For a minute everything swam before me, as it used to at the Convent
after some older girl had twisted up the ropes of the big swing, with me
in it, and let me spin round. Also, I felt as if a jugful of hot water
had been dashed over my head. I seemed to feel it trickling through my
hair and into my ears.
If I could have moved, I believe I should have bolted like a frightened
rabbit, perfectly regardless of what Lady Turnour might think, caring
only to dart away without being caught by the man I'd done such wild
deeds to escape. But I was as helpless as a person in a nightmare; and,
indeed, it was as unreal and dreadful to me as a nightmare to see that
fat, fur-coated figure walking toward me, with the bearded face of
Monsieur Charretier showing between turned-up collar and motor-cap
surmounted by lifted goggles.
They say you have time to think of everything while you are drowning. I
believe that, now, because I had time to think of everything while that
furry gentleman took a dozen steps. I thought of all the things he and
my cousins had ever done to disgust me with him during his "courtship."
I asked myself whether his arrival here was a coincidence, or whether
he'd been tracking me all along, step by step, while I'd been chuckling
to myself over my lucky escape. I thought of what he would do when he
recognized me, and what Lady Turnour would say, and Sir Samuel. And
although I couldn't see exactly what good he could do in such a
situation, I wished vaguely that my brother the chauffeur were on the
spot. Then suddenly, with a wild rush of joy, I remembered that I was
facing the danger through my little talc window.
Any properly trained heroine of melodrama would have ejaculated "Saved!"
but I haven't a tragedy nose, and I gave only a stifled squeak, more
like the swan-song of a dying frog than anything more romantic.
Nobody heard it, luckily; and Monsieur Charretier, who had just come
into the twilight of the hall from the brighter light out of doors,
bustled past the retiring figure of the lady's-maid without a glance. I
had even to take a step out of his way, not to be brushed by his fur
shoulder, so wide he was in his expensive motoring coat; and trembling
from the shock, I awkwardly collided with Lady Turnour. She, in her
turn, avoiding my onslaught as if I'd been a beggar in rags, stepped on
Monsieur Charretier's toe.
He exclaimed in French, she apologized in English.
He bowed a great deal, assuring madame that she had not inconvenienced
him. She accused her maid, whose stupidity was in fault; and because
each one looked to the other rich and prosperous they were extremely
polite to one another. Even then, though her ladyship snapped at me,
"What _has_ come over you, Elise? You're as clumsy as a cow!" he had no
notice to waste upon the _femme de chambre_. Yet I dared not so much as
murmur, "Pardon!" lest he should recognize my voice.
Fortunately my mistress and her husband were now ready to go up to
their rooms, and we left Monsieur Charretier engaging quarters for
himself and his chauffeur. Evidently he was going to stop all night; but
from his indifference to me I judged joyfully that he had not come to
the hotel armed with information concerning my movements. He might be
searching for his lost love, but he didn't know that she was at hand.
All my pleasure in the thought of sightseeing at Avignon was gone, like
a broken bubble. I shouldn't dare to see any sights, lest I should be
seen. But stopping indoors wouldn't mean safety. Lady's-maids can't keep
their rooms without questions being asked; and if I pretended to be ill,
very likely Lady Turnour would discharge me on the spot, and leave me
behind as if I were a cast-off glove. Yet if I flitted about the
corridors between my mistress's room and mine, I might run up against
the enemy at any minute.
I tried to mend the ravelled edges of my courage by reminding myself
that Monsieur Charretier couldn't pick me up in his motor-car, and run
off with me against my will; but the argument wasn't much of a
stimulant. To be sure, he couldn't use violence, nor would he try; but
if he found me here he would "have it out" with me, and he would tell
things to Lady Turnour which would induce her to send me about my
business with short shrift.
He could say that I'd run away from my relatives, who were also my
guardians, and altogether he could make out a case against me which
would look a dark brown, if not black. Then, when Lady Turnour and Sir
Samuel had washed their hands of me, and I was left in a strange hotel,
practically without a sou--unless the Turnours chose to be
inconveniently generous, and packed me off with a ticket to Paris--I
should find it very difficult to escape from my Corn Plaster admirer.
This time there would be no kind Lady Kilmarny to whom I could appeal.
Between two evils, one chooses that which makes less fuss. It wasn't as
intricate to risk facing Monsieur Charretier as it was to eat soap and
be seized with convulsions; so I went about my business, waiting upon
her ladyship as if I had not been in the throes of a mental earthquake.
She was not particularly cross, because the gentleman whose acquaintance
I had thrust upon her might turn out to be Somebody, in which case my
clumsiness would be a blessing in disguise; but if she had boxed my ears
I should hardly have felt it.
Bent upon dazzling the eyes of potentates in the dining-room, and
outshining possible princesses, the lady was very particular about her
dress. Although the big luggage had gone on by train to some town of
more importance (in her eyes) than Avignon, she had made me keep out a
couple of gowns rather better suited for a first night of opera in Paris
than for dinner at the best of provincial hotels. She chose the smarter
of these toilettes, a black _chiffon_ velvet embroidered with golden
tiger-lilies, and filled in with black net from shoulder to throat. Then
the blue jewel-bag was opened, and a nodding diamond tiger-lily to match
the golden ones was carefully selected from a blinding array of
brilliants, to glitter in her masses of copper hair. Round her neck went
a rope of pearls that fell to the waist whose slenderness I had just,
with a mighty muscular effort, secured; but not until she had dotted a
few butterflies, bats, beetles and other scintillating insects about her
person was she satisfied with the effect. At least, she was certain to
create a sensation, as Sir Samuel proudly remarked when he walked in to
get his necktie tied by me--a habit he has adopted.
"I wonder if I ought to trust Elise with my bag?" Lady Turnour asked
him, anxiously, at last. "So far, since we've been on tour, I've carried
it over my arm everywhere, but it doesn't go very well with a costume
like this. What do you think?"
"Why, I think that Elise is a very good girl, and that your jewels will
be perfectly safe with her if you tell her to take care of the bag, and
not let it out of her sight," replied Sir Samuel, evidently embarrassed
by such a question within earshot of the said Elise.
"Perhaps I'd better have dinner in my own room, so as to guard it more
carefully?" I suggested, brightening with the inspiration.
"That's not necessary," answered her ladyship. "You can perfectly well
eat downstairs, with the bag over your arm, as I have done for the last
two days. I don't intend to pay extra for you to have your meals served
in your room on any excuse whatever."
I couldn't very well offer to pay for myself. That would have raised the
suspicion that I had hidden reasons of my own for dining in private, and
I regretted that I hadn't held my tongue. Lady Turnour ostentatiously
locked the receptacle of her jewels with its little gilded key, which
she placed in a gold chain-bag studded with rubies as large as currants;
and then, reminding me that I was responsible for valuables worth she
didn't know how many thousands, she swept away, leaving a trail of white
heliotrope behind.
In any case I would wait, I thought, until I could be tolerably certain
that all the guests of the hotel had gone down to dinner. If I knew
Monsieur Charretier, he would be among the first to feed, but I couldn't
afford to run needless risks. I lingered over the task of putting my
mistress's belongings in order, almost with pleasure, and then, once in
my own room, I took as long as I could with my own toilet. I was ready
at last, and could think of no further excuse for pottering, when
suddenly it occurred to me that I might do my hair in a demurer, less
becoming way, so that, if I should have the ill luck to encounter a
sortie of the enemy, I might still contrive to pass without being
recognized.
I pinned a clean towel round my neck, barber fashion, and pulling the
pins out of my hair, shook it down over my shoulders. But before I could
twist it up again, there came a light tap, tap, at the door.
"There!" I thought. "Some one has been sent to tell me the servants'
dinner will be over if I don't hurry. Perhaps it's too late already, and
I'm _so_ hungry!"
I bounced to the door, and threw it wide open, to find Mr. John Dane
standing in the passage, holding a small tray crowded with dishes.
"Here you are," he said, in the most matter-of-fact way, as if bringing
meals to my door had been a fixed habit with him, man and boy, for
years. "Hope I haven't spilt anything! There's such a crush in our
feeding place that I thought you'd be safer up here. So I made friends
with a dear old waiter chap, and said I wanted something nice for my
sister."
"You didn't!" I exclaimed.
"I did. Do you mind much? I understood it was agreed that was our
relationship."
"No, I don't mind much," I returned. "Thank you for everything." I shook
back a cloud of hair, and glanced up at the chauffeur. Our eyes met, and
as I took the tray my fingers touched his. His dark face grew faintly
red, and then a slight frown drew his eyebrows together.
"Why do you suddenly look like that?" I asked. "Have I done anything to
make you cross?"
"Only with myself," he said.
"But why? Are you sorry you've been kind to me? Oh, if you only knew, I
need it to-night. Go on being kind."
"You're not the sort of girl a man can be kind to," he said, almost
gruffly, it seemed to me.
"Am I ungrateful, then?"
"I don't know what you are," he answered. "I only know that if I looked
at you long as you are now I should make an ass of myself--and make you
detest or despise me. So good night--and good appetite."
He turned to go, but I called him back. "Please!" I begged. "I'll only
keep you one minute. I'm sure you're joking, big brother, about being an
ass, or poking fun at me. But I don't care. I need some advice so badly!
I've no one but you to give it to me. I know you won't desert me,
because if you were like that you wouldn't have come to stop at this
hotel to watch over your new sister--which I'm sure you did, though
that may sound ever so conceited."
"Of course I won't desert you," he said. "I couldn't--now, even if I
would. But I'll go away till you've had your dinner, and--and made
yourself look less like a siren and more like an ordinary human
being--if possible. Then I'll run up and knock, and you can come out in
the passage to be advised."
"A siren--with a towel round her neck!" I laughed. "If I should sing to
you, perhaps you might say--"
"Don't, for heaven's sake, or there would be an end of--your brother,"
he broke in, laughing a little. "It wouldn't need much more." And with
that he was off.
He is very abrupt in his manner at times, certainly, this strange
chauffeur, and yet one's feelings aren't exactly hurt. And one feels,
somehow, as I think the motor seems to feel, as if one could trust to
his guidance in the most dangerous places. I'm sure he would give his
life to save the car, and I believe he would take a good deal of trouble
to save me; indeed, he has already taken a good deal of trouble, in
several ways.
When he had gone I set down the tray, shut the door, and went to see how
I really did look with my hair hanging round my shoulders. My ideas on
the subject of sirenhood are vague; but I must confess, if the creatures
are like me with my hair down, they must be quite nice, harmless little
persons. I admire my hair, there's so much of it; and at the ends, a
good long way below my waist, there's such a thoroughly agreeable curl,
like a yellow sea-wave just about to break. Of course, that sounds very
vain; but why shouldn't one admire one's own things, if one has things
worth admiring? It seems rather ungrateful to Providence to cry them
down; and ingratitude was never a favourite vice with me.
One would have said that the chauffeur knew by instinct what I liked
best to eat, and he must have had a very persuasive way with the waiter.
There was crême d'orge, in a big cup; there were sweetbreads, and there
was lemon meringue. Nothing ever tasted better since my "birthday
feasts" as a child, when I was allowed to order my own dinner.
My room being on the first floor, though separated by a labyrinth of
quaint passages from Lady Turnour's, there was danger in a corridor
conversation with Mr. Dane at an hour when people might be coming
upstairs after dinner; but he was in such a hurry to escape from me that
I had no time to explain; and I really had not the heart to make myself
hideous, by way of disguise, as I'd planned before his knock at the
door. As an alternative I put on a hat, pinning quite a thick veil over
my face, and when the expected tap came again, I was prepared for it.
"Are you going out?" my brother asked, looking surprised, when I flitted
into the dim corridor, with Lady Turnour's blue bag dutifully slipped on
my arm.
"No," I answered. "I'm _hiding_. I know that sounds mysterious, or
melodramatic, or something silly, but it's only disagreeable. And it's
what I want to ask your advice about." Then, shamefacedly when it came
to the point, I unfolded the tale of Monsieur Charretier.
"By Jove, and he's in this house!" exclaimed the chauffeur, genuinely
interested, and not a bit sulky. "You haven't an idea whether he's been
actually tracking you?"
"If he has, he must have employed detectives, and clever ones, too," I
said, defending my own strategy.
"Is he the sort of man who would do such a thing--put detectives on a
girl who's run away from home to get rid of his attentions?"
"I don't know. I only know he has no idea of being a gentleman. What can
you expect of Corn Plasters?"
"Don't throw his corn plasters in his face. He might be a good fellow in
spite of them."
"Well, he isn't--or with them, either. He may be acting with my cousin's
husband, who values him immensely, and wants him in the family."
"Is he very rich?"
"Disgustingly," said I, as I had said to Lady Kilmarny.
"Yet you bolted from a good home, where you had every comfort, rather
than be pestered to marry him?"
"Oh, what do you call a 'good home,' and 'every comfort'? I had enough
to eat and drink, a sunny room, decent clothes, and wasn't allowed to
work except for Cousin Catherine. But that isn't my idea of goodness and
comfort."
"Nor mine either."
"Yet you seem surprised at me."
"I was thinking that, little and fragile as you look--like a delicate
piece of Dresden china--you're a brave girl."
"Oh, thank you!" I cried. "I do love to be called 'brave' better than
anything, because I'm really such a coward. You don't think I've done
wrong?"
"No-o. So far as you've told me."
"What, don't you believe I've told you the truth?" I flashed out.
"Of course. But do women ever tell the whole truth to men--even to their
brothers? What about that kind friend of yours in England?"
"What kind friend?" I asked, confused for an instant. Then I remembered,
and--almost--chuckled. The conversation I had had with him came back to
me, and I recalled a queer look on his face which had puzzled me till I
forgot it. Now I was on the point of blurting out: "Oh, the kind friend
is a Miss Paget, who said she'd like to help me if I needed help," when
a spirit of mischief seized me. I determined to keep up the little
mystery I'd inadvertently made. "I know," I said gravely. "_Quite_ a
different kind of friend."
"Some one you like better than Monsieur Charretier?"
"_Much_ better."
"Rich, too?"
"Very rich, I believe, and of a noble family."
"Indeed! No doubt, then, you are wise, even from a worldly point of
view, in refusing the man your people want you to marry, and
taking--such extreme measures not to let yourself be over persuaded,"
said Mr. Dane, stiffly, in a changed tone, not at all friendly or nice,
as before. "I meant to advise you not to go on to England with Lady
Turnour, as the whole situation is so unsuitable; but now, of course, I
shall say no more."
"It was about something else I wanted advice," I reminded him. "But I
suppose I must have bored you. You suddenly seem so cross."
"I am not in the least cross," he returned, ferociously. "Why should I
be?--even if I had a right, which I haven't."
"Not the right of a brother?"
"Hang the rights of a brother!" exclaimed Mr. Dane.
"Then don't you want to be my brother any more?"
He walked away from me a few steps, down the corridor, then turned
abruptly and came back. "It isn't a question of what I want," said he,
"but of what I can have. Sometimes I think that after all you're nothing
but an outrageous little flirt."
"Sometimes? Why, you've only known me two days. As if you could judge!"
"Far be it from me to judge. But it seems as though the two days were
two years."
"Thank you. Well, I may be a flirt--the French side of me, when the
other side isn't looking. But I'm not flirting with _you_."
"Why should you waste your time flirting with a wretched chauffeur?"
"Yes, why? Especially as I've other things to think of. But I don't
_want_ your advice about those things now. I wouldn't have it even if
you begged me to. You've been too unkind."
"I beg your pardon, with all my heart," he said, his voice like itself
again. "I'm a brute, I know! It's that beastly temper of mine, that is
always getting me into trouble--with myself and others. Do forgive me,
and let me help you. I want to very much."
"I just said I wouldn't if you begged."
"I don't beg. I insist. I'll inflict my advice on you, whether you like
it or not. It's this: get the man out of Avignon the first thing
to-morrow morning."
"That's easy to say!"
"And easy to do--I hope. What would be his first act, do you think, if
he got a wire from you, dated Genoa, and worded something like this:
'Hear you are following me. I send this to Avignon on chance, to tell
you persecution must cease or I will find means to protect myself. Lys
d'Angely.'"
"I think he'd hurry off to Genoa as fast as he could go--by train,
leaving his car, or sending it on by rail. But how could I date a
telegram from Genoa?"
"I know a man there who--"
"Elise, I'm astonished at you!" exclaimed the shocked voice of Lady
Turnour. "Talking in corridors with strange young men! and you've been
out, too, without my permission, and _with_ my jewel-bag! How dare you?"
"I haven't been out," I ventured to contradict.
"Then you were going out--"
"And I had no intention of going out--"
"Don't answer me back like that! I won't stand it. What are you doing in
your hat, done up in a thick veil, too, at this time of night, as if you
were afraid of being recognized?"
I had to admit to myself that appearances were dreadfully against me. I
didn't see how I could give any satisfactory explanation, and while I
was fishing wildly in my brain without any bait, hoping to catch an
inspiration, the chauffeur spoke for me.
"If your ladyship will permit me to explain," he began, more
respectfully than I'd heard him speak to anyone yet, "it is my fault
ma'mselle is dressed as she is."
"What on earth is he going to say?" I wondered wildly, as he paused an
instant for Lady Turnour's consent, which perhaps an amazed silence
gave. I believed that he didn't know himself what to say.
"I wanted your ladyship's maid, when she had nothing else to do, to put
on her out-of-door things and let me make a sketch of her for an
illustrated newspaper I sometimes draw for. Naturally she didn't care
for her face to go into the paper, so she insisted upon a veil. My
sketch is to be called, 'The Motor Maid,' and I shall get half a guinea
for it, I hope, of which it's my intention to hand ma'mselle five
shillings for obliging me. I hope your ladyship doesn't object to my
earning something extra now and then, so long as it doesn't interfere
with work?"
"Well," remarked Lady Turnour, taken aback by this extraordinary plea,
as well she might have been, "I don't like to tell a person out and out
that I don't believe a word he says, but I do go as far as this: I'll
believe you when I see you making the sketch. And as for earning extra
money, I should have thought Sir Samuel paid good enough wages for you
to be willing to smoke a pipe and rest when your day's work was done,
instead of gadding about corridors gossiping with lady's-maids who've no
business to be outside their own room. But if you're so greedy after
money--and if you want me to take Elise's word--"
"I'll just begin the sketch in your ladyship's presence, if I may be
excused," said Mr. Dane, briskly. And to my real surprise, as well as
relief, he whipped a small canvas-covered sketch-book out of his pocket.
It was almost like sleight of hand, and if he'd continued the exhibition
with a few live rabbits and an anaconda or two I couldn't have been much
more amazed.
"I'd like to have a look at that thing," observed Lady Turnour,
suspiciously, as in a business-like manner he proceeded to release a
neatly sharpened pencil from an elastic strap.
Without a word or a guilty twitch of an eyelid he handed her the book,
and we both stood watching while the fat, heavily ringed and rosily
manicured fingers turned over the pages.
He could sketch, I soon saw, better than I can, though I've (more or
less) made my living at it. There were types of French peasants done in
a few strokes, here and there a suggestion of a striking bit of mountain
scenery, a quaint cottage, or a ruined castle. Last of all there was a
very good representation of the Aigle, loaded up with the Turnours'
smart luggage, and ready to start. My lips twitched a little, despite
the strain of the situation, as I noted the exaggerated size of the
crest on the door panel. It turned the whole thing into a caricature;
but luckily her ladyship missed the point. She even allowed her face to
relax into a faint smile of pleasure.
"This isn't bad," she condescended to remark.
"I thought of asking your ladyship and Sir Samuel if there would be any
objection to my sending that to a Society motoring paper, and labelling
it 'Sir Samuel and Lady Turnour's new sixty-horse-power Aigle on tour
in Provence.' Or, if you would prefer my not using your name, I--"
"I see no reason why you should _not_ use it," her ladyship cut in
hastily, "and I'm sure Sir Samuel won't mind. Make a little extra money
in that way if you like, while we're on the road, as you have this
talent."
She gave him back the book, quite graciously, and the chauffeur began
sketching me. In three minutes there I was--the "abominable little
flirt!" in hat and veil, with Lady Turnour's bag in my hand, quite a
neat figure of a motor maid.
"You may put, if you like, 'Lady Turnour's maid,'" said that young
person's mistress, "if you think it would give some personal interest to
your sketch for the paper."
"Oh, this is for quite a different sort of thing," he explained. "Not
devoted to society news at all: more for caricatures and _funny_ bits."
"Oh, then I should certainly not wish my name to appear in _that_,"
returned her ladyship, her tone adding that, on the other hand, such a
publication was as suitable as it was welcome to a portrait of _me_.
"Now, Elise, I wish you to take those things off at _once_, and come to
my room," she finished. "Mind, I don't want you should keep me waiting!
And you can hand over that bag."
No hope of another word between us! Mr. Jack Dane saw this, and that it
would be unwise to try for it. Pocketing the sketch-book, he saluted
Lady Turnour with a finger to the height of his eyebrows, which gesture
visibly added to her sense of importance. Then, without glancing at me,
he turned and walked off.
It was not until he had disappeared round the bend of the corridor that
her ladyship thought it right to leave me.
I knew that she had made this little expedition in search of her maid
with the sole object of seeing what the mouse did while the cat was
away--a trick worthy of her lodging-house past! And I knew equally well
that before I tapped at her door a little later she had examined the
contents of the blue bag to make sure that I had extracted nothing. How
I pity the long procession of "slaveys" who must have followed each
other drearily in that lodging-house under the landlady's jurisdiction.
They, poor dears, could have had no chauffeur friends to save them from
daily perils, and it isn't likely that their mistress allowed such
luxuries as postmen or policemen.