Lord And Lady Jim Kaimes were regarded as a most agreeable couple, and
utilised this reputation to live on their friends. The husband was an
admirable shot, a daring and judicious polo-player, and his skill at
cards was as notable as his dexterity in golfing. Consequently, he was
much in request, and benefited largely in free board and lodging. He
was good-looking, which pleased the women, and good-natured, which
satisfied the men. In wrestling and boxing Jim could more than hold
his own, and always paid his gambling debts, even at the cost of
allowing tradesmen to threaten legal proceedings. Thus, according to
modern ideas, he was an honourable man and a good all-round sportsman,
a credit to the British aristocracy and a pleasure to his numerous
friends. "These be thy gods, O Israel!" A clergyman once preached on
this text in Jim's accidental hearing, but Jim did not know what he
meant.
The wife was a general favourite with the men, but women fought
rather shy of her. She thought too much of herself, they said, and
dressed altogether too well; and, moreover, never gave even the most
bitter-tongued female a chance of talking scandal in connection with
the honoured name to which Jim had called her attention. However,
feminine artfulness led one and all to conceal this dislike, and Lady
Jim received as much kissing and as many sweet words and invitations
as her vain, hungry soul desired. She saw through the wiles of her own
sex clearly, and knew that in nine cases out of ten the woman who
kissed would have preferred to bite. But they knew that Lady Jim knew,
and Lady Jim knew that they knew she knew, so everything went well. As
to what was said behind her back Lady Jim cared not a snap of her
fingers, and if any rival dared to attack her openly she was quite
able to use a particularly venomous tongue, the safeguard against
calumny which Nature had given her. And it must be said that she never
went out of her way to harm any one: her position was that of a
passive resister. As she pathetically observed, she was a contented
woman, if only permitted to have her own way.
Certainly the women had cause to complain of Lady Jim's gowns, which
were far beyond the ordinary female intellect in cut and fashion, in
new material and up-to-date trimmings. She added her own ingenuity and
taste to the creations of the dressmaker, and the result was always
such a triumph as to lead the rest of her sex to doubt if Providence
existed. It would have been even more aggravating than it was, had it
been known that Lady Jim paid next to nothing for her gowns, and
advertised the dressmaker instead of settling the bill. But Leah did
not make this fact public. She was content to use her magnificent
figure and good looks, and her popularity in society, to save a lean
purse, and therefore was daily and nightly clad in the purple and fine
linen which wrung envious tears from other women's eyes. Sometimes
Lady Jim, fascinating a society-paper editor, would utilise his
columns and circulation to advertise deserving tradesmen: while from
these, in return, she exacted tangible gratitude in the welcome shape
of gloves, handkerchiefs, scents, and similar needful if expensive
commodities. Lady Jim never signed her name to these literary efforts,
but they drew custom to the shop and filled her wardrobe with what she
wanted at the moment, so she was not ambitious to be known as an
authoress. Even Jim never knew how his wife, as he put it, "contrived
the tip-top"; and privately thought that the age of miracles was not
yet past, when Leah could make something out of nothing.
For five years, more or less, Lady Jim had been clothed as
the lilies of the field, and had been supplied with nutriment
by the lineal descendants of Elijah's ravens; but now things were
coming to a crisis. The long lane down which she had marched as
Solomon-in-all-his-glory was about to take a turning, and Lady Jim did
not relish the new route. It led to second-rate lodgings at home or
abroad, to the lack of frocks and a diminution of other women's envy,
to the loss of a thousand and one luxuries which had become
necessaries, and to a self-denying ordinance of which she did not
approve. Something must be done to prevent the necessity of turning
down this penurious alley, but when Lady Jim set out on her shopping
excursion she did not very well see how she could avoid the almost
inevitable.
Needless to say, Leah had a trifle more in her purse than the one
sovereign she had admitted the existence of to Jim. To be precise, she
possessed ten pounds, and that had to last a week as pocket-money. She
felt very hard up as she stepped into her motor-car and whirled down
the street. Had she possessed the lamp of Aladdin she would have made
its slave bankrupt; and to think that seven days of desiring pretty
things should be supported on ten pounds! The beggar at the gate of
Dives could not have been poorer.
But there was no sign of penury on the surface. The unpaid sables Lady
Jim wore were the best that the animal could give; the fur rug over
her feet had cost enough to keep a poor family for six months in food
and fire, though she, or rather Jim, was being dunned for the payment
of that; the motor-car was one of the best and newest, and Lady Jim
drove it with the reckless speed of a woman who thinks the world was
created so that she should play Juggernaut. Having plenty of courage,
and a love for playing with death, Leah was a daring and skilful
driver. Before now she had swept round a corner with two wheels
beating the air. But she had not as yet crushed any one under the said
wheels, and she ascribed this luck to her peacock's feather. Like all
who have small belief in the Deity, Lady Jim was superstitious in a
small way. Her fetish was a peacock's feather, and so long as she had
one about her, nothing, so she averred, could possibly go wrong. There
was one now thrust into the left-hand lamp of the car, and the panels
were painted with the same feathers, until they resembled the tail of
Juno's favourite bird. Lady Jim might forget to go to church, or to
say her prayers, or to thank God, but she never forgot the necessary
peacock's feather which was to ensure prosperity and safety. She was
reported to make genuflections before a shrine of this sort, but the
report was probably exaggerated. No one knew what kind of a Baal she
worshipped, but it is ridiculous to say that she did not adore at
least one, for she was, in her way, a very religious woman.
Lady Jim raced her car out of Curzon Street, down Park Lane, and into
Piccadilly, where she amused herself with dodging nervous people and
shaving the wheels of vehicles drawn by humble quadrupeds. The
chauffeur sat grimly silent, expecting an almost certain spill, with
the calm of a fatalist. He knew it would come some day, in spite of
his mistress's skilful driving, but he neither worried nor
remonstrated. He was paid for a silent tongue and healthy nerves, and
if his life _was_ insured rather heavily, considering his profession,
that was no one's business but his wife's, and she had already decided
how to spend the insurance money. But the woman need not have been so
sure of such good fortune. Lady Jim did not mind hurting other people,
but she had an uncommonly good notion of how to preserve the only neck
she possessed.
When the car reached Bond Street, Lady Jim, who was as calm as though
she had finished a donkey-ride, stepped down and entered a jeweller's
shop. Lately she had paid a trifle off his bill, and thought herself
entitled to double the gross amount. The jeweller, knowing the Duke of
Pentland had fifty thousand a year, and that Lady Jim was too pretty a
daughter-in-law not to get her own way with so gay an old nobleman,
did not object to his customer's purchases. If Lady Jim could not pay
the Duke would, so she was permitted to take away several objects for
which she had no use. Then she went to select some new hats, and look
at the latest thing in frocks. A call at certain other establishments
resulted in the car being heaped with expensive trifles for Christmas
presents. Afterwards the car whirled into Oxford Street, returned to
Piccadilly, and stopped every now and then like a bird of prey. At
some shops she was received with sickly smiles; at others, which she
favoured for the first time with her custom, with rejoicing grins: but
out of every place Lady Jim walked calmly, with a shopman in the rear
bringing parcels to increase the baggage on the car. She achieved the
whole afternoon's work without once opening her purse. Could
Rothschild have financed things better?
At five o'clock, with lighted lamps and unabated speed, Lady Jim drove
her machine to Berkeley Square, and, leaving the chauffeur to choke
and shiver in the damp fog, walked into a dull-looking house to see
her godmother, Lady Canvey. She wished to ask the advice of that
kindly, shrewd old pagan, and was not at all pleased when she found
the Rev. Lionel Kaimes, trying to lead Lady Canvey in the right way.
He had been trying to guide her heavenward for the last year, but the
bright-eyed old dame still danced along the primrose path with nimble
feet and an appreciation of the agreeable people who were dancing
along with her to perdition.
"Well, my dear," said Lady Canvey, submitting her withered cheek to a
conventional kiss. "Lionel, here, has been speaking of the devil, and
you appear. There's some truth in proverbs, it seems."
"Oh, Lady Canvey," sighed a soft voice at the old pagan's elbow.
"I forgot, Leah, this is my 'Philip you-are-but-mortal' companion. You
have not met her before, and I don't think you'll seek her company
again. She's not quite your sort, my dear, not quite your sort. Joan,
come and show yourself."
In response to this order a slim, tall girl, with a serious face, came
forward shyly, and put out a timid hand. She was plainly dressed in a
black stuff gown, without colour or ornament. Her hands and feet were
slim and small; she had wavy brown hair twisted into a loose knot at
the nape of her neck, and the features of her somewhat pale face were
delicately shaped. On the whole an uncommonly pretty girl, Lady Jim
decided, after taking in all this at a glance, but less seriousness
and brighter smiles would improve her looks. She was like Pygmalion's
statue before the goddess had flushed its cold whiteness with rosy
blood.
"How are you?" asked Leah, nodding in a friendly way, but without
shaking hands. "You are one of Lady Canvey's discoveries, I suppose."
"My discovery," put in Lionel, cheerfully, and with a proud glance at
the white-rose beauty of the girl. "Lady Canvey wanted a companion,
and I brought her----"
"One of Fra Angelico's saints," finished Lady Jim, who was honest
enough to confess inwardly that this ethereal loveliness was most
attractive.
"Quite so," chuckled Lady Canvey, arranging many costly rings on a
pair of knuckly hands. "Lionel knows how I enjoy the company of a
saint."
"You must put up with a sinner for the time being," said Lady Jim,
good-humouredly. "I have come to talk business."
"That means you intend to worry me," grumbled Lady Canvey, with a
sharp glance from under her bushy eyebrows. "I hate being worried and
bored."
"Oh, I shan't bore you."
"Yes, you will. Other people's affairs always bore me. I am not like
his reverence here," and she waved her ebony cane towards the young
curate, who laughed cheerfully.
"I admit there is some lack of resemblance," assented Lady Jim, dryly.
Then she looked from the young man to the old woman. Lionel was her
husband's cousin, and should death make a clean sweep of the Duke, and
Frith and Jim, he would inherit the title and the fifty thousand a
year which Lady Jim coveted. This possibility, which it must be
admitted was sufficiently remote, did not make Leah love the young man
any the more. Besides, he was what she called "goody-goody," which
meant that he had entered the service of his Master for use and not
for show. As the curate of an exacting vicar in a Lambeth parish, he
grubbed amongst the dirty poor, and dispensed soup, soap, shelter, and
salvation. Rarely did Lionel come to the West End, as his task lay
amongst the poor and lowly; but when he did venture into high places
he always called on Lady Canvey, who had an odd kind of affection for
him. "He's misguided, but genuine, my love," said the pagan, "and
moreover, he amuses me!" which last statement amply accounted for the
favour with which the old lady regarded him. Lionel was rather like
Jim, tall and muscular and handsome. But his face had an intelligent
look which Leah had never beheld in the dull visage of her husband,
and his blue eyes had the bright, calm gaze of one whose faith is
certain. He affected the usual clerical garb, but being only
twenty-five, and boyish at that, his face wore a genial, cheerful,
unworried expression, which made most people open their hearts. Like a
doctor, a clergyman must have a good bedside manner, and this Lionel
possessed. Moreover, his heart was kindly, and he was quick to observe
the snubbed and neglected. This feeling drew him towards Joan, who had
retreated, colouring painfully, when Lady Jim substituted a nod for a
handshake. The girl was busy with a silver teapot, egg-shell china,
and hot cakes, and presently handed a cup to the visitor. Lady Jim
took it somewhat absently, and having satisfied herself with Lionel's
looks and personality, turned her eyes on Lady Canvey.
Outwardly the old dame resembled the godmother of a fairy story, and
would have been admirably suited to the pointed cap and scarlet cloak
of a professed witch. Yet the remains of beauty lingered about her
wrinkled face, recalling exciting Crimean days when she had been a
belle. She was small and shrunken and bent, and sometimes her grey
head shook with palsy. But her spirit was still vigorous and her brain
clear, as could be seen by the steadiness of her piercing black eyes,
diamond-bright and clear. She wore a lace cap, a dress of silvery grey
satin, and many jewels costly but old-fashioned. Add to these a white
China-crape shawl and an ebony cane, and behold the portrait of the
lady known as the "cleverest old harridan in town." But that
description was given by an enemy. Lady Canvey had a quick brain and a
sharp tongue, yet her heart was as kindly as that of Lionel. Perhaps
it was this which drew the young and old together.
The room was comfortable, and luxuriously furnished, but with the ugly
taste of the Early Victorian epoch. Lady Canvey, now over eighty,
clung to the decorations and colours which had been fashionable
when she was young, and on stepping into the room Lady Jim felt as
though she had slipped back to the time of the Great Exhibition. The
motor-car outside, and the old lady in the red velvet armchair,
represented widely-severed eras. And even Joan the saint and Lionel
the curate seemed alien to the world Lady Jim inhabited. For that
world closely resembled the one Noah had fled from into the ark, when
the denizens "were eating and drinking and marrying and giving in
marriage"--though, to be sure, marriage nowadays, save as a visible
sign of respectability, was not much considered.
"Well, godmother," said Lady Jim, thinking to curry favour with this
she-Cr[oe]sus by using an approved, if somewhat obsolete, address,
"you are looking well."
"Then I'm a living lie," retorted Lady Canvey, grimly. "How can you
expect me to look well, when Lionel here has been quoting texts for
want of originality?"
"I wanted you to hear the scripture," protested Lionel.
"That's _your_ business," replied Lady Canvey, stirring her tea; "but
I can hear the scriptures read when I please by Joan, who has a much
sweeter voice than you, young man, as I suppose you think"; and she
gave one of her dry chuckles.
The curate reddened, and Joan looked confused. Lady Jim, glancing from
one serious face to the other, drew her own conclusions, and murmured
something about a "sealed fountain." Lady Canvey, not being versed in
biblical imagery, did not understand, but Lionel comprehended on the
instant.
"I am glad to hear that you read your Bible, Lady James," he said
quickly.
Leah hated to be addressed in this stiff manner; yet it seemed
appropriate to the out-of-date room. But she had no desire to quarrel
with her godmother's pet in the presence of that opulent lady, so she
turned the tables on Lionel by looking shocked. "Of course I do. I am
not a pagan."
"Then I must be one," snapped Lady Canvey; "for I wouldn't be you,
Leah Kaimes, for the heaven I don't expect to go to."
"Hush! hush!" said Lionel, pained by this flippancy coming from those
withered lips.
Lady Jim glanced at her opulent beauty in a dim mirror, framed in
tarnished gold, and laughed softly. Her godmother saw the look and was
swift to interpret its meaning.
"I was like that once," she said, in rather a quavering voice, "and
you'll come to be such as I am, only you'll never wear so well. Oh,
what an arm I had!" and she began to weep silently over her lost
beauty.
While Lionel and Joan comforted the poor soul, Leah looked sympathetic
but gave no assistance. She decided that Lady Canvey was in her
dotage, and would be the more easily dealt with on that account. Her
one desire, therefore, was to get rid of the two unnecessary people
and begin operations at once. She hoped by skilful management to come
away with a considerable cheque in Lady Canvey's shaky handwriting.
Those drivelling tears meant a weak will, and that, to one of Leah's
determination, meant money.
"About this business," she began, when the old woman was again her
cheerful, cynical self: "could you spare me ten minutes, godmother?"
"Certainly, my dear. It's all I _can_ spare you."
This was not a promising beginning, but Lady Jim knew she would not
walk off with the spoils without a sharp brush for their gaining. She
looked at Lionel, and then at the girl, whom she was sure in her own
heart the curate loved.
"Have you ever heard Mr. Kaimes talk Chinese metaphysics, Miss
Tallentire?" she asked Joan, having possessed herself of the
companion's surname.
"No," said Joan, opening her violet eyes widely. "I am not clever
enough to understand."
"Ask Mr. Kaimes if he doesn't think you are clever enough."
"Really, Lady James----"
"Lionel," interrupted Lady Canvey, sharply, "go into the conservatory
with Joan. She will show you a new dwarf oak which I lately bought.
Leah will entertain me. And I'm pretty sure," chuckled she, "that I
shall entertain Leah."
"She's going to be nasty," thought Lady Jim, with a charming smile,
and continued to smile until the curate and his unsuspecting companion
went to see the dwarf oak and to talk Chinese metaphysics, which Leah
was certain they would do. Lionel, with a defiant glance at his
cousin, and with a colour which made him look unexpectedly handsome,
followed Joan out of the stuffy room. When the door was closed, and
the fire was unnecessarily poked up, and Lady Canvey was comfortably
settled in her chair, after a word or two about the draughts which no
one but herself could feel in that close atmosphere, Lady Jim waited
patiently for her godmother to begin the battle.
She had not long to wait. Lady Canvey's eyes were bright, and Lady
Canvey's spirit reared like a warhorse to plunge down on Leah. She
sniffed once or twice, and looked sharply at the beautiful, smiling
face. Then she delivered herself of a speech which put Lady Jim's late
behaviour in a nutshell.
"Leah," said Lady Canvey, "you're a born cat."