WHILE Mr. Jupp so nobly held the breach, a doctor was summoned from the
audience to attend Lady Elfreda. On his advice she was sent home at
once to bed in the care of her maid. She was so overwrought that the
doctor, fearing serious consequences, followed her to Clavering Park,
stopping on the way at a chemist’s in the town to procure a bromide.
Lord Duckingfield, a much embarrassed witness of the play’s fiasco,
had already come to the conclusion even before the ignominious descent
of the curtain at the end of Act I, that Lady Elfreda had been driven
too hard by the strain of perpetual rehearsal and that she had been
induced to undertake a rôle beyond her powers. He had now an anxious
consultation with Mrs. Minever as to what ought to be done. Both
were so genuinely concerned that it was decided to telegraph to Lady
Elfreda’s father and ask him to come at once to Clavering Park.
He was usually to be found in London at the Old Buck House Club. There
a telegram was sent after a judicious formula had been decided upon so
as not to alarm the paternal feelings of Lord Carabbas unduly.
The yellow chrysanthemum lady, who was really the soul of kindness,
did not wait for the end of the performance, but accompanied by Lord
Duckingfield she took a taxi as far as the post-office and personally
dispatched the fateful telegram. Then, deeply anxious for Lady
Elfreda’s welfare, they went on together to Clavering Park.
By the time Mrs. Minever reached home, Girlie, much soothed by the
ministrations of the doctor, had been put to bed. Here, in as much
comfort as a bad and thoroughly alarmed conscience would permit, she
was found with the grim and scandalized Pikey sitting by her side.
“How are you, my dear?” said the hostess, kindly.
The invalid, although still looking very white and strained, said
feebly that she was feeling much better.
“I am so glad.” Mrs. Minever took the hand of the sufferer gently
within her own. “The whole thing has been a little too much for you,
I’m afraid. You must keep very quiet for a day or two, and the doctor
says you must not think of going to Mrs. Lancelot’s, at least not until
the end of the week.”
Girlie’s deep sigh expressed acute relief. With a feeling that was
almost content she closed her eyes. In the next moment, however, she
had opened them again in horror.
“The doctor says you must stay in bed--at any rate until your father
comes.”
“My father!” Girlie’s gasp had a thrill in it.
“Yes, my dear.” The voice of Mrs. Minever was very gentle. “Lord
Duckingfield and I have just telegraphed to Lord Carabbas. We have
told him not to be alarmed, but we have begged him to come down here
to-night, if he can, or by the first train to-morrow.”
It was as much as ever Girlie could do to repress a groan. But this
fortitude was beyond the panic-stricken Pikey, who was following
closely every word of the conversation. She walked to the window in
a state of terror. At that moment she hardly knew how to keep from
throwing herself out of it.
The hostess strictly enjoined the patient to get some sound and
refreshing sleep and not to worry about anything, and then she left
the room. As the kind lady withdrew she little guessed the scene of
desolation upon which she softly closed the door. The Deputy and the
duenna were left frozen with horror. They looked at one another in
tragic dismay.
In the end it was left to the unfortunate Pikey to break the silence.
“Himself!” she gasped. Putting her hands before her eyes she began to
shake miserably.
It needed only this show of impotence to re-awaken Girlie’s latent
hysteria. Tears began to flow down her white cheeks once again. A
longing to kill her came upon the Werewolf.
In a little while, however, Girlie grew calmer. She was able to make a
supreme effort for self-control. And, caught in the toils if ever human
creature was, she was even nerved to a little constructive thinking.
“L-Lady Elfreda m-must know at once.”
Pikey remained mute and rigid as a stone.
“You m-must go to her and tell her that her f-father is c-coming.”
Far from Pikey’s intention though it might be to accept dictation from
Miss No-Class she could yet judge that the proposal was not lacking in
practical wisdom. Still she did not relish turning out on a winter’s
evening on such an errand. But desperate diseases call for desperate
remedies. After all, it was the only thing to be done. Elfreda was
the key of the situation. And the sooner Elfreda understood what the
situation now was the better for all concerned.
Finally, and with great reluctance, Pikey consented to set out for
The Laurels immediately. She was really persuaded to do so less
by the forlorn entreaties of the Deputy than by the hard logic of
events. Weakly and foolishly false to her trust, Pikey felt that she
had perhaps stronger reason than any one else to fear the coming of
Himself.