The week of the tableaux had come and gone, and had opened yet another
window for Katherine Bush to peep at the world from. She already knew
many of the people who came to the luncheons and rehearsals, from their
letters, and now she judged of them face to face. She had been in great
request to take down innumerable orders, and arrange business details,
and had listened and inwardly digested what she heard.
Her contempt for some of the company was as great as for Miss Mabel
Cawber--she discovered a few with titles and positions who were what she
disdainfully dubbed, "Middle class underneath!"
"Only that they have been more used to things, they are as paltry as
Mabel," she said to herself, and set about, as was her custom, to find
out why--and from what families they had sprung--and obtained some
satisfaction in the confirmation of her theory of heredity, in
discovering that most of these could lay small claim to blueness of
blood. The insolence of others she approved of.
Many of the American peeresses who were posing as queens, and nuns, and
Greek goddesses, she truly admired--they must have been at one time like
herself--out to learn--and now were conscious that they had made good.
"But I mean to have more repose of manner when I am there," she told
herself.
Of Sarah Lady Garribardine's sayings and views, she kept a great store
in her mind. This was a real aristocrat she felt. A human, faulty,
strong woman, incapable of meanness or anything which could lower the
flag of her order. She was supremely insolent, too, but then she never
did anything which could impair people's respect.
She was hard and generous--and acted up to the doctrine that "_noblesse
oblige_" and entirely believed in the divine right of kings and of Sarah
Lady Garribardine! She had not been a thirteenth century Baron's
daughter for nothing! Katherine Bush shared every one of Her Ladyship's
views and moulded all her ideals upon them.
Each day she was enlarging her vocabulary of words to use--adapting
sentences which she had read of fine English to modern requirements,
pruning colloquialisms, cultivating pronunciation, polishing her
critical faculties. She was perfectly conscious that she had often
employed homely phrases in the past, and had not always paid enough
attention to grammar in speaking, though for some time she had not used
"whatever for," or "of a Sunday," as poor Matilda always did.
She learned as much comparatively of the general world of society in
that one week, as she had learned of the nature of man in her three days
with Lord Algy. He was her first step--these women were her second. Lady
Garribardine was her head master, and Gerard Strobridge should be her
tutor--when the moment she was ready for him came.
Her suspicions as to her employer's disapproval of the Duchess of
Dashington were realised fully one day, in the beginning of the week.
The poor young-old lady's rheumatism was very painful, and she remained
in her room having her favourite nephew and Mrs. Delemar up with her
there to lunch, on a little table close to her gilt bed.
Katherine was writing at an escritoire near, having finished her own
meal downstairs.
"You need not go, Miss Bush, if you can continue those invitations with
our chatter."
So Katherine stayed.
The three talked of many things at first and Katherine hardly noticed
them, but presently her attention was caught by a name. Mr. Strobridge
was saying:
"Seraphim, it will be very difficult to refuse Dulcie Dashington, she
has written to Beatrice this morning--she is quite determined to play
the part of Nell Gwyn as the orange-girl."
"Then she can play it in some other _tableaux vivants_--but not in these
that I am arranging." Her Ladyship's voice was acid.
"But why, dearest Sarah, are you so down on poor Dulcie?" Mrs. Delemar
protested. "She is really a very good sort, and looks so splendid in
these short-skirted, rather common clothes."
"I am not hard on her, Läo; I am sure, had she been the wife of a jolly
young stockbroker addicted to low practical jokes and rowdy sport, she
would have been a most admirable creature. It is not the woman I am down
on; there is just such another at Blissington, she helps me with the
bazaars and the school treats, her husband is a local brewer, and we are
capital friends. It is the Duchess of Dashington I ostracise, as I
consider she has done more to degrade her order in these socialistic
days than any other member of our sadly humbled peerage."
The other two laughed amusedly, but Lady Garribardine went on, raising
her voice a little. It was a subject upon which she felt so deeply, that
it overcame for the moment her usual dryly humorous handling of any
matter.
"Let her have her lovers--we have all had lovers--No one in the least
objects to them, arranged suitably, and of one's own class. I am not
concerned with her or any other woman's physical morality.--Such
morality is a question of temperament and geography and custom--but I am
profoundly concerned to endeavour to keep up some semblance of dignity
in the aristocracy, and Dulcie Dashington has lowered the whole prestige
of Duchesses because she is of gentle birth--though Heaven knows what
her father was with poor dear Susan's irresponsible ways!"
Gerard Strobridge smiled as he lit a cigarette.
"There is a great deal in what you say, Seraphim; she has certainly
dragged the title down a good deal, with her fancies for professional
gamesters of all sorts for friends, and her total disregard of tradition
at Dashington--but you forget that she has had a good deal to put up
with from Toni, who is an impossible husband."
"No man is an impossible husband if he is a Duke; at least no Duchess
ought to find him so--and if he were, that is not the slightest excuse.
When a woman undertakes a great position she should realise that
personal feelings have ceased to count. She has, so to speak, accepted
the responsibility of guarding the safety of an order, just as a sentry
is responsible when he is on duty. He would be shot in war time if he
fell asleep on duty--however pitiful his case might be from hardship and
want of rest. He would be shot as an example to the others not to allow
even nature to overcome them and endanger the post."
[Illustration: "'No man is an impossible husband if he is a Duke.'"]
"It seems very cruel," piped Mrs. Delemar.
"Not at all!" Lady Garribardine flashed while her voice vibrated with
scorn. "We are at war now with the Radical masses and cannot afford to
jeopardise positions--either keep up prestige, or throw up the game and
let the whole thing go by the board, but while we pretend there is still
an aristocracy in England we, the members of it, should defend it.
Dulcie Dashington and her ways and her photographs in the papers, and
her vulgarity, and the flaunting of her unsavoury domestic affairs, are
a byword and as long as I have a voice in society, and can lay some
claim to power, I shall let it be known what my opinion is, and why I
will not receive her. To me there is no sin like betraying an order."
"I suppose you are quite right," Mrs. Delemar now agreed meekly, "but
there are such lots of odd people in society who do unheard-of things;
it is these boys marrying these wretched actresses or Americans which
has changed everything."
"Not at all!" contradicted her ladyship. "Boys have always married
actresses from time to time, and some of them have proved very decent
creatures, and if they do err, what does it matter? No one expects
better from them, they are making no real breach in the wall.--And as
for Americans, they are often very pretty and so clever that they seldom
disgrace their new station; they are like converts to Rome, more zealous
than the born papists. The only evil which can lie at their door is that
they have too much money, and have given false values to entertaining,
and perhaps have encouraged eccentric amusements.--No, my dear child, it
is the English-women themselves who have lost self-respect, and have
lowered the flag, and when one of really high birth does it, like Dulcie
Dashington, she should be made to pay the price."
This was unanswerable, Katherine Bush thought as she listened, and she
wondered why the other two should chaff lightly, as though it were just
one of Lady Garribardine's notions. That is what generally astonished
her a good deal; no one appeared to have any convictions or enthusiasm,
they seemed to her to be a company of drifters, so little energy
appeared to be shown by any of them. They were unpunctual and
unpractical, but they were amusing and deliciously happy-go-lucky. If
they had any real feelings none appeared upon the surface; even Lady
Beatrice and her coterie of highly evolved poetesses and other artistic
worldings, flew from theme to theme, turning intent faces upon new fads
each week.
Most people's manners were casual, and their attitudes, too, would often
have shocked Mabel Cawber, so far were they from being genteel. The few
who truly fulfilled Katherine Bush's ideas of the meaning of the word
"lady" stood out like stars. But with all these flaws, as a collection
of people, there was that ease of manner, that total absence of
self-consciousness, about them which never could be known at Bindon's
Green.
"I suppose times are changed," Katherine told herself, "and the laxity
is producing a new type--I do wonder how they would all behave if some
cataclysm happened again, like the French Revolution. But when my day
comes I mean to uphold the order which I shall join, as Her Ladyship
does."
At the last moment, Lady Beatrice did not go as Ganymede to the Artist
Models' ball. The history of her alteration of character was a rather
bitterly humorous story for Gerard Strobridge's ears. She had been
trying on the dress when a note had arrived with a parcel for her from
her husband's aunt, which contained a very beautiful Greek mantle with
these few words:
_Dear Child_,
I send you this mantle which I hope you will wear; it will not
really spoil the character of your Ganymede dress, and from the
back it will hide the fact that your legs are very slightly bowed.
Your charming face will help to distract eyes from the front view,
and this very small flaw in your anatomy will pass unnoticed.
Affectionately yours,
SARAH GARRIBARDINE.
She had written it with her own hand. Lady Beatrice stamped with rage,
and then flew to her looking-glass. She stood this way and that, and
finally came to the conclusion that there might be the faintest
substratum of truth in the accusation. The rest of the limbs were not so
perfect as her tiny ankles. It would not be safe to risk criticism. So
the costume was altered and became a Flora with garlands of roses and
long diaphanous draperies--and Gerard and Lady Garribardine watched her
entry with the Vermont party with relieved eyes, and the wily aunt said:
"You can achieve the impossible with women, G., if you only appeal to,
or wound, their vanity. You must never give orders to one unless she is
in love with you--then she glories in obedience--but a modern wife can
only be controlled either on the principle of the Irish-man's pig
being driven towards Dublin when it was intended for Cork, or by a
Machiavellian manipulation of her self-love."
"And then the game is not worth the candle," Mr. Strobridge sighed with
a little discouragement. "I wonder, Seraphim, what is worth while?
Striving for the infinite, I suppose--certainly the finite things are
but Dead Sea fruit."
"Gerard, my poor boy, you make me fear, when you talk like that, that
one day you will be profoundly in love!"
"Heaven forbid!--It would upset my digestion. I was thirty-five last
month and have to be careful!"
And in her comfortable bed in Berkeley Square, Katherine Bush read "The
Letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu" far into the night.
Society had not altered in many respects since these hundred and sixty
odd years ago, she thought!
The tableaux were the greatest success and a large sum of money was
secured for one of Lady Garribardine's pet charities.
Time went on, Christmas was approaching. It was to be spent at
Blissington Court, the place Lady Garribardine had inherited with the
barony of d'Estaire from her father. Garribardine was a Scotch title
while her ladyship was rabidly English. They would go down to
Blissington and have a family party. Her three grandchildren (her
daughter, Lady Mereton, was far away, the bored wife of a Colonial
Governor), Gerard Strobridge and perhaps Lady Beatrice and the two old
cousins with a young niece of theirs, and a stray man or two, and Mrs.
Delemar--but no one could be sure who would turn up at the end.
Katherine was not to have any holiday; she had come too recently, her
employer explained to her, and the Christmas accumulations were quite
beyond her power to tackle alone.
Katherine was grateful--she looked forward to seeing this country home
with pleasure. She had been kept unusually busy and so had very rarely
seen any one except Her Ladyship. But one morning about ten days before
they were to go down into Blankshire, Lady Garribardine informed her
secretary she was to be given for the whole afternoon to Mr. Strobridge
to type a quantity of letters about a new charity he was arranging for
her.
"My nephew dictates abominably, but he said that you had understood him
so well that first evening when you arrived a month ago, that he has
asked me to lend you to him to-day for this business, and I have
consented. He will lunch here, so have plenty of paper ready for the
afternoon." Then as Katherine was leaving the room, she handed her a
ten-pound note.
"Here is a little present for you, Miss Bush, for Christmas; I want you
to buy yourself an evening frock--you must dine with us on Christmas Day
and perhaps you had not provided for this possibility. I am very pleased
with you, girl--you work splendidly."
Katherine coloured to the roots of her ashen-hued, glistening hair. She
could not analyse her emotions. She hated presents, and yet she was
gratified at the kindliness and appreciation which lay in the manner of
the gift.
"Your Ladyship is too good," she said very low. "I have simply done my
duty--but I will endeavour to buy something suitable with the money
which is far more than enough."
The old lady looked at her critically with her head a little on one
side--she understood what the blush had arisen from and she appreciated
the pride in the girl.
"The creature must have some breeding in her somewhere in spite of the
auctioneer parentage. I must talk to her when we get to Blissington. She
may prove a great interest for my old age."
But she said aloud:
"Well, get what you like with it. I leave it to you, your taste is
excellent--and while you are out, pay these two bills for me, and take a
little walk--you have been looking rather pale; I fear you have not
taken enough outdoor exercise lately."
Katherine thanked her and went rapidly to her room, a sense of
excitement and anticipation in her heart. This might prove an
interesting afternoon. There she reviewed her wardrobe. Her "dressy"
blouse from Oxford Street was too ornate for the daytime, and she
thought now in rather bad taste, and her morning ones were too dowdy.
This was a great occasion and one which she had been waiting for. She
was to go home late on this Friday to stay the night at Bindon's Green.
Matilda had insisted upon it, because it was her birthday; she would be
thirty years old. She had been quite tearful about it on the second
occasion on which she had met her sister in the Park.
"You need not cast us all off like this, Kitten," she pleaded, "and we
shall have Mabel and a few other friends on Friday night, and Fred has
given us a lot of lovely new nigger song records for the gramophone, and
it will all be so awfully jolly."
So Katherine had promised to go, and this fell in admirably with her
plans. There would be a real excuse for her to have her hair waved. She
had been given the evening off and it was known that she was going home.
She would consult Gladys again for the frock for Christmas night and buy
what was necessary on her way back to Berkeley Square on the morrow.
It was the first time in her life that a hairdresser had ever touched
her thick mop of hair, and she had no idea of the difference to her
appearance that it would make. But so critical and observant of all
things had become her eye that she realised with her first peep in the
mirror, when the ondulation was complete, that it had turned her into
almost a beauty. The broad waves fell back from the parting and showed
the admirable planting of her brow and the Greek setting of her magnetic
eyes. She allowed no elaboration of fashion, but had her ample tresses
bound tightly to her head--the effect was distinguished and gave her
satisfaction. Then from the hairdresser's she went and bought another
blouse--something pale grey and becoming, and with the parcel she got
back to Berkeley Square in good time for luncheon and began to dress
herself.
She was glad her hands were so white, she had lately taken to giving
great care to the polish of her nails--she wished her feet were smaller,
but they were well shaped and no one's feet were really small nowadays,
Lady Garribardine had said!
She was quite content with the picture she saw in her looking-glass
before she went downstairs. It was of a tall, slim girl with a very
white, smooth face--extraordinary eyes under level, dark brows, and a
big red mouth, and hair of silvery fairness that glistened grey, not
gold, in its lights. She knew very well that she was attractive, and
gave one of her rare soft laughs.
A month and more of mental discipline and acute observation of those in
that status of refinement to which she wished to attain had given her
numerous subtle distinctions of manner which she had not possessed
before. She looked like a lady, and felt that she was approaching the
time when she herself--most severe of all critics--might consider
herself to be one. She was nearly as excited as on that afternoon when
she had left Livingstone and Devereux's to go on a three days' honeymoon
with Lord Algy. She made herself eat her luncheon as calmly as usual,
and then when the tray had been taken away she opened the window wide
and poured a packet of cedarwood dust on the fire--and she was sitting
demurely at the table when from the library Lady Garribardine and Mr.
Strobridge came in.
Gerard Strobridge carried a bag full of papers and looked cross and
harassed.
"Now G. you may have the services of Miss Bush until five o'clock; that
will give you two hours and a half--you must not keep her, as she is
going home to-night--then come up to my sitting-room to tea," and Lady
Garribardine went out of the other door which her nephew held open for
her.
Katherine had risen and gone immediately to a cupboard, ostensibly to
get something out for her work, so she hoped Her Ladyship had not
remarked her hair--which indeed had happily been the case.
Mr. Strobridge had not even glanced in her direction, but her moment
came when she sat down at the typing machine, and looked straight up
into his eyes as she asked in her deep alluring voice:
"What do you wish me to begin upon, please?"
Then he took in the whole effect and a wave of intense astonishment
swept over him. What had happened? Was he dreaming? Was this beautiful
creature the ordinary, silent, admirable typist, Katherine Bush?