IN the Gazebo at the extremity of the garden, by the new parterre, Miss
Sinquier, in a morning wrapper, was waiting for the post.
Through the trellis chinks, semicircular, showed the Close, with its
plentiful, seasoned timber and sedate, tall houses, a stimulating
sequence, architecturally, of whitewash, stone and brick.
Miss Sinquier stirred impatiently.
Wretch—! to deliver at the Palace before the Deanery, when the Deanery
was as near!
“Shower down over there, Oh Lord, ten thousand fearsome bills,”
extemporaneously she prayed, “and spare them not at all; Amen.”
Hierarchic hands shot upwards.
Dull skies.
She waited.
Through the Palace gates, at length, the fellow lurched, sorting as he
came.
“Dolt!”
Her eyes devoured his bag.
Coiled round and round like some sleek snake her future slumbered in it.
Husband; lovers ... little lives, perhaps—yet to be ... besides voyages,
bouquets, diamonds, chocolates, duels, casinos...!
She shivered.
“Anything for me, Hodge, to-day,” she inquired, “by chance?”
“A fine morning, Miss.”
“Unusually.”
It had come....
That large mauve envelope, with the wild handwriting, and the haunting
scent, was from _her._
As she whisked away her heart throbbed fast. Through the light spring
foliage she could see her father, with folded hands, pacing meditatively
to and fro before the front of the house.
“Humbug!” she murmured, darting down a gravel path towards the
tradesmen’s door.
Regaining her room, she promptly undid the seal.
“_Panvale Priory, Shaftesbury Avenue,_
“_London, W._
“Mrs. Albert Bromley presents her compliments to Miss S.
Sinquier and will be pleased to offer her her experience and
advice on Thursday morning next at the hour Miss Sinquier names.
“P.S. Mrs. Bromley already feels a parent’s sympathetic interest
in Miss Sinquier. Is she dark or fair...? Does she shape for
Lady Macbeth or is she a Lady Teazle?”
“Both!” Miss Sinquier gurgled, turning a deft somersault before the
glass.
To keep the appointment, without being rushed, she would be obliged to
set out, essentially baggageless, to-night—a few requisites merely,
looped together and concealed beneath her dress, would be the utmost she
could manage.
“A lump here and a lump there!” she breathed, “and I can unburden myself
in the train.”
“Okh!”
She peeped within her purse.
... And there was Godmother’s chain that she would sell!
It should bring grist; perhaps close on a thousand pounds. Misericordia:
to be compelled to part with it!
Opening a levant-covered box, she drew out a long flat tray.
Adorable pearls.
How clearly now they brought her Godmother to mind ... a little old body
... with improbable cherry-cheeks, and excrescent upper lip, with always
the miniatures of her three deceased husbands clinging about one arm....
‘Aren’t they pleasant?’ she would say proudly every now and then....
What talks they had had; and sometimes of an evening through the mauve
moonlight they would strut together.
Ah! She had been almost ugly then; clumsy, gawky, _gauche._...
Now that she was leaving Applethorp, for ever perhaps, how dormant
impressions revived!
The Saunders’ Fifeshire bull, one New Year’s night, ravaging the Close,
driven frantic by the pealings of the bells. The time poor Dixon got
drowned—at a Flower Show, a curate’s eyes—a German governess’s walk—a
mould of calves-foot-jelly she had let fall in the Cathedral once, on
her way somewhere—
She replaced ruefully her pearls.
What else?
Her artist fingers hovered.
Mere bridesmaid’s rubbish; such frightful frippery.
She turned her thoughts to the room.
Over the bed, an antique Bush-knife of barbaric shape supposed to have
been _Abraham’s_, was quite a collector’s piece.
It might be offered to some museum perhaps. The Nation ought to have
it....
She sighed shortly.
And downstairs in the butler’s room there were possessions of hers,
besides. What of those Apostle spoons, and the two-pronged forks, and
the chased tureen?
Leonard frequently had said it took the best part of a day to polish her
plate alone.
And to go away and leave it all!
“Oh God, help me, Dear,” she prayed. “This little once, Oh Lord! For
Thou knowest my rights....”
She waited.
Why did not an angel with a basket of silver appear?
“Oh, well....”
Gripper, no doubt, would suspect something odd if she asked for her
things “to play with” for an hour....
A more satisfactory scheme would be to swoop into the pantry, on her way
to the station, and to take them away for herself.
She had only to say: “Make haste with them crevets,” for Gripper to go
off in a huff, and Leonard, should he be there, would be almost sure to
follow.
Men were so touchy.
Hush.
Her mother’s voice came drifting from below.
“Kate! Kate! Kate! Kate!”
She listened.
“Have the chintz curtains in the white room folded,” she could hear her
say, “and remember what I said about the carpet....”
Dear soul!
Miss Sinquier sniffed.
Was it a tear.
Dear soul! Dear souls...!
“Never mind,” she murmured, “they shall have _sofas_ in their box on the
night of my début....”
She consoled herself with the thought.
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