The Rain-Girl/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI
LORD DREWITT: AMBASSADOR
1
I THINK you have been very cruel, Jerry." Lola looked at Beresford reproachfully, then suddenly turned her head aside, conscious of a twitching at the corners of her mouth.
They were sitting in the winter-garden of the Belle Vue after dinner, and Beresford had just finished telling her of his call upon Lady Drewitt.
"Cruel!" he repeated uncomprehendingly. "How cruel?"
"Don't you see what it would mean to her if?" she broke off.
"But she hasn't got to live with you," he protested.
She lowered her eyes, and a faint blush stole into her cheeks.
"It was cruel," she said quietly; "it was very cruel and—and" Again the corners of her mouth twitched in spite of her efforts to control them.
"I know what you were going to say," he cried boyishly.
"No you don't."
"Yes I do. Will you bet?"
She nodded.
"How much?"
"Five pounds."
"Right."
"What was it, then?" asked Lola.
"That I left Aunt Caroline to liquidate my I.O.U. to Payne."
She opened her bag and proceeded to count out five one-pound treasury notes.
"Rain-Girl, don't."
She looked at him keenly, startled at his tone, and saw the hard, set expression in his eyes.
"But it was a bet."
"Please don't," he said earnestly; "at least, not yet. I know it's stupid; but"
She looked at him with smiling eyes.
"You see," he went on hurriedly, "Drew sent me round fifty pounds this afternoon."
"Very well, then, to-morrow I shall go round to Aunt Caroline and apologise for you."
He looked at her quickly, there was something oddly intimate in the use of the words "Aunt Caroline." She seemed to be drifting into her new relationship with astonishing ease. He envied her this quality. For himself, he felt that if he were to live for centuries, he could never live down the humiliation of marrying a woman with money.
"Shall we go on the river to-morrow?" he asked irrelevantly.
"Oh yes, let's," she cried, clapping her hands.
"Lola," he remarked severely, "you're behaving like a school-girl."
"Am I?" she asked, her vivacity dropping from her; then a moment after she added, "I suppose it's because I'm so happy. Oh, I'd forgotten."
"Forgotten what?"
"We can't go on the river to-morrow; I shall be calling on Aunt Caroline."
"Look, here's Drew," cried Beresford, jumping up. He had caught sight of Drewitt being conducted towards them by a page. Having shaken hands with Lola he sank into a chair.
"Yes, Richard," he said, "you have interpreted me aright—coffee. How I wish Hoskins were here."
Whilst they were waiting for the coffee they chatted upon general topics. When Drewitt had fortified himself with two cups he turned to Beresford.
"Richard," he said, "have you given a full, true and particular account of your interview with the Aunt to-day?"
Lola's smile answered the question.
"Then," said Drewitt, turning to Lola, "I must ask you what sum you will require to release Richard from his engagement?"
"What sum!" She looked at Drewitt in amazement.
"I've just returned from dining at Curzon Street," said Drewitt; then turning to his cousin added, "Richard, you owe me an apology for that dinner. It was one of the most uncomfortable I have ever eaten. The atmosphere of crisis seemed to have penetrated even to the kitchen. The sole was overdone and the quail wasn't done at all, and the Aunt's views upon romantic attachments were positively indecent."
"Hadn't you better begin at the beginning?" suggested Beresford quietly.
"The Aunt seemed anxious that I should begin before the beginning," he replied, "hence I am here for the purpose of settling with Miss Craven the amount she will accept to release you, Richard, from her clutches." He looked across at Lola. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dancing with amusement. "By implication I was given to understand that the responsibility for your faux pas, Richard, rested mainly with me."
"With you!" repeated Beresford, as he looked up from lighting a cigarette.
Drewitt inclined his head. "If I had sought to exercise a better influence upon your early and callow youth, the Aunt thinks that this would not have occurred."
"Has it not occurred to her that possibly Richard might—might not want to be freed?" asked Lola.
"Nothing so transcendently romantic would ever strike a member of our family," said Drewitt, shaking his head with conviction. "With the Aunt marriages are made in heaven, after satisfactory enquiries have first been made on earth," he said.
"Do you think that you have been altogether tactful?" asked Lola demurely.
Drewitt looked at her for a moment reproachfully.
"I did what I thought would be best for Richard," he said wearily. "I even quoted verse, something about kind hearts being more than coronets, and she stopped me as if it had been Rabelaisian. I was relieved, as a matter of fact, for I never could remember the next line. I then went on to explain that the two things a man must choose for himself are his trouserings and his wife, they being the things he sees most of, but she was only scandalised."
"And you left her in the belief that—that I—I"
"Was a female vagabond," said Drewitt, filling in the blank. "Richard had set the ball in motion, it was not for me to interfere with the Aunt's plans."
"I think you've both behaved abominably," said Lola with conviction, "and I don't wonder that Lady Drewitt" She paused as if in search of the right expression.
"Thoroughly disapproves of us," suggested Beresford.
She nodded her head vigorously.
"Most of the trouble in this world," said Drewitt, "proceeds from people jumping to conclusions. If a man dances twice with a girl in one evening, her mamma looks him up in Who's Who, or sets on foot enquiries as to his position or stability. But I mustn't dwell upon these trifles," continued Drewitt. "I have to report to the Aunt to-night by telephone the result of my interview with Richard. I'm supposed to obtain the lady's address and proceed post haste and forbid the banns."
"I shall go and see Lady Drewitt to-morrow afternoon," said Lola with decision. "I think you've both treated her horribly, and I'm very cross about it."
"But, Lola," began Beresford.
"It's no good," she said, shaking her head but smiling. "I'm very cross."
That night Drewitt telephoned to his aunt the astounding news that the young person, as she called her nephew's fiancée, would call upon her on the following afternoon. Her first instinct was to refuse to see the girl; but wiser counsels prevailed, and Payne was instructed accordingly.
2
"I feel as if the whole world has turned topsy-turvy. Auntie has thrown me over in despair and gone to Yorkshire, Mr. Quelch has already probably filled the niche he had reserved for me in the other world, and"
"To add to your misfortunes I am going to marry you," said Beresford with a smile.
Her eyes answered him.
Beresford had striven to disguise the genuine relief he felt at the disappearance from his horizon of Mrs. Crisp. What had actually taken place Lola would not tell him; but he was aware that he had been the bone of contention. He was already beginning to make discoveries about Lola. She could keep her own counsel. What had happened at her interview with Lady Drewitt he could not discover. His most subtle and persistent questions she met either with a smile or an obvious evasion. All he could gather was that the interview had, from Lola's point of view, been eminently satisfactory, and that he, Beresford, had been forgiven.
"I don't understand you, Lola," he said, digging his stick into the turf at his feet; they were sitting under the trees in the Park opposite the Stanhope Gate.
"I'm afraid you'll find that you have married a very curious person," she said wistfully; then with a sudden change of mood, "You won't mind my being myself, Jerry, will you?" She looked up at him, anxiety in her voice. "I'm an awful baby really," she continued. "I wonder if you'll like me when you know the real me."
"Beggars mustn't be choosers," he said lightly.
For a moment she looked at him gravely.
"Jerry," she said, "that hurts just a weeny, little bit."
"My darling, forgive me," he whispered as he bent towards her. "I shall get accustomed to it in time." There was just a suspicion of bitterness in his tone.
"I've—I've got a confession to make," she whispered shyly, drawing in her under-lip and refusing to meet his eyes. "I couldn't tell you before; but I think I can now—now that there are a lot of people about." She glanced up at him, then dropped her eyes again immediately.
"It's about that—that night at—at your rooms." Her voice trembled a little.
He nodded. There was a pause.
"What I told you about Lady Tringe was" she hesitated and flashed a look at him from under her lashes, "was a fib," she went on hurriedly. "She wasn't there at all, and nobody saw me. Look! there's Lord Drewitt," she cried, clutching him excitedly by the coat-sleeve, as the figure of Lord Drewitt appeared crossing the road from the Stanhope Gate. "Oh! go and fetch him, do."
With his head in a whirl Beresford did as he was bid, returning a minute later with Drewitt at his side.
"I have just had the refreshing experience of seeing the ungodly vanquished, the Philistine smitten, and the biter bit." Drewitt shook hands with Lola, then sank into a chair.
For nearly a minute there was silence.
"Please remember," said Lola, "that I'm a woman, Lord Drewitt, and curious."
"As we are to be cousins, Lola, I think" Drewitt smiled.
"I shall call you Drew, then," she said. "We're waiting," she added.
"I've been to the Aunt to announce the failure of my mission," continued Drewitt. "I postponed it until this afternoon, just as I always keep an olive to flavour my coffee. I confess I had been looking forward to the interview. Even Hoskins this morning noted my unwonted cheerfulness and enquired if I were unwell. You must meet Hoskins, Lola, he and Providence between them are responsible for me. Providence for my coming, Hoskins for my being."
"But" began Lola.
"Hush!" warned Beresford. "With Drew silence is the only extractor."
Drewitt looked reproachfully at Beresford. A moment later he continued.
"I left the Aunt at the parting of the religious ways," he announced.
"Whatever do you mean?" cried Lola.
"Hitherto she has always shown herself a good churchwoman, blindly accepting the decrees of Providence, provided they did not interfere with her own plans," he added. "To-day she is asking why I and not her dear Richard inherited the barony of Drewitt and all its beery traditions."
Lola looked from one to the other, and then laughed.
"When I arrived the Aunt was explaining to the Vultures—I should explain, Lola, that the Vultures are Edward Seymour and Cecily, his wife—how she had always felt that Richard would be saved by the Challice independence. Richard will explain these little family details to you later," he smiled. "As for me, I can do little or nothing without Hoskins.
"Teddy, that is, Edward Seymour," he explained, "was so ill-advised as to suggest that the Aunt had not always regarded Richard with such favour. Then it was that she turned and rent him, slew him with the jawbone No, that would not be altogether complimentary to Richard. She told him that if he had half Richard's brains, he would try to do something for himself instead of waiting for her to die. She was almost Æschylean in her grandeur. Poor Teddy literally wilted, and Cecily burst into tears; but as Cecily invariably bursts into tears at the least possible provocation, that was not remarkable."
Again Drewitt paused, then looking at Beresford, he said casually: "By the way, Richard, you are to be raised to my financial status; the Aunt insists on allowing you two thousand a year, conditional on your good behaviour."
Beresford looked at him in a dazed manner, then he suddenly flushed a deep red and looked across at Lola, who, however, was busily engaged in digging holes in the turf with the point of her sunshade.
"She regards your marrying Lola as a proof of your subtlety and commercial acumen. She"
"Please" Lola glanced up at him pleadingly.
"It's all right, Lola," smiled Beresford. "It makes a bit of difference. I shan't have to come to you for everything."
"It was the two thousand pounds that laid out the Vultures," continued Drewitt. "They felt just as the rest of the family must have felt when all that veal was wasted on the prodigal."
"I think it very good of Aunt Caroline," said Lola, "and I like her."
Fixing his glass in his eye Drewitt gazed at her with interest, as if she had made a most remarkable statement.
"But what about Edward?" queried Beresford.
"Teddy was sublime." A flicker of a smile passed over Drewitt's countenance at the recollection. "He was subjected to what I believe is scripturally deicribed as 'whips of scorpions,' in my opinion an entirely inadequate form of punishment. His little soul was extracted from his body and dangled before his nose. He was held responsible for himself, for Cecily, and by implication for my own shortcomings. He was asked what he had done in the war, and why he hadn't done it. Why he had married, and why he had no children. I pointed out to the Aunt that the morality of the observation was a little loose; but she ignored me.
"He was told that he was depraved and demoralising, although poor Teddy would not demoralise a three-inch lizard. He was held responsible for the German vacillation in connection with the Peace Treaty, and for the shortage of high-explosive shells in 1914. In fact, there was nothing evil the Aunt was able to call to mind that was not either directly or indirectly ascribable to what she gave us to understand was a world-wide catastrophe—the coming of Teddy.
"Teddy wilted and visibly shrank beneath her invective, whilst Cecily continued to cry quietly to herself. She reminded me very forcibly of Peter"
"Peter who?" asked Lola.
Drewitt turned reproachful eyes upon her. "Surely, Lola, you are not a Free Thinker?"
Lola laughed and shook her head.
"She reminded me of Peter. She seemed to want to convey the idea that she had never previously even heard of Teddy; she was disowning him. Then came the supreme moment, pregnant with drama. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, his mouth working uncannily, little points of foam at the corners. I wished that Cecily had brought him on a lead. Looking about him wildly, he planted himself in front of the Aunt, and looking up at her and almost crying, he spluttered—
"'Damn your money, and you too. Keep it. I don't want it. Take it to hell with you,' and then he disappeared.
"Personally I think he went through the door; but I cannot say with any degree of certainty, the exit was so dramatic."
Beresford whistled.
"And what did Aunt Caroline say?" asked Lola.
"She said nothing," said Drewitt; "but from her looks I gathered that Teddy will have a sporting chance of at least some of her money."
"You mean?" said Beresford.
"I mean that I'm going to engage the services of an old company-sergeant-major of mine, and reinforce him with a few choice specimens of Billingsgate. It is obvious that the Aunt is susceptible to rhetoric—when suitably adorned," he added as an afterthought.
Drewitt turned to Lola and smiled. For some time the three sat silent.
"Excuse me a moment, will you, Lola? There's Ballinger, and I want to ask him about that place in Scotland."
Beresford had jumped up, and with a smile and a blush Lola inclined her head, and he strode off in pursuit of a little fair-haired man with the strut of a turkey.
"Only once in a blameless life have I ever ventured upon unsolicited advice," said Drewitt reminiscently after a pause. "In a moment of mental abstraction I advised a man who was complaining of loneliness to take a wife. He took me literally, and the husband of the lady took half his fortune as damages."
"Is this a confession, or merely an anecdote?" enquired Lola demurely.
"Neither," was the reply. "It is autobiography, and history is about to repeat itself." Drewitt paused and looked at Lola with a little friendly smile that he kept for his special friends. "Richard is an ass."
Lola stiffened slightly. She looked straight across at him; but Drewitt was examining the knuckles of his left hand.
"But," he continued, "he's rather a lovable sort of ass."
Lola smiled at him with her eyes.
"I'm fond of Richard, Lola," continued Drewitt, "and my indiscretion is in advising you to be a little careful about money matters."
"Money matters!" she repeated, screwing up her eyebrows with a puzzled expression.
"Your happiness depends on Richard's capacity to earn money for himself. Make him do something, go into politics, write books, become a paid agitator, anything, in short. At the moment he's as sore as a vanquished heavy-weight. It will help his self-respect. Now I've done," and once more he smiled across at her.
"Thank you, Drew," she said, "I understand. You"
"Hullo! what are you two up to?" cried Beresford, who had approached unseen.
"My dear Richard, we've just been discussing the length of your ears and the loudness of your bray," said Drewitt quietly.
THE END