Although Mrs. Trappème had been so short a time in Townsville, she had
contrived to learn a very good deal, not only about people in the town
itself, but in the surrounding districts, and knew that Grainger was a
wealthy mine-owner, had a sister staying with him on a visit--and was a
bachelor. She also knew that Mallard was the editor of the _Champion_,
and was likewise a bachelor--in fact, she had acquired pretty well
all the information that could be acquired; her informant being the
talkative, scandal-mongering wife of the Episcopalian curate.
She was therefore highly elated when at four o'clock in the afternoon
Miss Grainger and her brother, and Mallard, after a brief inspection
of the rooms--which were really handsomely furnished--took three of the
largest and a private sitting-room, at an exorbitant figure, for a week,
and promised to be at the Villa that evening for dinner.
“He's immensely rich, Juliette,” she said to her daughter (she was
speaking of Grainger after he had gone), “and you must do your best,
your very best. Wear something very simple, as it is the first evening;
and be particularly nice to his sister--I'm sure he's very fond of her.
She'll only be here a week, but he and Mr. Mallard will probably be here
a month. So now you have an excellent chance. Don't throw it away by
making a fool of yourself.”
Juliette (who had been christened Julia, and called “Judy” for
thirty-two years of her life) set her thin lips and then replied
acidly--
“It's all very well for you to talk, but whenever I did have a
chance--which was not often--you spoilt it by your interference. And if
you allow Jimmy to sit at the same table with us to-night he'll simply
disgust these new people. When you call him 'Mordaunt' the hideous
little wretch grins; and he grins too when you call me 'Juliette' and
Lizzie 'Lilla.'”
Mrs. Trappème's fat face scowled at her daughter, and she was about to
make an angry retort when the frontdoor bell rang.
“A lady wants to see yez, ma'am,” said the “new chum” Irish housemaid,
who had answered the door.
“Did you show her into the reception room, Mary?”
“Sure, an' is it the wee room wid the sthuffed burd in the fireplace, or
is it the wan beyant wid the grane carpet on de flore; becos' I'm after
puttin' her in the wan wid the sthuffed burd? Anny way it's a lady she
is, sure enough; an' it's little she'll moind where she do be waitin' on
yez.”
“Did she send in her card, Mary?”
“Did she sind in her _what_?”
“Her card, you stupid girl.”
“Don't you be after miscallin' me, ma'am. Sure I can get forty shillings
a wake annywhere an' not be insulted by anny wan, instead av thirty
here, which I do be thinkin' is not the place to shuit me”--and the
indignant daughter of the Emerald Isle, a fresh-complexioned, handsome
young woman, tossed her pretty head and marched out.
So Mrs. Trappème went into the room “wid the sthuffed burd in it,”
and there rose to meet her a fair-haired girl of about eighteen, with
long-lashed, dark-grey eyes, and a somewhat worn and drawn expression
about her small mouth, as if she were both mentally and physically
tired. Her dress was of the simplest--a neatly fitting, dark-blue,
tailor-made gown.
“I saw your advertisement in the _Champion_ this morning,” she said,
“and called to ascertain your terms.” Mrs. Trappème's big, protruding,
and offensive pale-blue eyes stared at and took in the girl's modest
attire and her quiet demeanour as a shark looks at an unsuspecting or
disabled fish which cannot escape its maws.
“Please sit down,” she said with a mingled ponderous condescension
and affability. “I did not _advertise_. I merely _notified_ in the
_Champion_ that I would receive paying guests. But my terms are very
exclusive.” “What are they?”
“Five guineas a week exclusive of extras, which, in this place, amount
to quite a guinea more. You could not afford that, I suppose?”
The dark-grey eyes flashed, and then looked steadily at those of the
fishy blue.
“Your terms are certainly very high, but I have no option. I find it
impossible to get accommodation in Townsville. I only arrived from
Sydney this morning in the _Corea_, and as I am very tired, I should
like to rest in an hour or so--as soon as you can conveniently let
me have my room,” and taking out her purse she placed a £5 note, a
sovereign, and six shillings on the table.
“Will you allow me to pay you in advance?” she said, with a tinge of
sarcasm in her clear voice. “I will send my luggage up presently.”
Mrs. Trappème at once became most affable. She had noticed that the
purse the girl had produced was literally stuffed with new £5 notes.
“May I send for it?” she said beamingly, “and will you not stay and go
to your room now?”
“No, thank you,” was the cold reply, “I have some business to attend to
first. Can you tell me where Mr. Mallard, the editor of the _Champion_,
lives? I know where the office is, but as it is a morning paper, I
should not be likely to find him there at this early hour.”
Mrs. Trappème was at once devoured with curiosity. “How very
extraordinary! Mr. Mallard was here only half an hour ago with a Mr.
Grainger and Miss Grainger. They are coming here to stay for a few
weeks.”
The girl's fair face lit up. “Oh, indeed! I am sorry I was not here, as
I particularly wish to see Mr. Grainger also. I had no idea that he was
in Townsville, and was calling on Mr. Mallard--who, I know, is a friend
of his--to ascertain when he was likely to be in town.”
“They will all be here for dinner, Miss----”
“My name is Carolan,” and taking out her cardcase she handed Mrs.
Trappème a card on which was inscribed, “Miss Sheila Carolan.”
“Then Mr. Grainger is a friend of yours?” said Mrs. Trappème
inquisitively, thinking of the poor chance Juliette would have with such
a Richmond in the field as Miss Sheila Carolan.
“No, I have never even seen him,” said the girl stiffly, and then she
rose.
“Then you will send for my luggage, Mrs. Trappème?”
“With pleasure, Miss Carolan. But will you not look at your room, and
join my daughter and myself in our afternoon tea?”
“No, thank you, I think I shall first try and see either Mr. Mallard or
Mr. Grainger. Do you know where Mr. Mallard lives?”
“At the Royal Hotel in Flinders Street. My daughter Lilla will be
delighted to show you the way.”
But Miss Sheila Carolan was stubborn, and declined the kind offer, and
Mrs. Trappème, whose curiosity was now at such a pitch that she was
beginning to perspire, saw her visitor depart, and then called for
Juliette.
“I wonder who she is and what she wants to see Mr. Grainger for?” she
said excitedly, as she mopped her florid face: “doesn't know him, and
yet wants to see him particularly. There is something mysterious about
her.”
“What is she like?” asked Miss Trappème eagerly. “I didn't see her
face, but her clothes are all right, I can tell you.” (She knew all
about clothes, having been a forewoman in a Sydney drapery establishment
for many years.)
“Oh, a little, common-looking thing, but uppish. I wonder what on earth
she _does_ want to see Mr. Grainger for?”
Half an hour later, when Miss Carolan's luggage arrived, it was duly
inspected and criticised by the whole Trappème family. Each trunk bore
a painted address: “Miss Carolan, Minerva Downs, Dalrymple, North
Queensland.”
“Now where in the world is Minerva Downs?” said Mrs. Trappème, “and why
on earth is she going there? And her name too--Carolan--Sheila Carolan!
I suppose she's a Jewess.”
“Indade, an' it's not that she is, ma'am, whatever it manes,”
indignantly broke in Mary, who had helped to carry in the luggage, and
now stood erect with flaming face and angry eyes. “Sure an' I tould yez
she was a lady, an' anny wan cud see she was a lady, an' Carolan is wan
av the best names in Ireland--indade it is.”
“You may leave the room, Mary,” said Miss Trappème loftily.
“Lave the room, is it, miss? Widout maning anny disrespect to yez, I
might as well be telling yez that I'm ready to lave the place intirely,
an' so is the cook an' stableman, an' the gardener. Sure none av
us--having been used to the gintry--want to sthay in a place where we do
be getting talked at all day.”
The prospect of all her servants leaving simultaneously was too awful
for Mrs. Trappème to contemplate. So she capitulated.
“Don't be so hasty, Mary. I suppose, then, that Miss Carolan is an
Irishwoman?”
“She is that, indade. Sore an' her swate face toold me so before she
spoke to me at all, at all.”
“Then you must look after her wants yery carefully, Mary. She will only
be here for a few weeks.”
Mary's angry eyes softened. “I will that ma'am. Sure she's a sweet young
lady wid the best blood in her, I'm thinkin'.”
Miss Trappème sniffed.