Although a good many neighbours were coming to the Château de
Roquemartine to look on at the servants' ball, they were all to drive or
motor over in their ordinary dinner dress; it was only the servants
themselves who were to "make toilettes."
Lady Turnour, however, who regretted having missed the smart ball for
the great world, given a few nights before, determined that people
should be forced to appreciate her wealth and position; and the wardrobe
of Solomon in all his glory could hardly have produced anything to
exceed her gold tissue, diamanté.
When I had squeezed, and poked, and pushed her into it, and was
bejewelling her, Sir Samuel came, as usual, to have his white cravat
tied by me. Bertie, too, appeared, dressed for dinner, and watched me
with silent amusement as I performed my evening duty for his stepfather.
"Pretty gorgeous, aren't you?" he remarked to Lady Turnour; but she was
flattered rather than annoyed by the criticism, and sailed away
good-natured, leaving me to gather up the few jewels of her collection
which she had discarded. Lately I had been trusted with her treasures,
and felt the responsibility disagreeably, especially as my
mistress--when she remembered it--counted everything ostentatiously
over, after relieving me of my charge.
To-night I had just begun picking up the brooches, bracelets, diamond
stars, coronets and bursting suns which illuminated the dressing-table
firmament, when Bertie walked in again, through the door that he had
left ajar.
"I came back because my necktie's a failure," said he. "My man must be
in love, I should think. Probably with you! Anyhow, something's the
matter; his fingers are all thumbs. But you turned out my old governor
rippin'ly. You'll do me, won't you?"
As he spoke, he untied his cravat, and produced another.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know how to do _that_ kind of tie."
"What--what?" he stared. "It's just the same as the governor's--only a
little better. Come along, there's a dear." He had pushed the door to;
now he shut it.
I walked to the other end of the room, and began folding a blouse.
"You'd better give your valet another trial," I said. "I'm _not_ a
valet. I'm Lady Turnour's maid."
"She's in luck to get you."
"I'm engaged to wait upon _her_."
"You are stiff! You do the governor's tie."
"Sir Samuel's very kind to me."
"Well, I'll be kind, too. I'd like nothing better. I'll be a lot kinder
than he'd dare to be. I say, I've got a present for you--something
rippin', that you'll like. You can wear it at the ball to-night, but
you'd better not tell anyone who gave it to you--what? You shall have
it for tyin' my necktie. Now, don't you call that 'kind'?"
I stopped folding the blouse, and increased my height by at least an
inch. "No," I said, "I call it impertinent, and I shall be obliged if
you will leave Lady Turnour's room. That's the only thing you can do for
me."
"By Jove!" said Bertie. "What theatre were you at before you took to
lady's maidin'?"
To this I deigned no answer.
"Anyhow, you're a rippin' little actress."
Silence.
"And a pretty girl. As pretty as they make 'em."
I invented a new kind of sigh, a cross between a snarl and a moan.
"Tell me, what's the mystery? There is a mystery about you, you know.
Not a bit of good tryin' to deceive me.... You might as well own up. I
can keep a secret as well as the next one."
A tapping of my foot. A slamming of a wardrobe door, which was able to
squeak furiously without loss of dignity.
"What _were_ you before my lady took you on?... Look here, if you don't
answer, I shall begin to think the secret's got to do with _those_." And
he pointed to the dressing table, where the jewels still lay. He even
put out his hand and took up the bursting sun. (How I sympathized with
it for bursting!) "Worth somethin'--what?"
"You can think whatever you like," I flashed at him, "if only you'll go
out of this room."
"Pity your chauffeur isn't at hand for you to run to," Bertie half
sneered, half laughed, for he was keeping his hateful, teasing good
nature. "And by the way, talkin' of him, since you're such a little
prude, I'll just warn you in a friendly way to look out for that chap.
You don't know his history--what? I'm sure the governor doesn't."
"Sir Samuel knows he can drive, and that he's a _gentleman_," said I,
with meaning emphasis.
"Well, I've warned you," replied Bertie, injured. "You may see which one
of us is really your friend, before you're out of this galley. But if
you want to be a good and happy little girl, you'd best be nice to me. I
shall find out all about you, you know."
That was his exit speech; and the only way in which I could adequately
express my opinion of it was to bang the door on his back.
* * * * *
The ball was in a huge vault of a room which had once been a granary.
The stone floor had been worn smooth by many feet and several centuries,
and the blank gray walls were brightened with drapery of flags, yards of
coloured cotton, paper flowers and evergreens, arranged with an effect
which none save Latin hands could have given. Dinner above and below
stairs was early, and before ten the guests began to assemble in the
ballroom. All the servant-world had dined in ball costume, excepting
Jack and myself, and it was only at the last minute that the cricket
hopped upstairs and wriggled into its neatly reduced lobster shell.
I had visions of my brother lurking gloomily yet observantly in obscure
corners, ready at any moment for a _sortie_ in my defence; but when I
sneaked, sidled, and slid into the ballroom, making myself as small as
possible that I might pass unobserved in spite of my sensational
redness, I had a surprise. Near the door stood the chauffeur in evening
dress, out-princing and out-duking every prince and duke among the
Marquise de Roquemartine's guests. And I, who hadn't even known that he
possessed evening clothes, could not have opened my eyes wider if my
knight had appeared in full armour.
I had broken the news of the scarlet dress to him, nevertheless I saw it
was a shock. To each one, the other was a new person, as we stood and
talked together. I said not a word about my scene with Bertie, for there
was trouble enough between the two already; but when Jack told me that,
if I were asked to dance by anyone objectionable, I must say I was
engaged to him, I knew which One loomed largest and ugliest in his mind.
A glance round the big, bright room showed me many strangers. All were
servants, however, for the grand people had not yet come down to play
their little game of condescension. A band from Clermont-Ferrand was
making music, but the ball was to be opened by the marquise and her
guests, who were to honour their servants by dancing the first dance
with them. Each noble lady was to select a cook, butler, footman,
chauffeur, or groom, according to her pleasure; and each noble lord was
to lead out the female worm which least displeased his eye.
Hardly had I time to dive deep into the wave of domesticity, when the
great moment arrived, and a spray of aristocracy sprinkled the top of
that heavy wave, with the dazzling sparkle of its jewels and its beauty.
Really it was a pretty sight! I had to admire it; and in watching the
play of light and colour I forgot my private worries until I saw Bertie
bowing before me.
The marquise had just honoured her own butler. The marquis was offering
his arm to the housekeeper; the Duc de Divonne had led out Miss Nelson's
bilious maid, appalling in apple-green: Miss Nelson was returning the
compliment by giving her hand to his valet: why should not this young
gentleman dance with his step-mother-in-law's maid?
There seemed no reason why not, except the maid's disinclination; and
sudden side-slip of the brain caused by the glassy impudence in Mr.
Stokes's eye so disturbed my equilibrium that I forgot Jack's offer. He
did not forget, however--it would hardly have been Jack, if he had--but
stepped forward to claim me as I began to stammer some excuse.
"Oh, come, that isn't playin' the game," said Bertie. "We're all dancin'
with servants this turn. Go ask a lady, Dane."
"I have asked a lady, and she has promised to dance with me," said Jack.
"Miss d'Angely--"
"Oh, that's the lady's name, is it? I'm glad to know," mumbled Bertie,
as Jack whisked me away from under his nose.
"By Jove, I oughtn't to have let that out, ought I?" said Jack,
remorseful. "The less he knows about you, the better; and as Lady
Turnour has no idea of pronunciation, if it hadn't been for my
stupidity--"
"Don't call it that," I stopped him, as we began to dance. "It doesn't
matter a bit--unless it should occur to the Duchesse de Melun to ask
him questions about me. And I'd rather not think about that possibility,
or anything else disagreeable, to spoil this heavenly waltz."
"You _can_ dance a little, can't you?" said Jack, in a tone and with a
look that made the words better than any compliment any other man had
ever paid me on my dancing, though I'd been likened to feathers, and
vine-tendrils, and various poetically airy things.
"You aren't so bad yourself, brother," I retorted, in the same tone.
"Our steps suit, don't they?"
He muttered something, which sounded like "Just a little better than
anything else on earth, that's all"; but of course it couldn't really
have been what my ears tried to make my vanity believe.
When we stopped--which we didn't do while there was music to go on
with--I was conscious that people were looking at us, and nobody with
more interest than the Duchesse de Melun. I glanced hastily away before
my eye had quite caught hers; but no female thing needs to give a whole
eye to what is going on around her. I knew, although my back was soon
turned in her direction, that the Duchesse de Melun was talking to Lady
Turnour, and I guessed the subject of the conversation. Thank goodness,
my mistress's mind had never compassed more than a misleading "Elise,"
and thank goodness, also, many of the great folk were preparing to leave
us humble ones to ourselves, now that their condescension had been
proved in the first dance. Would the duchess go? Yes--oh joy!--she gets
up from her seat. She moves toward the door. Lady Turnour has risen too,
but sits down again, lured by the proximity of a princess. All will be
well, perhaps! The duchess mayn't think of catechizing Bertie, now that
my mistress has put her off the track. He, with several other young men,
evidently means to stop and see the fun out. If only he would sit still,
now, beside the marquise! But no. Miss Nelson and the Duc de Divonne are
going out together. Bertie must needs jump up and dash across the room
for a word with the girl. Discouraged by some laughing answer flung over
her shoulder, he almost bumps against the duchess. Horror! She speaks to
him quite eagerly. She puts a question. He replies. She bends her head
near to him. They walk slowly out of the room, talking, talking. All is
up with Lys d'Angely! The next thing that Meddlesome Matty of a
duchess will do, is to wire Cousin Catherine Milvaine. Crash!
thunder--lightning--hail!--Monsieur Charretier on my track again.
* * * * *
I resolved, as I saw myself lying shattered at my own feet, to pick up
the bits and say nothing to Jack, lest he should blame his own
inadvertent dropping of my name for all present and future mischief.
Being a man, he can see things only with his eyes; and as he happened to
be looking at me, he missed the pantomime at the other end of the room.
I was looking at him too, but of course that didn't prevent me from
seeing other things; and while I was chatting with him, and wondering
how long it might be before the thunderbolt (Monsieur Charretier) should
fall, I received another invitation to dance. This time it was from a
delightful old boy who looked sixty and felt twenty-one.
He was ruddy-brown, with tight gray curls on his head, and deep dimples
in his cheeks. If anyone had told me that he was not an English admiral
I should have known it was a fib.
"I hope you aren't engaged for this next waltz?" said he. "I should like
very much to have it with you." And he spoke as nicely as he would to a
young girl of his own world, although he must have heard from someone
that I was a lady's maid.
I glanced at Jack, but evidently he approved of admirals as partners for
his sister. He kept himself in the background, smiling benevolently, and
I skipped away with my brown old sailor, as the music for the dance
began.
"Heard you spoke English," said he, encircling my Directoire waist with
the arm of a sea-going Hercules, "otherwise I shouldn't have had the
courage to come up and speak to you."
I laughed. "A Dreadnought afraid of a fishing-smack!"
"My word, if you were a fishin'-smack, my little friend, you wouldn't
lack for fish to catch," chuckled the old gentleman, who was waltzing
like an elderly angel--as all sailors do. Now, if Bertie had said what
he said, I should have been offended, but coming from the admiral it
cheered me up.
"You _are_ an admiral, aren't you?" I was bold enough to ask.
"Who told you that?" he wanted to know.
"My eyes," said I.
"They're bright ones," he retorted. "But I suppose I do look an old
sea-dog--what? A regular old salt-water dog. But by George, it's hot
water I've got into to-night. D'ye see that stout lady we're just
passin'?--the one in the red wig and yellow frock covered with paste or
diamonds?"
(If she could have heard the description! It was Lady Turnour, in her
gold tissue, her Bond Street jewellery shop, and, my charge, her
beautifully undulated, copper-tinted transformation.)
"Yes, I see her," I said faintly, as we waltzed past; and I wondered why
she was glaring.
"I suppose you didn't notice me doin' the first dance with her? Well, I
asked her because they said we'd all got to invite servants to begin
with, and as the best were snapped up before I got a chance, I walked
over to her like a man. Give you my word, where all are dressed like
duchesses, I took her for a cook."
I laughed so much that I shook my feet out of time with the music.
"Did you treat her like a cook, too?" I gurgled. "Ask her to give you
her favourite recipe for soup?"
"Heaven forbid, no. I treated her like a countess. One would a cook, you
know. It was afterward I got into the hot water. I popped her down in a
seat when we'd scrambled through a turn or two of the dance, and that
was all right; but instead of stoppin' where she was put, she must have
stood up with some other poor chap when my back was turned, and been
plamped down somewhere else. Anyhow, I danced the end of the waltz with
the Marquise de Roquemartine, when she'd finished doin' the polite to
the butler, and when we sat down to breathe at last, for the sake of
somethin' to say I asked if the fat lady in yellow was her own cook, or
a visitor's cook. Anyhow, I was certain of the _cook_: fancied myself on
spottin' a cook anywhere. Well, the marquise giggled 'Take care!' and
nearly had a fit. And if there wasn't my late partner close to my
shoulder. 'That's Lady Turnour, one of my guests,' said the marquise.
Little witch, she looked more pleased than shocked; but 'pon my honour,
you could have knocked me down with a feather. I hope the good lady
didn't hear, but my friends tell me I talk as if I were yellin' through
a megaphone, so I'm afraid she got the news."
"What did you do?" I gasped.
"Do? I jumped up as if I'd been shot, and trotted over to ask you to
dance. But I expect it will get about."
Now I knew why Lady Turnour had glared. Poor woman! I was really sorry
for her--on this, her happy night!