Til Morning Comes

by Lisa Ann Harper

  Humour touched her briefly. They all looked like characters in a French farce, but she quickly cloaked her smile in a frown. The driver, dressed in the most voluminous motoring gear namely a leather-lined, tweed coat, along the lines of a double-breasted Ulster, was looking on in helpless frustration. Mallory speculated that when people went motoring here, they must feel the need of full protection against the vagaries of inclement weather.

  He had removed his seal skin gauntlets and the four glass goggles in their leather mask, but still wore his peaked driving cap with long, fur lined side flaps. Old Jake had been summoned to the rescue, still with pipe in clenched jaw and was trying, with another lad’s help, to get the vehicle righted. There was much grunting with their heaving the only result however, an ever increasing incline.

  “Can I lend a hand Your Lordship?” Mallory offered, her features composed into serious concern. She knew right away who this patrician gentleman was. There was no mistaking the authoritarian, somewhat pompous manner. Nonetheless, she had expected when viewing Lord Patchford up close and personal so to speak, to see Lady Nigella’s dark colouring, or at least the green eyes, but he was fair like his son.

  Lord Patchford drew his attention from the drama unfolding, or not, before him and skewed his gaze to the newcomer.

  “Know anything about automobiles, young man?” he enquired dubiously, thinking how unlikely, but he did not have the appearance of a labourer, being quite reasonably turned out.

  “Yes, my Lord. Not this model perhaps. Err…r, may I ask the make … Sir?”

  “It’s a de Dion Bouton, model Q. It’s a French Runabout. I like it because although its engine is only small, it still runs twice as fast as the Daimler.”

  She strolled over to the ‘Runabout’, and was fascinated. Not a vintage car, but one of the most popular in Europe. Lord Patchford came to stand by her side. “Lord Albert, Marquis de Dion in 1884, first started working on a steam tractor and with the help of his engineering partner Georges Bouton, put his inventive mind to the creation of a petrol driven vehicle. This evolved into the Model Q,” he elaborated with pride. His Lordship knew a lot about his automobiles and loved being expansive.

  Mallory nodded, all the while her eyes roaming over the little beauty. She noted that although a purpose-built vehicle, the coach-work had been crafted along traditional lines using centuries-old skills and techniques. The exterior woodwork was painted apple-green, the quilted interior a tomato-red plush. There was no tonneau, but the occupants gained some protection from dust thrown up off dirt roads, by large mud guards above the wheels. Each one had wooden spokes, presumably a design inherited from the horse cart.

  She spotted the propeller shaft carrying the drive from the gear box to the final drive. That was good. This model had already made the advance on the chain mechanism. She saw the automobile had a simple rigid axle, mounted in the rear. Next she checked the engine settings. On this little number they were the throttle, ignition advance/retard and valve lift. To drive it she would have to adjust these settings constantly, using the levers on the steering column.

  That should be pretty simple, she hoped. The emergency foot brake was on the floor, next to the raked steering column and the reversing pedal just in front of the driver’s seat.

  Having made her inspection, during which time the others stopped pushing and shoving, seeing they were only making matters worse, she turned to Lord Patchford and declared she thought she could move it out for him: “That is, if you’re willing to let me handle the vehicle, Your Lordship. I assure you, I have had a lot of experience with cars and trucks, one way or another … my Lord.”

  Lord Patchford was not confident, but judging from the mess old Beeson was creating, surely anything would be an improvement on that. It was obvious something needed to be done. “All right, you have my permission.”

  Mallory knew this would not necessarily be a walk in the park, so she approached the task with caution, remembering how she had felt when she first learned to drive under Dad’s tuition in the back paddock. Not wanting to go into reverse right off she decided to clear it with the owner; going forward and turning into the drive would be acceptable. So far so good … next!

  She got into the driver’s seat, perched surprisingly high and felt all the levers and pedals. Jake went to the front and turned the starting handle. The de Dion Bouton jumped into life. To move off she had to advance the ignition and open the valves further using the column levers, then let off the hand brake gently, gently; then juggle the vehicle into gear. She was too quick with the clutch pedal and stalled.

  “Go easy there, lad,” Lord Patchford bellowed, getting more flushed in the face in his anxiety that his beloved de Dion was in someone else’s hands.

  “Sorry my Lord should be all right now.”

  Jake started the engine and she tried again. This time a better feel for the car prevailed and when it came to the clutch, it went smoothly. Yeah Baby! She had action. To get up speed she had to move the ignition advance lever forward which she did with a steady hand. Fortunately, the popularity of this ‘Runabout’ lay in the placement of the final gear to the car body and not the axle. The rear wheels were turned by two short shafts. This not only made for easier steering, but also a smoother ride – no bouncing up and down with the springs.

  It was indeed a pleasure to handle and once she was out of the rut, she began to enjoy herself behind the wheel again, moving through the gears. Driving round in a curve, she came to a halt next to the onlookers in a triumphant spurt of fine gravel.

  Lord Patchford was impressed: “Dashed well done, by Jove.”

  Mallory jumped out and accepted the commendation graciously. “She was a joy to drive. This little roadster handles exceptionally well.”

  His Lordship, unfamiliar with the term raised his fair eyebrows in question.

  “Oh an open car that seats two,” she explained and smiled back at him, the elation over the drive plain to see all across her face.

  “What’s your name young man?” A thought had come to him. “So you know about automobiles?”

  “Love’em. Grew up messing and tinkering, one way or another and I learned to drive when I was quite young.”

  His Lordship was amazed. “Where was this?”

  “In Australia, wide open space allows lots of clear road for practise.”

  “Listen, Mason, come up to the House tomorrow. I’ve a proposition for you.”

  “Thank you my Lord. I finish chores at two o’clock. Will that be all right with you, Sir?”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I’m a stable hand, my Lord.”

  “Very well, I’ll clear it with Beeson here,” He looked at the old retainer and nodded. “Be at my study at nine in the morning.” With this command, Lord Patchford climbed into the driver’s seat and took off towards the carriage house. His employees watched him disappear then headed in the opposite direction.

  “Well, that was luck ya’ ’appened along Mason; ’is Lordship were fair set t’ get up a mighty ’ead o’ steam. Best ya’ finish at eight t’morra, then clean yersel’ up t’ be presentable. Come back when ’is Lordship ’as finished with ya’ an’ let me know.”

  They trudged back to the stables, Mallory speculating on his Lordship’s request. She would have to be sure she looked presentable. Appearance, she had learned was the universal yard stick in this world. Its zeitgeist was that everyone had his place and must be seen to be in it.

  * * *

  Mallory took a change of shirt and hung it on a hook in the scullery then headed for the stables. She would take care of her boots with the dubbin she had found in the boot room and hope his Lordship would find her presentation appropriate. Jake was going to let her know when it would be time to stop. His was a soft heart and he wanted things to go right for the lad.

  By the kitchen clock she was too early, nonetheless, she gave a quick salute to Cook and Edna and pushed on through the baize door. She would rather that than ri
sk being late. She looked down the corridor and a groan escaped her. Mr. Baldwin was approaching in the opposite direction and she recalled his severe injunction.

  Shit! This is the last thing I need.

  As anticipated he accosted her with a cold stare. A knot formed in her stomach to accompany her gathering sense of doom. He wanted chapter and verse on her doings and since she did not know what his Lordship was after her answers came across as haphazard and suspicious. Despite the derisive smile which tugged at his lips, he accepted her explanation without too much antipathy. She figured her luck must be in and his mood more forbearing today. Without added censure he dismissed her and she sped on towards the study.

  “Enter.”

  Such a luxurious room! Mallory wanted a chance to take it all in, but Lord Patchford was quickly down to business. He had been looking out the tall windows behind his expansive, leather-topped mahogany desk. This morning he was dressed casually in a light brown tweed, three piece sac suit. The jacket reached well down to the thigh, but was squared off in a straight cut. The trousers were narrow legged with a sharp crease in the front. He had not yet adopted the turn-up, favoured by the young men of fashion. At his throat, tight under the short, pointed beard he wore a ‘Garrick’ tie in dark brown silk. Wide banded, it featured yellow stripes and small dots. He looked every inch the corporate executive, totally in control of his domain. Mallory felt a rising trepidation.

  Over the desk’s highly polished surface were scattered numerous papers, but not sufficient to obscure the silver desk set. On her side of the large green blotter was a superb example of Art Nouveau craftsmanship in delicate, flowing detail. The ink bottle was closed by a twinkling, crystal stopper. An ornate, silver photograph frame stood to one corner, but she could not see the picture. He turned back to the room.

  “Ah, Mason. Take a seat.” He indicated a lightly upholstered, upright wooden chair, also of polished mahogany and as she sat so did he.

  “Good morning, Your Lordship.” Her hands were clenched in fists on her thighs as she sat bolt upright. No preamble a direct launch, as he leaned back and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I was impressed with your handling of the de Dion Bouton yesterday and you say you have driving and mechanical experience?” His eyes scrutinized her face with piercing intensity, his mustachios bristling up and down as he worked his lips.

  “Yes Your Lordship.”

  “With which automobiles are you familiar?”

  “I have had experience with most makes Your Lordship: Holden, Mitsubishi Toyota.”

  Lord Patchford’s frown deepened and Mallory realised he would know nothing of these makes.

  “And of course … the Oldsmobile: Cadillac, Mercedes-Benz.” She hoped this would hit the spot. His face cleared, but concern remained. He knew this was unorthodox, but men who could handle motor vehicles as well as this youngster were hard to find. He had seen proof of his ability for himself. Did he have the rest of the goods? Suspicion held sway. He seemed too good to be true. “You are very young for such extensive knowledge.”

  “In Australia my dad, my brother and I, we’d spend all our spare time working on the vehicles. You may say I learned at my father’s knee … Your Lordship.”

  Australia! That explained it. With this Lord Patchford leaned forward, placing his clasped hands on the desk. “Here’s the thing Mason. I also own a Rolls-Royce 40/50 …”

  “40/50 Your Lordship?” she enquired on reflex, excitement at this disclosure momentarily making her forget her place. Lord Patchford let the interruption pass. Where previously he had been in the vanguard of the Hippophiles, his cars now superseded his horses as his primary passion. The motor car was also the new symbol of ostentatious consumption. He enjoyed conversing with someone who could share his enthusiasm.

  “Some see the automobile solely as a luxury object, but the ‘Silver Ghost’ is an open Tourer, a four-seater in the style ‘Roi des Belges’. Suitable for the Ladies, do you see? They prefer it to a closed-in limousine and it’s not so alarming on the corners. They don’t like it if they’re rocked about too much.”

  “No, of course not Sir.”

  “You know this Bedarida fellow, claims it’s rarely put to any useful purpose. Says it’s good only to impress the vulgar crowd, in town and village. Pah!” He worked his mouth again. “Well, I am in need of a good motorman. Cutting a long story short, my current chappie isn’t as knowledgeable as he claims.” With a lift of impatience to his shoulders he continued: “Devil take it Mason, I can’t be having the Ladies stranded on their trips with an unreliable chauffeur. If you would be interested, I will give you a month’s trial.”

  “Indeed Your Lordship, I am very interested and would consider it a privilege to be permitted to take over the running of such a famous automobile.” Privately, she was knocked out by the offer; to drive and maintain a Silver Ghost. Interested? Crikey!

  His wording surprised Lord Patchford, but the sincerity was clear. No matter, he was well pleased with this turn of events since for some time now, frustration had been dogging him over this motoring business. Wilkins’ unreliability had become untenable, especially where his womenfolk were involved. He could not be driving them himself and anyway, he had too much to do to be gallivanting to Department Stores and Galleries, or whatever else they found to fill their day. One way or another, they managed to find ways to spend money. He sighed, thinking: Ah, the Ladies, bless ’em. Their heads were not made to contend with weighty matters. Anyway, that wouldn’t be right.

  “Very well then Mason. Now pay attention to this. The Ladies don’t appreciate ‘scorchers’ and much prefer good use of the horn than frantic tooting for noise sake. Do you get my meaning?”

  “Yes my Lord, except I’m not familiar with the term ‘scorcher’ … my Lord.”

  Lord Patchford paused and pursed his lips: Of course Australia: “Reckless speeding Mason, forcing people to leap out of the way. A few years ago someone complained in the Lancet, ‘… automobiling has become an intolerable nuisance and also a source of grave public danger…’”

  “Oh I understand, my Lord. It’s totally inappropriate and unnecessary.”

  “We don’t want drivers giving motorists a bad name. Only earlier this year in the American Senate, Senator Joseph Bailey of Texas proposed that if he had his way he would make it a crime to use automobiles on public highways. We don’t want that sort of attitude coming over here, so the more responsible motorists are, the more readily we will be accepted.” He looked sternly over his spectacles. “Carpe diem, eh Mason, d’ye see?”

  “Oh yes Your Lordship, I totally agree.”What the hell?

  Lord Patchford cleared his throat and slowly nodded his head at the appropriateness of this sentiment. “Very well, see Crosby and he’ll clear all the details.”

  “Yes my Lord. Err…r do you have a starting date in mind … Sir?”

  “As soon as maybe Mason.” He returned his attention to his papers. “Cut along now and get it fixed up.” His tone was dismissive. The tall, pendulum clock had chimed the quarter hour, reminding him of his customary schedules of obligation and punctuality. Mallory observed this antique piece with admiration. Seventeenth century, the floral marquetry on its long case and the Barley-Twist columns on its hood gave the period. Also, it featured finely-carved cresting in the form of three scalloped garlands of small flowers in lime wood above the cornice. She was impressed that it still functioned so efficiently. Just so, it moved Lord Patchford’s concerns onto the next problem. No point in dwelling on the old when he needed to get on with the new.

  She pulled her eyes away and answered: “I’ll attend to it immediately my Lord. Thank you. I shall do my very best not to fail the trust you have placed in me.”

  Despite himself, these words arrested the aristocrat and he gave the young man another look. He was finding him unusual and surprisingly perceptive. Yes he was trusting him, not only with his precious automobiles, but in addition with the care and protection of his wom
enfolk. He did not want to be let down again.

  * * *

  When Mallory knocked on the office door she was fortunate to find Mr. Crosby at work. Although surprised to have the lad back so soon, he could see no obstacles to the new employment proposal and signing of the documents went smoothly.

  “This new post Mason, you could have time on your hands. Would you be interested in filling in at the stables?”

  Mallory looked dubious. More of her hours used up.

  “We still need lads and Mr. Beeson says he’s sorry to lose you. It’s extra money.”

  “The stable work’s OK Mr. Crosby, but I’m not one for these blood sports, beating the bushes and all that.”

  “Fair enough. Anyway, you wouldn’t want to have to rise so early I expect. No, strictly helping out for Mr. Beeson.” He gave what he thought was an encouraging smile, coming across more like an abrupt grimace, his whiskers on full bristle. He was right though. The extra money would be good and there was the matter of surveillance. She did not want anything to happen to the Lady Nigella, either.

  “All right Mr. Crosby, tell Mr. Beeson he can call on me.”

  Mr. Crosby nodded his approval – one less loss after all. Since Mason was to begin right away, he paid the wages to date out of petty cash and the new rate of pay would start from tomorrow. He spent no more time on details. He had what he wanted.

  “Mr. Beeson will keep a log on your hours and let me know, week by week. Mrs. Aldred will explain the workings of the household: mealtimes, personal routines etc. She’ll assign the uniforms and show you the new quarters.” He picked up another ledger to flick the pages. He was a busy man and everyone should know it.