MISS PERRY HAS HER PALM CROSSED WITH SILVER
Miss Burden was subjected to severe treatment on her return to Hill
Street. She was forbidden to go to Hurlingham again during the rest
of the season. The faithful gentlewoman felt very guilty. She bent
her head before the torrent of abuse, which, wholly contrary to the
doctor’s orders, was showered upon her. All the same, Miss Burden
felt herself to be privy to a romance. The visit to Balham comprised
elements which compensated her for the persecution to which she was
subjected.
Sir Wotherspoon Ogle, old Lady Crewkerne’s medical adviser, was
strongly of opinion that abuse is not good for laryngitis. But, as we
already know, the arbitrary patient of that distinguished physician not
only despised the clergy, but also had a poor opinion of the medical
profession.
“Lady Crewkerne,” Sir Wotherspoon had said, “do not speak for three
days.”
“Rubbish!” said that old woman, in a husky wheeze.
“I will not answer for the consequences,” said Sir Wotherspoon.
“Answer for the consequences, forsooth!” said the formidable patient.
“In my opinion it is time the law was amended. The medical profession
ought to be more amenable to it.”
On the following morning the old lady was rather worse.
Nevertheless George Betterton called upon her for the second time
during her illness, and was received in audience within the sanctity
of her chamber. Yet this also was not in accordance with the advice of
those who had charge of her case.
Cheriton called at half-past twelve the same morning. To him, however,
access to the vicinity of the four-poster was denied. When he learned
that George Betterton had been thus favored for half an hour past he
assumed a grave demeanor.
“What is that man after?” he said to Miss Burden, mistrustfully. “No
good, I am afraid. Yesterday it was the same. They spent an hour
together as thick as thieves. And yet Caroline is unable to see her
oldest friend, a disinterested adviser and sincere well-wisher.”
Miss Burden could throw no light upon the mystery.
“How is she this morning?” Cheriton inquired.
“Sir Wotherspoon Ogle does not think at all well of her.”
“Naturally.”
“The mind is so active,” said Miss Burden.
“You mean her tongue?”
“Yes, that is active too,” said Miss Burden, rather dolefully.
“It is rather late in the day for her to learn to bridle it. But if
she won’t, so much the worse for her.”
“Sir Wotherspoon finds her a rather trying patient, I am afraid.”
“If he does not,” said Cheriton, “he is either less than human or he is
more.”
Cheriton afforded Miss Burden and Miss Perry the privilege of his
society at luncheon. He proposed that they should spend the afternoon
at the sale of work in aid of Saint Agatha’s, Balham. Miss Perry was
charmed with the idea. Miss Burden shared her delight, yet doubted
sorely whether her services could be dispensed with. However, with the
exercise of a little diplomacy, she learned that they could, as not
only was the Duke of Brancaster returning at four o’clock, but her
ladyship’s lawyer also.
“Her lawyer!” exclaimed Cheriton. “What the dooce does she want with
him?”
My lord seemed not a little perturbed by the coming of that ominous
personage.
“I wonder if that old woman is capable of playing me a trick?” he mused.
His speculations upon this subject were many on his way to the sale of
work at Balham. Considered in conjunction with the assiduity of George
Betterton, the coming of the lawyer was unquestionably a sinister omen.
At the sale of work, however, Cheriton presented no sign of either
mental or moral perturbation. The lavender trousers had been exchanged
for an art shade of gray. The tie-pin had a pearl in it instead of
a turquoise; the waistcoat, instead of presenting a baffling and
complex harmony in lilac, was of plain white piqué; and, in lieu of a
gold-headed cane, he carried the famous ivory-handled umbrella, which
had been repaired with such exemplary skill that it betrayed no token
of the recent catastrophe at Saint Sepulchre’s.
All that was best in the life of Balham and its environs was gathered
at the sale of work in aid of Saint Agatha’s. First and foremost was
the Rector, the Reverend John Overdene Cummings, a man whom all the
world delighted to honor, not for his calling only, but also for
himself. His weaknesses were so few that they really do not call for
mention. And among his numerous merits, perhaps that which endeared
him most to all that was best in the life of Balham, was his almost
exaggerated esteem for what he called “the right people.” It was known
by the well-informed that in the first instance it was due entirely
to the Reverend John Overdene Cummings that the Miss Champneys had
prevailed upon their friend Lady Charlotte Greg, to perform the opening
ceremony.
Lady Charlotte Greg had just had great pleasure in declaring the sale
of work open, when something in the nature of a sensation was caused by
the arrival of the wonderful Miss Perry and her attendant ministers.
The Assembly Rooms had been transformed into a Sicilian village. They
were thronged with the youth, beauty, and fashion of the district, and
also with the gay and brilliant costumes of the peasantry of the sunny
south. But there was nothing in that brilliant gathering to compare
with the blue-eyed and yellow-haired young Amazon, hatted and gowned
à la Gainsborough. Miss Burden felt there was not; and she, in her
modest gown with lilac trimming, was not without her merit, for she
too was tall, distinguished of feature, and her figure was excellent.
As for Cheriton, with his glass stuck with a rather humorous insolence
in his left eye, he knew there was nothing, not in Balham only, but in
the whole of London, that season to compare with Caroline Crewkerne’s
niece. He was a proud man, and he looked it as, with pardonable
ostentation, he cleared a passage for his escort down the precise
center of the throng.
Jim’s mother was thrilled by the apparition of the wonderful Miss
Perry. She was there to preside over the refreshment stall. It was
small blame to Jim that he had given up his days and nights to dreams
of such magnificence. And Jim himself, who had accompanied his mother
to the sale of work, more, it is to be feared, in the hope of seeing
the “incredible” hat in public, than for any deep interest in the
welfare of Saint Agatha’s, was possessed by a strange excitement as he
gazed.
“What an air the creature has!” his mother whispered to him. “I never
saw anything so regal. She moves like a queen among her subjects. And
yet the Goose, under her feathers, hasn’t the ghost of an idea about
anything in earth or heaven or in Slocum Magna.”
“You forget Joseph Wright of Derby, my dear.”
“The ridiculous creature!” laughed Jim’s mother.
In the meantime the progress down the center of the Sicilian village
was almost royal. The throng yielded on all sides. A wave of respect,
amounting almost to awe, seemed to arise and pervade everything.
Indeed, royalty was mentioned. For example, the Rector, with his quick
eye and his sure instinct, was aroused immediately.
“Dear me,” he said to Miss Laetitia Champneys in exultant tones, “I
really believe it must be the Grand Duchess Olga Romanoff.”
It appeared that, according to well-informed journals, a tall and
splendid person answering to that name and description was then in
London, who was engaged continuously in charitable endeavors.
“Oh no, Mr. Rector,” said Miss Laetitia, promptly; “they are friends of
ours.”
A kind of daïs had been erected at the end of the Sicilian village for
the accommodation of the friends of the Rector and other grandees.
The distinguished visitors, although they had never seen the Rector
before and had no _locus standi_ whatever as far as Saint Agatha’s was
concerned, took a bee-line to the daïs, under the direction of Lord
Cheriton. But the fact is well known that a peer of the realm feels it
his duty to make straight for a platform whenever and wherever he sees
one.
The Miss Champneys, whose manner in public was even more impressive
than it was in private, shook hands with Lord Cheriton in most stately
fashion. Lady Charlotte’s greeting was thought by close observers to
be perhaps less elaborate in style, but that she shook hands at a more
fashionable angle.
“Introduce me,” said the Rector to Miss Laetitia.
Cheriton prided himself upon being all things to all men. His manner
with the Church was agreeably distinct from what it was with Art or
Letters, or Law, or the Army, or Sport, or Politics.
“Congratulate you, Mr. Rector, on the success of your bazaar,” he said
sonorously. “Admirable hall for the purpose. To my mind nothing is more
picturesque than a Sicilian village. The costumes are so rich.”
The Rector of Saint Agatha’s, one of those solemn men who don’t smile
easily, was seen to beam in a gratified manner.
Miss Perry enjoyed herself immensely. The first thing she did was to
greet Jim’s mother with effusion, and also Jim. The latter, who was
assiduously cultivating the commercial instinct, informed his mother
that she was sure of one important customer.
“What awfully nice cakes you have!” said Miss Perry.
She had a small pink one to inaugurate the refreshment stall. Promising
to return anon, she then made a tour of the Sicilian village. In the
fancy bazaar, presided over by Mrs. and the Misses Hobson, she made her
second purchase.
“Those bed-socks are too sweet,” said Miss Perry. “I should like to
buy them for dearest papa, because his feet are always so cold in the
winter. How much are they?”
“One guinea,” said Miss Hermia Hobson.
“You can get them cheaper than that at Slocum Magna,” said Miss Perry.
“Everything at this stall is one guinea,” said Miss Hermia Hobson,
“except the antimacassars, and they are five, because they were out in
India during the Mutiny.”
“Were they indeed!” said Cheriton, taking up a very fragile and faded
article; “during the Mutiny. That is most interesting.”
“Don’t touch them, please,” said Miss Hermia Hobson. “They might easily
come to pieces.”
“I think dearest papa would rather have the bed-socks,” said Miss
Perry. “They are _too_ sweet.”
Cheriton gallantly disbursed the sum of one guinea.
Miss Perry’s tour of the Sicilian village resulted in the acquisition
of a rag-basket of a new and original pattern, which it appeared that
Muffin had always wanted; a pocket-knife for Dickie; a fountain-pen
for Charley; an album for Milly; a piece of lace for Polly; and a box
of soldiers for the small son of Mrs. Crick who kept the post-office
at Slocum Magna. A copy of “Persuasion” was purchased for Miss Burden,
by the advice of Lord Cheriton; and a copy of “Law’s Serious Call”
for Aunt Caroline, also by the advice of that nobleman. He himself
was content with an orchid, which was fixed in his buttonhole by Miss
Laetitia Champneys, Miss Burden holding the pin. Miss Perry had great
difficulty in reconciling the respective claims of a rabbit, that
was able to roll its eyes and move its ears, and a box of sweetmeats.
Eventually she decided in favor of the latter. All the same, she felt
that the former would undoubtedly have appealed to Tobias. But it might
have a tendency to make him bloodthirsty.
Afternoon tea at Mrs. Lascelles’ stall, to the strains of Chicane’s
Orchestral Cossacks, who had been specially engaged to appear in
Sicily, was a delightful function. The Rector, the Rectoress, the Miss
Champneys, and Lady Charlotte Greg all came together to the refreshment
stall to partake of this stimulating and delightful beverage. The
verger of Saint Agatha’s railed off a special table with a cord to
keep the crowd from encroaching. It seemed that the Rector’s theory
of the Grand Duchess had been overheard, and had immediately become
rife with the general public. By now it had taken such a hold that Her
Yellow-haired Magnificence in the Gainsborough hat was said to be the
niece of the Czar.
Cheriton had a pleasing sense of uncertainty as to whether the
curiosity of the public was due to the imperious challenge of female
beauty, or to the appearance and attainments of the fourth earl of that
name. Being a very vain man, he was not disinclined to believe that it
was the latter; therefore he sat in the enclosure sipping his tea with
a superb air, and preening his plumage like a venerable cockatoo.
“He wears a wig!” a member of the public could be heard to say quite
distinctly.
“Oh yes,” said a second member, with an air of information. “The
Romanoffs are always short of hair. The late Czar was as bald as an
egg.”
After doing frank and impartial justice to the tea and confectionery,
Miss Perry made her way to the Gypsy’s Tent to have her palm crossed
with silver.
“I see a tall dark man,” said the gypsy.
“Yes,” said Cheriton, “there is no doubt about him. But what about a
short bald fellow, with a tendency to apoplexy and a face as red as a
turkey’s?”
“I don’t see him at present,” said the gypsy.
“Are you sure?” said Cheriton.
“I see a tall fair man who is young and handsome,” said the gypsy.
Jim Lascelles had just entered the tent with Miss Burden. “And I see
a tall dark woman, and, yes, a short fair man, who is rich and rather
stout, begins to emerge. He is old, and he appears to have been twice
married----”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Miss Burden, in a voice of awe.
“Awful rot!” said Jim Lascelles.
“Don’t forget the tall dark fellow,” said Cheriton.
“Yes--no--yes,” said the gypsy; “and the tall dark man, and the tall
fair man, and the short stout man--really, I don’t remember reading a
hand so complex as this.”
“It was a tall fair man at Widdiford,” said Miss Perry.
The gypsy discarded the hand of Miss Perry with a gesture of petulance.
“That has spoiled everything,” said she.
“We were married at Widdiford,” said Miss Perry, “and we lived happily
ever afterwards, and we only paid a shilling.”
“I am afraid shilling fortunes are always untrustworthy,” said
Cheriton. “But I should like a little more information about that
red-faced, apoplectic fellow.”
“They might very easily marry,” said the gypsy, in a sinister manner.
“Awful rot!” muttered Jim.
Cheriton appeared to think that the gypsy was confusing the short
fellow with the tall dark one.
The hand of Miss Burden was found to be less complex. In her future
there was only one man, and he was tall and dark.
“I think it is wonderful,” said Miss Burden, with a charming vibration
in her voice.
The exigencies of the case rendered an early return to Hill Street
necessary. Hurlingham was already forbidden for the remainder of
the season. It would not do, declared Cheriton, for Ranelagh to be
prohibited as well. Otherwise they would be compelled to restrict
themselves to Burlington House, to Lord’s, and the Circus.