The Brass Bottle

by F. Anstey

  CHAPTER VIII

  BACHELOR'S QUARTERS

  Horace was feeling particularly happy as he walked back the next eveningto Vincent Square. He had the consciousness of having done a good day'swork, for the sketch-plans for Mr. Wackerbath's mansion were actuallycompleted and despatched to his business address, while Ventimore nowfelt a comfortable assurance that his designs would more than satisfyhis client.

  But it was not that which made him so light of heart. That night hisrooms were to be honoured for the first time by Sylvia's presence. Shewould tread upon his carpet, sit in his chairs, comment upon, andperhaps even handle, his books and ornaments--and all of them wouldretain something of her charm for ever after. If she only came! For evennow he could not quite believe that she really would; that some untowardevent would not make a point of happening to prevent her, as hesometimes doubted whether his engagement was not too sweet and wonderfulto be true--or, at all events, to last.

  As to the dinner, his mind was tolerably easy, for he had settled theremaining details of the _menu_ with his landlady that morning, and hecould hope that without being so sumptuous as to excite the Professor'swrath, it would still be not altogether unworthy--and what goods couldbe rare and dainty enough?--to be set before Sylvia.

  He would have liked to provide champagne, but he knew that wine wouldsavour of ostentation in the Professor's judgment, so he had contentedhimself instead with claret, a sound vintage which he knew he coulddepend upon. Flowers, he thought, were clearly permissible, and he hadcalled at a florist's on his way and got some chrysanthemums of palestyellow and deepest terra-cotta, the finest he could see. Some of themwould look well on the centre of the table in an old Nankinblue-and-white bowl he had; the rest he could arrange about the room:there would just be time to see to all that before dressing.

  Occupied with these thoughts, he turned into Vincent Square, whichlooked vaster than ever with the murky haze, enclosed by its highrailings, and under a wide expanse of steel-blue sky, across which theclouds were driving fast like ships in full sail scudding for harbourbefore a storm. Against the mist below, the young and nearly leaflesstrees showed flat, black profiles as of pressed seaweed, and the skyimmediately above the house-tops was tinged with a sullen red from milesof lighted streets; from the river came the long-drawn tooting of tugs,mingled with the more distant wail and hysterical shrieks of railwayengines on the Lambeth lines.

  And now he reached the old semi-detached house in which he lodged, andnoticed for the first time how the trellis-work of the veranda made,with the bared creepers and hanging baskets, a kind of decorativepattern against the windows, which were suffused with a roseate glowthat looked warm and comfortable and hospitable. He wondered whetherSylvia would notice it when she arrived.

  He passed under the old wrought-iron arch that once held an oil-lamp,and up a short but rather steep flight of steps, which led to a brickporch built out at the side. Then he let himself in, and stoodspellbound with perplexed amazement,--for he was in a strange house.

  In place of the modest passage with the yellow marble wall-paper, themahogany hat-stand, and the elderly barometer in a state of chronicdepression which he knew so well, he found an arched octagonalentrance-hall with arabesques of blue, crimson, and gold, andrichly-embroidered hangings; the floor was marble, and from a shallowbasin of alabaster in the centre a perfumed fountain rose and fell witha lulling patter.

  "I must have mistaken the number," he thought, quite forgetting that hislatch-key had fitted, and he was just about to retreat before hisintrusion was discovered, when the hangings parted, and Mrs. Rapkinpresented herself, making so deplorably incongruous a figure in suchsurroundings, and looking so bewildered and woebegone, that Horace, inspite of his own increasing uneasiness, had some difficulty in keepinghis gravity.

  "Oh, Mr. Ventimore, sir," she lamented; "whatever _will_ you go and donext, I wonder? To think of your going and having the whole place doneup and altered out of knowledge like this, without a word of warning! Ifany halterations were required, I _do_ think as me and Rapkin had theright to be consulted."

  Horace let all his chrysanthemums drop unheeded into the fountain. Heunderstood now: indeed, he seemed in some way to have understood almostfrom the first, only he would not admit it even to himself.

  The irrepressible Jinnee was at the bottom of this, of course. Heremembered now having made that unfortunate remark the day before aboutthe limited accommodation his rooms afforded.

  Clearly Fakrash must have taken a mental note of it, and, with thatinsatiable munificence which was one of his worst failings, haddetermined, by way of a pleasant surprise, to entirely refurnish andredecorate the apartments according to his own ideas.

  It was extremely kind of him; it showed a truly gratefuldisposition--"but, oh!" as Horace thought, in the bitterness of hissoul, "if he would only learn to let well alone and mind his ownbusiness!"

  However, the thing was done now, and he must accept the responsibilityfor it, since he could hardly disclose the truth. "Didn't I mention Iwas having some alterations made?" he said carelessly. "They've got thework done rather sooner than I expected. Were--were they long over it?"

  "I'm sure I can't tell you, sir, having stepped out to get some things Iwanted in for to-night; and Rapkin, he was round the corner at hisreading-room; and when I come back it was all done and the workmen gone'ome; and how they could have finished such a job in the time beats mealtogether, for when we 'ad the men in to do the back kitchen they tookten days over it."

  "Well," said Horace, evading this point, "however they've done this,they've done it remarkably well--you'll admit that, Mrs. Rapkin?"

  "That's as may be sir," said Mrs. Rapkin, with a sniff, "but it ain't_my_ taste, nor yet I don't think it will be Rapkin's taste when hecomes to see it."

  It was not Ventimore's taste either, though he was not going to confessit. "Sorry for that, Mrs. Rapkin," he said, "but I've no time to talkabout it now. I must rush upstairs and dress."

  "Begging your pardon, sir, but that's a total unpossibility--for they'vebeen and took away the staircase.'

  "Taken away the staircase? Nonsense!" cried Horace.

  "So _I_ think, Mr. Ventimore--but it's what them men have done, and ifyou don't believe me, come and see for yourself!"

  She drew the hangings aside, and revealed to Ventimore's astonished gazea vast pillared hall with a lofty domed roof, from which hung severallamps, diffusing a subdued radiance. High up in the wall, on his left,were the two windows which he judged to have formerly belonged to hissitting-room (for either from delicacy or inability, or simply becauseit had not occurred to him, the Jinnee had not interfered with theexternal structure), but the windows were now masked by a perforatedand gilded lattice, which accounted for the pattern Horace had noticedfrom without. The walls were covered with blue-and-white Oriental tiles,and a raised platform of alabaster on which were divans ran round twosides of the hall, while the side opposite to him was pierced withhorseshoe-shaped arches, apparently leading to other apartments. Thecentre of the marble floor was spread with costly rugs and piles ofcushions, their rich hues glowing through the gold with which they wereintricately embroidered.

  "Well," said the unhappy Horace, scarcely knowing what he was saying,"it--it all looks very _cosy_, Mrs. Rapkin."

  "It's not for me to say, sir; but I should like to know where youthought of dining?"

  "Where?" said Horace. "Why, here, of course. There's plenty of room."

  "There isn't a table left in the house," said Mrs. Rapkin; "so, unlessyou'd wish the cloth laid on the floor----"

  "Oh, there must be a table somewhere," said Horace, impatiently, "or youcan borrow one. Don't _make_ difficulties, Mrs. Rapkin. Rig up anythingyou like.... Now I must be off and dress."

  He got rid of her, and, on entering one of the archways, discovered asmaller room, in cedar-wood encrusted with ivory and mother-o'-pearl,which was evidently his bedroom. A gorgeous robe, stiff with gold andglittering with ancient gems, was laid o
ut for him--for the Jinnee hadthought of everything--but Ventimore, naturally, preferred his ownevening clothes.

  "Mr. Rapkin!" he shouted, going to another arch that seemed tocommunicate with the basement.

  "Sir?" replied his landlord, who had just returned from his"reading-room," and now appeared, without a tie and in hisshirt-sleeves, looking pale and wild, as was, perhaps, intelligible inthe circumstances. As he entered his unfamiliar marble halls hestaggered, and his red eyes rolled and his mouth gaped in a cod-likefashion. "They've been at it 'ere, too, seemin'ly," he remarked huskily.

  "There have been a few changes," said Horace, quietly, "as you can see.You don't happen to know where they've put my dress-clothes, do you?"

  "I don't 'appen to know where they've put nothink. Your dress clothes?Why, I dunno where they've bin and put our little parler where me andMaria 'ave set of a hevenin' all these years regular. I dunno wherethey've put the pantry, nor yet the bath-room, with 'ot and cold waterlaid on at my own expense. And you arsk me to find your hevenin' soot! Iconsider, sir, I consider that a unwall--that a most unwarrant-terribleliberty have bin took at my expense."

  "My good man, don't talk rubbish!" said Horace.

  "I'm talking to you about what _I know_, and I assert that anEnglishman's 'ome is his cashle, and nobody's got the right when hisbacksh turned to go and make a 'Ummums of it. Not _nobody_ 'asn't!"

  "Make a _what_ of it?" cried Ventimore.

  "A 'Ummums--that's English, ain't it? A bloomin' Turkish baths! Who doyou suppose is goin' to take apartments furnished in this 'ereridic'loush style? What am I goin' to say to my landlord? It'll aboutruing me, this will; and after you bein' a lodger 'ere for five year andmore, and regarded by me and Maria in the light of one of the family.It's 'ard--it's damned 'ard!"

  "Now, look here," said Ventimore, sharply--for it was obvious that Mr.Rapkin's studies had been lightened by copious refreshment--"pullyourself together, man, and listen to me."

  "I respeckfully decline to pull myshelf togerrer f'r anybody livin',"said Mr. Rapkin, with a noble air. "I shtan' 'ere upon my dignity as aman, sir. I shay, I shtand 'ere upon----" Here he waved his hand, andsat down suddenly upon the marble floor.

  "You can stand on anything you like--or can," said Horace; "but hearwhat I've got to say. The--the people who made all these alterationswent beyond my instructions. I never wanted the house interfered withlike this. Still, if your landlord doesn't see that its value isimmensely improved, he's a fool, that's all. Anyway, I'll take care_you_ shan't suffer. If I have to put everything back in its formerstate, I will, at my own expense. So don't bother any more about_that_."

  "You're a gen'l'man, Mr. Ventimore," said Rapkin, cautiously regaininghis feet. "There's no mishtaking a gen'l'man. _I'm_ a gen'l'man."

  "Of course you are," said Horace genially, "and I'll tell you how you'regoing to show it. You're going straight downstairs to get your good wifeto pour some cold water over your head; and then you will finishdressing, see what you can do to get a table of some sort and lay it fordinner, and be ready to announce my friends when they arrive, and waitafterwards. Do you see?"

  "That will be all ri', Mr. Ventimore," said Rapkin, who was not far goneenough to be beyond understanding or obeying. "You leave it entirely tome. I'll unnertake that your friends shall be made comforrable, perfellycomforrable. I've lived as butler in the besht, the mosht ecxlu--mostarishto--you know the sort o' fam'lies I'm tryin' to r'member--and--andeverything was always all ri', and _I_ shall be all ri' in a fewminutes."

  With this assurance he stumbled downstairs, leaving Horace relieved tosome extent. Rapkin would be sober enough after his head had been underthe tap for a few minutes, and in any case there would be the hiredwaiter to rely upon.

  If he could only find out where his evening clothes were! He returned tohis room and made another frantic search--but they were nowhere to befound; and as he could not bring himself to receive his guests in hisordinary morning costume--which the Professor would probably construe asa deliberate slight, and which would certainly seem a solecism in Mrs.Futvoye's eyes, if not in her daughter's--he decided to put on theEastern robes, with the exception of a turban, which he could not manageto wind round his head.

  Thus arrayed he re-entered the domed hall, where he was annoyed to findthat no attempt had been made as yet to prepare a dinner-table, and hewas just looking forlornly round for a bell when Rapkin appeared. He hadapparently followed Horace's advice, for his hair looked wet and sleek,and he was comparatively sober.

  "This is too bad!" cried Horace; "my friends may be here at any momentnow--and nothing done. You don't propose to wait at table like that, doyou?" he added, as he noted the man's overcoat and the comforter roundhis throat.

  "I do not propose to wait in any garments whatsoever," said Rapkin; "I'ma-goin' out, I am."

  "Very well," said Horace; "then send the waiter up--I suppose he'scome?"

  "He come--but he went away again--I told him as he wouldn't berequired."

  "You told him that!" Horace said angrily, and then controlled himself."Come, Rapkin, be reasonable. You can't really mean to leave your wifeto cook the dinner, and serve it too!"

  "She ain't intending to do neither; she've left the house already."

  "You must fetch her back," cried Horace. "Good heavens, man, _can't_ yousee what a fix you're leaving me in? My friends have started longago--it's too late to wire to them, or make any other arrangements."

  There was a knock, as he spoke, at the front door; and odd enough wasthe familiar sound of the cast-iron knocker in that Arabian hall.

  "There they are!" he said, and the idea of meeting them at the door andproposing an instant adjournment to a restaurant occurred to him--tillhe suddenly recollected that he would have to change and try to findsome money, even for that. "For the last time, Rapkin," he cried indespair, "do you mean to tell me there's no dinner ready?"

  "Oh," said Rapkin, "there's dinner right enough, and a lot o' barbariousfurriners downstairs a cookin' of it--that's what broke Maria's 'art--tosee it all took out of her 'ands, after the trouble she'd gone to."

  "But I must have somebody to wait," exclaimed Horace.

  "You've got waiters enough, as far as that goes. But if you expect ahordinary Christian man to wait along of a lot o' narsty niggers, and beat their beck and call, you're mistook, sir, for I'm going to sleep thenight at my brother-in-law's and take his advice, he bein' a doorkeeperat a solicitor's orfice and knowing the law, about this 'ere business,and so I wish you a good hevening, and 'oping your dinner will be toyour liking and satisfaction."

  He went out by the farther archway, while from the entrance-hall Horacecould hear voices he knew only too well. The Futvoyes had come; well, atall events, it seemed that there would be something for them to eat,since Fakrash, in his anxiety to do the thing thoroughly, had furnishedboth the feast and attendance himself--but who was there to announce theguests? Where were these waiters Rapkin had spoken of? Ought he to goand bring in his visitors himself?

  These questions answered themselves the next instant, for, as he stoodthere under the dome, the curtains of the central arch were drawn with arattle, and disclosed a double line of tall slaves in rich raiment,their onyx eyes rolling and their teeth flashing in their chocolate-huedcountenances, as they salaamed.

  Between this double line stood Professor and Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia,who had just removed their wraps and were gazing in undisguisedastonishment on the splendours which met their view.

  Horace advanced to receive them; he felt he was in for it now, and theonly course left him was to put as good a face as he could on thematter, and trust to luck to pull him through without discovery ordisaster.