XXII
Theladies were still drinking tea when a footman ushered in a visitor.
“Mrs. Lancelot.”
The elderly mistress of Amory Towers aroused the curiosity of even the professionalblasèeswho greeted her. She was “County.” They might seem to scorn her in the way they scorned all things and everybody, their veiled amusement had a touch of malice no doubt, but there was also Mrs. Lancelot’s faculty of engaging the interest of all the world and his wife to be reckoned with.
She was like nothing upon this earth—the yellow chrysanthemum lady, Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and Mrs. Conrad Jones were agreed upon that!—yet in her queer way the old dame stood for something. What she stood for was, no doubt, a bygone phase. She might have stepped out of a page of Punch for the year 1890. Her dress with its decided waist and its antediluvian tuckers round wrist and neck was of amethyst colored merino, a necklet of amethyst hung upon her ample chest, her hair with a Queen Alexandra fringe was barber’s blocked after the manner of royalty, her toque baffled all description, but it had pansies in it, and her manner, plain and practical rather than “grand,” carrieda weight that her odd appearance should have countervailed, yet somehow failed to do so. Mrs. Lancelot, no doubt, wasune figure pour rire, but only those very accomplished in the world could have got her “range” with a nicety sufficient to take advantage of the fact. Her present critics, for example, inclined to scorn as they were, could not help being fettered a little by a secret sense of their own inadequacy.
A dutiful neighbor, Mrs. Lancelot had called once on the yellow chrysanthemum lady and the call had been promptly returned. There, however, the intercourse had ceased. Somehow they had hardly set each other’s genius. But this afternoon there was no hint of that fact in Mrs. Lancelot’s entrance or of Mrs. Minever’s reception of her. The visitor was cautious, almost comically cautious, as she always was when not quite sure of her bearings; the yellow chrysanthemum lady was slightly more exuberant than usual, as she was apt to be when cherishing a similar doubt on her own part. In the sight of Mrs. Spencer-Jobling, rather declassèe daughter of a not undistinguished sire, it was as good as a play to see them together: this resolute survivor of a discredited phase of human history—the august visitor’s relations had held more than one job about the court of Victoria the Good—and the forthcoming hostess who made no secret of the fact that she was bored by “frills” and “fine shades.”
The reason of Mrs. Lancelot’s visit to Clavering Park, if not immediately clear, was soon revealed. Adiscerning but imperious eye fixed itself upon Girlie, who, seated a little apart from the others in a bergère chair, was feeling a strong desire to take cover inside her tea cup.
Mrs. Lancelot took a vacant chair by her side and began to converse in a low, intimate tone.
“You are not at all like your mother.” Mrs. Lancelot’s direct mode of attack made Girlie tremble. “You are not like your father, either. You look rather tired, my dear.”
The Deputy mumbled a brief denial, which unfortunately was quite inaudible.
“Are you feeling tired?”
Girlie had the presence of mind to say that she had been working very hard at the rehearsals.
“Mustn’t work too hard. You look quite run down.” And then Mrs. Lancelot proceeded energetically, “You must come over to us, my dear. A change will do you good. I have written to your mother to tell her. We are very old friends, your mother and I—old school-fellows, in fact—and, of course, third cousins once removed. You must come at once. I am sure you need a change and Ethel thinks so, too.”
Little shivers began to trickle down Girlie’s spine. She was in no mood to exchange the ills she knew for the ills she could only surmise, for, as she realized, these might so easily prove the more terrible.
“Yes, you must come to us.” In the saurian aspect of Mrs. Lancelot there was something quite alarming.“Your mother would like it. Now, when shall it be?”
The prospect of a visit to Amory Towers reduced Girlie to a frozen silence. A look of fear came in her eyes. Mrs. Lancelot was not one to notice subtleties of any kind, but, happily, the yellow chrysanthemum lady, as soon as she learned what was in the wind, did not hesitate to come to the rescue of her guest. For one thing, the daughter of Lord Carabbas, with all her limitations, was the undoubtedpièce de resistanceof the house party; and Mrs. Minever was inclined to accept Lady Elfreda’s reluctance as an unexpected compliment to the life she was leading at Clavering Park. Heaven knew what was passing through the odd creature’s mind, but if those scared eyes and that rather hunted look had any meaning, it was clear enough that she infinitely preferred Clavering Park to Amory Towers!
“I’m afraid Lady Elfreda can’t be spared—until after the performance on Tuesday, at any rate.”
Mrs. Minever’s boldness was rewarded by a look of pure gratitude, but also it incurred the penalty of an almost truculent, “Why not, pray?” from the august visitor.
“Well, you see,” the yellow chrysanthemum lady stoutly rejoined, “so many rehearsals will be necessary between now and Tuesday. Sir Toby Philpot says everything is so behind hand that as soon as Mr. Jupp arrives they will have to go on all day.”
These sinister words fell upon Girlie like a sword.She was between the devil and the deep, deep sea. Paralysis of will was added now to her other miseries. On the verge of collapse, she sank back in her chair.
Mrs. Lancelot, however, was not to be put off. She was a lady who liked her own way, and on most occasions was accustomed to get it. But on this occasion she had to submit to a compromise. Lady Elfreda must come to Amory Towers, but her visit should be deferred until Tuesday the-all-important was safely over.
“Wednesday, then—let us say Wednesday,” said the august visitor.
The yellow chrysanthemum lady promised that Wednesday it should be, while Girlie smiled weakly. Mrs. Lancelot, having carried her point more or less, graciously accepted a cup of the fresh tea that had been procured for her. Perhaps, by the light of later events, it had been better for Girlie had she not done so. For Mrs. Lancelot, before taking her leave, proceeded to harrow the souls of her hearers. She had a sinister tale to unfold. A gang of thieves were at work in the neighborhood. The Channings had had the Priory ransacked while they were at dinner, and poor Lady Emily had suffered the loss of a most valuable diamond pendant. There had also been a most suspicious parlor-maid at the Towers, but luckily she had been sent away before anything of real value had been missed. But Major Hocking, the chief constable, thought the gang so dangerous that Mrs. Lancelothad been advised to send her jewels and some of her silver to the bank, and she had accordingly done so.
“I tell you this, Mrs. Minever,” said the visitor in her mostaffairétone, “because in such times as these one cannot be too careful.”
The yellow chrysanthemum lady thought the remark very sensible and expressed her gratitude for the information. It confirmed the rumors she had heard. On the other hand, Mrs. Spencer-Jobling was inclined to think that all stories of the kind were apt to be exaggerated, but Mrs. Lancelot rent her at once with chapter and verse.
“No, after the experience of the Channings one should really take every precaution.” And with a rather elaborate leave-taking of Lady Elfreda, and one more informal of people less exalted, Mrs. Lancelot augustly went her way.