Lady Maude's Mania
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He favoured this conceit, too, by being very cartilaginous in the spine, and softly pressing his hands to his breast, and bowing and undulating gently in different directions to the party assembled in the room.
“Hang him!” muttered Tom, scowling at the new comer. “He looks, as if he were in training for a spiral spring. Who the deuce is he?”
“Tom,” whispered his lordship, “that man makes me feel queer; get some brandy and soda in your room after he has gone.”
Tom favoured his father with a peculiar wink, and the old gentleman felt in his pockets once more, to be sure that he had not flung something out with his handkerchief.
“Mr Irkle, I think?” said her ladyship, blandly.
“Hurkle, my lady,” said the new arrival, bowing. “Hurkle and Slant, Murley Court, Obun.”
“Oban?” said her ladyship; “I thought your place of business was in town.”
“Yes, my lady, Obun, W.C., near top o’ Charn-shery Lane.”
“Go it, old chap,” said Tom; “never mind the H’s.”
“Tom, be silent.”
“All right!”
“I think we need no preliminaries, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship. “Perhaps you will favour me by reading a few notes from your diary.”
“Thank you, my lady, yes, certainly,” said the new arrival, taking out a large flat pocket-book, and then getting into difficulties with his gloves and hat, setting the latter down upon a chair and putting the former in his pocket, then altering his mind, and taking the gloves out of his pocket, dropping one, and putting the other in his hat, which he took up and placed under the chair instead of upon it. Then he had to pick up the stray glove and put it in his pocket, evidently feeling uneasy directly after because he had not put it in his hat, but not liking to make a fresh alteration.
He now coughed behind the pocket-book very respectfully, opened it, turned over a few leaves, drew out a pencil, and laid it across, so as not to lose the place, coughed again, and said —
“Your ladyship would like me to begin at the beginning?”
“Certainly, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship with dignity; and then with Maude sitting with her eyes half-closed, Tom walking up and down the room, and Lord Barmouth looking very much troubled and caressing his leg, the visitor coughed again, and began in a low subdued tone indicative of the secrecy of his mission.
“‘Thursday, twelft. Called into Lady Barmouth’s’” – no mention was made of Lord Barmouth whatever – “‘Portland Place. Private inquiry. No expense to be spared.’”
“I think you may omit all that part, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship, graciously.
“Thank you, my lady. Hem!” said the visitor, going on reading. “‘Decided to take up case myself, Mr Slant being in Paris’ – That is the end of that entry, my lady.”
“Thank you,” said her ladyship, bowing, and Tom began to whistle softly, and to wonder what the man would say if he kicked his hat across the room like a football.
“‘Friday, thirteent,’” continued the visitor, turning over a leaf. “Hem!” His cough seemed to be brought on by the fact that he was in the presence of the nobility, and it troubled him slightly as he went on – “‘Melton, Charles, Esquire, 150 Duke Street, Saint James. Went out with bull-dog, 10:50, Burlington Arcade, Gardens, Vigo Street, Regent Street, Portland Place, Upper Gimp Street. Must have got into house there. Missed. Took up clue in Duke Street 2:30. Came back. Admiration Club. Back home at 11:30,’ – That is the second entry, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mr Hurkle – proceed,” said her ladyship; and Lord Barmouth yawned so loudly that her ladyship turned upon him with a portentous frown.
“‘Saturday, fourteent,’ Hem!” said Mr Hurkle. “‘Met C.M. in Strand. Followed to hosier’s shop; stayed ten minutes – gloves. Went west. Cosmo Club. Stayed an hour. Came out. Walked to Barker’s, Jermyn Street,’ Hem!”
Mr Hurkle looked up after coughing apologetically.
“Barker’s – notorious gambling house, my lady.”
“Bosh!” said Tom. “Fellows play a friendly game of pool sometimes.”
“I must request that you will not interrupt, Lord Diphoos,” said her ladyship, sternly.
“Time to interrupt when I’m called upon to listen to a cock-and-bull story like this,” cried Tom. “Barker’s isn’t a notorious gambling house.”
Mr Hurkle raised his eyebrows and then his hand to his lips, and said “Hem!”
“May I ask how you know?” said her ladyship.
“Been there myself, hundreds of times,” said Tom, sturdily.
“Oh!” ejaculated her ladyship; and that “Oh!” was wonderful in the meaning it expressed. For it seemed to say, “I thought as much! That accounts for the amount of money squandered away!” and her ladyship gazed at her son from between her half-closed lids as she said aloud, “Go on, Mr Hurkle, if you please.”
“Hem! ‘Left Barker’s at eleven Pee Hem. Returned to Duke Street.’ That is the whole of the third entry, my lady.”
“Thank you. Proceed.”
“Eleven o’clock, eh?” said Tom. “Well, very respectable time.”
“Be silent, if you please, sir. Continue, Mr Hurkle.”
“‘Sunday, fifteent. Went out at three. To Barker’s, Jermyn Street.’”
“Hum! Gambling house on a Sunday,” said her ladyship, sarcastically. “Continue, Mr Hurkle.”
“Here, shall I finish for you?” cried Tom. “Went to Barker’s, and had a chop for lunch, read the papers till dinnertime – a wicked wretch, on a Sunday too; then dined – soup, fish, cutlet, cut, off the joint, pint o’ claret, and on a Sunday. Is that right, my hawk-eyed detective?”
“No, my lord. Hem!”
“Will you be silent, Lord Diphoos?” cried her ladyship.
“That is the whole of the fourt entry, my lady.”
“And cheap at the money, whatever it is,” cried Tom. “I say,” he added, scornfully, “do you know where I was on Sunday, you sir?”
“Beg pardon, my lord,” said Mr Hurkle, undulating. “You are not on my list, and I have no client making inquiries about you.”
“That’s a blessing,” said Tom, “for them and for you.”
“Pray go on, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship. “Lord Diphoos, I must beg that you do not interrupt.”
To address her son as “Lord Diphoos” was in her ladyship’s estimation crushing, but Tom did not seem crushed.
“‘Monday, sixteenth Hem!’” said Mr Hurkle. “‘Saw Mr Melton come out, followed by large-headed bull-dog, short tail, closely-cut ears, one white leg, and – ’”
“Left canine tooth in lower jaw knocked out, and lip torn in a fight,” cried Tom. “Enter that, please.”
“Lord Diphoos.”
“Oh, all right,” cried Tom, savagely. “Here, I say, you sir, get on and finish. This grows interesting.”
He glanced across to his sister, who was holding Tryphie’s hand, her head erect, lip curling, and a warm flush in her cheeks as she listened to this diary of her lover’s doings.
“That is the fift entry,” said Mr Hurkle, glancing from one to the other; and then, as a dead silence reigned, he went on —
“‘Tuesday, seventeent. Blank. C.M. did not go out,’ – That is the sixt entry, my lady.
“‘Wednesday, eighteent. Blank. C.M. did not go out.’ – That is the sevent entry, my lady.
“‘Thursday, ninetent. Watched at Duke Street. Found C.M. was out. Waited. C.M. returned by north of street and met Lord Barmouth.’”
“Eh, what?” exclaimed her ladyship.
“‘His lordship entered Duke Street from the south, after stopping some time to look in picture-dealer’s at full-length portrait of a goddess.’”
“Why, governor!” cried Tom.
“Go on, Mr Hurkle, please. Lord Barmouth, I beg you will not leave the room.”
“Certainly not, my dear,” said his lordship, rubbing his leg.
“Proceed, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship, sternly.
“Hem! Yes, my lady. ‘C.M. and his lordship went together to Regal Café, Regal Street. Dined there.’”
“Oh!” ejaculated her ladyship, with eyes growing very tight. “Proceed.”
“But I say, you sir,” cried Tom, “wasn’t I there?”
“No, my lord. Hem!”
“Wish I had been. I say, gov’nor, it was shabby of you.”
Lord Barmouth squirmed – to use his son’s words.
“Go on, Mr Hurkle,” said her ladyship, patting the carpet with her boot, while his lordship rubbed his leg.
“‘Long dinner of many courses. Several kinds of wine, sodas, brandies, and cigars. Gentlemen returned to chambers in Duke Street, smoked cigars till ten; then to Barker’s.’”
“Let me see, Lord Barmouth, you said you were unwell last evening?”
“And I was not there,” cried Tom.
“That, my lady – hem!” said Mr Hurkle, undulating and threatening to draw himself out – “carries us up to midnight.”
“Yes – yes – yes,” cried his lordship, rising in great excitement; “and – and – and it’s, damme, it’s too much. Tom, Tom, my son, if you don’t kick that fellow out of the house, damme, I will, for it’s all a piece of – of confounded humbug. I won’t have it – I didn’t order this to be done – it’s – it’s – a confounded, damme, it’s a cruel insult to me and my family, and I won’t – I won’t – Tom, my boy, send that fellow away, or I shall – damme, I shall kill him.”
“Yes, yes, go now,” moaned her ladyship. “I will send to you, Mr Hurkle.”
The private inquirer bowed very low, took up his hat and gloves, and, replacing his pocket-book without unbuttoning himself, backed out of the room, as Tom stood with his hands in his pockets, his little waxed moustache sticking out in two sharp points, and grinding his teeth, while poor Lord Barmouth limped about the room trembling with excitement.
“Oh!” moaned her ladyship. “My salts – my drops, Tryphie; this will be the death of me.”
“Serve you right,” said Tom, savagely. “You brought it on yourself.”
“It’s – it’s too bad. Little innocent amusement. Bit o’ dinner and glass o’ wine. Charley Melton is all right.”
“Yes,” said Lady Barmouth, “a gambler, a roué. But what wonder. Ah, me! Oh, my poor children. That Melton debauching my husband!”
“And – and – and devilish nice fellow too. I – I – I – I liked it, and – and – and I wished that you had been there, Tom.”
“Thanke, governor.”
“Oh, that I should live to hear all this!”
“You – you ought to have kicked that fellow out, Tom.”
“Be silent, Barmouth, be silent. Tryphie, ring for Justine to help me to my room. My heart is nearly broken now,” she added, in a tone of voice that seemed to indicate that it was only holding together by a little bit of ligament which was ready to go at any moment. “Maude, ungrateful girl, you have heard all. The horrible, dissipated gambler who is dragging my son into his dreadful vortex, and even spreading his meshes around your weak father.”
“Weak!” cried Lord Barmouth; “not at all.”
“I have heard no harm of Mr Melton, mamma,” said Maude. “He – ” She checked herself on the point of saying, “He told me he was going.”
“But a gambler, my child – a gambler.”
“Who pockets sixpenny lives at pool when he isn’t losing,” said Tom – “a wretch, a demon. Vot a larks!”
“Good game, pool, when your hand is steady. Yes, my boy, yes,” said his lordship, who was now rapidly calming down, and looking frightened.
“Thank heaven,” cried her ladyship, in tragic tones, “civilisation has introduced the private inquirer. I know all now, and my course is clear.”
“Know all, eh?” said Tom, “Why, mamma, you’ve had a splendid pen’orth. All that about Charley Melton, and the private information about the governor chucked in.”
“‘Chucked!’” ejaculated her ladyship, in tones which sounded as if she were forming an enormous “poster” for a hoarding. “‘Chucked!’ And this is my expensively-educated son. Justine, help me to my room.”
“Funnee lil mans,” said Justine to herself as Tom gave her a peculiar look.
Chapter Sixteen.
Music hath Charms
The private inquiry trouble was cooling down, but there was so much excitement and trouble at Portland Place, that Maude’s hair had to go untended on one occasion, and Monsieur Hector and his assistant waited in vain for the lady’s coming. Short as was the distance, Mademoiselle Justine was unable to run round and say that they need not wait.
For Sir Grantley Wilters was to dine in Portland Place that evening, and he arrived in good time.
The baronet was quite bright in spirits and youthful in appearance, having got the better of his late ailment, and Lady Barmouth smiled pensively at him when she was not watching Lord Barmouth, and seeing if he was surreptitiously supplied with wine.
Tom dined at home, and was morosely civil, being puzzled how to act towards his future brother-in-law.
Sir Grantley knew of the trouble between her ladyship and her lord, but religiously avoided all allusion thereto; he, however, found time and opportunity to mention to her ladyship the last scandal that he had heard concerning Melton.
“No?” exclaimed her ladyship, laying her plump hand upon his arm.
“Yas; fact, I assure you,” he said. “I had it from three fellows at the club, and they were present. It was at a place in Jermyn street.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed her ladyship in a low tone.
“They are retailing scandal about poor old Charley, Maude,” said Tom, leaning over the back of her chair in the drawing-room. “You think he’s quite square, eh?”
“If you mean by that, Tom, that I think him an honourable gentleman; yes, I do,” said Maude quietly.
“That’s right. He’s fond enough of you to keep him right, so never you mind what scraggy Wilters says.”
Maude did not reply, but her face flushed, and she sat looking proud and content in her faith.
Meantime her ladyship had been furnished with the last new piece of gossip regarding the young man who had gone to the bad, and was supremely happy.
In spite of her ladyship’s watchfulness Tom managed that his father should have a little wine, and the consequence was that he became very garrulous, making some personal remarks to Sir Grantley about matters of the past which the baronet wished to be considered too youthful to remember, and suffering at last from such decided twinges of his old complaint that he had to leave the table. Maude at once seized the excuse to be freed for the rest of the evening from a presence she detested, and went to attend upon her father, while Tom started to have a quiet cigar and a game of billiards, leaving her ladyship and Sir Grantley together to discuss a few more of the preliminaries of the wedding; Sir Grantley going so far, when he left, as to say that this was about the pleasantest evening he had had at the house in Portland Place, “don’t you know.”
But those below stairs were not above talking at dinner and supper in the servants’ hall, while Mademoiselle Justine sat like a smiling sphinx and listened, but said nothing.
“For my part,” said Robbins, “I think her young ladyship bears it admirably, as a well-bred lady should. She’s getting to know that people in the upper classes can’t marry as they like, and behaving quite right.”
“Ah, poor girl,” said Mrs Downes; “but under that there quiet look who knows what a volcano is a-busting in her breast. Ah, I have a heart of my own.”
“It seems to me,” said Dolly Preen, who during the past few weeks had been growing thin and acid consequent upon slighted love, much banter, the threatened loss of her situation, and genuine feminine jealousy of Justine, who had been intrusted with the task of accompanying her young mistress in her walks – “it seems to me that Lady Maude is finding consolation somewhere.”
Justine, who had been sitting so sphinx-like, suddenly flashed into life.
“You – you lil bébé of a girl, say what you mean,” she cried angrily.
“I was not talking of her ladyship, ma’amselle,” retorted Dolly, who had aptly picked up the London ways of her fellows. “It only seemed to me that Lady Maude had taken to liking music very much.”
“Ah, yes!” said Robbins. “Miss Preen is right there.”
“Some people found fault with me for liking to listen to the organ,” said Dolly, spitefully, “but nobody says nothing about my betters.”
“Lil bébé!” ejaculated Justine scornfully.
“Not quite such a little baby as you think for, ma’amselle,” retorted Dolly, tossing her head. “I’m not blind.”
“But you are lil miserable,” said Justine, scornfully. “What can you see, pray say?”
“Lady Maude giving money to that Italian musician, and listening to him very often from the balcony.”
“Ah,” said Mrs Downes, “but it’s different there, Miss Preen. Some one I know used to look out of the window at the man, Lady Maude looks out to console herself with the music, and you knows music hath charms.”
“See how right is Madame Downes,” said Justine, smiling and nodding. “My faith, Dolly Preen, but how you are bête.”
“I don’t know French,” said Dolly, rising, “but I did look in Lady Maude’s dictionary to see what that word meant, and I won’t sit here to be called a beast by a foreigner, so there.”
“Lil bébé,” said Justine, as Dolly moved toward the door.
“One moment, Miss Preen,” said the butler, speaking in an elderly, paternal tone. “Just you take my advice.”
“I don’t want anybody’s advice, Mr Robbins,” said the girl with asperity.
“Yes, you do, my dear, and what I wanted to say was, don’t you talk so free. You’ve had one narrow escape of losing a good situation through looking weak on Italian lazy ronies, don’t go and run another risk by hinting as a young lady of the highest aristocracy is giving her attention to such a thing as a black-bearded, plaster image selling man who grinds tunes in a box, because if you do you’ll find yourself wrong.”
“Thank you, Mr Robbins,” said Dolly, tartly. “I only know what I see, and I’m not afraid to speak my mind, whatever other people may be. I’m English, I am, and not French, and if I am from the country, as I said before, I’m not blind.”
Exit Miss Dolly Preen as Justine exclaimed once more, “Lil bébé,” and became so sphinx-like that she appeared deep as a knowledge mine.
“Well, such things have happened,” said Mrs Downes, sighing.
“Mrs Downes, don’t make me blush for you,” said the butler, sternly. “I’m ashamed to sit here and listen to such hints.”
“Ah, well, I’ll say no more,” said the cook, oracularly; “but I have a heart of my own, and I know what hearts is.”
“Trumps,” exclaimed the buttons.
“Henery! silence!” cried the butler sternly. “You go and see to the things in the pantry. Mrs Downes, as the oldest servant in her ladyship’s establishment, I have a right to take the lead. Such remarks as these are not seemly.”
“I only want to say, Mr Robbins,” cried the stout lady, with her heart doing its work well, “that if you check true love in one direction, out it comes in another. It will have its way. There, look at that.”
The demon of Portland Place was at the edge of the pavement turning the handle of his organ, and as a matter of fact, Maude Diphoos stepped slowly out of the French window in the drawing-room, and stood looking down at the Italian’s swarthy, smiling face.
Chapter Seventeen.
Lady Barmouth puts down her foot
Lady Maude sat in her dressing-room once more with her back hair down, listening to the strains of Luigi’s organ as it discoursed a delicious waltz, while Dolly Preen, who was rapidly developing a vicious-looking mouth, brushed away at the beautiful golden cascade, which rippled quite to the ground. The lady’s head swerved softly to the rhythm of the music, and it proved infectious; for though Dolly knew little of dancing, the music was pleasant to her soul, and she swayed her head and brushed softly with an accentuated beat at the beginning of every bar.
Just in the middle of the most sostenuto strain, and just as the ivory-backed brush was descending low, its long bristles dividing the golden threads, which crackled again in the warm air of that gloriously sunshiny day, there was a sharp tap at the dressing-room, and her ladyship entered.
“Ah, just in time,” she exclaimed, raising her gold-rimmed eye-glass. “I wanted to see your hair, Maude.”
“My hair, mamma?”
“Yes, child. Let me see; you went to Monsieur Launay’s yesterday?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“I have been telling Justine that I shall not go to any further expense over it. I have just sent him a cheque for his account, and your head looks so much better that I think we may be satisfied now.”
Maude’s cheeks turned scarlet, and so did her temple and neck, but her beautiful hair made a magnificent veil, and hid her confusion from her ladyship’s view as she examined the parting, drew it away from the temples and poked it about just at the poll.
“Don’t you think, mamma, I had better keep on for a little longer?”
“No,” said her ladyship, peremptorily. “Your hair is in beautiful condition. I grudged paying that man; but he has saved your hair, and he deserves what he has received. He is very clever.”
“I should like to continue a little longer, mamma.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said her ladyship tartly. “Your hair is perfect.”
“I must go and say that I am not about to continue his course of treatment.”
“No, you must not. I shall write to Monsieur Launay myself and tell him. I cannot afford these expenses, the demands for money are dreadful. I am always spending. Go away, Preen.”
“Yes, my lady,” said the little maid, and she “made a face” as she left the room.
“The preparations for your marriage will be more than I can afford.”
“Oh, mamma, must that go on?” cried Maude.
“Now, now, now, Maude, no more of that, please. I will not have it. Silence. The expenses will be terrible, and I shall be very glad when it is over, and so will you be, and I must say I am pleased to find you are coming more to your senses. Oh, that odious wretch. Go away, do!”
Her ladyship crossed to the window and shut it down with a crash, deadening the sound of Luigi’s minstrelsy as she returned to her daughter’s side.
“Really the expenses of our establishment are maddening. I have had the wine merchant’s bill in this morning, and it is outrageous. The man must be a swindler. Case after case of dry champagne charged for that I cannot remember having. But I must see into it at once; and, yes: I am quite satisfied there is no need for you to go to the hairdresser’s any more.”
Her ladyship gave a quick glance round the room – a glance that took in everything, the furniture, the davenport at which her daughter wrote, the books she had been reading, even to the tiny cobweb left by a careless housemaid in one corner, and then in a very dissatisfied frame of mind she descended to write to Mr Launay, leaving her daughter looking speechless with misery, and gazing wildly at the closed window.
“Shall I finish your hair, ma’am?” said a voice which made her start, for she had not heard the door opened.
“If you like, Dolly,” said Maude despairingly; and with a curiously furtive glance at her mistress, caused by her wonder what her ladyship had said, the girl went on with her interrupted work till she had done; and then when certain hooks had been persuaded to enter certain eyes, and as many buttons to pass through their button-holes, as she could obtain no further orders, Dolly left the room, and Maude walked to the window, opened it, and sat down with her elbow on the sill to listen to the distant strains of music which came from the top end of the place near Park Crescent, and as she listened the tears stole down her cheeks, for the fiat must be obeyed. There would be no more pleasant visits to the coiffeur’s – those little trips which relieved the monotony of her life so deliciously, and made her better able to bear the coming of Sir Grantley Wilters.
No more – no more! she was to be a prisoner now till she was to be decked out with garlands, and sent like a lamb to the sacrifice, and served up with mint sauce, for Sir Grantley was going to be very rich. Life was becoming an empty void with nothing to fill it. No Charley Melton allowed to visit; no assistant to arrange her hair – and Monsieur Hector Launay’s aide was so very, very nice.
Maude’s sad musings were interrupted by the door being opened quickly, and the head of Justine thrust in.
“Oh, mademoiselle —chère miladi, have you heard?”
“Yes, Justine. It is all over.”
“All ovaire, miladi? c’est atroce, but not ovaire; I will take counsel wiz M’sieu Hector, and all will be well.”
“Justine! Justine!”
“Coming, milady; I descend directly. Have a good heart, still yet, and all shall be well. Oui, milady, I come.”