GIRLIE, in the meantime, had gone to ground in King Edward’s bedroom.
The public eye was no place for her. All she asked now, if so much was
permitted her, was to retire permanently into private life. She even
cherished the modest hope that she might be allowed to make her escape
from that house by the first train in the morning.
Shivering at her thoughts over the recently lighted bedroom fire,
her faith was still pinned upon Lady Elfreda. It was a much-tired, a
sorely-shattered faith, but it was now her only stand-by. The task
would devolve upon Lady Elfreda of convincing Mrs. Minever and the
others that her Deputy was really not “an adventuress” at all, or any
kind of criminal in disguise, but the well educated daughter of a
solicitor, who, no matter what her folly, was quite incapable of theft.
It was a horrid position for a budding Charlotte Brontë to occupy. As
she viewed in perspective the eleven epic days she had contrived to
live through since leaving London she could but marvel at herself. Oh,
why had she ever embarked on this maddest of schemes! Her place was
lost, her character was lost, she had used abominably a man who had
gained her admiration and respect, whom she would have found it very
easy to love. Never again could she hold up her head, not even if Lady
Elfreda was able to satisfy the police that her Deputy was a reasonably
innocent member of society!
Shivering over the logs as they spluttered to a reluctant heat, Girlie
had never felt so low and miserable in her life. Remorse was whipping
her severely. Ruin stared her in the face. Whatever would become of
her! A hopeless future loomed ahead. No ray of hope was visible. Her
mad enterprise had ended in the only way it could have done.
Soon after the clock had struck seven Girlie, fathoms deep in gloom,
was startled by the entrance of Lady Elfreda. By now the poor Deputy
had begun to feel a profound dislike of this cynical girl who had
involved her in ruin. Howbeit, she still found it difficult not to
admire her. Such assurance, such decision, such competence, such spirit
were marvelous. She seemed to have every attribute of a She Napoleon.
“Where’s that stupid old Pikey?” she said. In her manner of pressing
the bell Girlie felt there was something magnificent. “She ought to be
here rooting me out some clothes for this evening.”
“I suppose,” said Girlie dismally, yet heroically suppressing her
tears, “I must leave this room now.”
“Oh, no.” There was a regal indifference to the room even if it was
King Edward’s. “There’s one next door will do for me. But I must have
something to put on this evening.” She pressed the bell again just as
Pikey entered, half truculent, half scared.
Girlie was still in awe of the Werewolf. Even the partial collapse
of Pikey under the stress of events did not allow the Deputy to get
on terms with her. But Elfreda’s method of handling the creature was
almost an education. In the sight of her lawful charge she counted for
rather less than nobody.
“Pikey, what am I to wear this evening?” At the moment this was the
question of questions for Elfreda.
“There’s nothing you can wear,” Pikey muttered dismally.
“Nothing? Don’t be absurd. I know you packed at least five evening
dresses.”
Pikey flashed a savage glance at Miss Cass.
“_She’s_ worn them all,” said Pikey in a tone of shameful confession.
“Of course. Why not?” said a very polite and very prompt Elfreda. No
one likes other people wearing one’s clothes, but Pikey’s implication
that their patrician owner would never be able to use them again was a
little too much. It was one more barb for Miss No-Class.
Elfreda, however, with a woman’s understanding of the case did her best
to soften it. She was the soul of tact and she was quite charming to
Miss Cass.
“Please choose the one you like best for this evening.” Her winning
grace brought back to poor Girlie’s mind their never-to-be-forgotten
journey from London.
Girlie declined the offer with tears.
“I--I c-couldn’t think of going down to dinner this evening,” she said
with a little shiver.
“But, of course, you are going down to dinner.”
Napoleon--Hannibal--Etc.; the sinister cycle of their first meeting was
being enacted again.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t--I really couldn’t--I could never face them all!”
“But of course you will.” Each slow syllable of the Evil Genius seemed
to burn itself in Girlie’s heart. “If you don’t play up now you will
spoil everything.”
Girlie shuddered. She fought against her tears. “I--I am ruined and
disgraced. I--I don’t know whatever will become of me.”
“I don’t either,” Elfreda grimly agreed, “if you let go now.”
With the power of will that made her so formidable Elfreda ordered
Pikey to lay out Madame Lucile’s new pink dress for Miss Cass.
“That is the one I think. It goes perfectly with your coloring. You
must let Pikey do your hair. And you shall have my nicest necklace.”
At the word “necklace” Girlie shuddered again. The prison gates loomed
before her eyes.
“And you shall have my new Pinet slippers if they’ll fit you. Now do be
sensible. This evening you must simply play up for all you are worth.”
It was all very well, but nature has set a limit to what flesh and
blood can endure. Stage fright had once more fixed its talons on
Girlie. “Oh, no, I can’t face them to-night,” she said miserably.
She was reckoning, however, without the dæmonic force that encompassed
her. Its power over weak vessels was truly remarkable. And among
these Pikey was foremost. The Werewolf, after all, was no more than
a lath painted to look like iron and none knew that quite so well as
her mistress. She ordered the disgruntled old woman about with the
genial arrogance she might have bestowed on a favorite dog. And Pikey,
mumbling under her breath, was only too ready to do her bidding
As for Miss Cass, she found herself in the midst of her toilet before
she could quite realize what was taking place. Elfreda superintended
it. “Yes, the pink one, Pikey. And those stockings, I think.”
As ever, she was curiously impersonal but her taste was sure, she could
bring her mind down to details and it was inflexible. Miss Cass was
clay in her hands. Yet even now there was just one matter in which the
unfortunate Deputy was able to muster a mind of her own. She insisted
that no alien fingers should touch her hair.
“Better let Pikey, hadn’t you? She’s used to hair. She’s really rather
clever with it.”
Here it was, however, that Miss Cass made her stand. She took the
terrible, long-handled brush gently but firmly from Pikey’s grasp. “I
am used to doing it myself--I am really.”
Pikey’s sniff of disdain confirmed that statement. Elfreda was loth to
yield the point, but time was fleeting. And Miss Cass, hairbrush in
hand, was displaying such skill that it seemed vain to contest it.
“Perhaps you had better come and give me a hand, Pikey.”
With a devout sense of thankfulness Girlie watched mistress and maid
retire to the room next door.