"There he is, father; I'm sure it is Lord Quorn."
Perhaps it was the recollection of the procedure which had led her to
that conclusion that surprised her into the laugh, not so low but that
it reached the object of their attention.
He turned quickly, suspiciously, and, seeing the two interested faces,
in an instant had assumed his air of jaunty swagger. "Well, landlord;
is my dinner coming to-day, or are you waiting for the chicken to
hatch?"
Popkiss advanced, purple and radiant, laughing his best laugh at the
lordly joke. Mr. Popkiss, as became an innkeeper who knew his
business, had a series of nicely graduated tokens of appreciation, from
the superior half smile with which he discounted the poor wit of the
yokel who was good but for a pint of small beer and took a whole
evening to discuss it, through the qualified guffaw with which he
stamped with his approval the heavy jokes of his regular market-day
customers, up to the apoplectic and wheezy roar with which he would
greet the sallies of a really important guest, whose bill bade fair to
overrun the shilling column. Twice in one short hour had he, Samuel
Popkiss, been on speaking terms with different members of the upper
classes; small wonder was it that all thought of Mr. Doutfire's
expected "party" had been centrifugally dispersed by the whirl in which
he found his brain.
"Ha! ha!" he chuckled, rubbing his hands as he advanced with his best
reception manner. "No, sir, that is to say, my lord, dinner is just
ready, and I think we shall please you," he suggested unctuously. "You
will want something to keep you up for the last part of your journey
here."
The words sounded full of ominous significance; Mr. Peckover went a
shade paler, while his swagger for an instant sagged visibly, as he
wondered whether his host could have seen him sniffing at the
euthanasia now lying snug in his waistcoat pocket.
Miss Popkiss was busy laying the cloth in a style most effective both
as to the decoration of the table and the showing off of certain
personal graces. For that young lady's methods of laying a table when
alone and when being--as she hoped--watched during the operation were
widely contrasted.
"After so much buffetting about, as I may say," observed Popkiss
genially, as he panted round the table, laying unnecessary forks in
places where their usefulness was not obvious, "you will be glad to
settle down comfortable yonder."
He pointed with a fat hand vaguely and tentatively in the direction of
Staplewick Towers, being perhaps anxious to put beyond doubt the
question of his guest's identity. Peckover, with, doubtless, the idea
of a somewhat different stronghold in his mind looked quickly towards
the point indicated. His glance, however, travelled no farther than
the church tower; anyhow, it could hardly have reached the other
landmark which was five miles off.
But the church which shut in his view was enough. The cigarette
slipped from the lips that parted convulsively with the dropping jaw.
The churchyard! "Glad he has arranged it," he muttered shakily.
"And you may be sure of a warm welcome from the old gentleman," Popkiss
added, stopping to beam upon his guest in the midst of his superfluous
bustle.
"The devil!" Peckover exclaimed aghast, scrutinizing the expansive face
for a sign of "kidding."
"Oh, yes," maintained Popkiss, proud of the office of herald of welcome
between two august personages; "he has been here already to look for
you, and very anxious he is to carry you off to the place which,
begging pardon, is yours by rights."
This was too much for Peckover, who stood staring at his obese
tormentor utterly bereft of speech.
"Of course," continued Popkiss with a mitigating chuckle, "he can't
help showing the cloven hoof sometimes, they say; but he's not so black
as he is painted."
"Come, I'm glad of that," ejaculated Peckover, wide-eyed and staggered.
"But," the landlord observed, as rounding off the subject, "we must, as
I always say, give the devil his due; and as you are going so soon to
make his acquaintance, you will be able to judge for yourself."
Peckover turned away from what he could only consider as a corpulent
and highly objectionable jester, and passed a shaking hand across his
clammy brow. "I must stop these funniments," he told himself, "if I
want any appetite for my last dinner." With a supreme effort he pulled
himself together, and faced the fatuously grinning host with a dash of
his native impudence. "Don't let me keep you, landlord," he said with
a wave of condescension. "Nothing suits me so well as a pretty girl
waiting on me. That's the relish for this customer, it beats all your
Worcesters and Harveys."
Popkiss rubbed his puffy hands appreciatively. "My daughter, sir, that
is, my lord; she shall look after your lordship." Then in a tone of
deferential confidence, he added, "She will follow later on where you
are going to."
"The deuce she will!" cried the guest, now fairly bewildered. "What
has she been up to?"
The rotund landlord, not quite seeing the appropriateness of the
inquiry, and perhaps feeling that it was a form of snubbing for undue
familiarity, abruptly changed the subject. "I hope you'll like your
dinner, my lord," he said with unctuous confidence as he waddled
towards the door. "I know one thing," he chuckled.
"What's that?" Peckover asked half apprehensively.
"Your lordship won't want any supper." With which parting and
equivocal witticism the expansive joker vanished.
"Whew! There he goes again," gasped Peckover, dropping limply into the
nearest chair. "He has made me tremble all over." He gave a wild
glance at the grey church tower looming--frowning, it seemed--cold and
depressing. "George! I've a good mind to stop alive and risk it."
The entrance of Miss Popkiss with an array of dishes which might have
elucidated the landlord's parting remark, and with a new bow in her
hair, brought the guest up to attention again. Hungry, tired and
especially thirsty, he lost no time in falling to, and so intent was he
upon the good cheer before him that for a time the Hebe became
aggrieved at the thought that the extra attention to her personal
appearance had been thrown away, and the aid of curling tongs and smart
ribbon been invoked to no purpose. However, with the second glass of
champagne, the guest manifestly began to take more interest in things
in general and of the expectant handmaiden in particular.
"Ah!" he exclaimed with a lengthy expiration of quasi-content, as Miss
Popkiss deftly and with a flourish of the bangle on the wrist that was
more in evidence, removed the fish and set the fowl before him. "I'm
beginning to feel better." He tossed off another glass of champagne.
"I say, my dear, your father is a cheerful person. His conversation is
enough to make a boiled cod-fish shiver."
"Yes, sir--my lord," responded Miss Popkiss, abandoning the discussion
of the parental characteristics in favour of a subject of more
immediate interest, namely, herself; "it is a bit dullish here. That's
why I am leaving."
"Oh, you are leaving?" remarked Peckover, taking as polite an interest
in the statement as was consistent with having his mouth full.
"Yes," she informed him. "I am going to the place you are bound for."
The bubbling glass was half-way to his eager lips, but he set it down
again. "The devil you are?" he exclaimed.
"It must at least be as lively as this," Miss Popkiss hazarded, with a
pretty affectation of ennui.
"A good deal more so," the guest declared, pausing in his eating to
stare blankly in front of him in utter mystification. The result of
his hazy cogitation was that if the people of the inn were labouring
under some absurd delusion it would be as well not to disturb it.
"Well, there's no accounting for tastes," he remarked, falling back on
that non-committal, if unoriginal aphorism, and redirecting his
attention to the roast chicken.
"Some folks," gossiped Miss Popkiss, by way of a running conversational
accompaniment to the dinner, "who don't fancy the place, would say it
was out of the frying pan into the fire."
Number twenty-four had steadied the guest's nerves. "Yes," he agreed
grimly, "most people would say that. Now," he muttered, "she's at it.
What's that?" he inquired, pointing with his knife to a side dish.
"Curry, sir--my lord," the waitress answered, moving the dish towards
him. "Curried goose, my lord."
He gave her a suspicious glance, and then pushed the dish away. There
seemed too much of the personal and anticipatory element in the pungent
dainty.
"Oh, it's not very hot," she protested, with the ready word for the
credit of the cuisine. "Nothing like what you may find it elsewhere."
These jokes, it seemed to the guest, if jokes they were, grew
monotonous, while their bad taste was undeniable. As a cockney
sybarite in a cheap way, he liked to have a good-looking waitress to
chatter to while dining, as he liked to chaff a barmaid over a "small
scotch and polly", or a gin and ginger beer; but this was not the sort
of thing the occasion seemed to call for. Accordingly he proceeded to
eat and drink in silence. After all, the one solid tangible
fact--presumably the last--that the world held for him, was the
first-class dinner he was recklessly enjoying.
Piqued by her failure to maintain the interest she had so auspiciously
begun to excite in the distinguished guest, Miss Popkiss turned in a
huff to the window, and affected a melancholy interest in the heavy
shower which had come on, to be roused suddenly from her air of
indifference to things in general and the preoccupied gourmandizer in
particular by catching sight of the adventurous Mr. Thomas Sparrow
sheltering under a lean-to a few feet from the window. Evidently on
the watch, he came quickly to the window, heedless of the downpour.
Miss Popkiss, with a guilty conscience, received him graciously; put
her finger to her lip and pointed with an air of importance to the
still voracious Peckover. Sparrow looked, and his damp face clouded
with jealous doubt. "Lord Quorn," whispered Miss Popkiss behind her
hand. Even if Mr. Sparrow had seen that affectionate passage he could
scarcely expect his sweetheart to withhold an occasional kiss from a
real, if newly discovered, peer of the realm.
Whatever attraction a noble _bon-vivant_ might have had for Mr. Sparrow
at any other time, he was just then in too close proximity to a
gutter-spout and a tempting pair of lips to devote more than a critical
glance and a nod of surprised comprehension to the person indicated.
Then, eager to catch the fleeting opportunity, he put forth a moist
hand, pulled Miss Popkiss a thought nearer to him, and so steadying her
for the operation and obviating a possible retreat, he kissed her.
Whether caused by the unusual electricity in the air or the eager hurry
with which it was performed, the osculation created more noise than is
considered desirable by well-bred lovers. Peckover, dining steadily,
silently, jumped round, uncertain for the moment whether the report was
that of a drawn cork, or some trick of the neglected waitress to
attract his attention. He was alert enough and man of the world enough
to comprehend the situation; indeed, had he been aware that a man was
so near it would never have been in question. As it was he turned just
in time to see Mr. Sparrow's gratified countenance drawing back into
the unsympathetic rain. The sight gave him an uneasy thrill.
"Hullo!" he cried sharply. "Who was that?"
"Only a friend of mine," answered Miss Popkiss, with an air of showing
herself not dependent for amatory attentions upon casual customers.
Her manner scarcely reassured the visitor. "It wasn't--I mean--" he
stammered uneasily, "he looked like a policeman."
"Oh, no, sir; how could you think so, sir!" Miss Popkiss protested with
a touch of offended dignity.
"I thought I heard a kiss," Peckover suggested, still unsatisfied.
"Other people can kiss besides the police," Miss Popkiss declared, with
a toss of the head, too exasperated by the banal suggestion to deny the
act.
Peckover began to think it was all right. "So they can, my poppet, so
they can," he exclaimed more cheerfully, regarding the young lady with
a leer which owed much of its _empressement_ to the champagne. As it
occurred to him that a little philandering might form a not unpleasing
diversion between the courses, he rose with the leer intensified and
approached Miss Popkiss with the recognizable intent of sharing with
Mr. Sparrow the charmer's osculatory liberality.
But the young lady was astute enough to realize the unseasonableness of
what at another time she would have welcomed. Accordingly she
retreated before Peckover's advance, taking care to keep to that side
of the room least visible from the window. "Oh, sir, no, sir; I'd
rather you didn't, my lord," she protested, in quite a virtuous fluster.
But Peckover's knowledge of human character did not incline him to
believe in the coyness that will sometimes try to stiffen the market
for notoriously cheap kisses. He manoeuvred Miss Popkiss into a corner
and then pounced upon her.
Whether it was that Mr. Thomas Sparrow, waiting discontentedly in the
rain, had had his suspicions aroused as to the real sentiments existing
at the moment between his lady-love and the noble customer, or whether
he was merely anxious, now that the intervening attraction was removed,
to take a more curious and leisurely survey of the interesting addition
to the peerage, anyhow, he again, in a lull of the storm, sidled to the
window and looked in. Not seeing the guest where he expected to find
him, he boldly put his head in the window and glanced round the room.
To observe in a corner, Miss Popkiss, coyly--or as it seemed to him,
invitingly--protestant, at bay before Peckover, who was making a
playful feint attack upon her with his serviette preparatory to getting
to close quarters.
Whatever effect the sight had upon Mr. Sparrow, words utterly failed
him to give adequate expression to it. All he could emit was a choked
half-cry, half-growl of rage and warning. At the sound Peckover gave a
great jump and for the moment stood scared and paralysed. Miss
Popkiss, profiting by the respite, gave a scream just loud enough to
justify herself and preserve her character for fidelity without
arousing her father, and fled from the room, possibly to avoid awkward
explanations. Peckover stood, staring blankly at the wrathful Sparrow,
who, emboldened by his rival's limp attitude, shook his fist at him
viciously.
"All right, my lord! Wait till I get at you, my lord!" he foamed.
His air was so menacing that when Peckover found his voice the first
use he put it to was to call, "Landlord!"
Throughout the vocabulary he could not have chosen a word which would
have had a more immediate and electric effect on the qualified
aggressiveness of Mr. Sparrow. That love-sick functionary seemed
instantly to collapse and recede from the window which had been the
frame round a picture of rustic fury. Only with his retreat, certain
words, like Parthian arrows, floated in from the storm to Peckover's
hypersensitized ears.
"Wait till you come outside, my noble lord. I'll teach you to dance."
"You'll be very clever if you do," their object commented grimly as
with a sigh of relief he turned to the smilingly inquisitive face of
the landlord who had now appeared.