“Does that mean that you can y’eally, y’eally understand accounts?” demanded Lady Honoret, assuming an even more infantile guilelessness than was habitual to her.
“Oh, do take all these, and make the statement or whatever it is he wants. I’m so tired!”
“Is any of this private?” rather hesitatingly asked Lydia, brought up in that strict creed of reticence, as to money affairs, that is so essentially of the middle classes.
“Not in the least, darling,” said her hostess languidly, and flung herself into an arm-chair with every sign of exhaustion, while Lydia sat down at the unbusiness-like little writing-table, of which she felt inwardly scornful, and began to disentangle its confusion.
Her task was not made any easier by the ceaseless flow of Lady Honoret’s talk, and it took her over an hour to produce order from so much elegant chaos.
Then she said succinctly: “Since the New Year fifty-five pounds have gone to various charities and societies — I have the list of accounts here — and all the rest is — is personal expenditure.”
She did not like to say “clothes,” although the bills were for nothing else, and there was not a single household item amongst them all.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and twenty-eight pounds, sixteen shillings and sixpence,” said Lydia.
“Oh! Darling thing, you’re so clever at all this — would you mind putting it all down on paper the other way round — the fifty for dress expenses, and the other to charity? He never asks to see the bills.”
Lydia was thunderstruck.
“Cook the accounts?” She worded it bluntly in her confusion, but her voice was shaky.
“What a quaint expression!” said Lady Honoret delightedly. “Is that what you call it? Oh, yes, do cook them for me!” No wonder that certain of the novels read by Lydia with so much interest talked about the immorality of the upper classes! Lydia was highly scandalized, but she had not the slightest intention of risking Lady Honoret’s friendship, and she “cooked” the accounts very neatly and skilfully.
“But if Sir Rupert asks to see the bills from the shops, or the receipts from the charity places?” she suggested.
“Then you’ll have to come and help me to cook again, or I can always say I have lost them,” Lady Honoret declared. “It may sound the teeniest bit deceitful” — it certainly did, reflected Lydia grimly— “but I make it a rule never to lie unless I have to, and then do it tho’oughly, tho’oughly well, you know. Sir Rupert really drives me to it sometimes — you’ve no idea what he’s like.”
Lydia rather wished that she had, and less than a week later her curiosity was gratified, and she met Sir Rupert Honoret.
He was quite unlike her conception of a wealthy Jew, taken mainly from the stage. She had expected a pompous and corpulent presence, with a fur-lined coat, and a cigar, an immense hooked nose and a lisp. Instead she saw a small, wizened figure, with a broken front tooth, that gave him an oddly dilapidated appearance, prominent and rather bilious-looking eyes, and a discontented expression. His voice was low and nasal, and came with a peculiar hiss through the gap of the broken tooth.
“Are you the girl who does accounts?” he asked her.
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat as she reflected how exceedingly probable it was that the financier had become aware of the particular direction in which her skill had recently taken her.
She shot a glance at Lady Honoret, who nodded gaily and quite openly.
“Yes,” said Lydia.
“She writes, you know, Rupert. So ve’y, ve’y wonderful to think.”
“Are you fond of figures?” Sir Rupert demanded, ignoring his wife.
“Very.”
“Any good at book-keeping? Double entry?”
“I’ve learnt it, and am working now as accountant.”
“Where?”
“At a — a shop,” hesitated Lydia. “A ladies’ shop, called Elena’s, in Day Street.”
“Yes — run by an old woman called Ribeiro. I know.”
Lydia looked upon him as nothing less than omniscient after that.
“D’you like the work there?” Instinct made Lydia reply without enthusiasm: “Pretty well.”
“You’d like something better, eh? Can you do typing and shorthand?”
“No.”
“Only accounts? Well, if you can keep those properly you can do more than most women.”
He turned on his heel and went away without saying anything more, and it was with genuine astonishment that Lydia heard Lady Honoret exclaim: “Oh, how, how clever of you! You’ve managed to get on the right side of Sir Rupert at once — and he is so difficult. Now I can have you here as much as I like, without his being disag’eeable.”
Sir Rupert was not disagreeable. Once or twice he spoke to Lydia, and once he handed over to her an elaborate collection of figures, and asked her to “see what she made of that.” Various unfamiliar terms, “shares” and “preference shares,”
“debenture stock,” perplexed her, but the figures themselves could be capable of no combination too baffling for the mathematical mind, and Lydia tabulated very neatly and clearly the result of her work.
“Good.”
Sir Rupert put the paper down.
“Give Ribeiro notice, and I’ll make you my secretary at two pounds a week. You can have your luncheon here. Hours ten to six, and overtime when I want you. That will probably include Sundays as well.”
“But — but — Lady Honoret....”
“You can help her when I’ve nothing for you to do — but that won’t be often. Think it over and give me an answer to-morrow.”
Sir Rupert walked into his study and shut the door almost in Lydia’s face, leaving her completely bewildered.
It was an opportunity — it might lead to anything! Already Lydia had learnt to look upon even her newfound triumphs merely as stepping-stones to some further splendid destiny, the form of which she did not particularize.
After all, she was practically a shop-girl — that was all that her position at Madame Elena’s represented, to those outside. Private secretary to Sir Rupert Honoret would be a very different thing. And her salary doubled — even Mr. Monteagle Almond would see no imprudence in making a change so much for the better.
Practical although Lydia undoubtedly was, she allowed her imagination a brief excursion into various alluring by-paths, such as the pleasure of telling Miss Rosie Graham and the other girls at Elena’s that her services as a private secretary were so much in request as to have led to a flattering offer, that she felt it her duty to accept....
She wondered whether lunch every day at Lexham Gardens would mean the dining-room and all Lady Honoret’s smart friends, or merely a tray in the study.
With the thought came one of those flashes of intuition to which Lydia owed a great deal more than she as yet knew.
The first person to approach must be Lady Honoret.
Lydia guessed already that Sir Rupert was not in the habit of taking his wife into his confidence, which made it all the more necessary that she, the latest discovery and protégée, should not allow herself to be annexed without reference to her original owner — the light in which she could not help feeling sure that Lady Honoret regarded herself.
The effect of a tactful appeal proved to be its own immediate justification.
Lady Honoret at first looked startled, and then said, in a very open and candid way: “Now I’ll tell you the whole thing quite, quite fankly” She then made several contradictory statements, to the effect that she had herself advised Sir Rupert to take Lydia for his secretary, and that, of course, she had no idea that he even thought of suggesting such a thing, but, then, he was hatefully secretive, always, and if Lydia did come, then of course Lady Honoret knew that she must never hope for her help over the d’eadful accounts and things any more, because, of course, she’d have no time for anything but stocks and shares, and advisory committees, and it would be far, far better for Lydia —
darling thing — than the awful shop in Upper Tooting, and give her the chance of writing another wonderful novel, and meeting all sorts of critics and interesting people....
Finally Lady Honoret exclaimed that it really all seemed just like a fai’y tale come true, and Lydia must leave the terrible shop the very next day and come to them.
Lydia reserved herself on the point, having long ago contemptuously decided that it was of no use ever to mention practical considerations to her patroness, but she went away with the assurance that Lady Honoret had definitely committed herself to a statement that she would welcome Lydia’s presence, as Sir Rupert’s private secretary, at Lexham Gardens.
Far-sighted as Miss Raymond’s calculations might be, she had as yet no thought of allowing for the repudiation of a spoken word.
That night Lydia carefully indited a letter.
“SIR RUPERT HONORET.
“DEAR SIR,
“I have considered your offer of a private secretaryship at £2 weekly and lunch in, and am prepared to accept same, after giving the usual week’s notice to my present employer.
“If you can give me till the end of the month before coming to you I shall be obliged, as giving me time to take a few days at home and explaining to my people.
“Hoping to give you every satisfaction, as I shall certainly make it my endeavour,”
I remain,
Yours faithfully,
“L. RAYMOND”
After that, much more rapidly and easily, she wrote to Aunt Beryl, and explained what a very flattering offer Sir Rupert’s was, and how glad Lydia felt that now she would be able to pay all her own expenses, instead of letting Uncle George kindly undertake half of them. If she could, she would try and get a few days, to come and talk it all over before beginning her new work. And would dear auntie please explain it all to Grandpapa, and Uncle George, and Mr. Almond and everybody? Lydia was not altogether without guile in relegating to Aunt Beryl the announcements to be made to, at all events, Mr. Monteagle Almond. After all, it was he who had found for her the post at Madame Elena’s, of which they had all been so proud less than a year ago.
Lydia did not wish him to think her either ungrateful or capricious. She felt sure that Aunt Beryl would certainly be the best person to guard against any such unfavourable impression.
There were two announcements of her change of plans, however, which could not be deputed. Lydia was looking forward with pleasure neither to giving Madame Elena the week’s notice stipulated for on her engagement, nor to explaining to Miss Forster that she was about to enter the establishment of Miss Forster’s dear friends, to whom that lady had so very recently introduced her.
If Miss Forster made herself disagreeable, then Lydia decided that she would leave the boarding-house and live by herself in lodgings. But that would certainly offend Miss Nettleship, and perhaps Aunt Beryl as well, and Lydia had no desire to stand anything but well with everybody. It was a pity that other people were not more reasonable.
She spent some time in thinking out a tactful method of presenting her case to Miss Forster. Finally she did so with many expressions of gratitude for all that she owed to Miss Forster’s kind introduction, and with a very distinct emphasis laid upon the subordinate position to be hers at Lexham Gardens. Not for her, Lydia implied, the freedom of the Bridge table and tea-party, as for Miss Forster. Merely an excellent business appointment, with a salary higher than her present one.
And it was all Miss Forster’s doing, and Lydia was so grateful.
To her extreme relief, Miss Forster was gracious.
She took the credit for Lydia’s triumph upon herself and apparently enjoyed telling all the other boarders of the far-reaching effects of her great influence with Sir Rupert and Lady Honoret.
Telling Madame Elena was less successful.
“A week’s notice in the middle of the summer! What the dickens are you talking about?” demanded the auburn-headed principal, her eyes flashing fury.
“I’ve decided that clerical work will suit me better,” Lydia said calmly.
“Can you type?”
“No, but it’s easily learnt.”
“Or write shorthand?”
“Not yet.”
“And how many people, do you suppose, want a clerk that can’t do either shorthand or typewriting?” said Madame Elena, with a fine irony.
Lydia was stung into an unguarded reply.
“I’ve already had a most excellent post offered to me, as it happens, Madame. Book-keeping is all that’s wanted.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to get at,” said Elena, with one of her most disconcerting thrusts. “You’ve already taken on another job, you little rotter. That’s a dirty trick, if you like.”
Lydia kept silence, partly because it was really rather difficult to think of any very satisfactory reply, and partly from the old habit of deferring to authority.
She was feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, and had to tell herself inwardly that, after all, Madame Elena’s opinion didn’t really matter. A very few days after leaving the shop, and Lydia knew that Madame Elena and all her girls would seem to be shadowy and unreal as dreams.
The actual moment in which one discarded an outworn phase was unpleasant, but it was the way of progress.
“Just when I’ve taught you the work, too!” cam: the climax of this storm.
“I can stay on and show my work to anyone who is going to take my place,” Lydia ventured.
“You can do no such thing. The quicker you clear out of here the better I shall be pleased,” retorted the principal. “This day week you go, and I only wish I could send you packing straight away.”
Elena flounced into her little room, slamming books and ledgers about noisily, and was in a terrible temper for the rest of that day.
Lydia told the other girls in the dressing-room in the basement at closing-time.
“You must have something very good up your sleeve to chuck this,” said Gina Ryott. “It isn’t everywhere that they give you a decent meal like ours.”
“I know,” said Lydia.
“You aren’t getting married, are you?” said someone else, giggling.
“No fear.”
“Is Peroxide furious? She was in the D’s own temper this afternoon, I know that much.”
“Old Peroxide doesn’t like us girls to give notice. I suppose she thinks we ought to be only too thankful to stay on here for ever, with what she does for us.”
“Do you know if anyone is taking on your job?” asked Rosie Graham.
“No one, yet. She’ll have to find somebody in a hurry, because I’m leaving this day week.”
“All right. I shall apply for it myself. I’m sick of that everlasting stool of mine behind the glass, and she can easily find another cashier. Just put me up to a wrinkle or two about your old ledgers and things.”
“I will to-morrow,” said Lydia promptly. “I hope you’ll get on all right. It’s a good job.”
“Then why are you leaving it?”
“Because,” said Lydia slowly, “I am going to be private secretary to Sir Rupert Honoret, at his own house in Lexham Gardens, for just exactly twice the money that I get here.”
The announcement created all the sensation that she had hoped for. The girls congratulated her, and expressed their envy, and made much enthusiastic noise.
The little pale cashier, Rosie Graham, was the only one to keep silence, and she looked at Lydia with uplifted eyebrows and a mocking expression, that conveyed quite clearly an opinion nearly as unfavourable as Madame Elena’s own of Lydia’s methods of self-advancement.
But Lydia did not care any longer what Rosie might choose to think. After the next week she would probably never see her again.
Nevertheless, when she did say good-bye to the girls with whom she had worked for nearly a year, and with whom she had made herself so popular, Lydia exchanged really affectionate farewells with them, and echoed eagerly their plans for not losing sight of one another
, but meeting on an occasional Sunday afternoon.
“I should like to hear how it’s all getting on,” she declared vehemently, taking a last look at the diamond-paned window, with the careless gilt lettering above it.
But, after all, the Sunday afternoon meetings did not take place.
Lydia had her holiday at Regency Terrace, and then she came back with a new silk frock, bought out of her savings, just in case lunch at Lexham Gardens should ever turn out to mean Lady Honoret’s dining-room table, and not a tray in Sir Rupert’s study, and she became very quickly absorbed in new work, new surroundings, and many new people.
Lydia and the staff at Elena’s now had really nothing in common.
XVII
SIR RUPERT HONORET gave his secretary a great deal of work to do, but he left her free to do it in her own way, and at her own time. He was very seldom in the study himself, except during the first hour of the morning’s work. After that, he went off to the City. The time of his return was always uncertain and varied daily. Sometimes Lydia wondered whether his unheralded entries were occasionally made in the hopes of taking her by surprise.
It was something not unconnected with this suspicion, perhaps, that made her, as soon as her work was over, generally by four o’clock in the afternoon, try to teach herself typewriting.
A big machine stood on a table in a corner of the room, and presently Lydia learnt to manipulate it successfully.
Sir Rupert never made any inquiries as to her progress, but the first time that she handed him a typewritten letter for signature, he scrutinized it very carefully, suggested one or two alterations in the spacing and placing of the lines, and gave her a look which she felt to be one of approval.
It was a surprise to Lydia to find what a number of charitable organizations figured on the list of Sir Rupert’s activities. He was on the committees of several hospitals, homes, and asylums, and a most regular visitor at one of the largest branches of the Borstal Institute, The money that he expended upon charity seemed to Lydia to be almost unlimited, and the appeals that poured in daily formed the major part of the correspondence that she was required to sort. No application was to be left unanswered, and all were to be filed, indexed, and elaborately referenced and cross-referenced.
Collected Works of E M Delafield Page 166
