XXVI
THESE were great days. It was not long before social engagements began to pour in upon Mame. She had surmised rightly that Lady Violet had influence. Indeed this new and most valuable friend seemed to have a finger in every pie. Her power of “wangling” things was extraordinary.
There could be no doubt about her popularity. And it was not confined to one class. The charlady at the flat, the young man who delivered the milk, the stalwart ex-soldier who worked the lift, right up to the formidable Davis and the princes of the earth were one and all devoted to her. For one thing she was the soul of good humour, with a word and a smile for everybody; and she had a divine faculty of loving a kind action for its own sake.
Lady Violet was a general favourite and she had many strings to pull. As far as Mame was concerned she pulled them freely. Little Miss Chicago began to be invited here, there, and everywhere. And surprisingly few questions were asked. At the outset, it is true, certain nicely brushed and plucked eyebrows—mostly those of Miss Du Rance’s own countrywomen, who seemed to abound in Mayfair—were apt to go up at finding her sitting opposite them at dinner and atluncheon. But the fact that she was a protégée of Lady Violet’s seemed to accredit her, to account for her, as it were.
Mrs. Creber Newsum, quite frankly, had never heard the name Du Rance all the time she had lived in America. Lady Summerscale, née Vanderdecken, who owned to Chicago connections, had never heard of it either. As for the dear Duchess, whose great grandmother had taken out the original patent for the New York Four Hundred, she was sure, my dear, well she was quite, quite sure—!
Still, Mame had luck to begin with. And she had excellent brains. Above all she had a very judicious and clever sponsor. Lady Violet understood just how far she could go with her own particular world. She knew its little weaknesses and how to play upon them.
In launching, as much perhaps for her private amusement as for any other reason, “my friend Miss Du Rance of Chicago,” into this expensive hothouse, she contrived to let it be known in her own two-edged phrase that this little American “was the richest thing that ever happened.”
Certain people, to whom money was the beginning and the end of all things, were only too eager to accept the phrase at its face value. They took it quite literally. Somehow it so fully explained Miss Du Rance.
“Chicago, my dear.” One lynx-eyed old dowager would whisper to another who had the ears of a fox.“Poppa was hogs. One hears the money he made in the War was fabulous.”
That accounted for Miss Du Rance. Five years had passed since the Armistice, but the Hogs, all frozen and pickled, that Britons of every rank and class had been compelled to digest and the prices they had had to pay for the privilege during the years of famine had crystallised already into one of the permanent traditions of the race.
Seeing is believing. The same applies to eating. “Hogs, my dear. Poppa was hogs.” It seemed to follow, as night follows day, that little Miss Chicago simply could not help being the richest thing that ever happened. And it was wonderful how the rumour spread. Sophisticated souls looked upon Miss Du Rance with awe.
Mame, at first, was not aware of this interesting fact. Even she, cute as she was, did not immediately strike to the root of Lady Violet’s subtlety. That little event was to come later. But even while Mame dwelt in a state of innocence, her uncanny sharpness gave her a perception of the rôle to play.
As far as Mayfair was concerned Miss Du Rance was the only one of her kind. She was something new. And the society in which she began to move had a love of novelty. Behind little Miss Chicago, however, was something more substantial than mere novelty. So cunningly did Lady Violet handle the rumour of her dollars that it seemed not only to vindicate Miss Du Rance, it also served to explain her. Great wealthwas needed to carry off such naïveté. Did not the one connote the other? Unless in a literal sense she was the richest thing that ever happened she could never have penetrated so far into the arcana of London’s exclusiveness. And without a colossal fortune how could she afford to be the child of nature that she was?
It was whispered that Pop had begun the War a simple farmer of hogs and had ended by cornering them. The rapidity of his rise into one of the great magnates of the Middle West explained his early decease. It also explained his daughter. Dear Violet was receiving a pretty penny for towing her round, it was said. Everybody, of her own sex, envied and admired the courage of that lady. But the more sporting members were laying rather long odds that her protégée would not be presented at any one of the Season’s drawing rooms; while the most speculatively inclined were ready to lay rather shorter odds thatla belle Américainewould not even be seen at one of the minor Buck House garden parties.
Beyond a hint from Lady Violet, at the beginning of this odyssey in her young life, Mame had nothing to go on; but it was wonderful how soon she saw what was expected of her. There was, her sponsor had laughingly said, a far better chance of Miss Du Rance of Chicago receiving a ticket for the Royal Enclosure at Ascot from the Lord Chamberlain if she “stood,” as it were, upon Pop’s mythical wealth, than if she took the humbler rôle of weekly correspondent of the New YorkMonitor. Nay, to be frank, andLady Violet generally was in her arch way, journalism cut no ice in the circles in which Mame was ambitious to move. Those circles were rippling with inside information; the value of the entrée, journalistically speaking, could hardly be exaggerated; but Mame should remember that the key was wrought of dollars rather than of sensitive grey matter.
A nod is as good as a wink sometimes. Mame promptly took the hint. She was beginning to set her heart on big things. These ambitions would mean a considerable increase of expenditure, because even the appearance of money cannot altogether be counterfeited. But every nickel spent now would be a means to a definite end. Yet there were anxious moments to begin with; and it was well that she had a solid rock upon which to lean.
Financially Mame’s burdens had been much lightened by the generosity of her friend. She had no house-room to pay for; Cousin Edith’s vacant bed was at her disposal gratis. Then, too, she was very well paid for her labours upon the weekly syndicate letter.
Quite at the outset of what by all the omens should have been a smooth and prosperous voyage there came a threat of shipwreck. It so happened that when the specimen letter to New York, which finally they decided to sign with the nom de plume Clio, had been carefully pondered and copied and sealed ready for dispatch, Mame suddenly went back on her too hasty decision to let Lady Violet have things all her own way.In deference to her scruples the most valuable of their assets had been scrapped; the rumour of a Royal duke’s engagement to one of America’s queens had been cut out.
At the last moment, however, such a piece of quixotism was a little too much for Mame’s news sense. She realised the enormous value of this item. They were playing for a high stake and yet they were deliberately throwing away the ace of trumps. Surely it was worth taking a risk. Principles are good things, no doubt, but in up-to-date press work they can be overdone.
Lady Violet, as it chanced, was in a hurry to dress for the play and an early dinner in the entourage of a newspaper magnate; and Mame, who had no engagement of her own that evening, undertook personally to register the parcel, so that there should be no mistake about its getting to New York.
Alone with the parcel, alas, the devil tempted her. Why, oh why, throw away such a chance as might never recur! She turned to the wastepaper basket, fished out the discarded item and re-read it wistfully. Beyond a doubt it was the very bit of sugar they most wanted. As she scanned her native skies there was not an editor in New York who would not fall for that piece of news. Hardening her heart, she sat down at the typewriter, made a fair copy of the crumpled script, and then, breaking the sealed packet, she inserted the forbidden “par” and sealed it again.
Even in the midst of the rash act, conscience threatenedMame with whips and scorpions to follow. But, after all, it was an equal partnership; she knew better than her friend what the effect would be in New York. Besides, why make a mountain out of a molehill? Even if there was a shine over this spicy par, they would no doubt be able to survive it. In any case there was likely to be very substantial compensation. For in Mame’s view that tit-bit would clinch the matter. It had a real chance of putting them in solid with the most worth-while newspapers in America. They would be able to get a fine contract for their weekly cable and then could snap their fingers at all the moguls between Washington and Windsor.
Once the fell deed was done, however, and the parcel dispatched from the post office in Dover Street, Mame’s conscience got busy. It came down upon her like a ton of bricks. She had done a thing that even complete success would not justify; she had gone back on her word; she had been disloyal; she had proved that she was simply not to be trusted. And if the game went wrong, and Lady Violet had shown conclusively that it was a highly dangerous one to play, most likely the too-clever Miss Du Rance would get it where the chicken got the axe.
Mame was not in the habit of repenting her actions. Long ago she had steeled her will against a pernicious harbouring of regrets; but she had some pretty bad moments to pass through. Retribution visited her pillow nightly.
Never in her life had she been lacking in courage,moral or physical. But now came signs of a yellow streak. She dare not tell Lady Violet what she had done. With all her genuine kindness, her gay insouciance, Mame was yet sure that she was not a kind of girl who could be trifled with. And look at the matter in what light one would, this trick was not quite on the level.
“Serve me right if I’m fired,” was Mame’s constant thought. “I ought to have put myself in solid before I tried these fancy strokes. And it isn’t Class, anyway.”
However, there it was. Even if a greedy little puss in her haste to get at the cream had upset the jug altogether, it was no use miaouing. All the same it took some of the warmth out of the sunshine of the Green Park; the band of the Pinks did not seem to play ragtime quite so rhythmically; the excitements of the new orientation were less stimulating than they should have been; the hope of an invitation to the Royal garden party less exhilarating; the world hardly so full of colour and romance as the circumstances warranted.
Had it not been for this large fly in the ointment, the new life would have been a thing of joy. The times were stirring. Luncheons, matinées, dinners, dances, parties crowded one another. Lady Violet, indeed, had influence. On each occasion, it is true, Mame had more or less to run the gauntlet, but she had the spirit of a fighter and she bore herself right gallantly.
Each week she got prettier; each week her confidencegrew. Like all the rest of her countrywomen, of whatever grade they belonged, she had a very keen social sense. In a time surprisingly short, as viewed by the more conservative and less daring Briton, she began to get the hang of things. With just a little help, she soon learned what could be worn and what could not, what could be said and what could not, what could be done and what could not.
It was a pity that she had already done one of the things she ought not to have done. Otherwise everything in the garden would have been just lovely.
Even as it was the garden was real nice. She promised to become a favourite at some of the smart houses within a stone’s throw of her present abode. At the Orient Dance Club, in particular, she wasun succès fou. Her style of moving was admired, her sayings were quoted; her personality, which seemed to develop and make more impact each time she appeared, began to wax in the public eye.
She was no longer the small-town rustic. Nor was she the struggling New York journalist who had to gaze wistfully at both sides of a dollar. The rôle of Miss Du Rance of Chicago suited her infinitely better. Even Miss Childwick, by nature a trifle supercilious, poor dear, had to defer to her in certain ways. Miss Du Rance was so much quicker in the uptake, so much more forceful, altogether so much cleverer. A slightly strained look began to appear in the eyes of Miss Three Ply Flannelette whenever her name was mentioned.
All the same, as Mame foresaw, the pace was a bit too hot to last. Something was due to happen. She was rather a fatalist by nature; and having gone out of her way to find trouble, she fully expected to fetch up pretty soon against a round nugget.
Why had she not let well alone! The truth was bound, sooner or later, to come out. Every time Davis, who had the look of a baby-eating ogress, came into the room with letters on a silver tray, Mame had a presentiment that some old Court fool of an ambassador had written to complain. And when that happened, as conscience said it sure must, Lady Violet being the kind of girl she was, there would be ructions.
To make things worse, although nearly four weeks had flown since “Clio’s” specimen copy had been urgently posted to New York, no word had yet been received on the subject. What did Elmer P. think of thatballon d’essai? as Lady Violet called it. What a fool Miss Slick Puss would look if, even with a bit of illicit spice stuck in the middle of her cake, Clio was turned down after all!