CHAPTER XXXMASHAM—THE MOTORIST
“I’llgo over and have a jaw with him; you stay here till I come back,” said Wynyard’s friend, rising as he spoke.
Ten minutes later, he appeared accompanied by a clean-shaven, bullet-headed little man—with a brick-coloured complexion, sleek black hair, a pair of small, piercing grey eyes, and the shoulders of a Hercules.
“Wynyard, let me introduce you to Masham, the celebrated motorist. Masham, this is my old chum Wynyard; we were in the same house at Eton. He is in want of a job—you are in want of a chauffeur—and here you are!” Then, with a wave of his hand, he added, “Now, I’ll leave you to worry it out between you. You will find me in the card-room,” and he took his departure.
“Well,” said Masham, throwing himself back in an arm-chair, and stretching out his legs, “our mutual friend has been telling me all about you, and how you are an Army chap, awfully sportin’, and have no nerves to speak of.”
“Yes, I shouldn’t call myself—er—nervous,” said Wynyard, lighting a cigarette.
“I suppose Eustace has told you that I’m motor mad? Motoring is my fad. I expect I’ve put in more miles than any man of my age in England. On theselong journeys I like to have a pal who can drive a bit, is a gentleman, and has got his head screwed on the right way. By the bye, are you a married man?”
“No.”
“Good! That’s all right. Well, the ordinary chauffeur palls a bit after a time, and you can’t well have him to dine with you—and—er—in fact—he’s not yourownsort! On the other hand, there are one’s relatives and chums; but some of these—and I’ve sampled a good few—know nothing of the mechanism of a car—racer and runabout, it’s all one tothem—and they bar going with me. I put them in a first-class blue funk when my speed is eighty miles an hour, and hats and things fly out of the car. Of course, it’s not always possible; but sometimes in the very early mornings on those long flat roads in France I let her out! I tell you, it’s an experience. However, the last time when I got her up to ninety kilometres, at the first halt, my chauffeur got off and left me! I’m not a bad sort to deal with, as old Eustace can tell you; you just let me alone, and you’ll be all right. You live with me—same quarters, same table—and your billet will be that of chauffeur-companion—compagnon de voyage—with an eye to the car and to take the wheel now and then. If you can talk French it will be an advantage; but I don’t suppose you picked up much French at Eton?”
“I picked it up when I was a small boy. I had a French nurse,” replied Wynyard, “and I can get along all right.”
“Good! My idea is to motor down to Biarritz, then across to Marseilles, and afterwards, with a look in at Monte, take part in some international racing. Who were you with last, or who are you with now?”
“Just at present I’m chauffeur to Tottie Toye.”
“My great aunt!”
“Well, you see, when she engaged me from an advertisement, she represented herself as Mrs. Cavendish Foote—the terms were liberal, and I agreed.”
“Yes, and when you saw her?” His little eyes twinkled.
“I must confess I was rather taken aback; theatrical folk are not much in my line—irregular hours and sudden odd jobs—sometimes I’ve been out with the car till three in the morning. However, it was a question of money, and I took it.”
“May I ask what she pays you?”
“Four guineas a week.”
“I’ll go one better than that. I’ll give you three hundred a year—twenty-five pounds a month, and all found; but, mark you, you had better insure your life, for I’ve had some uncommonly narrow squeaks.”
“I’ll take the risk,” said Wynyard. “Would you mind telling me what isyouridea of a narrow squeak?”
“Well, once crossing a railway line an express missed me by twenty seconds; another was when the car ran backwards down a pass in the Tyrol, and over the bridge at the bottom; that time the chauffeur was killed. I’m keeping his family, of course—and henceforth I bar married men! I broke three ribs and a leg; however, we won’t dwell on these unpleasant memories. Do you think you will be ready to start in a week? The car is down at Coventry. I’ll fetch her up day after to-morrow.”
“I shall be ready; but I have one stipulation to make.”
“All right—let’s have it.”
“As a chauffeur my name is Owen—not Wynyard.”
“Same thing to me. Uncle objects, eh?”
“I suppose Miss Toye will accept a week’s notice?”
“Of course she will,” declared Masham. “We will have a day or two at Brookwood, to see how the car travels, and then cross the Channel. Have a drink?”
“Thank you, a small whisky and large soda.”
Mr. Masham ordered for himself a large whisky and a very small soda; indeed, the soda water in his glass was a negligible quantity.
“I don’t drink much—but I take it strong,” he remarked as he gulped it down, “and I never smoke—bad for the nerves;” and then he began to discourse of motors and the class and style he believed in. He believed in single-cylinder machines, a short wheel base, wide handle-bars, and a large petrol tank. He did not believe in the aeroplane craze, and, indeed, became both hot and excited when Wynyard introduced the subject.
“Madness! Wild goose business! Can come to nothing—look at the accidents! Stick to Mother Earth,Isay! I’m an earth man—a motor man. The sea for fish, the sky for birds, earth for humans. I bar both air and sea.”
After a few minor arrangements, Wynyard took leave of Mr. Masham, went in search of his friend, and informed him that all was fixed up; he had accepted the post of companion-chauffeur to the celebrated Harry Masham, and was about to tender his resignation to the equally celebrated Tottie Toye.
During Lady Kesters’ stay in the United States, she had kept up a brisk correspondence with her brother, and written long and enthusiastic descriptions of her impressions of New York, Washington, and Boston; for his part, he had sent her somewhat scanty news. The following, is one of his longest letters:—
“Dear Leila,—I am still with Miss T. Toye, and giving (I hope) satisfaction and saving hand over fist. I can’t say, however, that the berth is congenial. I am kept pretty busy, taking Tottie to the theatre, fetching her home, motoring her about town to shops and restaurants, and dashing into the country for weekends. In Town, I wear my goggles as much as possible. I tell her my eyes are weak—I dare say she doesn’t believe me! I’m not proud, but I don’t want my old friends to spot me as Tottie’s chauffeur. The other day I was in Bond Street in the afternoon, with a car full of a noisy painted crew, and they attracted the attention of no less a person thanUncle Dick. He stared at them, and then at me. I thought he was going to have an apoplectic seizure, and I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone to the devil! Perhaps you’d let him know that I’ve got to live, and Tottie pays well, and her money is as good as another’s. All the same, I am not sure that I can stand her much longer; she and her particular lot are a bit too rowdy. The other night a fellow dared her to kiss me as she got out of the motor, and, by Jove! shedid. I was not at all grateful. I was nearly stifled, and I’ve not got the better of her scented embrace yet. She talks of buying another car—price fifteen hundred pounds—simply because Vixie Beaufort has a better one than hers, and she’s not going to be beat. She has a funny way of asking all sorts of people to supper, and is surprised when the crowd turns up; and sometimes she forgets her party altogether, and sups out, then the boot is on the other foot! She plays bridge of a sort, and loses her money (and her temper), and throws the cards at her partner. The frizzy parlour-maid is my informant; she comes down with cloaks and furs, and generally contrives to have a word with me. She says the place is getting too hot, and if I will leave,shewill! Think of that! I’m glad to hear such good news of Martin. I expect you will both be home by April, and by that time I should not wonder if I were in another situation. Ryder Street will always find—Your affectionate brother,“O. W.”
“Dear Leila,—I am still with Miss T. Toye, and giving (I hope) satisfaction and saving hand over fist. I can’t say, however, that the berth is congenial. I am kept pretty busy, taking Tottie to the theatre, fetching her home, motoring her about town to shops and restaurants, and dashing into the country for weekends. In Town, I wear my goggles as much as possible. I tell her my eyes are weak—I dare say she doesn’t believe me! I’m not proud, but I don’t want my old friends to spot me as Tottie’s chauffeur. The other day I was in Bond Street in the afternoon, with a car full of a noisy painted crew, and they attracted the attention of no less a person thanUncle Dick. He stared at them, and then at me. I thought he was going to have an apoplectic seizure, and I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone to the devil! Perhaps you’d let him know that I’ve got to live, and Tottie pays well, and her money is as good as another’s. All the same, I am not sure that I can stand her much longer; she and her particular lot are a bit too rowdy. The other night a fellow dared her to kiss me as she got out of the motor, and, by Jove! shedid. I was not at all grateful. I was nearly stifled, and I’ve not got the better of her scented embrace yet. She talks of buying another car—price fifteen hundred pounds—simply because Vixie Beaufort has a better one than hers, and she’s not going to be beat. She has a funny way of asking all sorts of people to supper, and is surprised when the crowd turns up; and sometimes she forgets her party altogether, and sups out, then the boot is on the other foot! She plays bridge of a sort, and loses her money (and her temper), and throws the cards at her partner. The frizzy parlour-maid is my informant; she comes down with cloaks and furs, and generally contrives to have a word with me. She says the place is getting too hot, and if I will leave,shewill! Think of that! I’m glad to hear such good news of Martin. I expect you will both be home by April, and by that time I should not wonder if I were in another situation. Ryder Street will always find—Your affectionate brother,
“O. W.”
To this he received a long reply from Florida. Martin was better, shares were booming, and The Palm Branch was the most delicious spot on earth. No wonder that Florida boasted the largest hotel in the world; the climate, the tropical flowers and fruit, the bicycling and bathing, and the immense variety of visitors were all a delightful novelty.
She went on to say—
“I do wish you were with us; there are such charming girls to be met and known—bright, well-bred, intellectual, and fascinating. I am in love with several of them myself. I hope we shall be back in Mount Street at the end of April; meanwhile we are sunning ourselves here. Take my advice, and give the vivacious Tottie notice, and try for nice country place with some wealthy old squire who is notexigeantwith respect to work, and would only require to be motored to the Sessions or to church; in such a place, you can lie perdue instead of flaring about town with Tottie and Co. I would be perfectly happy if you were here, dear old boy; the only drawback to my enjoyment is the fear that you are hard worked, and hard up! Bear this in mind, ‘Time and tide run through the longest day;’ in ten months you will be settled at Wynyard, and yourownmaster.”
“I do wish you were with us; there are such charming girls to be met and known—bright, well-bred, intellectual, and fascinating. I am in love with several of them myself. I hope we shall be back in Mount Street at the end of April; meanwhile we are sunning ourselves here. Take my advice, and give the vivacious Tottie notice, and try for nice country place with some wealthy old squire who is notexigeantwith respect to work, and would only require to be motored to the Sessions or to church; in such a place, you can lie perdue instead of flaring about town with Tottie and Co. I would be perfectly happy if you were here, dear old boy; the only drawback to my enjoyment is the fear that you are hard worked, and hard up! Bear this in mind, ‘Time and tide run through the longest day;’ in ten months you will be settled at Wynyard, and yourownmaster.”
As it happened, there was no occasion for Wynyard to formally tender his resignation to Miss Toye. The morning after his interview with Mr. Masham, when he arrived at the garage where the car was kept, another chauffeur came up to him with a sympathetic grin upon his face.
“Hullo, Jack—your car is took! There’s an execution in your missus’ flat, and the men came round ’ere first thing. Very nippy, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” rejoinedWynyard. He walked over to the place where the car was always garaged, and it was empty; everything was gone—even to the oil cans!
“There, now, you see it’s a true bill,” said the other man, who had followed him. “Tottie Toye is broke; there was a great burst-up at the theatre, and she has cut it.”
This was true. Wynyard now remembered that the last time he had driven Tottie from the hall there had been something of a scene at the stage door—loud talking, an eager crowd, and Mr. Cloake, very red and excited, had supported Tottie into the motor, apparently in hysterics and tears. He went round to the flat, and discovered that men were already in possession, busily making an inventory of its contents. Tottie had effected her escape with all her jewels, her best clothes, and her dog, and was reported to be at San Sebastian.
It seemed to Wynyard that something was bound to happen to whoever employed him—one time it was a breakdown, now the bailiffs.
Before he and his new employer went abroad, they spent several days at Brookwood, and here the new chauffeur was first introduced to the machine—a long, bare, business-looking car, built for speed, not comfort, and painted a dull slate colour.
“She’s as ugly as she can stick!” admitted her owner; “but she runs sweetly and is a magnificent machine; has won three big races, a grand goer, and ab-so-lutely reliable!”
Flying round the track at Brookwood she certainly bore out her reputation for speed; but as to whether she was absolutely reliable, remained to be proved.