Cynthia's Chauffeur
"No, my lord. That wouldn't bother me very long. It's a regular smash
this time--transmission shaft snapped."
"Why?"
"I was run into by a railway van, and forced against a street refuge."
"Well, if it was not your fault----"
"Oh, I can claim damages right enough. I have plenty of witnesses.
Even the driver of the van could only say that one of his horses
slipped. It's the delay I'm jibbing at. I hate to disappoint my
customers, and this accident may cost me three hundred pounds, and a
business of my own into the bargain."
"By gad! That sounds rather stiff. What's the hurry?"
"This is my own car, my lord. Early in the spring I was lucky enough
to fall in with a rich American. I was driving for a company then, but
he offered me three hundred pounds, money down, for a three months'
contract. Straightaway I bought this car for five hundred, and it is
half paid for. Now the same gentleman writes from Paris that I am to
take his daughter and another lady on a thousand miles' run for ten
days, and he says he is prepared to hire me and the car for the
balance of another period of three months on the same terms."
"But the ladies will be reasonable when you explain matters."
"Ladies are never reasonable, my lord--especially young ones. I have
met Miss Vanrenen only once, but she struck me as one who was very
much accustomed to having her own way. And she has planned this tour
to the last minute. Any other day I might have hired a car, and picked
up my own somewhere on the road, but on Derby Day and in fine
weather----"
Simmonds spread wide his hands in sheer inability to find words that
would express the hopelessness of retrieving his shattered fortunes.
Dale was fidgeting, fingering taps and screws unnecessarily, but
Medenham was pondering his former trooper's plight. He refused to
admit that the position was quite so bad as it was painted.
"Oh, come now," said he, "I'll give you a tow to the nearest repair
shop, and a word from me will expedite the business. Meanwhile, you
must jump into a hansom and appeal to the sympathies of
Miss--Vanrenen, is it?"
"No use, my lord," was the stubborn answer. "I am very much obliged
to you, but I would not dream of detaining you."
"Simmonds, you are positively cantankerous. I can spare the time."
"The first race is at 1.30, my lord," muttered Dale, greatly daring.
Medenham laughed.
"You, too?" he cried. "Someone has given you a tip, I suppose?"
Dale flushed under this direct analysis of his feelings. He grinned
sheepishly.
"I am told that Eyot can't lose the first race, my lord," he said.
"Ah! And how much do you mean to speculate?"
"A sovereign, my lord."
"Hand it over. I will lay you starting price."
Somewhat taken aback, though nothing said or done by Viscount Medenham
could really surprise him, Dale's leather garments creaked and groaned
while he produced the coin, which his master duly pocketed.
"Now, Simmonds," went on the pleasant, lazy voice, "you see how I have
comforted Dale by taking his money; won't you tell me what is the real
obstacle that blocks the way? Are you afraid to face this imperious
young lady?"
"No, my lord. No man can provide against an accident of this sort. But
Miss Vanrenen will lose all confidence in me. The arrangement was that
to-day's spin should be a short one--to Brighton. I was to take the
ladies to Epsom in time for the Derby, and then we were to run quietly
to the Metropole. Miss Vanrenen made such a point of seeing the race
that she will be horribly disappointed. There is an American horse
entered----"
"By gad, another gambler!"
Simmonds laughed grimly.
"I don't think Miss Vanrenen knows much about racing, my lord, but the
owner of Grimalkin is a friend of her father's, and he is confident
about winning this year."
"I am beginning to understand. You are in a fix of sorts, Simmonds."
"Yes, my lord."
"And what is your plan? I suppose you have one."
"I have sent for a boy messenger, my lord. When he arrives I shall
write--Oh, here he is."
Viscount Medenham descended leisurely and lit a cigarette. Dale, the
stoic, folded his arms and looked fixedly at the press of vehicles
passing the end of the street. Vivid memories of Lord Medenham's
chivalrous courtesy--his lordship's dashed tomfoolery he called
it--warned him that life was about to assume new interests.
The boy messenger, summoned telephonically by a sympathetic
maid-servant in a neighboring house, guessed that the gentleman
standing on the pavement owned the "motor-car" to which he had been
directed. Here were two cars, but the boy did not hesitate. He
saluted.
"Messenger, sir," he said.
"This way," intervened Simmonds curtly.
"No. I want you," said Medenham. "You know Sevastopolo's, the
cigarette shop in Bond Street?"
"Yes, sir."
"Take this card there, and ask him to dispatch the order at once."
Meanwhile he was writing: "Kindly send 1,000 Salonikas to 91 Cavendish
Square."
Simmonds looked anxious. He was not a smooth-spoken fellow, but he did
not wish to offend Lord Medenham.
"Would your lordship mind if I sent the boy to the Savoy Hotel first?"
he asked nervously. "It is rather late, and Miss Vanrenen will be
expecting me."
"What time are you due at the Savoy?"
"We were to start at twelve o'clock, but the ladies' luggage had to be
strapped on, and----"
"Ah, the deuce! That sounds formidable."
"Of course they must stow everything into the canvas trunks I
supplied, my lord."
Medenham stooped and examined the screws which fastened an iron grid
at the back of the broken-down vehicle.
"Whip open the tool box, Dale, and transfer that arrangement to my
car," he said briskly. "Make it fit somehow. I don't approve of
damaged paintwork, nor of weight behind the driving-wheels for that
matter, but time presses, and the ladies might shy at a request to
repack their belongings into my kit-bags, even if I were carrying
them. Now, Simmonds, give me the route, if you know it, and hand over
your road maps. I mean to take your place until your car is put right.
Wire me where to expect you. You ought to be ship-shape in three days,
at the utmost."
"My lord----" began the overwhelmed Simmonds.
"I'll see you hanged as high as Haman before I hand over my Mercury to
you, if that is what you are thinking of," said Medenham sharply.
"Why, man, she is built like a watch. It would take you a month to
understand her. Now, you boy, be off to Sevastopolo's. Where can I buy
a chauffeur's kit, Simmonds?"
"Your lordship is really too kind. I couldn't think of permitting it,"
muttered Simmonds.
"What, then--do you refuse my assistance?"
"It isn't that, my lord. I am awfully grateful----"
"Are you afraid that I shall run off with Miss Vanrenen--hold her to
ransom--send Black Hand letters to her father, and that sort of
thing?"
"From what little I have seen of Miss Vanrenen she is much more likely
to run off with you, my lord. But----"
"You're growing incoherent, Simmonds. For goodness' sake tell me
where I am to go. You can safely leave all the rest to me, and we
haven't a minute to lose if I am to secure any sort of a decent
motoring kit before I turn up at the hotel. Pull yourself together,
man. Action front and fire! Guns unlimbered and first range-finder
dispatched in nineteen seconds--eh, what?"
Simmonds squared his shoulders. He had been a driver in the Royal
Artillery before he joined Viscount Medenham's troop of Imperial
Yeomanry. There was no further argument. Dale, Oriental in phlegm now
that Eyot was safely backed, was already unscrewing the luggage
carrier.
Half an hour later, the Mercury curled with sinuous grace out of the
busy Strand into the courtyard of the Savoy Hotel. The inclosure
snorted with motors, the air was _petrolise_, all the world of the
hotel was going, or had already gone, to Epsom.
One quick glance at the lines of traffic showed Medenham that
the Swiss Rear-Admiral on duty would not allow him to remain an
unnecessary instant in front of the actual doorway. He swung his car
to the exit side, crept in behind a departing taxicab, and grabbed a
hurrying boy in buttons.
"You listen to me, boy," he said.
The boy remarked that his hearing was perfect.
"Well, go to Miss Vanrenen and say that her motor is waiting. Seize a
porter, and do not leave him until he has brought two canvas trunks
from the lady's rooms. Help him to strap them on the grid, and I'll
give each of you half-a-crown."
The boy vanished. Never before had a chauffeur addressed him so
convincingly.
Medenham, standing by the side of the car, was deep in the contours
of a road map of Sussex when a sweet if somewhat petulant voice,
apparently at his elbow, complained that its owner could not see
Simmonds anywhere. He turned instantly. A slim, straight-figured girl,
wearing a dust-cloak and motor veil, had come out from the Savoy Court
doorway and was scrutinizing every automobile in sight. Near her was a
short, stout woman whose personality seemed to be strangely familiar
to Medenham. He never forgot anyone, and this lady was certainly not
one of his acquaintances; nevertheless, her features, her robin-like
strut, her very amplitude of girth and singular rotundity of form,
came definitely within the net of his retentive memory.
To be sure, he gave her but brief survey, since her companion, in
all likelihood Miss Vanrenen, might quite reasonably attract his
attention. Indeed, she would find favor in the eyes of any young man,
let alone one who had such cause as Viscount Medenham to be interested
in her appearance. In her amazingly lovely face the haughty beauty of
an aristocrat was softened by a touch of that piquant femininity which
the well-bred American girl seems to bring from Paris with her
clothes. A mass of dark brown hair framed a forehead, nose, and mouth
of almost Grecian regularity, while her firmly modeled chin, slightly
more pronounced in type, would hint at unusual strength of character
were not the impression instantly dispelled by the changing lights in
a pair of marvelously blue eyes. In the course of a single second
Medenham found himself comparing them to blue diamonds, to the azure
depths of a sunlit sea, to the exquisite tint of the myosotis. Then he
swallowed his surprise, and lifted his cap.
"May I ask if you are Miss Vanrenen?" he said.
The blue eyes met his. For the first time in his life he was thrilled
to the core by a woman's glance.
"Yes."
She answered with a smile, an approving smile, perhaps, for the
viscount looked very smart in his tight-fitting uniform, but none the
less wondering.
"Then I am here instead of Simmonds. His car was put out of commission
an hour ago by a brutal railway van, and will not be ready for the
road during the next day or two. May I offer my services in the
meantime?"
The girl's astonished gaze traveled from Medenham to the spick and
span automobile. For the moment he had forgotten his role, and each
word he uttered deepened her bewilderment, which grew stronger when
she looked at the Mercury. The sleek coachwork and spotless leather
upholstery, the shining brass fittings and glistening wings, every
visible detail in fact, gave good promise of the excellence of the
engine stowed away beneath the square bonnet. Evidently Miss Vanrenen
had cultivated the habit of gathering information rapidly.
"_This_ car?" she exclaimed, with a delightful lifting of arched
eyebrows.
"Yes, you will not be disappointed in it, I assure you. I am doing
Simmonds a friendly turn in taking his place, so I hope the slight
accident will not make any difference to your plans."
"But--why has not Simmonds himself come to explain matters?"
"He could not leave his car, which is in a side street off Piccadilly.