The Rain-Girl/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
LADY DREWITT'S ALARM
I THINK my pride was hurt." Lola looked across at Beresford with a faint smile. "You see," she continued, "auntie was very cross with me and she said things about what men think of girls who—who" she broke off.
"But why did you go away without a word?" he asked. "I thought—oh! it was hell, just hell."
"My dear!" Her eyes contracted as she looked at him, and he saw tears in their depths.
"Don't you think that you might have rung me up the next morning?" she asked gently.
"After the luncheon?" he queried.
She nodded.
"I did; but you were out."
"Auntie has gone away. I'm afraid I have been very ungrateful; but I had to—to say something after those—those" She looked across at him helplessly. "Auntie vows she will never speak to me again," she added.
Beresford strove to disguise the relief he felt at the news that Mrs. Crisp was to go out of Lola's life. To change the subject he suggested that they should call on Lady Drewitt that afternoon and tell her their news.
"Oh! yes, let's," she cried eagerly, her eyes sparkling.
"But who's to pay for the lunch?" he asked gloomily. "Drew has evidently forgotten us, and I literally haven't a penny. I had five pounds in my pocket-book."
Her eyes danced with fun.
"You've got to begin living on me, Jerry," she cried.
"Don't!" There was something in his voice that caused her mood instantly to change.
"Oh, my dear!" she cried, "you mustn't feel like that."
For some moments there was silence, Beresford gazing gloomily at the end of his cigarette, she watching him anxiously.
"Why do you call me Jerry?" he asked at length, looking up and smiling at her a little wanly, she thought.
"I've always called you that in my own mind," she said. "Ever since I was sitting on that gate and you laughed."
"But why?" he persisted.
"I don't know," she shook her head vigorously. "You'll learn never to ask me why," she added, with a swift upward glance from under her lashes. "I'm the maddest creature that ever was, once I let myself go." Then with a swift change of mood she burst out, "Oh, Jerry, do try and understand me! No one ever has, and don't, please don't, ever hurt me." She looked across at him with eager, pleading eyes. "You see," she added, "I don't understand myself, not the weeniest bit in the world."
He smiled, still unable to realise the strange jugglings of fate by which he had become possessed of this wonderful creature. A few hours previously he had almost consigned himself to the Great Adventure; now he was about to embark on what promised to be an even greater adventure. It was all too strange, too mysterious, too bewildering for a man's brain to assimilate in a few short hours.
"Now," she cried, "go and get your hat."
"I can get it as I go out, Rain-Girl," he said.
"Go—and—get—your—hat," she repeated, emphasising each word.
"But" he began.
"Jerry!" This in such a comical tone of admonition that, laughing in spite of himself, he rose an walked towards the door.
Swiftly Lola beckoned the waiter, paid the bill, and was at Beresford's side just as the man was handing him his stick.
Turning, he looked at her and suddenly realised why it was that he had been sent away.
"Rain-Girl," he whispered, "I think we shall be very happy when—when I get used to it."
"Am I as bad as that?" she enquired. "It sounds like a new pair of boots."
"Will you stand me a taxi?" he asked.
And then she knew she had won.
In the taxi neither of them spoke. Beresford was still dazed by the rapidity with which events had succeeded one another. He was conscious of a desire to get away to some wind-swept moor where he could think things out for himself. A few hours ago Lola had seemed to him as far away as the stars; now owing to one of fate's strangest freaks, she was his. He felt as a navvy might feel on having thrust into his arms the crown jewels of England. What would he do? Probably stand and stare at them in open-mouthed bewilderment. Perhaps He caught Lola's eye upon him.
"It's no good, Rain-Girl," he said, "I can't realise it."
"Realise what?" she questioned.
"It, everything. This is not a real taxi," he continued. "You are not a real Rain-Girl. I am not a real I. I'm just like the navvy."
"Like the what?" she asked with puckered brows. He explained the allusion.
She laughed.
"Is that why you suggested Lady Drewitt?" she asked. "I think she'll be good for you, Jerry."
At that moment the taxi swung in towards the pavement and drew up with a squeak. Beresford got out.
"Tell him to drive to the Belle Vue," said Lola.
"But" he began looking at her in surprise.
"No," she said, shaking her head with decision. "I'm not coming in. Lady Drewitt will bring you back to earth."
For a moment he hesitated, showing the disappointment he felt, then conscious that the door of Lady Drewitt's mansion had been thrown open by the watchful Payne, he gave the taxi-driver the address, lifted his hat, and walked slowly up the steps.
"Her ladyship at home, Payne?" he enquired in a voice that convinced the butler he was unwell.
"I'll enquire, sir," said Payne, and he disappeared in the direction of the morning-room.
A minute later Beresford was apologising to Lady Drewitt for so early a call.
"Sit down, Richard," she commanded. She was always at her best in the morning-room, Beresford thought, sitting upright in her chair like an Assyrian goddess, an expression on her face as implacable as that of Destiny. "What is it?" she demanded.
"Personally I think it's a dream," he said as he took the chair on which Lady Drewitt had fixed her eyes.
"What is the matter with you, Richard?" To Lady Drewitt, all deviations from the normal were suggestive of illness.
Suddenly some spirit of mischief took possession of him.
"Well, Aunt Caroline," he began hesitatingly, "I'm afraid I've got myself into"
"What have you been doing?" There was both anxiety and asperity in Lady Drewitt's tone.
"Well, it's rather serious," he began; "I'm afraid you'll"
"What—have—you—been—doing?" demanded Lady Drewitt, in a tone suggestive of the great restraint she was exercising over her emotions.
"I hardly like to tell you," he temporised, seeing in his aunt's eyes fear, fear lest he, Richard Beresford, had done anything that would compromise her and the family.
"Richard, I insist on your telling me what has happened."
"I'm going to get married," he said.
"Married!"
What it was that happened Beresford was never quite able to determine; but Lady Drewitt's figure seemed to undergo some strange convulsion, causing her chair to recede at least two inches and she with it. Never had he seen surprise manifest itself so overwhelmingly. She sat staring at him as if he had suddenly changed into a camelopard or a four-winged griffin.
"You see," he began apologetically, "I'm twenty-eight and you are always urging Drew to marry."
"Going to get married!" repeated Lady Drewitt, as if she had not yet properly realised the significance of the words. "Who—who are you going to marry?" Again there was the note of fear in her voice.
"She" he began with simulated hesitation, "she's a girl I met on a gate."
"Met on a what?" almost shouted Lady Drewitt.
"Oh, a gate," he repeated evenly. "A thing that opens and shuts, you know," he added, as if to admit of no possibility of misunderstanding. "It was the day I got pneumonia."
Through Lady Drewitt's mind there flashed the thought of some designing country girl, who had entrapped her nephew. Probably she had helped to nurse him, had heard who he was and, convinced that his aunt would see he was well provided for, had determined to marry him.
"Who is she?" With an effort Lady Drewitt regained her self-control, "and what was she doing on a stile?"
"It was a gate," corrected Beresford. "It led from the high-road into a meadow and"
"What—was—she—doing—on—a—gate?" Lady Drewitt was not to be denied.
"She was smoking a cigarette," he explained, "and it was raining. That's what struck me"
"But what was she doing there at all?" Lady Drewitt drew in her lips until nothing but a thin, grey line was visible.
"She was tramping," he explained, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for a girl to do.
"A tramp!" cried Lady Drewitt, the full horror of the situation seeming to dawn upon her. "A tramp!"
"It was rather a coincidence, wasn't it?" he smiled.
"You're mad, Richard," she cried, "you've always been a fool; but now you're mad." She snapped her jaws with an incisiveness that made him shudder. "It must be put a stop to."
"Put a stop to," he repeated vaguely. "What must be put a stop to?"
"Your marrying a tramp."
"But I don't want to put a stop to it, and," he added as an afterthought, "you might get to like her."
"Like her!" Lady Drewitt spoke in italics.
"Perhaps it's destiny," he ventured with resignation.
"Fiddlesticks."
"But"
"I tell you, Richard, I will not allow this marriage."
"But suppose she were to insist. You see, she's rather fond of me, Aunt Caroline."
"If she attempts to sue you for breach-of-promise, the case must be compromised." Lady Drewitt spoke as if that settled the matter.
Beresford smiled at the thought of Lola suing him for breach-of-promise.
"They couldn't fix the damages high," continued Lady Drewitt, irrevocably pursuing her own line of reasoning. "You've got no money."
"As a matter of fact I was going to ask you to lend me two shillings for a taxi-fare," he said gravely; "I literally haven't a penny."
"And yet you propose to marry. Are you mad, Richard? Are you really mad?" She leaned forward slightly as if to enable herself to determine with greater certainty whether or not her nephew had entirely lost his reason.
"I'm sorry that you disapprove of my marriage," he said meekly. "I've always tried to please you."
"You've done nothing of the sort, and you know it."
"I've always tried to please you," he continued imperturbably; "but I've always failed."
"You have." She nodded her head grimly.
"I felt that I ought to tell you. I'm sorry if it annoys"
"You've done nothing but annoy me ever since you were born," was the angry retort. "You were a most tiresome child. Your poor, dear mother would insist on giving you the most unhealthy toys."
"Unhealthy toys?"
"Yes, Noah's Arks and things with paint on them, and you licked off the paint and were always horribly ill afterwards."
"I suppose that's what's the matter with me now," he murmured. "I've been licking off the paint from the conventional ideas of happiness, and it's made me horribly ill."
"Don't talk nonsense," commanded Lady Drewitt. "What are you going to do?"
"Marry her, I suppose. I see no way out of it."
For a full minute Lady Drewitt regarded him suspiciously.
"So," she said at length, a note of triumph in her voice, "you are already regretting your folly. Was it through this girl that you came to London?"
"I'm afraid it was." He gazed down at the point of his cane.
"Where are you staying now?"
"To-night I'm afraid it will be Rowton's Lodging House, if I can borrow sixpence from Drew."
For a moment Lady Drewitt gazed at him irresolutely, then reaching across to a table at her side, she turned the key in the drawer and opened it. From inside she took a case containing one-pound notes, selected two and held them out to Beresford.
"No, Aunt Caroline," he said, shaking his head as he rose, "although it's very good of you. Perhaps when I'm married you might stand godmother"
"Richard!" There was such poignant horror in her voice that he felt a little ashamed of himself.
"I'm afraid I must be going now," he said.
"I want to know where I can find you?" There was a note in her voice that convinced him she was evolving a plan to save him from Lola's clutches.
"I shall telephone to Drewitt."
"He knows."
"What did he say?"
"He made some remark about marriage being the reckless assumption of another man's responsibility."
"Where shall you be staying?" Lady Drewitt was not to be diverted from her purpose.
"St. James's Chambers in Jermyn Street will always find me," he replied.
Lady Drewitt continued to gaze at the door long after it had closed behind her nephew, whom she was convinced was mad.
"Payne," said Beresford, as the butler came out of the pantry, "how is your rheumatism, and will you lend me sixpence?"
"Will I lend you sixpence, sir?" repeated Payne, in astonishment.
"I asked you two questions, Payne. How is your rheumatism, and will you lend me sixpence? You merely repeat the second; that is very feminine."
The butler regarded him with a startled expression.
"The rheumatism, sir, is—is a little better to-day, and" From his trouser-pocket he drew out a handful of silver and hesitatingly extended it.
Selecting sixpence Beresford pocketed it with great deliberation.
"Now a pencil and a piece of paper," he said, "only be quick, because I'm in a hurry."
Payne trotted off to the pantry, re-appearing a few minutes later with the required articles.
Beresford wrote: "I.O.U. the sum of sixpence, Richard Beresford."
"That," he remarked, handing the paper to Payne, "is as good as a banknote. You can distrain upon my estate, or make your claim against my executors, administrators or assigns. Thank you, Payne."
Just as Beresford turned to the door that Payne proceeded to open for him, he was conscious of Lady Drewitt coming out of the morning-room. She had obviously heard his last remark.
At the corner of Curzon Street Beresford hesitated. Lola had told him that she would not be back at the Belle Vue until late. He therefore decided to call in at the club in the hope of finding his cousin. On entering the smoking-room he discovered Drewitt in the clutches of Sir Redman Bight, who was explaining to him in great detail why woman could never become a determining factor in political life.
In his cousin Drewitt saw the straw at which the drowning man is supposed to clutch. With a muttered apology to Sir Redman, he crossed to where Beresford stood.
"Richard," he said, as he reached his side, "if ever you require anything of me, even unto half my possessions, remind me of this moment."
Beresford led the way to the further corner of the room.
"The dental-chair, foot-and-mouth-disease, rabies, and universal suffrage, all have their place in life's chamber of horrors," murmured Drewitt, sinking into a chair, "but Sir Redman Bight" he broke off.
"Never mind about Bight," said Beresford.
"In this club," continued Drewitt, "every man seems to have a theory upon something or other. Only yesterday I was talking to Sir Damville Brackett, at least Sir Damville Brackett was talking to me, and as far as I could gather, his view appeared to be that the real cause of the present labour unrest is directly traceable to golf, and the fact that both players do not use the same ball as in footer. He really was quite interesting about it. But of yourself, Richard?"
Beresford proceeded to outline what had taken place. By the time he had finished the waiter had brought the two whiskies-and-sodas Drewitt had ordered.
"By the way," said Beresford, as he replaced his glass on the table at his side, "why didn't you turn up at lunch?"
"There are occasions, Richard," drawled Drewitt, "when you are as obvious as Streatham Common, or a Labour M.P."
"I see," nodded Beresford, "but I hope you realise that you left Lola to pay for the lunch."
"As bad as that?"
"I hadn't a sou on me."
"It's always a mistake to try and help young lovers," said Drewitt with resignation.
"I had to borrow sixpence from Payne to get here," said Beresford. "I gave him an I.O.U. for it."
"My dear Richard." Drewitt leaned forward with interest. "I wish you would tell me how you got here for sixpence. I've never been successful in getting anywhere for sixpence, although I frequently try. Once I tried to get from Piccadilly to Victoria by omnibus, and got to Hampstead for fivepence; but as it cost me four shillings for a taxi to get back, I couldn't really consider that a fair test."
At that moment a page approached, telling Drewitt that he was wanted on the telephone.
"Page," he said, looking at the boy reproachfully, "haven't I repeatedly told you that I'm never here?"
"Yes, my lord," piped the boy, looking up into Drewitt's face with a pair of innocent blue eyes, "but the lady told me to come and tell you that she was Lady Drewitt."
"Page, such ingenuousness is wasted at the Diplomatic Club, you were meant for the Church," and with a look of reproach at Beresford, he walked towards the door, followed by the grinning page.
For nearly a quarter of an hour Beresford smoked contentedly, pondering over this new phase in his affairs. When at last Drewitt returned, he sat for fully a minute regarding his cousin.
"Richard," he said at length, "you have achieved what I've been striving after for years."
Beresford looked at him with raised eyebrows.
"For the first time in her existence the aunt is experiencing real anguish of soul, and you are the cause. I congratulate you."
Beresford smiled; but made no comment.
"Incidentally she informed me that you are about to contract an alliance with a gipsy. I assured her that I would endeavour to dissuade you, as I already possess all the mats, brooms and wicker-chairs that I require, much as I should like to encourage you in your new vocation."
"What did she say?" enquired Beresford lazily.
"She said things, Richard, that should not be allowed to pass over even a private-line connecting a woman's club with the Suffragette Headquarters. She stripped life of its adornments, attacked Lloyd George and the Kaiser with marked impartiality. She deplored the rise of democracy and the payment of M.P.'s. She reproached Nature for her obsolete methods in providing for the continuance of the race. She held up to the open light of day your iniquitous conduct in proposing to marry a road-girl. She implied that I was responsible for your determination, stating in clear and unambiguous terms that I exercise an evil influence upon you. She suggested that no man could know me without wanting to marry a road-girl, tramp or whatever it was she had in mind."
Drewitt paused to sip his whisky-and-soda. With a sigh of weariness he continued:
"She asked me if she were expected to keep you iand your wife to-be, together with any infantile complications that might arise out of the union. I assured her that I was not in your confidence to that extent. Then in a voice that caused the wire to throb she asked who was to keep you and your vagabond wife; the expression is hers. Personally, I disclaimed any such intention, pointing out that it would be neither delicate nor decent for a peer of the realm to keep another man's wife. It was at this juncture that she accused me of coarseness and a lack of that refinement which, as far as I could gather, forms the most attractive bait for unsophisticated heiresses."
Drewitt paused to light a cigarette and once more sip his whisky-and-soda.
"At last," he continued, "I had to remind her that this was the Diplomatic Club, where no one ever speaks his mind or conveys facts except in a form disguised beyond all recognition. Finally, she ordered me to seek you out and restrain you. Now, Richard, speaking as man to man, and as friends, not to say cousins, how do you think I had better proceed to restrain you?" Fixing his glass more firmly in his right eye, Drewitt leaned back in his chair and surveyed Beresford.
"I think I'll push off now, Drew," he said, laughing as he rose. "By the way, I'm dining with Lola at the Belle Vue to-night, why not come?"
"I've been ordered to dine at Curzon Street; but I'll run in on my way back to the club," he replied. "I think I'll come with you now. I can see old Sir Redman has got his eye on me."
At the door of the club they parted, Drewitt turning west and Beresford walking up Piccadilly in direction of Jermyn Street.