The Rustle of Silk
I went up to powder my nose----"
"You never came back! Golden hair like butter-cups, wide-apart eyes and
fluttering nostrils, a mouth designed for kissing and all about you the
rattle of sex. You dear thing! How sweet of you to ring me up and on a
Sunday too. Where on earth did you go?"
Go on, de Breze, go on! A little mystery, a touch of sadness, a hint of
special confidence, flattery, flattery.
"Ah, if only I could see you. I dare not explain that sudden
disappearance over the telephone,--which must have seemed so rude. You
are the only woman in all the world who could keep an amazing secret and
advise a troubled woman in a tangle of romance----"
"Secret, romance--who but Poppy for that!"
It worked, it worked! Lola could _see_ the kind little lady struggle
into a sitting posture, alert and keen, her vanity touched. Go on, de
Breze, go on.
"Ever since then I've been thinking of you, dear Lady Cheyne, and, at
last, this morning, on the spur of the moment, longing for help, driven
into a corner, remembering your kind invitation to Whitecross----"
"My dear, you excite me and I adore excitement. Of course you must see
me, at once. But to-day's impossible. I've a thousand things to do. And
to-morrow--let me see now. How can I fit you in? Probably you don't want
to be seen at my house or the Savoy, you mysterious thing. So what can
we arrange? I know. I have it. Quite French and appropriate. Meet me on
the sly at a place where no one ever would dream of our being. Mrs.
Rumbold's, a jobbing dressmaker. I'm going to see her to-morrow to alter
some clothes. Castleton Terrace, Bayswater, 22. She used to work for me.
A poor half-starved soul, but so useful. Half-past eleven. And we'll
arrange for a week-end at my place, perhaps, or elsewhere, wherever you
like."
"Oh, Whitecross, Whitecross,--it sounds so right."
"And, it is so right,--romance in every rose bowl. To-morrow then, and I
shall love to see you, my dear, and thank you for thinking of Poppy. I'm
so excited. Good-by."
"Good-by, dearest Lady Cheyne,--a thousand thanks."
Well played, de Breze. That's the way to do it. Keep on like that and
prove your grit, my dear.
And presently for Lady Feo, who would certainly have something to say
about the Carlton episode, and if all went well the frocks, the hats,
the shoes,--but nothing yet about the holiday. That must wait until
after the interview at Mrs. Rumbold's to-morrow.
III
After all, then, Feo was to spend a dull and dreary Sunday in London;
but she had slept endlessly, hour after hour, and when at last she woke
at twelve o'clock, the sun was pouring into her room. Wonder of wonders,
there was nothing dull about this Sunday! London lay under an utterly
blue sky and those of its people who had not fled from its streets to
the country, afraid of its dreariness, were out, finding unexpected
touches of beauty in their old city and a lull of traffic that was
restful.
The sight of Lola as she came into the room in the discreet garments of
her servitude brought instant laughter back to Feo's lips. Only a few
hours ago she had been claimed as an intimate friend by the girl, with
all the confidence and aplomb of a member of the enclosure. How
perfectly delightful. She took her cup of tea and sat up in bed,
forgetting everything except the backwash of her great amusement. Madame
de Breze.--By Jove, those quiet ones,--they knew their way about. When
she had been undressed the night before, Feo had been in no mood to
chaff her maid, then a mere human machine, about her general and her
escapade. Depression, disappointment and humiliation had driven the
Carlton incident out of the way. But now the sun was shining again and
she had slept in a great chunk. What did Gilbert Macquarie count in the
scheme of things now, or, for the matter of that, Ellingham? She thanked
all her gods that she possessed the gift of quick recovery.
And now to pull the little devil's leg. "Oh, hello, old girl," she said,
carrying on her attitude of the previous night, "how awfully nice of you
to bring me my tea." She expected utter embarrassment and confusion, and
certainly an apology. Good Lord, the girl had pinched those stockings!
But the answer was quiet and perfectly natural. "That's all right, Feo.
Only too glad."
After the first gasp of surprise there was a loud guffaw. Nothing in
this world was more pleasing to Feo than the unexpected. "Sunday in
London! But this is as good and a jolly sight better than Saturday night
at the Adelphi. Bravo, Lola. The bitter bit. Keep it up. I love it."
And with her black hair all tousled, her greenish eyes dancing with
amusement, her large mouth wide open and the collar of her black silk
pajamas gaping, she stirred her tea and waited for the fun.
And seeing that her mistress was all for laughing and that she had hit
the right note, Lola kept it up. Witless and without daring, eh? Well,
wait and see.
"I rather wish we'd gone on with you to the theater," she said, lighting
a cigarette and sitting on the arm of a chair in a Georgie Malwood pose.
"It might have amused you to see something of Peter Chalfont, who has
refused to join the gang."
Feo was amazed at the perfection of what was, of course, an imitation of
herself. Breezy's niece was a very dark horse, it seemed.
"But where the deuce did you pick him up?" she asked, continuing the
game.
"Oh, my dear, I've known him for years. He was an old pal of the man I
married in my teens and was always hanging about the place. I call him
the White Knight because he has such a charming way of rescuing women in
distress. If you're keen about getting to know him, I'll work it for
you, with all the pleasure in life."
Back went that black head with hair like a young Hawaiian. Oh, but this
was immense. A lady's maid and a bedside jester, rolled into one. And
how inimitably the girl had caught her intonation and manner of
expression. A born actress, that was what she was.
"Don't bother about me. What are you going to do with him? That's what I
want to know."
Lola shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I dunno," she said, with a lifelike
Feo drawl. "What can I do with him? Only trail him round."
"Marry him, of course. That man's a catch, you fool. Stacks of money,
three show places in the country, a title as old as Rufus, and only one
hand to hit you with."
"But I'm not marrying," said Lola.
And that was too much for Feo. She threw the clothes back and kicked up
her heels like a schoolgirl. But before she could congratulate her
lady's maid on a delightful bit of acting and an egregious piece of
impertinence that was worth all the Sundays in London to watch, the
telephone bell rang and brought her back to facts.
"Just see who that is, will you? And before you say I'm here, find out
who it is."
"Yes, my lady," said Lola. The little game was over. It hadn't lasted
long. But if it had put her ladyship into a generous mood----
It was Mrs. Winchfield, calling up from Aylesbury.
"Oh, well," said Feo, with the remembrance of great dullness. "Give me
the 'phone and get my bath ready. And tell them to let me have lots of
breakfast in half an hour, here. I could eat a horse."
"Very good, my lady."
And when Lola returned, having carried out her orders and still tingling
with the triumph of having proved her courage and her wit, she found
Lady Feo lying in the middle of the room, on her back, doing exercises.
"All the dullards have left the Winchfields'," she said. "There's to be
a pucca man there this afternoon, one I've had my eye on for weeks.
Quick's the word, Lola. Get me dressed and into the car. This is Sunday
and I'm in London. It's perfectly absurd. I shall stay the night, of
course, and I shan't want you till to-morrow at six. What'll you do?
Lunch at the Carlton?"
"I shall go home, my lady." But the twinkle returned.
"Oh, yes, of course. I spoilt your holiday, didn't I? By the way, does
your mother know that you're in society now?"
And Lola replied, "The bath is ready, my lady."
And once more Feo laughed, lit a cigarette and went towards the
bathroom. Here she turned and looked at the now mouse-like Lola with a
peculiarly mischievous glint in her eyes. "Wouldn't it be a frightful
spree if I went after Peter Chalfont and told him all I know about you?"
Two minutes later she was singing in the bath.
Tell Peter Chalfont!--But Lola knew that this was an empty threat. Mr.
Fallaray's wife was a sportsman. _Mr. Fallaray's wife_.
For the first time in all this business, these words stood out in
ghastly clearness, with all that they meant to Lady Feo and her, who was
"after" Mr. Fallaray. Was she, Lola, a sportsman too? The question came
suddenly, like a bomb dropped from a Zeppelin, and drew the girl up
short. But the answer followed quickly and it was Yes, yes, because this
woman was _not_ Fallaray's wife and never had been.
But there was more than a little irony in the fact that she liked Lady
Feo, was grateful to her, had seen many of her best points and so far as
the Carlton episode went, recognized in her a most unusual creature,
imbued with a spirit of mischief which was almost like that of a child.
And yet for all that, she _was_ Fallaray's wife.--It was more than
conceivable, as Lola could guess, that if the whole story were confided
in detail, with the de Breze background all brought out, Lady Feo would
first of all laugh and then probably help her little lady's maid for the
fun of the thing, and to be able, impishly, one night when she met
Fallaray coming back from the House worn and round-shouldered, to stand
in front of him, jumping to conclusions, and say, "Ha, ha! Sooner or
later you _all_ come off your pedestal, don't you? But look out, Master
Messiah. If the world spots you in the first of your human games, pop
goes the weasel, and you may as well take to growing roses."
Still singing, and back again in the highest spirits, Feo breakfasted in
her room and Lola dressed her for the country. Not once but many times
during the hour that followed she endeavored to pump Lola about Chalfont
and as to the number of times that she had gone out into "life." But
Lola was a match for her and evaded all questions; sometimes with a
perfectly straight face, sometimes with an answering twinkle in her eye.
Although she was piqued by the girl's continued elusiveness, Feo was
filled with admiration at her extraordinary self-control,--a thing that
she respected, being without it herself. And then Lola, with a little
sigh, and as though drawn at last, got to _her_ point in this strange
and intimate talk. "I'm afraid I shall never be able to see Sir Peter
again," she said sadly. "I have only one evening frock and he has seen
it twice."
At which Feo went to her wardrobe, flung open the doors, took down dress
after dress, threw them on her bed and said, "Take your choice. Of
course, you can't always wear the same old frock. Sir Galahad has a
quick eye. Take what stockings you need also and help yourself to my
shoes. There are plenty more where these came from,--you little devil.
If you catch that man, and I shan't be a bit surprised if you do, you
will have done something that nearly every girl in society has taken a
shot at during the last five years. I make one bargain with you, Lola,
in return for these things. Spend your honeymoon at Chilton Park and let
me present you at Court."
An icy hand had touched her heart again. A honeymoon at Chilton
Park,--with Chalfont.
IV
And so Lola was free to go home again and spend the remainder of Sunday
with her people, after all. But when, having tidied up and dressed
herself, she ran downstairs into the servants' sitting room on her way
to the area steps, there sat Simpkins, a crestfallen and tragic figure,