The Regent

by Arnold Bennett

  VI

  He was in a large back drawing-room, of which the window, lookingnorth, was in rich stained glass. "No doubt because they're ashamed ofthe view," he said to himself. The size of the chimneypiece impressedhim, and also its rich carving. "But what an old-fashioned grate!" hesaid to himself. "They need gilt radiators here." The doorway was amarvel of ornate sculpture, and he liked it. He liked, too, theeffect of the oil-paintings--mainly portraits--on the walls, and theimmensity of the brass fender, and the rugs, and the leather-work ofthe chairs. But there could be no question that the room was too darkfor the taste of any householder clever enough to know the differencebetween a house and a church.

  There was a plunging noise at the door behind him.

  "What's amiss?" he heard a woman's voice. And as he heard it hethrilled with sympathetic vibrations. It was not a North Staffordshirevoice, but it was a South Yorkshire voice, which is almost the samething. It seemed to him to be the first un-Kensingtonian voice tosoothe his ear since he had left the Five Towns. Moreover, nobody bornsouth of the Trent would have said, "What's amiss?" A southernerwould have said, "What's the matter?" Or, more probably, "What's themattah?"

  He turned and saw a breathless and very beautiful woman, of abouttwenty-nine or thirty, clothed in black, and she was in the actof removing from her lovely head what looked like a length of redflannel. He noticed, too, simultaneously, that she was sufferingfrom a heavy cold. A majestic footman behind her closed the door anddisappeared.

  "Are you Lady Woldo?" Edward Henry asked.

  "Yes," she said. "What's this about my baby?"

  "I've just seen him in Hyde Park," said Edward Henry. "And I observedthat a rash had broken out all over his face."

  "I know that," she replied. "It began this morning, all of a suddenlike. But what of it? I was rather alarmed myself, as it's the firstrash he's had and he's the first baby I've had--and he'll be the lasttoo. But everybody said it was nothing. He's never been out withoutme before, but I had such a cold. Now you don't mean to tell me thatyou've come down specially from Hyde Park to inform me about thatrash. I'm not such a simpleton as all that." She spoke in one longbreath.

  "I'm sure you're not," said he. "But we've had a good deal of rash inour family, and it just happens that I've got a remedy--a good soundnorth-country remedy--and it struck me you might like to know of it.So if you like I'll telegraph to my missis for the recipe. Here's mycard."

  She read his name, title and address.

  "Well," she said, "it's very kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Machin. Iknew you must come from up there the moment ye spoke. It does onegood above a bit to hear a plain north-country voice after all thisfal-lalling."

  She blew her lovely nose.

  "Doesn't it!" Edward Henry agreed. "That was just what I thought whenI heard you say 'Bless us!' Do you know, I've been in London only atwo-three days, and I assure you I was beginning to feel lonely for abit of the Midland accent!"

  "Yes," she said, "London's lonely!" And sighed.

  "My eldest was bitten by a dog the other day," he went on, in the veinof gossip.

  "Oh, don't!" she protested.

  "Yes. Gave us a lot of anxiety. All right now! You might like toknow that cyanide gauze is a good thing to put on a wound--supposinganything should happen to yours--"

  "Oh, don't!" she protested. "I do hope and pray Robert will never bebitten by a dog. Was it a big dog?"

  "Fair," said Edward Henry. "So his name's Robert! So's my eldest's!"

  "Really now! They wanted him to be called Robert Philip StephenDarrand Patrick. But I wouldn't have it. He's just Robert. I did havemy own way _there_! You know he was born six months after his father'sdeath."

  "And I suppose he's ten months now?"

  "No. Only six."

  "Great Scott! He's big!" said Edward Henry.

  "Well," said she, "he is. I am, you see."

  "Now, Lady Woldo," said Edward Henry in a new tone, "as we're bothfrom the same part of the country I want to be perfectly straight andabove-board with you. It's quite true--all that about the rash. And Idid think you'd like to know. But that's not really what I came to seeyou about. You understand, not knowing you, I fancied there might besome difficulty in getting at you--"

  "Oh! no!" she said simply. "Everybody gets at me."

  "Well, I didn't know, you see. So I just mentioned the baby to beginwith, like!"

  "I hope you're not after money," she said, almost plaintively.

  "I'm not," he said. "You can ask anybody in Bursley or Hanbridgewhether I'm the sort of man to go out on the cadge."

  "I once was in the chorus in a panto at Hanbridge," she said. "Don'tthey call Bursley 'Bosley' down there--'owd Bosley'?"

  Edward Henry dealt suitably with these remarks, and then gave her ajudicious version of the nature of his business, referring severaltimes to Mr. Rollo Wrissell.

  "Mr. Wrissell!" she murmured, smiling.

  "In the end I told Mr. Wrissell to go and bury himself," said EdwardHenry. "And that's about as far as I've got."

  "Oh, don't!" she said, her voice weak from suppressed laughter, andthen the laughter burst forth uncontrollable.

  "Yes," he said, delighted with himself and her. "I told him to go andbury himself!" "I suppose you don't like Mr. Wrissell?"

  "Well--" he temporized.

  "I didn't at first," she said. "I hated him. But I like him now,though I must say I adore teasing him. Mr. Wrissell is what I calla gentleman. You know he was Lord Woldo's heir. And when Lord Woldomarried me it was a bit of a blow for him! But he took it like a lamb.He never turned a hair, and he was more polite than any of them.I daresay you know Lord Woldo saw me in a musical comedy atScarborough--he has a place near there, ye know. Mr. Wrissell hadmade him angry about some of his New Thought fads, and I do believehe asked me to marry him just to annoy Mr. Wrissell. He used to say tome, my husband did, that he'd married me in too much of a hurry,and that it was too bad on Mr. Wrissell. And then he laughed, and Ilaughed too. 'After all,' he used to say, my husband did, 'To marry anactress is an accident that might happen to any member of the Houseof Lords--and it does happen to a lot of 'em--but they don't marryanything as beautiful as you, Blanche,' he used to say. 'And you stickup for yourself, Blanche,' he used to say. 'I'll stand by you,' hesaid. He was a straight 'un, my husband was. They left me alone untilhe died. And then they began--I mean his folks. And when Bobbie wasborn it got worse. Only I must say even then Mr. Wrissell never turneda hair. Everybody seemed to make out that I ought to be very gratefulto them, and I ought to think myself very lucky. Me--a peeress of therealm! They wanted me to change. But how could I change? I was BlancheWilmot--on the road for ten years--never got a show in London--andBlanche Wilmot I shall ever be--peeress or no peeress! It was no jokebeing Lord Woldo's wife, I can tell you, and it's still less of a jokebeing Lord Woldo's mother! You imagine it. It's worse than carryingabout a china vase all the time on a slippery floor! Am I any happiernow than I was before I married? Well, I _am_! There's more worry inone way, but there's less in another. And of course I've got Bobbie!But it isn't all beer and skittles, and I let 'em know it, too. Ican't do what I like! And I'm just a sort of exile, you know. I usedto enjoy being on the stage and showing myself off. A hard life,but one does enjoy it. And one gets used to it. One gets to needit. Sometimes I feel I'd give anything to be able to go on the stageagain--Oh--oh--!"

  She sneezed; then took breath.

  "Shall I put some more coal on the fire?" Edward Henry suggested.

  "Perhaps I'd better ring," she hesitated.

  "No, I'll do it."

  He put coal on the fire.

  "And if you'd feel easier with that flannel round your head, please doput it on again."

  "Well," she said, "I will. My mother used to say there was naught likered flannel for a cold."

  With an actress's skill she arranged the flannel, and from itsencircling folds her face emerged bewitching--and she knew it. Hercomplexion had suffered in ten years of the road, b
ut its extremebeauty could not yet be denied. And Edward Henry thought:

  "All the _really_ pretty girls come from the Midlands!"

  "Here I am rambling on," she said. "I always was a rare rambler. Whatdo you want me to do?"

  "Exert your influence," he replied. "Don't you think it's rather hardon Rose Euclid--treating her like this? Of course people say all sortsof things about Rose Euclid--"

  "I won't hear a word against Rose Euclid," cried Lady Woldo. "Whenevershe was on tour, if she knew any of us were resting in the town whereshe was she'd send us seats. And many's the time I've cried and criedat her acting. And then she's the life and soul of the TheatricalLadies' Guild."

  "And isn't that your husband's signature?" he demanded, showing theprecious option.

  "Of course it is."

  He did not show her the covering letter.

  "And I've no doubt my husband _wanted_ a theatre built there, and hewanted to do Rose Euclid a good turn. And I'm quite positive certainsure that he didn't want any of Mr. Wrissell's rigmaroles on his land.He wasn't that sort, my husband wasn't.... You must go to law aboutit," she finished.

  "Yes," said Edward Henry, protestingly. "And a pretty penny it wouldcost me! And supposing I lost, after all?... You never know. There's amuch easier way than going to law,"

  "What is it?"

  "As I say--you exert your influence, Lady Woldo. Write and tell themI've seen you and you insist--"

  "Eh! Bless you! They'd twist me round their little finger. I'm not afool, but I'm not very clever--I know that. I shouldn't know whetherI was standing on my head or my heels by the time they'd done with me.I've tried to face them out before--about things."

  "Who--Mr. Wrissell, or Slossons?"

  "Both? Eh, but I should like to put a spoke in Mr. Wrissell'swheel--gentleman as he is. You see he's just one of those men youcan't help wanting to tease. When you're on the road you meet lots of'em."

  "I tell you what you can do!"

  "What?"

  "Write and tell Slossons that you don't wish them to act for you anymore, and you'll go to another firm of solicitors. That would bring'em to their senses."

  "Can't! They're in the will. _He_ settled that. That's why they're sococky."

  Edward Henry persisted--and this time with an exceedingly impressiveand conspiratorial air:

  "I tell you another thing you could do--you really _could_ do--and itdepends on nobody but yourself."

  "Well," she said with decision. "I'll do it."

  "Whatever it is?"

  "If it's straight."

  "Of course it's straight. And it would be a grand way of teasingMr. Wrissell and all of 'em! A simply grand way! I should die oflaughing."

  "Well--"

  At this critical point the historic conversation was interruptedby phenomena in the hall which Lady Woldo recognized with feverishexcitement. Lord Woldo had safely returned from Hyde Park. Startingup, she invited Edward Henry to wait a little. A few moments laterthey were bending over the infant together, and Edward Henry wasoffering his views on the cause and cure of rash.