“I do hope that you and Mrs. Jardine have made up your minds to come,” said Carstairs to Lady Penrose, as they walked slowly down a box-edged path. “If you don’t I’m afraid the whole scheme will fall through.”
“I don’t see why it should,” was the reply. “There must be plenty of people who would jump at it.”
Carstairs shook his head. “Besides, I don’t want plenty of people,” he said slowly, “although, of course, I should extend a hearty welcome to any friends of yours that you might wish to bring.”
“And suppose that you didn’t like them?” said Lady Penrose, playing for an opening.
“It wouldn’t matter.”
“I’m afraid that I am more particular, or, if you like, more selfish,” said Lady Penrose. “I shouldn’t care to go for a long voyage with people that I did not like.” Carstairs stole an appraising glance at her, and as a result decided to run a slight risk of disaster. “Of course,” he said cheerfully; “so I will give you a list of my guests, and you can strike out those you don’t like.” Lady Penrose laughed. “Nonsense,” she said, colouring slightly. “It has nothing to do with me. I couldn’t dream of doing such a thing.”
“Then you will come?” said Carstairs. Lady Penrose hesitated. “Suppose you make the same offer to Mrs. Jardine,” she suggested, “and give her the list.”
“I — I prefer to rely on your judgment,” said Carstairs.
“Who is coming?” she asked, after a pause.
Carstairs went through the names. “And I understand that my aunt has invited Knight and Peplow,” he concluded. “They are staying with us, you know.”
“Yes,” said Lady Penrose slowly. “Yes — I am not very fond of Mr. Knight.”
Carstairs gave a little wave of the hand. “Strike him off, then,” he said cheerfully.
“I’m afraid my aunt will be very disappointed, but still —— —— —”
“I can’t possibly interfere with your arrangements,” said Lady Penrose, with a little laugh of annoyance. “And what do you think Mrs. Ginnell would say?”
“She is very set on your coming,” said Carstairs, “and will be very much upset if the whole thing falls through, as it will if you don’t come. I am sure that you will not let your plans be upset by a youngster of that age. Apart from that you would like to come?”
“Very much.”
“Then that is settled,” said Carstairs. “I absolutely decline to let any half-baked boy upset my plans in that fashion. It is making far too important a person of him. Don’t you feel that?”
“I don’t think that he would,” said Lady Penrose.
“You will come?” said Carstairs. “Please say ‘ yes.’ If you don’t I can never look my poor aunt in the face again.”
Lady Penrose hesitated. “Thank you very much,” she said at last, with a faint smile. “You have put so much responsibility upon me that I couldn’t refuse, even if I wanted to.”
“That’s right,” said Carstairs joyfully.
“And now let us go and tell Mrs. Jardine. Next Monday I shall set out in quest of the safest and sturdiest craft I can find; speed no object.”
Mrs. Jardine received the news calmly, and, with perfect confidence in her friend’s judgment, gratefully accepted the invitation. Details (partial) furnished after the visitors had departed left her less satisfied.
“It ought to be very pleasant,” she said slowly. “It is a pity that Mr. Carstairs is so slow of comprehension. However, there is plenty of time for us to change our mind if we wish.”
“I am going,” said Lady Penrose. “I have promised.”
“You have made promises before,” said Mrs. Jardine, with a wise nod.
“What do you mean?” inquired her friend, with a little heat.
“And I know how binding they are,” concluded Mrs. Jardine ambiguously.
Lady Penrose looked at her, but, being blessed with an excellent memory, refrained from pursuing the subject. She sat gazing at a bed of geraniums and turning over in her mind an idea that had suddenly occurred to her.
“Do you think that Mr. Carstairs is as single-minded and ingenuous as he seems?” she inquired.
“Certainly I do,” said Mrs. Jardine. “It’s the only defect in his character so far as I can see. I am not sure that I wouldn’t call him simple. In a nice, pleasant way, of course, but certainly simple.”
“I wonder!” said Lady Penrose, knitting her brows.
At the same time Mr. Carstairs, suffering from severe twinges of conscience, was calling himself a rascal of the deepest dye.
CHAPTER XI
BE good,” said Mr. Biggs.
Mr. Bob Watson, his assistant, who had got the afternoon off, waved his hand and strode away jauntily. Nearly at the gate, however, he paused, and, eyeing a small figure that had just entered, turned round and signalled to Mr. Biggs. The small figure, supporting an enormous left cheek with a not over-clean hand, scowled at him darkly and continued on its way to the garage. Mr. Watson, much interested, followed.
“Yes, sir?” said Mr. Biggs, with a wink at Mr. Watson. “What can I do for you, sir? Why, bless my soul, I seem to know that face! And yet somehow I don’t seem to know it. Do you know it, Bob?”
Mr. Dawson shook his head. “It’s a perfect stranger to me,” he said, in a puzzled voice. “Seems to have a sort of likeness to that silly little page, Albert.”
“It’s much better-looking than Albert’s,” said Mr. Biggs; “better nourished, too.”
“It’s something like our Albert might be, though, after kissing a honey-bee what didn’t want to be kissed,” maintained Mr. Watson.
“I’ve got a message for you from the guv’nor,” said the boy, speaking with difficulty from the right-hand side of his mouth.
“It is Albert!” said Biggs, with an air of great surprise. “Well, I never did. How well you are looking, Albert! Why, your left cheek is almost grown up.”
“Toothache,” said Albert indistinctly. “Abscess. I’ve got to go to the dentist.”
“Well, run away, Albert,” said Mr. Biggs, with a benevolent smile. “We don’t want to keep you. But it’s a pity to spoil that cheek.”
“You’ve got to take me,” said Albert, with a horrible leer of triumph. “Mr. Carstairs said so. To Bosham, thirteen miles off. I like motoring.”
Mr. Biggs’s smile vanished with a suddenness that was almost startling, and he stood gazing in helpless fury at the small figure before him.
“I like motoring,” repeated Albert, making a praiseworthy attempt to smack his lips. “And you are to start at once. Mr. Carstairs said so. Mr. Markham has been on the ‘phone, and I have got an appointment at three. Hurry up!”
Hardly able to believe his ears, Mr. Biggs caught his breath, and for one brief moment toyed with the idea of putting both cars out of action. Then his gaze fell on the grinning Watson, and his expression changed.
“If you want anything for yourself, Bob,” he said, taking a pace towards him, “you’ve only got to say so, you know.”
“I don’t,” said the other, retreating. “So long. Be good.”
The few but powerful words wrenched from Mr. Biggs died away in the recesses of the garage. He tore his jacket from its peg, put on his cap with a bang, and, walking to the front of the car, started the engine. The unexpected appearance of the butler provided the finishing touch to his discomfiture.
“Why don’t you make haste, Albert?” demanded the latter, with a fine disregard of Mr. Biggs.
“I did tell him to hurry up, sir,” said the boy. “I suppose he is doing his best. I think he is.”
A weird, choking noise, instantly suppressed, proceeded from the interior of the suffering Mr. Biggs.
“Get out of the way,” he said, addressing the butler; “I’m coming out.”
He came out so suddenly that the butler had to side-step with more haste than dignity. The car went on for sixty or seventy yards, and, pulling up, waited for the indignant Albert to overtake it.
His attempt to get up in front was promptly frustrated by the chauffeur. —
“In behind,” said that gentleman briefly.
“I ought to ride in front by rights,” said the boy rebelliously.
“You ought to be buried by rights,” retorted Mr. Biggs dispassionately. “Get in, unless you want me to drive off without you. And hide that face in a pocket-handkerchief — if you’ve got one.”
He sat looking straight in front of him, turning a deaf ear to the instructions given to the boy by the butler, who had come up; instructions on the need for haste if the appointment was to be kept and trouble with Mr. Carstairs avoided. Also that it was a business visit, and no “joy-riding” was to be permitted.
“And consider yourself lucky,” concluded Mr. Markham impressively, “that you have a car to ride in and a fairly capable man to drive you.”
The fairly capable man let in his clutch so sharply that Albert nearly rolled off his seat as the car started off. Then he adjusted himself comfortably, and, leaning back, prepared to enjoy himself as much as his malady would permit. It was his first motor-ride, and for a time the aching tooth was almost forgotten.
The village street was somewhat busy, and Mr. Biggs, slowing down through the traffic, went slower still at the sight of a stylish figure in front of the general shop. He brought the car to a standstill, and Miss Mudge, with a bright smile, turned towards him.
“Unexpected pleasure,” declared the chauffeur politely.
“Where are you off to?” inquired Miss Mudge, with a glance at the small figure behind.
“Bosham,” replied Mr. Biggs. “I’m taking this thing to have a milk-tooth pulled out.”
“Poor Albert!” said the girl, with womanly sympathy. “Does it hurt you much, dear?”
“Who are you ‘ dearing’?” croaked the offended youth. “Of course it hurts. If the chauffeur doesn’t hurry up I shall miss my appointment.”
“Oh, what a temper it is in!” exclaimed Miss Mudge, drawing back in pretended alarm. “Don’t let me detain you, Mr. Biggs. Good-bye.”
“There’s no hurry,” declared the chauffeur. “You mustn’t take any notice of Albert. Nobody does. Why not hop on and come along with us?”
Miss Mudge shook her head. “I should like to,” she said, “but I’m only off till half-past four. My lady said I was to be sure and be in by then. She’s going out.”
“Half-past four?” said Mr. Biggs. “Why, there’s heaps and heaps of time.”
He leaned across and opened the door, and Miss Mudge, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped in and took the seat beside him.
“I hope my hat will stick on,” she said doubtfully. “It wasn’t made for motoring.”
“I’ll go easy,” said Mr. Biggs, regarding it with open admiration. “If I might say so, it suits you wonderfully.”
Miss Mudge sighed “You ought to have seen the one I had last year,” she said. “It’s a pity that fashions change so. You no sooner get something that suits you than something else comes in.”
“How is this for speed?” inquired Mr. Biggs, who was doing a gentle twelve miles an hour.
“Just right,” said Miss Mudge. “I like going slow; you can see the scenery better. Talking about scenery, did you know I’m going with my lady in the yacht? She’s promised to take me. It ought to be heavenly.”
Mr. Biggs’s face fell. “Must you go?” he inquired.
“Why, I want to go,” said the other. “I wouldn’t miss it for worlds.”
The chauffeur’s face grew more sombre. “And leave all your friends behind?” he said reproachfully.
“Perhaps they’ll be glad to get rid of me,” said Miss Mudge flippantly. “Besides, I sha’n’t leave them all behind; Mr. Markham is coming to look after things. Mr. Carstairs thinks a lot of him, I am told.”
“I suppose Markham told you so,” said the chauffeur, trembling with wrath.
The girl shook her head. “Everybody says so,” she replied softly.
Mr. Biggs drove on in silence. Vitriolic things trembled on his lips; things unfit for the delicate ears of Miss Mudge.
“I wish October was here,” she said presently. “I’ve always wanted to see the world, and it’s delightful to see it that way. No trains to catch, no packing up and moving from place to place. It’s heavenly. If I don’t have a good time it won’t be my fault.”
Mr. Biggs grunted, and, looking straight before him, drove on steadily.
“Don’t you wish you were coming?” inquired the girl, leaning towards him.
“Do you wish I was?” countered Mr. Biggs, also leaning a little bit out of the perpendicular.
“I shouldn’t mind,” was the reply.
Mr. Biggs leaned a little more in her direction, until a tendril of hair brushed lightly against his cheek. He drove on in a kind of pleasant dream, until a sensation of hot air playing on the back of his neck brought him back suddenly to earth again. He turned fiercely, and the pallid face of Albert receded to a safe distance.
“Hurry up,” mumbled that young gentleman. “I shall miss my appointment.”
“I’ll ‘ hurry’ you,” said the indignant chauffeur, in a fury. “How dare you stick that unwholesome face of yours against a lady’s? What do you mean by it? What did you say?”
“I said it wasn’t so close as yours,” replied Albert, “and neither it was. I’ve been watching you. You were told to get me to the dentist’s at three.”
To Miss Mudge’s great surprise, Mr. Biggs touched something on the wheel and the speed increased every second. When the speedometer was showing thirty miles an hour she looked at him inquiringly, and in return got a faint wink from his left eyelid. The speedometer climbed up to thirty-five and then the needle began to drop back again.
“Something wrong,” said Mr. Biggs, with another faint movement of the eyelid. “Sparking-plug, I think.”
He pulled up fifty yards further on, and, ignoring the request of Albert for information, raised the bonnet and peered in. Then he came back again, and, requesting the girl to stand up, raised the lid of the seat and took out some tools.
“Anything wrong?” she inquired.
“Nothing much,” he replied. “A matter of ten minutes or so. I’m sorry for ‘Face-ache,’ but it can’t be helped. That’s the worst of motor-cars. One moment you are bowling along at forty miles an hour, and the next you are waiting for somebody to give you a tow to the nearest garage. I remember once, before I came to Mr. Carstairs—”
“Why don’t you hurry up?” demanded Albert.
“Sorry, sir,” said Mr. Biggs, in tones of deep respect. “I’ll be as quick as possible. Perhaps you’d like to get out and stretch your legs a bit? I feel as if I could work faster if I didn’t have your eagle eye on me all the time.”
Albert cast a malevolent glance upon the tittering Miss Mudge, but made no reply, and the chauffeur, whistling in the preoccupied fashion of a busy man, set to work. The girl got out and sat on the bank, rising after a time to loiter up and down the road.
“Haven’t you nearly finished?” she said at last. “You’ve got to get me back at halfpast four sharp, you know.”
“That’ll be all right,” said Mr. Biggs, looking at the clock. “There’s time to draw all Albert’s teeth and rig him up with a set of new ones. I’ve just finished.”
He closed up the bonnet and, putting his tools away, started the engine, and climbed to his seat, followed by Miss Mudge.
“It’s a shame,” she giggled, as they sped on. “How can you tease the poor child like that?”
“Can’t be helped,” said Mr. Biggs, in a loud voice. “Nobody can prevent accidents. But for that we should have kept our time.”
He was rewarded by an understanding glance from Miss Mudge, and, somewhat pleased with himself, drove the rest of the way in high spirits.
“Look slippy, my lad,” he said amiably as he pulled up at the dentist’s. “Shut your eyes, open your mouth, and mind you don’t swallow the nippers.�
�
“Five-and-twenty past three,” said Miss Mudge, as the door opened and the boy disappeared.
“You’ll be home at a quarter past four,” said Mr. Biggs. “Just take care of the car for a moment; I want to get something.”
He went off up the road and disappeared into a confectioner’s, returning after a short interval with a large box of chocolates dangling from his forefinger by a piece of pink ribbon. He placed them on the girl’s lap and, declining a share in favour of a cigarette, noted with warm approval the correctness of her table manners. He felt that he could sit and talk to her for hours.
“A quarter to four,” she said suddenly.
“He won’t be a minute now,” said the other confidently.
Miss Mudge consumed three or four more chocolates, and then, closing the cardboard box, sat tapping it impatiently with the tips of her fingers. Her restlessness communicated itself to the chauffeur, and two or three times, with an air of hurrying things, he stood up and peered at the dentist’s windows. They stared blankly at him in return.
“I shall get into trouble,” said the girl uneasily. “You’d better drive me home as fast as you can, and then come back for him.”
Mr. Biggs shook his head. “He’s a disagreeable little beast,” he said slowly, “and he’d jump at the chance to make mischief if he came out and found us gone. Very likely go by train to Pettle and walk six miles home from there to make trouble.”
The church clock, in a marked, deliberate fashion, struck four.
“I’ll fetch him out,” snarled Mr. Biggs. “I’ll—”
He dashed up the steps and pressed the bell. A maid-servant, after a decent interval, opened the door.
“He’s in the waiting-room,” she said, in reply to the chauffeur’s question.
“In the waiting-room!” exclaimed Mr. Biggs. “Why doesn’t he come out?”
Works of W. W. Jacobs Page 87
