Elfreda’s paramount desire was to shake her.
“I hope you don’t mean that you are going to run away?” There was a
nascent ferocity that threatened actual bodily violence.
“I--I don’t know,” gasped the visitor.
“You don’t mean to say they’ve found out!”
Girlie reluctantly admitted that they had not yet actually done so,
but that it was as certain as anything could be that the hour was near
when all must be discovered.
“Not necessarily,” was the Stoic’s answer, “if only you keep on doing
your best.”
But there is a limit to human endurance and Miss Cass seemed to have
reached it already. Besides she was now in very deep waters indeed and
in no sense was she a strong swimmer. Alarming developments threatened
continually and she now felt that she simply could not go on.
However, she was in the toils of an implacable will.
“You are bound to go through with it now,” said the pitiless Elfreda.
“It will let them down shamefully if you run away before the
performance. You must at least wait until afterwards.”
“But I am sure to be found out.”
“You have not been found out yet, and you will not be--if you continue
to do your best.”
Even if Miss Cass continued to do her best, however, and if by a
supreme effort she brought herself finally to face the music, what
must be the upshot of it all? She had no place to go to when this
tragic farce was at an end. What was to become of her? The nearer she
approached the abyss that yawned beneath her feet the wider and blacker
it looked. In the end, as she knew only too well, that bottomless pit
must devour her.
“But I will certainly find you another situation--when the time comes,”
said Elfreda staunchly.
It was very well for the reckless author of the mischief to promise so
boldly, but what did such a promise amount to? As far as Girlie was
concerned the future appeared hopeless.
Besides, the matter had another aspect, of which the Deputy had lately
been made aware. She was afraid, she was terribly afraid, that a
certain peer was on the verge of proposing to her.
In the circumstances, it was a confession that Girlie felt bound to
make to her principal. Humiliating the confession might be, a little
demoralizing it certainly was, yet bound up in it was a sense of
romance, a secret thrill of adventure. Somehow she felt bound in
honor to tell Lady Elfreda what she feared was going to happen. Half
shamefacedly she made her odd disclosure, and yet as she did so with
many blushes, deep hesitations and some tears, it would be less than
just to Girlie or to Girlie’s sex to say that pain was her dominant
emotion.
As for Elfreda, when she grasped the true meaning of the disjointed,
tremulous words, she was able to conceal her real feelings, whatever
they might have been. In that art at least she was singularly adept.
A light of humor burned in the eyes that seemed to peer into the very
soul of Girlie Cass. And then an arrogant lip curled ever so slightly.
She was justified, she was more than justified in what she had done!
The thought seared the pride of one who as yet had hardly begun to
learn her own intrinsic value in the matter-of-fact world of men and
things.
So this was the measure of the man whom her parents considered good
enough for her! In the sight of this Crœsus any underbred little
impostor was as eligible as her authentic self. Suddenly the red
light was hoisted in Elfreda’s eyes. That rubbishy little thing to be
accepted at her surface value! Elfreda’s face grew hard.
“What ought I to do?” twittered poor Girlie.
The eyes of this daughter of a picturesque race altered curiously in
the fragment of time that elapsed before she could bring herself to
answer the question.
Twittered poor Girlie again--“Do tell me, please, what I ought to do!”
“Do!” The scorn was cold drawn, barbaric. “Why, go back at once
and make him propose to you. And”--the eyes were like those of
Medusa--“don’t let me see or hear from you again until he has done so.”