THE INITIAL PACES
Young Richard Shrewsbury went away from Abbotsbury House in a state of
pleasurable excitement. He thought Mr. Carsdale a most agreeable and
good-natured man, and Mrs. Walsingham a very pretty and fascinating
woman; he congratulated himself on the fact that Fate had thrown
Carsdale in his way, and he wondered if Mrs. Walsingham was a wife or
a widow. Until he had stepped into Carsdale’s room he had felt lonely,
and a little afraid of the great whirling, confusing life into which he
had so suddenly been thrown; now he was no longer solitary or alarmed;
Carsdale’s breezy manner and calm optimism had acted like a tonic on
his nerves; he strode up Norfolk Street, feeling as fresh as the May
morning which was covering London with a haze of glory, and something
whispered to him every moment that he was young, and healthy, and
possessed three hundred thousand pounds, and that the ball of Life was
at his feet for him to kick as high as he pleased. Oh, yes, he said to
himself, it was decidedly good to be alive!
At the top of Norfolk Street he stopped, to stare about him with
increased delight. So far, he had seen nothing of London. The hotel to
which he had driven on his arrival was an old-fashioned hostelry in the
neighbourhood of Charing Cross; a house which had once had a reputation
that still remained as a cherished memory in the minds of old fogies;
he had driven straight from it to Leverton’s office, and had been
too much occupied with thoughts of meeting his father’s old friend to
look about him. But now having four hours to spare before keeping his
afternoon appointment with Carsdale, he was keenly conscious of that
desire to wander and to explore which quickly obsesses all youngsters
who strike London for the first time. And with a wholesome unconcern
of destination, and being aware of the money in his pocket, this
wide-eyed adventurer went whithersoever he liked during what remained
of the morning and in the warm noontide and the early afternoon, with
the result that Carsdale, who was the soul of punctuality wherever
money was concerned, had to wait five minutes for him at the hotel. He
laughed as the young man came hurrying in.
“It is easy to see what you have been up to, my friend!” he said. “I
suppose you think London is a city of--what shall we say?--Fairyland?”
“It’s the most wonderful place I ever dreamt of,” replied Richard in
all simplicity. He dropped into a chair at Carsdale’s side, and looked
round him at the somewhat ancient and dingy fittings and furniture
of the smoking-room in which they sat, and his face expressed his
thoughts. “I see now,” he continued, “why you threw up your hands when
I told you where I was stopping. I should think this place is very
old-fashioned. Just because I was passing it, and was near it, I went
into the _Ritz_ to get some lunch. I don’t suppose there were such
places in my father’s time, were there?”
“Nor for years later,” said Carsdale, smiling. “So you like that part
of the town? That’s well, for the _pied-à-terre_ which I have in mind
for you is just off Piccadilly--it is, in fact, in Berkeley Square
itself. And as we may as well do all we can this afternoon, so that you
can complete the settling-down business and feel yourself at home,
we’ll just step into my car and be off. By the by, Shrewsbury--well
drop the formal ‘Misters,’ eh?--you’ll want a car of your own, and you
must let me get one for you, but that can wait a day or two.”
It seemed to Richard Shrewsbury, unaccustomed as he was to modern
life in a great capital, that it was a very easy matter to do things
in London--all that he and Carsdale did that afternoon was done so
smoothly, so pleasantly, and to the accompaniment of such courtesy and
attention from the various people with whom they came in contact. But
he was all unconscious of the fact that Mr. Carsdale, who had a large
and peculiar acquaintance with all manner of folk who had things to
sell and profits to make, had already visited every one of the people
to whom he took his young friend, and had made them keenly alive to
the knowledge that Richard was a gentleman, not of prospects, but of
certainties--the certainty, at any rate, of being in actual possession
at that moment of a cash capital of three hundred thousand pounds. And
being unconscious, he took all the politeness that was shown him as
being characteristic of the London tradesman, and his spirits rose, and
he felt that London was a good place to live in, and saw it through
rosy spectacles--which was, when one comes to think of it, an excellent
thing for him, seeing that first impressions are naturally apt to give
a good tone and colour to life.
“This suite of rooms,” remarked Carsdale, as they stepped out of an
elevator in a modern mansion which some enterprising builder had
erected on all the latest principles in a corner of Berkeley Square
which had once been occupied by an old-fashioned house--“this suite
of rooms which I am going to show you, Shrewsbury, is one which I can
confidently recommend. It is neither too large nor too small: it is
just what a young bachelor like yourself wants; it is just the place
in which you will like to receive your friends. You don’t want a place
in which to give dinner-parties, nor even to lunch people; nowadays,
everybody entertains anywhere but in their own houses. It is well and
beautifully and artistically furnished; all that is necessary is to
embellish it with your own pictures and your own books and your own
objects of vertu: I can tell you how to buy and to choose all these. It
is quiet; it is central for that part of the world in which you will
have to live; and the yearly rental for a well-equipped suite, is most
reasonable. It is a lucky thing that it should be to let--and here is
Mr. Messenger, the agent who has the letting of it.”
Mr. Messenger, an elaborately-dressed gentleman, who might have
belonged to the highest order of the peerage (as represented in the
popular journals of fiction), awaited Mr. Carsdale and his young
friend in the corridor which led to the suite of rooms of which the
elder man had been speaking; near him, in an attitude of respectful
attention, stood a clean-shaven, neat-figured person who was also very
well and soberly dressed, and carried a silk hat in his hand, but
whose garments, well cut as they were, seemed to suggest in themselves
that they were carefully designed as a sort of livery. This individual
greeted Carsdale and Richard with a deep bow and a composed smile;
Carsdale threw him an off-hand nod.
“See you presently, Kedgin,” he said. “Now, Mr. Messenger, this is Mr.
Richard Shrewsbury, and we’ll look round the place at once. I’ve just
been telling Mr. Shrewsbury that he’s lucky to find such a convenient
suite vacant. Let’s see--Lord Verdimere had it last, hadn’t he?”
“For three years, Mr. Carsdale,” replied Mr. Messenger, in grave and
measured tones. “And his lordship would have retained it but for
the fact that his regiment was ordered to India for an indefinite
period. Since his lordship left, however, Mr. Carsdale, the suite has
been entirely re-decorated, and the reception-rooms have been fully
re-furnished, and I think I may assure Mr. Shrewsbury that--for a
suite of modest dimensions, you know, Mr. Carsdale, and at a moderate
rental--he could find nothing better in London. This way, gentlemen.”
It did not occur to Richard at the moment that what is one man’s notion
of modesty and moderation is not another’s; he was wholly absorbed in
examining and admiring the place which he was invited to settle down
in and to call home. It seemed to him to be a very palatial suite
of apartments: quite a little house in itself, he thought, except
that everything was on one level, and that there were no stairs. He
listened and observed in silence while Mr. Messenger pointed out the
features and advantages of the place. There was a properly-sized
entrance hall. There were two excellent reception-rooms, each with an
outlook on Berkeley Square. There were two equally excellent bedrooms;
there was a bathroom with all the latest inventions and improvements.
The accommodation for domestics was arranged, said the agent, on the
most modern principles, and was designed for a married couple, who
were provided with a bedroom, a sitting-room, a kitchen (to which
was added a butler’s pantry and wine cellar), the usual offices, and
a separate entrance. Everything was perfect and fully approved as
regards sanitation, ventilation, and the supply of water. The suite was
fitted throughout with electric light, and there was a first-class and
luxurious supply of linen, glass, and china.
“But not, of course, silver and plate,” added Mr. Messenger. “Our
tenants, naturally, supply their own silver and plate.”
“Oh, of course, of course!” said Carsdale. “Yes, of course.”
“And the rent,” concluded Mr. Messenger, softly, “the rent, as the
suite stands, is one hundred and twenty guineas per calendar month.
Or,” he added, with a bland smile, and an air of conferring a great
favour, “we would say fifteen hundred pounds per annum--on the usual
terms of a yearly tenancy, of course.”
“Very reasonable, very reasonable!” murmured Carsdale.
“You would advise me to take the suite on those terms?” asked Richard.
“You know, of course, better than I do.”
“I should certainly advise it,” answered Carsdale. “You couldn’t do
better. As I said, you’re fortunate in finding the place to let.”
Richard turned to Mr. Messenger with an old-fashioned bow.
“Very well,” he said. “I’ll take the suite, then, on those terms.”
Mr. Messenger also bowed and rubbed his hands.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. “You will not regret your bargain. Then you
will bring Mr. Shrewsbury round, Mr. Carsdale, at your con----”
“We’ll come round, and sign the agreement in a few minutes,” said
Carsdale. “And give you a cheque for the first quarter, too. I suppose
you’ve got a cheque-book on you, Shrewsbury?” he added. “If you
haven’t, I have--it’s all one.”
But Richard had a cheque-book on him, and made haste to say so, and Mr.
Messenger departed with another bow, and Carsdale stepped out to the
hall and called in the man whom they had left in the corridor. The man
came in with a certain quiet assurance, in which confidence in himself
seemed to be combined with the exact amount of proper respect due to
a possible master, and as he drew up Carsdale waved his hands towards
him in the fashion in which a seller might exhibit some thoroughly good
article to a likely purchaser.
“Now, this, Shrewsbury,” he said, “this is William Kedgin. I have known
him for several years. He is a thoroughly honest, reliable man. He is
a first-class valet, a thoroughly experienced gentleman’s servant.
He has valeted several gentlemen of more or less note. He has a wife
who is a capital housekeeper, and who can be guaranteed--with some
assistance from him--to keep your suite of rooms in apple-pie order;
she is, moreover, equally capable of sending in just what you would
like a breakfast to be if you give a bachelor breakfast party. You can
safely leave your clothes, your linen, your wine, in Kedgin’s hands;
your breakfast, your dusting, your cleaning-up, in Mrs. Kedgin’s. And
your terms are, I think, Kedgin, four pounds a week for the two of you,
and find yourselves, eh?”
“Quite right, sir,” replied Kedgin in a quiet, assured voice. “Our
usual terms, sir. If Mr. Shrewsbury would wish to see our testimonials,
Mr. Carsdale----”
“I don’t think Mr. Shrewsbury need bother,” said Carsdale. “Mr.
Shrewsbury can depend upon me.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Richard, who had already conceived a very
high opinion of Carsdale’s powers. “I shall be very glad to engage you
on those terms,” he continued, turning to Kedgin.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Kedgin. “We shall do our best to give you
complete satisfaction, sir. When would you wish us to enter upon our
duties, sir?”
“Why, that’s just what I was going to speak of,” said Carsdale. “Look
here, Shrewsbury, you may as well come in here at once. Let Kedgin go
to the hotel, pay your bill, and bring your luggage here. I’m going to
ask you to dine with me, so you’ll be fixed up for the evening, and
Kedgin will have all ready for you when you turn in at night. That’s
your wisest plan.”
And Richard acquiesced readily, and they gave Kedgin his orders,
and went off to Mr. Messenger’s office, and there Richard signed a
document which Carsdale saved him the trouble of reading and drew his
first cheque in London, and subsequently walked out with his guide and
mentor, feeling that he was now an actual denizen of the great city.
“You made things very easy for me,” he said, in the fulness of his
gratitude. “I really don’t know what I should have done without you!”
“Oh! you’ll soon learn how to do things for yourself,” laughed
Carsdale. “The in and outs of London life are quickly learned by young
men like you. Now, we’ve plenty of time before evening, and I’ll
introduce you to three absolutely necessary people--the tailor, the
bootmaker, and the builder of shirts and such-like. And perhaps we’ll
throw in the hatter, and you’d better see about fitting yourself out
with what silver you want for your table. They’re all together here in
Bond Street or Saville Row--come along!”
They wound up the afternoon’s proceedings with a quiet but remarkably
good dinner at a certain establishment, whereto one could repair, said
Carsdale, without the trouble of dressing, and by the time they had
finished their coffee the elder man had formed a very accurate estimate
of the younger one’s powers and capabilities. And Carsdale was feeling
very satisfied when he played his next move in the game.
“You won’t care for a music-hall or a theatre on this, your first
night,” he said. “What do you say to having a quiet cigarette, and a
talk at Mrs. Walsingham’s flat? She’s a lonely woman, and she’ll be
glad to see us.”
Richard’s face betrayed his ready acceptance of this proposition. And
Carsdale smiled as he turned away to reach for his hat.