CHAPTER IX
The week of the tableaux had come and gone, and had opened yet anotherwindow for Katherine Bush to peep at the world from. She already knewmany of the people who came to the luncheons and rehearsals, from theirletters, and now she judged of them face to face. She had been in greatrequest to take down innumerable orders, and arrange business details,and had listened and inwardly digested what she heard.
Her contempt for some of the company was as great as for Miss MabelCawber--she discovered a few with titles and positions who were what shedisdainfully dubbed, "Middle class underneath!"
"Only that they have been more used to things, they are as paltry asMabel," she said to herself, and set about, as was her custom, to findout why--and from what families they had sprung--and obtained somesatisfaction in the confirmation of her theory of heredity, indiscovering that most of these could lay small claim to blueness ofblood. The insolence of others she approved of.
Many of the American peeresses who were posing as queens, and nuns, andGreek goddesses, she truly admired--they must have been at one time likeherself--out to learn--and now were conscious that they had made good.
"But I mean to have more repose of manner when I am there," she toldherself.
Of Sarah Lady Garribardine's sayings and views, she kept a great storein her mind. This was a real aristocrat she felt. A human, faulty,strong woman, incapable of meanness or anything which could lower theflag of her order. She was supremely insolent, too, but then she neverdid anything which could impair people's respect.
She was hard and generous--and acted up to the doctrine that "_noblesseoblige_" and entirely believed in the divine right of kings and of SarahLady Garribardine! She had not been a thirteenth century Baron'sdaughter for nothing! Katherine Bush shared every one of Her Ladyship'sviews and moulded all her ideals upon them.
Each day she was enlarging her vocabulary of words to use--adaptingsentences which she had read of fine English to modern requirements,pruning colloquialisms, cultivating pronunciation, polishing hercritical faculties. She was perfectly conscious that she had oftenemployed homely phrases in the past, and had not always paid enoughattention to grammar in speaking, though for some time she had not used"whatever for," or "of a Sunday," as poor Matilda always did.
She learned as much comparatively of the general world of society inthat one week, as she had learned of the nature of man in her three dayswith Lord Algy. He was her first step--these women were her second. LadyGarribardine was her head master, and Gerard Strobridge should be hertutor--when the moment she was ready for him came.
Her suspicions as to her employer's disapproval of the Duchess ofDashington were realised fully one day, in the beginning of the week.The poor young-old lady's rheumatism was very painful, and she remainedin her room having her favourite nephew and Mrs. Delemar up with herthere to lunch, on a little table close to her gilt bed.
Katherine was writing at an escritoire near, having finished her ownmeal downstairs.
"You need not go, Miss Bush, if you can continue those invitations withour chatter."
So Katherine stayed.
The three talked of many things at first and Katherine hardly noticedthem, but presently her attention was caught by a name. Mr. Strobridgewas saying:
"Seraphim, it will be very difficult to refuse Dulcie Dashington, shehas written to Beatrice this morning--she is quite determined to playthe part of Nell Gwyn as the orange-girl."
"Then she can play it in some other _tableaux vivants_--but not in thesethat I am arranging." Her Ladyship's voice was acid.
"But why, dearest Sarah, are you so down on poor Dulcie?" Mrs. Delemarprotested. "She is really a very good sort, and looks so splendid inthese short-skirted, rather common clothes."
"I am not hard on her, Laeo; I am sure, had she been the wife of a jollyyoung stockbroker addicted to low practical jokes and rowdy sport, shewould have been a most admirable creature. It is not the woman I am downon; there is just such another at Blissington, she helps me with thebazaars and the school treats, her husband is a local brewer, and we arecapital friends. It is the Duchess of Dashington I ostracise, as Iconsider she has done more to degrade her order in these socialisticdays than any other member of our sadly humbled peerage."
The other two laughed amusedly, but Lady Garribardine went on, raisingher voice a little. It was a subject upon which she felt so deeply, thatit overcame for the moment her usual dryly humorous handling of anymatter.
"Let her have her lovers--we have all had lovers--No one in the leastobjects to them, arranged suitably, and of one's own class. I am notconcerned with her or any other woman's physical morality.--Suchmorality is a question of temperament and geography and custom--but I amprofoundly concerned to endeavour to keep up some semblance of dignityin the aristocracy, and Dulcie Dashington has lowered the whole prestigeof Duchesses because she is of gentle birth--though Heaven knows whather father was with poor dear Susan's irresponsible ways!"
Gerard Strobridge smiled as he lit a cigarette.
"There is a great deal in what you say, Seraphim; she has certainlydragged the title down a good deal, with her fancies for professionalgamesters of all sorts for friends, and her total disregard of traditionat Dashington--but you forget that she has had a good deal to put upwith from Toni, who is an impossible husband."
"No man is an impossible husband if he is a Duke; at least no Duchessought to find him so--and if he were, that is not the slightest excuse.When a woman undertakes a great position she should realise thatpersonal feelings have ceased to count. She has, so to speak, acceptedthe responsibility of guarding the safety of an order, just as a sentryis responsible when he is on duty. He would be shot in war time if hefell asleep on duty--however pitiful his case might be from hardship andwant of rest. He would be shot as an example to the others not to alloweven nature to overcome them and endanger the post."
"'No man is an impossible husband if he is a Duke.'"]
"It seems very cruel," piped Mrs. Delemar.
"Not at all!" Lady Garribardine flashed while her voice vibrated withscorn. "We are at war now with the Radical masses and cannot afford tojeopardise positions--either keep up prestige, or throw up the game andlet the whole thing go by the board, but while we pretend there is stillan aristocracy in England we, the members of it, should defend it.Dulcie Dashington and her ways and her photographs in the papers, andher vulgarity, and the flaunting of her unsavoury domestic affairs, area byword and as long as I have a voice in society, and can lay someclaim to power, I shall let it be known what my opinion is, and why Iwill not receive her. To me there is no sin like betraying an order."
"I suppose you are quite right," Mrs. Delemar now agreed meekly, "butthere are such lots of odd people in society who do unheard-of things;it is these boys marrying these wretched actresses or Americans whichhas changed everything."
"Not at all!" contradicted her ladyship. "Boys have always marriedactresses from time to time, and some of them have proved very decentcreatures, and if they do err, what does it matter? No one expectsbetter from them, they are making no real breach in the wall.--And asfor Americans, they are often very pretty and so clever that they seldomdisgrace their new station; they are like converts to Rome, more zealousthan the born papists. The only evil which can lie at their door is thatthey have too much money, and have given false values to entertaining,and perhaps have encouraged eccentric amusements.--No, my dear child, itis the English-women themselves who have lost self-respect, and havelowered the flag, and when one of really high birth does it, like DulcieDashington, she should be made to pay the price."
This was unanswerable, Katherine Bush thought as she listened, and shewondered why the other two should chaff lightly, as though it were justone of Lady Garribardine's notions. That is what generally astonishedher a good deal; no one appeared to have any convictions or enthusiasm,they seemed to her to be a company of drifters, so little energyappeared to be shown by any of them. They were unpunctual andunpractical,
but they were amusing and deliciously happy-go-lucky. Ifthey had any real feelings none appeared upon the surface; even LadyBeatrice and her coterie of highly evolved poetesses and other artisticworldings, flew from theme to theme, turning intent faces upon new fadseach week.
Most people's manners were casual, and their attitudes, too, would oftenhave shocked Mabel Cawber, so far were they from being genteel. The fewwho truly fulfilled Katherine Bush's ideas of the meaning of the word"lady" stood out like stars. But with all these flaws, as a collectionof people, there was that ease of manner, that total absence ofself-consciousness, about them which never could be known at Bindon'sGreen.
"I suppose times are changed," Katherine told herself, "and the laxityis producing a new type--I do wonder how they would all behave if somecataclysm happened again, like the French Revolution. But when my daycomes I mean to uphold the order which I shall join, as Her Ladyshipdoes."
At the last moment, Lady Beatrice did not go as Ganymede to the ArtistModels' ball. The history of her alteration of character was a ratherbitterly humorous story for Gerard Strobridge's ears. She had beentrying on the dress when a note had arrived with a parcel for her fromher husband's aunt, which contained a very beautiful Greek mantle withthese few words:
_Dear Child_,
I send you this mantle which I hope you will wear; it will not really spoil the character of your Ganymede dress, and from the back it will hide the fact that your legs are very slightly bowed. Your charming face will help to distract eyes from the front view, and this very small flaw in your anatomy will pass unnoticed.
Affectionately yours, SARAH GARRIBARDINE.
She had written it with her own hand. Lady Beatrice stamped with rage,and then flew to her looking-glass. She stood this way and that, andfinally came to the conclusion that there might be the faintestsubstratum of truth in the accusation. The rest of the limbs were not soperfect as her tiny ankles. It would not be safe to risk criticism. Sothe costume was altered and became a Flora with garlands of roses andlong diaphanous draperies--and Gerard and Lady Garribardine watched herentry with the Vermont party with relieved eyes, and the wily aunt said:
"You can achieve the impossible with women, G., if you only appeal to,or wound, their vanity. You must never give orders to one unless she isin love with you--then she glories in obedience--but a modern wife canonly be controlled either on the principle of the Irish-man's pigbeing driven towards Dublin when it was intended for Cork, or by aMachiavellian manipulation of her self-love."
"And then the game is not worth the candle," Mr. Strobridge sighed witha little discouragement. "I wonder, Seraphim, what is worth while?Striving for the infinite, I suppose--certainly the finite things arebut Dead Sea fruit."
"Gerard, my poor boy, you make me fear, when you talk like that, thatone day you will be profoundly in love!"
"Heaven forbid!--It would upset my digestion. I was thirty-five lastmonth and have to be careful!"
And in her comfortable bed in Berkeley Square, Katherine Bush read "TheLetters of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu" far into the night.
Society had not altered in many respects since these hundred and sixtyodd years ago, she thought!
The tableaux were the greatest success and a large sum of money wassecured for one of Lady Garribardine's pet charities.
Time went on, Christmas was approaching. It was to be spent atBlissington Court, the place Lady Garribardine had inherited with thebarony of d'Estaire from her father. Garribardine was a Scotch titlewhile her ladyship was rabidly English. They would go down toBlissington and have a family party. Her three grandchildren (herdaughter, Lady Mereton, was far away, the bored wife of a ColonialGovernor), Gerard Strobridge and perhaps Lady Beatrice and the two oldcousins with a young niece of theirs, and a stray man or two, and Mrs.Delemar--but no one could be sure who would turn up at the end.Katherine was not to have any holiday; she had come too recently, heremployer explained to her, and the Christmas accumulations were quitebeyond her power to tackle alone.
Katherine was grateful--she looked forward to seeing this country homewith pleasure. She had been kept unusually busy and so had very rarelyseen any one except Her Ladyship. But one morning about ten days beforethey were to go down into Blankshire, Lady Garribardine informed hersecretary she was to be given for the whole afternoon to Mr. Strobridgeto type a quantity of letters about a new charity he was arranging forher.
"My nephew dictates abominably, but he said that you had understood himso well that first evening when you arrived a month ago, that he hasasked me to lend you to him to-day for this business, and I haveconsented. He will lunch here, so have plenty of paper ready for theafternoon." Then as Katherine was leaving the room, she handed her aten-pound note.
"Here is a little present for you, Miss Bush, for Christmas; I want youto buy yourself an evening frock--you must dine with us on Christmas Dayand perhaps you had not provided for this possibility. I am very pleasedwith you, girl--you work splendidly."
Katherine coloured to the roots of her ashen-hued, glistening hair. Shecould not analyse her emotions. She hated presents, and yet she wasgratified at the kindliness and appreciation which lay in the manner ofthe gift.
"Your Ladyship is too good," she said very low. "I have simply done myduty--but I will endeavour to buy something suitable with the moneywhich is far more than enough."
The old lady looked at her critically with her head a little on oneside--she understood what the blush had arisen from and she appreciatedthe pride in the girl.
"The creature must have some breeding in her somewhere in spite of theauctioneer parentage. I must talk to her when we get to Blissington. Shemay prove a great interest for my old age."
But she said aloud:
"Well, get what you like with it. I leave it to you, your taste isexcellent--and while you are out, pay these two bills for me, and take alittle walk--you have been looking rather pale; I fear you have nottaken enough outdoor exercise lately."
Katherine thanked her and went rapidly to her room, a sense ofexcitement and anticipation in her heart. This might prove aninteresting afternoon. There she reviewed her wardrobe. Her "dressy"blouse from Oxford Street was too ornate for the daytime, and shethought now in rather bad taste, and her morning ones were too dowdy.This was a great occasion and one which she had been waiting for. Shewas to go home late on this Friday to stay the night at Bindon's Green.Matilda had insisted upon it, because it was her birthday; she would bethirty years old. She had been quite tearful about it on the secondoccasion on which she had met her sister in the Park.
"You need not cast us all off like this, Kitten," she pleaded, "and weshall have Mabel and a few other friends on Friday night, and Fred hasgiven us a lot of lovely new nigger song records for the gramophone, andit will all be so awfully jolly."
So Katherine had promised to go, and this fell in admirably with herplans. There would be a real excuse for her to have her hair waved. Shehad been given the evening off and it was known that she was going home.She would consult Gladys again for the frock for Christmas night and buywhat was necessary on her way back to Berkeley Square on the morrow.
It was the first time in her life that a hairdresser had ever touchedher thick mop of hair, and she had no idea of the difference to herappearance that it would make. But so critical and observant of allthings had become her eye that she realised with her first peep in themirror, when the ondulation was complete, that it had turned her intoalmost a beauty. The broad waves fell back from the parting and showedthe admirable planting of her brow and the Greek setting of her magneticeyes. She allowed no elaboration of fashion, but had her ample tressesbound tightly to her head--the effect was distinguished and gave hersatisfaction. Then from the hairdresser's she went and bought anotherblouse--something pale grey and becoming, and with the parcel she gotback to Berkeley Square in good time for luncheon and began to dressherself.
She was glad her hands were so white, she had lately taken to givinggrea
t care to the polish of her nails--she wished her feet were smaller,but they were well shaped and no one's feet were really small nowadays,Lady Garribardine had said!
She was quite content with the picture she saw in her looking-glassbefore she went downstairs. It was of a tall, slim girl with a verywhite, smooth face--extraordinary eyes under level, dark brows, and abig red mouth, and hair of silvery fairness that glistened grey, notgold, in its lights. She knew very well that she was attractive, andgave one of her rare soft laughs.
A month and more of mental discipline and acute observation of those inthat status of refinement to which she wished to attain had given hernumerous subtle distinctions of manner which she had not possessedbefore. She looked like a lady, and felt that she was approaching thetime when she herself--most severe of all critics--might considerherself to be one. She was nearly as excited as on that afternoon whenshe had left Livingstone and Devereux's to go on a three days' honeymoonwith Lord Algy. She made herself eat her luncheon as calmly as usual,and then when the tray had been taken away she opened the window wideand poured a packet of cedarwood dust on the fire--and she was sittingdemurely at the table when from the library Lady Garribardine and Mr.Strobridge came in.
Gerard Strobridge carried a bag full of papers and looked cross andharassed.
"Now G. you may have the services of Miss Bush until five o'clock; thatwill give you two hours and a half--you must not keep her, as she isgoing home to-night--then come up to my sitting-room to tea," and LadyGarribardine went out of the other door which her nephew held open forher.
Katherine had risen and gone immediately to a cupboard, ostensibly toget something out for her work, so she hoped Her Ladyship had notremarked her hair--which indeed had happily been the case.
Mr. Strobridge had not even glanced in her direction, but her momentcame when she sat down at the typing machine, and looked straight upinto his eyes as she asked in her deep alluring voice:
"What do you wish me to begin upon, please?"
Then he took in the whole effect and a wave of intense astonishmentswept over him. What had happened? Was he dreaming? Was this beautifulcreature the ordinary, silent, admirable typist, Katherine Bush?