“KEEP AN EYE UPON HER”
Gregory’s proved to be a vast and imposing concern, occupying a
prominent situation on the Strand and evidently doing an immense trade.
All this the new assistant readily gathered as Salter steered him in
the direction of the manager’s sanctum.
Here he found the head of the firm, a tall individual, with grizzled
hair covering a fine square head, a hard, clean-shaven face, and a
pince-nez—which pince-nez he invariably removed when about to make a
disagreeable remark. He received the new employé with an air of cool
detachment, and shook hands in a manner that implied, “You must not
expect this sort of thing every day.” Being taller than Shafto, he
appeared to tower over him as he questioned him respecting the firm in
London—which was but a small and insignificant offshoot of the great
house in Rangoon; then he made a few perfunctory remarks on the subject
of the voyage out, and said:
“I understand from Salter that you have found quarters in a chummery; I
hope your house-mates will prove congenial——” he paused and added as a
sort of afterthought, “Mrs. Gregory is usually at home on Thursdays
from three to six.”
“Thank you,” murmured Shafto.
The principal then struck a handbell, which summoned an elderly man to
his presence.
“Lowcroft,” he said, “this is Mr. Shafto, who will take over Mr. Shaw’s
share of the landing business; you had better show him round and give
him instructions. By the way,” turning to Shafto, “I suppose you don’t
know a word of Burmese or Hindustani?”
The new arrival announced his complete ignorance of either language.
“Then you must see about getting a munshi at once.”
And with a nod the new assistant found himself dismissed.
On the very first Thursday after his arrival in Rangoon, Shafto
presented himself at the “Barn,” a residence purchased many years
previously for the use of the then reigning Gregory.
The house was large but unostentatious; the well-matured beautiful
grounds and gardens were notable even in Rangoon. A recent
acquaintance, who escorted Shafto, presented him to Mrs. Gregory, a
smart, sandy-haired little lady of five or six and thirty, with an
animated, expressive face, intelligent grey eyes, and slightly
prominent white teeth. She was exquisitely dressed in some soft pale
blue material, and wore a row of large and lustrous pearls. Among the
crowd of guests the newcomer discovered, to his great relief, several
of his fellow-assistants, and not a few passengers from the
_Blankshire_, including Mrs. Milward, who hailed him with a radiant
countenance and plump, uplifted hands.
“My dear Douglas! How I’ve been longing to see you! I’m off to Mandalay
to-morrow morning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And I’m very sorry to go—there’s such lots to do and see in this
surprising place, but Ella has nailed me down to a date. Have you seen
anything of Sophy—I mean,” correcting herself, “Miss Leigh?”
“No, I’ve been tremendously busy fitting on my new harness and have had
no time for calling.”
“And yet you are _here_!” she protested, with arched brows.
“Oh yes, but this is official; Gregory as good as ordered me to wait
upon his consort.”
“Hush, hush, Douglas! She is a great friend of mine—my own cousin, and
a dear. Of course, I know that George looks as if he had swallowed the
fire-irons, but that really means nothing; he is obliged to keep all
you naughty boys in order!”
“You think I’m a naughty boy?”
“Oh well, I didn’t mean that, my young Sir Galahad! Now come away with
me and I’ll show you the wonderful ferns and the orchid house. I must
have a good, comfortable, private talk.”
As soon as the pair found themselves alone in the fernery she turned to
face him, and said, with unusual animation:
“Now I want to tell you about Sophy—I’m miserable when I think of her.”
“Miserable—but why?”
“When you’ve been to call at ‘Heidelberg’—I may tell you it’s miles and
miles away—you’ll see for yourself; it’s my opinion that she has been
decoyed out to this country under false pretences.”
“Oh, but surely Mrs. Krauss is her own aunt?”
“She is, and more or less an invalid, utterly broken down by years of
Burma. Mrs. Krauss is apathetic, dull, and boneless, and looks as if
you could fold her up and put her in a bag. Herr Krauss is a fat,
loud-talking, trampling German—_not_ a gentleman, but a man with a keen
eye to business. His wife’s half-caste maid who waited upon her,
managed the house, and was with her for years, has married and gone to
Australia, and poor Sophy has been imported to replace the treasure;
that is, to nurse her aunt, run the house, and play the old bounder’s
accompaniments, for he, like Nero, is musical. He is also a friend of
that odious Bernhard’s. Bernhard is a well-born Prussian—I’ll say that
for him—the other is of the waiter class, who has made his money in
China and Burma.”
“Oh, come, I say, this is rather bad! What’s to be done?”
“I only wish I knew. The Krauss abode is large and gloomy—it looks like
a house in a bad temper, and stands in the heart of the German
community; the servants seemed a low-class lot, the rooms were dark and
untidy, and smelt of mould and medicine, but Sophy was just as bright
and cheerful as usual; apparently delighted with everything—loyal, of
course, to her own blood. Now, I know that you and Sophy are friends,
and I want you to keep an eye upon her,” concluded this injudicious
matron.
“I’m afraid my eye will not be of much use,” protested Shafto, “I am
most frightfully sorry for what you tell me, but Miss Leigh has lots of
pals. There are the Pomeroys, Maitlands and——”
“Yes, that’s true,” interrupted Mrs. Milward impatiently, “but she has
no way of getting about. Krauss takes the car and is away in it all
day. I gather that he has the strict German idea about a girl’s being
brought up to cook, to sew, to slave, to find _all_ her interests in
her home! In fact, he told me so plainly; he also added that he had
paid for Sophy’s passage and implied that he intended to have the worth
of his money—his pound of flesh!”
“Brute!” ejaculated Shafto.
“Agreed! I have enlisted one friend for the poor child. Polly
Gregory—she is so clever, clear-headed and decided, and will be a rock
of strength—she is sure to like Sophy, eh?”
“Oh yes, that will be all right!”
“I put in a good word for you too, Master Douglas.”
“That was kind,” and he swept off his straw hat.
“I wonder if that’s meant sarcastic? Perhaps you think good wine needs
no bush? Yes, and I’ve told Polly I knew you as a boy—and how, instead
of quill-driving, you hoped to wear a sword.”
“Hope told a flattering tale,” he answered with a laugh. “Don’t forget
that the pen is the mightier of the two.”
“No,” she dissented; “I back the sword, though it’s rarely drawn now,
thank goodness. Well, I’ve said my say and given you my impressions and
instructions; we must go back and join the _Burra Mems_. I shall write
to you from Mandalay and see you later, when I pass through to
Calcutta. Now you had better go and try to get a set of tennis,” and,
with a wave of adieu, Mrs. Milward strolled away across the grass, an
attractive personality with her fresh complexion, soft round face, dark
pencilled brows, and bewitching mauve toilet—which toilet was
subsequently tabooed by her daughter as “too young”!
“George,” said Mrs. Gregory to her husband, “that new importation is a
nice boy; Milly Milward has known him since he was in blouses; he has
had rather hard luck; his father was swindled out of a comfortable
fortune, and he has to turn to and earn his bread.”
“What we all do!” growled George.
“Yes, but some ways are so much more agreeable than others. His
profession was to have been along the path of glory.”
“What is that?”
“Why, the Army, of course.”
“And now his profession is checking inventories and cargoes. As he is
new to the business, he will have his hands fairly full for the next
few months; so, my dear Polly, don’t turn his head just _yet_.”
“As if I ever turned anybody’s head.”
“I cannot answer for others, but you certainly turned mine.”
“Ah, but that was twelve years ago; I’m afraid my fascinations have
faded since then. Joking apart, George, Milly has left me two
legacies—two protégés to befriend. Shafto is one—I am to invite him to
tea, and talk to him with wisdom, and win his complete and entire
confidence.”
“Oh! and the other?”
“The other is Miss Leigh, whom she chaperoned from home. She is living
with an aunt, who is married to a German named Krauss.”
“Yes, I know; a poisonous chap!”
“So she seems to think, and that this girl, who by all accounts is very
pretty and charming, and a marvellous pianist, has been lured out to
act as maid and housekeeper, and save the pocket of Herr Krauss. Now,
as I have two legacies, I want to know if you will take one of them off
my hands?”
“As if my hands were not full!”
“Yes, officially, only; now I offer you your choice. Which will you
have? Shafto or the girl?”
“You need scarcely ask; I’ll take the girl, of course, and leave you
Shafto.”
“Oh, you are an old silly!” she exclaimed, ruffling up his grizzled
hair; “I wonder which of us will have the better bargain.”
With regard to the subject of Mrs. Gregory’s conversation, Douglas set
to work with the proverbial enthusiasm of a new broom and soon
became—as Salter had predicted—a cog in the whirling wheels of a
machine. But Thursday being the Station holiday, he hired a taxi and
had himself driven out to Kokine, in order to call on Mrs. Krauss and
Miss Leigh; unfortunately his journey proved to be a waste of time and
money. The leisurely servant who emerged from the entrance of
“Heidelberg,” salver in hand, accepted his visiting-card with a salaam,
and then announced with stolid unconcern:
“Missis can’t see.”