XXV
HadGirlie’s state of mind allowed her to enjoy a sense of triumph, she might have fittingly indulged it when dinner time approached. She had been through a most severe ordeal and had emerged with flying colors. Really, she had “kept up her end” splendidly. How she had contrived to do so was more than she could say; a latent genius must have taken possession of her; but Mr. Montagu Jupp, that terrible Old Man of the Sea whose arrival she had dreaded beyond all things, whose mere appearance upon the scene was to prove the last straw, had congratulated her personally, if not exactly upon her acting, upon her knowledge of her part. Moreover, she still lived. Mr. Jupp, for some inexplicable reason, had not given her away. He had addressed her several times as “Lady Elfreda” without a hint ofarriére pensée, and in all good faith. And the praises of this remarkable man had added so much to her prestige, that she was quite sure that Mrs. Spencer-Jobling and the other ladies were now furiously jealous.
Mr. Jupp’s attitude was so incomprehensible and her own success so great a surprise to herself, that in spite of everything she had a secret satisfaction when she came to dress for dinner. But that emotion wasbrief. Hardly had the Deputy submitted herself to the hands of Pikey when she learnt that the maid was in a towering passion.
“What do you think?”—Grab!—“Me of all people”—Twist!—“I’ve a mind to have the law of ’em”—Shake!—“So I have”—Shake!
Thus the prelude. And the aria to follow was quite as impressive.
It seemed that Mrs. Pike having been duly informed that a diamond and sapphire ring was missing and that the master of the house, although not knowing whom to suspect, was consulting the police, had had the singular ill-fortune to overhear two of the servants discussing the matter. And in the course of the conversation one of them had said “that she wouldn’t be at all surprised if that old Marchioness had taken it. Anyhow, she was quite sure that the Marchioness was not quite right in her head.”
For several hours poor Pikey had brooded savagely upon the implication. It was the deepest insult—second-hand though it was—that she had ever received. She hardly knew how to bear it. Even now, as she prepared a bath for the Deputy, she was not at all sure that she would not lodge a complaint with the mistress of the house.
Such a reminder of the perils all around dashed Girlie at once. The new sense of elation was nipped before it had time to bloom. This unlucky disappearance of the pearl necklace added very dark tints to thepicture, for when the inevitable exposure occurred it was in the nature of things that suspicion would fall upon herself. Even as it was Pikey was so incensed by what she had heard that she was quite likely to court disaster by making a fuss.
After a bath which was less enjoyable than it might have been, Girlie did her best to combat this half-formed resolution of the maid. Before doing so, however, she gently but firmly took charge of the hairbrushes and insisted upon applying them personally to her own scalp. It needed courage, but it called for even greater courage to allow Pikey to do her office in her present savage mood.
A hairbrush in each hand, the Deputy begged the Werewolf not to stir up strife unnecessarily. But somehow the appeal did but minister to Pikey’s wrath.
“Yes, I’ll tell the mistress of the house.” The Werewolf bared her fangs.
“If you do,” said the miserable Deputy, “everything may come out.”
“I hope it does. I’m sick and tired of this.”
“But if it does come out, they are certain to suspect me and I may have to go to prison.”
It was the falsest of all false moves. Girlie realized the fact almost as soon as it was made. But this cruel situation was always driving her too hard.
“So much the better if you do have to go to prison.” Pikey’s words were scornful and deliberate. “I hope you will, I’m sure.”
The callous speech took away Girlie’s breath. But for the moment only. In the next she had unconsciously proved that she was not the Girlie of a week ago. “If you give me away”—the thin, high-pitched voice quivered ominously—“and I do have to go to prison, I’ll take good care, Mrs. Pike, that you come, too.”
The words gave pause to Mrs. Pike.
“They can’t touch me—not the police can’t,” she said after a brief period of reflection. “I am not pretending to be her ladyship. I am not pretending to be any one.”
“No, you’re not,” said Girlie. “But”—inspired by the bizarre knowledge that may lurk in an out-of-the-way corner of the brain of a solicitor’s daughter—“you are an accessory after the fact, please don’t forget that.”
The chance shot went home. Pikey was reduced to savage mumblings. For the time being, at least, she had met with her quietus.