Miss Million's Maid: A Romance of Love and Fortune

by Berta Ruck

  CHAPTER XIX

  WAITING FOR THE REVELLER

  IT was a very deep doze into which I sank. I roused myself with a startas the little gilt clock on the mantel-piece chimed four.

  I sprang up. Had Miss Million come in without waking me?

  I tapped at the door of her bedroom. No reply.

  I went softly in, switching on the lights. There was no one there. Allwas in the apple-pie order in which I had left her pretty, luxuriousroom.

  She hadn't come in? At four o'clock? Wondering and troubled, I went backto the couch and dozed again.

  It was five o'clock when next I woke. Dawn struggled through the chinksof the blinds.

  No Million.

  I waited, and waited.

  Six o'clock in the morning. I threw aside the curtains.... Brightdaylight now. Still no Million!

  Seven o'clock, and the cheery sounds of morning activity all around me.

  But Million hadn't come in.

  Out all night?

  What could be the meaning of it?

  From eight to nine-thirty this morning I have spent sitting at thetelephone in my mistress's room; feverishly fluttering the leaves ofthe thick red telephone book, and calling up the numbers of people who Ihave imagined might know what has become of Miss Million, the heiress,and why she has not come home.

  I turned up first of all her hostess at the Supper Club. "London'sLove," she may be; but certainly not my love. It was she who askedMillion to that horrible party.

  "Give me 123 Playfair, please.... Is that Miss Vi Vassity?... Can Ispeak to Miss Vi Vassity, please? It is something urgent----"

  A pert and Cockney voice squeaked into my ear that Miss Vi Vassitywasn't at home. That nobody knew when she was coming back. That the timeto expect her was the time when she was seen coming in!

  Charming trait! But why did the comedienne with the brass-bright hairchoose to pass on that characteristic to my mistress?

  I tried another number. "Nought, nought, nought Gerrard, please. I wantto speak to Mr. Burke."

  A rich brogue floated back to me across the wires. "What's attached tothe charmin' girlish voice that's delighting my ears?"

  "This is Miss--Miss Million's maid."

  "Go on, darlin'," said the voice.

  I gasped.

  "Is that Mr. Burke speaking?"

  "Who should ut be? This is the great, the notorious Burke himself."

  "I mean," I called flurriedly, "is that my Mr. Burke?"

  "I'd ask to be called nothing better!" declared the voice. "Thry me!"

  I raged, flushing scarlet, and thanking heaven that those irrepressibleblue Irish eyes did not see my angry confusion.

  I called back: "This is important, Mr. Burke. I want to ask you about mymistress. Miss Million has not come back, and I want you to tell me ifyou know where she has gone."

  "Is there anything I'd refuse a young lady? I'd tell you in one minuteif I knew, me dear."

  "You don't know?" anxiously. "Where did you last see her?"

  "Isn't it my own black and bitter loss that I'll confide to ye now? MissMillion, d'ye say? Faith, I've never seen her at all!"

  "Not last night----"

  "Not anny night. Can't I come round and dhry those tears for her prettymaid?" demanded the voice that I now heard to be Irish with a differencefrom the softly persuasive accent of the Honourable Jim.

  It went on: "Sure, I can see from here the lovely gyrull you must be,from your attractive voice! Where'r' ye speakin' from? Will I call on yethis afternoon, or will ye come round to----"

  I broke in with severity:

  "Do you mind telling me your other name?"

  "Christian names already? With all the pleasure in life, dear," cameback the eager answer. "Here's a health to those that love me, and mename's Julian!"

  With another gasp I hung up the receiver, cutting off this other, thisunknown "J. Burke," whom I had evoked in my flurry and the anxiety thatcaused the addresses in the telephone book to dance before my eyes.

  I got the number of the Honourable James Burke, and found myselfspeaking, I suppose, to somebody in the Jermyn Street hairdresser'sshop, above which, as I'd heard from Mr. Brace, the Honourable Jim livedin a single room.

  "No, Madam, I am afraid he is not in," was the answer here. "I am afraidI couldn't tell you, Madam. I don't know at all. Will you leave anymessage?"

  "No, thank you."

  It didn't seem worth while, for, as Mr. Brace said, he's never there.He's always to be found in some expensive haunt.

  Next I rang up the abode in Mount Street of the cobra-woman, the classicdancer, Lady Golightly-Long. Her maid informed me, rebukefully, that herladyship wasn't up yet; her ladyship wasn't awake. I left a message, andthe maid will ring me up here.... There may be something to hope forfrom that, but I shall have to wait. I seem to have waited years!

  Now, in desperation, I have got on to Lord Fourcastles's house.

  "No; his lordship has not been at home for several days."

  I suppose this is the man speaking.

  "No. I couldn't say where his lordship is likely to be found, I'm sure."

  Oh, these people! These friends of the Honourable Jim's, who all seemto share his habit of melting into some landscape where they are not tobe found! Never mind any of them, though. The question is, Miss Million!Where have they put her, among them? What have they done with mychild-heiress of a mistress?

  I had hoped to receive some explanation of the mystery by this morning'spost. Nothing! Nothing but a sheaf of circulars and advertisements andcatalogues for Miss Million, and one grey note for Miss Million's maid.It was addressed to "Miss Smith."

  I sighed, half-resentfully, as I tore it open. Under any othercircumstances it would have marked such a red-letter day in my life.

  I knew what it was. The first love-letter I had ever received. Ofcourse, from Mr. Reginald Brace. He writes from what used to be "NextDoor," in Putney, S.W. He says:

  "MY DEAR MISS LOVELACE:--I wanted to put 'Beatrice,' since I know that is your beautiful name, but I did not wish to offend you. I am afraid that I was much too precipitate to-night when I told you of the feeling I have had for you ever since I first saw you. As I told you, I know this is the greatest presumption on my part. Had it not been for the very exceptional circumstances I should not have ventured to say anything at all----"

  Oh, dear! I wish this didn't remind me of the Honourable Jim's remark,"Curious idea, to put in a deaf-and-dumb chap as manager of a bank!" Forhe is really so good and straight and frank. I call this such a niceletter. Oh, dear, what am I to say to it?

  "But as it is" (he goes on) "I could do nothing but take my chance and beg you to consider if you could possibly care for me a little. May I say that I adore you, and that the rest of my life should be given up to doing anything in the world to secure your happiness? Had I a sister----"

  Good heavens! His non-existent sister is cropping up again!

  "Had I a sister or a mother living, they would come over at once to wait on you; but I am a man literally alone in the world. I live with an old uncle who is practically an invalid. I hope you will not mind my calling upon you to-morrow, about lunch-time, when I hope so much that you in your sweetness and kindness may find it in your heart to give me another answer to the one I had to hear to-night.

  "Yours ever devotedly, "REGINALD BRACE."

  Yes! A charming letter, I call it. I do, indeed. And he--the writer ofit--is charming--that is, he's good, and "white," as men call it, whichis so much more, so much better than being "charming," which, I suppose,people can't help, any more than they can help having corncockle-blueeyes with black lashes--or whatever kind of eyes they may happen topossess.

  Mr. Brace's own eyes are very pleasant. So honest. It was horrid of meto be ruffled and snappy to him when h
e came last night; cattish of meto begin thinking of him as a Puritan and a prude and a prig. He'snothing of the sort. It was only kind of him to come and try to warn me.

  And, as it turns out, Mr. Brace was perfectly right about all thesepeople being no fit companions for a young and inexperienced girl....

  Which reminds me! Only a few days ago I was considering this Mr. Braceas a possible suitor for Million herself! Why, I'd quite forgotten that.And now here he is lavishing offers of a life's devotion upon me, MissMillion's maid.

  I suppose I ought to be fearfully flattered. There's something inShakespeare about going down on one's knees and thanking Heaven fastingfor a good man's love. (I'm sure he is that.) And so I should be feelingmost frightfully pleased and proud, if only I'd time!

  This morning I can think of nothing. Not even of my first proposal andlove-letter. Only of Miss Million, whom I last saw at half-past elevenor so last night, sitting in her "cerise evenin'--one with thespangles"--at a Thousand-and-One supper-table, with a crowd of rowdypeople, and having pink flowers stuck in her hair by anover-excited-looking young man!

  Million, of whom I can find no further trace! Now, what is the next----

  "Prrrring-g!"

  Ah, the telephone bell again. The message from Lady Golightly-Long.

  She is speaking herself, in a deep, drawly voice. She tells me that sheknows nothing of Miss Million's movements.

  "I left her there. I left them all there, at the Thousand and One," shedrawls. "I was the first to leave. Miss Million was there, with LordFourcastles and the rest of them when I left.... What?... The time? Oh,I never know times. It wasn't very late. Early, I mean. I left herthere."

  And she rings off. So that's drawn a blank. Well, now what am I to donext?

  I think I'd better go round to the club itself and make inquiries thereabout the missing heiress!

  I have just come back from making inquiries at the Thousand and OneClub.

  The place looked strangely tawdry and make-believe this morning. Ratherlike ballroom finery of the night before, seen in daylight. Iinterviewed a sallow-faced attendant in the vestibule, whence I had gotthose glimpses of the larking and frolicking in the supper-room lastnight.

  Miss Million? He didn't know anything about a lady of that name. WithMiss Vi Vassity's party, had she been? Miss Vi Vassity always had a rarelot of friends with her. He'd seen her, of course, Miss Vi Vassity, allright. Several young ladies with her.

  "But a small, dark-haired young lady, in a bright cerise dress, withspangles on it?" I urged. "She was sitting--I'll show you her place atthe table. There! Don't you remember?"

  The sallow-faced attendant couldn't say he did. There was always a rarelot of bright-coloured frocks about. He beckoned to a waiter, who cameup, glancing at me almost suspiciously out of his sunken eyes.

  "Young lady in a bright, cherry-coloured frock, sitting at Miss ViVassity's table? Yes! Now he came to go back in his mind, he had seemedto notice the young lady. She'd seemed a bit out of it at first. Wouldthat be the one?"

  "Yes, yes," eagerly from me. "That would probably be Miss Million!"

  "Afterwards," said the waiter, "she seemed to be having a good deal o'conversation with that young Lord Fo'castles, as they call him."

  "Ah, yes," I said, thinking again of the glimpse I'd had of the rowdy,foolish-faced young man with the eyeglass, who had been grabbing pinkflowers off the table and therewith scufflingly decorating Million'slittle dark head.

  "Laughing and talking together all the time they was afterwards," saidthe waiter, in his suspicious, weary voice. "I rec'lect the youngpers--the young lady, now. You called to wait for her, didn't you, Miss?You and a fair gent. Last night. Then you left before she come away."

  "When? When did she go?" I demanded quickly.

  "About an hour after you did, I should say."

  "And who with?" I asked again breathlessly. "Who was Miss Million withwhen she left this place?"

  "Ar!" said the waiter, "now you're arskin'!" He spoke more suspiciouslythan ever. And he looked sharply at me, with such disfavour that I feltquite guilty--though why, I don't know.

  Of what should he suspect me? I am sure I looked nothing but what I was,a superior lady's-maid, well turned out in all-black; rather pale frommy last night's vigil, and genuinely anxious because I could not findout what had become of my mistress.

  "Want to know a lot, some of you," said the waiter, quite unpleasantlythis time.

  And he turned away. He left me, feeling snubbed to about six inchesshorter, standing, hesitating, on the red carpet of the corridor.

  Horrid man!

  The attendant came up.

  "Miss! About that young lady of yours," he began, in a low, confidentialvoice.

  "Oh, yes? Yes? You remember her now? You'll tell me who she went awaywith?" I said quite desperately. "Do tell me!"

  "Well, I couldn't say for certain, of course; but--since Alfred therewas telling you she was talking a lot with that young Lord Fourcastles,well! I see him go off in the small car, and there was a lady with him,"the attendant told me. "That I did see. A young lady in some sort of awrap----"

  "Yes, but what sort of a wrap?" I cried impatiently.

  Oh, the incomprehensible blindness of the Masculine Eye! Woman dressesto please it. She spends the third of her means, the half of her time,and the whole of her thought on that object alone. And what is herreward? Man--whether he's the restaurant attendant or the creature who'staken her out to dinner--merely announces: "I really couldn't say whatsort of a wrap she had on."

  "Was it a white one? At least you'll remember that?" I urged. I sawbefore my mind's eye Million's restaurant coat of soft, creamy cloth,with the mother-o'-pearl satin lining. How little I'd dreamt, as I putit about my mistress's shoulders last night, that I should be trying totrace its whereabouts--and hers--at eleven o'clock this morning!

  "Was it a light coat or a dark one that the lady had on who drove awaywith Lord Fourcastles? You can at least tell me that!"

  The sallow-faced attendant shook his head.

  Afraid he "hadn't thought to notice whether the young lady's coat waswhite or black or what colour."

  Blind Bat!

  And as I turned away in despair I caught an amused grin on his sallowface under the peaked cap, and I heard him whistle through his teeth astave of the music-hall song, "Who Were You With Last Night?"

  Horrid, horrid man!

  It seems to me this morning that all men are perfectly horrid.

  What about this young Lord Fourcastles?

  That's the thought that's worrying me now as I walk up and down MissMillion's deserted sitting-room, unable to settle to anything; waiting,waiting....

  Yes, what about that eyeglassed, rowdy, fair-faced boy who was stickingflowers in her hair the last time I saw her? Was it she who drove awayfrom the Thousand and One Club in his car? Was it? And where to?

  Can he----Awful thought! Can he possibly have kidnapped Miss Million?Run away with her? Abducted her?

  After all, he must know she's an heiress----

  Pooh! Absurd thought! This isn't the eighteenth century. People don'tabduct heiresses any more. Million is all right--somewhere.

  She's gone on with one of these people. They've made what they call "anight" of it, and they're having breakfast at Greenwich, or somewhere inthe country. Yes, but why didn't my mistress wire or telephone fromwherever she is to let her maid know?

  Surely she'll want other clothes taken to her? I see visions of herstill in that low-cut, cerise frock, with the June sunlight glinting onthe spangles of it; her creamy restaurant coat still fastened about hersturdy bare shoulders, the wilting pink carnations still in her hair.How hideously uncomfortable for her, poor little thing....