MR. AND MRS. BODLEY-CHARD
Isla was familiar with the outward aspect of the pretty houses in Hans
Crescent, and she had on more than one occasion, in the company of her
aunt, made acquaintance with the interior of one.
The town house of the Murdoch-Graemes of Baltasound was in Hans
Crescent, but they, too, were poor and, until their daughter married a
rich financier, had not been able to occupy their London house in the
season.
But there is a vast difference between fashionable London in May or June
and in October. More than the half of the houses are shut up in the
late autumn, and Isla had no fear of meeting anyone who would recognize
her.
Her hansom drew up, jingling, at the door of one of the most important
houses, beautifully appointed outside, with real lace curtains at the
windows and with everything indicating ample means. A sedate,
middle-aged manservant of irreproachable mien noiselessly opened the
door and stood at attention to hear Isla's message.
"Mrs. Bodley-Chard is at home, Miss, but she only sees callers by
appointment," he said civilly, but firmly.
"Please to take my name," said Isla quietly, "and tell her I have come
from Madame Vibert in Oxford Street."
The man shook his head.
"There have been three already this morning, and my mistress has told me
she will not see any more. She lies down after luncheon. Still, Miss, I
can tell her you are here if you will kindly step in."
Isla was grateful, and the respectful manner of the man was like balm to
her perturbed spirit. Here she felt at home, and beyond doubt the man
knew--for the preceptions of his class are very keen in certain
directions--that she differed in almost every essential from those who
had come before her.
He placed a chair for her by the fireplace in the pretty lounge-hall and
departed upstairs. Isla glanced round her interestedly. The house was
very bright, painted in white with warm crimson walls, and full of
pretty things. It was all very modern, however, and a trifle fantastic.
A very large brown bear, mounted on a pedestal and standing up with a
pole between his forepaws, struck rather a grotesque note. It was
neither a useful nor an ornamental object, and it was instantly banned
by Isla's simple, correct taste. The pictures, of which there were
many, all struck the same bold note of bizarre taste, and the effect was
neither restful nor pleasing.
Isla was not kept waiting long.
"Mrs. Bodley-Chard will see you," said the man when he re-appeared.
She followed him up the white and crimson staircase, her feet giving
forth no sound in the deep, luxurious tread of the Axminster carpet.
The house seemed to widen out on the upper landing and gave an
impression of roominess.
The servant opened a door a little way along the corridor and announced
Isla by name. She was ushered into a room in semi-darkness--a sort of
boudoir, luxuriously furnished, whose atmosphere was laden with perfume
and with the heavy odour of many cut flowers.
A smart French maid with a most coquettish cap moved back from the side
of a large couch when the door opened, and as she stepped out of the
room she took a very keen look at Isla.
A voice came out of the gloom--a somewhat thin, fretful voice.
"Come forward, please, to where I can see you. You have called at a
very awkward hour. I expressly wrote to Madame Vibert that I would not
see anyone after lunch."
"I can easily go away, madam, and call at a more convenient season,"
said Isla quietly.
Her eyes, becoming accustomed to the half-light, now discerned quite
clearly on the couch the figure of a middle-aged woman, half-sitting,
with a silk shawl about her shoulders, and a trifle of lace--a so-called
boudoir cap--resting on her elaborately dressed hair.
"Bring a chair forward and sit down. I'm not strong. I am obliged to
lie down all the afternoon. Did Madame Vibert tell you what I really
required? She keeps sending me the most tiresome and impossible
people--fools, in fact. Are you a fool? Come and tell me."
Isla carried over one of the gilt-brocade chairs, thinking at the same
time that it was a little service the French maid ought to have rendered
to a caller before she left the room.
"I don't see you very well. Will you ring for Fifine to draw up one of
the blinds a little?"
"I can do it myself," said Isla promptly, "if you will tell me which
one."
Mrs. Bodley-Chard indicated the window at the end of the room, and Isla
very quickly caused a little light to shine in the darkness. The trim
lines of her figure were silhouetted against the clear glass of the
window, and Mrs. Bodley-Chard looked keenly at her face, when she came
back, to see whether it corresponded with the distinction of the figure.
"You are different. Sit down and tell me what that viper, Madame
Vibert, told you about me."
"She told me very, very little indeed, Mrs. Chard. Only that you wished
a sort of companion-housekeeper. I could act as that, I think, though
Madame Vibert as good as told me this morning I had no market value."
Isla had no hesitation in making this damaging statement. As yet she
was only at play. In her purse she had sixteen pounds of good money,
which, she had calculated, would keep her in modest comfort at Agnes
Fraser's for at least two months. And surely in the course of two
months among all the teeming millions of London she would find something
to do.
Mrs. Chard gave a small, hard laugh. She had a large, uninteresting
face with the unhealthy colour of the woman who takes very little
outdoor exercise, and there was a lassitude about her which seemed to
Isla to arise from lack of will-power rather than from lack of physical
health.
"It is what I do want--a common-sense woman in the house who can hold
her tongue and keep her eyes on two places at once. I'm being robbed on
every side. The only decent person in the house is the butler Robbins.
Madame Vibert has sent me nothing but fools, who were either afraid of
the servants or in league with them. Have you been out before?"
"No."
"Where did you come from?"
"From Scotland. My father died a few months ago, and I have been left
without resources."
"What was he?"
"My father?--oh, he was a soldier."
"What rank?"
Isla hesitated a moment.
"He was a General," she said in a low voice then, as if afraid the fact
would militate against her chance.
"I'm not surprised. You look as if you might be a General's daughter.
Well, then, you don't need to have your duties defined to you. You will
have to keep the house--to run it, in fact--pay the servants' wages and
prevent them from worrying me. You will write any letters I want, and
you will drive out with me when I do go out, but that won't be often now
that the winter is coming on. Then, you will have to dine with Mr.
Bodley-Chard in the evening and keep him amused when he is in the
house."
"Oh!" said Isla with a small gasp, "will you tell me quite what that
means?"
"It means just what it says," answered Mrs. Chard with her wandering,
somewhat stupid smile. "It is slow for him at home, of course, for I am
hardly ever able to be down."
"Have you been out of health a long while?"
"Yes--about two years now. I have got worse in the last six months.
Perhaps I shall not live long. I don't mind. I haven't had much
happiness. People soon get tired of a dull old woman, don't they?"
"But why be dull?" asked Isla cheerfully. "You have the means of making
life pleasant."
"But there is nobody to care, you see."
Isla wondered about Mr. Bodley-Chard, but she did not ask any questions.
She felt sorry for the woman who, in the midst of her luxurious
surroundings, looked like a person from whom all the zest for life had
departed, leaving her with a withered heart.
One thing interested her--she felt that she would like to see Mr.
Bodley-Chard, possibly because in him might be found a partial solution
of the problem of the heaviness of his wife's life.
"Well, will you come? No--I don't want to ask any questions. Either
you're the right person or the wrong one. All the others I've ever
engaged have been the wrong ones, and, somehow, I knew it before they
began their duties. I believe you are going to be the right one. Will
you take it on?"
"Yes, if you think I can do what you require."
"I'm sure you can. It ought not to be hard. When I was able to be
about I had no difficulty in managing my house. But a fool can't manage
servants. That's the chief difficulty--to keep them in their place.
And you look as if you could do that. Can you come to-day?"
"Not to-day. To-morrow I might. May I ask you another question? It is
about dress. I have only one evening frock. It is old and very shabby.
Should I be expected to go down to dinner every night in an evening
frock? That is the only thing I can't be happy about. If I could only
have my evenings free!"
"You'll have a good many of them free, because Mr. Bodley-Chard is a
club-man and is fond of the theatre. Most of them have complained of
the deadly dulness. I go to sleep early, you see."
"I shall come to-morrow afternoon, then," said Isla, rising.
She did so, for she saw that a drowsiness was creeping over Mrs. Chard
and that the heavy white lids were drooping over the dull eyes.
The impression Isla carried away was one of hopelessness, of absolute
lack of interest in life on the part of her future employer. She was
not attractive physically, yet there was something kindly and pitiful
about her.
As she left the room Isla registered a vow that she would do what she
could to arouse her and to give her some fresh interest in life.
Probably Mrs. Chard had a doctor--that kind of woman always had a
fashionable physician in close attendance. Perhaps he and she could
consult together and devise some remedial measure. The prospect of
grappling with a fresh difficulty exhilarated her.
When she closed the door she was surprised to see Fifine, the French
maid, unconcernedly walk away from it as though she had been listening.
She turned quite coolly to Isla, and put her head on one side, while her
small, pretty hands met in front of her dainty person.
"Have you got ze job, Mees?" she asked pertly.
Isla coloured, looked very straightly and haughtily at her, and passed
her by.
An English servant would have fully understood the rebuke, and even
Fifine knew that she had been put in her proper place. She shook her
small fist after the retreating figure on the stairs, and from that
moment Isla had an enemy in the house.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when she got back to Cromer
Street, where she found Agnes Fraser in some perturbation regarding her
long absence.
Agnes was now fully dressed in her neat black frock with the little
Puritan collar, and the whole house looked more comfortable and better
cared for. Isla forgot the abomination of desolation that had reigned
in the morning, and she greeted Agnes with a gay smile as she came out
of the dining-room to meet her.
"I'm so glad to see you down, Agnes. Where have I been? Oh, in search
of adventure. Where can we sit down till I tell you all about it?"
The Frasers chiefly occupied a very small breakfast-room at the back--a
place which seldom got the sun, but which looked cosy enough on a dull
afternoon, with a cheerful fire in the grate and a tea-tray on the end
of the table.
"Eh, but I'm tired, Miss Isla. I've been in the kitchen since eleven
o'clock. What a place! But I've set them to clean up and, now that
I'll be up in the mornin's mysel' things will get a' richt. I was fair
upset when I heard ye had gane oot so early this mornin' and withoot a
proper breakfast. Hae ye had onything to eat since?"
Isla explained so gaily that Agnes concluded that she must have had some
good luck. When she heard the story of the morning she uplifted her
hands in sheer astonishment.
"The thing that beats me is that ye should hae got something so quick,
Miss Isla. I've had them here lookin' for weeks, and weeks, and weeks.
It's a sad business, but I hope thae folk wi' the queer name will be a'
richt."
"They interest me, and I'm not in the least afraid. No, there aren't any
dark mysteries, I'm sure."
"Eh, but London's a michty queer place, Miss Isla, and ye never ken
wha's your next-door neibour. But ye can aye--day or nicht--tak' a
hansom and come ower to me, if onything gangs wrang. I'll no let 'The
Pictur Gallery' the noo. Very likely I'll no hae the chance till after
Christmas. So if ye like to leave onything in it ye can."
They had a long cosy chat over their tea. Then Isla retired to "The
Pictur Gallery" to make a fresh inventory of her clothes.
She found that the room had been swept and garnished, and a cheerful
fire relieved its gloom, with the result that all things, even "The
Pictur Gallery," contributed to her hopeful mood. She was promising
herself no end of amusement and interest in her new environment.
She felt very much as a child might who is about to be taken to a
pantomime for the first time; and certainly she was quite lifted up
beyond all the more sordid and disagreeable aspects of her own private
life.
But the good Agnes was conscious of sundry misgivings when she bade Isla
good-bye about four o'clock next afternoon and saw the cab roll away.
"You'll promise noo, Miss Isla, that if there's onything wrang, or
onything even that ye dinna like, that ye'll come richt back. I canna
say I'm as comfortable in my mind aboot ye as I micht be. I wakened
Andra up in the nicht-time to tell him I wasna."
"Nonsense, Agnes. It's just because you've grown accustomed to thinking
of me in different circumstances that you are anxious about me. I'm
going to enjoy myself immensely and see a bit of life."
"And you'll write to them, Miss Isla--either to Mr. Malcolm or to Lady
Mackinnon? I want them to ken where you are."
"But I don't. I'll write and give them your address, but I forbid you
to breathe the name of Hans Crescent. Besides, I should certainly be
dismissed if a horde of my folk appeared at Mrs. Bodley-Chard's," she
added with a little whimsical smile. "I didn't ask, but I feel sure
that no followers would be allowed."
Agnes was left with a smile on her face, but it faded before she had
watched the four-wheeler out at the end of the street.
"Puir thing! She disna ken a thing aboot life! I hope the Lord will
look after her. Naebody else can."
Isla had no misgivings when she arrived at her destination. She was
received with respectful consideration by Robbins, who passed her on to
a house-maid who, with a polite but distant air showed her to her room.
It was on the third floor, but it was a large and beautiful chamber,
with which even the most fastidious person could not have found a single
fault.
"Mrs. Bodley-Chard has waited tea for you in the boudoir, Miss," said
the girl.
"Thank you; and may I ask your name? We shall probably have to see a
good deal of each other, so we may as well be friendly. I am Miss
Mackinnon."
"I'm Cecilia Owen. I'm called Owen upstairs and Cissy in the kitchen,"
answered the girl, surprised into cordiality of tone.
"And which do you prefer?"
"I don't mind. I shall like whatever you call me, Miss."
"Then we shall say Cissy. In the country--where I come from--we don't
call our women-servants by their surnames," said Isla pleasantly as she
laid her gloves down and poured out some water.
"I'll get you some hot, Miss, and if you like I'll unpack after tea
downstairs. I'd like to help you."
So, in spite of much warning, Cissy capitulated to the newcomer's
undoubted personal charm, and from that moment she was Isla's faithful
ally and friend.
As she descended the stair Isla met the French maid, and wished her a
cool good-afternoon.
"They're waiting tea now, mees; please to hurry," she said pertly, and
Isla passed on.
She found the door without mistake, tapped lightly, and entered by
invitation of Mrs. Bodley-Chard's thin, reedy voice, which seemed very
weak to proceed from such a substantial body.
To her chagrin there was some one else in the room--a youngish man,
dressed in a lounge suit of blue serge. He had a slim figure, very dark
hair and eyes, and a rather florid complexion. A large moustache, very
carefully trimmed, was evidently his pride. He was good-looking after
his type, but that was a type which Isla did not admire. He had a
gardenia in his button-hole, and the impression created was that of a
dandy who gave much consideration to his clothes.
She concluded he was some privileged caller who had dropped in, and,
without noticing him, she made her way to Mrs. Chard's couch.
"So you have arrived? Glad to see you, Miss Mackinnon. Let me
introduce my husband. Gerald, this is Miss Mackinnon."
Isla gave a start of extreme surprise as she hastily turned to receive
Mr. Bodley-Chard's greeting. It was a painful surprise, because the man
looked almost young enough to be the son of the woman on the sofa, and
the disparity between them in almost every respect seemed in her eyes
almost insurmountable.
Mr. Bodley-Chard was most affable, even complimentary, and in that first
interview Isla conceived a dislike of him, which was destined to
increase with every opportunity she had of seeing more of him.
"Miss Mackinnon will pour out the tea, Edgar," said his wife. "She may
as well start right now. Come here, and sit by me."
"Right you are, old lady. See how I am kept in leading-strings, Miss
Mackinnon," he said, smiling all over his smooth-featured face. "I came
home from business an hour earlier than usual this afternoon just on
purpose to receive you."
"It was unnecessary," said Isla quite coolly. "Can I get you another
cushion, Mrs. Chard? You don't seem to sit very comfortably. I have
been used to waiting on an invalid. Do let me help you before I make
tea."
Her deft and willing left arm went round Mrs. Chard's shoulders and
raised her up a bit. She then shook the cushions, and made her as
comfortable as she could, Mr. Chard looking on approvingly the while.
"You're in luck this time, Jenny. Among all the fools you have had
there wasn't one who had the art of making you really comfortable--eh?"
Mrs. Chard smiled, and her eyes gratefully followed the girl's slim
figure back to the tea-table. The discontented, uneasy expression had
died out of her eyes, giving place to one of peace, which imparted an
unexpected charm to her face.
Isla, quite unconscious of the favourable impression she was creating,
and only wishing with all her heart that Mr. Chard would make himself
scarce, busied herself about her new duties, and, when there was likely
to be silence, made small talk with an ease that surprised herself.
Mr. Chard was evidently extremely anxious to hear her talk, and it was
he who put the questions. But Isla only answered such as she chose,
and, at the end of twenty minutes, she left him very much where he was
at the beginning.
Her coolness and cleverness piqued him. He had been accustomed to see
his wife's companions shrink before him and efface themselves in his
presence.
"The old lady doesn't allow me a whiff here, Miss Mackinnon. Hard
lines, don't you think? Much as I should like to stop, I must tear
myself away. We shall meet at dinner later on, I hope, and resume our
interesting conversation."
Isla bowed slightly, and when the door closed she rose and came over to
the side of the couch, where Mrs. Chard sat smiling happily.
"You can't think how glad I am that you have come," she said, putting
out an impulsive hand. "I woke up this morning wondering what pleasant
thing was going to happen, and then I remembered that it was your
coming."
"You are very kind to speak like that. I hope I may be going to be of
use to you. That is the only excuse for my presence here."
"Well that is a speech! Most of them have come to serve their own ends,
and--would you believe it, Miss Mackinnon?--though this is my house, and
all that it contains is mine, I have sometimes felt among them all that
I hadn't a single friend."
"I shall be your friend while I am here," said Isla quite simply, and
without the smallest intention of gushing or flattering.
To her surprise a small sob suddenly broke from the lips of the woman on
the couch.
"I don't pray much or often to God, my dear, but I do believe that He
has sent you to me this time. There is a clear light about you--it
shines in your eyes. I am sure that you are true and good."
"I try to be. But now you must rest a little, and later on I'll come
and get you ready to go down to dinner."
"Oh, but, my dear, I don't go down. They haven't laid a place for me
for months."
"But they'll lay one for you to-night, or I shall dine here with you,"
said Isla quite quietly.
She did not add that nothing on earth would induce her to dine
_tete-a-tete_ with Mr. Bodley-Chard.