“MISS FAY MORRIS THAT WAS”
It was still only a little past five when the two men departed, and
Claudia found herself alone with a very restless mood. Had it been
earlier she would have gone out and walked in the Park, for she often
tramped away a mood of restlessness. But it was grey and dismal outside.
She glanced at the piano, but that was not the right thing. She picked up
her book—one of Anatole France’s—but that also she put down again in a
very few minutes. Then the idea came to her. Her eyes opened widely and
she caught her under-lip with her small teeth. Would she?
Billie looked at her, and he knew she was going out.
“No, Billie, can’t take you this time. Oh! well, yes, you can stop in the
car.”
“What hat will madame wear?” said Johnson, her hand on the cupboard that
contained her hats.
Claudia considered carefully, and decided on her most becoming one.
It was a delightful possession, mostly composed of pearl-grey feather
shading to the softest pink, and round her neck she wore a little necklet
to match. Johnson wondered why she was so excited that she pulled a
button off her gloves and demanded a fresh pair. It seemed as though her
mistress was not going to make an ordinary call.
“Now, Billiken, we must be off. I wonder! I wonder!”
She went over first to her writing-table and abstracted a little bit of
paper. Jack’s writing was atrocious, but she could decipher it with some
difficulty. 25A, Gilchrist Mansions, Bloomsbury.
The car threaded its way through the crowded streets, and after what
seemed a long time to Claudia, it stopped before a large block of flats,
very red and very white, and obviously trying to show how gloomy was the
rest of the square. Evidently it was a new block, and for this Claudia
was thankful. Ugly youth is better than ugly age.
There was a lift, which she entered, with a rather obsequious and yet
familiar liftman, who, when she asked—after some natural hesitation—for
_Mrs. Iverson_, said, “Miss Fay Morris that was, you mean, madam? Oh,
yes! it’s the third floor.” Claudia fancied that he eyed her curiously
as he manipulated the wires. She tried to brace herself for the ordeal,
for now she was ascending in the lift she felt like hurriedly descending
and running away. There was no doubt it was an ordeal. It is quite
bad enough in the ordinary way to have to make the first call on a
new sister-in-law, but when she is “Miss Fay Morris that was,” whose
portraits adorned the entrances of several music-halls, it is a colossal
undertaking. She wished most heartily she had asked Jack to take her. Why
had she not thought of that? How foolish of her. But now she was here she
must face the music. Perhaps Jack would be there. If so, it would be all
right. And yet, in a way she would rather not have him there, for though
he was as stupid as an owl, there was a sort of understanding between
them, and he would know what impression his wife was making on her.
She rang the bell and waited. There was no answer. Ah! a reprieve. She
was turning away, but the liftman said reassuringly, “Ring again, ma’am.
She’s in, I know. But the parrot makes such a noise they can’t hear the
bell.”
So that was the meaning of the curious screeching she had heard while
waiting, like someone at the mercy of a clumsy dentist. How could anyone
stand such awful sounds!
The door opened and a servant, still in a print dress, nodded when she
asked if Mrs. Iverson were at home. The screeching had grown worse, and
Claudia quite understood why the servant nodded. She noticed that she
wore no cap and that her hair was outrageously frizzed and curled. Was
this the servant Jack had called “a sketch, a fair sketch”?
The good-sized hall was cheery enough with plenty of red paper and red
carpet, perhaps a thought too cheerful, as though the decorator had said,
“Now let’s have a cheerful hall, a very cheerful hall.” There was a large
imitation oak stand, crowded with oddments in the way of coats. Claudia
caught glimpses of a white knitted coat, a long squirrel one, a dark fur
stole and two or three overcoats. There were any amount of umbrellas,
walking-sticks, etc., and over all was a strong smell of cooking.
“Chuck it! Chuck it! Chuck it!” shrieked the parrot from somewhere near
at hand. Claudia gave a start.
“Only that blessed bird,” said the servant. “She’s in there, miss.”
She jerked her head in the direction of a door that was a little ajar and
suddenly departed. Claudia opened her lips to speak, but the maid had
gone.
“Chuck it! Chuck it!” came more faintly from evidently the kitchen
regions.
Claudia felt a strong desire to laugh. Then she heard a voice singing in
a room on her right. It seemed to be the door the servant had indicated.
The voice was untrained, but of a good quality, sweet and rather
high-pitched.
“I’m good little Lucy who lives in the dell,
And what I don’t know is——”
The rest seemed somehow smothered and she could not catch the words.
Claudia tapped at the door in considerable embarrassment. Would she have
to announce herself, and what would she say?
She pushed open the door gently and she saw a most remarkable sight,
nothing less than a pair of exquisitely shaped little legs and feet in
white silk tights that seemed to belong to a frilly pink lampshade. That
was Claudia’s first impression, and then she saw that someone had her
back to her, delving down into a huge trunk. Her second impression was
that she had never seen a room that was so blue! There were pale blue
curtains, wall-paper and bed-spread, blue flowers on the carpet and satin
bows everywhere.
“Is that you, Madam Rose?” said a voice from the depths, which was rough
and unrefined, but was _not_ Cockney. “Half a jiff. I can’t find my pink
shoes and——”
“I beg your pardon,” said Claudia, standing in the doorway, “but I am not
Madame Rose. The maid did not——”
Claudia had just time to catch a glimpse of a piquant little face with
great surprised blue eyes, when there was a cry of pain. The lid of the
trunk, a heavy, clamped one, had descended on the small hand.
“Oh, gracious!” said the ballet-like person, hopping about holding her
hand; “oh! that damned trunk! Ouch! My goodness! it’s nearly broken my
knuckles.”
Her little face was screwed up with pain, so that she hardly looked at
her visitor. Claudia’s eyes caught sight of a jug of water steaming away
on the untidy washstand, and she quickly went over to it.
“Here,” she said, “put your hand in this jug. That will stop the pain and
prevent it discolouring. Yes, I know how those things hurt.”
The hand was so small that it easily slid down into the jug. Claudia
marvelled at its size, and then she noticed that the girl was hardly up
to her shoulders. Why, it looked like a small child. This could not be
The Girlie Girl, surely?
Then she became aware that the wrinkles had come undone and that the big
blue eyes were looking at her.
“My word!” The blue eyes stared at her with the directness and _naïveté_
of a child. The small mouth dropped open a little as companion in the
process. “Who are you? I thought at first you were Madame Rose with my
new set of curls, and then cocking half an eye at you, I thought you must
be Maudie de Vere. But—who on earth are you?”
“Is your hand better?” said Claudia, half smiling, half embarrassed.
“Please tell me first, are you—Fay?”
The girl looked at her with a sudden seriousness. “Yes, and I guess who
_you_ are. You’re Jack’s sister, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” returned Claudia. “I’m Jack’s sister. I am sorry to come in this
unceremonious way into your bedroom——”
“Oh! that doesn’t matter,” said Fay, never taking her eyes off Claudia’s
face, “everybody comes in here when they want me, because I’m hardly ever
out of it.... My!”—her feelings overcoming her—“you _are_ handsome! Jack
told me you were good-looking, but he didn’t tell me you were such a
stunner. I never saw anyone so pretty.”
It was impossible to resent the frank criticism or the speaker as she
stood there in her most extraordinary attire. For the fluffy, chiffony
petticoats ended just below the knees, and over her shoulders she had
thrown a lacy matinée jacket, adorned with pale blue ribbons and showing
a neck and throat perfect in a miniature way. Her hair—jet black and
in remarkable contrast to her eyes, which seemed as though they should
belong to a head of flaxen hair—was rather short, but fell about her
shoulders in curly masses.
Claudia was completely at a loss how to answer this very naive tribute to
her charms. But Fay was used to making the entire conversation, and she
went on without noticing any lack of conversational powers on the part of
her visitor.
“I might have known it wasn’t Maudie, though, because she uses so much
scent it’s like a chemist’s shop coming into your room. I like a little
sprayed on myself, but she puts it on with a garden hose. I’ve told her
about it heaps of times. I think it’s such bad taste, don’t you?”
It was not quite the conversation Claudia had vaguely imagined. And yet,
though Fay gabbled on, her words coming at a tremendous speed, she felt
that her hostess was taking good stock of her. At the back of those
childish eyes there was a shrewd little brain. She showed this by her
next words:
“You’re hopping mad with Jack and me, aren’t you? I never saw Jack in
such a state as the morning when the thing came out in the newspaper.”
She gave a little chuckle. “I must say I enjoyed it. I like to keep my
name before the public, for one thing. You’ve got to keep on working some
sensation, or you’re passed over.” She pulled her hand out of the jug and
dried it on a towel, which she flung on the very ornate bed. It had a
lace coverlet over pale blue satin, and enormous bows of pale blue satin
ribbon ornamented the corners. A huge nightdress-case of the same satin
painted with pink roses was lying on the frilled pillows, which were also
threaded with pale blue.
She came over to where Claudia was standing. “I say, don’t be mad with
me. I like you. I didn’t think I would. I thought you’d be starchy and
turn up your nose at me. It was nice of you to think of that hot water
for my hand. Sit down and make friends with me, will you?”
Claudia appreciated her charm as she stood in front of her, playing with
her sable muff. It was the charm of the _gamine_-child.
“I—I came to have a little talk with you,” returned Claudia, smiling. You
simply could not help smiling at it.
“That’s right. Sit down. Bless me, there never is a chair that isn’t
littered up.” She took a handful of clothes and threw them carelessly on
the floor. “Now just sit down there and tell me what the people you know
say about me. I suppose I shouldn’t have married Jack, and I told him at
first he’d better run away and play with Lady Somebody or other. But he
wouldn’t go. He’ll tell you that if you ask him.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” returned Claudia as Fay energetically
seized a brush and commenced to brush her hair.
“Oh! bother!” she said, stopping short, “and I want those curls. Madame
Rose is a blighter all right. She promised them for to-day. Well, Polly
will have to rake those other curls over and make them presentable.” She
went to the door and shouted, “Polly! Polly! come here quick.”
A red-haired girl came running in, her hands all wet and soapsuddy. “Miss
Fay, I’m just washing your stockings.”
“Leave ’em and come and dish up these curls. That old beast hasn’t sent
my new set. Look, Polly, this is Mr. Jack’s sister. Isn’t she lovely?”
The red-haired girl stared at Claudia with her greeny-brown eyes. Claudia
had never been inspected by a servant in such a manner before. Her lips
twitched, but she assisted Polly by looking straight at her.
“She ain’t much like the Capting, is she?” Polly said in strong Cockney.
“But then, I ain’t a bit like my brother. He’s in the army too. I always
say as brothers and sisters——”
“Don’t chatter so much. Take those curls and vanish.” Fay waved her small
hand imperiously, and Polly, grabbing a bunch of curls, went out. “We
don’t want her in here listening to us, do we?” said Fay confidentially.
“Not but that Polly knows most everything. She was on the halls once
herself—doing small stunts with an acrobat—and she got rheumatic fever.
My mother saved her life and kept her going for goodness knows how
long. When mar died, she came to me as a sort of dresser. And she runs
everything here.” She waved her hand round the apartment. “The tradesmen
don’t do her. As far me, I’m no good at housekeeping. Don’t know a
chicken from a turkey. Of course, Jack says she isn’t smart enough. He
says he wants me to have some proper servants. But, what’s the trouble?
I’m comfortable, and that’s everything, isn’t it?”
“The best of servants can only make you comfortable,” conceded Claudia,
looking at the littered apartment. There was a cup and saucer on the
dressing-table, and the spoon was on the floor. Some biscuits and an
orange were side by side with a powder-puff and a scent-spray. One satin
slipper rested on the pin-cushion, and a pair of silk stockings were
thrown over the mirror, which had enormous wings and occupied a large
amount of the available space. Fay was busily putting up her hair as she
talked.
“You know, I’m awfully gone on your brother. I never met anyone like him
before.” Now she was energetically rubbing cold cream all over her neck
and arms. “I like to make up at home. It’s much more comfortable. Those
dressing-rooms are so draughty. Have you ever seen me? But of course you
have. I suppose _everybody_ has. I top the bill at most of the halls now.
And I make a row when I don’t. Do you like my turn?”
“I’m sorry to say I seldom go to variety houses,” said Claudia, feeling
somehow that she ought to have seen her.
“What!”—she turned, with her face smothered with grease. “You haven’t
seen me do my turn? Jack must take you this very night. He’ll be along
soon.”
“Oh! I—er—am afraid I’m engaged to-night.”
Polly returned and planked the curls down on the dressing-table.
“Here you are, miss, and Mr. Robins is out in the hall. He wants to see
you.” She grinned. “He’s got a bucket for yer.”
“What!” Fay screamed gleefully, “old Joey Robins! Why, this is worth a
week’s screw.” She rushed to the door just as she was and called out:
“Come in, Joey, my boy. I’m awful glad to see you.”
She flung her arms round the neck of a man whose face was typically that
of a low comedian of the old school. He was funny even off the stage,
and Claudia vaguely remembered the name. He was somewhere about fifty,
and had a habit of blinking as he talked, like a parrot. Claudia found
out afterwards that he had acquired it for stage purposes—the audiences
shrieked at him when he just blinked and did nothing else—and he could
not rid himself of it in private life.
“Come in, do. Joey, this is my sister-in-law. You know Joey? You may not
know me, but you know Joey all right. Joey Robins on the Razzle-Dazzle!
My! that was a good number, wasn’t it?”
She put her head on one side and her hands on her hips, and began to skip
about, humming a catchy tune.
Claudia found the comedian was extending a large and very rough hand.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, miss. I say, Fay, there’s a turnip for
you outside. Shall I fetch it in?”
“Rather! You don’t mean it’s—— Oh! Joey, you darling!” It was an immense
bouquet of the old-fashioned kind, and it was tied with long, streaming
ribbons of white satin. “I told ’em not to stint the ribbing. I said my
little gal don’t get married hevery day. Well, my dear, how does it agree
with you?”
“Oh, fine!” she laughed, using a little brush to darken her eyelashes.
“Wasn’t you surprised when you saw it in the papers?”
“No,” said the man, still blinking, “not exsakerly surprised. I always
said you was fit to be a princess. I see you’re at the Royal this week?
Best advertisement you hever ’ad, my girl.”
“And I don’t forget I owe it all to you,” she said earnestly, leaving
off with one eyelash blacked. “Yes,” turning to Claudia, who did not
feel left out in the cold, because Fay took it for granted that she was
interested in this queer, common man who had come in, “he got me my first
engagement, and I don’t forget it.”
“Oh, go on! it was nothing.”
“Well, I shall never make light of it,” she said, with a vigorous nod of
her small head, now entirely over-weighted with the curls she had pinned
on. They spoilt the shape of her head and stuck out in masses about her
ears. Fay went on quickly with the making-up process. “You gave me a
shove here and a shove there, and now I’ve got into high society, I don’t
forget those who helped me. I’m going to give a dinner to celebrate the
wedding—you must come”—nodding friendly-wise to Claudia—“and so must you
and your missus, Joey.”
“It’s kind of you, Fay, but I’ll be up north for the next month.” He
looked at a large gold watch, the chain of which meandered over a
waistcoat of startling pattern. “Can’t stay many minutes. Got to get down
to Reading to-night. Came up a purpose to bring you the turnip.”
“You’re a duck, Joey. Polly! _Polly!_ Bring in a bottle of fizz. Sharp’s
the word! Yes, Joey, it’s a special occasion and I’d like _her_ to have
some too. You know”—speaking to both of them—“I never take nothing until
after I’ve done my work, unless it’s a glass of stout, but Joey’s got to
drink me a proper health. Come on, Polly, bring a glass for yourself.”
“Hallo, Polly!” said Joey, “still ginger, eh? My, we’re getting on in the
world, ain’t we? You fancy yourself, waiting on the wife of a capting,
don’t yer? I’ll do that for yer. You hold the glass.”
“It’s the best fizz,” said Fay, who was now putting the rouge thickly
on her cheeks. “It costs ten shillings a bottle and that’s wholesale
price too. I know a man—do you know Sam Levy? He’s got an interest in a
champagne business, or something. Anyway, I told him to get me some of
the best. Jack says it’s too sweet, but I like it that way. The other
stuff tastes like ginger-ale. When I have fizz I like to know it’s fizz.
But there”—she turned to Claudia, who at half-past six in the evening
somehow found herself holding a glass of champagne—“I suppose you drink
champagne every night of your life, don’t you?”
At that instant Jack came in at the door, which was wide open.
“Just in time old boy,” called out Fay. “This is my old friend Joey
Robins—my husband.”
“Please to meet you sir—I mean capting,” murmured Joey Robbins, blinking
at him. “You’ve got the smartest little woman in the world as your wife,
sir. There’s no one to touch her in her perfession. Lord! she did for old
Joey long ago. She fairly beat his heart to a pulp.”
Jack had just caught sight of Claudia, and his face was a curiosity to
behold.
“But,” said Joey, with a rough note of kindly earnestness in his voice,
“no larking any more, Fay, my dear. Be a good child, be a good child.”
Fay slipped her arm round Jack’s neck, standing on a footstool to do so.
“We’re both going to be good children, aren’t we, Jack? We’ve both been
a bit flighty, but we’re going to be good now. I’m going”—her blue eyes
opened widely, and she gave Jack a hearty hug—“to be a responsible person
in future. Drink, all of you. Drink to the health of a pair of naughty
children who are going to be good!”
It was not a bit as Claudia had planned it, but she found herself
obediently drinking the health of her brother and sister-in-law in very
bad and very sweet champagne.