Miss Million's Maid: A Romance of Love and Fortune
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CHAPTER XVII
REVELRY BY NIGHT
BUT why am I writing all this, in view of the really serious andterrible thing that has happened after all?
Yes. The most terrible thing has happened. Miss Million has disappeared.
Gone! And no trace of her!
And I don't know where to look for her.... But to go back to thebeginning of it all--to that fatal evening when Mr. Reginald Brace stoodthere in her sitting-room, looking at me with that horrified facebecause I told him she'd gone to supper at the Thousand and One Club.
Five minutes after that young man's appalled-sounding "What? You let hergo there?" I was sitting in a taxi, with him, whirling towards RegentStreet.
"Yes; that's where she's gone," I told him, with a queer mix-up offeelings. There was defiance among them. What right had he to come andbully me because I couldn't keep Miss Million and her dollars and hernew friends all under my thumb? There was anxiety.... Supposing thisThousand and One Club were such an appallingly awful place that no younggirl ought to set foot in it? There was a queer excitement.... Well,anyhow, I might see and judge for myself. Then I should be in a positionto lecture Miss Million about it, if necessary, afterwards!
So I said: "Not only that, but I'm going there, too. To-night. Now!"
"Impossible," said Mr. Brace. "Madness. Quite impossible. You go? To anight club? You? Alone?"
"No," I said on another impulse. "You'll come with me. I've got to havea man with me, I suppose. You'll take me, please."
"I shall do nothing of the sort, Miss Lovelace," said the young bankmanager, standing there in my mistress's sitting-room as if nothingwould ever dislodge him from the spot. "Take you to that place--it's nota place that I should ever let any sister of mine know by sight!"
By this time I'd heard so much of this (non-existent) sister of his thatI almost felt as if I knew her well (poor girl). I felt as if I wereshe. Yes. Mr. Brace seemed to behave so exactly like the typical "nice"big brother; the man who shows his respect for women by refusing to lethis own sisters see or do anything except, say, the darning of his ownsocks. However, in some way or other I managed to drive it home (thiswas when we were already in the taxi) that he need not look upon this asan evening's entertainment to which he was escorting either his own oranybody else's sister.
This was part of the business of looking after Miss Million.
We were at Piccadilly Circus when the young man at my side protested:"But we can't get in, you know! I'm not a member of this thing. I can'ttake you in, Miss Lovelace----"
"I'm Smith, the lady's-maid of one of the ladies who's in the club, andI've come to wait for my mistress," I told him. "That's perfectlysimple. And I daresay it'll allow me to see something of what's goingon!"
Here we drew up at a side street. It was half full of cars and taxis,half full with a rebuilding of scaffolding that made a tunnel over thebasement.
The door of the club was beyond the scaffolding and a tallcommissionaire, with a breast glittering with medals, opened and closedit with the movements of a punkah-wallah. Inside was red carpet and ablaze of lights and an inner glass door.
In this vestibule there was a little knot of men in chauffeurs'liveries, with wet gleaming on the shoulders of their coats, for anunexpected shower had just come on. I was glad of it. This gave me, too,my excuse for waiting there, when one of the attendants slipped up to meand looked inquiringly down at me in my correct, outdoor black things.
"I am to wait," I said, "for my mistress."
"Very good, Miss. Would you like a chair in the ladies' cloak-room?"
"No. I don't think she will be very long, thank you," I said. And Iheard Mr. Brace, behind me, saying in his embarrassed, stiff, youngvoice: "I am waiting with this lady."
(The commissionaires and people must have thought that the little,chestnut-haired lady's-maid in black had got hold of a most superiorsort of young man!)
I stepped farther up the vestibule towards a long door with a bevelled,oval, glass-panelled top. Evidently the door of the supper-room. Frombeyond it came the muffled crash and lilt of dance music that set my ownfoot tapping in time on the smooth floor. I looked through the glasspanel that framed, as it were, the gayest of coloured moving pictures.
The big room was a sort of papier-mache Alhambra; all zigzaggy archesand gilded columns and decorations, towering above a spread ofsupper-tables. Silver and white napery were blushing to pink under theglow of rosy-shaded electric candles innumerable. Some chairs wereturned up, waiting for parties. But there were plenty of people therealready; a flower-bed of frocks, made more bright by the black-and-whiteborder of the men's evening kit.
The ladies were all sitting on the wall seats; their cavaliers sat withchairs slewed round, watching three or four couples one-stepping amongthe tables to the music of that string band, in cream-and-gold uniforms,who were packed away in a Moorish niche at the top of the room.
I got a burst of louder, madder music as a waiter with a tray pushedthrough the swung door; a waft of warmer air, made up of the smells ofcoffee, of cigarettes, of hot food, and of those perfumes of which youcatch a whiff if you pass down the Burlington Arcade--oppoponax, lilac,Russian violet, Phul-nana--all blended together into one tepid,overpowering whole, and, most penetrating, most unmistakable of all thescents; the trefle incarnat.... It reminded me that Million would buy agreat spray-bottle of mixed bouquet, and had drenched herself with it,heedless of my theory that a properly groomed woman needs very littleadded perfume.
But where was Miss Million, in the middle of the noise and feasting? Ah!There! I caught, in a cluster of other colours--green, white, rose, andgold--the unmistakable metaphorical shriek of the frock I'd begged hernot to wear. "Me cerise evening one." There it was; and there wereMillion's sturdily built, rather square little shoulders, and her glossyblack hair that I've learnt to do rather well. She was gazing about herwith jewel-bright eyes and a flush on her cheeks that almost echoed thecherry-colour of her odious frock, and listening to the chatter of thegolden-haired, sulphur-crested cockatoo, Vi Vassity; there she was; andthere was the Jew they called Leo, and Lady Golightly-Long in afantastic Oriental robe of sorts, and a cluster of others. There, too,towering above them all as he came steering his way across the room, andlooking more like a magazine illustration than ever in evening-dress,was the Honourable James Burke.
I saw Million's mouth open widely to some lively greeting as he came up;they were all laughing and chattering together. But I didn't hear aword, of course. All was blent into an indistinguishable hubbub againstthe music. The loudest part of all seemed to be at a table next to MissMillion and her new friends. This other table was entertained by avacuous young man with an eyeglass, who looked as if he'd already hadquite as much Bubbley as was good for him. He laughed incessantly;wrangling with the waiter, calling to friends across the room.
As the Honourable Jim passed, this eyeglassed young man signalled wildlyto him, and took up a paper "dart" into which he'd twisted hismenu-card. He flung it--and missed.
It stuck in the hair of one of the girls who was dancing. And then therewas a little gale of laughter and protests and calls, and the eyeglassedyoung man put two fingers in his mouth and whistled piercingly to Mr.Burke, who strode over to him, laughing, and cuffed him on the side ofthe head. Then they began a sort of mock fight, and a waiter came up andwhispered and was pushed out of the way, and there was more laughter.
The attention of the room was caught by the two skirmishing, raggingyoung men. They were for the moment the centre of the whirl and swirl ofcolour and noise and rowdy laughter.
"There you are, Miss Lovelace. You see the kind of thing it is," said anaustere voice behind me. I turned from the gay picture to a gloomyone--the face of Mr. Reginald Brace, more than ever that of a youngPuritan soldier--a Roundhead, in fact--left over from the Reformation,and looking on at some feasting of the courtiers of Charles II. So far,I hadn't see anything very terrible in the
giddy scene before us; it wasloud, it was rowdy, rather silly, perhaps, but quite amusing (I thought)to watch!
Mr. Brace evidently took it quite differently.
He said: "Will this convince you? By Jove! how disgusting." Mr. Burkehad now got the other young man down on the carpet. His glossily shodfeet waved wildly in the air. People from the tables farthest away stoodup to see what was happening. A slim American flapper of sixteen, withthe black hair-ribbons bobbing behind her, skipped up on her chair tolook. The Honourable Jim Burke stepped back, showing his white teeth inhis cheeriest grin, and one of the other youths at the table helped theeyeglassed one to struggle to his feet.
"Who is that? Do you know?" I asked Mr. Brace.
He answered morosely: "Yes, I'm afraid I do. It was with hisintroduction that that fellow Burke came to me. That's LordFourcastles."
The noble lord seemed to have quite a fancy for throwing thingsabout--for first he made his table-napkin into a rabbit and slung it atthe waiter's head; and then he picked up a "Serpentine" of gay tinsel,and with a falsetto shout of "Play!" flung it across the supper-room.
Somebody there seemed to have a stock of the things. Lord Fourcastleswas pelted back with them. Presently the brilliant strings of colourwere looped right across food, and flowers, and diners in a gaudy, giantweb. I saw the Honourable Jim's merry face break through it as he caughtat a scarlet streamer and pretended to use it as a lariat.
Then I saw him turn and take Lord Fourcastles by the arm and draw himtowards his own table. Evidently he was going to introduce this youngpeer to Miss Million.
I caught a glimpse of Million's excited little face, all aglow, turnedtowards the door through which I was peeping. If I'd gone a step nearershe might have seen me. I could have beckoned to her, made her come outto see what the matter was. Then I could have insisted that it was timefor her to come home, or something ... something!
I believe I might have made her come!
Oh, why didn't I try to do this?
Why, why didn't I do it before it was too late?
As the two neighbouring supper parties amalgamated into one the funseemed to get even more fast and furious.
It was deafeningly noisy now. And still the noise was rising as moreguests came in. People flung themselves about in their chairs; thedancing became, if anything, more of a romp than before.
I had a glimpse of the eyeglassed, young Lord Fourcastles stretchingover the table to grab some pink flowers out of a silver bowl. He begansticking them in Miss Million's hair; I saw her toss her little darkhead back, giggling wildly; I could imagine the shrill "Ows" and "Giveovers" that were coming out of her pink "O" of a mouth.
Then I saw Mr. Burke spring up from his chair again, and put his armround Miss Vi Vassity's waist, dragging "London's Love" round the tablesin a mad prance that I suppose was intended for a one-step, she laughingso much that she could neither dance nor stand still, and giving agenerous display of high-heeled, gilt cothurne and of old-gold silkstocking as she was steered and whirled along.
"Stand away from the door, there, Miss. Stand away, please," said one ofthe hurrying waiters. And I stood away, followed by my grave-facedescort, Mr. Brace. We retired further down the vestibule, among thelittle knot of attendants and of waiting chauffeurs.
"Have you seen enough of it, Miss Lovelace?" asked Mr. Brace.
"I think so," I said. I was feeling suddenly rather tired, bored by thenoise, dazzled by the blaze of pink lights and the whirl of colour. "Idon't think I'll wait for Miss Million after all. I'll go home." I meantto think over the talking-to that I should give Million when shereturned.
"I'll get you a taxi," began Mr. Brace. But I stopped him.
"I don't want a taxi, thanks----"
"Please. I want to see you home."
"Oh! But I don't want you to," I said hastily. "I'll get the 'bus. It'ssuch a short way. Good-night."
But he wouldn't say "Good-night." He insisted on boarding the 'bus withme, and plumping himself down on the front seat beside me, under thefine drizzle that was still coming down.
Certainly it was only a short 'bus ride to the Strand, but a good dealhappened in it. In fact, that happened which is supposed to mark anunforgettable epoch in a girl's life--her first proposal of marriage.