by Berta Ruck
CHAPTER XVI
A WORD OF WARNING
AND as the door shut behind my mistress I took that "something to read"out of its hiding-place behind my belt and my frilly apron-bib.
It's the letter that was waiting for me when I came in. I've hardly hadtime to grasp the contents of it yet. It's addressed in a small,precise, masculine hand:
"To MISS SMITH, "c/o Miss Million, "Hotel Cecil."
But inside it begins:
"My Dear Miss Lovelace:--"
And then it goes on:
"I am putting another name on the envelope, because I think that this is how you wish to be addressed for business purposes. I hope you will not be offended, or consider that I am impertinent in what I am going to say."
It sounds like the beginning of some scathing rebuke to the recipient ofthe letter, doesn't it? But I don't think it's that. The letter goes on:
"Am writing to ask you whether you will allow me the privilege of seeing you somewhere for a few minutes' private conversation? It is on a matter that is of importance."
The last sentence is underlined, and looks most curiosity-rousing inconsequence:
"If you would allow me to know when I might see you, and where, I should be very greatly obliged. Believe me,
"Yours very truly, Reginald Brace."
That's the young manager, of course. That's the fair-haired young manwho lives next door to us--to where we used to live in Putney; the youngman of the garden-hose and of the "rows" with my Aunt Anastasia, and ofthe bank that looks after Miss Million's money!
Is it about Miss Million's money matters that he wishes to have this"few minutes' private conversation"? Scarcely. He wouldn't come to MissMillion's maid about that.
But what can he want to see me about? "A matter of importance." What canthis be?
I can't guess.... For an hour now I have been sitting in Miss Million'sroom, with Miss Million's new possessions scattered about me, and thescent still heavy in the air of those red carnations sent in by theHonourable--the Disgraceful Jim Burke.
Opposite to the sofa on which I am sitting there hangs an oval mirror ina very twiggly-wiggly gilt frame, wreathed with golden foliage held by alittle Cupid, who laughs at me over a plump golden shoulder, and seemsto point at my picture in the glass.
It shows a small, rather prettily built girl in a delicious black frockand white apron, with her white butterfly-cap poised pertly on herchestnut hair, and on her face a look of puzzled amusement.
It's really mysterious; but I can't make out the mystery. I shall haveto wait until I can ask that young man himself what he means by it all.
Now, as to "when and where" I am to see him.
Not here. I am not Miss Million. I can't invite my acquaintances to teaand rattlesnake cocktails and gimlets and things in the Cecil lounge.And I can scarcely ask her to let me have her own sitting-room for theoccasion.
Outside the hotel, then. When? For at any moment I am, by rights, atMiss Million's beck and call. Her hair and hands to do; herself to dressthree times a day; her new trousseau of lovely garments to organise andto keep dainty and creaseless as if they still shimmered in Bond Street.
I don't like the idea of "slipping out" in the evenings, even if mymistress is going to keep dissipated hours with cobras andsulphur-crested cockatoos. So--one thing remains to me.
It's all that remains to so many girls as young and as pretty as I am,and as fond of their own way, but in the thrall of domestic service. Oh,sacred right of the British maid-servant! Oh, one oasis in the desert ofsubjection to another woman's wishes! The "Afternoon Off"!
Next Friday I shall be free again. I must write to Mr. Brace. I musttell him that the "important matter" must wait until then....
But apparently it can't wait.
For even as I was taking up my--or Miss Million's--pen, one of thoselittle chocolate-liveried page-boys tapped at Miss Million'ssitting-room door and handed in a card "for Miss Smith."
I took it.... His card?
Mr. Brace's card?
And on it is written in pencil: "May I see you at once? It is urgent!"
Extraordinary!
Well, "urgent" messages can't wait a week! I shall have to see him.
I said to the page-boy: "Show the gentleman up."
I don't know what can be said for a maid who, in her mistress's absence,uses her mistress's own pretty sitting-room to receive her--themaid's--own visitors.
Well, I couldn't help it. Here the situation was forced upon me--I, inmy cap and apron, standing on Miss Million's pink hearthrug in front ofthe fern-filled fireplace, and facing Mr. Brace, very blonde andgrave-looking, in his "bank" clothes.
"Will you sit down?" I said, standing myself as if I never meant todepart from that attitude. He didn't sit down.
"I won't keep you, Miss Lovelace," said the young bank manager, in amuch more formal tone than I had heard from him before. "But I wasobliged to call because, after I had sent off my note to you, I found Iwas required to leave town on business to-morrow morning early.Consequently I should only be able to speak to you about the matterwhich I mentioned in my note if I came at once."
"Oh, yes," I said. "And the important matter was----"
"It's about your friend, Miss Million."
"My mistress," I reminded him, fingering my apron.
The young man looked very uncomfortable.
Being so fair, he reddens easily. He looks much less grown-up andreliable than he had seemed that first morning at the bank. I wonder howthis is.
He looked at the apron and said: "Well, if you must call her yourmistress--I don't think it's at all--but, never mind that now--aboutMiss Million."
"Don't tell me all her money's suddenly lost!" I cried in a quickfright.
The manager shook his fair head. "Oh, nothing of that kind. No.Something almost as difficult to tell you, though. But I felt I had todo it, Miss Lovelace."
His fair face set itself into a sort of conscientious mask. "I turned toyou instead of to her because--well, because for obvious reasons youwere the one to turn to.
"Miss Million is a young--a young lady who seems at present to have moremoney than friends. It is natural that, just now, she should be making anumber of new acquaintances. It is also natural that she should notalways know which of these acquaintances are a wise choice----"
"Oh, I know what you mean," I interposed, for I thought he was going onin that rather sermony style until Million came home. "You're going towarn me that Mr. Burke, whom you met here, isn't a fit person forMill--for Miss Million to know."
Mr. Brace looked relieved, yet uncomfortable and a little annoyed all atonce.
He said: "I don't know that I should have put it in exactly those words,Miss Lovelace."
"No, but that's the gist of it all," I said rather shortly. Men are soroundabout. They take ages hinting at things that can be put into oneshort sentence. Then they're angry because some woman takes a short cutand translates.
"Isn't that what you mean, Mr. Brace?"
"If I had a young sister," said this roundabout Mr. Brace, "I certainlydo not think that I should care to allow her to associate with a manlike that."
"Like what?" I said.
"Like this Mr. Burke."
"Why?" I asked.
"I don't think he is a very desirable acquaintance for a young andinexperienced girl."
"How well do you know him?" I asked.
"Oh! I don't know him at all. I don't wish to know him," said Mr. Bracerather stiffly. "I had only seen him once before I met him in MissMillion's room here the other day. I was really annoyed to find himhere."
I persisted. "Why?"
"Because the man's not--well, not the sort of man your brother (if
youhave one) would be too pleased to find you making friends with, MissLovelace."
"Never mind all these brothers and sisters. They aren't here," I saidrather impatiently. "What sort of man d'you mean you think Mr. Burke isthat you want Miss Million warned against him?"
"I think any man would guess at the kind of man he was--shady."
"D'you mean," I said, "that he cheats at cards; that sort of thing?"
"Oh! I don't know that he'd do that----"
"What does he do, then?"
"Ah! that's what one would like to know," said the young bank manager,frowning down at me. "What does he do? How does he live? Apparently inone room in Jermyn Street, over a hairdresser's.
"But he's never there. He's always about in the most expensive haunts inLondon, always with people who have money. Pigeons to pluck. I don'tbelieve the fellow has a penny of his own, Miss Lovelace."
"Is that a crime?" I said. "I haven't a penny myself."
Then I felt absolutely amazed with myself. Here I was positivelydefending that young scamp and fortune-hunter who had this veryafternoon admitted to me that he'd told Million fibs, and that he gotwhat he could out of everybody.
Another thing. Here I was feeling quite annoyed with Mr. Brace forcoming here with these warnings about this other man! Yet it was onlythe other day that I'd made up my mind to ask Mr. Brace for his candidopinion on the subject of Miss Million's new friend!
And now I said almost coldly: "Have you anything at all definite to tellme against Mr. Burke's character?"
"Yes. As it happens, I have," said Mr. Brace quickly, standing thereeven more stiffly. "I told you that I had met the man once before. I'lltell you where it was, Miss Lovelace. It was at my own bank. He came tome with a sort of an introduction from a client of ours, a young cavalryofficer. He, Mr. Burke, told me he'd be glad to open an account withus."
"Yes? So did Miss Million."
"Hardly in the same way," said Mr. Brace. "After a few preliminariesthis man Burke told me that at the moment he was not prepared to payanything in to his account, but----"
"--But what?" I took up as my visitor paused impressively, as if beforethe announcement of something almost unspeakably wicked.
"This man Burke actually had the assurance," said the young bank managerin outraged tones, "the assurance to suggest to me that the bank shouldthereupon advance to him, as a loan out of his 'account,' fifty poundsdown!"
"Yes?" I said a little doubtfully, for I wasn't quite sure where thepoint of this came in. "And then what happened?"
"What happened? Why! I showed the new 'client' out without wasting anymore words," returned my visitor severely.
"Don't you see, Miss Lovelace? He'd made use of his introduction to tryto 'rush' me into letting him have ready-money to the tune of fiftypounds! Do you suppose I should ever have seen them again? That," saidthe young bank manager impressively, "is the sort of man he is----" Hebroke off to demand: "Why do you laugh?"
It certainly was unjustifiable. But I couldn't help it.
I saw it all! The room at the bank where Million and I had interviewedthe manager. The manager himself, with the formal manner that he "wears"like a new and not very comfortable suit of clothes, asking the visitorto sit down.
Then the Honourable Jim, in his gorgeously cut coat, with his daring yetwary blue eyes, smiling down at the other man (Mr. Brace is a couple ofinches shorter). The Honourable Jim, calmly demanding fifty pounds "onaccount" (of what) in that insinuating, flattering, insidious, softlypitched Celtic voice of his ..."
"Common robbery. I see no difference between that and picking a man'spocket!" declared the young manager.
Perfectly true, of course. If you come to think of it, the younger sonof Lord Ballyneck is no better than a sort of Twentieth-centuryHighwayman. There's really nothing to be said for him. Only why shouldMr. Brace speak so rebukefully to me? It wasn't I who had tried to pickthe pocket of his precious bank!
"And yet you don't see," persisted the manager, "why a fellow of thatstamp should not be admitted to friendly terms with you!"
"With me? We're not talking about me at all!" I reminded this young man.And to drive this home I turned to the mirror and gave a touch or two tothe white muslin butterfly of the cap that marked my place. "We'retalking about my mistress. I am only Miss Million's maid----"
"Pshaw!"
"I can't pretend to dictate to my mistress what friends she is toreceive----"
"Oh!" said the young man impatiently. "That's in your own hands. Youknow it is. This maid business--well, if I were your brother I shouldsoon put a stop to it, but, anyhow, you know who's really at the head ofaffairs. You know that you must have a tremendous influence overthis--this other girl. She naturally makes you her mentor; modelsherself, or tries to, on you. If she thought that you consideredanything or any one undesirable, she would very soon 'drop' it. What yousay goes, Miss Lovelace."
"Does it, indeed!" I retorted. "Nothing of the kind. It did once,perhaps. But this evening--do you know what? Miss Million has gone outin a frock that I positively forbade her to buy. A cerise horror that'snot only 'undesirable,' as you call it, but makes her look----"
"Oh, a frock! Why is it a woman can never keep to the point?" demandedthis young Mr. Brace. "What's it got to do with the matter in hand whatfrock Miss Million chooses to go out in?"
"Why, everything! Doesn't it just show what's happening," I explainedpatiently. "It means that Miss Million doesn't make an oracle of me anymore. She'd rather model herself on some of the people she's going tosupper with tonight. Miss Vi Vassity, say----"
"What! That awful woman on the halls?" broke in Mr. Brace, with as muchdisapproval in his voice and tone as there could have been in my AuntAnastasia's if she had been told that any girl she knew was hobnobbingwith "London's Love," the music-hall artiste.
"Who introduced her to Miss Million, may I ask?" he went on. "No, Ineedn't ask; I can guess. That's this man Burke. That's his crowd.Music-hall women, German Jews, disreputable racing men, young gildedidiots like the man in the cavalry who sent him to me."
Then (furiously): "That's the set of people he'll bring in to associatewith you two inexperienced girls," said Mr. Brace.
And now his face was very angry--quite pale with temper. He lookedrather fine, I thought. He might have posed for a picture of one ofCromwell's young Ironsides, straight-lipped, uncompromisingly sincere,and "square," and shocked at everything.
I simply couldn't help rather enjoying the mild excitement of seeing himso wrathful.
Surely he must be really _epris_ with Million to be so roused over herknowing a few unconventional people. I've read somewhere that thetypical young Englishman may be considered to be truly in love as soonas he begins to resent some girl's other amusements.
Mr. Brace went on: "And where has he taken Miss Million to this evening,may I ask?"
I moved to put the cushions straight on the couch as I gave him theevening's programme. "They were dining at the Carlton with a party, Ithink. Then they were going on to see Miss Vi Vassity's turn at thePalace. Then they were all to have supper at a place called the Thousandand One----"
"Where?" put in Mr. Brace, in a voice so horrified that it made hisremarks up till then sound quite pleased and approving. "The Thousandand One Club? He's taken Miss Million there? Of all places on earth! Youlet her go there?"
He spoke as if nothing more terrible could have happened....
