Lady Maude's Mania

Chapter Nine.

Love me, Love my Dog

There was gravel to be ground in Hyde Park, but Lady Maude declined to assist in the operation, pleading a bad headache; so Lady Barmouth took her carriage exercise alone, while his lordship watched till the barouche had gone, when he went up and sat by his child in the drawing-room, and talked to her for a time, ending by selecting a comfortable chair and going off fast asleep.

He had not been unconscious five minutes before Maude heard a bit of a disturbance, and directly after there was a scratching at the drawing-room door.

She started and listened, with the colour coming and going in her cheeks, when the scratching was repeated, and on her opening the door Joby trotted in, looked at her, gave his tail a wag to the right and a wag to the left. When, catching sight of Lord Barmouth, his canine nature got the better of him, and trotting up to the easy-chair, he sniffed two or three times at his lordship’s pocket, ending by laying his massive jowl upon the old man’s knee.

Maude trembled as she watched the dog, and her face was flaming, but she dared not move.

The old gentleman half woke up, and realised the fact of the dog being there, for he put out his thin white hand, and patted the great head, and rubbed Joby’s ears, muttering softly, “Good dog, then; poor old fellow,” and then went off fast asleep.

Joby pushed his head a little farther up, and then had another sniff at the pocket. After this, giving his lordship up for a bad job, or roused to a sense of duty, he trotted over to Maude, laid his head in her lap, and stared up at her with his great eyes.

It seemed a shame to be so lavish of such sweet kisses, and on a dog’s forehead; but all the same Maude bestowed them there, and the ugly brute blinked and snuffled and whined softly. Suddenly a thought seemed to strike Maude though, and her little fingers began to busy themselves about the dog’s collar, to tremble visibly, and at last with a faint cry of joy she detached a note folded in a very small compass, and fitted in a little packet of leather the colour of the dog’s skin.

Trembling with eagerness she was about to open it, when the door was opened, and Robbins entered to announce —

“Sir Grantley Wilters.”

Maude turned from crimson to white, and Joby crept slowly under the couch, resenting an offer made by the butler to drive him out by such a display of white teeth that the pompous domestic said to himself that the dog might stay as long as he liked, for it wasn’t his place to interfere.

Sir Grantley’s costume was faultless, for he was a fortune to his tradespeople – the tightest of coats and gloves, the shiniest of boots, and the choicest of “button-holes,” displayed in a tiny glass of water pinned in the fold of his coat, as he came in, hat and cane in one hand, and a little toy terrier in the other – one of those unpleasantly diminutive creatures whose legs seem as if they are not safe, and whose foreheads and eyes indicate water on the brain.

“Ah, Lady Maude. Delighted to find you alone,” said the baronet, advancing and extinguishing the dog with his hat, so as to leave his tightly-gloved hand free to salute the lady.

“I am not alone,” said Maude quietly, and she pointed to his lordship’s chair.

“No: to be sure. Asleep! Well, I really thought you were alone, don’t you know.”

“Papa often comes and sits with me now,” said Maude, quietly.

“Very charming of him, very,” said Sir Grantley. “Quite well?”

“Except a headache,” said Maude.

“Sorry – very,” said the baronet, hunting for his glass, which was now hanging between his shoulders. “Bad things headaches, very. Should go for a walk.”

“I preferred staying at home this afternoon,” said Maude.

“Did you, though! Ah!” said Sir Grantley. “Sorry about the headache. Always take brandy and soda for headache I do, don’t you know. By the way, Lady Maude,” he continued, taking his hat off the little dog as if he were performing a conjuring trick, “I bought this beautiful little creechaw in Regent Street just now. Will you accept it from me?”

“Oh, thank you, no,” said Maude. “I’m sure mamma would not approve of my accepting such a present.”

“Oh, yes, I asked her yesterday, don’t you know, and she said you’d be most happy. Very nice specimen, not often found so small. May I set it down?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Maude, colouring with annoyance; and evidently very glad to get rid of the little animal, the baronet set it down and it began to make a tour of the room.

“Don’t be nervous about accepting presents from me,” said Sir Grantley, “because I shall bring you a great many.”

“I beg you will not, Sir Grantley,” said Maude, flushing. “You must really by now be quite sure that such attentions are distasteful to me.”

“Not used to them, you know,” said the baronet smiling; “but I have her ladyship’s full permission, and we shall understand each other in time. Old gentleman sleeps well.”

“Papa is getting old, and his health is feeble,” said Maude, rather indignantly.

“Yes, very,” said the baronet. – “I don’t want to be a bore, but I’ve said so little to you about our future.”

“Our future?”

“Yes; it’s all settled. I proposed down at Hurst, and thought it was all over; but her ladyship kindly tells me that I may hope.”

“Sir Grantley Wilters,” cried Maude, rising, “I am not of course ignorant of what mamma’s wishes are, but let me tell you as a gentleman that this subject is very distasteful to me, and that I can never, never think otherwise of you than I do now.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” said Sir Grantley, in a most unruffled manner. “You are very young, don’t you know. Think differently by and bye. Bad job this about poor Melton.”

Maude started, and her eyes dilated slightly.

“Thought he was a decent fellow once, but he’s regularly going to the dogs.”

“Mr Melton is a friend of mine, Sir Grantley – a very dear friend of mine,” cried Maude, crushing the stiff paper of the note she held in her hand.

“Say was, my dear Maude,” said Sir Grantley, making pokes at the pearl buttons on his patent leather boots with his walking cane. “Poor fellow! Was all right once, but he’s hopelessly gone now.”

“I will not believe it,” cried Maude indignantly. “It is cruel and ungentlemanly of you to try to blacken Mr Melton thus when he is not present.”

“Cruel perhaps, but kind,” said Sir Grantley; “ungentlemanly, no.” He drew himself up slightly, as he spoke. “Poor beggar, can’t help being poor, you know. They say – ”

“Sir Grantley, I will not believe anything against Mr Melton,” cried Maude with spirit.

“Not till you have proved it, my dear child. I don’t want to pain you, but I know that the thoughts of Charles Melton have kept you from listening to me. Now, my dear Maude, if I were out of the race, you could not marry a man who is hopelessly in the hands of the Jews. Couldn’t do it, you know; and they do say.”

“Sir Grantley Wilters,” cried Maude, with her head thrown back, “these are cruel calumnies. Mr Charles Melton is a gentleman, and the soul of honour. I shall tell him your words.”

“I shall be very glad to retract them, and apologise,” said the baronet calmly; and then he busied himself in fixing his glass, for the little toy terrier had suddenly made a dead set at one end of the couch, where from beneath the chintz cover there peered out one very large prominent and peculiar eye, which kept blinking at the terrier in the calmest manner, its owner never attempting to move in spite of the angry demonstrations of the newcomer.

At last its demonstrations became so loud that, not seeing the great eye himself, the baronet rose slowly, drove the terrier into the back drawing-room and closed the door.

“A little new to the place, don’t you know,” he said. “There, I’m going now; I did not mean to blacken Mr Melton’s character, but ask your brother to inquire. Sorry for any man to go to the bad. Gone regularly. Good-day.”

He took Maude’s hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, while she was too much agitated to resist. Then backing to the door, he smiled, kissed his glove, and was gone.

“Oh, this is monstrous!” cried Maude in anguished tones, when she remembered the note and opened it hastily, to read a few lines full of manly love and respect; and as she read of her wooer’s determination never to give her up, her heart grew stronger in its faith.

“I knew it was false,” she exclaimed, proudly. “How dare he calumniate him like that!”

Then going to a writing table, she glanced at her father, saw that he still slept, and, blushing at her duplicity, she wrote a note, folded it so that it would go in the tiny leather pocket, and in a low voice called the dog.

Joby came out directly, and laid his great head in her lap, while the note was securely placed in its receptacle.

“Now go to your master, good dog,” she cried, kissing him once more, and at the word “master” Joby started to the door and looked back, when Maude followed and opened it. The dog trotted downstairs and settled himself under the porter’s chair in the hall till the door was opened. Then he trotted off to his master’s chambers.

Meanwhile, as soon as she had despatched her messenger, Maude seated herself upon the carpet by her father, and laid her cheek against his hand.

He opened his eyes directly, saw who it was, and laid his other hand upon her head.

“Ah, Maude, my pet,” he said. “I have, been sitting here with my eyes closed.”

“Yes, papa. Did you hear what Sir Grantley Wilters said?”

“No, my child. Has – has – he been here?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Then I suppose I must have been quite asleep.”

“Yes, papa – for quite an hour. – Papa, dear.”

“Yes, my love.”

“I cannot rest happy with any secret from you,” said the girl, with averted head, and her cheeks burning for shame at the clandestine correspondence she was carrying on.

“That’s right, my darling,” said the old man, patting the soft fair hair and smoothing it over her forehead.

“Papa, dear,” she continued, after a long pause, during which she fought hard to nerve herself for what she had to say.

“Yes, my child. There, you’re not afraid of me.”

“Oh, no, dear,” she cried, drawing his arm around her neck, and holding his hand with both hers to her throbbing bosom. “Papa, I’m afraid – ”

“Afraid, my dear?”

“Afraid that I love Mr Melton very dearly.”

She hid her face upon the withered old hand, and the burning blood crimsoned her soft white neck at this avowal.

“Well – well – well! He – he – he!” chuckled the old man. “I – I – I don’t see anything so very shocking in that, Maude. Charley Melton is a doosed fine fellow, and I like him very much indeed.”

“Oh, papa, papa,” cried Maude joyfully; and she turned, flung her arms round his neck, and hid her face in his bosom.

“Yes, Maude,” he continued. “He’s a gentleman, and a man of honour, though he’s poor like the rest of us.”

“Thank God – thank God!” murmured Maude, as the words made her heart throb with joy.

“His father was a gentleman too and a man of honour, though a bit wild. He was my junior at Eton. I like Charley Melton, and though I should hate the man who tried to rob me of my little pet here, I don’t think I should be very hard on him.”

“Yap – yap – yap!” came from the back drawing-room, and the old gentleman looked inquiringly at his child.

“It is a pet dog,” she said contemptuously, “that Sir Grantley Wilters has brought as a present for me.”

“Don’t have it, my dear,” said the old gentleman, eagerly. “I wouldn’t. He’s a miserable screw of a fellow, that Wilters. I don’t like him, and her ladyship’s always trying to bring him forward. She’ll be wanting to make him marry you next.”

“Didn’t you know, papa?” cried Maude.

“Know, my darling? Know what?”

“He has proposed to mamma for my hand.”

“Then – then – then,” cried the old man, indignantly, “he – he – he shan’t have it. If my Maude is to be nurse to any man, she shall be nurse to me. He – he don’t want a wife.”

The old man shook his head angrily, and then patted and caressed the fair young girl who clung to him for protection. What his protection was worth he showed when a carriage stopped at the door, and her ladyship’s trumpet tones were heard soon after on the stairs.

“Maude, my darling,” he said, “here’s her ladyship. I – I think I’ll slip off this way down to my study.”

He went out by one door, timing himself carefully, as her ladyship came in at the other, and began praising the “lovely” little pet dog which Sir Grantley had left, to which the little brute replied by snapping at her fiercely as she approached her hand.

All the same though it had to make friends with her ladyship, who adopted it from the next day, Maude stubbornly refusing to have anything to do with the black and tan specimen of the canine race wrought by the “fancy” in filigree.

Chapter Ten.

Love’s Messengers

“How a young lady as calls herself a young lady can bemean herself by making a pet of a low-bred, ill-looking dog like that, I can’t think,” said Mr Robbins, laying himself out for a speech in the servants’ hall. “That’s a nice enough little tarrier as Sir Grantley Wilters brought, and she won’t have none of it, but leaves it to her ladyship.”

“Yes,” said the footman, “and a nice mess is made, with sops and milk and cutlets all over the carpet.”

“Joseph,” said the butler with dignity, “it is not the place of a young man like you in livery to find fault with the acts of your superiors. Servants as do such things never rises to be out of livery.”

“Thanky, sir,” said Joseph, who, being a young man of a lively imagination and much whiskers, turned his head, squinted horribly at an under housemaid, and made her giggle.

“Such a dog as that ugly brute as comes brushing into the house every time the door is opened is only fit to go with a costermonger or a butcher.”

“Well, I’m sure, Mr Robbins,” said the cook, who for reasons of her own had a weakness for tradesmen in the latter line, “butchers are as good as butlers any day.”

“Perhaps they are, Mrs Downes – perhaps they are not,” said the butler with dignity; “but what I say is, Mr Melton ought to have known better than ever to have brought such a beast into a gentleman’s house.”

“That for your opinion, Mr Robbins,” said Mademoiselle Justine, colouring up and snapping her fingers. “I know what you think,” she said, speaking in a high-pitched, excited voice. “You think that a lady should admire scented men in fine tailor’s clothes and flowers, and wiz zere leetle wretched dogs. Bah! Tish! A woman loves the big and ugly and ster-r-r-rong. She can be weak and beautiful herself. Is it not so, my friends? Yes.”

Mademoiselle Justine shook her head, tightened her lips, and with sparkling eyes looked round the table, ending with heightened colour and patting her little bottine upon the floor.

“Well, that dog’s ugly enough anyhow,” said Robbins, smiling faintly, and making a second chin above his cravat. “As for that Mr Melton – ”

“Ah, bah! stop you there,” cried Mademoiselle Justine. “I do not say he is ugly, but he is big and sterong and has broad shouldaire. He is all a man —tout-à-fait all a – quite a man.”

There was another sharp burst of nods and jerks at this.

“You think, you, that my young lady will marry this Sir Wilters? That for him! He is a man for the Maison Dieu or the Invalides. He marry! ha, ha, ha! I could blow him out myself. Poof! He is gone.”

Mademoiselle Justine blew some imaginary bit of fluff from her fingers as she spoke, apparently shook her head into a kind of notch or catch in the spine, and then sat very upright and very rigid, while the butler said grace and the party broke up.

Lunch had been over in the dining-room some time, and her ladyship was going out for a drive. Maude had again declined, and her ladyship had smiled, knowing that Sir Grantley Wilters would probably call. Her ladyship was wonderfully made up, and looked her best, for Monsieur Hector Launay from Upper Gimp Street had had an interview with her that morning. There had been a consultation on freckles, and a large mole which troubled her ladyship’s chin had been condemned to death, executed with some peculiar acid, and its funeral performed and mourning arranged with a piece of black court plaster, which now looked like a beauty spot upon the lady’s chin.

Her gloves, of the sweetest pearl grey, fitted her plump hands to perfection, and she was quite ready to go out.

“Where is your papa, dear Maude,” said her ladyship, stopping to smell a bouquet. “Ah me, how sweet! How kind Sir Grantley is, and what taste he has in flowers.”

“Papa is in the library,” said Maude, quietly, and she glanced nervously towards the door.

“Come then, a sweet,” cried her ladyship; “and he shall go and have a nice ride in the carriage, he shall, and look down and bark at all the dirty dogs in the road.”

As she showed her second best teeth in a large smile, the little terrier took it to be a challenge of war, and displayed his own pigmy set; but after a due amount of coaxing, and the gift of a lump of sugar, he permitted himself to be caught and placed beneath her ladyship’s plump arm, presenting to a spectator who had a side view a little head cocking out in front, and a little tail cocking out behind – nothing more.

“I shall be back by five, I dare say, Maude. Where is Tryphie?”

“I am here, aunt, quite ready,” said a cheerful voice, and the bright little girl appeared at the door.

“You are not quite ready: you have only one glove on. Tryphie, you might pay some respect to those who find you a home and protection.”

The girl coloured slightly but made no answer, only exchanged glances with Maude, and kissed her hand to her.

“Dear me!” exclaimed her ladyship, “where did I put my flaçon? Oh, I remember.”

She marched in a stately manner with the roll of a female beadle, or an alderman in his gold chain of office, to an Indian cabinet, opened a drawer and inserted her hand.

“Why, what is this?” she exclaimed, drawing out something whitey brown and throwing it down with an ejaculation of annoyance. “Disgusting!”

The toy terrier uttered a sharp yelp of excitement, leaped from her ladyship’s arms on to a table, upsetting a china cup and saucer, bounded on to the floor and seized that which her ladyship had rejected – to wit, a savoury-looking chicken bone, and proceeded to denude it of its flesh.

“I declare your papa grows insufferable,” cried her ladyship. “His brain must be softening. I shall consult the doctor about him.”

Certainly it was very annoying, for her ladyship’s pearly grey Parisian glove had a broad brown smear of osmazome across it, and all due to Lord Barmouth’s magpie-like trick of hiding scraps of food away for future consumption, in Indian cabinets and china jars, and then forgetting the caché he had made.

Mademoiselle Justine was summoned, a fresh pair of gloves obtained and put on with the maid’s assistance, by which time the dog had polished the bone, and probably in his own tongue, being a well-bred animal, said a grace and blessed Lord Barmouth. Then he was once more taken up, his mouth and paws wiped by Justine on one of her ladyship’s clean handkerchiefs; Tryphie nodded a good-bye to her cousin, to whom she had hardly dared to speak, and then followed her ladyship downstairs.

Maude rose, trembling and in dread lest something she feared should occur, for her ladyship was later than usual in going out, and this was a Wednesday, which day was sacred to the canine post.

In fact, as Maude heard the steps of the carriage rattled down with a great deal of noise – her ladyship encouraged her servants to bang them down well, for it let the neighbours know she kept a carriage and was going out – there was a pattering of feet, and as she opened the door, Joby came trotting in, with his great eyes full of animation, and the grinning smile in which he indulged a little more broad, for he had rushed in between the footman’s legs nearly upsetting him as the door was opened, in his eagerness to play postman for his master.

“Good dog, then!” whispered Maude, and then her heart seemed to stand still, for the carriage did not drive off, there was a rustling of silks on the stairs, and her ladyship came panting up.

Maude threw herself, colouring vividly, into a bergère chair, and Joby dived under the couch, not leaving so much as the point of his tail visible as her ladyship sailed into the room and looked hastily round.

“Maude,” she cried, “there is some mystery here. I insist on knowing what this means.”

There was no reply, but Tryphie came in, and darted a sympathetic glance at the poor girl, mentally wishing that Tom were at home.

“I – insist upon knowing what this means.”

“What, mamma?” said Maude, huskily.

“That dog; where is he? Mr Melton’s hideous wretch. Here: dog, dog, dog!” she cried.

She might have called till she was speechless, for Joby would not have moved. All the same, though, he was to be stirred, for her ladyship, now in a towering passion, set down the toy terrier upon a chair, when it immediately leaped to the carpet, barking furiously, and made a dead set at the sofa.

“It is yonder! You have hidden the wretch there!” cried her ladyship, “and I am certain that that dog has been made the bearer of clandestine correspondence. I have read of such things. But there’s an end to it now, and it is only just and fit – false, abandoned girl! – that it should be discovered by the faithful little dog of the gentleman who is to-be your husband. Good little pet, then, to protect your master’s interests. Fetch him out, then.”

This was rather unwise of her ladyship, but she was excited, and she excited the little terrier in turn, for he had contented himself up to this time with snapping and barking furiously at the chintz valance hanging from the sofa, but keeping about a yard distant, as he leaped up with all four feet from the carpet at once and came down barking.

Encouraged though by her ladyship he went a little closer, barking and snarling so furiously that Joby could not contain himself any longer but softly pushed his short black nose and one eye beneath the chintz, had a look at the noisy intruder, and then, withdrew once more.