XIX
Timewas precious indeed if “The Lady of Laxton” was ever to know the vicarious glamour of the footlights, but an acute sense of relief was felt by all the members of the cast when at breakfast time the next morning it was announced that for that day at least there was to be an interregnum. In the absence of Sir Toby there would be no further rehearsal until the following day. And to no member of the company was the news quite so welcome as the leading lady.
Girlie had been nearly a week now at Clavering Park and events were nerving her almost to the pitch of desperation. She had reached the point at which she hardly cared what happened. Yet if not exactly a fighter she had the tenacity that often goes with weak natures, and there were certain aspects of the adventure, strange nightmare as it was, that were delightful. In spite of the drawbacks to a position which she had been absolutely mad to accept, this was Life with a very large letter. As far as she herself was concerned it was all a wonder and a wild desire, a never-to-be-forgotten romance, a complex of soul-harrowing torments and delirious possibilities. She really felt that if she could emerge from this position of perilwithout being damned eternally in the sight of the world, she would have gained so much first-hand experience that she might hope to become one of the foremost novelists of her time and country.
All the same it needed every spark of will power she could summon not to run away. Each night as she came to assuage her throbbing temples with the luxury of King Edward’s bedroom and the incidents of the day recurred to her, how she contrived to go on “sticking it” she simply did not know. Time and again as she realized how near she must be to discovery she shuddered in the depths of her soul. And heaven knew what penalty would be exacted when the discovery was inevitably made!
Had a reasonable alternative presented itself she must have bolted after her abject failure at the third rehearsal. By no means a fool, she was only too keenly aware of the veiled hostility and the covert sarcasms of the other ladies. But what could she do? Where could she go? She had no money beyond a few rapidly diminishing Bradburys. She had no home, no friends; above all, she had thrown away her situation without any sort of hope of getting another one. Merely to review such a position was to induce a paralysis of the will. Whatever happened she must hold on a little while longer, if only in self defense. Yet as she clearly foresaw the time was surely coming when she must be found out, or still worse, when her overdrivennerves would give way and compel her to throw up the sponge.
It was a huge relief, therefore, to learn that the rehearsals were suspended until Sir Toby’s return. But it was certainly tempered as far as Miss Cass was concerned, by Mr. Minever’s announcement at breakfast that the little man had sworn a great oath that he would bring Monty Jupp back with him or he would die in the attempt. Opinion was divided as to whether or not Sir Toby would have to embrace the grim alternative. The majority, however, were so emphatic that Sir Toby’s mission was doomed to fail, that the trembling Girlie plucked up a little courage. After all there was still a slender hope that the mysterious Providence which so far had watched over her would continue to do so.
Before the morning was far advanced Girlie had quite an inspiration. She suddenly decided to set forth to The Laurels and seek advice from the person best able to give it. Moreover, this course of action commended itself to Pikey. When the Dragon was informed of the project she agreed that in the circumstances it was quite the best thing the Deputy could do and gave her some sound advice as to the best means of getting there.
Cunning was needed to escape the attentions of the hostess and her fellow guests. Yet it was not really difficult to slip away unseen, for by this time, having become thoroughly unpopular with the other membersof the house party, they were now leaving her severely alone. As Girlie’s conversation was confined almost exclusively to “Yes” and “No,” it had become rather a moot point with the others as to whether this was a form of “side” on the part of Lady Elfreda, or whether it was that she was merely a fool. The more charitable view was perhaps the latter. At any rate, her aloofness no longer caused surprise, while her movements generally roused no particular interest.
Duly instructed by Pikey and favored by a fair share of luck, Girlie arrived at The Laurels about half-past eleven. She was received by a rather supercilious parlor-maid, who met her demand to see Miss Cass by showing her into the drawing room. The parlor-maid then asked the name of the visitor. Girlie met the case by the modest formula, “Please say a lady would like to see her.”
It happened, however, that the ever-watchful mistress of the house was lurking near at hand. She had observed the visitor’s arrival from the window of the morning room and filled with curiosity she now intercepted the parlor-maid before she could deliver the message to Miss Cass.
“Who is it, Jarvis?”
“A lady, ma’am, to see Miss Cass. She won’t give her name, ma’am.”
“How odd.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson ruminated for a brief twenty seconds. Then she added, “I will tell Miss Cass myself.”
Further rumination followed. In the class of born-busybodies, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had claims to rank high. Curiosity stirred her in regard to this quite attractive-looking and decidedly well-turned-out young woman—Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson prided herself upon being a judge of such matters—who declined to give her name. And the new governess was enough of “a dark horse” already without having secretive callers to intensify the mystery. Therefore it took Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson less than a minute to seek the light for herself.
The mistress of the house entered the drawing room flutelike but dominant, and her unexpected appearance came to the visitor, who was girding herself to do battle with some one very different, as a complete surprise. Frankly, almost naïvely quizzical, the lady of the house made no secret of a desire for information. “Perhaps you will tell me who you are and then I will tell Miss Cass.”
Somehow Girlie had not been able to foresee that it would be necessary to provide herself with a name. But only too clearly a name was required. And on the spur of the moment there was only one that came to her. Almost in spite of herself it now sprang automatically to her lips.
“Lady Elfreda Catkin.”
It was a terrible blunder, and this Girlie realized at the very moment in which it was made. But, taken so completely by surprise, and faced withthe calm insistence of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson, no middle course seemed open. If anything, however, this revelation of identity added fuel to the flame of Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson’s curiosity. The mystery surrounding the new governess appeared to deepen considerably. And it grew more intriguing than ever.
Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was visibly impressed. Her first thought was that Miss Cass’s boast of the Lancelots being old friends of her mother’s was in some sort corroborated, her second thought was that the distinguished friends of the new governess made her so interesting that she was rather glad than otherwise that Miss Cass had not yet received a month’s notice. For the past four days, in fact, almost from the moment of the arrival of Dolores Parbury, who had taken a violent dislike to Miss Cass, the mistress of The Laurels had been at the point of terminating the engagement of that lady. But for some reason or other the drastic step had remained in abeyance, and as Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson made a dignified progress to the schoolroom she was inclined to rejoice that it had.
Miss Cass in that slow, cool, oddly imperious voice of hers, which had the malign power of driving the other ladies to secret fury, was in the act of setting a sulky Master Peter and a disgruntled Miss Joan to write to dictation. The children made no secret of the fact that they had a hearty dislike of Miss Cass, and that lady, if austerity of mien and acidity of tongue were any indication, hardly cared to disguise that theirfeelings were fully reciprocated. But as the smiling Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson floated into the room, with quite a new air of kindly politeness, and informed Miss Cass that Lady Elfreda Catkin had called to see her and that she now awaited her in the drawing room the heavy thunderclouds were momentarily dispersed. All the same, as Miss Cass laid down her book and her pencil they suddenly returned with added density.
“Another friend of your mother’s, Miss Cass?” There was not a suspicion of sarcasm in that discreet inquiry. It was the honest child of a shameless curiosity.
“Ye-es.” The somewhat ambiguous reply of Miss Cass was extremely reluctant. And there was a look on her face that Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson had no means of interpreting.
“Such a pretty girl.” Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson was a little inclined to gush. “And so very young to be such a clever actress.”
Miss Cass looked coldly down her arrogant nose. The little idiot must have taken leave of her wits!
The new governess did not seem to be anywise flattered by having such a very interesting young woman to call upon her. Thunderclouds gathered even more heavily about her as she rose from the table and made her way to the drawing room.
Consumed by an intense curiosity, Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson would dearly have liked to put her ear to the keyhole of the drawing room door. But the line hasto be drawn somewhere, and with a sigh Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson remembered that she was “a lady.” Well it was that she had this scruple, for the conversation the other side of the door must have increased the flame that was devouring her.
“Why areyouhere?” was Elfreda’s greeting to her pale and embarrassed counterfeit.
The answer was tears.
“I—I don’t think I can keep on.” So complex is the human mind that even in that moment of genuine tragedy poor Girlie could not help noticing with what an air of authority the blue serge skirt she had contrived out of her meager capital and the cunning of her own needle and the woolen jumper she had knitted herself were now invested. The trim form of their present wearer showed them off to rare advantage.
It was a painful meeting, nevertheless. Girlie was at the limit of endurance. In the pitiless view of the evil genius who had brought a highly respectable daughter of suburbia to the verge of ruin she looked even more rabbit-like than when she had seen her last. And at that moment Elfreda’s paramount desire was to shake her.
“I hope you don’t mean that you are going to run away?” There was a nascent ferocity that threatened actual bodily violence.
“I—I don’t know,” gasped the visitor.
“You don’t mean to say they’ve found out!”
Girlie reluctantly admitted that they had not yetactually done so, but that it was as certain as anything could be that the hour was near when all must be discovered.
“Not necessarily,” was the Stoic’s answer, “if only you keep on doing your best.”
But there is a limit to human endurance and Miss Cass seemed to have reached it already. Besides she was now in very deep waters indeed and in no sense was she a strong swimmer. Alarming developments threatened continually and she now felt that she simply could not go on.
However, she was in the toils of an implacable will.
“You are bound to go through with it now,” said the pitiless Elfreda. “It will let them down shamefully if you run away before the performance. You must at least wait until afterwards.”
“But I am sure to be found out.”
“You have not been found out yet, and you will not be—if you continue to do your best.”
Even if Miss Cass continued to do her best, however, and if by a supreme effort she brought herself finally to face the music, what must be the upshot of it all? She had no place to go to when this tragic farce was at an end. What was to become of her? The nearer she approached the abyss that yawned beneath her feet the wider and blacker it looked. In the end, as she knew only too well, that bottomless pit must devour her.
“But I will certainly find you another situation—when the time comes,” said Elfreda staunchly.
It was very well for the reckless author of the mischief to promise so boldly, but what did such a promise amount to? As far as Girlie was concerned the future appeared hopeless.
Besides, the matter had another aspect, of which the Deputy had lately been made aware. She was afraid, she was terribly afraid, that a certain peer was on the verge of proposing to her.
In the circumstances, it was a confession that Girlie felt bound to make to her principal. Humiliating the confession might be, a little demoralizing it certainly was, yet bound up in it was a sense of romance, a secret thrill of adventure. Somehow she felt bound in honor to tell Lady Elfreda what she feared was going to happen. Half shamefacedly she made her odd disclosure, and yet as she did so with many blushes, deep hesitations and some tears, it would be less than just to Girlie or to Girlie’s sex to say that pain was her dominant emotion.
As for Elfreda, when she grasped the true meaning of the disjointed, tremulous words, she was able to conceal her real feelings, whatever they might have been. In that art at least she was singularly adept. A light of humor burned in the eyes that seemed to peer into the very soul of Girlie Cass. And then an arrogant lip curled ever so slightly. She was justified, she was more than justified in what she had done! Thethought seared the pride of one who as yet had hardly begun to learn her own intrinsic value in the matter-of-fact world of men and things.
So this was the measure of the man whom her parents considered good enough for her! In the sight of this Crœsus any underbred little impostor was as eligible as her authentic self. Suddenly the red light was hoisted in Elfreda’s eyes. That rubbishy little thing to be accepted at her surface value! Elfreda’s face grew hard.
“What ought I to do?” twittered poor Girlie.
The eyes of this daughter of a picturesque race altered curiously in the fragment of time that elapsed before she could bring herself to answer the question.
Twittered poor Girlie again—“Do tell me, please, what I ought to do!”
“Do!” The scorn was cold drawn, barbaric. “Why, go back at once and make him propose to you. And”—the eyes were like those of Medusa—“don’t let me see or hear from you again until he has done so.”