CHAPTER VII
LORD PETER PROMISES A SOLUTION
Sunday supper at Galvin House was a cold meal timed for eight o'clock;but allowed to remain upon the table until half-past nine for theconvenience of church-goers.
Patricia had dawdled over her toilette, realising, however, to admitthat she dreaded the ordeal before her in the dining-room. When atlast she could find no excuse for remaining longer in her room, shedescended the stairs slowly, conscious of a strange feeling ofhesitancy about her knees.
Outside the dining-room door she paused. Her instinct was to bolt; butthe pad-pad of Gustave's approaching footsteps cutting off her retreatdecided her. As she entered the dining-room the hum of excitedconversation ceased abruptly and, amidst a dead silence, Patriciawalked to her seat conscious of a heightened colour and a hatred of herown species.
Looking round the table, and seeing how acutely self-conscious everyoneseemed, her self-possession returned. She noticed a new deference inGustave's manner as he placed before her a plate of cold shoulder ofmutton and held the salad-bowl at her side. Having helped herselfPatricia turned to Miss Wangle, and for a moment regarded her with anenigmatical smile that made her fidget.
"How clever of you, Miss Wangle," she said sweetly. "In future no onewill ever dare to have a secret at Galvin House."
Miss Wangle reddened. Mr. Bolton's laugh rang out.
"Miss Wangle, Private Enquiry Agent," he cried, "I----"
"Really, Mr. Bolton!" protested Mrs. Craske-Morton, looking anxiouslyat Miss Wangle's indrawn lips and angry eyes.
Mr. Bolton subsided.
"We're so excited, dear Miss Brent," simpered Miss Sikkum. "You'll beLady Bowen----"
"Lady Peter Bowen," corrected Mrs. Craske-Morton with superiorknowledge.
"Lady Peter," gushed Miss Sikkum. "Oh how romantic, and I shall seeyour portrait in _The Mirror_. Oh! Miss Brent, aren't you happy?"
Patricia smiled across at Miss Sikkum, whose enthusiasm was too genuineto cause offence.
"And you'll have cars and all sorts of things," remarked Mrs.Mosscrop-Smythe, thinking of he solitary blue evening frock, "he's veryrich."
"Worth ten thousand a year," almost shouted Mr. Cordal, striving toregain control over a piece of lettuce-leaf that fluttered from hislips, and having eventually to use his fingers.
"You'll forget all about us," said Miss Pilkington, who in her capacityas a post-office supervisor daily showed her contempt for the publicwhose servant she was.
"If you're nice to her," said Mr. Bolton, "she may buy her stamps atyour place."
Again Mrs. Craske-Morton's "Really, Mr. Bolton!" eased the situation.
Patricia was for the most part silent. She was thinking of the comingtalk with Bowen. In spite of herself she was excited at the prospectof seeing him again. Miss Wangle also said little. From time to timeshe glanced in Patricia's direction.
"The Wangle's off her feed," whispered Mr. Bolton to Miss Sikkum,producing from her a giggle and an "Oh! Mr. Bolton, you _are_dreadful."
Mrs. Barnes was worrying as to whether a lord should be addressed as"my lord" or "sir," and if you curtsied to him, and if so how you didit with rheumatism in the knee.
Patricia noticed with amusement the new deference with which everyonetreated her. Mrs. Craske-Morton, in particular, was most solicitousthat she should make a good meal. Miss Wangle's silence was in itselfa tribute. Patricia nervously waited the moment when Bowen's presenceshould be announced.
When the time came Gustave rose to the occasion magnificently.Throwing open the dining-room door impressively and speaking with greatdistinctness he cried:
"Ees Lordship is 'ere, mees," and then after a moment's pause he added,"'E 'as brought 'is car, mees. It is at the door."
Patricia smiled in spite of herself at Gustave's earnestness.
"Very well, Gustave, say I will not be a moment," she replied and, witha muttered apology to Mrs. Craske-Morton, she left the table and thedining-room, conscious of the dramatic tension of the situation.
Patricia ran down the passage leading to the lounge, then, suddenlyremembering that haste and happiness were not in keeping with anger andreproach, entered the lounge with a sedateness that even Aunt Adelaidecould not have found lacking in maidenly decorum.
Bowen came across from the window and took both her hands.
"Why was she allowing him to do this?" she asked herself. "Why did shenot reproach him, why did she thrill at his touch, why----?"
She withdrew her hands sharply, looked up at him and then for no reasonat all laughed.
How absurd it all was. It was easy to be angry with him when he was atthe Quadrant and she at Galvin House; but with him before her, lookingdown at her with eyes that were smilingly confident and gravelydeferential by turn, she found her anger and good resolutions disappear.
"I know you are going to bully me, Patricia." Bowen's eyes smiled; butthere was in his voice a note of enquiry.
"Oh! please let us escape before the others come in sight," saidPatricia, looking over her shoulder anxiously. "They'll all be out ina moment. I left them straining at their leashes and swallowingscalding coffee so as to get a glimpse of a real, live lord at closequarters."
As she spoke Patricia stabbed on a toque.
"Shall I want anything warmer than this?" she enquired as Bowen helpedher into a long fur-trimmed coat.
"I brought a big fur coat for you in case it gets cold," he replied,and he held open the door for her to pass.
"Quick," she whispered, "they're coming."
As she ran down the steps she nodded brightly to Gustave, who stoodalmost bowed down with the burden of his respect for an English lord.
As Bowen swung the car round, Patricia was conscious that at thedrawing-room and lounge windows Galvin House was heavily massed.Unable to find a space, Miss Sikkum and Mr. Bolton had come out on tothe doorstep and, as the car jerked forward, Miss Sikkum waved herpocket handkerchief.
Patricia shuddered.
For some time they were silent. Patricia was content to enjoy theunaccustomed sense of swift movement coupled with the feeling of theluxury of a Rolls Royce. From time to time Bowen glanced at her andsmiled, and she was conscious of returning the smile, although in thelight of what she intended to say she felt that smiles were notappropriate.
The car sped along the Bayswater Road, threaded its way throughHammersmith Broadway and passed over the bridge, across Barnes Commoninto Priory Lane, and finally into Richmond Park. Bowen had notmentioned where he intended to take her, and Patricia was glad. Shewas essentially feminine, and liked having things decided for her, themore so as she invariably had to decide for herself.
Half-way across the Park Bowen turned in the direction of Kingston Gateand, a minute later, drew up just off the roadway. Having stopped theengine he turned to her.
"Now, Patricia," he said with a smile, "I am at your mercy. There isno one within hail."
Bowen's voice recalled her from dreamland. She was thinking howdifferent everything might have been, but for that unfortunateunconvention. With an effort she came down to earth to find Bowensmiling into her eyes.
It was an effort for her to assume the indignation she had previouslyfelt. Bowen's presence seemed to dissipate her anger. Why had she notwritten to him instead of endeavouring to express verbally what sheknew she would fail to convey?
"Please don't be too hard on me, Patricia," pleaded Bowen.
Patricia looked at him. She wished he would not smile at her in thatway and assume an air of penitence. It was so disarming. It wasunfair. He was taking a mean advantage. He was always taking a meanadvantage of her, always putting her in the wrong.
By keeping her face carefully averted from his, she was able to tingeher voice with indignation as she demanded:
"Why did you not tell me who you were?"
"But I did," he protested.
"You said that you were Colonel Bowen, and you are not." Patricia waspleased to f
ind her sense of outraged indignation increasing. "Youhave made me ridiculous in the eyes of everyone at Galvin House."
"But," protested Bowen.
"It's no good saying 'but,'" replied Patricia unreasonably, "you knowI'm right."
"But I told you my name was Bowen," he said, "and later I told you thatmy rank was that of a lieutenant-colonel, both of which are quitecorrect."
"You are Lord Peter Bowen, and you've made me ridiculous," thenconscious of the absurdity of her words, Patricia laughed; but therewas no mirth in her laughter.
"Made you ridiculous," said Bowen, concern in his voice. "But how?"
"Oh, I am not referring to your boy-messengers and telegrams, florists'shops, confectioners' stocks," said Patricia, "but all the tabbies inGalvin House set themselves to work to find out who you wereand--and--look what an absurd figure I cut! Then of course AuntAdelaide must butt in."
"Aunt Adelaide!" repeated Bowen, knitting his brows. "Tabbies atGalvin House!"
"If you repeat my words like that I shall scream," said Patricia. "Iwish you would try and be intelligent. Miss Wangle told Aunt Adelaidethat I'm engaged to Lord Peter Bowen. Aunt Adelaide then asked meabout my engagement, and I had to make up some sort of story aboutColonel Bowen. She then enquired if it were true that I was engaged toLord Peter Bowen. Of course I said 'No,' and that is where we are atpresent, and you've got to help me out. You got me into the mess."
"Might I enquire who Aunt Adelaide is, please, Patricia?"
Bowen's humility made him very difficult to talk to.
"Aunt Adelaide is my sole surviving relative, vide her own statement,"said Patricia. "If I had my way she would be neither surviving nor arelative; but as it happens she is both, and to-morrow afternoon athalf-past five she is coming to Galvin House to receive a fullexplanation of my conduct."
Bowen compressed his lips and wrinkled his forehead; but there waslaughter in his eyes.
"It's difficult, isn't it, Patricia?" he said.
"It's absurd, and please don't call me Patricia."
"But we're engaged and----"
"We're nothing of the sort," she said.
"But we are," protested Bowen. "I can----"
"Never mind what you can do," she retorted. "What am I to tell AuntAdelaide at half-past five to-morrow evening?"
"Why not tell her the truth?" said Bowen.
"Isn't that just like a man?" Patricia addressed the query to a deerthat was eyeing the car curiously from some fifty yards distance."Tell the truth," she repeated scornfully. "But how much will thathelp us?"
"Well! let's tell a lie," protested Bowen, smiling.
And then Patricia did a weak and foolish thing, she laughed, and Bowenlaughed. Finally they sat and looked at each other helplessly.
"However you got those," she nodded at the ribbons on his breast, "Idon't know. It was certainly not for being intelligent."
For a minute Bowen did not reply. He was apparently lost in thought.Presently he turned to Patricia.
"Look here," he said, "by half-past five to-morrow afternoon I'll havefound a solution. Now can't we talk about something pleasant?"
"There is nothing pleasant to talk about when Aunt Adelaide is loomingon the horizon. She's about the most unpleasant thing next tochilblains that I know."
"I suppose," said Bowen tentatively, "you couldn't solve the difficultyby marrying me by special licence."
"Marry you by special licence!" cried Patricia in amazement.
"Yes, it would put everything right."
"I think you must be mad," said Patricia with decision; but consciousthat her cheeks were very hot.
"I think I must be in love," was Bowen's quiet retort. "Will you?"
"Not even to escape Aunt Adelaide's interrogation would I marry you byspecial, or any other licence," said Patricia with decision.
Bowen turned away, a shadow falling across his face. Then a momentafter, drawing his cigarette-case from his pocket, he enquired, "Shallwe smoke?"
Patricia accepted the cigarette he offered her. She watched him as helighted first hers, then his own. She saw the frown that had settledupon his usually happy face, and noted the staccatoed manner in whichhe smoked. Then she became conscious that she had been lacking in notonly graciousness but common civility. Instinctively she put out herhand and touched his coat-sleeve.
"Please forgive me, I was rather a beast, wasn't I?" she said.
He looked round and smiled; but the smile did not reach his eyes.
"Please try and understand," she said, "and now will you drive me home?"
Bowen looked at her for a moment, then, getting out of the car, startedthe engine, and without a word climbed back to his seat.
The journey back was performed in silence. At Galvin House Gustave,who was on the look-out, threw open the door with a flourish.
In saying good night neither referred to the subject of theirconversation.
As Patricia entered, the lounge seemed suddenly to empty its contentsinto the hall.
"I hope you enjoyed your ride," said Mr. Bolton.
"I hate motoring," said Patricia. Then she walked upstairs with a curt"Good night," leaving a group of surprised people speculating as to thecause of her mood, and deeply commiserating with Bowen.