MISS BRENT'S STRATEGY
Having become reconciled to what she regarded as Patricia's matrimonial
plans, although strongly disapproving of her deplorable flippancy, Miss
Brent decided that her niece's position must be established in the eyes
of her prospective relatives-in-law.
Miss Brent was proud of her family, but still prouder of the fact that
the founder had come over with that extremely dubious collection of
notables introduced into England by William of Normandy. To Miss
Brent, William the Conqueror was what _The Mayflower_ is to all
ambitious Americans--a social jumping-off point. There were no army
lists in 1066, or passengers' lists in 1620.
No one could say with any degree of certainty what it was that Geoffrey
Brent did for, or knew about, his ducal master; but it was sufficiently
important to gain for him a grant of lands, which he had no more right
to occupy than the Norman had to bestow.
After careful thought Miss Brent had decided upon her line of
operations. Geoffrey Brent was to be used as a corrective to
Patricia's occupation. No family, Miss Brent argued, could be expected
to welcome with open arms a girl who earned her living as the secretary
of an unknown member of parliament. She foresaw complications, fierce
opposition, possibly an attempt to break off the engagement. To defeat
this Geoffrey Brent was to be disinterred and flung into the conflict,
and Patricia was to owe to her aunt the happiness that was to be hers.
Incidentally Miss Brent saw in this circumstance a very useful
foundation upon which to build for herself a position in the future.
Miss Brent had made up her mind upon two points. One that she would
call upon Lady Meyfield, the other that Patricia's engagement must be
announced. Debrett told her all she wanted to know about the Bowens,
and she strongly disapproved of what she termed "hole-in-the-corner
engagements." The marriage of a Brent to a Bowen was to her an
alliance, carrying with it certain social responsibilities,
consequently Society must be advised of what was impending. Romance
was a by-product that did not concern either Miss Brent or Society.
Purpose and decision were to Miss Brent what wings and tail are to the
swallow: they propelled and directed her. Her mind once made up, to
change it would have appeared to Miss Brent an unpardonable sign of
weakness. Circumstances might alter, thrones totter, but Miss Brent's
decisions would remain unshaken.
On the day following her meeting with Lady Tanagra and Bowen, Miss
Brent did three things. She transferred to "The Mayfair Hotel" for one
night, she prepared an announcement of the engagement for _The Morning
Post_, and she set out to call upon Lady Meyfield in Grosvenor Square.
The transference to "The Mayfair Hotel" served a double purpose. It
would impress the people at the newspaper office, and it would also
show that Patricia's kinswoman was of some importance.
As Patricia was tapping out upon a typewriter the halting eloquence of
Mr. Arthur Bonsor, Miss Brent was being whirled in a taxi first to the
office of _The Morning Post_ and then on to Grosvenor Square.
"I fully appreciate," tapped Patricia with wandering attention, "the
national importance of pigs."
"Miss Brent!" announced Lady Meyfield's butler.
Miss Brent found herself gazing into a pair of violet eyes that were
smiling a greeting out of a gentle face framed in white hair.
"How do you do!" Lady Meyfield was endeavouring to recall where she
could have met her caller.
"I felt it was time the families met," announced Miss Brent.
Lady Meyfield smiled, that gentle reluctant smile so characteristic of
her. She was puzzled; but too well-bred to show it.
"Won't you have some tea?" She looked about her, then fixing her eyes
upon a dark man in khaki, with smouldering eyes, called to him,
introduced him, and had just time to say:
"Godfrey, see that Miss Brent has some tea," when a rush of callers
swept Miss Brent and Captain Godfrey Elton further into the room.
Miss Brent looked about her with interest. She had read of how Lady
Meyfield had turned her houses, both town and country, into
convalescent homes for soldiers; but she was surprised to see men in
hospital garb mixing freely with the other guests. Elton saw her
surprise.
"Lady Meyfield has her own ideas of what is best," he remarked as he
handed her a cup of tea.
Miss Brent looked up interrogatingly.
"She had some difficulty at first," continued Elton; "but eventually
she got her own way as she always does. Now the official hospitals
send her their most puzzling cases and she cures them."
"How?" enquired Miss Brent with interest.
"Imagination," said Elton, bowing to a pretty brunette at the other
side of the room. "She is too wise to try and fatten a canary on a dog
biscuit."
"Does she keep canaries then?" enquired Miss Brent.
"I'm afraid that was only my clumsy effort at metaphor," responded
Elton with a disarming smile. "She adopts human methods. They are
generally successful."
Elton went on to describe something of the success that had attended
Lady Meyfield's hostels, as she called them. They were famous
throughout the Service. When war broke out someone had suggested that
she should use her tact and knowledge of human nature in treating cases
that defied the army M.O.'s. "A tyrant is the first victim of tact,"
Godfrey Elton had said of Lord Meyfield, and in his ready acquiescence
in his lady's plans Lord Meyfield had tacitly concurred.
Lady Meyfield had conferred with her lord in respect to all her plans
and arrangements, until he had come to regard the hostels as the
children of his own brain, admirably controlled and conducted by his
wife. He seldom appeared, keeping to the one place free from the flood
of red, white, and blue--his library. Here with his books and
terra-cottas he "grew old with a grace worthy of his rank," as Elton
phrased it.
Lady Meyfield's "cases" were mostly those of shell-shock, or nervous
troubles. She studied each patient's needs, and decided whether he
required diversion or quiet: if diversion, he was sent to her town
house; if quiet, he went to one of her country houses.
At first it had been thought that a woman could not discipline a number
of men; but Lady Meyfield had settled this by allowing them to
discipline themselves. All misdemeanours were reported to and judged
by a committee of five elected by ballot from among the patients.
Their decisions were referred to Lady Meyfield for ratification. The
result was that in no military hospital, or convalescent home, in the
country was the discipline so good.
Miss Brent listened perfunctorily to Elton's description of Lady
Meyfield's success. She had not come to Grosvenor Square to hear about
hostels, or the curing of shell-shocked soldiers, and her eyes roved
restlessly about the room.
"You know Lord Peter?" she enquired at length.
"Intimately," Elton replied as he took her cup from her.
"Do you like him?" Miss Brent was always direct.
"Unquestionably." Elton's tone was that of a man who found nothing
unusual either in the matter or method of interrogation.
"Is he steady?" was the next question.
"As a rock," responded Elton, beginning to enjoy a novel experience.
"Why doesn't he live here?" demanded Miss Brent.
"Who, Peter?"
Miss Brent nodded.
"No room. The soldiers, you know," he added.
"No room for her own son?" Miss Brent's tone was in itself an
accusation against Lady Meyfield of unnaturalness.
"Oh! Peter understands," was Elton's explanation.
"Oh!" Miss Brent looked sharply at him. For a minute there was
silence.
"You have been wounded?" Miss Brent indicated the blue band upon his
arm. Her question arose, not from any interest she felt; but she
required time in which to reorganise her attack.
"I am only waiting for my final medical board, as I hope," Elton
replied.
"You know Lady Tanagra?" Miss Brent was feeling some annoyance with
this extremely self-possessed young man.
"Yes," was Elton's reply. He wondered if the next question would deal
with her steadiness.
"I suppose you are a friend of the family?" was Miss Brent's next
question.
Elton bowed.
"Good afternoon, sir." The speaker was a soldier in hospital blue, a
rugged little man known among his fellows as "Uncle."
"Hullo! Uncle, how are you?" said Elton, shaking hands.
Miss Brent noticed a warmth in Elton's tone that was in marked contrast
to the even tone of courtesy with which he had answered her questions.
"Oh, just 'oppin' on to 'eaven, sir," replied Uncle. "Sort of sittin'
up an' takin' notice."
Elton introduced Uncle to Miss Brent, an act that seemed to her quite
unnecessary.
"And where were you wounded?" asked Miss Brent conventionally.
"Clean through the buttocks, mum," replied Uncle simply.
Miss Brent flushed and cast a swift glance at Elton, whose face showed
no sign. She turned to Uncle and regarded him severely; but he was
blissfully unaware of having offended.
"Can't sit down now, mum, without it 'urtin'," added Uncle,
interpreting Miss Brent's steady gaze as betokening interest.
"Oh, Goddy! I've been trying to fight my way across to you for hours."
The pretty brunette to whom Elton had bowed joined the group. "I've
been giving you the glad eye all the afternoon and you merely bow.
Well, Uncle, how's the wound?"
Miss Brent gasped. She was unaware that Uncle's wound was the standing
joke among all Lady Meyfield's guests.
"Oh! I'm gettin' on, thank you," said Uncle cheerfully. "Mustn't
complain."
"Isn't he a darling?" The girl addressed herself to Miss Brent, who
merely stared.
"Do you refer to Uncle or to me?" enquired Elton.
"Why both, of course; but--" she paused and, screwing up her piquante
little face in thought she added, "but I think Uncle's the darlinger
though, don't you?"
Again she challenged Miss Brent.
"Good job my missis can't 'ear 'er," was Uncle's comment to Elton.
"There, you see!" cried the girl gaily, "Uncle talks about his wife
when I make love to him, and as for Goddy," she turned and regarded
Elton with a quizzical expression, "he treats my passion with a look
that clearly says prunes and prisms."
Miss Brent's head was beginning to whirl. Somewhere at the back of her
mind was the unuttered thought, What would Little Milstead think of
such conversation? She was brought back to Lady Meyfield's
drawing-room by hearing the brunette once more addressing her.
"They're the two most interesting men in the room. I call them the
Dove and the Serpent. Uncle has the guilelessness of the dove, whilst
Godfrey has all the wisdom of the serpent. The three of us together
would make a most perfect Garden of Eden. Wouldn't we, Goddy?"
"You are getting a little confused, Peggy," said Elton. "This is not a
fancy dress----"
"Stop him, someone!" cried the brunette, "he's going to say something
naughty."
Elton smiled, Miss Brent continued to stare, whilst Uncle with a grin
of admiration cried:
"Lor', don't she run on!"
"Now come along, Uncle!" cried the girl. "I've found some topping
chocolates, a new kind. They're priceless," and she dragged Uncle off
to the end of the table.
"Who was that?" demanded Miss Brent of Elton, disapproval in her look
and tone.
"Lady Peggy Bristowe," replied Elton.
Miss Brent was impressed. The Bristowes traced their ancestry so far
back as to make William the Norman's satellites look almost upstarts.
"She is a little overpowering at first, isn't she?" remarked Elton,
smiling in spite of himself at the conflicting emotions depicted upon
Miss Brent's face; but Lady Peggy gave her no time to reply. She was
back again like a shaft of April sunshine.
"Here, open your mouth, Goddy," she cried, "they're delicious."
Elton did as he was bid, and Lady Peggy popped a chocolate in, then
wiping her finger and thumb daintily upon a ridiculously small piece of
cambric, she stood in front of Elton awaiting his verdict.
"Like it?" she demanded, her head on one side like a bird, and her
whole attention concentrated upon Elton.
"Apart from a suggestion of furniture polish," began Elton, "it is----"
"Hun!" cried Lady Peggy as she whisked over to where she had left Uncle.
"Lady Peggy is rather spoiled," said Elton to Miss Brent. "I fear she
trades upon having the prettiest ankles in London."
Miss Brent turned upon Elton one glance, then with head in air and lips
tightly compressed, she stalked away. Elton watched her in surprise,
unconscious that his casual reference to the ankles of the daughter of
a peer had been to Miss Brent the last straw.
"Hate at the prow and virtue at the helm," he murmured as she
disappeared.
Miss Brent was now convinced beyond all power of argument to the
contrary that her call had landed her in the very midst of an
ultra-fast set. She was unaware that Godfrey Elton was notorious among
his friends for saying the wrong thing to the right people.
"You never know what Godfrey will say," his Aunt Caroline had remarked
on one occasion when he had just confided to the vicar that all
introspective women have thick ankles, "and the dear vicar is so
sensitive."
It seemed that whenever Elton elected to emerge from the mantle of
silence with which he habitually clothed himself, it was in the
presence of either a sensitive vicar or someone who was sensitive
without being a vicar.
Once when Lady Gilcray had rebuked him for openly admiring Jenny Adam's
legs, which were displayed each night to an appreciative public at the
Futility Theatre, Elton had replied, "A woman's legs are to me what
they are to God," which had silenced her Ladyship, who was not quite
sure whether it was rank blasphemy or a classical quotation; but she
never forgave him.
Miss Brent made several efforts to approach Lady Meyfield to have a few
minutes' talk with her about the subject of her call; but without
success. She was always surrounded either by arriving or departing
guests, and soldiers seemed perpetually hovering about ready to pounce
upon her at the first opportunity.
At last Miss Brent succeeded in attracting her hostess' attention, and
before she knew exactly what had happened, Lady Meyfield had shaken
hands, thanked her for coming, hoped she would come again soon, and
Miss Brent was walking downstairs her mission unaccomplished. Her only
consolation was the knowledge that within the next day or two _The
Morning Post_ would put matters upon a correct footing.
A mile away Patricia was tapping out upon her typewriter that "pigs are
the potential saviours of the Empire."