The Hawk of Egypt
of her cheeks with the aid of cosmetics. Things had gone from bad to
worse in that respect, until her pretty snow-white hair had been
covered by a flagrant golden perruque and the dear old face with a mask
of pink and white enamel. Her eyes were blue, and keen as a hawk's,
undimmed by the tears shed in secret during her tumultuous and tragic
life; her teeth, each one in a perfect and pearly state of
preservation, were her own, for which asset she was never given the
benefit of the doubt; her tongue was vitriolic; her heart of pure gold,
and she owned a right hand which said nothing to the left of the spaces
between its fingers through which, daily ran deeds of kindness and
streams of love towards the unfortunate ones of the earth.
Her dress was invariably of grey taffeta or brocade, bunched at the
back and trailing on the ground; there were ruffles, of priceless lace
at the elbow-sleeves and V-shaped neck; a plain straw poke-bonnet
served for all outdoor functions, and an ebony stick, called "the wand"
by the denizens of the slums, who adored her, completed her picturesque
toilette.
The majority feared this _grande dame_, a minority, if they had had the
chance, would have fawned upon her in public and laughed at or
caricatured her in private; those who really knew her, and they lived
principally east of London town, would willingly have laid themselves
down and allowed her ridiculously small feet, invariably shod in
crimson, buckled, outrageously high-heeled shoes, to trample upon their
prostrate bodies, if it would have given her pleasure so to do.
She adored young things, and had an enormous family of godsons and
goddaughters, out of which crowd Ben Kelham and Damaris Hethencourt
were supreme favourites, and about whom she had been weaving plots when
she had written her letter of invitation to the Squire.
She smoked Three Castles, which she kept in a jewelled Louis XV
snuff-box, and had a perfect tartar of a maid, who simply worshipped
her.
Of a truth, a long description of a very old and very wise old woman,
of whom the great Queen had once remarked to her Consort:
"I wish I were not a queen, so that _I_ might curtsey to Olivia."
And in this wise old woman's jewel-covered hands Fate placed the
twisted threads of passion, youth and love, and a wiser selection she
could not have made.
A bronchitic cough had taken her to Cairo just as a sooted-up lung,
left behind by the pneumonia which had followed the hunting accident
had taken Ben Kelham to Heliopolis, and for recuperation of body or
mind there is nothing to equal an Egyptian winter, even in a
tourist-ridden centre.
Ben Kelham, Big Ben for short, on account of his six-feet-two, was heir
to Sir Andrew Kelham, Bart., whose estate joined the lands of Squire
Hethencourt, whom he looked upon as his greatest friend, and vice
versa. Educated at Harrow, Ben Kelham and Hugh Carden Ali had been
known on the Hill as David and Jonathan; so that the crimson, golden
and brown threads were more than uncommonly twisted.
Ben was heavy in build and slow in every way, but he was still more
sure than slow, and had never been known to give up when once he had
set his mind to the accomplishment of a task, and although he had stood
in absolute awe of beautiful Damaris since the day she had lengthened
her skirts, yet had he determined to make her his wife, even if it
meant following in Jacob's footsteps to the tune of waiting many years.
He had confided his determination to his godmother, who had immediately
taken the case in hand, and proceeded to throw bucketsful of cold water
upon his suggestion of being on the quay or doorstep to welcome the
girl to Egypt.
"My dear man," replied the tactful old lady as she rasped a match on
the sole of a crimson shoe and lit a fragrant Three Castles, "do
remember that everything will be new to the child; she will be one vast
ejaculation for at least a month. Let her get over that, let her
realise that you are close at hand, but not the least bit anxious to be
under her feet, and you'll see. Remember, she is very young, just like
a bit of dough which must be stuffed with the currants and raisins of
knowledge and then well-baked in the oven of experience before it can
be handed across Life's counter to anyone. Further, take care not to
blunder into any little trap she may set you out of pique."
"But, dearest, I always _do_ blunder when I'm out of the saddle."
"Well, even if you do, for goodness' sake keep your mouth shut. Be the
strong, silent man; women love 'em. We revel in being clubbed and
pulled into the cave by the hair; we may squeal a bit for the sake of
appearances, but we cook the breakfast nest morning without a murmur!
But just ask us to honour the cave by placing our foot over the
threshold, and as sure as anything, you'll find yourself making the
early cup of tea."
CHAPTER IV
"_Wide open and unguarded stand our gates,
Named by the four winds, North, South, East and West;
Portals that lead to an enchanted land. . ._"
T. B. ALDRICH.
Damaris duly arrived in Egypt, accompanied by Wellington--who had shown
no sign of incipient hydrophobia--and Jane Coop, her maid.
It were best to describe them both now, and so get it all over.
Whilst waiting one exeat upon Waterloo station, the girl had annexed
unto herself a holy terror in the shape of a brindle bull-pup.
The hilarious quadruped had twined its leash about one leg of its
master--who was an alien from Wapping--and the spout of a zinc
watering-can which a porter had left upon the platform; for which joke
it had received a vile cuff on its wrinkled physiognomy from the alien
master.
Like some avenging goddess, Damaris, the ladylike, almost finished
product of Onslow House, sprang straight at the man, smote him with the
flat of the hand upon the face, and pounced upon the yelping pup.
"Take your leg out of the dog's chain, you idiot!" she cried, her eyes
blazing, her perfect teeth flashing in a positive snarl. "Be quick;
don't be so clumsy. How dare you hit a dog. He _hit_ him," she
announced to the interested, sympathetic crowd. "Hit him on his lovely
face.
"You gif that dog back to me, missie,--he's mine."
"He's mine. I've got him, and my mother is one of the heads of the
Society that protects children."
"That's got nothing to do wif dogs."
"This is a puppy, so it's a child," had come the decisive reply. "And
I'll buy him, though I needn't really, if I refer it to the Society."
"I'll take ten poun' for 'im."
The child fished for her purse, which, contained half-a-crown and her
ticket, and flung it with a supreme gesture of contempt at the man's
feet; then, squeezing up the dog in her arms, tore a simple gold
bracelet off her left arm and flung it after the purse.
"Worv two poun' at the mos'."
Then, from out of a first-class carriage of the train waiting to start
for Southampton slowly descended Olivia, Duchess of Longacres.
The girl and the alien had their backs turned to her, but the crowd had
seen; had looked; started to laugh, and then had become silent, so
great was the dignity of the old lady.
Clad in a voluminous grey taffeta gown, from under which peeped little
crimson shoes; covered with a huge loose ermine wrap, with the black
poke-bonnet on top of the outrageous golden perruque and the grey
parrot bobbing up and down excitedly upon her shoulder, she stood
silently taking in the scene.
There was the light of battle in the famous hawk's-eyes as she listened
to the girl defending the pup, and her splendid teeth shone in a grin
of enjoyment as she suddenly rattled her ebony stick upon the alien's
ankle-bones, those most tender bits of anatomical scaffolding.
There was a yell of pain as the alien backed hastily into the arms of a
lusty youth who had continuously besought Damaris, to allow him "ter
put it acrorst ther blighter's h'ugly mug," and a cry of delight as
Damaris ran to the old lady's side and, squeezing the pup in one arm,
made the sweetest little reverence in the pretty continental way before
she excitedly wrung her god-mother's hand.
"_Marraine_, he hit the puppy, and I've bought him for ten pounds; at
least, Dad will send a cheque tonight. I've given him half-a-crown and
my bracelet on account."
"Call Hobson," said her grace to the bird, who, obeying, had shrilly
piped, "Tumble up, men, tumble up," until Hobson the maid suddenly
surged, from the second-class and ploughed her way through the
delighted crowd.
"Give the purse and bracelet to my maid, you------"
"Swab," supplemented the parrot.
"-----at once," finished her grace, just as, with a cry of "Here's
Dad!" Damaris ran to meet her father, who, having got hung up in the
traffic, had failed to meet the train. He listened patiently, with
dancing eyes, to the story, smiled across at the duchess, gave the man
a pound-note and a jolly good talking to, and acquired a bull pup with
the Rodney Stone strain, which they promptly christened Wellington, as
it had won at Waterloo.
Wellington forthwith developed an inordinate jealousy of Jane Coop.
Jane Coop was maid, adviser and buffer to the girl whom she loved more
than anyone on earth.
Born on the Squire's lands, she had developed a positive genius for
mothering delicate lambs and calves and sickly chicks, so that when a
crisis had arrived almost immediately after the birth of Damaris, the
Squire had bundled the highly-certificated nurse into a motor and sent
her packing back to London, and called upon Jane Coop to rise to the
occasion.
She had risen.
Bonny and plump, she had taken the weakly little bit of humanity, also
the situation, into her strong, capable hands; treated the mother and
babe just as she would have treated a couple of delicate lambs, and
pulled them both through.
From that day forth she had dominated the house, tyrannised over the
Squire and his lady, defied each and every governess who had shown
signs of undue strictness, and found her reward for her devotion in the
love of the child who teased her to death and--in the long run--obeyed
her.
She had shown herself a positive sheep-dog on board the boat. She had
rounded up her white lamb and yapped upon the heels of those who dared
approach with too great familiarity; had bristled and shown her teeth
upon every possible occasion, until those who would fain have led the
girl into new and verdant pastures had fled at the sheep-dog's
approach, leaving them both to enjoy the novelty of everything, each
after her own kind.
Damaris revelled in it all: the seagulls; the lighthouses; the ships
that passed in the day and night; and the tail-end of a storm they hit
up in the Bay, whilst Jane Coop invented new verses to the Litany as
she tried, in her cabin, to solve the problem of two into one, and
Wellington, somewhere under the water-line, daily gave a fine imitation
of hell-bound to a circle of admiring seamen.
To his last hour at sea Captain X will forever retain the memory of
what it cost him in strength of will to maintain his dignity, when,
standing straight and exceedingly beautiful, with one hand full of
lists, the huge bulldog at her feet, with a black bow under his left
ear, and an assembly of the greatest sufferers before her, Damaris, two
days before arriving at Port Said, solemnly read out the items and the
shop price of each article chewed, damaged or totally destroyed during
the voyage by the dog.
"Shoes, boots, pants, edges of trousers; two pipes, one pouch, six
packets of gaspers; one entire tray of crockery; one air-cushion
dropped in fright by stewardess; one coil of rope, one life-buoy, one
tin can dented, one man's ankles slightly bruised; one bare patch to
ship's cat's back. . . ." And so on and so forth; whilst murmurs arose