XIII
Itwas now the turn of Elfreda to be taken aback.
“Pikey,” she said, “are you mad?”
The look in the eyes of the duenna rather suggested that condition. But Elfreda did not yield an inch. “Are you mad, Pikey?” she repeated sternly.
Before such hardihood the spirit of the Dragon quailed. So proper and natural would it have been for Pikey to ask the question that Elfreda by adopting the simple expedient of asking the question herself completely took the wind out of Pikey’s sails.
“Go back at once.” Elfreda was perfectly amazing. “How dare you come here.” She might have been scolding a disobedient dog. “I am quite ashamed of you, Pikey. Didn’t I say I would write to you?”
A conflict began in the faithful bosom of Pikey as an eye flashing with scorn transfixed her.
“Tell me, Pikey, didn’t I say I would write to you?”
Faced by an attitude so preposterous yet so uncompromising, Pikey began to feel less sure of her ground. The dismal admission was wrung out of her that her charge had promised to do so.
“Very well, then.” In spite of her green ulster and her cheap hat Elfreda grew positively majestic. “Goback as quickly as ever you can and don’t dare to come here again unless you are sent for. If you wish to communicate with me privately, please do so by letter. Do you understand?”
Notwithstanding a very definite sense of outrage Pikey felt absolutely cowed. This really was a little spitfire and yet she was just as cool as you please.
“It is your duty to look after Miss—Miss What’s-her-name and to see that she doesn’t make mistakes or get into mischief or give us away or anything of that kind.”
To the wretched Pikey’s eternal dishonor she could only muster the spirit for a dismal and forlorn acquiescence. Even as she did so, she knew that she was tamely submitting to be put in the wrong. The thought filled her with fury, but there was nothing to be done. Ruefully she realized that the headstrong little wretch was altogether too much for her.
“I—I shall write to Herself.”
“Don’t dare to do anything of the kind.” A blue eye suddenly blazed forth like an angry sapphire. “Please understand that if it is found out I take all responsibility.”
Pikey could only gasp.
“But,”—the words of the amazing Elfreda were half ice, half fire—“if you can really behave like a sensible creature nobody need be any the wiser.”
“Whatever will his lordship say?”
“I wouldn’t worry about his lordship if I were you,Pikey.” The voice of the little wretch had taken the soft wheedling tone which somehow had always been able to get round her nurse. “Don’t worry about anything. You’ll see it will all come right. And if it doesn’t, the whole of the responsibility is mine.”
Just then Pikey would cheerfully have slain her charge, but alas! she knew herself at heart for a foolish fond old woman who was without any real hope of being able to prevail against her favorite. She never had been able to prevail against her, if it came to that.
Pikey was not merely in the presence of defeat. The final words of Elfreda struck her with panic.
“I want you to let me have two blouses, some silk stockings, a pair of shoes and a decent hat as soon as you can. Send them by post, and mind you pack them carefully. You understand?”
Pikey’s heart sank. No matter what she might be on the surface, immediately below it she was very much a woman and by no means deficient in the intuitions of her sex. Such a demand was full of sinister meaning. The martial figure in khaki that had passed on round the corner now recurred vividly to the eye of her mind. “You must either come to Clavering Park or I shall write to Herself.” That should have been her rejoinder to this shameless rebel. Beyond doubt a wise woman would have made it, but do as she would at this fatal moment she simply could not find the necessary courage.
“Address the parcel to Miss Cass, in the care of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson at The Laurels. I will write it down for you so that there shall be no mistake.”
The amazing Elfreda calmly unbuttoned the green ulster, produced a small pocket diary and wrote down the address with a deliberate care that seemed decidedly ironical. Then she tore out the leaf. “As soon as ever you can, Pikey. You quite understand?”
Once more, at the tone’s finality, the duenna could merely gasp. It was the only form of protest she had now the wit or the power to make.