HAD Girlie’s state of mind allowed her to enjoy a sense of triumph,
she might have fittingly indulged it when dinner time approached. She
had been through a most severe ordeal and had emerged with flying
colors. Really, she had “kept up her end” splendidly. How she had
contrived to do so was more than she could say; a latent genius must
have taken possession of her; but Mr. Montagu Jupp, that terrible
Old Man of the Sea whose arrival she had dreaded beyond all things,
whose mere appearance upon the scene was to prove the last straw, had
congratulated her personally, if not exactly upon her acting, upon
her knowledge of her part. Moreover, she still lived. Mr. Jupp, for
some inexplicable reason, had not given her away. He had addressed her
several times as “Lady Elfreda” without a hint of _arriére pensée_, and
in all good faith. And the praises of this remarkable man had added so
much to her prestige, that she was quite sure that Mrs. Spencer-Jobling
and the other ladies were now furiously jealous.
Mr. Jupp’s attitude was so incomprehensible and her own success so
great a surprise to herself, that in spite of everything she had a
secret satisfaction when she came to dress for dinner. But that emotion
was brief. Hardly had the Deputy submitted herself to the hands of
Pikey when she learnt that the maid was in a towering passion.
“What do you think?”--Grab!--“Me of all people”--Twist!--“I’ve a mind
to have the law of ’em”--Shake!--“So I have”--Shake!
Thus the prelude. And the aria to follow was quite as impressive.
It seemed that Mrs. Pike having been duly informed that a diamond and
sapphire ring was missing and that the master of the house, although
not knowing whom to suspect, was consulting the police, had had the
singular ill-fortune to overhear two of the servants discussing the
matter. And in the course of the conversation one of them had said
“that she wouldn’t be at all surprised if that old Marchioness had
taken it. Anyhow, she was quite sure that the Marchioness was not quite
right in her head.”
For several hours poor Pikey had brooded savagely upon the implication.
It was the deepest insult--second-hand though it was--that she had ever
received. She hardly knew how to bear it. Even now, as she prepared a
bath for the Deputy, she was not at all sure that she would not lodge a
complaint with the mistress of the house.
Such a reminder of the perils all around dashed Girlie at once. The
new sense of elation was nipped before it had time to bloom. This
unlucky disappearance of the pearl necklace added very dark tints to
the picture, for when the inevitable exposure occurred it was in the
nature of things that suspicion would fall upon herself. Even as it was
Pikey was so incensed by what she had heard that she was quite likely
to court disaster by making a fuss.
After a bath which was less enjoyable than it might have been, Girlie
did her best to combat this half-formed resolution of the maid. Before
doing so, however, she gently but firmly took charge of the hairbrushes
and insisted upon applying them personally to her own scalp. It needed
courage, but it called for even greater courage to allow Pikey to do
her office in her present savage mood.
A hairbrush in each hand, the Deputy begged the Werewolf not to stir
up strife unnecessarily. But somehow the appeal did but minister to
Pikey’s wrath.
“Yes, I’ll tell the mistress of the house.” The Werewolf bared her
fangs.
“If you do,” said the miserable Deputy, “everything may come out.”
“I hope it does. I’m sick and tired of this.”
“But if it does come out, they are certain to suspect me and I may have
to go to prison.”
It was the falsest of all false moves. Girlie realized the fact almost
as soon as it was made. But this cruel situation was always driving her
too hard.
“So much the better if you do have to go to prison.” Pikey’s words were
scornful and deliberate. “I hope you will, I’m sure.”
The callous speech took away Girlie’s breath. But for the moment only.
In the next she had unconsciously proved that she was not the Girlie
of a week ago. “If you give me away”--the thin, high-pitched voice
quivered ominously--“and I do have to go to prison, I’ll take good
care, Mrs. Pike, that you come, too.”
The words gave pause to Mrs. Pike.
“They can’t touch me--not the police can’t,” she said after a brief
period of reflection. “I am not pretending to be her ladyship. I am not
pretending to be any one.”
“No, you’re not,” said Girlie. “But”--inspired by the bizarre knowledge
that may lurk in an out-of-the-way corner of the brain of a solicitor’s
daughter--“you are an accessory after the fact, please don’t forget
that.”
The chance shot went home. Pikey was reduced to savage mumblings. For
the time being, at least, she had met with her quietus.