The Rain-Girl/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII
THE HEIRESS INDISPOSED
RICHARD, I require moral courage," said Drewitt, lazily, as he crumpled up into a basket-chair, which squeaked protestingly beneath his weight, "and if the funds will run to it, a whisky-and-soda."
Beresford beckoned to the waiter and gave the order. Hoskins had telephoned earlier in the day to say that Drewitt would be calling at the Ritz-Carlton about nine.
"I'm bound for the Aunt's," continued Drewitt a few minutes later, when, fortified by the whisky-and-soda, he proceeded to light a cigarette. "There we shall meet the latest aspirant to my hand and what might be called 'the trimmings.'"
"Lola Craven?"
"The same. Incidentally you accompany me. It has been said, I believe, that romance brought up the nine-fifteen. We shall in all probability be a few minutes late."
"But why on earth do you want me? I haven't been invited."
"It's a dinner-party, Richard, and the Aunt never desires poor relations at dinner-parties. At a crush, or a tea, it doesn't matter, they can be pushed on one side, like a dubious oyster; but at dinner they must to some extent establish themselves in the general eye."
"But why do you want me to go with you?" persisted Beresford.
"I require moral courage, Richard, and your clothes are newer than mine. Apart from that, for a poor relation you are really quite presentable."
"Thanks," said Beresford drily.
"For another thing I want a setting."
"A setting!"
"The Aunt is rather obvious in her choice of men. For instance, to-night she will have a wonderful collection of undesirables. They will either have no hair on their heads, or hair all over their faces, like retired naval officers—celibate, of course. They are bound to be old and dull."
"But why the" began Beresford.
"One moment," Drewitt raised a protesting hand. "She desires that I shall have no rival to my charms. That is why I'm taking you. I want to demonstrate to all whom it may concern that I can shine, even in the presence of another presentable man."
"Aunt Caroline won't like it," said Beresford dubiously.
"As she never likes anything, your presence will not cause any deviation from the normal."
"But I thought you said it was a dinner," said Beresford.
"It was and is; but I gave a miss in baulk to the meal. I cannot stand the Aunt's dinners. I told Hoskins to telephone that I had swallowed a fish-bone, or a stud, I've forgotten which. I shall know when I get there."
"But what the deuce do you want me to do?" asked Beresford, puzzled to account for his cousin's insistence on his presence.
"Nothing, my dear Richard, just what you are always doing in that inimitable and elegant manner of yours. You will merely act as a foil. The Aunt arranges these things rather badly. She fails to understand that if you like fair men, you like them more by virtue of the presence of a dark man, even if he happens to be an obvious fool."
"Thanks!"
"Not at all," was the reply; "you and I probably are the two most obvious fools west of St. Stephen's."
"I'll go if you wish it, Drew; but I'd rather not. Where Aunt Caroline is concerned I'm rather"
"A homœopathist, exactly. I quite sympathise with you. To-night, however, I shall take it as a kindness if you'll weigh-in," and he rose to indicate that the time of departure had come. "I enjoy your conversation, Richard, I enjoy it intensely; but I cannot afford it at nearly a penny a minute. My taxi is waiting," he explained.
They drove the short distance to Curzon Street in silence.
By the hum of conversation that greeted them as they walked upstairs, Beresford judged that it was a dinner-party of considerable proportions.
"Lord Drewitt, Mr. Richard Beresford," bawled Payne, as if determined that his voice should beat down the volume of sound that seemed set on escaping from the room. Lady Drewitt was standing near the door. As they entered she turned and sailed towards them.
"Are you better?" she demanded with uncompromising directness.
"Much, thank you," replied Drewitt, with a smile. "I sent out for another."
"Sent out for another!" she looked at him suspiciously. "Payne said your man telephoned that you had a slight heart-attack."
"Ah! was that it? I thought I had swallowed a sleeve-link, the symptoms are so similar. By the way," he added, "I made Richard come with me, I'm getting a little concerned about his spending his evenings alone in London."
Lady Drewitt gave Beresford a look that told him all he had anticipated; then, turning to Drewitt, she said, "I want to introduce you to Mrs. Crisp; Miss Craven is indisposed."
"It is not for the lamb to protest," he murmured as he followed, leaving Beresford to amuse himself by a contemplation of his aunt's somewhat clumsy strategy in her selection of guests, most of whom were middle-aged or elderly.
A moment later he felt a hand upon his arm, and Drewitt was leading him to the other end of the room.
"Please remember that I brought you as moral, not as military support, Richard," he said. "Moral support is always in the van. You are a civilian now. You have ceased to be a soldier."
Lady Drewitt was talking to a little white-haired woman of vast volubility and rapid change of expression. She had hard eyes, and a skin that in tint reminded Beresford of putty.
Lady Drewitt introduced Drewitt, and added Beresford as if he were an afterthought. She was obviously annoyed by his presence. Mrs. Crisp turned to Drewitt and proceeded to deluge him with short, jerky sentences, her words seeming to jostle each other as they streamed from her lips. Sometimes the first letters of two words would become transposed, with rather startling results.
"So unfortunate, Lord Drewitt. My niece has a severe headache. Quite prostrate. She stripped in the treet in Piccadilly. Such a dangerous place you know. Every one was so nice about it. A clergyman with black spats and such delightful manners. Long ones, you know, right up to the knee. He was most sympathetic. I think it's a tooth; but the doctor says it's an over-active brain. I want her to have it out. My dear father always did. He hadn't any when he died. We buried him at Brookwood. Such a dreadful journey. I remember I lost my handkerchief, and I had such a cold. My dear mother followed him in a year." Having drenched her hearers with her verbal hose, Mrs. Crisp smiled, then continued, "You must meet her. She goes away to-morrow. I want you to come to breakfast. Mr. Quelch is coming. He's so psychic. I love breakfast-parties." The last few jets were directed solely at Drewitt.
At the mention of the word "breakfast," Beresford glanced across at Drewitt, who had probably never been out to breakfast in his life. He usually rose in time for lunch, provided it were a late lunch; yet without the flicker of an eyelash he was telling Mrs. Crisp that he feared he had a breakfast engagement for the morrow.
"Who with?" demanded Lady Drewitt, suspiciously.
In a moment of misguided loyalty Beresford dashed in to the rescue.
"With me, Aunt Caroline." He wondered why Drewitt flashed at him a reproachful glance.
"Then you come too," broke in Mrs. Crisp, acknowledging Beresford's presence for the first time. "You'll enjoy Mr. Quelch. He's so fond of porridge, so am I. We have it every morning. It always reminds me of bag-pipes. Such dreadful things. They play them while you eat it in Scotland. Or is it haggis? It made me very ill when I was in Edinburgh. Mr. Quelch loves it. Such psychic qualities." Mrs. Crisp trailed off into staccatoed superlatives relative to the merits and virtues of Mr. Quelch, as if he had been a culinary chef d'œuvre, at the same time leaving in the minds of her hearers the impression that the porridge as well as Mr. Quelch was possessed of psychic qualities.
"I'm afraid it's a breakfast-party," lied Beresford glibly. "I have asked some friends to meet my cousin, some Americans," he added, thinking to impress Mrs. Crisp by giving to the engagement an international flavour.
"So wonderful," burst forth Mrs. Crisp, "they really think they won the war. Everybody seems to have won the war, except of course the Germans. Such nice people. Americans I mean. So psychic. Mr. Wilson, too, I hear he means to be Emperor. Mr. Quelch likes Americans. He says, I forget exactly what it was. It was very clever. They live on such funny things, grape-fruit and ice-water, and divorce costs hardly anything. So nice for the servants. I mean the grape-fruit and ice-water. So you'll explain, Mr. Berry, won't you?"
Mrs. Crisp turned to Beresford with what she probably meant to be an arch look. "You will, won't you?" To Drewitt she continued, "I'll take no denial. Lola would never forgive me. She would be so disappointed. I hate disappointing her. This morning I promised her soles. They hadn't any. So annoying of them. Do you like soles, Lord Drewitt?"
"With me it is a matter of spelling."
"Oh, I see. I can't spell either. Isn't it strange. I always spell lose with two 'o's.' '
"I invariably spell camel with one hump," said Drewitt gravely.
"How amusing. I thought men could always spell. They're so interesting, I think. Camels I mean. I saw one in Romeo and Juliet, or was it The Luck of the Navy?"
"Chu Chin Chow," suggested Beresford.
"Ah! was it? So psychic it seemed. I love camels. You know they can go for years without water. So remarkable. I should like to keep a camel. I love pets. Have you ever kept anything, Lord Drewitt?"
"Only a taxi once. I kept it for six hours. I forgot it was there"
"And the men are so rude," continued Mrs. Crisp. "The other night one said dreadful things. I forget what they were. Most profane he was. You can't stop them. The men I mean, not the taxis. But I'm told they're getting better. There are more of them about. There's bound to be the ping of the swendulum. But you will come to breakfast, won't you?" Mrs. Crisp smiled a porcelain smile, whilst her hard little eyes glanced from one to the other, as if seeking a smouldering ember of hesitancy on which to turn her verbal spray.
"I'm sure Richard will excuse his cousin," said Lady Drewitt with a smile; but in a tone that Beresford recognised as final. "I will call for Philip myself," she announced.
"How good of you," cried Mrs. Crisp. "I didn't dare to expect it. Breakfast-parties are so rare. They're wonderful. I always think we are at our best in the morning. They say Mr. George Lloyd governs the country at breakfast. Such an appetite I'm told—and what charming manners. So tactful with the Labour Members. I always tell Lola they're more important than morals. Manners I mean, not the Labour Members. You'll love Mr. Quelch, Lady Drewitt. He's so gifted. So psychic. Don't forget half-past eight. We always breakfast early."
Beresford looked at Lady Drewitt. She certainly did not inspire confidence in her power to love anything or anybody as she stood there, a grim figure determined to achieve her ends. The thought of Drewitt being at his best at breakfast was amusing.
Beresford found himself wondering what Lola Craven was like. It would be worth a fortune, he decided, to marry a niece of Mrs. Crisp, no matter how great her attractions. He never remembered to have met so strange and bird-like a creature. Her round eyes were entirely devoid of expression, beyond a glint, and her face moved as if controlled by steel springs. Added to this was her unrestrained flow of words. Whatever she might be, no one could withhold his sympathies from Lola Craven upon the possession of such an aunt.
For the next half-hour he chatted with acquaintances among the guests, confident that Drewitt would get him away as soon as he decently could. From time to time he caught a glimpse of him still engaged with Mrs. Crisp, she in conversation, he in calling up all his reserves of good-breeding to simulate interest. Presently he found himself standing quite close to him.
"And now," he heard Drewitt say, "I must take Richard home. He is really an invalid, and has to be careful of the night air. You see he set out to get near to Nature; but found her an extremely chilly damsel, and contracted pneumonia."
"You are quite right, Lord Drewitt," streamed Mrs. Crisp. "I had a brother once who caught cold after bronchitis, although he always wore goloshes. Such splendid things. Americans call them 'rubbers.' Always reminds me of whist. He was gone in a week. You can never be too careful, Mr. Berry," she added, turning to Beresford.
"And now, Mrs. Crisp, I really must take him away," and leaving Mrs. Crisp still in full cry, they went in search of Lady Drewitt.
As they made their adieux, Lady Drewitt once more stated her intention of calling for Drewitt on the morrow at a quarter-past eight. They passed out of the Belle Vue and turned down Piccadilly. For some time they walked in silence.
"Death with some men is a supreme stroke of diplomacy," murmured Drewitt at length, "with others it is an unsporting act of evasion. I have known cases even when it might have been described as an indulgence; but with Mr. Crisp it was unquestionably an act of self-preservation."
"If the fair Lola insists on Auntie living with you, Drew, I'm afraid you are in for a thin time," said Beresford. "Possibly she could be fitted with silencers."
"I'm wondering," said Drewitt, disregarding the remark, "what I am to say to Hoskins?"
"What about?"
"He's been a good servant," continued Drewitt sadly, "and if"
"Oh! about to-morrow," Beresford laughed.
"If I were to tell him suddenly and without proper preparation that I intend to rise to-morrow at seven, it would in all probability prove fatal. I am really greatly concerned as to how to break the news to him."
"Why not get up without him?" suggested Beresford.
"Get up without Hoskins!" Drewitt looked at his cousin as if he had suggested attending a levée in a sweater. "Get up without Hoskins!" he repeated. There was pained reproach in his voice.
"Well, anyhow, you're in for it."
"Richard, have you ever seen a man break down?"
"Out there" began Beresford seriously; then, seeing the drift of Drewitt's remark, added, "Don't be an ass, Drew."
"I see you haven't, then we had better say good-night here;" and Drewitt hailed a passing taxi, whilst Beresford walked slowly back to the Ritz-Carlton.